Highland Heat (2 page)

“Take yer arms away.” Deirdre didn’t need to raise her voice, because she was pressed against the man from her ankles to her head.

“Well now, hellion, there isna anyplace else to put them, except between us.”

He whispered against her ear, a hint of enjoyment in his tone. She bristled but couldn’t push herself away from him with so many of the nuns trying to get past them. His arms wrapped all the way around her back, and she felt his hand cup her nape. She shivered, the contact jarring to her senses. It should have been. She should have felt only repulsion for his touch, but her body betrayed her as sensation rippled down her back, a sense of enjoyment that was deeply rooted in her flesh. He slid his hand up to grasp her thick braid where it was looped up beneath her simple linen hood.

“So ye have nae taken vows of any sort.” The full length of her hair told him she hadn’t taken any vows; if she had, her braid would have been cut to relieve her of vanity. “Now that I like knowing, hellion.”

There was a touch of heat in his voice that stoked a memory she had tried hard to banish from her mind. There had been a moment a year past when they had been just this close and the arrogant man had stolen a kiss from her. Passion flickered inside her, refusing to obey her order never to rise again. She growled at the disobedience of her flesh and shoved away from Quinton.

Enough of the nuns had made it into the yard now, allowing her to step back from him, but he took the opportunity to stroke her back and sides as she moved, his hands open, the fingers sliding over her curves with unmistakable experience. There was a flicker of enjoyment in his eyes, which irritated her, because she discovered that she liked knowing he found her body pleasing.

Another betrayal from her flesh…

“What promises I make are none of yer concern, Laird Cameron. I live here, so ye’ll be keeping yer hands off me.”

“Is that a fact, Deirdre Chattan? Ye are nae a sister with that thick hair still long enough to cover a man’s chest. Ye’re a woman who is still searching for her place. Maybe ye have found that today.”

She snarled beneath her breath, “Ye’re a Blackguard to suggest such a thing while standing on holy ground.” It was a curse, but she didn’t care if he cuffed her for daring to insult his noble person. She tossed her head in the face of his displeasure. “Just because ye think me a fallen woman does nae give ye the right to touch me in plain sight of others. I took a lover because he promised me his name. I was nae a whore for hire.”

“I never labeled ye such a thing, Deirdre. Ye might be surprised to learn what I think of a woman who is bold enough to follow her desires instead of cowering in front of those who tell her what to do.”

There was a hint of approval in his tone, but she forced herself to ignore it. The last time she’d followed such impulses, she had disgraced herself and her clan.

“Stop using my name. We are nae familiar with each other. One stolen kiss does nae make ye anything more than a man I loathe.”

“Careful, lass, I think I enjoy the sound of that challenge more than either of us should.” His attention settled on the fabric covering her hair.

She gasped and then sputtered, because she didn’t care for how weak sounding her response was. “Have ye no honor?”

She was insulting him now, and her attack didn’t miss its mark.

He stiffened and hooked his hands into his wide belt. The thick leather circled his waist, binding the pleats of his kilt in place. Above his left shoulder, the pommel of his sword gained her attention.

“Weapons are forbidden inside the sanctuary.”

He frowned. “So are cursing and lying, Deirdre Chattan.”

His voice dipped low as he spoke her name, and there was a challenge lurking in his eyes that sent a quiver down the backs of her legs. She decided to focus on why the man was there so she might see him on his way that much faster.

“No one lied to ye here, Laird Cameron. Ye assume the queen is here, but ye never asked.”

His knuckles began to turn white. It was an odd little hint at what the man was truly feeling. She certainly couldn’t gain much by looking at his face, for he was showing her nothing but a stone-solid mask.

“I am seeking Joan Beaufort, queen of Scotland.” He spoke through gritted teeth, betraying his frustration. “Is she here?”

A few of his men stood near his back. They tilted their heads so they might watch her face and gauge her true reaction to their laird’s question. Deirdre scoffed at him. “Yer men are already swarming through the sanctuary. It’s too late to ask now.”

She could hear the muffled protests of the priests and the nuns who had been in the inner chambers of the abbey. Out in the yard, there was the stomping of the horses and the conversation of the members of the holy order as they tried to comfort each other.

Quinton snorted. “But ye did nae answer the question, which makes me suspicious of ye.”

Deirdre glared at the man responsible for shattering the peace. “Ye and yer men are acting like hell’s army.”

He should have been insulted. Instead he chuckled. “If I were a Viking, I’d no have allowed ye out of me arms quite so quickly. A true Norseman ravishes first and takes the plunder after he has sated his primary desire.”

That challenge returned to his eyes, flashing brightly as heat twisted through her belly. It was such an unexpected response that her hands moved to cover her lower body, the instinct to protect herself too strong to ignore.

“Enough out of ye.” She shook her head. “I’m nae impressed, I assure ye. Only more disgusted by yer lack of respect for this holy place and the way that ye know ye should be behaving.”

His lips rose into a smile that showed his teeth. “But I am impressed with ye, Deirdre Chattan. Ye are too much woman for this abbey, and I am very displeased to be so burdened with finding our queen, because it does nae leave me any time to enjoy yer fiery spirit.” His smile faded as his eyes darkened, and a promise lurked deep inside them. “A true pity that is, I’m thinking.”

“Well, stop yer thinking when it comes to me. It’s naught but a waste of time.”

He chuckled. “Aye, but a pleasant one, and I’m spending too many hours trying to keep our Highlanders from fighting one another nae to take the opportunity to enjoy something when it stands directly in front of me.”

The man had the audacity to reach for her face, but she slapped his hand before he touched her. The sound bounced off the stone walls, and he chuckled once again.

“A true shame, for I’d enjoy seeing what ye thought of me inviting ye to ride off with me, Deirdre.”

“I’d curse ye, and that is a promise, yer lairdship.”

He chuckled but it was a dark sound full of promise. “That makes me even sorrier that I cannae devote any time to discovering how to make ye purr for me.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise when she heard such brazen talk in the doorway of the abbey. Two of the nuns crossed themselves in the yard when they overheard him.

His men began returning. They shook their heads, which made him frown. Laird Cameron sent them back to their horses with a flick of his fingers. His attention remained on her.

“If Her Majesty should arrive, be sure to tell her she will be better off with me than William Crichton.”

“I cannae imagine the queen coming here.”

Quinton Cameron’s expression hardened. “I can. It is the only reason I would have sent my men into an abbey. Her Majesty is first cousin to the king of England, and there are many who will extort her if she makes the mistake of becoming their prisoner.”

Deirdre discovered herself shocked into silence. There was no missing the fact that Quinton Cameron had no real liking for what he had just ordered done. But he stood firm, facing what he considered a necessary task.

She might not care for his method, but she couldn’t fail to respect him for the dedication he applied to keeping the clans from feuding. If the Highlands dissolved into bloody raids, England would find it simple to invade. Joan Beaufort wasn’t just queen of Scotland. When she and her husband, James I, had arrived after being ransomed from England, Scotland’s nobles had sworn their allegiance to both of them. Many considered her a monarch in her own right, and the English might use that to overthrow her young son, who had been crowned James II.

Quinton Cameron was watching her, studying her reaction to his words.

“Go on with ye now that ye know the queen is nae here.”

He grunted, narrowing his eyes for a moment, the fact that he wanted to remain evident in them. Deirdre lifted one hand and pointed toward the doorway.

“Do ye need a map to find yer way, my fine Earl of Liddell?”

He groaned and thrust his hand out faster than she could avoid. This time, he captured her wrist, closing his fingers around her smaller arm. She gasped, but not because his grip hurt. The man controlled his strength expertly, tugging her hand up until she felt the warm brush of his breath and a moment later the soft press of his lips against the inside of her wrist.

“Nay, lass, I know my way around a spitfire sure enough, and if ye needle me, be very sure I will no’ retreat from the challenge ye offer.”

Sensation rippled down her arm and into her body like lightning. The delicate skin of her inner wrist was suddenly alive with a thousand points of recognition. Passion flickered in her belly again, tighter and more intense than before. She gasped, her body unable to contain all the impulses rushing through it. Quinton didn’t rush the kiss but lingered over her flesh while watching her reaction.

“Truly do I regret needing to depart so quickly, Deirdre Chattan.” His thumb passed over the spot he’d kissed, sending a softer bolt of pleasure through her before he released her arm. “But I must, else I’d remain and do my best to prove I know well how to deal with the fire ye breathe.”

She jerked her arm away from him with a hiss that would no doubt gain her a reprimand from the mother superior.

“A true blessing. I shall thank God tonight for taking ye from my sight.”

He snorted with amusement but turned toward the yard and his men.

She followed him to the doorway and watched as he fitted one foot into the stirrup and mounted. The man rode a full-blooded stallion that didn’t remain still but shifted from side to side with eagerness to be moving. He reached down and patted the animal with a sure hand, but his gaze shifted to her.

“I hope yer memory is sound, Deirdre Chattan.”

His lips twitched, and her temper flared up once again. Oh, there was nothing wrong with her memory, but without a doubt, the man was not asking her if she recalled what he wanted her to tell the queen.

There was a flare of heat in his blue eyes she recalled very well from the night he’d kissed her.

“Ye are no’ one who I care to remember, nor anything ye have to tell me.”

He laughed at her, and so did his men. The arrogant beast shot her a look full of promise.

“Perhaps I’ll return to take up yer challenge to make a more lasting impression upon ye.” His stallion danced in a wide circle. When he was facing her again, his expression was serious. “Maybe ye might add that hope to yer prayers.”

“I shall not,” she sputtered. “Yer suggestion is most misplaced in this holy place. Are ye color-blind and cannae see I’m wearing an undyed robe?”

His gaze lowered to her clothing but centered on the swell of her breasts. “I see ye very well, and the robe does nae belong on ye, lass.”

He drew in a deep breath and raised his attention back to her face.

“But duty first, eh, hellion?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Quinton Cameron turned his stallion toward the road and let the animal have its freedom. His men followed, forming two columns that raised a cloud of dust while the sound of the horses’ hooves diminished into the distance.

Deirdre found herself the object of scrutiny from the nuns standing in the yard. Her face heated, but she held her chin steady.

Curse the man.

And damn her for responding to him. She turned her back on those watching her. Her heart was still beating too quickly, and she knew what it was that heated her insides. It was passion or lust; both promised her hours of worry as she tried to decide if she was beyond redemption.

How could she favor a man such as Quinton Cameron? That would gain her nothing but another lover who would use her and then discard her once he was finished with her.

She chewed on her lower lip, a sliver of guilt assaulting her.

Quinton Cameron was not a dishonest man. He’d never lied to her as Melor had done, but that bit of knowledge didn’t settle her thoughts any.

He was still, without a doubt, a man she needed to avoid. He was far too dangerous for her to make the mistake of ever seeing him again—much less trust him enough to allow him to do any of the things she had seen flickering in his eyes.

***

“Ye did what ye had to. The man provoked ye.” Kaie’s voice was low, but it didn’t mask her distaste.

Deirdre looked up from the floor she was scrubbing; the day was almost gone now, but there were still chores for her to do. “Do nae bother to try and soothe my feelings when ye clearly disapprove of my actions.”

Her sister watched as she leaned over to dip the rag she was using into the nearby leather bucket. The smell of lye rose from the water, and her hands burned from the countless nicks and scrapes she had earned with other duties. Among those seeking to humbly serve the church, she was the lowest of them all. The fact that she toiled alone was proof of that. The other nuns had sought their cots and were enjoying being off their feet, while she remained on her knees in the last hours of the day. The sunlight no longer filled the room where the holy order ate. There was now only a dim evening gloom. Even the coals in the hearth were hidden by ash to keep their ruby glow from offering any cheer. But Deirdre refused to grant them the victory of hearing her beg to be allowed to seek her own bed before she had completed every task assigned to her.

“Ye think too harshly of me, Deirdre.”

Deirdre looked up at her sister as she let the rag drop to the stone floor. It made a wet
splat
and sent water onto her skirt, but she didn’t care. “And you are too mild in temperament, Kaie. It’s hard to believe we were born of the same parents.”