A Highlander Never Surrenders (15 page)

“Claire.” He spoke her name as if the feel of it on his lips was torturous, then closed the distance between them in one long stride. Clutching her by the arms, he hauled her up against his iron frame and dipped his face to hers, but only his warm breath touched her flesh. “Ye fight against losing yer country, when yer life is not even yer own.” A muscle in his jaw flexed as he battled within himself. “I would fight to gain it back fer ye, if it were against anyone but him.”

He moved away in silence, leaving Claire with an aching need to go after him. What was it about his angry touch, the hoarse pitch of his voice that made her believe every word he spoke? And what in the hell was he talking about?

Graham stormed through the front door of the inn and entered the night without pause and without concern for what could be awaiting in the shadows. Neither man nor beast would survive if they came upon him now. He cursed when he lifted his hand to push back his cap and found it wasn’t there. He tore his fingers through his hair and kicked at a bug that flew into his path. Panic rose like a tide, smashing against his lungs. He couldn’t care for her. It was not possible. He enjoyed his life just the way it was; rough and sometimes bloody, and with a warm wench beneath him now and then to remind him of something softer. It was all he needed. All he wanted. Or was it?

He crashed into the forest with a curse on his lips. What he felt for her was simply lust. Aye. No, it was more than that. He was fond of her. That was all. He liked the way she looked, the way she spoke, the way she thought, the way she kissed.

Hell!

He should have taken Lianne tonight. It would have proven that his heart wasn’t betraying him after all these years. Now he was left trembling like . . . like a lass! Ah, God, why did it have to be Robert? If she were promised to Buchanan he would bed her and get her out of his blood. No, he knew if he had her, he would want her again, and again. And then he would be doomed on the battlefield.

Finding a thick oak, he unbelted his plaid and lay beneath it. He looked toward the dimly lit windows of the inn. He did not trust himself in the same place with her. Aye, he thought pitifully, he’d already lost control of his willpower. What would she take from him next?

She will take naught. The same I would surrender to any opponent in battle. I will not be betrayed,
he told his slowing heart as he closed his eyes.
Nor will I betray my friend.

Chapter Fourteen

A
nd no enemy more deadly than the one who avoids the battlefield, yet covets the prize.

Graham decided that battling with his opponent only tempted him to kiss the insolence right off her mouth. So he continued to stay away from her. That didn’t mean he didn’t watch her. She’d only caught him twice, and both times he vowed not to look at her again. But his eyes were drawn to her whether she spoke to anyone or remained silent. Nights were the most agonizing, when she sat with Anne, her bonny face faintly illuminated by firelight. It required every ounce of strength he possessed not to fall, mesmerized by the perfect sublimity of her smiles. Sometimes, though, he found it impossible not to let his gaze linger on her, even after she found him watching.

But even depriving himself of all the pleasures he could find in her was not as difficult as seeing Robert staring at her across the same fire.

Since leaving Edinburgh, Robert had often tried to make conversation with the woman he was going to take as his wife. And for the first part of their journey, it was apparent by Rob’s sullen demeanor that they shared naught.

This changed on their way to Perth. They found one thing for which they both had a fondness. Claire’s sister drew them together with laughter and whispers that made Anne giggle, knowing they were about her.

It was enough to make Graham want to crack a few heads. Would he have to watch this budding romance between Claire and Robert bloom before his eyes? No, he would leave their company first. Better to see them off without him than to feel a prick of anger toward Robert. And better that Graham did his best to avoid her until then.

But Claire Stuart was not a lass easily ignored.

“This way,” Graham whispered as he crept low against the forest floor, his dagger in one hand and Donel’s lance in the other. Claire huddled close to him, straining to see through the overgrowth of bushes. She’d insisted on hunting with him this morning. He’d refused emphatically, but he was learning that Claire Stuart did what she wanted.

They had spotted a large gray hare moments earlier but then lost it again, when its long ears shot upright at the sound of their advance.

It was the second hare that had escaped, along with a number of grouse. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on stealth with her here alone with him?

A twig snapped beneath Claire’s boot, echoing through the woods like a clap of thunder. Graham scowled, hearing the rustle of leaves as the hare escaped them once again. He flashed her a cool stare.

“A dozen apologies.” She gifted him with a cheeky smile. “I should have swept the ground before treading upon it.”

“Just watch where ye’re going. Can ye manage that?”

Her nostrils flared. She nodded, saying nothing—until he caught the hare again out of the corner of his eye.

“I thought you said you knew what you were doing.”

His shoulders stiffened and he pivoted. For a brief moment he seriously considered throttling her senseless. He drew in a deep breath, gathering his patience. “If ye would shut up fer five breaths, we might enjoy a hot meal this night.”

She arched her pale brow at him, always ready for a fight. “My, but you Highlanders certainly are temperamental. Might I make a suggestion?”

His jaw tightened. “Nae.”

“Why not let
me
do the hunting?” she said anyway. “I did not come with you to watch you waste away the day.”

He wouldn’t let her bait him. Engaging in battle with her would only ignite his desire for her. “Stay here,” he said woodenly and turned his back on her.

He spotted the hare nibbling an acorn a few feet away and lifted his lance, taking great care not to make a sound. The hare lifted itself on its powerful hind legs and wiggled its whiskers as it sniffed the air. Graham aimed, and then was nearly knocked unconscious when a rock the size of his fist bounced off the back of his head. His legs wobbled and the lance dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Behind him, Claire’s muffled gasp drew his lethal, somewhat dazed glare to her.

“Forgive me,” she called out. The flicker of a smile belied her apology. “You were taking so long to throw the lance I feared our supper was going to escape you yet again.”

His green eyes darkened and he took a step toward her. “Ye find it humorous that ye nearly cracked open my skull?”

“Only a little,” she replied, backing away. “You deserved it.” She bent swiftly, snatched up another rock, and held it aloft. His steps halted, but the slow curl of his lips dared her to throw it. “You think I won’t?” she challenged him with a menacing sneer of her own. “This time I will aim for something lower, since you scarcely felt the first one, what with that thick head of yours.”

He sprang at her so fast she barely had time to turn and run. His outstretched hand grabbed for her shirt and just missed. Claire shrieked at his closeness and dropped her rock as she bolted over fallen branches and gnarled tree roots protruding from the leafy ground. She risked a glance over her shoulder and would have crashed headlong into the tree in front of her if his arms hadn’t closed around her waist, stopping her at the last instant.

Ignoring her heedless struggle to be free, he bent over her spine and pressed his mouth against her ear. “Ye don’t seem to realize the danger of me chasing ye, Claire. Ye tempt me beyond reason to end my misery and take ye in every way possible.” He pushed her forward against the tree until the rough bark brushed her cheek. One arm tightened around her, holding her still, while his other hand slipped below her belt, pressing the curve of her buttocks deeper against his hardening arousal. “Starting from behind,” he growled low in her ear. “But nae, I will not be bested.”

Releasing her, he turned away, his muscles trembling with the effort it took to let her go. He bent to retrieve Donel’s lance just as her dagger sailed over his head. He straightened slowly, his eyes fixed on the dead hare a few feet away.

Cocking his head, Graham tossed her an incredulous look at how close her dagger had come to his back.

Claire’s eyes gleamed a startling blue against her flushed cheeks and the long, stray tendrils of pale blonde that fluttered around them. “Supper,” she said simply, glaring at him as if she wished her dagger was sticking out of his guts instead of the hare’s.

Hell, he
had
to smile at her.

Claire stomped over the carpet of leaves and twigs snapping beneath her boots, careless of whatever the hell she frightened away. She wanted to run, but she knew Graham was behind her, and damn him to Hades, she
would not
let him see what he’d done to her. Besides that, she doubted her knees would continue to support her should she move at a faster pace. Her breath still came so hard it was making her dizzy. Her nerve endings still sizzled from his savage touch. Dear God, what kind of sinful beast was he that he could wreak such havoc on her body, her thoughts? If she was a bit more devout, she would have let her knees give out and offered up a prayer of forgiveness for the thoroughly wicked desires he ignited in her. His body, so hard and ready to fulfill his heated promise to take her in every way possible, roused images so perverse she was certain she’d never be able to look at him again without blushing. Naked, sweating, panting beasts locked in a primitively sexual embrace while the other forest creatures looked on. That she had been so tempted to rub her buttocks over the full, unrelenting length of him while he pressed her so intimately close mortified her. That he made her want to submit to such raw male dominance frightened her witless. That he’d won the battle over his lust should have pleased her. He could have easily taken her with force, plunged himself deep inside her while she clung helplessly to a tree. But he had resisted her yet again, as he had at the inn. He would not be bested. This was a game to him; a challenge, a chase he exhilarated in. He wanted her to give in, to surrender as his other conquests had. To swoon at his feet, claw at his garments and feast upon the full glory of his battle-hardened body. God’s mercy, she’d come close to doing it, too! Never in her life had she been so tempted to stroke her palms over a man’s hard curves, to feel the pleasure pulsing through all those muscles. But it was she who would not be bested by any opponent, no matter how daft he made her.

Chapter Fifteen

H
ow shall I keep the prize from him when his hands have so skillfully subdued me?

“Lord Buchanan does not know any of you.” Claire reined in on her mount a few leagues into Perth. “He might order his men to shoot at you from the battlements.” She looked around at the others. “It’s best if I ride on ahead and warn him of your approach.”

Breaking formation, Graham cantered his horse toward her. If she thought he was going to let her go on alone, she was truly daft. “Does he always shoot at men approaching his holding?”

“When the men look like they’ve come for a good day’s raiding”—she skimmed her gaze over the MacGregors—“aye, he does.”

Graham couldn’t argue against that bit of logic. Still, she wasn’t going anywhere without him. Someone had killed her brother, who, though she would most likely deny it, was more skilled with a weapon than she. That someone could be waiting for her next at Ravenglade.

“I will go with ye.”

“Nae. I don’t need—”

“I did not ask ye what ye needed.” His voice overrode hers. His unblinking, steady gaze promised that arguing would be fruitless.

Claire scalded him with a venomous look before she turned to Anne. “You will be safe here with Robert and the others until James’s men come for you. Do not fear.”

When her sister smiled, assuring her that she trusted the men in her company, Claire nodded and turned to leave. “And Angus, do not give her any of that poison you call brew.”

Angus turned to Anne with a sheepish grin. “ ’Twasn’t that bad, was it, lass?”

“On the contrary, kind sir,” she said with the most delicate of smiles. “It was quite soothing.”

Angus’s grin widened with worshipful appreciation, and then he turned to Brodie. “The Stuart lass is blessed with an iron fortitude, eh, cousin?”

“Aye,” Brodie agreed, watching Claire as she grew smaller in the distance. “A good quality, that.”

“Will my sister be safe with him alone?”

Every eye turned to Anne after she spoke. The men all knew who she meant, and Donel, for one, took offense. “Commander Grant is unmatched in battle. Dinna let his smile fool ye.”

“I wouldn’t,” Anne declared in mild defense, “should I ever see it. The man does naught but brood.”

Hearing her, Robert realized she was correct. Even Brodie had to agree. Graham was behaving strangely indeed. They discussed it among themselves while they dismounted and began setting up a temporary camp.

“You did tell him of your betrothal to Claire, did you not, Lord Campbell?”

“Robert, please, my lady.” He smiled at her while he struggled to untie a small sack hanging from his saddle. “Aye, I told him.”