Highlander Unchained (11 page)

She couldn’t breathe.

For the first time in her life, Flora felt truly vulnerable. Not because she thought he would hurt her, but because of the undeniable intimacy of the moment. No man had ever seen her like this.

She was nearly naked. The thin piece of linen was wrapped around her and slung low over her breasts. She struggled to hide behind the damp piece of fabric, but it was useless. It clung to her, revealing every inch of her body to his smoldering gaze.

He looked impossibly handsome. His hair, still damp from bathing, slumped across his face and curled roguishly at his collar. He’d shaved, but the rough stubble of his beard still shadowed the hard lines of his jaw and chin. The thin scars that crossed his nose and cheek emphasized his rough warrior’s appeal. Rough, but not brutish. A fresh linen shirt stretched over the broad, powerful chest, and a silver brooch secured the plaid that he’d wrapped over his shoulder. He was tall and strong and unbearably masculine. But all she could think about was how he’d tasted and the seductive heat of his mouth on hers. A shiver swept over her.

She wanted to order him to leave, but her words strangled in her throat. For a moment she’d passed into a dream realm, where nothing seemed real.

“God, you’re beautiful.” His voice was deep and ragged. It wasn’t the most poetic compliment she’d ever received, but it pleased her more than any that had come before. And it was the only one that had made her body tingle and then hum with awareness.

His eyes darkened, and the muscle in his jaw began to twitch. She felt a prickle of alarm, realizing he was holding himself by a very thin thread. No man had ever looked at her like this. Hungry. Starving. As if she were a succulent dish and he’d like nothing better than to gobble her up.

“Get out,” she finally managed, though her voice shook. “You don’t belong here. This is my room.”
My sanctuary.
And he was invading it, making it his. Leaving her nowhere to hide. “You must leave.” Her voice rose in panic. “Now!”

Lachlan’s mouth went dry. He’d lost the ability of rational thought. Leave? He couldn’t move his feet, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

The body he’d fantasized about had been revealed in full naked splendor. Or as good as naked, with the little that swath of linen did to hide her from his gaze. Her skin was creamy perfection. She was lean and soft in all the right places. Her breasts rose full and high above a tiny waist and curvy hips. Her legs were long and slim, with gently defined muscles. He could even see the peak of her pale pink nipples. Small and tight and begging for his kiss.

And before she’d turned…

He’d been mesmerized by the long golden tendrils of damp hair tumbling down her back. He’d wanted to use his tongue to catch the rivulets of water that slid down the sleek curve of her spine to the soft swell of her perfectly round bottom. A bottom that would nestle against his groin perfectly as he slid into her from behind.

He couldn’t tear his gaze from her.

The response of his body was visceral, a primal urge so intense it made every muscle in his body clench with restraint. His hands were fisted into tight balls at his side, his shoulders tensed, and sweat gathered on his brow. He was pulled as tight as a bow, ready to spring.

First the kiss, now this torture. His control had never been put to such a test. Made all the worse because he knew she was his.

In one swift motion, he could remove the cloth and put his hands on all that creamy soft skin. Bury his face between her heavy round breasts and slide his tongue over the soft peak of her nipple until it tightened in his mouth.

He wanted to run his tongue down the flat plane of her stomach, put his hands on that soft round bottom, and sink his head between her legs. Tasting the very essence of her. Licking and sucking until she exploded against him in helpless abandon. Aye, he wanted her helpless. Helpless for anything but him.

“Please,” she repeated. “Go.”

He didn’t answer, but dropped the box that he’d been carrying and took a step toward her.

She took a step back, but with her back to the window, there was nowhere to go.

She eyed him warily. For the first time, he saw uncertainty in her gaze.

The air was thick and heavy between them, his desire almost palpable, but she was shivering from cold and was still wet from her bath. He thought of how hot he could make her. And how much wetter. Instinctively, he reached out.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as his fingers trailed down the smooth expanse of her throat, over her collarbone, to the lush swell of her breast. With the back of his finger he outlined the heavy curve of her breast. Her nipple hardened, and he felt a surge of blood to his loins so strong, he nearly jerked.

Mine.
The voice was loud and clear as a wave of possessiveness gripped him hard.

Her cheeks flooded with heat. He’d embarrassed her. He could see the confusion in her gaze. She didn’t know what was happening to her body. He might be ready for this, but she wasn’t. He knew her reaction to their kiss had scared her. Hell, it had scared him.

“Please…,” she whispered, her voice raw.

He could take that soft plea either way…please yes or please no.

God’s blood, she was the devil of temptation.

He dropped his hand and stepped away, knowing he had to stop. His body hammered with need, but he didn’t want to frighten her. She was a damn virgin. And what he wanted to do with her right now would put a blush on a hardened harlot.

Lachlan was a man of prodigious appetites, and he believed in holding nothing back. When they came together, it would be hot and hard and raw. There was not a part of her that he would leave uncovered or unexplored. Patience in matters of lust was not something he was used to. Soon.

Shifting his gaze, he motioned to the box. “I brought you something for this evening. We do not have much occasion for such finery at Drimnin. But it is yours; I thought you should have it.”

Flora glanced at the box beside the bed. She momentarily forgot her embarrassment, and her eyes lit up. “My gown!” She turned back to him with confusion in her gaze. “But how?”

He shrugged. “I suspected what it was and thought you might have need of it.”

She studied him keenly, as if he’d unwittingly revealed something. “That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“I’ll send Morag up to help you. But do not dally,” he said gruffly, uncomfortable with what he saw in her eyes. It suddenly felt as if he were the one naked.

He turned and strode to the door, not trusting himself to look at her again. If he did, he didn’t know if he’d be able to leave. Flora MacLeod’s virginity hung by a very thin thread. He had more reasons than ever to hasten the wedding. Sooner or later, she would be his. But any more run-ins like this one, and it would be sooner.

Where was she?

Lachlan took a long drink of
cuirm,
his gaze fixed on the entry. From his seat at the high table—though there was nothing as formal as a dais—he could keep his eyes fixed on the door opposite him and still have a good view of the rest of the festivities. The room was crammed full, every available seat filled with his clansmen clad in their colorful plaids. The entire castle—depleted though it was by the absence of so many of his people who remained trapped on Coll—had gathered tonight for the first feast in a very long time. Since well before his brother had been imprisoned, he realized. The pipers were piping, the ale was flowing, the hall was blazing with candles. But they were still waiting.

He’d left her room almost an hour ago, and despite his warning, she’d yet to appear. He wouldn’t put it past her to tarry just to spite him.

God’s blood,
the woman was proving an unexpected challenge. In more ways than one. He’d expected a spoiled, headstrong girl and discovered instead a complex woman unlike any he’d ever met. Confident, determined, and strong, yet also oddly vulnerable. One whose kiss roused strange feelings in him and whose body…He took another swig, trying to dull the vivid picture that sprang to mind. Of legs that went on forever, a bottom made for cupping, and breasts sculpted for a man’s fantasies. He tried to thrust the image away, but he knew the sight of her sumptuous form wrapped in transparent linen would be imprinted on his consciousness for a long time.

He dreaded sleep. The long, dark hours stretched out endlessly before him, with nothing for relief but his hand to combat the taunting erotic images of her naked above him, those lush breasts bouncing with the frantic rhythm of their lovemaking as she rode him hard. He got tight and heavy just thinking about it.

Damn, he needed a woman.
He was tempted to seek out his leman tonight after all. Seonaid sat across the room, staring at him with reproachful hurt in her gaze. He owed her an explanation, at least. And perhaps more.

He was wound so tight, he needed a little release.

But all thoughts of another woman fled when Flora entered the room. The breath left him as he caught sight of the achingly beautiful woman heading toward him. She possessed such a regal grace; she seemed to be walking on air. Her golden hair caught the flickering light, shimmering like an ethereal haze around her.

The room, boisterous and raucous before, suddenly hushed.

It was at once clear to him, as it was to every person in this room, that she did not belong here. The humble keep of Drimnin was a poor backdrop for such magnificence.

She wore a gold brocade French gown with a low square neckline and tight bodice. The contrasting sleeves and forepart were of ivory silk embroidered in gold and encrusted with hundreds of tiny pearls. The farthingale was relatively tame by court standards, as was the soft ruff that framed her face. Her long blond locks had been twisted into some complicated arrangement that he was sure Morag had never attempted before. The overall effect was stunning—heightened by the fact that he knew exactly what was hidden underneath.

But it also served to illustrate the wide gap between them. The cost of her ensemble probably could have fed his entire clan for months.

For the first time, Lachlan experienced a moment of uncertainty. Convincing her to marry him might be a bit more difficult than he’d anticipated. She was one of the wealthiest women in the kingdom, and a woman used to the splendor and riches of court. He was a Highland chief who’d been under constant attack since he was a lad. His clan had had to struggle through more lean years than he’d like to recall. He was a fighter, a warrior. Nothing like the polished popinjays she was used to. He’d been too busy fighting to attend Tounis College in Edinburgh, as many of his Highland counterparts had, and he’d avoided court like the plague. How was he going to convince her to forsake such riches for the simple Highland way of life?

But as quick as the flash of uncertainty came, it went. Replaced by renewed determination. The battle would not be easily won, but it would be won. By him. There was no other choice. Just as he’d fended off her brother’s attacks for years, he would use the tools he had at his disposal. What he lacked in wealth and education, he made up for in wit and cunning.

She was not indifferent to him. He thought of her response to his kiss, the way her body had instinctively reacted to his touch. No, not indifferent at all. Attraction could be a powerful weapon. If wooing didn’t work, seduction just might. Whatever it took, just as long as she agreed.

He stood as she neared. Their eyes met. The memory of that heated moment in her room flared full force between them. She was remembering it, too. The sudden pinkening of her cheeks gave her away. With a slight gesture of his hand, he indicated for her to take the seat beside him.

Gilly, who was seated on his other side, spoke first.

“You look beautiful, Flora.”

The longing in his sister’s voice hit him hard, angering him. A resplendent Flora forced him to confront what he could not give his sisters.

“Thank you, Gilly.” She gave him a sidelong glance, as if seeking his approval.

He looked her over appraisingly. “We’ve been waiting.”

Her cheeks flushed hotter, and he could swear he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes. “I came as fast as I could. Morag is not experienced with this type of clothing, and I usually have two maidservants to help me dress.” Before he could respond, she added, “I’m not criticizing, simply pointing out that donning a gown like this is not a simple matter.”

He eyed her carefully. “I can see that.”

A delicate frown marred her lovely features. Tiny lines appeared between her brows. He felt a strange urge to rub them away with the pad of his thumb. But his finger would be too rough and unwieldy on such baby soft skin.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn it. The gown you provided for me upon my arrival is more appropriate.”

She was self-conscious, he realized. Lachlan felt a stab of guilt. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t provide such finery for his sisters.

“You look fine,” he said gruffly.

Her eyes danced with amusement. “Why, that sounded almost like a compliment,” she exclaimed with exaggerated surprise. “If you go on like this, that silver tongue of yours will make the bards weep with envy.”

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. The lass had a dry wit. “I’ll remember that and try not to get carried away.” She returned his smile, and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the shared moment of camaraderie.

She glanced around, looking down the table. “Where’s Mary?”

His smile fell. “She wasn’t feeling well. She asked to take her meal in her room.”

Flora’s eyes lit with concern. She put her hands on the table as if she intended to stand up. “Is she ill? Perhaps I should check on her?”

He covered her hand with his, immediately conscious of how small and soft it was under his. He’d acted unconsciously but realized it was a possessive gesture. And a strangely intimate one. The simple touch of his hand had forged a surprisingly strong connection.

“She’s fine,” he assured her. “I’m sure she’ll be recovered by tomorrow.” At least he hoped she would be. He thought of the tearstained face that had stared at him as if he were the cruelest person on earth. As if he’d just stepped on the tail of her favorite puppy. He shook it off. Mary was young, she would recover.