Highlander Unchained (15 page)

“Not now, Flora,” he growled.

She leaned her body closer to his and moved her hand in a light, soothing caress over his hot chest. “Please,” she begged. And under her breath she added, “Don’t do this. It’s gone too far already.”

She looked deep into his eyes, and something passed between them. Something that made her heart flutter hard in her chest. Something intense and…significant.

Slowly, he lowered his sword.

The hot rage of battle that had welled inside him eased back, dampened by Flora.

His men dispersed, fading away quietly as Lachlan stood in the hot sun, staring at the fey creature before him, not quite sure what had just happened. Hell, he knew what had happened. After their conversation about Mary, he and Allan had taken their anger to the battlefield. Lachlan didn’t want to think what might have occurred had Flora not stepped in and defused the situation.

Allan had shot him a quick glance before he left. His captain had looked equally taken aback by what had transpired. By how quickly their practice had turned into something altogether different. Damn. This thing with Mary had gotten out of control. How could he not have realized what was happening? Allan might be his friend, but Lachlan was chief, and he had to make his decisions as such—for the good of the clan. Even if those decisions went against his personal feelings.

He glanced down at her tiny hand, still resting on his chest. He couldn’t describe what he felt the moment she had touched him. It was as if her hand had plunged through ice, reaching a part of him he hadn’t even known existed. She’d drawn him back into the light from a dark place. All with a simple touch.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, she dropped her hand self-consciously. He felt the loss acutely, the severing of a connection the significance of which he was only beginning to comprehend. This woman did something strange to him.

He bent down, picking up the shirt and plaid that he’d tossed over a rock, feeling suddenly exposed. Though he knew it wasn’t his state of undress that bothered him. He folded the clothing over his arm and held out his hand. “Come.”

She looked at him uncertainly. “Where are we going?”

“To the water. Then you can tell me what you wished to speak to me about.”

Steeling himself for rejection, he was surprised when she wordlessly slid her hand into his. He ignored the sudden hitch in his chest and led her down the rocky pathway to the water’s edge. Rather than step on the white sandy beach, she pulled back with almost an aversion that he found odd and found a low rock to sit on.

Once again he relinquished his shirt and plaid to a rock, then pulled off his boots and dove into the waves of the sound, allowing the cool water to wash over him and rinse away the sweat and grime of the fight. His muscles burned, and he could have used a long, cold soak, but he was acutely aware that she was waiting. Reinvigorated nonetheless, he stepped up the rocky bank, feeling her big blue eyes on him the whole time, traveling over his chest and arms, unable to hide her interest. His body hardened. He wanted more than her eyes on him. Her hands…for starters. And then that naughty red mouth. She could drive a man wild with erotic images of those softly curved lips.

The heat of battle had left him and been replaced by a different heat. A raw one. For her. Even sitting there in that simple gown, she looked beautiful. Soft and sweetly feminine. Her hair tumbled in loose waves around her shoulders like a silky golden veil. Her pale cheeks flushed with a hint of pink from the heat of the sun. But it was the taunt of his vivid memories that drove him to distraction. Memories of lush breasts with tight nipples, curvy hips, a round bottom, and long, lean legs.

Completely unaware of the direction of his thoughts, she pointed behind him across the sound. “Is that the Isle of Mull?”

He nodded, reluctantly pulling on his shirt. “The northern edge.”

“And Coll?”

“It lies just beyond Mull to the west.”

She thought for a minute. “So Hector is close?”

“Yes.” He could hear the unspoken question. Then what was taking Hector so long? Wringing the remaining water from his hair with a squeeze of his fingers, he changed the subject. “What is it that you wanted?”

Hands twisting, she gazed up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Eyes that were the same startling blue tinged with green as the sea he’d just sunk into. Mesmerizing eyes. Her long dark lashes shone iridescent in the sun like the edge of a raven’s wing. She took his breath away.

“Mary is unwell,” she said.

His head cleared immediately. “What’s wrong with her?”

She raised her chin to him defiantly. “Her heart is broken.”

He stiffened, the tension returning to the back of his neck and shoulders. “It will mend.” He hadn’t intended to sound so harsh, but damn her for interfering. His sisters were none of her concern.

“You can’t mean that.”

She sounded so certain. He didn’t know what she
thought
she knew about him, but she was wrong. “I assure you, I always mean what I say.”

“Then you don’t know what you are doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.” Mary’s marriage was important to the survival of his clan. He’d already had discussions with Ian MacDonald, son of the Chief of Glengarry and brother to Rory MacLeod’s wife, Isabel. Ian was a good man. His sister would be well cared for, with liferents in some important property in Morvern. And his clan would have another important ally in the feud against Hector.

Her mouth pursed with annoyance, a sentiment he well understood. “You have nothing more to say?” she asked indignantly.

“I’m not accustomed to explaining myself.” He gave her a long, hard look. “To anyone.”

She disregarded the warning. “But surely you can see that she
loves
him.”

Love
. Love wasn’t part of the marriage equation. It was the same for Mary as it would be for him. That was the way of it. “She
thinks
she loves him,” he said. “But Mary is young. With the romantic notions of a girl.”

He started to turn away, indicating that he was finished with the conversation, but she grabbed his arm. Her tiny fingers pressed into the thin linen of his damp shirt. The soft, imploring touch sent waves of heat rippling through him. She was ardent in her beliefs, and he wrestled with the strange urge to please her, though in this, he knew he could not.

“I think you are wrong,” she said flatly. “Mary truly cares for him. You must have seen how she looks at him.” He had, which was why he’d put a stop to it. “Talk to her. Not as a chief, but as her brother.”

She was talking nonsense. “I’m both. But it is the chief who must make the decision for the clan.”

“But she needs a brother. I know you care for your sisters, but you act more like their father than their brother.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “It’s something I’m familiar with. Take the time now to get to know them, before you come to regret it.”

She was wrong. He was very close to his sisters. Not as close as they once were, perhaps, but not by his choice. “I’ve nothing to regret.”

“Not yet. Don’t force her into an unhappy marriage,” she implored, her eyes soft and pleading. “I’ve seen what it can do.”

“My sister isn’t your mother, Flora.”

“Are you so sure? My mother was once a biddable girl who did her duty, and look what it got her—four husbands with varying degrees of cruelty and a lifetime of unhappiness.” He could hear the bitterness and pain in her voice. Dropping her hand, she looked away from him, as if trying to hide the tumult of emotion. But it didn’t work. He could see the toll her mother’s death had taken in the stiff carriage of her shoulders. Here, on the windswept beach, with the harsh sea crashing behind her and the tower keep standing guard like a lone sentinel across a desolate land, she looked unbearably alone. Her refined beauty was a stark contrast to the rugged landscape of the Highlands. A delicate white rose among the hearty Highland heather. A sharp pang pricked his chest.
She didn’t belong here.

Would this harsh life destroy her, too?
No,
he tried to convince himself. Flora was strong.

“What was she like?” he asked quietly.

Flora reached down to pick up a flat stone and tossed it across the water, just as the wave pulled back flat from the shore. She managed two skips before it sank sharply into the retreating water. It was something his sisters might do. And hinted of a carefree girl not unaccustomed to the sea. A remnant of her past from Dunvegan, perhaps?

“Sweet,” she said finally. “Gentle. Loving. But always shadowed by sadness.” She paused to look at him. “She was all I had.” The look of misery on her face hit him hard. She glanced back to the water. “When I was young, I used to spend hours devising ways of making her laugh. Little plays, dances, funny costumes. Anything to make her smile.” A wistful look transcended her face. Her skin was flawless. Not a single freckle to mar the ivory perfection. He remembered how soft it was under his fingertips.

Unaware of his scrutiny, she continued. “I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world when she smiled. And when she laughed, I would hear echoes of the happy girl she’d been before she was locked away. My mother was like a caged bird who’d forgotten how to sing. She was beautiful and delicate, a gentle creature who was tossed into a world that was utterly foreign to her.”

“You mean the Highlands?”

Flora nodded. “Yes, but it was more than that. Her husbands were much older and harsh, forbidding men constantly waging war, who didn’t know what to do with a young girl accustomed to gentler pursuits. Her father and brothers should have known better. But she trusted blindly. Trusted that doing her duty was the right thing. But it wasn’t. Not for her. She was never allowed to make decisions for herself. She resented her every move being controlled, and resented the domineering men she was married to. Eventually they broke her.”

He could understand why Janet Campbell had wanted a different life for her daughter. But not all men were like her husbands.

“I know something of the men she was married to.” The stories of Hector’s father were legendary. He was a revered chief, but unquestionably a brutal one. Much like his son.

“You probably know more than I do,” she said wryly. “My father was her last husband, and I don’t remember him much—except that he seemed ancient and remote. My mother never talked in specifics about the men she was married to, but they left a lasting impression on me. I saw what they did to her. So you see what a forced marriage can bring? Do you really want your sister consigned to such a fate?”

“Of course not. Nor do I think she will be. Not all arranged marriages end up the way of your mother’s. My parents were happy enough. And unlike your mother, my sister was raised in the Highlands, this is her home. Besides, the man I have chosen for her is a good man. But I will not force her. If she does not wish to marry him, there are others.”

“But she
loves
Allan.” Her expression turned fierce. “If I loved a man, nothing could force me to marry someone else.”

Her words chilled him to the bone. The thought of her so passionate about another man made his insides twist. Even though he knew there was nothing to worry about. Nothing would stand in the way of their marriage.

He met her gaze. “I’ve made my decision.”

“And your decisions are always right?”

“They are the only ones that matter,” he snapped, not liking the scorn he heard in her voice. That was what he did. As chief, he made decisions that had broad ramifications for hundreds of people. He had to be decisive and confident. A leader. A man whom men would willingly die for. He damn well better trust himself to be right.

And Flora would have to learn that as well. She seemed to have no understanding of duty and responsibility—or of how difficult it could be to make the hard decisions. Her impulsive decision to take her marriage into her own hands and elope was proof enough of that.

She took a step closer to him. The wind whipped through her hair, sending silky tendrils streaming in wild abandon across her face. “Is there nothing that will change your mind?” she asked.

The world shifted. Day suddenly turned to night. Her innocent plea played tricks on his mind, on the desires of his body, taunting his tightly wrought control. Lust fired his blood. The subtle floral scent of her rose up to trap him in its hypnotic embrace. He couldn’t move. Every instinct clamored to gather her in his arms and take what she offered. It was there between them, crackling with erotic promise.

He knew how good it would be.

God, he was tempted. He wanted to kiss her so badly, it hurt. His fists clenched at his sides as her lips parted. Soft and achingly sweet. Beckoning. Only inches away. His body drummed with need. The urge was so strong, he could almost taste her.

He knew what she was doing, even if she didn’t. Unconsciously using her feminine wiles on him. She’d already proved how much she could affect him, by putting herself between him and Allan earlier. But she was doomed to failure. He would never allow a woman to control his actions. It was a lesson she needed to learn.

The air was thick with tension. He leaned closer, towering over her, letting her feel his heat. “What are you offering?”

The color slid from her cheeks, and she tried to back away. But she stumbled on the uneven rocks, and he reached out to catch her, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. He felt the furious flutter of her heart against his, like a bird caught in a trap. His trap.

“You m-misunderstand,” she stammered.

He traced his fingers down her throat and over the frantic pulse. “Do I?” He held her gaze. “I don’t think so.”

He’d waited long enough. Whatever control he had over his passion had been undone by the exquisite feel of holding her in his arms. His hand snaked behind her neck, and he plunged his fingers through the silky waves of her hair, warmed from the sun, bringing her mouth hard against his with a deep guttural groan. The relief was overwhelming. Her scent. Her taste. The sensation of her soft lips under his. The tightness inside him burst in a slow gush of heat that spread through his veins, and his cock swelled hot and hard against her. He’d been waiting for this for too long.