To Woo a Highland Warrior Page 8

  That wasn’t working at all.

  Something darker and more dire then: What am I goin’ to do now that Aunt Jeneva is gone? Who wants me dead?

  The latter two sobering thoughts didn’t produce the desired results either.

  How could they when Liam still touched her?

  “I dinna ken if the usual roads and pathways are accessible. So we may have to take alternate routes.” Again and again and again, he spread his fingers through her hair, each a hypnotic caress that had her all but melting on the chair.

  Did the nearness affect him, too, or was a man of the world such as he immune to such provocations?

  He nudged her shoulder. “Em, have ye fallen asleep?”

  “Emeline,” she murmured drowsily, too comfortable to bother opening her eyes. “We have bread left, and some of the rabbit meat, too. I’ll wrap the food in the mornin’.”

  “Aye, and I’ve already filled my canteen.” Yes, his voice held a distinct rasp. As if he, too, struggled to control this uncontrollable desire sparking between them.

  “Liam?”

  “Aye?”

  “What happened to yer face?” The thought became spoken words before she realized they’d slipped from her lips. Curse her curiosity and loose tongue.

  His hands calmed in her hair, and he remained perfectly still and silent for so long, she assumed she’d offended him. Well, off course she had with her blatant snooping. Dolt.

  “I beg your pardon. I oughtna have asked somethin’ so personal. Forgive me.” Thank God her eyes were shut. She couldn’t bear to see his scorn directed at her.

  To her astonishment, he began rubbing her scalp again.

  “My wife attacked me. She…she often imbibed too liberally in spirits and had a fierce temper when she did.” His voice rumbled low and controlled, as if speaking of the incident strained his resolve. “One afternoon, already deep in her cups, she took our daughter for a walk. In her drunken state, Kristin wasna as attentive as she should’ve been, and Mareona wandered to the lake. She adored the ducks, ye see.”

  Had his children looked like him?

  They’d been quite young at the time of their deaths. She wasn’t sure she would ever have been able to recover from such a horrific loss. It would have broken her spirit. She supposed after something so life-altering, a person lived a new reality. What had been could never be again.

  He changed the angle of his fingers until he was rubbing slow circles at her temples.

  A moan of pure bliss formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

  “A gardener spotted the bairn toddlin’ about alone, too near the waters, and returned her to the house. When I arrived home that evenin’ and learned of the mishap, I went straightaway to Kristin’s chambers.”

  That couldn’t have been pleasant.

  Emeline felt she should say something, but, honestly, had no idea what. Anything she said would seem trite and insufficient. Her heart swelled with emotion that he would share this story with her, the telling of which obviously pained him.

  “What happened, Liam?”

  “I informed her that I intended to instruct my family and staff that she was nae longer permitted to be alone with our children.” His fingers went still. “She became enraged and seized a letter opener—”

  Emiline’s horrified gasp interrupted him. Oh, my God. She’d attacked her husband.

  “Och, ye can see the results.” Unlike that first day, no restrained wrath weighted his words.

  However, righteous anger sent Emeline’s blood boiling. His wife had been an unhinged banshee. How had he ever come to marry such an evil woman?

  That question would have to wait for another time. Not only wasn’t it any of her business, Liam had waded through enough miry, unpleasant memories for one night.

  She leisurely lifted her eyelids, and her gaze locked with his. Something more than firelight glittered in their arresting slate-gray depths. When his focus sank to her mouth, she could no more have stopped her tongue from darting out and moistening the lower lip than she could have halted the flash flood of a few days ago.

  A torrent of a different sort flowed through her every bit as powerful as those riotous waters.

  She wanted Liam to kiss her. Needed him to.

  For days, she’d yearned for his firm mouth on hers. Even when he’d vexed her to no end. Even though he’d made it perfectly clear that while he’d rescued her, he offered her nothing more. Owed her nothing more.

  And he didn’t. Not a thing.

  “Em?” His question rang with an unspoken suggestion.

  “Emeline,” she countered, needing the control that requiring him to call her by her given name and not a pet name afforded her.

  His gravelly whisper came a mere, exciting inch from her mouth.

  “Obstinate lass.” His words rang as an endearment rather than a scold.

  “Pig-headed boor,” she countered. Most definitely an endearment.

  With a throaty groan, he clasped one big hand behind her head and the other cupped her chin. The first brush of his lips was light. Fleeting. The merest wisp of a butterfly’s wing. A tantalizing tease. A heady promise leaving her wanting more. More. More.

  “Liam?”

  Good God and all the angels. Was that husky purr her voice? She looped her arms around his neck, drawing him near, telling him with her body what she was too bashful to say with words. Curling her fingers into his magnificent hair, she clung to him.

  He crushed her to his hard body, his mouth swooping down upon hers in a scorching assault. She gasped in excitement and surprise. She hadn’t expected the kiss to be so powerful. All-consuming. So blissfully wonderful.

  His beard was surprisingly soft, the gentle friction adding to her arousal.

  At his gentle prodding, she opened her mouth, eager to get closer. To taste more of him. Their breaths and tongues tangled, a heated, ravenous frenzy. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he drew her upward and scooped her into his arms. In four long strides, he reached her bed, and reverently laid her upon the insufficient mattress.

  This was madness. Utter recklessness. Her sensible self screamed for her to put an end to the insanity. But the lonely, ignored, overlooked, and disregarded four and twenty-year-old sensual woman thrilled that such a prime specimen of manhood should find her desirable. Her!

  When he stretched out beside her—all hewn sinew, and hard rippling muscles—and cradled her tenderly against him, she whimpered tremulously, “Liam?”

  He tore his mouth from hers and trailed hot, wet kisses over her jaw and neck before gently nipping the juncture where her throat met her collarbone.

  She started and gasped at the instant jolt of burning desire spearing her. More. She wanted more. More of this. More of him.

  She whimpered again, running her hands up and down his spine, relishing his sinewy hardness and the hunger he stirred. Never had she dreamed she could feel this way. As if every pore was alive and molten lava flowed through her veins. Hunger and desire and passion overwhelmed her and, instinctively, she knew only he could relieve this sizzling need.

  She wriggled beneath him, arching her hips and curving into his corded muscles, silently pleading for more. More.

  A seductive chuckle, melodious and bone-melting, reverberated in his chest. He lowered his head to the expanse of flesh visible above her bodice while raising her skirt and trailing his callused fingertips up her trembling thigh.

  “Ye’re a siren, Em. A temptation I canna resist, God help me. Ye’ve completely bewitched me, jo.”

  A blend of resignation and self-castigation weighted his tone, making Emeline go perfectly still.

  He sounded tortured. As if desiring her was a horrid, unpardonable sin. Something he didn’t want, but his virile, healthy body craved. She could appreciate the truth of that.

  A rigid lump pushed insistently into her abdomen. Oh, yes. He wanted her physically. Ached for her every bit as much as she hungered for him, but he loathed himself for t
he weakness. Loathed the desire he felt for her.

  And she would despise herself, as well, if she gave herself to a man who’d end up hating himself for taking her innocence. If it weren’t so heartrendingly pathetic, she’d laugh at the ludicrousness.

  Because she deserved better. Because he deserved better. For both of their sakes, she did what must be done.

  “Liam. Please stop.” Bracing her hands upon his chest, she turned her face away. “Stop.”

  He went utterly still, his mouth pressed to her peaked breast through her gown. “Em…?”

  “We canna do this,” she forced out through swollen lips and the throbbing tightness in her throat. “Ye ken I’m right, Liam. Ye’d despise yerself afterward, and I willna let ye do somethin’ ye’d regret. Somethin’ that canna be undone.”

  Something she longed for with every pore in her body, though it meant certain ruination.

  And even though wisdom decreed she ought to regret offering herself to him, she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not a jot of it. She’d have let him have his way and enjoyed every blissful moment if she wasn’t absolutely positive remorse would consume him later.

  “Och, hell.” With a half-groan, half-sigh, he yanked her skirt over her thighs. When he stiffly edged away, she almost cried out at the sense of bereftness. Almost tossed her conscience to the wind, just to have him in her arms once more.

  Shoulders hunched, his elbows on his knees, he sat on the edge of the bed and plowed a hand through his hair. “Christ on the cross, forgive me, lass. I dinna ken what came over me. I vowed I wouldna touch ye, and I broke that oath.”

  She laid her palm on his back, wincing as he stiffened, and her heart burgeoned with an unbearable ache. “I’m glad my first kiss was with ye, Liam.”

  Probably her only kiss. The only time her breasts would be kissed and caressed. Biting tears formed behind her eyelids.

  Something that sounded like a hiss exploded past his lips. “Jesus.”

  “I’ll always treasure this experience and the time we’ve had together here.” She swallowed against the ridiculous lump forming in her throat and the tears blurring her vision. She would not cry. It was too late for recriminations or regret.

  Heaving a great sigh, he angled to his feet.

  A wounded man. A decent man. A man who so warranted happiness.

  Brows furrowed, one powerful forearm braced against the bunk above hers, he gazed at her with those indecipherable eyes. Eyes darkened to charcoal with passion that yet simmered there, he scrutinized her face, as if memorizing each imperfect feature.

  Oh, how she wanted to smooth the creases of recrimination from his forehead. Soothe the ache in his spirit. To help him heal and live again.

  “Ye’re a most remarkable woman, Emeline LeClaire. Ye merit much better than a broken man like me.”

  Nae, I dinna. I want ye. And only ye.

  “This willna happen again.” It was a solemn vow, and her heart fragmented at the finality of his harshly muttered words. He turned and, after seizing the blankets off his bunk, slammed from the cottage.

  At last, the tears that had threatened, surged over the rims of her eyes and cascaded down her face. Pulling the pillow to her chest, she buried her face in the lumpy mass.

  What have I done?

  Foolish, foolish, stupid, gullible girl.

  How could I have fallen in love with a man who can never ever love me?

  Chapter Eight

  Nearly twenty hours later, Liam placed a tender kiss on Emeline’s forehead before reluctantly giving her a slight shake to awaken her. “Emeline, we’re here.”

  This magnificent woman would’ve given herself to him last night. She’d put a stop to their passion. Not because she didn’t want to go on, but because she’d come to know him so well in such a short time that she knew he’d despise himself for losing control.

  Since he’d stormed from the cottage and spent the night in the lean-to, she’d been unusually silent and distant.

  Wasn’t that what he’d wanted?

  He’d believed it was until he’d tossed and turned all night, visions of her moist mouth, rucked nipple, and impossibly long legs taunting him.

  Fine. He wanted her. He was young and healthy. She had a body that begged to be loved. He’d simply responded to an animalist urge.

  Liar.

  Perchance if he kept telling himself that falsehood, he’d actually come to believe it.

  He raked his gaze over her exquisite features, still relaxed in sleep. Her thick lashes fanned across her flushed cheeks dotted with adorable cinnamon-colored freckles. She breathed through her parted lips, dewy and tempting even as she slept.

  It wasn’t just her beauty that attracted him. She was a complex, intelligent woman. A woman who put others before herself, and if he’d met her in a different time and place, there might’ve been room in his heart and life for her.

  But since Kristin…

  “Emeline.” He jostled her again. She’d been as difficult to awaken in the cottage, too. He’d never known a woman to sleep so deeply. “We’ve arrived and my kin awaits us, lass.”

  At least he expected they would descend upon him when they arrived. Ten minutes ago, a laborer had dropped his hoe and torn across the field toward the great house. No doubt, on Mother’s orders to bring word the moment Liam had been sighted.

  “Do ye want my family and servants to see ye splayed across my lap? For certain, they’ll get the wrong impression. Perhaps assume we’re lovers,” he said, unable to keep the teasing note from his voice.

  Emeline eyelids flew open at that pronouncement. Treacle-brown eyes sparking with embarrassment and annoyance, she straightened so abruptly, she knocked his chin with her head.

  “Ouch.” He rubbed the battered flesh, enjoying the rosy glow on her cheeks.

  “Why didna ye say so the first time, ye clot head?” At once, she set to smoothing her hair, the ribbon containing the silky mass having long since been lost during the ride.

  Despite her irritation, he chuckled. She was adorable when she went all prickly.

  By the time they rounded the last curve of the long drive to Eytone Hall, she sat before him prim as a ninety-year-old virgin nun, eyes averted, and posture demure.

  He leaned forward until his lips brushed the back of her head. “Relax. They’ll no’ pounce.”

  “Hmph.” She fairly trembled with trepidation. Squaring her shoulders, she gasped as Eytone Hall came into view, it’s weathered buff-colored exterior and rows of mullioned windows catching the sun’s last bronze rays.

  “’Tis magnificent. And huge, Liam.” Wonder colored her awestruck voice.

  “Aye.” Pride infused him. “’Tis that.”

  He loved his home.

  For nine generations, the MacKays had overseen these lands. The very first feudal baron had commissioned the structure standing as a grand sentinel before them now. Constructed in the classical Scottish domesticated architecture style, the stately stone manor house boasted gables, towers, and several clusters of chimney stacks.

  Stifling a groan, he flexed his shoulders and straightened his spine. Hours of holding her had wreaked havoc on the muscles as well as his libido. Rather than have her ride astride behind him, exposing her silky inner thighs to hours of chafing as well as the long milky-white legs to his less than chaste approval, he’d opted to seat her sideway in front of him.

  The problem with that choice had been that her unforgettable, evocative scent filled his nostrils, and her lush curves had swayed against him as he held her upright. A raging erection had plagued him for miles.

  Hell, if he were entirely honest with himself, he’d been in a state of half-arousal since awaking that first night and seeing the tempting shadows of her gorgeous form through that filmy shift in the muted firelight.

  A niggling fear tormented him that he fought a battle he was destined to lose with this extraordinary woman.

  No, he’d already lost a battle against his desire last night, but he
would win the war. He must. Desire was his enemy. Remember that. If he hadn’t lusted after a pampered English woman, he’d not eat, breathe, and sleep with a fractured heart every minute of his life.

  But Emeline is different, the neglected, battered organ cried. He couldn’t take the risk. It would destroy him.

  As he reined Deri to a halt in Eytone Hall’s sweeping courtyard, the manor’s sturdy double doors sprang open and Kendra bolted down the steps, her unbound chestnut hair flowing behind her. “Och, Liam. We’ve been so verra worried.”

  Eyes shining and breathless, she sent Emeline a curiosity-laden glance.

  Composed, pale, and regal as always, his mother appeared in the entrance.

  Several others crowded into the opening, included Quinn Catherwood, Broden McGregor and—by God, was that his cousin Skye Hendron? Why wasn’t she in England with her parents? Liam had been gone for less than a fortnight, and his home had been invaded by visitors in his absence.

  His mother glided down the half-dozen weathered stone stairs, her expression a mixture of worry and relief.

  Quinn and Skye followed on her heels.

  “Liam, we expected ye days ago.” Mother’s focus traveled to the disheveled Emeline sitting across his lap. Not so much as an eyelash flickered, but Liam knew full well she’d taken in everything about the surprise guest from Emeline’s head to her toes.

  His mother’s keen gaze narrowed minutely.

  Bloody hell. That slight flexing meant there’d be an inquisition later. A lengthy inquisition.

  Lest everyone see his state of arousal, he didn’t dare dismount until he’d brought his lust under control. He motioned to Broden McGregor. “Broden, please help Miss LeClaire alight.”

  The cross look Kendra sliced Broden piqued Liam’s interest.

  From his cocky grin and the acute interest in the gaze he leveled Emeline, Broden was happy to oblige. Too handsome for his own good, he winked good-naturedly and easily lifted her from the saddle.

  “Och, lass. I canna imagine ye’re in need of somethin’ besides grunts and groans for conversation if ye’ve spent any time in this bear’s company.” His hand remained on her elbow to steady her as she became accustomed to standing after riding for so long.