Page 30 of When a Highlander Loses His Heart
She should fight him, yet she could not find the desire to push him away. Instead, she found she wanted to circle her arms around his broad back and cling to him. Abandoning all reason, she did exactly that. Her fingers trailed over slabs of carved muscle that flexed and jumped under her ministrations. He was a warrior to the bone. She could feel it in the steel that was his body, in the thick bands that crossed his back, and as she slipped her hands to his sides, she realized she could feel his strength in every part of him.
He was heavy upon her, his body almost crushing hers, his heart pounding against hers. Yet she was not fearful. She felt somehow protected and cherished. It was an illusion, she knew, but she longed to hold on to it just for a moment, so when he touched his tongue to her lips, she opened them for him. But she was not prepared for the bliss that came next.
He tasted of mead and faint smoke, as if he had breathed in the fire, and it was a heady thing. Her lips burned with the heat of his possession, and his hunger hardened him even more atop her. He kissed her urgently and with what seemed a purpose—to explore her and know her. She eagerly returned his kisses, feeling her own need to learn this man, this honorable warrior and fiendish foe.
Suddenly, his lips left her mouth and traced a destructive but blissful path down her neck and to the top of her chest where his mouth brushed across her sensitive skin. Unable to contain her response, she cried out in pleasure, the ragged sound of her desire-laden voice shocking her into awareness of what they were doing. She stilled, and it seemed he did, as well, and before she knew what was happening, she had been dragged off her back and to her feet, gripped by the arm, and was being towed back toward the water.
Her senses reeled from his kiss, his nearness, his abrupt change. No longer was the passionate man touching her. He was once more the warrior intent on fulfilling his task. She jerked back on his hand, knowing it was futile to fight him but too stubborn to go meekly. He came to a shuddering stop and whirled around to face her. The large blood stain on his plaid made her cringe.
“Ye’re bleeding,” she cried, reaching toward him.
He flinched away, and the quick movement caused his lips to press together in a thin white line. “What did ye expect?” he growled. “When ye stab a man it usually produces blood.”
Guilt swarmed her. “Ye dunnae leave me a choice, but I did nae stab ye! I missed!”
“Aye,” he said through gritted teeth. She frowned, unsure whether it was anger or pain that caused his clenched mouth. “Ye missed yer mark, but yer dagger pricked my wound from the wolf and ripped open the flesh.”
Her stomach roiled at his words, and she felt momentarily lightheaded.
“Do ye wish to see?” he asked blandly.
She quickly shook her head. “Nay. I…I’m sorry. But as I said, ye left me nary a choice.”
He brought his face a hairsbreadth from hers. “There is always a choice, Isobel. Never forget that. Ye may nae care for the choice, but there always is one.”
She bit her lip, knowing he was right. She could have submitted to him, but she had chosen not to. Yet it hardly seemed right to submit willingly to something she did not want. “I did nae like the other choice ye gave me,” she finally said.
“I ken ye did nae. And I understand why.”
“Ye do?” she asked, startled.
He nodded. “Aye. Ye feel helpless to control yer own life, and it infuriates ye.”
Her mouth parted. That wasexactlyhow she felt. Well, it was part of it. She also felt very alone. As she stood there, it occurred to her that only someone who had felt as she did would recognize those emotions in another.
“Ye speak from experience,” she said softly.
His eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, she was certain he would deny it, as his gaze became hooded, but then he sighed and focused on her. “Aye, I do.” With that, he took her by the hand and led her into the icy water once more.
This time she followed without a fight. Her body protested the frigid temperatures, but there was no time to linger on it. He swam rapidly, pulling her along to match his pace. They reached the embankment in no time, and as they climbed out and then up, hostile gazes greeted her. His men were lined above, staring down at her, and all of them but Cameron and Marsaili looked as if they wished she had drowned.
She followed Graham in silence, fighting the urge to hang her head to avoid their angry stares. Instead, she met each gaze defiantly, barely resisting the urge to cry when Marsaili gave her a sympathetic smile, but Marsaili did not make a move to come to her. Instead, her sister exchanged a look with Cameron, who gave her a distinct shake of his head. Isobel wanted to protest, but she did not want to make things worse for Marsaili than she probably already had by talking her into helping with the escape.
She walked past Graham’s silent men, who parted to let Graham through to his horse and did the same for her. When Graham swung up onto the beast with a loud grunt, she moved close and stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to give her a hand up. He glanced down at her and then to Rory Mac, and said, “The lass will ride with ye.”
Hot humiliation burned her cheeks. Did he not want to ride with her because of the kiss they had shared? She noted he had not said a word about it. It was as if it had never happened. Did he regret it? She should, but somehow she could not make herself. Her vast, fluctuating emotions for this man confused her.
She could not help but look at him. He rode very close, as if he had been forced to relinquish her to Rory Mac but wanted to stay near to guard her. She frowned. That could not be correct. She was seeing intentions that were not there. He didn’t even look back at her. He simply looked straight ahead, concentration tensing his face. Her gaze skimmed over the rest of him without her approval as his powerful thighs bulged against his destrier and his arms grew taut as he gripped his reins.
They traveled through the day and into the night until every inch of her body screamed in pain. She longed to beg Graham to stop, and just when she thought she had reached her breaking point, he called a halt and his men quickly complied. She was unceremoniously whipped off the horse by Rory Mac and set hard upon a rock beside Marsaili. He glared at her and then gave Marsaili a warning look, too. “If ye let her run this time, ye ken ye will nae be welcome at Dunvegan, part MacLeod or nae.”
Marsaili nodded and offered Isobel a silent, apologetic look.
Isobel patted her sister’s hand. “Dunnae fash yerself. I’m too weary to run. I fear if I tried, I’d simply fall on my face.”
The sudden flash of fire near where Graham, his brother, and the rest of the men were caught her attention. If they were risking lighting a fire, they must be in an area he considered safe.
“Have we stopped because we are near Dunvegan?” she called to Rory Mac’s retreating figure.
