To Tame a Highland Warrior (33 page)

His expression was impossible to interpret. He glanced self-consciously at his hands, which were badly in need of a washing. He busied himself with a flagon of water and a scrap of clean plaid for a moment, removing the worst of the stains. “I had a wee bit of a skirmish on the way and …” he mumbled inaudibly.

She studied his disheveled clothing but decided not to ask him about it then. The mud and blood appeared to be from a recent fight, but what had happened in the last few days wasn’t her first concern. “That’s not what I meant. It took you over a month. Was it so difficult for you to decide if you wanted me?” She forced a teasing smile to camouflage the wounded part of her that was utterly serious.

“Never think that, Jillian. I wake up wanting you. I fall asleep wanting you. I watch a magnificent sunrise and can think only of sharing it with you. I glimpse a piece of amber and see your eyes. Jillian, I’ve caught a disease, and the fever abates only when I’m near you.”

She flashed him a radiant smile. “You’re nearly forgiven. So tell me—what took you so long? Is it that you think you’re not good enough for me, Grimm Roderick? Because you’re not titled, I mean.” When he didn’t respond, she hastened to reassure him. “I don’t care, you know. A title doesn’t make the man, and you’re certainly the finest
man that I’ve ever known. What on earth do you think is wrong with you?”

His stubborn silence didn’t serve as the deterrent he intended; she scurried down an alternate route of inquiry. “Quinn told me that you think your father is mad and you’re afraid you’ve inherited the madness. He said it was nonsense and I must tell you I agree, because you’re the most intelligent man I’ve ever met—except for the times when you don’t trust me, which evidences a glaring lapse in your customary good judgment.”

Grimm stared at her, disconcerted. “What else did Quinn tell you?”

“That you love me,” she said simply.

He swept her into his embrace in one swift move. He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her urgently. She savored the rock-hard press of his body against hers, his teasing tongue, his strong hands cupping her face. Jillian melted against him, wordlessly demanding more. The past month without him, followed by hours pressed against his muscled body as they’d ridden, had begun a slow burn of desire within her. For the past hour, her skin had tingled at every point of contact with his body, and a trembling heat had gathered in her midsection, seeping lower, awakening shockingly intense feelings of desire. She’d been oblivious to the terrain, her mind fully occupied with imagining, in blush-inducing detail, the many different ways she wanted to make love with him.

Now she practically vibrated with need, and she responded wildly to his kiss. Her body was already prepared for him, and she pressed encouragingly against his hips.

He stopped kissing her as suddenly as he’d begun. “We must continue riding,” he said tightly. “We have a long way
to go, lass. I doona wish to keep you out here in the cold any longer than I must.”

He pulled away so abruptly that Jillian gaped at him and nearly screamed with frustration. She was so heated from his kiss that the chill air was inconsequential, and she certainly had no intention of waiting even a moment longer to make love with him again.

She let her eyes flutter slowly closed and swayed a bit. Grimm eyed her intently. “Are you feeling all right, lass?”

“No,” Jillian replied, casting him a sidelong glance beneath her lowered lashes. “Frankly, I feel decidedly odd, Grimm, and I don’t know what to make of it.”

He moved back to her side instantly, and she prepared to spring her trap.

“Where do you feel odd, Jillian? Have I—”

“Here.” She swiftly took his hand and placed it on her breast. “And here.” She guided his other hand to her hips.

Grimm took several deep breaths and blew them out, willing his thundering heart to slow, to quit pumping so much blood to his loins and perhaps let his brain in on the bargain so he might entertain a coherent thought. “Jillian,” he said, exhaling a frustrated breath.

“Well, my,” she said mischievously, moving her hands over his body. “You seem to be suffering the same ailment.” Her hand closed over him through his plaid, and he made a low, growling sound deep in his throat.

They both spoke at once.

“It’s freezing out here, lass. I won’t subject you—”

“I’m not—”

“—to the cold for my own selfish needs—”

“—fragile, Grimm. And what about
my
selfish needs?”

“—and I can’t make love to you properly outside!”

“Oh, and is
properly
the only way you’ve ever wanted me?” she mocked.

His gaze locked with hers, and his eyes darkened with desire. He seemed immobilized, obtusely assessing the cold, considering all of her needs—except for the one that really mattered.

In a low voice she said, “Do it. Take me.
Now.”

His eyes narrowed and he sucked in a harsh breath.
“Jillian.”
A storm gathered in his ice-blue eyes, and she wondered for a moment what she’d called forth. A beast—
her
beast. And she wanted him exactly the way he was.

The force of his passion hit her like a sea gale, hot and salty and primitive in its power, holding nothing back. They exploded against each other, driving their bodies as close together as they could. He backed her against a tree, thrust her gown up, and pushed his plaid aside, all the while kissing her eyelids, her nose, her lips, plunging his tongue so deeply into her mouth that she felt herself drowning in the man’s sensuality.

“I need you, Jillian St. Clair. Ever since I tossed you up on my horse I’ve been wanting nothing more than to drag you back off it and bury myself in you, without a word of explanation or apology—because I need you.”

“Yes,” she whispered fervently.
“That’s
what I want!”

With a swift stroke he plunged deeply into her, but the storm was in her body and it raged with the devastating fury of a hurricane.

She tossed her head back and freed her voice, crying out to him, only the creatures of the wilderness to hear. She moved against him urgently, her hips rising to meet every thrust. Her hands clawed at his shoulders and she raised her legs, wrapping them tightly around his waist, locking her
ankles over his muscled hips. With each thrust he pressed her back against the tree trunk and she used it to rock herself back into him, taking him as deeply into her body as she could. Only the sounds of passion escaped their lips; words simply weren’t needed. Bonding and pledging through contact, their bodies spoke in a tongue ancient and unmistakable.

“Jillian!” he roared as he exploded inside her. An unfettered laugh of delight escaped her as the rush of his liquid warmth inside her pushed her over the edge of pleasure, and she bucked against him.

They held on to each other for a reverent moment. Leaning against her in a soft crush, he seemed reluctant to move, as if he wanted to stay joined to her forever. And when he began to stiffen inside her, she knew she’d convinced him that a little cold air was good for the soul.

Grimm whistled for Occam. Summoning his horse from the woods, he tightened the tethers on the packs. It was full dark, and they needed to be on their way. There was no shelter to be secured tonight, but by the following day they would be far enough into the Highlands that he could provide shelter for them each night to come. He glanced over his shoulder at Jillian. It was imperative to him that he keep her happy, warm, and safe. “Are you hungry, Jillian? Are you dry enough? Warm enough?”

“No, yes, and yes. Where are we going, Grimm?” she asked, still feeling dreamy from their intense lovemaking.

“There’s an abandoned cottage a day’s ride from here.”

“I didn’t mean now, I meant where are you taking me after that?”

Grimm pondered his answer. He’d originally planned to ride directly to Dalkeith, then leave as soon as they’d gathered his fortune and loaded the horses. But he’d begun to think running might not be necessary. He’d spent much of their time on the ride from Caithness mulling over something Quinn had said.
Hell, man, rouse an army and fight the McKane once and for all. I know scores of men who would fight for you. I would
. As would the Hawk’s army, as well as many of the men he’d known at court, men who fought for hire.

Grimm loathed the idea of taking Jillian away from Scotland, from her family. He knew what it was like to be without a clan. If he triumphed over the McKane, he could purchase an estate near her family and have only one demon to battle. He could devote his energy to concealing his nature and making Jillian a fine husband.

Promise me you’ll tell her the truth
, Quinn had demanded in a low, urgent whisper against his ear.

Grimm had nodded.

But he hadn’t said when, he prevaricated lamely as he studied her innocent features. Maybe next year, or a lifetime from now. In the meantime, he had other battles to wage.

“Dalkeith. My good friend and his wife are laird and lady there. You’ll be safe with them.”

Jillian snapped to attention, dreamy reverie squashed by the thought of an impending separation. “What do you mean, I will be safe there? Don’t you mean
we
will be safe there?”

Grimm fidgeted with Occam’s saddle.

“Grimm—
we
, right?”

He muttered, deliberately incoherent.

Jillian eyed him a moment and snorted delicately.
“Grimm, you don’t plan to take me to Dalkeith and leave me there by myself, do you?” Her eyes narrowed, forecasting a tempest if such was his intention.

Without raising his head from an intent inspection of Occam’s tethers, he replied, “Only for a time, Jillian. There’s something I must do, and I need to know you’ll be safe while I’m doing it.”

Jillian watched him fidget and considered her options. “His good friend and his wife,” he’d said, people who would know something about her man of mystery. That was promising, if not her preference. She wished he would confide in her, tell her what kept him solitary, but she would work with what she could get. Maybe what had happened in his past was too painful for him to discuss. “Where is Dalkeith?”

“In the Highlands.”

“Near where you were born?”

“Past there. We have to circle around Tuluth to get to Dalkeith.”

“Why circle around it? Why not ride through it?” Jillian fished.

“Because I’ve never gone back to Tuluth and I doona plan to now. Besides, the village was destroyed.”

“Well, if it was destroyed, that makes it even odder to ride around it. Why avoid nothing?”

Grimm raised a brow. “Must you always be so logical?”

“Must you always be so evasive?” she countered, arching a brow of her own.

“I just doona wish to ride through it, all right?”

“Are you certain it’s in ruins?”

When Grimm buried a hand in his hair, Jillian finally understood. The only time Grimm Roderick started messing with his hair was when she asked him a question he
didn’t want to answer. She almost laughed; if she continued questioning him he might rip it out by the handfuls. But she needed answers, and occasionally her digging resulted in a few treasures. What could possibly make him avoid Tuluth like the darkest plague? “Oh, my goodness,” she breathed as intuition pointed an unerring finger toward the truth. “Your family is still alive, aren’t they, Grimm?”

Ice-blue eyes flew to hers, and she watched him struggle to avoid her question. He toyed with his war braids and she bit her lip, waiting.

“My da is still alive,” he conceded.

Although she’d already arrived at such a conclusion herself, his admission threw her off balance. “What else didn’t you tell me, Grimm?”

“That Quinn told you the truth. He’s an insane old man,” Grimm said bitterly.

“Truly insane, or do you mean you just disagree about things, like most people do with their parents?”

“I doona wish to talk about it.”

“How old is your da? Have you other family I don’t know about?”

Grimm walked away and started pacing. “No.”

“Well, what is your home like? In Tuluth.”

“It’s not in Tuluth,” he said through set teeth. “My home was in a bleak, dreary castle carved into the mountain above Tuluth.”

Jillian wondered what other astonishing things might be revealed if he kept answering her questions. “If your home was in the castle, then you must be either a servant—” She eyed him from head to toe and shook her head as comprehension crashed over her. “Oh! Here I am prattling on about titles and you don’t even say anything! You’re a chieftain’s son, aren’t you? You wouldn’t, by chance, be his
oldest son, would you?” she asked, mostly in jest. When he quickly averted his gaze, she exclaimed, “You mean you’ll be the laird one day? There’s a clan awaiting your return?”

“Never. I will never return to Tuluth, and that’s the end of this discussion. My da is a batty old bastard and the castle is in ruins. Along with the village, half my clan was destroyed years ago, and I’m certain the remaining half scattered to escape the old man and rebuild elsewhere. I doubt there’s anyone left in Tuluth at all—it’s likely nothing but ruins.” He stole a surreptitious glance at Jillian to see how she was taking his confession.