Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2) Page 4

  He truly was magnificent.

  He breathed hard, his broad, well-muscled chest rising and falling as if he’d just finished the leaping, whirling dance she must’ve missed. The same wind that cloaked him in smoke and mist tossed his mane of rich auburn hair. And the blaze of the fires made his skin gleam like burnished bronze. His golden Thor’s hammer glinted at his throat and the blue kill-marks adorning his powerful arms and his chest seemed almost alive, each jagged slash challenging anyone to doubt his fierceness.

  Isobel’s heart thundered.

  A blush swept up her neck, staining her cheeks. Gloriously warlike, he looked ready to stand at Thor’s side, fighting with the irascible Viking god at Ragnarok, the great battle at the end of the world that every Norseman knew would someday bring the Doom of the Gods. Kendrew’s arms would be thick with gold rings of valor, his face fierce as he fought with all the Berserker rage of his race. The image came to her clearly, everything feminine in her responding to him and the heritage she prized so dearly.

  Could she ever desire any other man after seeing him here tonight?

  Sure she couldn’t, she stayed in shadow, content for the moment to simply watch him.

  As she did, the mist and smoke shifted, letting her glimpse a wicked scar that slashed down his abdomen. The scar was a remnant of the trial by combat. A cut he’d suffered at the hands of Alasdair MacDonald near the battle’s end. She winced to think how close Kendrew had come to losing a part of him that all men prized so highly.

  Women, too, she knew.

  Caught in that age-old attraction, she wasn’t surprised to feel ripples of appreciation begin to spill through her. Delicious currents of shivery female need spooling low in her belly as blood rushed in her ears. Her pulse grew so loud that she could hardly hear the thunder of the Mackintosh warriors’ spear ends beating against stone.

  Even the scream of the pipes seemed to fade, everything around her whirling away, including the cries of the many half-naked couples writhing in carnal ecstasy on the ground. Isobel’s flush deepened, her awareness of the frolicking pairs adding to her inner heat and discomfiture. The open lovemaking both embarrassed and aroused her. But she kept her gaze on her heart’s desire, her senses igniting until nothing else existed except Kendrew, so proud and magnificent, as he looked around, surveying the celebrations.

  He hadn’t yet seen her.

  And when one of the women mating beneath the dreagan cairn nearest to Isobel tipped back her head and released a throaty cry of bliss, Isobel almost turned and hastened back the way she’d come.

  She might want Kendrew.

  But she wanted him for her husband.

  She gulped as her gaze flicked over the scene of pagan debauchery. She wasn’t sure he’d even glance at her with so many unclothed, willing women flitting about the great mounds of stones. Firelight gilded them, displaying their charms to advantage as they roamed about, seeking to entice new partners for vigorous tumbles in the heather.

  The women were notably alluring. Females of skill and experience who’d come in from distant hills and moorlands to indulge in a good night’s trade at the Mackintoshes’ Midsummer revels.

  It was a fest known for such delights.

  Vibrant, beautiful, and lusty, they were joy women who made Isobel feel like a dim gray shadow. Her midnight tresses suddenly struck her as uninspired against so many flame-haired females, their unbound hair shining brighter than the bonfires. And although the other women were voluptuous, she doubted a single one came up to her chin. Their smaller stature made her feel clumsy and over-large. Kendrew would be a fool to waste such an enchanted night on her. Yet she’d come here with such hope.

  Isobel frowned, not sure what she could do if he didn’t notice her.

  And if he did, would he find her lacking?

  She was a virgin.

  She didn’t even know how to kiss.

  “Kendrew!” A big, burly man tossed Kendrew a spear, laughing when he caught it midair and quickly took up the rhythmic stone-pounding, beating the spear end on top of Slag’s Mound.

  Kendrew grinned. He gripped the spear with enthusiasm, the merriment in his eyes setting off a flurry within her. Her doubts fled, replaced by something wondrous. A sensation that made her feel soft and warm inside, thrilling in a different way from the tummy flutters caused by catching a glimpse at his nakedness.

  His smile showed her his soul.

  And her heart split wide at the intimacy.

  She understood the longing to uphold and honor the old Viking ways. The same Nordic blood flowed in her veins and, more than anyone she knew save Kendrew, she felt deeply bound to her heritage.

  Sharing that bond with Kendrew was her dream.

  A goal that meant as much to her as sealing glen peace with their union.

  Their appreciation of northern ways would enrich their lives. She could feel their connection, even here in the shadows at the edge of the dreagan stones. The feeling was so strong that she wanted to hurry past the other cairns and scramble up onto Slag’s Mound, capturing his attention. Once she did, she’d make him see how perfect they were for each other. But she remained where she stood, simply enjoying how his exuberance thrummed the air.

  His passion beat around her, as much a part of the night as the stones and mist, the luminous silver sky. Surely twice the size of most men, he looked even larger up on the cairn. But it was his grin that made her path irrevocable, ruining her for all others.

  She could love him so easily. Doing so would be as natural as breathing.

  So she placed a hand on her heart and took a few steps toward the center of the dreagan vale and the high, stone-built mound.

  “Odin!” Kendrew threw back his head then and roared the Norse god’s name. “We honor you with our revels!” He raised the spear high, shaking it at the heavens. “Bless us this night and throughout the coming year!”

  “Odin, Odin!” Everywhere, Mackintosh warriors took up the cry.

  The pounding of spears on stone rang in the cold night air, the sound deafening, primordial.

  Isobel felt the festival’s magic building, the intensity of ancient, long-simmering powers. She watched Kendrew, every part of her tingling, fired with excitement.

  The blowing mist and smoke swirled so thick now that she could hardly see more than his outline, big, powerful, and edged dark against the lighter gray of the haze. He kept the spear above his head as he shouted Odin’s praise, his passion making blood scream in Isobel’s ears. Her pulse roared, matching the beat of the spears, the flexing of Kendrew’s arm as he thrust the spear heavenward.

  She bit her lip, her world spinning until nothing existed except the two of them and the night’s magic.

  She knew she was breaking every rule she was supposed to live by.

  She didn’t care.

  It’d been reckless to come here.

  His nearness caused wild sensations to whirl inside her. Darts of pleasure danced between her legs, awakening her as a woman. The delicious tingles chased her modesty, urging her to be bold.

  “Oh, dear…” She took a few backward steps, withdrawing into the deeper gloom, away from the entwined couples rolling on the grass nearby.

  Sheltered by a cairn’s shadow, she lifted her hands to her cloak pin, undoing the clasp.

  I can do this… She kept the vow silent, willing courage to pour through her as she removed her mantle. It was her best, deep sapphire of lightest wool and lined with silk of the same dazzling color. She folded the cloak with care, setting it on a large stone.

  Straightening, she smoothed the fine blue silk of her gown. She ran her hands down over her hips and then adjusted the perilously low cut of the garment’s bodice. Wind helped her temptation plan, cooperatively molding the gown’s fluid folds to her curves.

  She might as well be naked.

  How startling that the notion excited rather than embarrassed her.

  No man had ever gazed upon her unclothed skin.

  Yet…


  Heart racing, she put back her shoulders and moved deeper into the narrow vale, heading straight for Slag’s Mound. If she meant to catch Kendrew’s eye, she’d need to be quick. Three barely clad women were already gathered beneath the cairn, vying for his attention. He paid them no heed, still shouting Odin’s praise and thumping the long spear’s end against the cairn stones. Growing bolder, one of the women lifted her breasts, calling his name.

  “O-o-oh, Kendrew…” the woman trilled, “these be sweeter than anything in Valhalla.”

  Isobel felt a stab of resentment. She could never be so brazen, so direct. She preferred winning her man with a bit more finesse. Even so, she inhaled sharply, annoyance tightening her chest.

  Bent on seduction, the other woman plucked on her bodice’s already-loosened laces. With the ease of much practice, she pulled open her gown, revealing her eye-popping bosom in all its ripe glory.

  “Oh, dear.” Isobel stepped faster, scarcely aware of the wind that had just torn the last ribbon from her hair. Her braids unraveled and her hip-length tresses spilled over her shoulders and down her back, swinging free as she hurried towards the man she wasn’t of a mind to share with anyone.

  She knew they were a perfect match.

  Soon – she hoped – he’d believe the same.

  Even so, she felt a flutter of nerves as she nipped around the mound of stones, hot on the trail of the three skirling, hip-swaying women. Slag’s Mound was immense, the largest of the dreagan cairns. Its great height cast a wedge of purple-black gloom so dense that Kendrew might not even see her if she jumped about waving her arms. Her rivals apparently felt the same, sashaying out of the murk even as Isobel stepped deeper into the cairn’s shadow.

  Frowning, she hitched her skirts and hurried on, only to hear a sudden skitter of stone and feel a whoosh of air as Kendrew jumped down from the cairn, landing right in front of her.

  “Sweet, bonnie lass.” He looked at her, his eyes alight with a bold recklessness that made her pulse leap. He didn’t show a hint of recognition.

  In the gloom of Slag’s Mound, he didn’t know her.

  Isobel crushed a twinge of disappointment. She hadn’t wanted him to recognize her. Not at first, anyway. Her plan was to captivate and then win his heart before her name could sour him.

  Still…

  She’d helped tend his wounds after the trial by combat. It rankled to think he’d forgotten her. Or else the cairn’s shadow and the whirling mist hid her face better than she would have thought.

  She also didn’t know where to look.

  The mist and smoke cloaked him well, yet standing so close to her, his nakedness was startling. She could feel his masculinity wrapping round her, dark, intimate, and almost predatory. His scent, so virile and male, made her senses reel. Delicious tingles stirred low in her belly, warming and exciting her.

  As if he knew, his smile turned wicked. “Are you one of Odin’s handmaidens, come down from Valhalla to tempt me?” His tone was teasing, the words bold. “If so I am yours.”

  “I-” Isobel blinked, nerves stealing her tongue.

  He grinned, stepping closer. “Say you are mine.”

  She nodded, stunning by her daring.

  Looking pleased, he tossed aside the long spear and snatched a discarded plaid off a clump of heather. He slung the plaid across his shoulder, as if he knew the proud sweep of its folds would only enhance his powerfully muscled chest. His eyes glinted in the smoky air, his gaze sweeping her from the tumbled disorder of her hair to where she still held the hem of her gown hitched above her knees.

  “You take my breath.” His voice was low and deep, full of appreciation. “I knew this would be a Midsummer Eve like no other.”

  Isobel stood frozen. She knew hot color blazed on her cheeks, but hoped the shadows were deep enough so he wouldn’t notice.

  She couldn’t speak.

  Every witty and seductive quip she’d tried to memorize on the trek here vanished as if her mind were filled with bog cotton.

  “Where have you been all the e’en?” His gaze was on her face now, his eyes dark with passion. She could feel his nearness, burning her like a physical touch. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, deepening into a grin that made her heart flip. “If you’re no’ from Valhalla, are you one o’ the lasses up from Rannoch Moor?”

  Isobel knew he meant the light-skirts known to flock to Nought’s Midsummer ribaldries.

  It was whispered he journeyed often to Rannoch Moor.

  Isobel’s entire body flushed at the thought. By the way the joy women cooed and preened, she was sure Kendrew was a welcome visitor to their beds. Everyone knew they were accomplished sirens, able to deplete a man with a flick of their knowledgeable fingers, a single sultry glance. Herself… She still couldn’t get her tongue to work properly. Worse, her heart seemed to have leapt to her throat, lodging there so that even breathing proved difficult.

  “I didnae see you earlier.” His voice deepened, the rich timbre rumbling though her, melting her. “For sure, I would’ve noticed.”

  “I…” She touched her ambers, taking comfort in the stones’ cool stillness. Catriona’s enchanted necklace didn’t see him as a threat.

  Their approval gave her courage. “I came late. It took a while for me to get here.”

  That was true.

  She just didn’t say where she’d started her journey.

  To her surprise he frowned, his gaze flicking to the jagged cliffs soaring above the cook fires where whole oxen were roasting on spits. “You’ll no’ have trekked through the glen on your own?”

  “I know the glen well.” Isobel couldn’t keep the pride from her voice.

  Kendrew’s face remained somber. “It is a fair place. But not without dangers.” Once more, his gaze went beyond the cook fires. “Peril is known to follow lasses as beautiful as you, especially on nights when spirits are high and the mead flows so freely.”

  “I wanted to see you.” The truth slipped past Isobel’s lips.

  “So you did, aye?” He stepped closer, so near she could feel the heat pouring off the hard muscles of his big body. “And now I see you. Your creamy breasts tempting me” – he let his gaze dip there, then lower – “and the curve of your hips.

  “I would see more of you.” He touched her cheek, his arm brushing lightly against the side of her breast.

  His caress sent streams of pleasure through her. The graze of his arm against her breast made the silk of her gown pull across her nipples, the friction almost unbearable. Her body warmed, her skin tingling as her senses came alive with awareness.

  “Will you be on the stones again?” It was all she could think to say.

  He shook his head, his eyes locked on hers. “I think not.”

  Isobel bit her lip. It was clear that he also didn’t recall her voice

  He did want her. Desire rolled off him, thick and potent. Even the air between them sizzled. There was no doubt that she intrigued him. More than that, he was hungry for her. She could see that in his eyes. She thrilled to the knowledge, eager to feel his arms slide around her.

  Isobel swallowed, wondering how long she could keep his attention before he remembered her. If they moved away from the cairn’s shadow, he surely would. She couldn’t let that happen yet. She also didn’t brush back her hair, allowing the wind-whipped strands shield her face. She detested deceit, but she had to get close to Kendrew.

  He repeatedly refused her brother’s invitations to Castle Haven.

  This was her only chance.

  Every moment that stretched between the battle and now flashed across her mind. Loyalties and honor weighed down on her even as hope beat wildly in her breast.

  She couldn’t fail.

  She’d entered into a sworn pact, even kissed the sacred bloom of white heather, vowing to seal glen peace by wedding an enemy chieftain. She’d chosen Kendrew. Her heart had swiftly agreed, knowing no other man would please her more. If she could tempt him now, making him
want her so fiercely her name wouldn’t matter…

  Her palms went damp at her daring.

  He held her gaze. “I’ve no need to return to the stones. The gods have blessed me well this night.” The look in his eyes made her feel desired. “In truth, they’ve ne’er been so good to me.”

  A twinge of guilt stabbed her.

  Not that she was actually tricking him. The temptation of Kendrew Mackintosh was good and necessary. It was something he’d thank her for later. After she’d had a chance to entice and bewitch him, winning his heart before he thought to guess her clan allegiance.

  She just wished he’d grab her and kiss her, quickly before she lost her nerve.

  Instead, he did what she’d most dreaded.

  He asked her name.

  * * *

  And as he did, a small party of mailed, thick-bearded men looked on from the shelter of a thrusting outcrop beyond the cook-fires. Armed with swords, shields, and spears, they ignored the tantalizing smell of roasting meat that kept drifting past on the wind. Their noses twitched with the scent of something much more tempting.

  “She’s the Cameron’s sister.” One of the spearman, a tall brute with shaggy black hair and a broken nose, pointed his spear in Isobel’s direction. “She-”

  “I told you her name back at the Rodan Stone when the bitch looked right at you.” Ralla the Victorious, so named because he’d never lost a fight, used his own spear to knock down the other man’s weapon. “She is a maid of rank and riches. And” – he flashed another look at her – “we’ll no’ be touching her this night.”

  Tor, the black-haired man with the crooked nose, bent to snatch up his fallen spear. “Thon amber necklace she wears is worth more than the coin-hoard promised us for this night’s work.”

  A third man spat on the ground. “I’d like to see her brother’s face if we sent him that necklace wrapped around her severed neck.”

  “And what would happen then?” Ralla couldn’t believe his men’s stupidity.