For the Highlander's Pleasure (3 page)

If nothing else, he wished to lean closer just to inhale deeply. He had not wanted to indulge himself while his quest for vengeance loomed. But after this meal, he began to think he would never be able to focus on his mission until he indulged himself as thoroughly as possible with Lady Violet.

“Your food does not please you?” he asked her once the earl had fallen into a wine-induced stupor. He could soothe his curiosity if not his lust.

She’d eaten little when she waved over a server to declare herself finished.

“The talk of a killing in the forest does not inspire my appetite,” she announced, tugging hard on the neck cloth she couldn’t seem to keep in place.

The thin fabric unsettled a silver butterfly brooch, the jeweled wing of the decoration hovering over bare skin for a moment. The rapid rise and fall of her chest gave life to the creature as if it had alighted there only briefly. Finn longed to chase it away and replace the cold silver with his mouth, licking a path with his tongue over the delicate wash of color in her skin.

While she had no appetite, it seemed his had shifted to her. Nothing less than a taste of her would assuage the churning hunger that had begun the first moment he’d seen her.

With an effort, he dragged his eyes up to meet her gray gaze.

“I will deliver your people from this scourge,” he assured her, wishing she would at least sit still long enough for him to concentrate on something else besides the compelling scent of her.

And the memory of her baring creamy, full breasts to a fast-rushing stream…

“Aye, but at what cost?” she asked, keeping her voice low in deference to her father as the older man began to snore in his roasted pheasant. “The forest is full of the poor and outcast who have done nothing wrong save failing to feed their families. How will your sword determine who is guilty of more serious crimes and who has merely stolen a few loaves of bread to stave off starvation for another sennight?”

Was this the source of her concern? Did the lady possess a tender heart to deliver secret food stores to the forest dwellers? He wondered how much she knew of the crimes that went on in her father’s lands.

“My blade will seek only those who warrant it.” His conversation with the earl had reinforced his belief that the rogue knight who’d killed Finn’s brother had taken refuge near Caladan. Though the body that had appeared at the forest’s edge lacked the stab wounds that had marked Fergus’s body, the local victim had had the same unnatural paleness in his skin. Fergus’s body had not showed the unusual signs until hours after his death, alerting Finn too late that his brother had been murdered by means more foul than a mere enemy blade.

“As a foreigner to our lands, how will you know the difference?” Her intent expression revealed more than polite interest.

Lady Violet was worried about someone in the forest. An outcast? A banished lover, perhaps? The thought rankled with surprising force.

“You wish to protect an exile?” He lowered his voice, shifting closer so they would not be overheard by the servers and musicians that drifted in and out of the hall. A maid with a lute warbled softly while the earl slept.

She stood abruptly, her shoulders stiff with offense, or at least a good pretense of it.

“I bid you good-night, sir. The keep is small, but there is a chamber at the top of the west tower. One of the servers will show you the way.”

This was a conquering hero’s welcome? No wonder nary a Lowlander had answered the earl’s call. They must know that Lady Violet was a hard-hearted lass. Unlike Finn, however, they did not know she possessed a secret, seductive side that would make her well worth pursuing. Either that, or perhaps they knew she secretly pined for some ne’er-do-well who had been cast out of the keep.

He shoved back from the table, refusing to let her run off to her chamber and hide. Or worse, send a warning to whomever she hoped to protect in that forest surrounding Caladan.

“I would prefer you accompany me.” He told himself it was because he needed to watch over her tonight in case she tried to send a missive outside the keep. But he recognized a strong desire to be the one to thaw this woman’s chilly exterior and experience that inner heat he’d glimpsed earlier.

Him. No one else.

“Sir, I do not think that would be—”

“I believe you owe me at least this one small courtesy after you spoke falsely to me this afternoon.”

She arched an eyebrow, as if taking his measure anew.

“I believe I was a bit too courteous already.” She laid her fingers lightly upon his arm, cautious with her touch as she lowered her voice. “By chance alone, it seems I have bestowed more
favors
upon you than I have on any other man.”

She blushed as she reminded him of his unexpected glimpse of her bare breasts. Her glare reminded him that she had not bestowed those favors willingly. Her honesty took him by surprise.

And yet…
ahh
. The memory. He’d smile forever at that one captured moment in time.

When her hand slid from his sleeve, he followed her from the great hall, plucking a torch from the wall for their journey through the dark and drafty keep. Loose stone crunched under his boot as he stepped, and the scant tapestries hung limp with time and dust.

“I did not plan it thus, Lady Violet.” He caught up so he had an excuse to take her arm, guiding it through his so he could keep her by his side. “I thought I had stumbled into a fair dream when I spied you in the river. A cold day for bathing, was it not?”

Her nails bit lightly at his sleeve as she took a step on an uneven bit of stone.

“I did not seek the river to bathe,” she began, then shook her head impatiently. “I took a spill from the horse and hoped to rinse off my skirts.”

He remembered the rapturous look upon her face when he’d first spied her. Had his fanciful imagination supplied that facet of his recollection? He certainly hadn’t imagined the time she’d taken to wash the skin beneath her neckline. His breath grew heavy with the want of her as they strode into the darkness, leaving the noise of the musicians and servers in the hall far behind.

“You seemed to enjoy it,” he observed, his words scratching on a hoarse note.

“Nay.” She denied it so adamantly he almost believed her. Certainly he wanted to, as it would ease his hunger not to view her as an eager maid in sore need of a man’s touch.

She stopped suddenly in the silent corridor. A door had appeared in front of them, arising out of the darkness thanks to the torch he carried. He guessed the door hid the staircase and he moved to open it, but she reached out to halt his hand.

“I have led us astray,” she admitted, her eyes avoiding his as her neck cloth slipped down her shoulder once again. “We passed the stairs.”

The view of her unadorned, pale throat captured his attention, drawing his gaze down to the bodice of her gown. A silver brooch held a shawl about her shoulders, but even that was off-center as if she had shifted it about. The rapid beat of her heart would have been evident in the small twitch of a vein at her neck even if he hadn’t felt the thump for himself through the palm of her hand.

“It is sometimes enjoyable to find oneself led astray,” he admitted, knowing he could not resist the temptation she presented.

She shook her head and removed her hand from his. “I did not intend to—”

“You appear feverish.” He sketched a touch across her forehead. Down her temple. Stroked a knuckle along her cheek. “Perhaps that’s why you lingered in the river today. To cool the fever.”

He could soothe the agitation in both of them by skimming away her clothes and plunging between her thighs. He had no doubt the cure would be a pleasure for them both. As he stood so close to her, breathing in her scent and her desire, he wondered if she understood the source. She had to be an untouched maid. Yet her wanton pleasure in baring her body said otherwise.

Or was he simply justifying what he wanted so badly?

“A fever,” she repeated, as if mulling over the idea. She nodded, and his passion-fogged brain wondered if she’d agreed as easily to his idea for a cure. “
That
was the magic.”

Her voice skimmed over his skin like sweet music, her soft confidence an invitation as far as he was concerned. Sharing her fever sounded magical to him. If only for a moment. If only to show a lonely maiden a kind of pleasure she would never know as long as she remained the caretaker of her drunkard father. He would not touch her for himself. He would touch her for her sake.

She looked so very…needy. Yes, that was the word he’d been searching for during the supper meal as Violet had trembled and shifted beside him. Her sweet hunger was so tangible he could all but taste it in the air between them.

“I know the cure for this kind of fever.” To free his hands, he planted the torch in the iron ring upon the stone wall near the door. “’Twill soothe the heat better than any icy stream.”

Eyes widening, she looked to the torch and then back to him again, as if trying to understand why he would linger here. But no—she must know. Her whole body undulated with the answer to her confusion. She practically writhed with need.

Reaching for her waist, he pulled her to him, sealing her body to his. Her breath huffed lightly over his skin as she gasped, but he did not allow this to dissuade him from plundering her mouth for a thoroughly intoxicating taste.

Chapter Three

In her mind, Violet protested.

Certainly she would have disapproved aloud as well, except the part of her brain in charge of cool reason had vanished.

Gently his lips moved over hers. Soft, warm, persuasive. Her heart beat wildly, her limbs immobilized by some alluring curiosity to see what would happen next as his kiss seemed to take complete possession of her.

Finn’s palms rested on her hips steadying her for the tender assault on her mouth. His tongue slid softly along the seam, startling her lips apart.

It seemed that had been his intent, his tongue and his body pressing into her. She might have been frightened by the unexpected invasion except that his every touch brought her exquisite—surprising—pleasure.

’Twas the fault of the herbs. She’d suffered all eve, forced to sit prettily and entertain a guest when her skin burned beneath her gown. And no matter that Finn had sounded like an arrogant knave to claim he knew the cure for what ailed her—apparently he did. Because everywhere he touched sang at the contact.

The fever in her cooled and burned hotter by turns—but this burning was a vast improvement to the nagging discomfort that she’d suffered through the supper hour. Wherever Finn touched—her waist, her back and her hips—melted and softened until she conformed to him. If that hadn’t undone her completely, his kiss robbed her of speech, teaching her a pleasure so wickedly decadent she did not know how she would live down the shame of it once they broke apart.

Arching up on her toes, she savored the moment, since she would have to face the aftermath either way. Surely she could linger just enough to take pleasure in the sweet art of kissing under an expert’s tutelage. And, aye, this man knew what he was about. For all his size and arrogance, he used his tongue with enticingly gentle skill that coaxed her lips apart and made her heart race for more. The stroke and slide of that possessive kiss made her limbs weak with desire.

Need.

A realization washed through her along with the longing.
This
was the cure for Morag’s horrid potion. The wise woman had not given Violet herbs to inspire love. She had prepared some foul mixture that merely produced unbridled lust.

“Nay!” She eased back, breathing hard and barely clinging to her dignity. “I dare not.”

Her chest grazed his with each deep breath. The slight pressure made her breasts tighten beneath her gown, a delicious friction that tempted her to press harder against the virile Highland warrior.

Finn’s eyes glittered in the torchlight with a predatory gleam. Outside, thunder from a spring storm rumbled along the lands and sent a tremor beneath her feet.

“Ignoring it only makes it worse,” he confided, his voice so silken it sent shivers of longing through her. His fingers sifted through the hair at the base of her skull, lightly skimming her neck.

She tipped her head back, seeking more of his touch. Her eyes closed, shutting out everything except the way his hands felt on her. Pleasure tripped through her, taking the place of the burning need until she found herself pressing against him again. His thigh parted hers, a hard, heavy weight between her thighs even though her skirts muted the sensation.

Blindly, she gripped his shoulders, holding him in place. With her eyes shut, she could keep him close another moment without guilt swallowing her up. Just now she needed the relief only he could provide. It was all she could do not to rub her whole body against him like a cat.

“You’re so warm.” He spoke over her skin, his breath a soft whisper along her neck as he bent to kiss her there.

She arched back, curving into him. Inviting whatever he could give her for this moment. His lips trailed kisses lower, claiming the place her wayward neck cloth had once covered. With his teeth, he clamped on the butterfly brooch and tugged it away from her collarbone, exposing more skin.

In a trice, he kissed her high on her chest, licking a path down toward the tightly laced bodice. Down toward one plump swell straining against the fabric.

Her hands roamed his strong back as he bent there, fingers learning the intricate play of taut muscle. The sound of her breathing filled her ears, her needy sighs impossible to hold back, especially when his thigh pressed at that most intimate of places. She did not realize that was the greatest source of burning, but there seemed to be a connection between the ache of her breasts and the sharp twinge deep between her thighs.

As his tongue dipped beneath the material of her chemise, she could not contain her moan. Her legs failed her and she would have fallen if not for his thigh holding her up. She clutched him to her, a wild thing in her need.

He lifted his head, his eyes hot with passionate desire.

“I can quell the burn and leave you a virgin still,” he whispered. “Where is your chamber?”

For a moment, she could scarcely understand him, her body too busy mourning the loss of his mouth on her quivering flesh. But then her brain seemed to catch up with his words. She blinked at the mention of her virginity, the blatant sensual negotiation forcing her to come to her senses at last.

Shame flooded her.

“Nay.” She shook her head, trying to tell her body that it could not have what it wanted so desperately. The desire did not come from her heart after all. It came from an herb that she never should have touched. “I must not. That is—I should not ever…”

Sweet merciful heaven. She could only blame the herbs for so many transgressions. No one had forced her into this man’s arms. Who knew such hungers lurked within her that they could override all sense so quickly?

Edging away from him, she straightened her gown to cover her breasts. She would leave the keep at once. Both to warn Morag of Finn’s arrival and to strangle the wise woman with her bare hands for providing a vile batch of herbs that had made Violet disgrace herself in front of the warrior knight twice in one day.

While she formulated the plan, her companion contemplated her in silence, his persuasive hands mercifully removed from her wayward flesh.

“You are a peculiar woman,” Finn observed softly, lifting the torch from its ring on the wall and turning from her as easily as if they had not been panting madly over each other moments ago. “But if you change your mind—”

“I will not.” Or, rather, she prayed she would not. She lifted the hem of her skirt to extricate herself from the corner and hasten ahead of him in the passageway. “Your chamber is at the top of these stairs. I’m sure you’ll understand if I ask you to make your own way from here.”

She needed to escape the scent of him—the sweet wood smoke of the hearth fire on his tunic and the berry-wine taste of his kiss.

As the thunder rumbled again outside, she thought a run through the coming rain might be just what she needed to cool off.

“Wait. Look at me,” he commanded, raising the torch high and illuminating the harsh angles of his face. His sea-blue eyes. The mouth that had been so much softer than she ever would have imagined.

She might have ignored him and hastened to her own rooms, but how could she find her way in the dark? By the rood, she was not thinking properly at all, her wits muddled and her heart racing erratically

“Aye?” Reluctantly she turned.

“You are unwell,” he announced, sounding most certain of himself as he stared into her eyes in the flickering light. “As if you imbibed too much drink, and yet I saw you take little wine this eve.”

Her hands flew to her face, embarrassed that he circled closer to the truth. Mortified he might think her as weak willed with libations as her father.

“Indeed, perhaps I will feel better after I seek my chamber.” She wrenched her gaze from his and hoped he would take pity on her as she trembled before him, cursing Morag with every other breath. He reached for her, his hand skimming her waist. “You are unsteady. Allow me to—”

The jolt of heat from his hand to her thighs was enough to make her think she’d harnessed the lightning that flashed through the high arrow slits overhead. Her breasts tightened unbearably. The effects seemed to be growing worse.

Wrenching away, she stumbled out of his grip and along the darkened corridor.

“I am fine, sir,” she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing off the dark walls. “Good night.”

Racing away as fast as unsteady feet would take her, she planned to hide in her chamber long enough to ensure everyone else was asleep. Then she would flee the keep to stand in the cooling rain. To run through the downpour until she reached Morag’s cabin to warn her that a new enemy had arrived.

Although, in light of Finn’s effect on her, she began to think she was in greater danger from him than anyone else.

* * *

Deep within the forest outside the village of Caladan, a would-be warrior with no allegiance traveled the edges of his new domain. By luck or Fate, he’d arrived in a place where rumors of ghosts and unnatural beasts kept travelers away, providing him with an ideal place to perfect his work. He’d traveled throughout the Highlands gathering the herbs he needed to make his potions work. By now he had all the ingredients. He was almost ready to take his vengeance on the lord of Caladan.

Reaching the southernmost boundary of his lands, the man paused in the rain to look beyond. The hall of Caladan awaited him. No price was too high to claim his due. No life too important to escape sacrifice where necessary to recover his pride after being born with a grievous defect that kept him from fulfilling his family legacy.

Cold air chilled his skin. He sat atop the horse that moved as silently through the woods as its rider. Some nights, just seeing the keep was enough to spur him on in his quest. Other times, he preferred more than that, waiting in the shadows for any glimpse of the sweet prize that would soon be his for the taking.

Violet of Caladan.

Not that a woman was of great importance to a man with ambition. But she was part of the spoils that would soon be his. She might not have as much worth in gold as her father’s keep or the fighting forces the earl commanded, yet Lady Violet was the sugared sweet to follow a substantive meal.

His life had not allowed him to indulge in sweets very often and he planned to savor this one when he had her in his grasp.

A sharp wind blew in off the river while he stared. He was turning to leave when a small figure took shape in the distance. Dark and windblown, the outline moved with determination across the sprawling hill leading down from the village walls. A bold path for anyone after the unholy rumors about the forest.

Ah, but those rumors were so effective at discouraging unwanted visitors. He could not have helped his cause more if he had fought and won a dozen battles to protect the privacy of the forest.

Still, he would battle this newcomer if needed. He’d even brought the necessary weapon. He fingered the pouch of herbs dangling from his belt.

But wait.

The figure hurrying toward him was no foolish villager seeking to poach the earl’s rabbits under cover of night. Nay, this silhouette had a womanly outline. One that became all the more notable when the dark hood blew off the female’s hair in a gust of wet wind.

Violet.

Why would she visit the forest so late at night? She’d never done so before.

And why did she not fear the forest the way the villagers did? Even Caladan’s own knights avoided this stretch of woods whenever possible. Perhaps she thought she knew the dangers.

Her friendships with the forest dwellers had made her deliciously careless.

Excitement rose at the sight of her, mingled with something like bloodlust. Then again, perhaps it was genuine lust. He had been watching her these many moons. He only hoped she did not visit the forest for purposes that would make him angry. Like a meeting with another man…

He clenched his fists, digging his nails into the heels of his hands until he could feel the release of blood. Somehow, the bloodletting helped. He’d seen the way it soothed his victims before death, so he knew he was not the only one to find it thus. Calm reason took over where passionate fury had been. He would follow Violet silently as he had so many other times. He had not planned to take her yet, but strategic warriors knew how to improvise. Perhaps she was meant to come to him. To belong to him.