Seduced by a Highlander (41 page)

When she kept walking, he quickened his pace and slipped his arm around her back, pulling her closer to whisper against her ear. “How might I serve ye, with my tongue or somethin’ harder?”

“Tristan!” She pinched his side and blushed, smiling when Kate caught her eye from the table. “Yer family is but a few feet away.”

“Let’s go to bed, then, fer I canna’ wait to have ye.”

Isobel cleared her throat and cut her gaze to Davina only inches away. “What of yer word to Cameron about waiting for a priest?”

“I gave him my word to find a priest as quickly as I could. That word I have kept.” He smiled rather wickedly. “I did try to wait until the priest arrived, but ye, my lovely, would no’ have it.”

She blushed, knowing he spoke the truth. She turned back to him only to find his mouth closer to hers. “Well, ye will have to wait now.”

“Ye enjoy torturin’ me.”

“Only a little,” she admitted with a playful smile and a provocative wink. “Not too much longer, though.”

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and gave her rump a squeeze as she stepped away from him.

Tristan watched the gentle sway of Isobel’s backside while she walked away. He smiled, eager to get his hands on it. Hell, but she looked fine in that gown. The creamy color suited her complexion and the snug fit accentuated all her womanly curves. Still, it didn’t stop him from wanting to peel her out of it and taste every inch of her.

Drawn by desire and the need to be near her, he made his way to the family table and took his seat beside her. He leaned closer to inhale the sensual curve of her neck while she shared a word with Finn. She still smelled fresh from their bath, with a hint of his own scent still lingering on her skin from their lovemaking. He straightened, doing all in his power not to haul her into his arms and carry her up the stairs to his bed.

The celebration was finally winding down, with many of the men in the hall too drunk to do anything more than slump over their chairs. At Tristan’s table, though, his kin showed no signs of growing weary from their laughter and drinking. Of course, Angus and Brodie MacGregor could have consumed every last drop of whisky in Camlochlin and still found their way to the victorious side of a battlefield.

As it grew somewhat quieter in the hall, the women at his table, including Isobel, found it easier to talk about everything from sewing to babes, while the men’s conversations turned inevitably to fighting. Tristan shifted in his chair, not quite interested in any opinion but one about the fastest way to get his betrothed into bed. And no one was offering
that
discussion.

“Isobel, tell us about your home.”

Tristan cut his mother a dismal glance, which she completely missed, and reached over to swipe Angus’s cup and empty its contents before the brute had time to take a swing at him.

“So ’tis just the seven of ye who do all the work, then?” his father asked. “Ye have nae tenants to help?”

Tristan looked at him through watery eyes, thanks to the potency of Angus’s brew, and couldn’t help smiling at Tamas, the youngest warrior at the table, leaning against his father’s strong arm, trying to stay awake.

“They all left us after…” Isobel didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Everyone at the table suspected the reason and grew quiet.

“Patrick could use some aid, faither,” Tristan told him. “Now that we’re all kin…”

“Of course,” Callum agreed easily. “Take with ye as many men as ye need.”

Isobel turned to further muddle Tristan’s head with her most radiant, grateful smile. He leaned in to kiss her but missed when she turned back to his father.

“That is most kind. And let me also thank ye fer the goods ye have sent over the years. I did not know they were from ye, but they helped in some of our most difficult times.”

The laird nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable, as though he’d been caught being soft. Not that everyone didn’t already know, but none would dare accuse the mighty Devil MacGregor of having a heart. Tristan was glad he saw it now. He was glad they had finally spoken about things that had been hidden for so long. Mostly, he was glad that he had room in his heart to love with equal measure the two men who raised him. He had dressed himself as the fool for so long, always afraid of never
being the man his uncle was, afraid he could never be the warrior he thought his father wanted him to be.

But even warriors had honor.

His wound had been healed. And he had Isobel to thank for it.

“Tamas sleeps,” he noted with enough enthusiasm in his voice to give him away—at least to Isobel. “Isobel and I will bring him to his bed.”

The blush that stole over her cheeks as Tristan stood to his feet, pulling her along with him, drew the attention of one other Highlander at the table.

“Since when,” Will asked him with a teasing quirk of his brow when Tristan rounded the table to gather Tamas into his arms, “d’ye need an excuse to leave the table fer other pursuits?”

The challenge that sparked Tristan’s eyes drew a rueful smile from Rob, who knew all too well what was coming. Tristan might have set his feet on the right path, but he was still Tristan.

“Mayhap the question ye should be askin’ is why my pursuits have always left ye as ye are now, Will, caressin’ a drink rather than a lass.” He offered his cousin a rapier-sharp smirk and a slight bow. “Dinna’ fear, with me gone and a wee bit of fortune on yer side, what I leave behind can be yers.”

“Ye are a devil!” Isobel told him as they left the hall.

“Nae, my lovely, I am the Devil’s son.” He looked down at Tamas, asleep in his arms, and kissed the boy’s forehead. “And if good fortune still loves me, we shall take great pleasure in tryin’ to make one of our own.”

A
fter putting Tamas into bed, Tristan waited by the open door while Isobel tucked her brother in. He held his hand out to her when she was done and waited for her to take it. When she did, he swept her into the hall and waved his other arm across his waist, offering her the path to his room.

“So gallant are we about it, then?” Isobel cut him a hooded glance.

“Is it gallant to admit that all I want to do right now”—with a flick of his wrist, he twirled her on her slippers, gracefully ending up behind her—“is look at ye from this angle?”

He felt himself go hard at the perfect roundness of her bottom. It wasn’t a good condition to be caught in, standing in the corridor, wearing a plaid with no breeches beneath. He didn’t help matters by imagining himself bending her over his bed and taking her from behind. She turned to look at him just as he tucked his erection beneath his belt.

“Trust me when I tell ye, lass”—his smoldering gaze
captured hers when she lifted it from his hands—“there’s nothin’ gallant aboot what I want to do to ye.”

“Then perhaps I should quicken my pace,” she replied in a sultry tone that snapped across his back like a whip.

He lunged for her and the nearest door. He was done waiting.

“This is the solar! Tristan!” She gasped when he slammed the bolt home. “What are ye doing?”

“I’m lockin’ ye in,” he said, rounding on her.

She giggled, but he could detect the thread of fear in her voice. “Still, someone might come.”

He stalked her around a chair. “The danger makes yer blood run quicker, does it no’?” ’Tis a wee bit more thrillin’, aye?”

“Should I be afraid of ye, then?”

“Aye.” He tossed his belt to the floor and shrugged out of his plaid. “Ye should.”

She made a dash for the other side of the solar, but he caught her and held her flat against the wall. “I will have ye here, Isobel.” He locked her wrists over her head with one hand. “Right now.”

“Ye will force me to scream.” She closed her eyes, exposing her throat to his sensual bite. Her bosom heaved against his chest.

“I intend to make ye scream mightily.” Dipping low, he molded his thighs to the hollow curve between her legs. He pressed the flagrant hardness of his body against her and pulled the neckline of her gown down to expose the fullness of her breasts. He bent his knees, careful to keep his weight against her, and licked a fiery path to her nipple. He spent little time there, though, too eager to have her.

Grasping handfuls of her gown, he yanked the wool up over her hips, rising with it to impale her against the wall.

He paused for a brief moment to bask in her quick surrender, and then he drove himself into her with such force her feet left the floor.

“Who says ye are not a warrior?” she grunted with him as he tore himself into her.

“Hell, woman, ye drive me mad.” He bore her against the wall with the strength of his kiss and the hard thrusts of his body, lifting her legs around his waist to deepen his powerful lunges.

“I meant to take ye from another direction,” he breathed into her mouth, then laughed softly against it. “Later.” He filled her to her womb with his torrential release and then plundered her further, until she screamed his name and shook in his arms with her rapture.

A shout from the battlements pulled Isobel from her slumber the next day. She opened her eyes, blissfully aware of every part of her body and nothing else. After Tristan had made love to her in the solar, he carried her to his bed and made love to her all night until they finally fell asleep locked in each other’s arms, too exhausted to move. She spread her palm over his pillow now and wondered where he was. The sunlight glaring through the windows told her it was midmorning.

Midmorning? She sat up. Dear God, she was getting married today! She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her kirtle and shift. Her eyes widened at the sight of the emerald gown laid neatly over a chair in the corner. She rose and went to it slowly. It was the most exquisitely beautiful gown she had ever laid eyes on. She reached for it, but a sharp knock on the door startled her.

“Isobel!” Cameron called from the other side.

“A moment!” She rushed back to the bed and dressed
as quickly as she could in her shift and kirtle. “Come in, Cam.”

The door burst open and her brother’s face broke into a wide grin. “Isobel, a boat approaches. It is our brothers! Make haste! They were about to dock when I came to fetch ye.” He raced back out of the room, leaving her there, stunned.

Patrick was here? Lachlan and John? Oh, how she missed them! Without bothering to slip into her shoes, she hiked up her skirts and ran out of the room and down the stairs.

She reached the shoreline of the nearby bay just as the small boat docked.

“That’s John MacGregor of Stronachlacher rowin’,” Angus told the Chief beside him. “Fool ought to know no’ to come in this way wi’oot a banner.”

Isobel didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, but followed Tamas into the water and practically leaped into Patrick’s arms as he stepped out. Oh, it was so good to see them again! Lachlan and John looked a bit pale, what with the row of Highlanders staring at them, all bearing weapons, but their fears subsided when they saw that their sister was well. Alex was with them, and Isobel embraced him next.

“When did ye return from England?” she asked him. He didn’t answer but glared over her shoulder.

“Patrick!” Tristan joined them with a wide grin and took his arm. “What are ye doin’ here?”

“The better question,” Alex snarled, “is what is
she
doing here?”

Isobel was thankful that Tristan kept his smile intact while he scooped John up in his arms. “Did ye miss me, then, John?”

John’s grin was so wide even the dangerous warriors behind them had to smile.

“Isobel,” Alex snapped at her. “I wish to have a word with ye in private.”

“The solar mayhap?” Tristan offered glibly.

Goodness, but he made her blush at the worst times! “Of course, Alex,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “There is much we have to discuss. We will go to the Great Hall.”

“How’s my brother Colin?” Tristan asked him as Alex passed.

“He split my lip.”

“I feared he might. I hated leavin’ ye with him.”

Isobel yanked her brother’s arm when he moved toward Tristan. “Are ye that much of a fool?” she hissed. “Look around ye. Lift yer hand to him and ye will be minus an arm.”