Page 4 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

The woman led the way through the tavern door to the cobbled yard outside. She turned to Maxwell, who followed close behind her, his mind whirling at the absurdity of the situation he found himself in.

“Here is a good space fer our bout.”

The two old men followed them out and a small crowd gathered. The rowdy lads appeared, solemn-faced now. The tavern-keeper stepped up to Maxwell.

“Milord, hand me yer weapons and yer cloak. Ye’ll nae be needing them.”

As he divested himself of his sword and dirk and handed the man his heavy, woolen cloak, he noted a young maid doing the same for the lass who was to be his opponent.

He stepped forward and the crowd grew silent. “I’ll nae partake of punches, kicks, or slaps. It wouldnae be seemly fer me tae raise a hand against a woman.”

There was a rumble of approval from the growing crowd and the woman shrugged. “I’ll nae abide by yer rules.”

Maxwell gave a short laugh. “As ye wish, milady. Me rules are fer meself. If ye are able tae land a blow, then good luck tae ye.”

The tavern keeper held up his hand. “At the count of ten, let the bout between ye begin.” He began counting and as he reached the word ‘ten’ the lass sprang toward Maxwell.

He swung his body to the side and, missing her mark, she darted past him, her jaw set in a determined line. Then, with a speed that surprised him, she swiveled and came at him again. Her booted foot was angled between his knees, catching him off balance, causing him to stumble. He raised an arm to parry a blow from her and caught it on his elbow with a grunt of pain. Before he could turn, she had twisted away from him and was crouching, her fists high, her eyes holding his.

It was then he realized the seriousness of the situation. This audacious lass was quick and fearless and intended to defeat him with both guile and strength.

“Oof.”

In the scant second it took him to gather his wits, she had darted forward and landed a blow to his solar plexus, almost winding him.

He straightened, growling and hauling in a breath. She was clearly enjoying this, her green eyes flashing with a warrior’s light.By the saints, this hell-cat was trained, as he was, and her skill was a good match for his.

If he was to spare himself the humiliation of being defeated by a mere lass, it was time he shed his chivalry and took charge. There was no denying she was skillful, but she lacked his strength and the battle-hardened ruthlessness no foe could withstand.

It was over in seconds. As she came at him again, he dodged and seized her arm, twisting it hard behind her. She moaned in pain but he tightened his grip and pushed her captive arm higher, bringing her to her knees. Bit by grinding bit, he forced her resistance to submit to his strength. Finally, in a lightning move, he had her face down on the ice-cold stones, his knee on her back, holding her there as the tavern-keeper counted to three.

Panting, Maxwell released her. “Ye fought well, lass.”

She rolled onto her back, supporting herself on one elbow. As she did so, the skirt she’d hoisted up to give herself more traction fell aside, displaying a long shapely leg and a charming glimpse of a bare thigh. Maxwell’s heart leaped at the arousing sight, buthe averted his eyes, respecting her modesty, reaching a hand to assist her to her feet. As she rose, he folded her into his arms. For a long moment her body was pressed to his. Her warmth and the softness of her breasts rising and falling against his chest caused his wayward manhood to harden beneath his kilt.

He held her for a heartbeat too long, savoring the wildflower scent of her hair, the heat of her body and the indescribable, heady aroma that washer,musky and female.

Blood pounded in his temples as he held her, oblivious to the shouts of the gathered crowd. They were both panting from their exertions, their gasping breaths mingling in the icy air. Then the lass raised her head, her green eyes locked with his, and a wild spark of something hot, as sharp as a piercing blade, rushed between them, robbing what little of his breath remained.

She reached out, snaked an arm around his neck and leaned up. He dipped his head in answer to her unspoken demand and, without hesitating, her mouth took his in a kiss.

There was no restraint. The tension that had built between them in the tavern and during their physical bout, overflowed into a melding of pleasure and desire that rocked Maxwell to his core. This was a meeting of lips and tongues in fiery passion. He was oblivious to his surroundings, unaware of the jeers of the onlooking crowd, lost as he was in the wonder of her lips and the soaring, aching need to consume this wild creature, whose wiles held him captive. He tightened his embrace, pressing his hands to her well-rounded buttocks so that she rode against hishardness. He savored her answering pressure as she shifted her hips to accommodate him.

Then, all too soon, it was over.

He groaned, chest heaving in frustration, as she raised her head. Her eyes were shining dark in the lamplight as she calmly appraised him.

Damn. He could think of naught but bedding the lass but the room he shared with James was not the place to wreak his pent-up passion.

She moved out of his embrace and he groaned again. “Lass…” he began, “I’ve a sore need… fer a bed…” Pressing a finger to his lips she shook her head.

“I’ve a preference fer my own bed. Its feathers are soft and the covers are warm. Would ye care to join me there? Ye’d find it much superior to the hard straw mattress of the tavern.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I cannae resist such a fine offer. There is aught else I desire than tae while away the hours until daylight in yer company.”

She flicked her long, unbound hair over her shoulder and straightened her skirt. Then she reached for the fur cloak being proffered by the maid. “D’ye care tae follow me?”

Maxwell shrugged on his own cloak and hastily fastened his sword and dirk in his belt. He made a courtly bow. “Milady, it would be me pleasure.”

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