Highlander
By Cathleen Ross
Published by Cathleen Ross at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Cathleen Ross
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Lady Isobel McLaird spun on her heels at the thunderous noise of metal and hooves approaching the marketplace. Her maid, peasants and livestock scattered as the phalanx of knights drew to a halt, but Isobel stood her ground. At their head was Sir James Bruce, the man who’d once held her and made her yearn for his caresses. Now she hated him. With her heart in her throat, she gathered her skirts to confront him. “Murderer!” she shouted.
Sir James’s enormous black steed reared at the sound of her sharp cry. Hooves flailed near her head as the fearsome knight fought to keep in his horse in check.
Fear chilled her blood and she stepped back.
After climbing down from his horse and throwing the reins to his page, Sir James took off his helm revealing dark blue eyes, which fixed upon her. “You’re as beautiful and foolish as you were on the riverbank three years ago, Isobel McLaird.”
When he pushed back his chain mail, she saw his raven hair was cropped shoulder length and his lips were as sensual as ever under his noble nose.
Wet from the river, her shift sticking to her skin, he’d held her. She’d turned her lips up to his to be kissed.
“I was foolish not to have reported your trespass on my father’s lands three years ago. You’re a traitor to King John Balliol and my brother’s murderer.”
He strode towards her, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Fear rooted her feet to the damp earth of the marketplace. Though the rain had passed and the sun shone, for her, everyday was gloomy because of this knight.
“Have you not noticed that you’ve not an army to defend you now?” A half smile formed on his lips.
“You jest about my people’s destruction, brave men all, led by my brother. Your cruelty does you no merit, Sir.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. David and his men would have gone down fighting the stronger Bruce army until the end, determined to give everything for the cause of John Balliol, the true king.
At her accusation, the smile slipped from his face and his eyes held sympathy. “It is a bad day for Scotland when Scotsmen spill the blood of their own. I’ve news for you, my lady, but it comes at a cost. Your brother lives.”
“What?” For a moment, Isobel thought the ground had shifted under her feet. Owen, David’s best friend had seen her brother killed by this knight’s very hand.
“You play with me, Sir.”
“Nay, my lady. I do not jest about a cause so dear to your heart. Take this proof of my words.” He took a piece of parchment from his page and handed it to her.
A buzz of voices swarmed as the villagers gathered around her but Isobel paid them no heed. With trembling fingers she saw the parchment contained her brother’s fine hand.
Her gaze flicked up to meet Sir James’s. “David says the Bruce will no accept ransom.”
“Aye, my cousin, the king will brook no opposition to his claim and your brother is a formidable knight. I warrant my cousin will keep him prisoner. And now I’ll take my price for giving the message.”
Isobel reached for the purse that hung at her waist.
Sir James stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground. “Would that I had done this those three years ago by the river. I can’t get you out of my mind.”
She opened her lips to protest, but he planted his mouth hard on hers. Surprise, hotly followed by indignation rose within her. She slapped her hands on his chest and kicked with her feet, but her toes met body armor. A sharp pain zinged through her foot and she opened her lips further to cry out. The knight taking full advantage, put his lips to hers, moving them in a rhythm. His action was bold. Her blood pumped wildly and sensations she had no name for, rushed through her.
Though she dug her nails into his clothing, the mail he wore under his surcoat resisted her damage. Soon though, her hands stilled as sparks of pleasure shot through her. A sigh left her lips, soft with need.
The knight, perhaps sensing her acquiescence, touched her tongue with his. Isobel jerked back, but he followed the movement of her head, refusing to break his kiss. The impropriety shocked her to the core and yet the repeated gliding sensation of his tongue sent tingles down her spine and the feel of his hot lips on hers drugged her to his wishes.
Pinned to his body by his powerful arms, she was helpless, lost as excitement raced throughout her that was better than riding her horse unbridled and wild.
One of his hands slid under her veil and fisted her hair. The sharp pull of it along with his lips, hot and sensuous, demanded more from her. Seized with an unquenchable fire, she let go, closed her eyes, lost in the new sensations.
Tentatively, she followed the movement of his tongue taking pleasure in the most intimate sensation she’d ever savored. He tasted of ale and virile male. Her nipples tightened under her gown and though the weather was inclement, she thought she was melting.
She’d never experienced anything like this. No man had ever kissed her. His face, though shaven, was still in need of a razor. The barbs on his jaw grazed her cheek and though the soft skin surrounding her lips chaffed, the sensation sent heady bubbles through her blood as if she had sipped on too much of her father’s wine.
“My lady!” her maid screamed.
Aware of her maid’s high-pitched voice and the hum of the villagers witnessing this improper act, Isobel twisted and turned though she thought her hair would rip from her scalp.
“Release me, Sir.”
When he released her hair, she pushed back on his chest with the flat of her hands, aware of his glittering eyes. He did as she asked however, slowly lowering her, but after he placed her on her feet, she noticed his chest rose and fell. The skin on his neck had darkened with blood and she sensed he barely held himself in check.
“What manner of payment is this?” she asked.
“I have no use for your coin, Isobel, but this,” he touched his finger to her lips, “is worth more than any gold.”
Cheeks burning, Isobel stepped back, aware of the gaze of the villagers, of the hum and whisper of voices in the air. This was the lord responsible for the devastating defeat of her brother and his men, and yet he had brought comforting news that her brother lived instead of glorying in her loss. Confused, she couldn’t still the thumping of her heart. “I’ll deliver my brother’s message to my father.”
“Tell your father to expect me when the moon wanes. I’ll have terms to discuss.” He bowed, turned and mounted his horse.
Isobel watched him leave, her hand on her lips barely able to believe his inappropriate conduct and her eager response. Sir James had a formidable reputation as a warrior. What would he want? If her father didn’t agree, how could they defend their battle-ravaged lands from this giant of a man? What if he demanded her as part of his war prize?
Isobel swept towards her father’s staterooms, her hands clutching her skirts to raise the hem in her haste. It was unusual for her father, Sir William, to summon her from her sport of hawking but she’d heard the clatter of hooves on stone and knew Sir James and his men had come. With Robert the Bruce’s determination to crush all opposition to his kingship of Scotland, her life sat on a knife’s edge.
Upon entering the large room, excitement set her heart thumping at the sight of the dark-haired knight, her gaze already taking in his well-muscled body. As she walked towards the high table where the knight sat, she could see his blue eyes flashing with naked desire. His large frame dwarfed her father who sat hunched nearby. From the power Sir James emanated, she understood why he was Robert the Bruce’s most trusted warrior. Helmet removed and clad in chain mail and surcoat, which blazed his coat of arms, she had full view of his strong face with its penetrating gaze and full lusty mouth.
Although she wore a sleeveless gown the color of a hedge rose over a sage kirtle and silken gloves, she felt his gaze upon her, stripping her naked. Just like before. Even the delicate skin of her lips tingled, the memory of his kiss, a delicious ripple though her consciousness. It was wrong. Brazen. She couldn’t get enough of him.
Lifting her hand momentarily to her hair, she realized the wind had released her red locks from their braids. This was not the time to be disheveled. Not when she needed every bit of her strength to maintain her dignity.
“Father.” Isobel curtsied, glancing under her eyelashes at Sir James.
Her father stood, as did Sir James.
“Daughter,” began her father, “I do not believe you have met Sir James Bruce, though his name is well known to our family.”
Isobel forced herself to curtsey. She’d told her father a page had delivered the message from her brother, determined not to reveal the shame of the incidence in the marketplace. Her heart seemed to swell in her chest and she prayed her father would not notice the high color that certainly stained her cheeks.
“I have had the pleasure of meeting your spirited daughter,” Sir James said.
Would he give her away? Would he shame her in front of her father? Would he describe how her body had melded to his, how she had responded to the kiss of a traitor to their cause?
Sir James eased himself down onto the high-backed chair, stretching one long leg out in front of him in the feigned relaxed manner of the conqueror.
Her father frowned.
“We have not been formally introduced,” she said.
The side of Sir James’s mouth twisted.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him, instinctively knowing he wanted her in the shocking carnal way her confessor had sworn would send a sinner straight to the bowels of hell. Yet her blood boiled as perspiration heated the sensitive skin between her breasts. She wanted him too. No man had ever pressed himself against her and kissed her with a passion that had made her head swim. How desperately she yearned to feel his lips, the delicious taste and power of him, again.