The Raider (31 page)

She paused when she reached her shift. Their eyes met. The anger that he’d counted on to make her forget her embarrassment had faded. She looked at him uncertainly. But he was too far gone—and too damned aroused—to have pity.

“Take it off, sweetheart. I want to see every inch of you.” His voice was husky and dark and full of sensual promise.

“What about you?”

She was stalling, but as his being naked worked with his plan, he let her get away with it. He removed his weapons first, then his leather armor and boots, and finally his shirt and braies. As always, he was conscious of her eyes on him when he undressed, which only added to his arousal. By the time he was standing naked in front of her, his cock was so hard it was practically pounding a hole in his ribs.

She might have been a maid a few days ago, but the heat in her gaze as her eyes roamed over his naked body was anything but innocent. When she got to his manhood and stopped, and unconsciously licked her bottom lip, he had to grit his teeth against the surge of lust that pulsed through him.

If she ever realized the sensual power she wielded over him, he feared she could have him following her around like an eager pup with one crook of that slender white finger.

“Is that better?” he challenged.

Her eyes skated over him again, getting that soft, heavy-lidded look of arousal that he’d come to crave. She gave a quick nod and with a deep breath, lifted the linen chemise over her head and let it drop in a pool at her feet.

He sucked in his breath, his eyes slowly scanning the delicate feminine curves of the lithe beauty before him. Christ, she was even more beautiful than he’d imagined from the pieced-together views he’d managed. Her legs were long, her waist slim, her breasts firm and perfectly round. And her skin…It was incredible. As smooth and flawless as freshly churned cream. He knew the baby-softness, the velvety feel, and when he dared to run the back of his finger over her breast, he groaned.

Realizing her cheeks were pink and her eyes had dropped to her feet, he cupped her chin and forced her gaze to his. “You are perfect,
mo ghrá
. There is no cause for you to be embarrassed.”

But she was. And as jittery as a filly before a storm. Not a bad analogy for what was to come.

“Make love to me, Robbie,” she whispered.

It was the sweetest plea he’d ever heard, and one he sure as hell wasn’t going to refuse. “Aye, my lady. I intend to.” In one smooth motion, he swept her up into his arms, cradling her like a child. Although the sensation set off by the contact of her naked skin to his left him no doubt of her womanliness.

She laughed in surprise and gazed up at him with so much emotion in her eyes it made his chest hurt. He bent down to pick up the plaid she’d worn around her shoulders and carried her toward the large tree.

She latched her arms around his neck. “You’ll hurt your ribs carrying me like this.”

“My ribs are fine. And the day I can’t carry a slip of a lass like you is the day I’ll resign my title at the Games forever.”

She grinned. “I suppose there are a few benefits to that title of yours—other than the more obvious ones.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. His brows knit together in question.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’ll get no more compliments from me. I’m sure you are well aware of how the ladies view that impressive physique of yours.”

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, that.”

“Yes,
that
, you wretch.” She swiped at him, but as he decided at that moment to put her down on the plaid he’d spread out on a bed of leaves, she missed.

He grinned down at her. “You hit like a lass.”

“I
am
a ‘lass,’ in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He gave her a long, hot look up and down. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

He bent on one knee and leaned over her. She looked so beautiful it took his breath away. Naked, in a bed of leaves, hair spread out wildly behind her, she looked like a wood nymph in some kind of erotic dream. Except it wasn’t a dream. This was real.

The moment of playfulness was gone. “There is only one lady whose opinion matters to me,” he said truthfully, bringing her hand to his lips.

She smiled, the knightly gesture obviously surprising her as much as it did him.

He kissed her then. Gently. Tenderly. Giving free rein not just to the passion, but also to the powerful feelings that seemed to give it much more force.

He worshipped her body with his mouth and tongue, leaving no inch of her unclaimed. Her skin was like the sweetest cream, and he drank her in like a man dying of thirst. Like a dying man. That’s what she was—ambrosia for his soul.

He feasted on her, burying his face between her velvety thighs and lapping her creamy softness. He licked and nuzzled, flicked and sucked until her beautiful breasts arched into the sun and her thighs tightened around his neck. He held her to his mouth as she shattered, crying out his name.

When she could open her eyes, he gave her a wicked grin. “I told you it would be fun.”

She gave him a look that made him feel like he was an incorrigible lad of about five. But then a decidedly wicked gleam appeared. “It’s certainly about to be.” Their eyes met. “I should warn you that I can be quite merciless as well.”

He smiled, genuinely amused. “You can?”

She nodded and lazily started to run her soft fingertips over the hard-muscled bands of his stomach, her wrist passing dangerously close to the powerful head of his erection. She was teasing him, and he didn’t think he liked it. Or rather, he liked it too much.

She pushed him onto his back with a gentle shove and rolled on top of him, straddling him. At first he thought she would impale herself on him again, but instead, she started trailing soft little kisses down his chest. Down his chest and over the same bands of muscle she’d just teased.

His stomach dropped. Could she intend…

“Do you remember what you told me that first night at camp?”

He swore. His heart started to pound with something akin to fear. “Nay.”

The look she shot him from his stomach, her mouth achingly close to his cock, called him a liar. “You told me I could suck your…” She blushed, unable to get the word out.

Oh Christ
. Every muscle in his body jumped. Hell, his skin jumped—or he jumped out of it. He had to fight to keep himself from grabbing her. All he could manage was a groan.

“I think I should like to,” she whispered.

And then she kissed him. She moved her soft, pink lips over the big, fat head of his cock and slowly lowered her mouth.

He did jump out of his skin then. Every ounce of blood pounded through his body. He’d never been so aroused in his life. He wouldn’t have moved if the entire English army were climbing up that hill.

He prayed for strength. But God wasn’t giving him any. And she was just as merciless as she’d promised. She brought him to his fucking knees.

“Show me,” she whispered, holding him in her hand.

And he did. He lifted her head over him and told her how to milk him. How to lave him with her tongue and take him deep in her throat and pump the length that wouldn’t fit with her hand. He watched her take him in her warm, moist mouth, watched as those beautiful pink lips stretched around him, until he felt the first pulse ratchet through him. And then he took her with his body, making love to her under the trees as if he could hold on to this day forever.

Forever was over too damned soon. When they returned to the castle at dusk, Robbie was informed by one of the guards that Seton and Douglas were waiting in the Hall.

He probably should have sent Rosalin upstairs, but she ran ahead of him so excitedly, he didn’t have the heart to call her back.

He was only a step or two behind her when she burst into the Hall and rushed toward Seton. “Was it as I said, Sir Alex? Did my brother explain that he had nothing to do with the attack in the forest?”

Robbie already knew the answer. One glance at Douglas’s black visage told him.

“Aye, my lady,” Seton answered. “It was as you said.” He turned to face Robbie. “Lord Clifford knew nothing about de Spenser’s plans to attack the camp. In fact, he was furious. Before we arrived Sir Henry had been reprimanded, ordered back to England, and,” he looked back at Rosalin, “the betrothal dissolved.”

Rosalin shot him a very pleased “I told you so” look.

Seton frowned, his gaze sliding back and forth between Rosalin and Robbie. Robbie swore inwardly; his partner was too damned perceptive. A trait that came in handy on missions, but not right now.

Robbie turned to Douglas. “Are you sure?”

“Where Clifford is concerned? Never. I don’t trust the bastard.” His gaze shot uncomfortably to Rosalin, and his mouth thinned as the next words seemed pried out of his mouth. “But he seemed in earnest. He’s worried about his sister. He wants her back. He told me to remind you of your promise.”

Robbie’s jaw clenched. He didn’t realize it until Seton’s eyes narrowed on him again.

Fortunately, Joanna Douglas, who had been visiting her family that afternoon (one of the reasons he’d decided to slip away with Rosalin), picked that opportune moment to arrive.

“You’re back!” She raced into her husband’s waiting arms. He spun her around (having care for her round stomach), kissed her, and smiled—the latter causing Rosalin’s eyes to round in surprise.

“Miss me,
mo ghrá
?” Douglas asked.

Joanna laughed. “Perhaps a bit. How was your journey to Peebles?”

Douglas restored his dark visage with a frown. “Not well. Seton was just filling in Boyd and the…”

“Lady Rosalin,” Joanna provided helpfully, sending Rosalin an apologetic smile for her husband’s rudeness.

But Rosalin was so happy, she didn’t appear to notice.

“There’s more good news,” Seton said with a hard look at Boyd. “Clifford will have the silver by the end of the week.” His gaze turned to Rosalin. “You will be going home soon, my lady.”

Robbie hoped he was the only one who noticed the despair that dulled the excited sparkle from her eyes. “That is good news indeed.” She managed a smile, and Robbie knew she was struggling not to look at him.

He was glad she didn’t, as he didn’t have an answer for the unspoken question in her eyes.

After Lady Joanna left to see to the evening meal, Rosalin excused herself to return to her chamber. Robbie wanted to follow her, but he needed some time to think. He watched her leave the room, but when he looked back, it was to see Seton watching him. Watching that grew steadier and darker as the evening progressed.

Robbie tried to ignore it, but he knew that sooner or later there was going to be hell to pay.

It came sooner. The meal was barely under way when Seton cornered Robbie on his way back from relieving himself of some of the Douglas ale. He’d gone outside rather than use the third-floor garderobe—a decision he was now regretting.

More distracted by his thoughts than he realized, in the shadowed torchlight, Robbie thought the man who stepped out in front of him was one of the guardsmen on patrol. When he was slammed up against the stone wall of the castle with a forearm across his throat, however, he realized his mistake.

“Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” Seton jammed his arm harder for emphasis. “Tell me.”

Seton’s mouth was pulled pack in a feral snarl and his eyes pinned Robbie with murderous rage. Robbie had seen him angry more times than he could count—hell, half the times he’d purposefully incited the anger—but never like this. Which could explain Robbie’s slower-than-usual reaction, and the fact that he didn’t break the arm that had him pinned when he shoved up against it and twisted to the side to free himself.

Although he had to admit it might not have been that easy. He rubbed his throat, staring at the other man in the shadowy darkness. Seton hadn’t worn mail since the early days of training, but his arm had felt as if it were covered in it. Hell,
made
of it. Seton might not be built as powerfully as Robbie, but he was bigger and stronger than most, with years of hard-wrought battle muscle on him. Robbie had realized it, but not with quite so much force.

Annoyed, he glowered back at his partner. “You can think whatever the hell you like, but I don’t have to tell you a damned thing.”

“You’re right. You don’t. I already know the truth. I just didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t think even you could be so dishonorable as to defile an innocent lass. But you proved me wrong, you bloody bastard!”

Robbie was ready for him this time. But cornered as he was between the staircase and the river with the castle at his back and Seton at his front, there wasn’t enough room for him to maneuver and completely evade the powerful fist that came pummeling toward his teeth, or the one that followed with a quick uppercut to his jaw from the left. Robbie retaliated with a hard blow of his own to the gut and a knee to Seton’s side that pushed him back far enough for Robbie to get in better position.

One of the guardsmen came rushing over, but Robbie yelled at him—all of them—to get back to duty.

The distraction gave his blood a moment to calm. “You don’t want to do this,” Robbie warned Seton. “You won’t win.”

“The hell I don’t. Someone needs to fight for that girl’s honor. I won’t let you get away with this. You might be the strongest man in Scotland, but that doesn’t make you right—or invincible.”

Robbie was used to Seton’s shiny-armor shite, but something about it this time angered him—maybe because it was deserved. “You always have to be the sanctimonious knight, don’t you, Seton? Even when it has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me. You’ve shamed all of us with what you have done. You’ve made us into the brigands and barbarians they accuse us of being. She was our hostage, not a means of retribution. Do you hate Clifford so much that you have to ruin his sister?” Seton was seething now, fists clenching at his sides, circling and waiting for an opening. “The same sister who saved our lives? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Robbie wasn’t as immune to his partner’s jibes as he wanted to be. All the guilt he’d been trying to bury the past few days bubbled to the surface—nay, it roared to the surface. His chest pinched uncomfortably. “This has nothing to do with Clifford.”

“The hell it doesn’t. It’s always about Clifford or the English.”

Seton’s certainty planted a seed of doubt in his own mind. But no, damn it, it hadn’t been about revenge. “I told you I cared about her.”

“If you truly cared about her, you would have kept your bloody hands off her and returned her a maid. You knew nothing could come of this, but still you took her innocence. That isn’t care, that’s selfishness. Maybe if it were lust I could understand. But I know you too well, and you’ve never been consumed with anything other than vengeance. The only thing you care about, the only thing you’ve ever cared about, is destroying the English. I just didn’t think you’d use an innocent lass to do it. Do you even have a damned conscience anymore?”

The question seemed to hang uncomfortably in the air, even though it was clear that Seton didn’t expect an answer. Instead he attacked, spinning and whipping his leg around in a sweeping kick that would have taken Robbie to the ground if he hadn’t been the one to teach him the move himself. It did, however, knock him off balance enough for Seton to land a hard hit to the side of his head. A blow that snapped Robbie’s head back and sent blood trickling from his ear. A blow that left no doubt of Seton’s intent. This was no training, no sparring and grappling between partners. This was all-out war.

The rush of battle surged through him. The next time Seton attacked, Robbie was ready. He blocked the blow that came toward his head with his arm, turned, and using Seton’s momentum flipped him onto the ground. He inflicted a few more blows while trying to get a knee down on Seton’s chest. But Robbie had taught his partner well. Seton was able to angle his body away enough to avoid solid contact, while at the same time hooking his foot around Robbie’s leg to knock him to the side.

Robbie turned it into a roll and sprang back to his feet. Seton had done the same and came at him again. They exchanged jabs, punches, and hard strikes of the knee until they were both breathing hard, bloody, and bruised.

It was the longest fight Robbie had had in years. He tried to end it by leaving his injured side open, but Seton refused to take the bait. He was using his strengths—his quickness and youth—against Robbie, and for once, showing patience. Seton was proving a formidable opponent, and under different circumstances Robbie might have been proud of it. But right now all he wanted to do was shut him up.

The verbal jabs Seton was getting in in between those of his fists were landing just as hard. “What the hell did she do to deserve this? She helped us, and this is how you repay her?” Seton followed the question with a blow to Robbie’s ribs that would have broken a few more bones had he not twisted out of the way.

Hooking Seton’s feet, he tried to wrap his arm behind his back, but Seton dropped, turned, and jabbed the arm free with an elbow first to his stomach and then to his eye. In response, Robbie lifted his knee hard into Seton’s face, hearing an unmistakable crack.

“Was it worth it, Raider?” Seton taunted, blood pouring from his now broken nose. “Was your revenge against a woman part of your plan?”

Robbie’s muscles flared, guessing what he was about to say. “Don’t say it.”

Despite his battered face, broken nose, and bloody mouth, Seton smiled. “What? The truth is ugly, isn’t it? Did ruining this girl make up for what was done to your sister?”

Robbie snapped, rage turning to mad fury in an instant. He went from wanting to shut Seton up to wanting to kill him.

He lost control and went after Seton with everything he had, losing all patience in the effort to destroy his opponent. It was the very lesson he’d imparted on Seton hundreds of times not to do, but which he ignored, confident that his physical strength would win in the end like it always did.

No one could beat him. No one. He was proving it, too, pummeling Seton with blow after blow from every direction, hammering him to a bloody pulp.

But still his partner would not admit defeat.

Finally, whipping his leg around in a hard kick, he sent Seton to the ground on his knees. Robbie wrapped him in a chokehold with the crook of his right arm from behind. He moved his left hand into position at the back of his head. A few seconds of pushing and squeezing and Seton would lose consciousness.

It was one of Robbie’s most overpowering moves. No one could defend against it. He was too strong. Once his arms became locked and the other hand went into position, there was nothing an opponent could do.

Or so he thought. He had his left hand into position at the back of Seton’s head and was about to start pressing forward, when Seton reached up, grabbed Robbie’s two smallest fingers, and snapped them back hard. Hard enough to break them. Robbie let out a grunt of pain—there was a reason one of the most painful and effective means of torture was done with fingers. He released his left arm just enough for Seton to lever that arm down. With the added pressure of his other hand, Seton used the momentum to turn Robbie completely around and down on the ground with a hook to his leg. He pressed down on Robbie’s back with his knee, pulling his arm back with enough force to almost pop it out of the joint. The pain was indescribable. Pinned, Robbie’s arm was fully extended, and Seton had leveraged his body so that all his weight locked against it. If Robbie moved, his arm would break. “Concede.”