The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (20 page)

It was becoming increasingly difficult to remind herself that he was a betrothed man.

Disgusted with herself, she turned away.

But his strong hands seized her by the shoulders and spun her around.

For a moment, she lost her balance and fell against him. Again, she could only note that the sheer size of him was intimidating in the most delightful way, as was the hard, chiseled contours of his chest under her palms.

But righting herself, she drew back. Or would have, had his strong fingers not locked upon her shoulders.

“Do ye harbor hopes in Alec’s direction?” he asked directly, his piercing eyes searching hers.

Merry drew a strident breath, struggling to combat the temptation of his nearness. Clearing her throat, she answered, “The only hope I harbor is to leave this place and go home, Ewan. I wish to be as far away from this place as I can. And from ye, too.”

She tried to wrench her shoulders free, but he would not let her go.

“Do ye love him, Merry?” he asked gently.

She could only stare at him. How could he ask her that? Did he truly not know how she felt? And what good was that, anyway, when he was promised to another woman?

Clenching her jaw, she countered with poor grace, “And what right do ye have to ask of me whom I love?”

They stood there in the stall, silent, until she found his nearness and the heat of his skin simply too much to bear. Aye, there was no doubt where her heart truly lay and wanting to touch him only got worse with each passing moment.

Twisting her shoulder, she abruptly broke free of his grip and whirled away. “I want to go home,” she said. “Mayhap, I should ride onward to Stirling. Ruan’s bound to be truly fretting.”

He closed the distance between them with a single stride and caught her firmly from behind, encircling her waist with his arm.

Merry snapped her mouth shut. It was impossible to concentrate with her back pressed against his hard chest. She could feel every inch of him.

“I’ve sent him word,” he said then, his hot breath against her cheek sending shivers down her spine. “I’ve told him that I’ll be keeping ye in my care.”

Her brows yanked up, and her eyes flashed. “Have ye now? And what gives ye the right?” she asked, trying to break free, but his arm was impossible to budge.

She gave his arm a few half-hearted slaps out of pure principle, but each slap lessened as she became aware of just how warm his skin was beneath her fingers. And by the fourth attempt, she simply gave into her impulses and trailed a finger along the veins flowing over the muscles in his arms.

He tensed then. She knew she should stop tracing her finger over his skin, but she didn’t. Yearning flooded through her, a longing so intense that she didn’t care what he thought of her anymore.

She wanted to touch and kiss him with every fiber of her being. And closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and melted against him, intending to savor the moment as long as she could before he got the chance to politely step away and inform her that he was soon to be a married man.

But instead, he pulled her even closer, and both of his arms snaked around her waist to lock her against him. Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, “Dinna tease a dragon, lass.”

For a moment, his lips brushed her neck, scorching her flesh and sending her senses into turmoil. With her breath coming in short little gasps, she repeated, “A dragon?”

“Aye,” he answered with a ragged edge to his voice. “I’m telling ye ‘tis dangerous to tease a grown man.”

Merry swallowed. It was hopeless now to resist the wave of passion sweeping through her. She simply stood in the circle of his arms, scarcely breathing.

And then in a voice as soft as a caress, he whispered into her ear, “Aye, I would know whose chest of stone and eyes enthrall the lass. And which man would ye want in your bed? Is it Alec or … me?”

Chapter Ten – Treachery

“Alec?” Merry burst out in astonishment.

Placing her hands upon Ewan’s, she attempted to pry his apart, but he released them only enough to spin her in his arms. He needed to see her face.

The shocked and slightly outraged expression in her brown eyes gave him hope.

“Tell me where Alec lives in your heart,” he whispered, his eyes burning into hers. “I havena the patience of a saint, Merry, nor is my heart made of ice.”

On the ramparts, Alec hadn’t offered a word of explanation. He’d merely turned upon his heel and strode away. Ewan had been too sick at heart, and simply too weary to follow. His wound burned more than it should. He’d soon be lying in bed with a fever if he didn’t rest soon.

Merry’s expressive brown eyes had softened a little. “Alec’s a pleasant lad,” she answered with a shrug. “But that’s the end of it. Aye, I wouldna want him in …” Her voice trailed away, and she quickly averted her gaze as she realized what completing that sentence would imply.

He lowered his lashes then, and his blood began to sing in his veins. Spanning his hands about her waist, he growled softly, “Then you’re too far away, lass.” Aye, even an inch was suddenly too far. “Come a little closer,” he demanded.

Her eyes widened, and her soft full lips parted in surprise as he crushed her close.

She didn’t resist, in fact, she melted against him. Her shirt had been ripped, revealing the long graceful curve of her neck and the strips of cloth binding her chest. He caught his breath as long-forgotten feelings of passion ignited deep in his soul. A longing of sweet torment washed over him as he ran a hand up her back and pushed her even closer until he could feel the softness of her breasts mold into his chest.

And then she tilted her head back and running the back of her hand down his arm, willingly offered him her lips, ripe lips that would drive him to the edge of madness if he did not immediately taste them.

Any shred of control he had thought to retain was immediately lost.

No longer thinking or caring to wait for Ruan’s blessing, Ewan whispered a warning. “Keep your wits about ye, lass, if ye can.”

“Wits? What do ye think—” she began.

But a savage growl erupted from deep within his throat, and he interrupted her with a swift, hard kiss.

It was a kiss of passion, a bold assertive kiss that commanded full surrender.

She gasped, and he unrepentantly took advantage of her surprise to run his tongue across her teeth. 
Aye, her lips were soft and yielding beneath his, and as deliciously intoxicating as he knew they would be. He savored the surge of sensation, his want deepening with each passing moment.

And then she pulled her lips away, enough to breathlessly whisper, “Ewan, we … I …”

He tried to listen, but ‘twas nigh impossible. Especially when her softness melded against him in every imaginable way. He waited a moment, watching her struggle for words before he could resist no longer.

“I’m not finished with ye yet,” he murmured, gruff and thick-tongued. “Ye can speak later, aye?”

Her eyes turned liquid and nodding, she bit her bottom lip, and he was hard-pressed then to restrain the desire rushing through his veins like molten lava.

Dropping his head, he nuzzled the side of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses up the graceful curve of her neck before his mouth returned to demand more of hers. And this time, he took her lips in a slow, gentle plundering of the mouth both at once tender and assertive. For a time, he continued a slow sweep of his tongue until she collapsed against him.

He smiled into her mouth.

But then, dimly, he grew aware of shouting in the courtyard outside, and it took him longer than was his wont to recognize his own name.

The door to the stables crashed back, and the voice shouted again, “Ewan!”

It was Alec.

Merry tried to pull away, but Ewan held her fast, long enough to trace her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, and then with a ragged groan, he tore his lips from hers and peered over Diabhul’s strong back.

Alec strode their way with large, forceful steps.

Ewan arched a curious brow.

And then Merry stepped back a little unsteadily, and he eyed her kiss-swollen lips with a mixture of pride and possessiveness.

But then Alec was there, his keen eyes taking in every detail.

A charged silence followed, one in which Merry kept her eyes locked straight ahead.

Finally, Ewan broke it with a crisp query. “Tidings?”

“Aye.” Alec nodded, marshaling his expression with apparently little difficulty. Only the twitching muscle on his jaw betrayed his discomfort at finding them together. “A missive bearing the king’s seal and addressed to ye, Ewan. The messenger awaits ye in the hall.”

Alarmed, Ewan lifted a brow. It boded ill. The king had little cause to write to him.

Sending a hurried half-bow Merry’s way, he pushed past Alec and exited the stables. Quickly, and with Alec at his heels, he strode across the courtyard through the rain and the darkening day to duck inside the castle. Stomping the rain from their boots, the two men made their way into the hall.

It was vacant, save Iona and the messenger, both waiting at the high table in the gathering gloom. The messenger was an older man in the Stewart plaid. A broad leather belt encircled his waist, and in his hands he held a rolled parchment with the king’s red wax seal.

Behind him, Iona hovered in a tightly fitting green dress. She eyed the missive with open curiosity.

As Ewan approached, the messenger bowed. “I will await your reply, my lord,” he said, and then turning on his heel, he disappeared from the hall in the direction of the kitchens.

Immediately breaking the seal, Ewan quickly scanned the words.

His brows rose in surprise.

Ach, he could scarce believe what he read. 
Cunningham. Alec had been right. Hugh Cunningham was a treacherous viper.

Furious, Ewan tossed the parchment onto the table and, planting his hands upon his lean hips, thundered, “Fires of Hell, but that man is a rutting, crook-pated, swag-bellied—”

But then a movement near the door caught his attention, and spying Merry, he choked, checking his rage with great difficulty.

Alec followed his line of sight and after beckoning for her to join them, turned back to Ewan with a wry smile. 
“The lad’s heard worse, I’m sure, Ewan,” he said, inclining his head at the direction of the missive. “I gather the tidings are …?”

But before Ewan could reply, Iona chose that moment to interrupt in arch tones. “I might remind you there
is
a
lady
present,” she stressed, the tips of her ears pink with outrage.

Surprised he had forgotten her presence entirely, Ewan nodded a belated apology.

And then Merry stepped up to the table, and Iona swung around, startled and angry to find her there. But noticing Ewan’s gaze directed her way, Iona quickly replaced the crease between her brows with a coy smile.

Their differences struck him then. Iona was a cold, icy beauty. She was nothing compared to the tall, raven-haired lass whose brown eyes were a tempest of temptation and who could bewitch him with a single smile.

Aye, he wouldn’t wait for Iona’s father to tell her. He’d inform the lass himself that there would be no wedding. He was weary of her games.

He glanced back at Merry perched on the edge of the table, lightly chewing her bottom lip. He couldn’t resist. He allowed his eyes to boldly journey down the length of her before he became aware he was openly ogling.

Quickly, he averted his gaze.

But Iona didn’t miss it.

Neither did Alec. Slapping his hand upon the table, Alec’s expression vacillated between amusement, irritation, and impatience as he demanded, “Tell me the tidings, Ewan! Do ye enjoy tormenting a man?”

Thinning his lips, Ewan focused his attention on Alec once again. And then in a low, stern voice, he cautioned, “I’ll tell ye, Alec, but first swear ye’ll not be riding off without my expressed command, aye?”

A look of dismay washed over Alec’s face. “Then the tidings must be of the worst kind,” he said.

“Aye, but I’ll have your word first,” Ewan insisted.

Alec was a passionate man, one given to acting before thinking, but he was a man of his word. 
It took him a moment to agree, protesting under his breath, “Aye, but I’m sure I’ll regret it.”

Ewan nodded grimly. “Yester eve, Hugh Cunningham happened upon the king campaigning for supporters near Selkirk.”

Alec tensed at once, clenching his fists.

Keeping an eye on him, Ewan continued, unable to hide the hint of anger in his voice, “And he demands justice from the king for his men unfairly slaughtered in the woodlands.”

“Are ye speaking of Hugh Cunningham, the same man who has sworn to fight for the prince
against
the king?” Alec asked in a low voice laced with disbelief.

They exchanged a long look.

And then Ewan said, “I canna say where Cunningham’s loyalties lie now. The king is a fool for listening to him. ‘Tis time for the prince to take the throne. We’ve suffered long enough from a monarch who canna see men use him for their own designs.”

Alec measured him with a grim eye, and then said, “And I notice ye are careful not to say who Cunningham claims slaughtered his men.”

Ewan heaved a sigh, but he didn’t stop Alec from snagging the parchment from his hand.

“Sweet Mary!” Alec swore, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “’Tis rubbing salt in the wounds. He claims
I
slew his men unprovoked? I’ll throttle the man with my bare hands this very night—”

“Ye swore to abide by my command,” Ewan reminded him firmly.

“And ye expect me to just stand by and let matters take their course?” Alec objected with fury in his green eyes. Jabbing a finger at the parchment, he asked, “How will ye explain yourself to the king if ye dinna deliver me to Cunningham to face justice as he’s ordered ye? It will provoke the start of the war!”

Ewan clenched his jaw. “I’ll think of something,” he said.

His head was beginning to pound, and the pain from his wound was now throbbing. Wincing, he gripped the edge of the table and drew in a steadying breath.