A Highlander Never Surrenders (17 page)

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.”

“Mayhap he fancies her.” Anne stepped toward him to help him with the knot. “It would explain why he is not the dashing, devilish rogue you all speak of.”

“Lass,” Angus uncorked the lid of his pouch of brew and offered it to her, “Graham Grant would stab himself in the innards before he handed his heart to any maiden. I have known him fer many a year. He is exactly what he appears to be, an angel wi’ horns.”

Hearing this, Robert nodded in agreement. Graham was a likable fellow, even while he took down his opponent’s castle. The taking of Kildun’s entire garrison with the MacGregors two years past was proof enough for Robert. He set his eyes on the narrow path Graham had taken with Claire. What if Anne was right? What if his best friend had not been honest with him, and he did indeed care for Claire? Could that be the cause of Graham’s morose mood? And would Robert stand in his way if Graham had finally found the woman who could tame his heart? He glanced at Anne. What of her? Would he be able to hand her over to James Buchanan when the time came, knowing that his heart would remain with her in Perth for the remainder of his days? He’d vowed to himself to always do the right thing. To take not the easy path, but the right one. How could making Graham’s, Claire’s, and his own life miserable be the right thing to do, even if the law demanded it? He would speak to General Monck. But first, he had to make Anne understand how necessary love was to him. He would not be seen as dishonorable, especially not in her eyes.

“My lady.” He turned to her after spreading out his blanket for her use and offered her his arm. “May I have a word with you alone?”

“Of course.” She accepted his arm and let him lead her away from the others.

“Your sister told me that you are familiar with Sir Thomas Malory’s tales of Arthur Pendragon and his noble knights,” he began slowly, thoughtfully, keeping his eyes on the ground ahead.

“Aye, I know them well.” The wistful pitch of her voice was enough to set his heart racing.

“You pretended to be Guinevere when you were a child.” He smiled at his boots and then raised his eyes to her to bask in her soft laughter.

“I drove my poor father daft, but I so wanted to be her.”

“Why?”

She sighed and tilted her face up at him to ponder his question. “Because she was loved by such an honorable man. She would have had to have been quite an extraordinary woman, do you not agree?”

Robert simply stared into her wide, haunting eyes and nodded. He wanted to touch her so badly it near doubled him over. What else was there to do but tell her? He knew now that she would understand.

“Your sister is very beautiful,” he said earnestly. “She’s very brave. Her devotion to you and to her cause is an exceptional quality.” Anne smiled at him, then looked away. “But,” he added, drawing her gaze back. “I do not love her.”

“Are you certain?” she asked him quietly, without a trace of anger in her honeyed voice.

Robert’s relief was evident in his smile when he nodded. “Aye, for my heart has been claimed by a queen.”

They were alone. Finally. Of all the things Claire wanted to say to him, shout at him, over the past sennight, she could remember none now. She glanced at Graham riding at her left. He’d changed her plans once again. She’d wanted a chance to speak to James alone. To tell him what she wanted him to do to help her and Anne escape the MacGregors and their two friends. Now she would not get that chance. She had to think clearly and not let Graham get in the way.

“D’ye love him?”

His question was so unexpected, Claire narrowly avoided getting struck by a branch in her path.

“What? Who?”

“Buchanan.”

She slowed her mount, and Graham slowed his. “What does that matter to you?” When his eyes hardened on her, her nostrils flared. “I have a question of my own, since we are asking. Why do you take such great care in avoiding me?”

For a moment, he looked as if he wouldn’t answer her. She let him know with a deliberate tilt of her chin that she would be just as stubborn.

“I’m ill,” he conceded vaguely.

“Och, I did not know. Is it something . . .” She paused, her concern turning to suspicion. “You converse with everyone else. This affliction is only a danger to me, then?”

“Ye are the cause of it.”

Anger sparked her eyes. “Is it the lack of anything truly important to you that makes you so cold, so uncaring toward the women who have shared with you something precious? You use all to gain for yourself alone.” He parted his lips to speak but Claire would not have it. She’d wanted to tell him this since the morning they left the inn. He had deliberately made her like him, and then treated her like the plague. He had kissed her, but each time only to prove that he could best her, if he so desired. Which, he made most evident, he had no desire to do. And the worst part? He did not care about any of it!