Page 33 of Highlander Redeemed
His body stirred. She did not move. Her breath stuttered and grew unsteady.
And then she closed her eyes and caught her lower lip between her teeth and rolled her hips almost imperceptibly. Duncan groaned. He swiftly relieved her of the dagger, throwing it away from them as he rolled and pinned her beneath him so he lay in the cradle of her thighs. She reached up and pulled him down into a kiss that was every bit as fierce as their first, though there was no anger, no argument, this time.
Duncan’s focus was absolute.
The slide of her lips against his, the touch of their tongues, fanned his desire. She let her hands roam over his back, pulling him tighter against her, then she slid her long fingers into his hair as he deepened the kiss, urging her mouth to open for him. It was all he could do not to push her skirts and his plaid out of the way and do what clearly they both wanted right then and there. One bit of sanity and a promise he’d made to himself kept him from that. But that promise didn’t keep him from enjoying the moment.
He slid his hand slowly down her side, his palm skimming over the side of her breast, then down the curve of her waist.
The fervor of her kiss slowed, as if her attention had shifted from his mouth to ...
“Ahhh,” she whispered against his lips as he ran his fingers over the exposed soft skin of her thigh where her gown and kirtle had bunched up, until he found her damp and ready. Before his mind could catch up with him, he pressed a finger into her and felt her shudder. She let her head fall back, and closed her eyes. The look of utter concentration on her heart-shaped face almost undid him.
He pressed deeper into her, then out, and in again, and she began to move her hips against him, matching the rhythm of his fingers. He found her bud and ran his thumb over it as he delved his finger into her, all the while watching her as intenseconcentration gave way to intense pleasure. She tensed, arching her back, pressing her breasts against his chest and her sex hard against his hand.
She let out a long, low moan of pleasure, her flesh pulsing against him, and it was all he could do not to join her in her release.
He let his forehead rest against hers for a long moment, breathing in the scent of her, letting it wrap around him and settle into him, and he realized he had truly lost the battle, and not the one with swords and shields.
“Get off me, Duncan,” she said but he could not tell her mood. He pushed back and sat down facing her, grateful when she settled her skirts back where they belonged. She said nothing as she got to her feet and found her dagger. She looked at it in her hand as if only seeing it for the first time.
“We cannot do that again,” she said, sliding the dagger into its sheath at her belt.
“I ken that.” He got to his feet and gathered his own weapons. “’Twas not my intention.”
“Nor mine,” she said. “I should have stopped you, but ...”
“ ’Twas the heat of battle,” he said, though he knew it was far more than that. “It riles the blood.” ’Twas a poor excuse for letting his desires get the best of his intentions. “ ’Twill not happen again.”
“I will not let it happen again,” she said, but she wasn’t looking at him and there was none of the heat he expected in her voice. “It cannot happen again. No kissing, no ... touching.” She cut her gaze to him and he could see the pink in her cheeks, but he did not ken if the color was because she was embarrassed by what had transpired here or because she was angry about it. She let her hand rest on the hilt of her dagger, the dagger that had killed her mum and Myles, the dagger that she had just used to remind herself of her goal. “I cannot be distracted from my vow, Duncan. I’ll not let you nor any other lad distract me.”
DUNCAN SAT ACROSSthe fire from Scotia that evening after the meal, hoping the crackling flames and quiet conversation would distract him from the tension that still rode his body and his mind. But it was useless. He could think of nothing else, and every time he let himself be drawn back to the events of the afternoon, followed by Scotia’s silent return to the caves with him, he wanted to groan or grab her and pull her into the forest with him. Clearly he had not been thinking when he let himself, when he let them, get carried away like that, and now he was paying the price. Somehow she had turned the tables on him. He was the one distracted by desire, while she remained steadfastly focused on her goal.
“If you keep staring at her like that, lad,” Nicholas said, “Kenneth is likely to pluck out your eyeballs.”
Duncan closed his eyes and rubbed the spot between his brows. “Is it that obvious?”
“Aye.” Nicholas sat next to him. “But from what Rowan has told me, and from what I have seen from the moment I met you, you have always had a soft spot for the stubborn, selfish—”
“She is not—”
Nicholas laughed quietly. “Not anymore, ’tis true. It seems she has grown up at last, and while circumstances of late pushed her there, you appear to have something to do with her transformation, too.”
“Transformation?” Was their indiscretion that apparent?
“You are not blind—yet—and neither am I. You have been training her with weapons.” Duncan gave silent thanks, then realized what Nicholas had said. “If I had not seen it myself,” Nicholas continued, “I would know from the way she carries herself.”
“Seen it?”
“You forget that my first calling was as a master spy. Did you not think I would keep an eye upon you and your charge when she has caused so much trouble?”
Duncan sighed. “’Tis a measure of how preoccupied I have been that I did not consider that.”
Nicholas chuckled. “She is a distracting woman. But as I said, even if I had not seen her training myself, I would know. No longer does she wander about, swaying her hips, and looking for mischief as she did when first I saw her trysting with Conall.” An unwanted flash of anger had Duncan scanning the gathering for the blond warrior. “She moves differently than she did even a tenday ago. Now she strides about like a warrior, her eyes scanning for trouble, her reactions swift and often ending in a fighting posture. And I daresay she is getting quite good with her weapons, given the number of bruises and cuts I have seen on you in the last few days.”
Duncan looked down at his nicked hand, and rolled the shoulder she had whacked with her blade just that afternoon, knowing there would be a fine bruise in evidence by morning.
“She does not want it known until she is ready to join the warriors, and aye, she is getting very, very good with her sword and shield.” He could not help the pride that he was sure Nicholas could hear his voice, nor could he keep from glancing across the fire at Scotia, catching her watching him. Flustered, they both looked away.
