Highlander Untamed (9 page)

Rory waited until he was standing right behind her. “What are you looking for?”

Startled, Isabel jumped. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened into a wide O.

He crossed his arms and stared at her. Hard. “Well?”

“I…I…d-d-dropped something.”

She was lying. “What?”

Collecting herself, she pursed her lips, put her hands on her hips, and lifted a decidedly obstinate chin to his. “Why are you questioning me?”

“I find you on your hands and knees in the storeroom looking under shelves and you have to ask?”

She seemed to find humor in his description and grinned. “Oh, very well.” She paused, making a great show of brushing the dust off her skirts. “You found me out. Colum has promised to teach me how he makes his delicious marzipan cakes, and I’ve been sent to the stores to requisition the almonds and sugar.”

Rory had learned from Deidre that Isabel had made a quick admirer of his taciturn and cantankerous old cook. “A good excuse for finding you in the storeroom, perhaps, but that does not explain what you were looking for under those shelves.”

“I was getting to that,” she said haughtily. “While I was collecting the ingredients, I heard something drop and roll under the shelves. I feared it must be a pearl from my earring.”

“Hmm,” Rory murmured. “Shall we see?” Slowly he reached out, slipping his hand through her hair to pull it away from her ear. The soft, silken waves slid across his skin and sent a shock rippling through him. Gently, he gripped the velvety skin of her neck with his fingers, breathing in the sweet bouquet of lavender as he bent to examine her earrings. The temptation to loosen the ribbon that bound her hair and bury his hands in the silken warmth was almost overpowering.

His voice sounded unnaturally deep. “You don’t appear to be missing anything.”

“I know I heard something drop.” She sounded flustered, but whether it was from his touch or her lie he could not tell. “Perhaps it was from my brooch,” she offered quickly.

His eyes slid down to the piece of jewelry fastened between her breasts. Eyes wide, she followed the movement of his hand as it trailed from her ear to her bodice. When he brushed the heavy curve of her breast with the back of his finger, he heard her sharp intake of breath. The erotic sound filled him with heat—as did the immediate tightening of her nipple. Her gaze flew to his and awareness stretched taut between them. He could hear the unevenness of her breath coming between her softly parted lips as he inspected the brooch with his fingers. It would be so easy to slip his hand under the bodice of her gown, to feel the velvet of her skin, to massage his thumb across the hard tip. To feel the shudder of passion sweep through her.

He leaned closer, inhaling the sweet perfume of her skin, feeling the heat of desire swirl over him. His cock thickened, and his loins grew heavy with need. Just one little stroke…

But he knew it would not be enough. He’d want more. Much more.

God’s wounds,
no woman had ever affected him so effortlessly.

Taking a step back, he removed his hand and allowed his pulse to return to normal, waiting for the vise hold of lust to dissipate before he spoke. “Again, there appears to be nothing missing.”

“I know I heard something,” she insisted, a pink flush still staining her cheeks. But rather than offer another paltry excuse, she asked instead, “Why are you here?”

His gaze sharpened.
A good tactic,
he thought, but one that did not fool him. He studied her, wishing he could see inside that beautiful head. Why was she spending so much time in the underground kitchens, and what was she really looking for? He didn’t think it was a missing pearl. Allowing her to stay in the old keep by herself was an unnecessary risk. There was an easy solution, one that shouldn’t be difficult to make. Rory knew what he had to do, unreasonable lust or not.

“I was looking for you,” he said.

“You were?”

He nodded. “It’s time.” It had been for a while. The servants, he knew, had begun to gossip. He might not intend to wed the lass, but he would not shame her. In all but one way, she would be his wife.

“Time for what?” she asked cautiously.

“It has been long enough. You shall move your things into my chamber in the Fairy Tower.” Where it would be easier to keep an eye on her. Keeping everything else off her was going to be the difficulty.

That was a close call.
Isabel exhaled slowly, noting the rigid set of his broad shoulders as he disappeared up the kitchen stairs. It shook her to realize just how close she’d come to discovery. As she’d done every day since her family’s departure, Isabel had been exploring the old keep from top to bottom, paying particular attention to the catacomb of tunnels located near the kitchens and dungeon for a secret entry. Rory, materializing out of nowhere, had startled and thoroughly discomposed her. Isabel’s heart had about dropped to her toes when he started questioning her…and then for other reasons.

She hadn’t set out to entice him with her explanation, only distract him. Instead it was she who had been distracted. The attraction that sizzled between them still warmed her. He radiated heat. Heat that drew her in. When he’d put his hand on her neck and brushed his finger over her breast, she’d felt a strange pull from deep inside her. Her skin prickled with awareness. Every movement, every touch, every hesitation, seemed emblazoned on her skin.

He left her wanting more. She’d wanted him to pull her into his arms and kiss her. To touch her. To ease the tension coiling inside her.

But she’d seen the flash of desire in his gaze and knew that he was not unaffected. And now he wanted her in his room. It could only mean one thing. He intended to make her his bride in truth.

For the rest of the day, Isabel was a bundle of nerves. All she could think about was what would happen that night. She might be innocent, but she was not without knowledge of what occurred between men and women. Traipsing after her profligate brothers had unintentionally taught her much.

Her virginity was a natural casualty of their plan. But she’d always imagined it would be a sacrifice. That she would have to grit her teeth and bear it. Never did she imagine the knot of anticipation swirling in her belly. Anticipation that had nothing to do with the plan and everything to do with the man who with only a touch made her tremble with newly awakened passion. She could not deny that he affected her. She would just have to make sure that she didn’t allow herself to get caught up in the unfamiliar sensations but stayed focused on her goal.

With Bessie’s and Deidre’s help, Isabel moved her belongings to his room. After instructing Deidre where to have her trunks placed, Isabel busied herself about the room placing her hairbrush and mirror on the large table beside the fireplace and the book of sonnets that she was currently reading on the table next to the bed. She was scattering her belongings among his just as if she were a young bride happily sharing a bower with her new husband.

Her new living space impressed her. Rory’s chamber, on the third floor of the modern Fairy Tower, was a beautiful, albeit definitely masculine, room sparsely furnished with heavy wooden furniture. Large windows provided a panoramic view of the loch. A small fireplace supplied heat. The wooden walls were painted a soft yellow but otherwise unadorned. Colorful jewel-toned carpets similar to those in the downstairs hall covered the floor.

But the enormous four-posted bed dominated the room. It was similar to the bed in her old chamber with its luxurious thick feather mattress and pillows, except that it did not have the colorful silk hangings surrounding it. There was a simple wool coverlet and cozy fur pelt for cold nights. A tall stack of books and haphazardly strewn parchments littered the top of the table that must serve as his desk. Another small table near the window held a basin for washing, and a large chest sufficed for storing his clothes.

Though stark, the room was warm and comfortable and a welcome departure from the rustic old keep. But all day long, her eyes kept drifting back to the bed. And her mouth went dry, as she wondered what the night would bring.

The little flutter in her chest started as soon as she took her seat next to him at the dais for the evening meal. He acknowledged her arrival with a curt nod of his head and immediately returned his attention to Alex. Isabel tried to hide her disappointment. Part of her had hoped today would be a turning point. That the virtually silent meals she’d endured for the past three weeks would be at an end.

Other than an occasional banality about her meal or other meaningless pleasantry, Rory paid her no attention and spoke mostly with his men at mealtimes. Occasionally, she would spy Alex sitting with the other warriors, watching her. As if understanding her loneliness, he would give her an encouraging lopsided grin. But even Alex assiduously avoided long conversations. Today was no different.

Rory’s courteous indifference frustrated her. Especially tonight, when every nerve ending in her body seemed set on edge. Still, sitting so close to him, her body tingling with awareness, Isabel kept thinking of the night to come. She peeked up at him from under her lashes. What would it be like? Would he have care for her innocence? Her thoughts stole to his impressive physique. His size intimidated her; she hoped he would not crush her with all that muscle. Yet as her questions multiplied, Rory seemed entirely unaffected. There was no indication that he anticipated tonight more than any other.

He must have felt the weight of her eyes on him, as finally he turned and addressed her. “Are you finding everything to your liking?” He paused significantly. Isabel blushed to have been caught so obviously staring. “In the new tower?” He finished with a smile, clearly amused by her discomfort.

“Yes, the bed is—” She stopped, mortified. Her cheeks burned. “I mean, the room is delightful.”

Something flickered in his gaze. “I’m glad you are pleased,” he said. Before she could respond, he turned back to Alex.

Somehow, she made it through the evening meal. For once, she was grateful that he ignored her. Her mind was racing in every direction, and she feared a repeat of her earlier blunder.

With Bessie’s help, Isabel donned a beautiful
night rail
of ivory silk, chosen by her uncle for this very occasion. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t much to it. The thin swath of cloth clung to all her womanly parts in a manner that left little to the imagination. Isabel felt a bit like a trussed-up goose, but she set aside her qualms and allowed Bessie to fuss over her.

After some uncomfortable last-minute explanations from Bessie that made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, Isabel was alone. She slid under the covers and waited.

And waited.

For hours, Isabel lay in bed clutching the coverlet to her chin, her nerves as sharp as the edge of a blade. Her heart pounded frantically. Her ears strained to hear the sound of booted footsteps from the corridor. But it was a sound that never came.

Eventually, it became painfully obvious that he did not intend to join her.

More disappointed than she wanted to acknowledge, Isabel blew out the single taper next to the big bed and slept. Restlessly.

Seven long nights later, Rory stared at the woman sleeping not five feet away and told himself he was being ridiculous. One wee lass should not keep him from his bed.

He hadn’t slept more than a few hours since he’d ordered her to his room. Isabel had invaded his room, his bed, and his thoughts. The room even smelled of her, enticing him with the sweet, seductive scent of lavender. Night after night, he found himself sitting by the fire, drinking whisky by the bottle to dull the edge of desire, gazing at the comfortable bed, and devising reasons why he should not sleep there.

Last night had nearly proved too much. She’d kicked off the covers in her sleep and lay on her side with her arm stretched above her head, her full breasts high and beckoning. Rory could see every curve of her lush figure, clad only in a wispy
night rail.
He ached to test the soft roundness of her breast in his palm, to run his hands along the curve of her hips and bottom, and to wrap those long slim legs around his waist as he plunged inside her. The images haunted him all night—it had proved to be a very long night.

But not tonight. Tonight he was sleeping in his own bed.

Rory removed his shirt and plaid, placed them over the chair, and, careful not to disturb her, slid under the coverlet. He held perfectly still. When nothing happened, he relaxed. Grinning, he called himself a fool. What had he thought? That lying beside her would be a temptation too impossible to resist? Ridiculous. He closed his eyes and slept.

The soft rays of morning teased his eyelids. But Rory didn’t want to wake up; he was too damn comfortable. He snuggled closer to the smooth silk coverlet. He buried his nose deeper into the soft spray of lavender that filled his pillow and inhaled deeply.

His eyes popped open. He didn’t have lavender in his pillows. Nor did he have a silk coverlet. The soft bundle in his arms was not a coverlet, but a scantily clad Isabel. And the lavender wafted from her hair and not from his pillow. It took him a moment to realize that his arm was tucked under her plump breasts, that she had her bottom pressed firmly against his groin, and that he had an erection the size of Mt. Olympus.

The weight of her breasts on his arm was too much. One hand slid up to cup her. He muffled a groan as all that soft, deliciously heavy flesh filled his hand. It felt too damn good. Her nipple hardened in his palm, and Rory ached to rub it between his fingers, to stroke her until she arched against him. She was so warm and soft, so sweetly feminine. And he’d been waiting too long. His hips moved closer, increasing the pressure of her tight bottom pressed against his now throbbing erection.

His little bundle sighed and wiggled mercilessly against him. His body clenched with agony as he thought how easy it would be to grab her hips and ease himself in from behind. He squeezed her a little harder, lifting her breasts together in his palms. The urge for relief roared through him.