Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (15 page)

He let her go.

"Perhaps not, Damsel," he said. "But I could teach you to fish, if you've a wish to learn."

His words snapped her to a halt. She spun toward him, her heart pounding and her fists clenched.

He stood wholly still, his expression bland.

Still breathing hard, she tried with all her might to believe that he wasn't implying what she thought he was implying. In fact, she had almost convinced herself when she realized that his expression was far too innocuous.

"Ye knew," she said simply.

"Whatever are you speaking of?" He blinked at her with such marvelous sincerity, such childlike innocence, that for a moment she was tempted nearly beyond control to slap him silly.

"Ye knew all along it was I?"

"It was you what?"

Her teeth ground of their own accord. "How old are ye, Dugald?" she asked sweetly.

He raised his brows. "In truth, I am not entirely certain. A score and three years, I think."

“Do ye wish to reach a score and four?''

"I had rather hoped."

"Then I suggest ye tell me the truth. Did ye recognize me when ye first saw me in my father's castle?"

"Think on it, lass," he said, settling his shoulder against the wall. “If you do, I am certain you will know the truth. After all, who else but the Rogue's daughter would have the gall not only to pull me in the water, but to add the effrontery of stealing my horse?"

Shona shifted her gaze nervously away. That entire episode was not something she was proud of. But it hadn't been her fault. After all, she hadn't asked this lout to come along when she was in a state of dishabille. "I didn't actually steal your horse," she said.

"Ahh."

"I just borrowed him for a short span of time. He just didna wish to leave me."

“He has always had poor judgment. He did not wish to leave his former master either, though the fellow was intent on beating him to death. In truth, I think the trouncing addled his brain."

"Why not be rid of him then?"

"Tis not always as simple as one might think. For instance, I've been trying to get rid of you,"

Dugald said wryly. "But you've been bedeviling me from the start."

She should hate him. She wanted to hate him. She did hate him. But his eyes were as haunting as moonlight, his hair as black and sleek as sable, his every feature as perfect as a marble work of art.

And when he smiled, her insides went all sloppy. She resented that. But perhaps she shouldn't have pulled him in the water.

"Would it help if I apologized?" she asked, knowing her voice sounded a bit petulant.

"Apologize?" He stepped forward like a hunting cat.

Their gazes locked. "Tis no need for that lass, for truly..." His gaze slipped away from hers, skimming her bosom before returning to her face. “The view was quite worth the drenching."

Suddenly she couldn't breathe. Dragonheart was burning a hole in her chest, and her hands felt damp. Not to mention her head, which had every right to be spinning even without his sudden proximity.

"I'm quite certain I should slap ye for that," she said breathlessly.

"Aye." His tone was breathy. "I'm certain you should. But why don't you kiss me instead?"

In all honesty, she never meant to do it. In fact, kissing him was the furthest thing from her mind.

But suddenly her mind seemed to have little to say about the matter and her lips had taken over.

The kiss was neither rough nor demanding, but so light it seemed that if she but breathed, the spell would be broken and he would disappear. She felt her body go limp and her mind follow suit.

Slowly, ever so gently, he slipped his hand behind her back and pulled her closer. His tongue touched her lips, stroking along the lower ridge.

She shivered beneath his touch, melting like a snowflake in the sun. The kiss grew deeper, taking her breath, her will. His arm slipped about the circumference of her waist, drawing her closer, pulling her under the magic of his spell.

Her body throbbed like the strum of a lute, singing for his touch, for his caress. Her breasts, taut-tipped and eager, pressed against his chest, joining the duo beat of their hearts. Somehow, her thighs were straddling one of his.

And she did not care, for she couldn't possibly get close enough, could not kiss him fast enough.

Could not feel enough of his skin...

Skin! She needed skin, she thought. And suddenly she was ripping open his belt. His tunic fell open. Her hands skimmed his chest. It was as hard as a stallion's, and he was hot...everywhere. His back, his shoulders, and when she skimmed her fingers along his abdomen, his muscles danced. His kisses, hot and ravenous, moved rapidly away from her lips, down the arch of her neck, over her shoulder, the hollow of her throat.

Need burned like summer lightning through her breasts, zinging like cannon fire through her belly and down to her loins.

"Bed." She never knew who actually said the word. It was just there, in the room with them.

"There's a bed, just yonder!"

"Bed! Aye, bed!" The word was repeated like a sacred litany, and suddenly she was lifted into his arms, her side pressed against his hard, naked flesh.

Her nightrail slipped past her knees, baring her thighs, and somehow the ties on her bodice had become loose. But they were just a nuisance, a barrier between her and euphoria.

Down below, a horse kicked the wall of the stable. The noise broke through their combined trance.

Reality twanged between them like a loosed arrow.

Shona struggled in his arms, and he nearly dropped her, so hot was his desire to set her free.

She stumbled to her feet and scurried backward, pulling her bodice together with fingers that had suddenly gone cold and shaky.

"What are ye doing?" she sputtered.

"Me?" He looked shocked and somewhat befuddled. "What were
you
doing?"

She gasped at him like a prudish maid, which she was not. But neither was she the hussy she had seemed to be.

"Tell me, Damsel, what kind of spell do you weave?" he asked, then dropped his gaze to her chest. "What is that?"

"What?"

"An amulet?" He took it into his hand. "A dragon!" His gaze smote hers. "A dragon to draw a dragon. Is that it? Is that how you've bewitched me? How you've drawn me into your web?"

"Draw ye..." she spat, and yanked the pendant from his hand to stuff it quickly under her nightrail. "I dunna even like ye!"

"Apparently that makes little difference. For it seems you are not happy until you have every man drooling in your wake," he said, and lunged.

She tried to duck away, but he caught her about the waist. She twisted like a wildcat in his arms, swinging her elbow at the same time. It connected solid and sure against his left ear, knocking him off balance, but not so far gone that he lost his grip on her.

They went down together in a swirl of white linen. And suddenly they were on the floor, face to face, breathing hard and staring into each other's eyes.

"Shona." Her name was but a whisper on his lips.

She froze, breathing in the sound like sweet summer air. Her hands cupped his face of their own accord, memorizing his every feature. She tried to draw away, but the magic held her there, and suddenly she was drawing him hopelessly in for a kiss.

A whisper distracted her. She glanced up.

"Da!" She all but screamed the word and jerked like a mad marionette, for standing in the doorway, big as life and mad as hell, was Roderic the Rogue.

Dugald's gaze flew to her father. Then he slipped off her and rose lithely to his feet.

Shona tried to rise with him, but her legs became entangled in her nightrail and she tripped.

Dugald reached out without a word, steadied her, then drew his hands back to clench and unclench them at his sides.

"Laird Roderic." He said the words with deep timbre, nodding shallowly.

"Dugald of Kinnaird," Roderic said.

"Father, what are ye doing here?" It really wasn't what she had meant to say, but all her good sense had been sucked out through her lips, and the sight of the sword strapped to her father's waist rather undid her.

"Twas the strangest thing," Roderic said. His voice was low. Too low. Too deep. Oh, God! "I was talking with my brother and a few others when I thought I heard something in the hall. I told myself it could have been anyone. In fact..." His gaze was hawkish on her face. "I told your mother twas nothing. But something bothered me, niggled at me, and I had to make certain my daughter was safe."

He took a step into the room. "My sweet daughter, the apple of my eye. My bonny wee lass, that I have nurtured through her tender years to bring her with pride into chaste womanhood."

She stumbled back. Her father had never struck her, but never had she been found nearly naked in the arms of a virtual stranger, either.

"But alas? Her bed was empty. Where could she have gone? I asked meself. Mayhap to the stable." He took another step toward her, his fists clenched. "So I come here and what do I hear from up above?" He growled the words, taking two angry steps closer, but suddenly Dugald stood between them.

"Harm her and you'll not see the light of day," Dugald said.

The room went absolutely silent. Past Dugald's ebony head, Shona could see her father's brows shoot into his hairline.

"Your pardon?" he said.

Dugald didn't answer, but stood steady yet relaxed, his legs slightly spread, his bare feet unmoving.

"Are ye threatening my life, lad?"

There was a moment of silence, then, "Nay, hardly that. I am merely suggesting that you do not touch the lass until your ire has cooled."

"I have no intention of harming my daughter," Roderic said and stepped forward, his hand on his sword. "I canna say the same about ye, however."

Dugald moved neither right nor left, but crouched ever so slightly. "Is this incident worth a death?"

"It may well be," Roderic assured him.

"She would miss you."

"She would miss me?"

"If you die," Dugald explained, his tone absolutely steady.

"Ye've got balls, lad, I'll say that for ye. Though that may not be the case for long," Roderic said, and loosened his sword.

Dugald crossed his arms at the wrists in front of him. But even though he was unarmed, he suddenly looked anything but helpless.

Panic spurred through Shona. Without thought, she lunged at Dugald and shoved him aside.

"Cease! Both of ye," she demanded, breathing hard. "There's no reason for any of this."

"No reason?" Roderic said. "On the contrary, Daughter, tis my right and my duty to defend your honor."

"My honor doesn't need defending."

"Ye are in your nightrail!" Roderic stormed.

"He's seen me in less!" The room went absolutely silent. She winced then licked her lips.

Where did those words come from? "I mean, he's already seen me, so unless ye can work magic, ye cannot change that." Dear God, she was usually much better at this game of words. She softened her voice and hoped she hadn't completely lost her feminine wiles. "I didn't intend to come here," she said quietly. "We were sleeping—"

"We?" Roderic roared the word.

"I! I mean was sleeping. But I heard someone at my door—"

"He was at your door!"

She opened her mouth in a futile effort to explain, but in that instant Dugald stepped forward.

"Please cease trying to defend me, Lady Shona."

She snapped her mouth shut with a scowl first for Dugald, then for her father. "It's not his fault,"

she gritted. "It's quite simple—"

"I do not care who’s..." Roderic began, but suddenly he became silent and eyed her askance.

"What did ye say?" The anger drained from his face to be replaced by... shock?

"I said, tis quite a simple explanation, really, if ye'll just—"

"Before that."

She drew a careful breath. "I said, it's not his fault."

Never had she seen her father look more astonished, though for the life of her she couldn't say why. After all, it wasn't as if she'd never admitted guilt before.

"Are ye saying this be
your
fault, Daughter?"

"Nay," she began cautiously, but Roderic was already slashing his hand through the air, cutting off any further discussion.

"Then it is his!" he said, stepping toward Dugald.

"Nay!" Lunging forward, she caught Roderic's arm in both her hands.

He stopped to stare at her from close proximity. "This is not like all your other foolish exploits.

When the garden wall collapsed ye said twas not your fault, that the muskrats must have been digging down below, I gave ye the benefit of a doubt. When Blind William's favored ram suddenly turned an odd shade of blue, ye said twas not your fault. Possibly the beast had eaten too many bluebells, ye said, so I let it go, lass. But this... someone will take the blame for this."

She shifted her gaze quickly to Dugald and back. He looked absolutely calm. So she was right.

He was as dense as a rock. Hadn't he ever heard that the Highlanders were a barbarous lot? Hadn't he ever heard of the rack? And that would be lenient if her mother found out.

Roderic moved to pull his arm from her grasp, but she snapped her mind back to the issue at hand and tightened her grip.

"Then tis my fault," she said.

The room went absolutely quiet.

"Then tis ye who shall suffer the consequences," Roderic proclaimed, and yanking his arm from her grasp, ushered her from the room.

"I'll lock her in at night."

Roderic's statement made no sense at all, Flanna thought as she lumbered out of a sound sleep.

She was quite accustomed to these nocturnal discussions that seemed to start from nowhere, but that did not make her any more amenable to the idea of being awakened in the wee hours of the morning.

"What time is it?" she asked, managing to sit up in the middle of their huge bed.

"I'll tie her to her trunk!" he said, his tone no less agitated.

She watched as he paced the floor like a nervous cat. Or rather, she watched the dark shape that must be him. In his agitation, he had failed to light a single candle. Twas like him. "And might I ask whose trunk we are speaking of?"