Highland Heat (8 page)

He suddenly laughed. “But I find the idea of her wearing a bride of Christ’s robe rather entertaining. It’s for sure she has never worn something so humble before during her pampered life.”

Deirdre smiled, able to appreciate the humor of the situation. It was a mistake to let her guard down, for Quinton abandoned his lazy position the moment her lips curled.

“Ye’re a fool to attach yerself to this mess, Deirdre Chattan. A bloody fool who does nae understand just how lucky ye are it was my men who found ye.” He closed the distance between them and grasped her bound wrists. The morning light flashed off the polished blade of a dagger as he skillfully slid it beneath the leather binding her. A swift jerk cut through the loops, freeing her. He cupped her chin, forcing her to stare into his furious gaze.

“The Douglas would have slit yer throat in the hopes ye were the queen and killing ye would have ended any threat of her producing any more blue-blooded children.”

She gasped, horror flooding her. “Stop it. Ye are just trying to reduce me to a woman who will cling to ye helplessly. Well, I will nae. I made the choice to help Joan Beaufort, and I’ll no’ be listening to ye about the wisdom of it.”

“Well, ye sure as hell should, woman. Do ye honestly think the Douglas would nae have left ye to rot in a ditch?” His gaze lowered to the swells of her breasts, which were visible above the square neckline of the overrobe. “Mind ye, that would have been after they raped ye.”

She shoved at his wide chest. “Get yer hands off me, brute! I do nae care if ye are an earl. Ye do nae have the right to handle me like some child who has displeased ye.” She gained her freedom but stumbled over the train of the overrobe. She recovered quickly, turning in a swirl of velvet to face the man glaring at her. He was growling, and it touched something inside her that unleashed a need to stand up to him. She snarled in return.

Quinton’s face registered surprise, but only for a moment before his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned in a purely sensual way. She felt a prickle of warning move through her, but it was also exciting. Part of her wanted to run, simply because she could see in his eyes his desire to chase her.

She was insane to think such a thing…

“How should I handle ye, Deirdre?” His voice was soft and menacing. “That robe is cut to flatter every part of ye so a man might admire yer curves.” One of his dark eyebrows rose as he took a step toward her and then another one.

“It’s lying smoothly over yer hips, showing me that my hands would fit perfectly around them.”

“Stop it.” She retreated, unable to stand firm when his eyes were glittering with promise.

“Ye should nae wear something so provocative, if ye do nae want the attention it was designed to capture.” His gaze dropped to the neckline. “Yer breasts look plump, and I’m very interested in discovering how they feel against me palms.”

Deirdre crossed her arms over her chest. It was a protective instinct, one she performed without considering how it might undermine her determination to face him boldly. “Ye’re being crude just to injure my feelings. That’s a coldhearted thing indeed. Is no’ yer power enough for ye? Or do ye enjoy grinding yer heels on the backs of those who do nae have retainers to force ye to treat them decently?”

Fury tightened his features. “Ye dare a great deal with yer insults, Deirdre. Ye’d best be aware that Douglas would nae tolerate such from any woman, even the queen.”

“Which is why she wanted to flee from him.” Deirdre felt her sense of balance returning as the topic shifted away from what he thought of her figure. “Surely ye can agree it is better she is no longer near the lieutenant general to needle him with her lack of humility.”

“Aye, I can.” He eyed her from behind a guarded expression. “Do nae make the same mistake me men did, lass.”

His voice was rich with warning, but she was too curious to not ask him what he meant.

“And what might that be?”

His eyes flashed with satisfaction. “To assume that because I agree with ye that it’s better for the queen to be away from Archibald Douglas means I consider it right for ye to be involved in this mess.”

Deirdre felt her eyes narrow. “Well then, I wish ye joy of yer discontentment with my action. Ye are nae the first man to feel such, but ye are nae my father, and I have no husband.”

Quinton lifted a single finger between them. “Ah, very true. Which leaves the position of being yer lover open for me.” His eyes flashed a warning at her once more. “Now does it nae?”

“It does nae.” She informed him in a tone that made her grateful for the closed door. She didn’t need any witnesses to carry tales to the priests. Quinton was an earl as well as laird of the Cameron. She’d end up on her knees for a solid week if the church heard her disrespectful voice.

That bit of knowledge only made her more determined to face the brute down. His position had spoiled him too much.

He laughed at her, the sound bouncing off the stone walls of the solar chamber. “Ye tempt me, Deirdre.” He shook his head but unfolded his arms and spread them wide. “Ye cannae expect to play such a dangerous game without tasting a few bitter consequences.”

The brute was trying to intimidate her. He loomed over her with his arms outstretched. It would have been simple for him to pounce, but she propped her hands on her hips and stood her ground. He couldn’t chase her if she did not turn and run.

“If ye’re saying that yer attempting to charm me into allowing ye to be my lover would be bitter, I agree. It would be distasteful indeed.”

He chuckled, his teeth flashing through his lips. “Is that a fact, Deirdre?”

“A solid one in my opinion, Laird Cameron.” She spit out his title in defiance of the way he was using her name so familiarly. Deirdre tossed her hair back over her shoulder and felt the silk veil flutter about her ears. “So I will be on my way.”

Quinton masked his feelings once again behind a stony expression, but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes, which slashed at her confidence. Warning rippled down her spine once more in spite of her determination to remain unmoved by him. He was a powerful man, and no amount of confidence would help her overlook it.

“Will ye now?”

“I shall indeed leave yer land, sir, for there is naught here for me.”

He turned his back on her, walking back toward the chair. The man didn’t hurry, leaving her with the opportunity to do exactly as she had claimed she would.

Part of her was disappointed.

That knowledge stoked her temper, and she turned around to face the closed doors.

“I doubt Coalan will be allowing ye to leave.”

Deirdre spun around so quickly that the velvet robes lifted to show her ankles. Quinton Cameron took the opportunity to notice, and a smug grin appeared on his lips, infuriating her.

“Since I am no’ the queen, there is little point in yer men keeping me here.”

Quinton grasped the arms of his chair and leaned forward, all traces of amusement gone from his expression. “Ah, but I’d have to be telling me men ye are in fact no’ the queen.”

He sat back and considered her. “I ken ye do nae know the ways of court, Deirdre Chattan, which is in yer favor. It’s a place full of plots, ones that often claim the lives of innocents such as yerself. I’ve no doubt Joan pleaded her case well to ye. Ye’re a kind lass to be helping out someone ye thought sincere.”

Deirdre moved back toward the man. “She wants to wed again. I’d think since ye are a man, ye’d agree that is her place.”

He slowly shook his head. “She’s considered a co-ruler with the late king by too many countries.”

“A king who is dead, and his son crowned, to the approval of all those same countries.”

“But James II is her only son, and he’s too young to wed,” Quinton said quietly. His voice was low and deadly, drawing her forward a few more steps to make sure she didn’t miss his next words.

“If something befalls that boy, there will be civil war. If his mother births sons for James Stewart, the black knight of Lorn, there will be many who say they should inherit.”

A chill went down her back. “That does nae give anyone the right to lock her away or keep me here. The queen has permission from the pope to wed.”

“Of course she does. The woman shares family connections with half the crowns of Europe.” Quinton rose and stepped toward her. She was too fascinated by the look in his eyes to back away from him. Part of her wanted to know his reasons, more than she wanted to be cautious by retreating.

Quinton stopped in front of her and looked down from his greater height.

“The queen knows very well how to play the game of maintaining power. She was raised to be a queen, and this new marriage will ensure she reclaims a powerful position. There are powerful men intent on controlling her son. She was the captive guest of one of them at Stirling until a few weeks ago.”

Deirdre gasped, shocked by the revelation. “She said naught of that.”

Quinton grinned. “Of course she would nae, for ye are no’ unintelligent.” He studied her for a moment. “And ye favor her in too many ways. It was a stroke of luck that she encountered ye. I can see why she took advantage of the opportunity.”

Deirdre didn’t care for the way his words made her feel. “Ye men may be concerned about matters of politics with good cause, but it does nae change the fact that the queen is a woman who wants to live her life while she has the chance. I helped her because—”

“Because ye know what it’s like to be used by men for the furtherment of their causes.”

She snorted and moved away from him. “Ye do nae ken so very much about me, Laird Cameron.”

When she looked back at him, he was watching her from the same spot, but there was a twinkle of something in his eyes again that warned her the man was making ready to be entertained by her once more.

“Well now, since ye’ll be staying here in my home, lass, we’ll be having the chance to learn more about one another,” he announced with solid certainty.

“I will nae be staying.”

His lips rose and parted in a smug expression of arrogance. His gaze traveled down her length once again, stopping at the hem of her overrobe with its trim pulled in several places from the rugged terrain of the Highlands.

“Well now. Those little slippers are suited to walking on Persian carpets, and no’ much else.”

Her feet agreed, renewing their complaints over how many sharp stones she had felt jabbing into her unprotected arches recently. Quinton raised his gaze to her face, and her throat contracted when she looked into his eyes. Determination blazed there.

“That velvet will nae keep ye warm in the spring rains. I believe the queen is more comfortable in yer undyed nun’s robe. Ye’ll freeze if ye try and cross me land.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

He lifted one finger between them again. “To do so, ye’ll have to escape me men, and I ordered them after ye. I believe ye’ll find they do what I say, because my orders are most often given for the benefit of every Cameron.”

“Ye sent them after the queen, and I am nae who ye seek.”

He waved his finger between them. “Ah, but ye allowed them to assume ye were the queen.”

“A mistake easily revealed for what it was.”

“Aye.” He nodded agreement. “But me men are Highlanders, lass. They will nae be happy to hear ye duped them. In fact, I suspect they just might wait to hear from me on the matter of whether or no’ ye are the one I wanted them to bring to me.” His grin faded. “I doubt they will allow ye to depart until they have my word that ye may depart.”

Shock held her in its grip. Words felt too large to force up her throat while she stared at the pleased expression on his face. She opened her mouth twice before managing to form her thoughts into words.

“Ye… ye must tell yer men I am no’ who ye seek.”

He turned his back on her. Deirdre watched as he returned to his chair and settled himself without a care for the way he was tormenting her.

“Ye must, Quinton.”

“Ah… I enjoy hearing my name on yer lips.” His expression became smug once more. “It’s the truth I am looking forward to having ye here so we might get to know each other better.”

“I will no’ remain here.” She shook her head and returned her hands to her hips.

“I cannae wait to see how ye plan to outwit me men, lass. Ye began this game, and I believe they will be happy to continue it so they might score a few points of their own. Highlanders do like to win.”

“I’m from Highland stock myself, sir.”

His eyes narrowed, and his attention slipped down her body once more. “Aye, lass, I’ve noticed that, more often than I should. There are no women like the ones who live in the Highlands. Ye have more than yer share of boldness, and I find it captivating enough to tell ye I shall nae make it simple for ye to ride out of here into the hands of men who might slit yer creamy throat.”

“Ye do nae have the right to keep me here.”

He stood up and came toward her. Deirdre didn’t retreat, but it wasn’t because her pride demanded she stand and confront him.

It was worse than that. She felt desperation clawing at her as the walls of Drumdeer seemed to be collapsing inward.

“I will nae clear the way for ye to leave, Deirdre. That is my final word on the matter.”

He stroked the back of his hand across one side of her face. It was such a simple touch, and yet its tenderness stole her breath. So pleasing, in every way. Somehow, she’d forgotten how good it felt to be touched.

She gasped and made to step away from his touch.

“Quinton—”

He leaned down and sealed her protest beneath his lips. He cupped her nape, pulling gently so her face rose and his kiss might become bolder. She jerked, shaking her head to break the connection, but he moved as fast as a leather whip, twisting along with her as his other hand slipped over the curve of her hip and settled on the flat of her lower back to hold her in place.

She moaned, a tiny sound of panic, because she expected his kiss to turn savage. He soothed her nape with a slow stroke, but he did not release her. His mouth moved against hers, pressing her to open her jaw until she yielded. He deepened the kiss but didn’t thrust his tongue inside her mouth as she expected. Instead he teased her lips with his own, tasting her mouth like he might a fine glass of French wine.