Mary’s eyes popped open at the sound of a squeaking floorboard. Her breath caught as her heart flew to her throat. Had she dreamt it?

A shadow moved.

Clutching the bedclothes beneath her chin, she sat bolt upright. “S-sir Donald?”

“How can you utter that festering pustule’s name?”

Mary shivered as if someone just walked over her grave. Mary would never forget that nasally voice. She scooted flush against the headboard. “L-lieutenant,” she said in a tone far too shrill. “I insist you leave my chamber at once.”

Balfour MacLeod stepped forward, the light from the coal burning in the hearth enough to illuminate his wretched smirk. “I’m disappointed you’re not happier to see me, Mary.”

Her stomach churned at his familiar use of her given name without the courtesy of “Miss” before it. Clenching her teeth, her gaze darted through the room. What could she use for a weapon? “I-I doubt it would ever please me to lay eyes on you.”

“Still siding with the outlaws, are you?” He stepped a bit nearer.

Mary slid toward the far side of the bed. The servant’s door was ajar. Could she make a run for it? “How did you spirit inside—how did you find my chamber?” Buying time, she moved closer to the edge of the bed with every word.

He wore a dirk sheathed on his belt—no other weapons, at least that she could see. “It wasn’t all that difficult.” In two steps he stood where she’d been laying. “You must realize the fire was for you. I’ve ruined Donald MacDonald because of you.”

His words stunned. “You set fire to the waterfront?”

He laughed. “Aye, but ’tis you who made me do it.”

“You’re mad.” Never would she accept blame for such abominable destruction. “I did no such thing. I would never intentionally hurt Sir Donald or any of the merchants.”

With a feral growl, Balfour launched across the bed.

Shrieking, Mary sprang off the side and onto her feet. “Help!” she cried, dashing for the door.

“Shut up,” he hissed.

Heart hammering in her chest, Mary ran.

A steely hand clamped around her wrist. Before she blinked, Balfour shoved her against the wall, forcing her arm up her back. “Dammit, I didn’t want to have to do this.”

Mary jerked, a sharp pain searing up the twisted limb. “Ow,” she cried out.

“Blast you, hold still.” He pinned her with his body. Though not a tall man, he was stocky and weighed considerably more than she.

He shoved a vile tasting rag into her mouth and gagged her, tying it tight around Mary’s head.

Shrieking through the fabric, Mary thrust her body back and forth. With an elbow to his ribs, the lout jerked away enough for her to run.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growled, footsteps pounding behind her.

A chair clattered to the floorboards as he nabbed her wrist.

“Jesus Christ, you’ll wake the dead,” he growled, lunging for her elbow.

Before he could yank her away, Mary stretched for the tongs beside the hearth.

“Come, before that mongrel sets upon us.” Balfour again yanked her arm behind her back, pulling a leather thong from his belt.

Oh, no. She wasn’t about to let him bind her wrists. Not without a fight. Swinging around, Mary bashed the side of his head with the tongs.

Blood streaked from his temple, but the lieutenant only strengthened his iron grip on her wrist.

Noise clattered from the servant’s stairs.

“Unhand her,” Sir Donald roared from the doorway, brandishing a dirk.

The lieutenant leveled a knife at Mary’s neck. “You take one more step and I’ll slit her throat.”

Freezing in a crouch, Donald’s gaze snapped to Mary.

Dear Lord, everything shook. The sharp blade pressed against her neck so fiercely, it forced her to keep her chin held high. But the power of the baronet’s gaze infused her with strength. All they needed was for Balfour to loosen his grip ever so slightly. Just one errant move.

The lieutenant dragged her with him as he backed toward the servant’s stairs.

Mary’s fingers clamped around the tongs while the knife at her neck drew blood. A hot trail of liquid streamed down, itchy until it met her shift. One misstep and she’d be dead.

Sir Donald crept after them, his gaze never leaving her face.

Balfour pulled her through the threshold.

Mary cringed.

Donald gave a nod.

Gnashing her teeth, she blindly hurled the tongs upward and stomped on the lieutenant’s foot.

The knife jerked aside.

Mary ducked.

With a bloodcurdling roar, Donald attacked.

The two men met with flashes of steel and gnashing of teeth.

Blood spurted across the walls.

Clutching his arm, Balfour squawked like a rooster, scurrying for the stairs. “I’ll see you completely ruined for this!”

Sir Coll ran into the passageway, sword in hand. “What happened?”

“Dragon’s breath,” William swore from behind.

Sir Kennan stepped though the doorway, a musket pistol in each hand. “Good God, you’re bleeding, Miss Mary.”

“’Twas MacLeod. Go after him,” commanded Sir Donald, dropping to his knees beside her.

The three started down the stairs, but Donald caught William’s coattails. “Go tend to our sister. Make sure she’s aware the threat has passed.”

William stopped and regarded the baronet, and then shifted a worried gaze to Mary. “Very well. I’m sure Barbara’s frightened. No one could have slept through that racket. It sounded as if the battle of Dunkeld was being fought above stairs.”

Pressing her hand against her bloody neck, Mary strained to lift her head. “There’s something else you both should know.”

Two pairs of midnight blue eyes regarded her, eyebrows slanted inward, though Sir Donald’s still suffered the remnants of bruising.

Mary gulped. “Lieutenant MacLeod is responsible for last evening’s arson.”

Sir Donald growled through his teeth. “That diseased son of a pox-ridden whore.”

“He’s gone completely mad,” seethed William.

“Aye, and we’ll pay the magistrate a visit on the morrow.” Sir Donald flicked his wrist at his brother. “Now off with you.”

As soon as William turned away, Donald pulled his shirt over his head, then bent over Mary’s neck. “Let me have a look.”

She removed her fingers and he dabbed it with the cloth.

“Ssss,” Mary hissed. She bit her tongue, though. In no way did she want Sir Donald to think her weak. “I’d nearly fought him off when you arrived.”

“Aye, and that’s how he ended up with a dagger at your throat.” He dabbed some more.

“Has the bleeding stopped?” Mary turned her gaze to the wall, willing herself not to look at the muscles rippling in his bare chest. “Because if it has, you can return to your chamber.”

He held the cloth firm. “I am the one who determines where I will go in my house.”

She rolled her eyes. Even in the face of near death the man could be overbearing.

“Come.” Slipping hands beneath her, he took her into his arms as he stood. Heavens, strong as Hercules, he lifted her as if she were no heavier than a bairn. “You’ll be more comfortable resting on the bed whilst I clean your wound.”

When he nestled her against the pillows, Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “I can take care of myself—or—or you can send Hattie in.”

He strode to the bowl and ewer. “Would you prefer to be tended by the chambermaid?”

No. Mary shook away her inappropriate thoughts. “Yes, it is improper for you to still be in my chamber now the threat has passed.”

With his back turned, Mary couldn’t see his expression, though his shoulders tensed. “You didn’t consider it improper last eve.” Goodness, Sir Donald’s voice had suddenly grown husky.

A swarm of butterflies danced low in Mary’s belly. Clenching her fists, she fought to allay those ridiculous winged creatures. “Last eve you led me to believe you felt differently about…about…about us.”

He turned. A dark, intense, tormented stare filled his eyes. “Forgive me. It was never my intention to mislead you. I’ll see to your comfort and then I’ll leave you in peace.”

She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of her life. Mary pursed her lips and fixated on the canopy above. How on earth had he just made her feel like a heel? For all holiness, she was the person who suffered an attack. And under Sir Donald’s roof. As his guest, he had a responsibility to see to her safety.

The bed dipped quite a bit when he sat beside her.

Mary scooted away a little—not like she’d just done when Balfour had stalked her, but she certainly wasn’t going to prove an easy mark for Donald MacDonald this eve. Not when he’d all but shattered her world.

Moving closer, he swathed her neck with a clean, damp cloth. “I cannot put to words how incensed I grew when I saw that monster with his hands upon you.”

“And his knife at my neck.” Mary dryly added.

Sir Donald again examined her wound—a fair bit too closely for Mary’s taste. For the love of Moses, how was she to ignore the fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt? How on earth was she to remain nonplussed when he accosted her with such muscular maleness? Furthermore, this eve, he managed to smell like cloves simmering in cider. Mary’s head swooned.

“Are you all right?” He smoothed his palm against her face, so gently she had no choice but to close her eyes and lean into his warmth. “The bleeding has stopped and the wee cut doesn’t appear to be deep.”

Taking in a deep breath, she forced herself to draw away. “I’m certain I will be fine after I’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

“You’re drowsy?”

“I didn’t say that.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. Those too-blue-for-any-man’s eyes grew darker as he lowered his eyelashes and regarded her mouth, his face growing nearer and nearer. “Och, Mary.”

She parted her lips to speak, but he covered them so fast, Mary’s bones melted like candle wax. Gracious, she wanted to push him away, but she could not manage to make her arms work.

 

Don hadn’t intended to kiss her. But Mary’s lips had been so close, so delightfully inviting. Besides, she was behaving with such pride, he’d had no recourse but to dip his chin and show her exactly what she had come to mean to him. He hadn’t even realized how much until he saw her being manhandled by that fiend. In that moment, something inside him snapped. He never wanted to see another man place his hands upon the bonny lass. Not ever.

Hell, he didn’t want to leave her at Dunscaith Castle with her da. Though it was the honorable thing to do. If only the fire hadn’t happened, matters would be different. The arson had been caused by his ever-present nemesis. Ever since he’d met Mary, that bastard had plagued him.

He’d deal with MacLeod on the morrow. Presently, Mary returned his kiss with wanton sweeps of her tongue. A fast learner, lithe fingers swirled through the curls on his chest. Her breathing sped as he pulled her closer to his thrumming heart. With a shove, her hand stopped him. “Cease this amorous behavior. I will not allow you to seduce me. Not when you’re planning to dump me at my father’s gate never to see me again.”

A lump the size of his fist took up residence in his throat. Damn it all, she was right, and Don felt like a rake, a lecherous rogue taking advantage of a young maid who’d done nothing but trust him. Removing his hand from around her shoulders, he sat straight. “Did I say I would never venture to see you again?”

“Not exactly, but what did you expect me to think? You mentioned nothing about courting me. You asserted the cause was more important than our very lives.” Her gaze dipped to his crotch. “More important than what had occurred between us last eve,” she whispered.

The heat of her gaze made him lengthen—no matter how inappropriate his desires, his cock was fully erect with his next blink. Damnation, he needed to think. “After I have words with the magistrate in the morning, we have no choice but to sail for Skye. And your father would be within his rights to take my head if I did not deliver you safely to him.”

She folded her arms tight against her body. “So nothing’s changed.”

“Everything has changed.” He hit the mattress. “If another man ever touches you again, he’ll feel the cold steel of my sword.”

She blinked as if in disbelief. “Won’t that be a bit difficult when I’m in Castleton and you’re in Glasgow?”

Don groaned. Making a commitment now could be a terrible folly. “How can I protect you when you’re in Castleton?” he hedged—doing a very poor job of it.

“Are you planning to send for me?”

Why hadn’t he thought to put it like that? “Of course that’s my plan.”

She stared at him for a moment as if expecting him to say more. Then she pinched her brows. “Then you’re asking me to marry you?”

His tongue swelled in his mouth—felt like grit. “Ah.” His heart twisted so taut, his head spun. Never in his life had he wanted to be tied down to any woman. A wife brought so much more responsibility…and children. As the heir of the baronetcy, he had a responsibility to produce a son. He looked into Mary’s eyes. A family? “If you’ll have me,” he uttered, almost as if his soul commanded his mouth to speak.

Mary blinked again, followed by a sharp exhale. “W-w-why did you not say something earlier?”

“Because I am a dull-witted man.” He shook his head. “You were right. I was too wrapped up in the needs of the cause.” He held up a finger. “Though it is and will continue to be the focus of my work until the true king returns to the throne.”

She brushed his cheek with the tip of her finger, making him suck in a sharp gasp. “I like that you’re committed to something in which we both believe.” Then she swirled her fingers over the stubble along his jaw. A dainty pink tongue slipped out and tapped her top lip while her gaze slid down to his naked chest. “You must know that I am wholly committed to you, Sir Donald.”

He grasped her hands and kissed them, staring into her eyes. Dear God, he loved this redheaded lass. “Please, call me Don.”

“Aye,” she muttered, sounding more like a sigh. The wispy tenor of her voice reignited the fire in his loins.

Gathering her into his arms he held her in a tight embrace. “Heaven help me, I worship you.”

Mary raised her lips to his and joined with him, ravishing him with lips and teeth and tongue like she’d been bred for the pleasures of the bedchamber. Don plundered her mouth in kind, filling his palm with a luscious, unbound breast. “I want you,” he growled.

Saying nothing, she slid down on the bed and pulled him atop her. “Show me how.”

Dear God, no woman hath ever uttered more sensuous words.

He reached for the folds of her shift and tugged.

“Wait.”

Don stilled his hand. Passion he’d never known surged through him, threatening to burst.

Her eyes grew dark as she pushed his breeches. “I want to see you naked first.”

Chuckling, he pushed himself to his knees, untied his waistband and let his silk drawers drop. Watching the lust building on her face as she stared at his member made him so hard the tip arched up and touched his stomach. “You do this to me.” He stroked himself for her amusement, though only once. Good God, he’d nearly spurted his seed with the slightest friction.

She took in a stuttered breath. “I cannot believe something that size will fit inside me.”

“It might hurt a bit the first time.” He licked his lips. “We could—”

“No. I want you. I want to know what it feels like to join with you.”

She tugged her shift high enough to reveal the nest of red curls at her apex. Merely the scent of her sex made his thighs quiver. But he had to make the first time good for her. Reaching down, he stroked the sensitive nub peeking through the curls.

Gasping, she bucked. “You drive me to madness.”

“And I’ll take you further,” he growled, slipping his finger inside and stroking her as he captured her mouth. In and out he slid one then two fingers, reveling in the passion that made her entire body writhe with want.

“Please. I’m s-s-so close to coming undone.”

Seed dribbled from the tip of his cock as he moved himself to her entrance. “Are you ready?”

She clamped her fingers into his buttocks and pulled him inside her. “Oh, God.”

Her wee gasps took over his mind. With a deep thrust, he filled her.

Mary whimpered.

He froze.

Her hands tugged harder. “Don’t stop!”

Exerting every ounce of control he could muster, he met her pace until she cried out and shattered around him. Blessed Jesus, he let everything go, his entire body shuddering until sweet euphoria left him panting and completely spent.