Her Wicked Highlander: A Highland Knights Novella Page 3
He shrugged. “I was given orders. I didna think of that part of it. I just kent I had to get you away from danger.”
“Do you ever think of how your actions might affect others?”
“Nay,” he admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “Not often.”
She studied him. Something about him—she could admit it now that she was fairly certain he wasn’t her enemy—drew her. Part of it was his looks, certainly—who could ignore a handsome, strong, tall, virile man? He made everything that was feminine in her stand up and take notice.
He tilted his head, and they stared at each other hard for a long moment. His eyes were a clear brown, framed by long, black lashes.
He wasn’t going to hurt her. This was all about protecting her. Though that seemed unbelievable after all that had happened since last night.
And yet… she believed him. There was something purely honest in the way he functioned, as if deception simply wasn’t part of his repertoire.
Or perhaps he was so good at it, it was impossible to discern.
He was sitting close to her. She could smell him—he must have bathed, because he smelled of soap and clean man and fresh air. She swallowed hard, and took the last half of the bannock he offered her. “Thank you.”
He nodded and finished his last bite of meat, then reached over and poured them each a small measure of whisky from the jar on the table. She took it from him and drank it in one swallow. It was stronger than her whisky at home, and she gasped.
He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling for a second before he downed the fluid in his own glass. He set the glass down with a clunk.
“So this is your castle?” she asked. “You must be rich, then.”
His lips twisted. “Aye, well, that depends on how you’ll be defining rich.”
“You’ve seen my house.”
He stared at her for a second, then nodded. “Aye, then. I’m rich.”
“Where is your family?”
“In Aberdeen. My da is a salt merchant.”
“Is that a profitable business?”
“Aye, it has been, at least for him.”
“And do you have siblings?”
He had moved the empty food tray aside and was inching closer to her, she realized. Warmth tingled under her skin, the whisky quickly running through her veins and heating her blood. She desperately wanted to touch him, but she’d been raised to be a modest lass—at least in some ways.
She’d had suitors, but no one had much interested her, until now. Her boyish, countrified suitors were nothing like Maxwell White.
“Aye,” he said. “Two brothers. Both younger.”
“I never had a brother, or a sister,” she said, sighing. “Well, I suppose I did. Two sisters… but they died at birth.”
“I’m sorry for that. I canna imagine life without my brothers.”
“Having no family…” She looked away from him. “It can be lonely sometimes.”
“And your parents are gone… Died two years ago from plague, was it?”
“How do you ken so much about me?” she asked, stiffening.
“We needed to learn all we could about you once we knew Sutherland was after you.”
She frowned. She didn’t like that. Didn’t like people she didn’t know digging into her past, learning about her parents.
“Do you miss them?” he asked softly. He cupped her cheek in his palm, turning her to face him.
His palm was warm and strong and soft, and she couldn’t help herself. She leaned into it and closed her eyes. “Yes. I miss them. I miss them terribly.”
His mouth touched hers, soft and warm, and she sighed against him.
“Aila,” he murmured, his lips moving against hers. “You’re so bonny. I havena…” He pulled back and dropped his hand, and she opened her eyes. He stared at her with a look that made tingles shudder under her skin. She grabbed onto his shirt, fisting the fabric in her hands, and he made a low noise in his throat. “Dinna test my control, lass.”
A thrill of fear rushed through her, but it wasn’t the kind of fear she’d experienced when she’d thought he was going to hurt her. This was a different animal altogether.
“What if,” she asked softly, “I want to test it?”
It was the right thing to say, she realized, because the heat of his gaze intensified. “You dinna ken what you’re saying,” he rasped.
“I was raised in a three-room cottage on a farm,” she countered. “I ken exactly what I’m saying.”
“How old are you, lass?”
“Two and twenty.” She gazed at him directly, challenging. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. Too old for the likes of you.”
She scoffed. “Och, that’s ridiculous.” She lifted her glass and held it out for more whisky. He poured some into her glass and then into his own.
He took a swallow of his drink. “You manage your lands on your own.”
“Aye. Well, Gin and I manage it together.”
“Gin? Oh, aye, your servant. She’s in Inverness seeing to her aunt, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Aila conceded. “But she’ll be back in a few days. I couldna do it without her help, and without the help of our neighbors, the Grants, and the people in the village.” She relaxed against him.
“And do you like living alone like that?”
“Mmm…” she murmured. “There’s naught else for me to be doing with my time, now is there?”
“If there were, would you choose to do it?”
“It is my life, and ’tis where I belong. Although, I dinna think I’d mind traveling to London and seeing the Prince Regent with you.”
“I’ve never seen the Prince Regent.” He put his arm around her, his fingers playing with the fabric of her dress at the top of her shoulder.
She tilted her head. “Why ever not?”
“Just… never got around to it, I suppose. I havena much interest in the Regent, anyhow.”
“And yet you support his government.”
“It is my government. What I fought for, for eight years in the army. What so many died for at Waterloo, and the battles leading up to it.”
“Aye,” she said softly. “And now Sutherland wants to change all that.”
“Aye, and there are others as well. ’Tis why the Highland Knights must exist.”
She closed her eyes, thinking of this Sutherland and his search for the dagger. “Where is Sutherland now?”
“Here, in the Highlands.”
“Nearby?”
“Aye. Near your lands.”
“Is that why you were in such a hurry last night?”
Max nodded. “I received word he was in the area.”
“Oh dear Lord!” She pulled away from him. “Do you think he’s already been to my cottage?”
He grimaced. “The chances of that are high.”
She couldn’t hide her dismay at that. Her beloved home, where she’d been born, where her parents had lived for so many years, then died, invaded by this madman.
“He’ll have torn it apart, looking for the dagger, most like,” she whispered.
Max nodded, and there was sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, lass. Better, though, to tear your house apart than to tear you apart, aye?”
“I dinna ken,” she said. “I should be there to protect my home. Standing at the door with my da’s rifle…”
“Nay. Sutherland is an accomplished murderer. You’re safe here, with me.”
“Won’t he find us here?”
“He’s no reason to think we’d have come here.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Fairly.”
“I want to go back,” she whispered. “I want to see my home… see that everything is all right…”
“Nay,” Max said firmly. “Not until this is over.”
“But I’ve so much to do before the weather gets worse. There’s a leak in my roof—”
“I’ll fix it for you once Sutherland is no longer a threat.”
She blinked at him. “You’d do that for me?”
“Aye, of course.”
He offered his help so freely, she felt flustered, off-kilter. Her attraction for this man seemed to rise with every word out of his mouth.
“How long d’you think we’ll be stranded here?”
“No telling.”
“Well.” She sighed. Her chickens could be self-sufficient for a while, and she wouldn’t be planting the potatoes for at least another two months. “There’s plenty of work here to occupy us, I suppose. I should send a message to Gin to let her know not to come home until this is over.”
“I can arrange that. We’ll send your message to the Knights. They’ll ensure she receives it.”
“I’ll write her tomorrow.” She leaned against him again and held out her glass for more whisky. After a short hesitation, he poured more into her glass, then into his own.
She drank it straightaway.
Aila relaxed against Max, her soft curves pressing against his side, and he knew he should keep his distance. This was an assignment, and he was a professional. At least he was now that he was a Highland Knight. He intended to prove himself to the Knights, to be part of the brotherhood for the rest of his days. God knew that bedding the first woman he encountered in the job could cause an endless set of problems. They might turn him away.
They might do worse.
But none of that stopped his body from hardening. His cock tightened to the point of pain beneath the pleats of his kilt.
He closed his eyes briefly, willing his body to stand down. It didn’t listen.
She gave a breathy, happy sigh and pulled away from him before turning to him, her lips curling in an impish smile. “I believe you now.”
His own lips quirked. “Good.”
“I thought you were a bad man at first, but I’m starting to think you’re a good one.”
Ha. Little did she know. He didn’t think he was an evil man, but he definitely wasn’t a good one. With that thought, images of the men he’d killed marched through his conscience. He kept his face blank, fighting off the flinch.
Too damn many dead bodies. The battles of the Peninsular Wars had offered up most of them, but in the two years since Waterloo, he’d sold his commission and worked as a mercenary for hire on the Continent. That had been bloody, soul-sucking work. The offer from the Highland Knights had felt like a chance to start over. To do something good. Something with a true purpose.
“And,” Aila announced, “I think you’re quite handsome.”
Max had never suffered from a lack of attention from the opposite sex, but hearing that from Aila—a woman who called to him like no one ever had—made something inside him twist.
He wanted her to think of him as a handsome man. More important, he wanted her to think of him as a good one.
And then she launched herself at him, pushing him back until his upper body was sprawled on the sofa with Aila on top of him. Her lips fused to his, sweet and soft, open and pliable.
The woman knew how to kiss—clearly she had a great deal of experience with it. Her kisses were hungry, punctuated with wee gasps of pleasure, as if he were the most delectable meal she’d ever tasted.
Her torso lay upon his, her breasts pushing against his chest. He wrapped one arm around her back and pushed it down over the swell of her bottom. He squeezed, pulling her closer, tighter against him.
He was breathless, panting now, desire pulsing through him until all he could see was Aila, all he could feel was her—her lips, her tongue, her body pressed against his. He wanted more. Nay, he needed more.
He flipped her over on the sofa. Now she lay on her back, and he loomed over her, looking at her. Both of them were out of breath. A sweet pink flush bloomed across her cheeks.
“What are you playing at, lass?” he rasped.
“I want you,” she said breathlessly.
He shook his head, even as more blood surged between his legs.
“Dinna presume to tell me I don’t,” she growled. “Because I do. I want you. I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.”
“You dinna ken what you’re saying.”
“We’ve discussed this before. I ken exactly what I’m saying. I want you, Maxwell White. Here. Now.”
Damn. How could he deny her? His body had pushed his previous logic deep into the far reaches of his mind. A new logic came to take its place. A beautiful, willing woman lay beneath him. She wanted him, and he wanted her. There was no reason to deny themselves what they both wanted.
He flexed his jaw, trying to see clearly, think clearly. It was damn difficult. He just wanted her. To plunge his cock deep inside her willing body and ride her to ecstasy. But she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. He wanted her to feel ecstasy too.
He drew back and flipped her over, quickly undoing the buttons of her dress. Then he turned her over again and drew the bodice down over her arms and chest. She gasped as her breasts popped free of the confining material, and stared at him, her eyes big and green.
Her breasts were full and round, tipped with small, rosy nipples. His mouth watered at the sight. He kissed her again, then moved down, over her jaw, down her neck, tasting her warm, soft skin before traveling down her collarbones to her chest. His lips traveled up the slope of her breast until he reached the tip, then gave it an openmouthed kiss, suckling gently.
“Ohhh,” she breathed, and she pressed her hands to his head, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him tighter against her.
He lavished attention on that breast first, then the other one, until she writhed beneath him.
“So sensitive,” he murmured. “So responsive.”
She began to chant, “Please, please, please…”
“Please what, lass?”
Her fingers tightened in his hair. “I dinna ken!”
He chuckled and reached down her leg, bunching her dress in his fist and pulling it up while stroking her leg. He reached her garter just above her knee, then touched the bare skin of her thigh.
She shuddered beneath him, and he moved up to kiss her lips again. He couldn’t get enough of her lips. They were nothing short of perfect. The way she kissed him made ripples of sensation snake through his body and center in his groin.
His cock pulsed with every beat of his heart, so tight and solid, he knew he’d only last a few strokes inside her.
He drew his fingers up the inside of her thigh until he reached her center. He cupped her there, closing his eyes, thinking of how good she’d feel wrapped around him, tight and hot. It was going to be like nothing he’d ever experienced, he knew that instinctively.
She pushed herself brazenly against him. There was nothing shy or timid or inexperienced about this woman. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to show him.
Wiggling his fingers, he found the slit of her womanhood and explored the outside, feeling her arousal in the slickness of her folds. If he’d doubted she wanted him, there was no need to doubt now.
He found her opening and slid two fingers inside, blinking at the resistance. With a squeal, she nearly leaped off the couch.
He gently pulled free and gazed at her. She was panting, flushed, wide-eyed, the bonniest thing he’d ever seen.
“Did that hurt you?” he asked, confused. He’d never encountered a woman who’d had that reaction when he’d pushed fingers inside her. He’d also never encountered a woman that tight before.
“I… dinna ken… It was… it was… Well, almost,” she admitted weakly.
And then, it suddenly hit him, like a pan of ice-cold water thrown directly onto his face.
“Are you a virgin?” he asked.
Chapter Four
Aila scowled at him. “Of course I’m a virgin!”
His jaw dropped.
“What’d you think, that I was some sort
of… some sort of… of… leman?” she demanded.
“The thought crossed my mind,” he said, still looking at her as if she’d suddenly grown antlers.
Her reaction was instantaneous. She slapped him, hard, across the face. He reeled back, pressing a hand to his cheek.
“Jesus Christ, Aila!”
“Get off me!”
“I didna ken you were a virgin.”
“Get off!” she roared.
He slipped off her and stood, pushing his hands through his hair until he grabbed the back of his neck.
She stood, yanking up the sleeves of her dress and reaching behind her to button it haphazardly. Her cheeks burned, but she faced him head-on. “You are an offensive, horrible man. I take back my earlier comments about you being good.”
He just stood in the center of the room, giving her a baleful look.
“I’m going to my room,” she announced. “Let me know when Sutherland has been arrested so I can go home.”
She turned on her heel and stomped out of the room, fuming. He’d thought she was a whore. She couldn’t even express how offended she was.
She marched upstairs to the room she’d escaped from earlier. This would be her home for the rest of her stay, and she had plenty of work to do to make it livable.
Max followed Aila up the stairs at a distance, letting her work off the rest of her anger. He hadn’t meant offense—he really hadn’t. And admittedly, he had taken several wrong turns with this woman before—his communication skills had never been the best.
But even he could understand why essentially calling a lady a whore might not elicit copious amounts of goodwill from her.
When he reached the bedchamber he’d assigned her earlier, he saw the door was shut, and alarm shot through him. What if she’d climbed out the window again? He flung the door open only to see her leaning out the window, giving him a good view of the curves of her backside through the fabric of her dress.
He remembered holding her bottom, pressing his fingers into it as he urged her closer to him, and just like that, he was half-hard again.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She spun around. “Get out of my room!”