Highlander Untamed (33 page)

Isabel was taken aback. “Why? What reason does he have to suspect treachery from Sleat?”

Ian sobered. “Father was furious when he found out about the Mackenzies’ attack on you. He blames himself.”

“Why should he do that?”

“He told Sleat of your letter, where you mentioned the MacLeod’s delay in Edinburgh. He believes that Sleat told the Mackenzie.”

Was that why Rory had questioned her? It took Isabel a moment to digest the fact that a seemingly innocuous comment in her letter could have led to the attack. “I don’t believe it,” she said dumbly.

“The Mackenzie’s rage at our family and the MacLeods is so strong after the death of his son, Father believes that even if Sleat were inclined to do so, our uncle could no longer rein in the vengeful Mackenzie.”

At the mention of the Mackenzie, Isabel shuddered. The old chief had watched her closely over the last few days, and she did not trust him. No matter what Rory claimed about the sanctuary of the gathering, she suspected that Mackenzie was planning something. But so far, he’d done nothing more than stare at her with the same flat eyes of his son. Except that his eyes were glazed with something more—the promise of vengeance.

Ian continued, “Even now, Father seeks an alternative alliance to wage our defenses against the Mackenzies.”

Isabel couldn’t believe her ears. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She tried to contain her excitement, asking cautiously, “Do you think Father would accept the MacLeod’s help?”

“I’m almost certain of it. Could you convince him to do so?”

Isabel grinned. “I think so.”

Ian met her smile with his own. “It would be a solution to our problems.”

Almost all her problems. She still needed to find a way to return Trotternish to the MacLeods and forestall her uncle’s plan to tell all. “Don’t say anything to Father yet. I will write as soon as I know something definitive.”

“Good luck, Bel. For your sake as well as ours, I hope this works.”

The opportunity for further conversation was lost by the excitement surrounding the start of the caber toss.

But Isabel didn’t mind. Her conversation with Ian had lifted a huge burden off her. Everything, it seemed, was falling into place.

It was well past midnight by the time Rory made his way up the long, winding staircase to their bedchamber. The celebration that followed the MacLeod victory was still going strong, but he had other spoils to reap. Entering the room, he closed the door firmly behind him. Feet spread, folding his arms forbiddingly across his chest, he grinned. “I’m ready to collect my reward.”

Isabel, who’d retired a short time ago, turned from her seat at the table where she’d been brushing her hair to study him blocking the door. He loved the way the candlelight caught the flecks of gold in the flaming locks, tumbling around her bare shoulders in a glossy cape. His body heated as his eyes traveled over her naked arms, shoulders, and décolletage. She’d removed the gown she wore for the celebration, leaving only a thin sark between him and naked perfection. He felt a surge of masculine pride as her eyes flowed across his body—not bothering to hide her appreciation—and lingered on his crossed arms.

“I believe you’ve already had your reward,” she said primly, but Rory caught the gleam of naughtiness in her gaze.

“One wee kiss is not the reward I had in mind,” he said, making a move toward her. Laughing, she slipped past his reach, darting to the other side of the bed. He caught a lust-inducing glimpse of a slim bare leg. “Don’t play games with me, Isabel,” he warned.

“I thought you were good at games,” she taunted, leaning across the bed. “Did you not win nearly every contest you entered?”

His gaze fastened on her lush breasts slung forward, swaying enticingly. Blood surged to his already hard cock when he thought of the way they’d bounce as she moved on top of him, riding him.

He moved one way, and she moved the other. When he tried to slide around the bed, she dove across, again slipping past his grasp. “You’ll pay for your insolence, wench,” he threatened.

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’m counting on it.”

She was quick, he’d give her that. But he was done giving chase. He faked to the right, she went left to slide across the bed, and he pounced, pinning her underneath him.

“Captured,” he said with a wicked grin.

She made a halfhearted attempt to push him off. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and her breathing quick from her exertions. Would he ever tire of looking at her? “Mercy?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Never.”

He tsked. “Oh, lass, you try my patience.” He clasped her hands above her head, giving him full access to the length of her body. She wiggled, but he had no intention of letting her go. He lowered his head, covering her mouth with his in a long, hot kiss as his hands began to caress the delectable curves of her body. Slowly, he lifted the hem of her sark, sliding his hand up her velvety thigh. He could feel her heart race as he brushed his finger over her heat. Her response to him never ceased to amaze him; he felt how she quivered, waiting for his touch. He knew how she would explode almost the moment that he stroked her.

“Mercy?” he asked again, his finger tantalizingly close to her most sensitive spot.

She peered at him from beneath her lashes. “You are a horrible man, Rory MacLeod.”

His grin widened. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you shall have your reward.”

“And you shall have yours,” he said huskily. He lowered his head again, this time sliding past her mouth, over her breasts, and between her waiting legs, where his tongue brought her to quick surrender. Her soft cries of release echoed in his ears, a sweeter sound he’d never heard.

She lay still, languid in the wake of her release. Rory helped shimmy her shift over her head, before quickly removing his plaid and linen shirt. After stretching out beside her, he rolled to one side to watch the delicate flush fade from her pink cheeks. Their eyes met, and a slow smile curved up her lips. “Hmm…” Her fingers traced a delicate line down his stomach. The muscles flexed instinctively. “What reward would you have of me?” she asked, her hand moving achingly close to his arousal. Stroking the lines of his stomach, she teased him, her hand hovering just out of reach.

He couldn’t concentrate on anything but the elusive grasp of her hand. “Surprise me,” he said with difficulty.

She did.

Rather than take him in her hand, she slithered down his chest, kissing and licking along her dangerously slow path. Rory couldn’t think; a red haze clouded his vision, and the blood pounded in his ears. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, giving her time to find her way.

Oh God, she was so close. He ached for the press of her warm, hot mouth around him, sucking, taking him deeper. Suddenly, she stopped. His eyes flew open. Her mouth was inches from him. While he was watching, her tongue flicked out to lick him. His ass clenched as he fought the overwhelming rush of heat. Their eyes met and held. It was the most erotic, intimate moment of his life.

“Mercy?” she asked.

Rory couldn’t speak, he was too damn close to bursting. Her tongue swirled around his thick head. Every muscle in his body tightened. “Mercy,” he choked.

She chuckled and finally slid him into her warm mouth. Her soft pink lips surrounded him, pulling him deeper as her tongue slid against him. He showed her how to take him deep and how to use her hand because there was too much of him. Finally, when he couldn’t take any more, he pulled her on top of him, entering her in one hard thrust.

He held her hips as she moved up and down, clenching him like a silken glove with her muscles. Rory was out of his mind with need. She arched her back, and he knew she was close. He lifted her harder, faster, until she tensed, shuddered, and broke apart. Rory felt the pressure of his own release build from the deepest part of him. The intensity shook him. Every muscle, every fiber of his being, compressed in one hot moment, tightened, and then shattered into a thousand pieces. She rocked against him, wringing every last drop from his climax.

Rory felt as if the life’s blood had been drained out of him. He couldn’t have moved if the tower were on fire. Slowly, the feeling returned to his limbs, and the haze faded. It took him a moment to realize what he had done. He’d spilled his seed inside her, a mistake he’d not made since the first time. A mistake that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with what he knew in his heart. He’d told her with his body, the words he could not say.
He loved her.
But the realization did not change the fact that he might be forced to marry another. And now he might have gotten her with child. Their child.

What had he done?

He reached over and slid a finger under her chin. “I’m sorry, lass.”

She pressed her fingers over his mouth. “Shush. Don’t.”
Ruin it,
he heard her unspoken plea.

He didn’t need to say anything. They both knew it would make no difference. If need be, Rory would do what he had to do. But the thought of Isabel bearing his child…

It would tear out his heart.

He couldn’t allow it to happen. The stakes had grown too high. He pulled her tight against him, tucking her under his arm and pressing his lips to her head. The idea that had taken hold two days ago could be the answer to all their problems.

The alternative had become unthinkable.

Chapter 20

By late the following afternoon, Isabel had to smother a yawn behind her hand. It had been a long day following a short—very short—night. Peeking out from beneath her lashes at the man riding beside her, she hoped he hadn’t noticed. Thankfully, Rory seemed involved in his conversation with Alex and Douglas.

She shifted her bottom in the saddle uncomfortably. It galled her to admit it, but she was beginning to feel sore after not having sat a horse at any length for some time. They had traveled much farther than they’d originally intended—a distance of nearly six leagues—past the coastal village of Bracadale and nearly halfway to Sligachan before turning back toward Dunvegan. The splendor of the spring infusing the countryside had urged them on with its vibrant color and fresh beauty. Shades of lavender from the heather and lime from the grassy moors undulated with the breeze. Isabel welcomed the opportunity to leave Dunvegan and explore Skye, but it was getting late and exhaustion from the excitement of the last few days was catching up with her.

Rory had warned her that it would be too tiring, especially after their vigorous victory celebration, but Isabel had insisted on accompanying him and his men as they escorted her family, Argyll, and the MacCrimmons partway on their long journey south toward Armadale. Now she wished she had heeded his warning. Her mouth twisted. Though she’d never admit as much to Rory. He’d just look at her with that inscrutable expression, but she’d know exactly what he was thinking:
I told you so.

He knew her so well. At times, it seemed, better than she knew herself.

Isabel’s thoughts kept drifting to the night before. Even with the extensive lovemaking of the past few months thoroughly expunging her innocence, she could not prevent the deep blush that crept up her cheeks at the memory of her all too willing surrender to the marauding warrior bent on wreaking new havoc on her senses.

And last night he’d held nothing back, spending himself deep inside her.

She tried not to put too much significance on what had happened, but it was impossible not to hope. Rory was not a man to make the same mistake twice—especially when he’d been so careful after that first night. Was he starting to see her as a part of his future? A future that after her conversation with Ian now seemed possible? All she needed to do was mollify her uncle and find a way to give Rory the land that was the source of the feud—that didn’t involve marriage to someone else. Isabel was not without friends in the royal household. Perhaps she could help Rory. But how?

A strong, unusually warm coastal breeze tore an errant lock of hair from its feckless restraint. The red gold silken threads flew haphazardly across her face, tickling her nose and momentarily obscuring her view. Annoyed, Isabel captured the defiant tresses with her fingers and tucked them securely behind her ear.

They’d departed Dunvegan not long after breaking their fast, but the day was nearly gone. The rose-hued sun lingered on the late afternoon horizon as they skirted the woodland and steered their mounts toward Dunvegan village only a few furlongs ahead. Almost home. She could soon relax. The incident in the forest was still too fresh in her mind, and she was glad Rory had insisted they take the longer route around rather than risk another attack in the forest. She wondered if it was more for her benefit. Did he realize how the shadowy darkness of the trees terrified her?

Caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t realize Rory had been watching her. “Tired?” he asked innocently.

Isabel straightened her back and thrust back her shoulders, ignoring the shot of pain in her aching back. “Not at all.”

“Stubborn lass.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, ’tis not much farther.”