Page 53 of When a Highlander Loses His Heart
Graham jerked the now-wheezing Cormac to him. “Dunnae ever speak of my wife again,” he growled, seeing her still dancing across the room, oblivious that she was the subject of such lurid talk by his men, who should respect her. It struck him then that they did not respect her because they thought he did not. That would change.
He clenched his teeth for a moment. “Dunnae let her name fall from yer tongue or I will slice it off. Dunnae glance her way or I will cut out yer eyes. Dunnae even think to touch her or I will lop off yer hands. She is mine. Do ye ken me?” He asked the question of Cormac, but he swept his gaze around the group of his warriors, pinning them each with a brief stare.
Swift nods were the response. Satisfied, Graham released Cormac, who immediately brought his hands to his neck and rubbed as he backed away a few steps. Warily, he looked at Graham. “I’m sorry. We all thought ye only married the lass for retribution and gain.”
Guilt sliced through the haze of red filling Graham’s head. Of course they thought that. Likely even Isobel thought that. He was not exactly sure what had compelled him to marry her beyond the fact that he felt responsible for her, admired her, and could not imagine letting another man take her as wife. She was his. The feeling was so strong that he flinched. He cared for her.
The room seemed to spin around him for a moment. When had that happened? He cared for his wife. He could manage that emotion—maintain it and control it. “My reasons for marrying her dunnae matter. All ye need to ken is that she is mine, and ye will respect her. Aye?”
“Aye,” the men chorused.
“Be at the shore at first light to train,” he added, his anger still hot. He looked at Cormac once more. “Ye finally get yer wish, Cormac. Ye’ll train against me.”
The man looked frightened, which pleased Graham greatly as he made his way to the far side of the room where Isobel and Broch were still dancing. His ire cooled slightly as he walked, but when he drew near and Broch whispered something in Isobel’s ear and she responded by looking at him with that shy smile Graham loved, the air in his lungs seemed to turn more scalding with each breath he took.
He strode up to Broch and, without a word, took Isobel by the arm and pulled her to him. She scowled and started to twist away, but he increased his hold as he held his commander’s questioning stare. “She is mine.” He felt Isobel flinch away from him at his declaration. Did she not care to be his? He pushed the question aside. “And what is mine, ye dunnae touch. Do ye ken me?”
Broch, who Graham had known since they were both bairns crawling on their knees, gave Graham a lazy grin but tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I ken ye. I was nae sure, but now that I am, I’ll nae even speak to the lass without yer consent, though she be verra beguiling.Does that satisfy ye?” the man growled.
Graham barely resisted the urge to hit Broch square in the nose for adding the beguiling part. Instead, he clipped, “Be ready to train on the shore at first light.”
“I’m always ready,” Broch replied and sidestepped away before Graham could decide if he should shut the man up with a swift hit to the chin.
As Graham watched Broch walk away, he could feel Isobel’s angry stare on him. For the love of Christ, he had no notion what to say to this lass, his wife. She made him feel and act unlike himself. She would make him weak, and until he controlled the effect she had on him, he had to be careful. She huffed out a breath, which washed over his neck and made his body harden in awareness of her. He wanted her. He wanted her so much he feared he’d not be patient enough with his innocent wife.
“I am not yer possession,” she seethed.
He could hardly think beyond the desire that coursed through his veins hot and thick, but he turned his gaze down to his wife. She was a vision in her fiery anger. Her blue eyes flashed sparks, rosy color infused her face, and her lips had deepened to a shade of dark red. And with every panting breath she took, her breasts rose upward and his fingers twitched to cup them, encircle her buds, and show her the pleasure that awaited them both.
He stepped forward and clasped her body tightly to his, not caring about the music, the dance, the hundreds of eyes upon them. The delicate bones of her back molded to his hand, and the rapid beating of her heart fluttered against his chest. He leaned down until his lips brushed her soft ear. She shivered, and her reaction caused triumph to flare within him. “Ye are mine. I will possess ye, body and soul. Dunnae try to fight it. I give ye my sword arm, my honor, and my name. Give to me the submission I desire.”
Chapter Fourteen
She should say no. Any woman with the smallest sliver of self-respect would fight being called a possession and being told to simply agree to it by a man who did not, and never would, love her. Still, his words seeped first into her mind, then into her blood, and made their way to her heart, which squeezed with hope that kept stubbornly resurfacing. Mayhap Graham was simply a man who wanted what was his to be known by all, but what if he had been so fierce with his warrior a moment ago because there was the tiniest part of Graham that was starting to care for her? She was surely a clot-heid because she knew that no matter what she did, she was going to cling to the second possibility and discard the first…for now.
She’d not deny that she cared for him. It was in the way her heart skipped whenever he drew near. It was in the way her breath hitched just looking at his commanding profile. It was how her gut had twisted into a thousand knots that refused to loosen until she had heard his fever had broken.
She did not utter her agreement, though, for to give it would open her up to hurt if things went horribly wrong between them, and she feared she’d never recover. Instead, as the pipers started the notes of a new dance, she pushed back from Graham until he released her with a frown. She took his right hand with her left, his eyes with hers.
With a thudding heart, she said, “Let us start with a dance.”
The unspoken agreement to try was there, and she watched with bated breath for his response. His gaze swept over her seductively as a slow smile came to his lips. “The perfect place to start,” he replied, his deep suggestive tone making her heart jolt.
They came together with their arms twined like serpents, and then they circled slowly to the left while dipping up and then down. For as big as Graham was, he moved with utter grace and made her feel as if she did, too. They stepped away from each other, with hands clasped, and then came together once more, gazes still locked as they circled in the other direction.
Halfway through the movement, Graham’s gaze dropped to her lips, and then he leaned in and brushed his mouth to hers. The kiss was searing and sent a dizzy current racing through her body. He pulled back, and an awareness that they were being watched crashed into her, sending heat to her cheeks, chest, and neck.
“I want ye,” he said on a low, throbbing whisper.
Her hope grew a bit, but fear kept it from spreading. “Aye, because ye need to ensure we are joined to gain Brigid.”
“Nay,” he denied with such force it startled her. “I desire ye for ye alone. If there was nae a Brigid, I would still yearn for ye. Will ye come with me now?”
His words sounded so honest and penetrated all her doubts. Then she recalled Marion’s counsel. Mayhap desire was a place to start? Mayhap they could build from there. Isobel nodded, realizing as he led her from the great hall that she had not even bothered to ask where he was taking her. Yet as he placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the stairs, she knew instinctively that he was leading her to his bedchamber.
Anticipation and fear swirled within her. She yearned for him as he seemed to yearn for her, though she was too embarrassed to say it in words. And she wanted to please him, but she certainly had no notion how to do that. The nuns had never discussed such things.
She took a quick glance around the large but sparsely furnished room and frowned. There was an enormous bed centered in the room with a thick blanket on it. In front of the bed was a dark, wood chest, and pushed against the wall to the right of the bed was a single chair. On the wall to the left hung five gleaming swords and a bow and arrow. The room was cold in temperature, as well as in welcome, and a shiver shot through her.
