Cam twined her hair through his fingers and watched it slide across the palm of his hand. The touch was feather light, a whisper of sensation across his callused flesh and yet he could feel each individual strand of silk brand him.

She made a small sound and he dragged his gaze up to her. Her eyes were dark with desire, her cheeks flushed. Her luscious breasts that threatened to overspill her tightly laced bodice, rose and fell with each uneven breath. An intoxicating trace of musky womanly scent ensnared his sanity. Barely daring to breath, he trailed his knuckles along the aristocratic line of her jaw.

Again she trembled. If he didn’t know better, he would imagine her an untouched maid, fearful for her virtue. But she was no virgin and he was no pillager. God give him strength. His heart thundered, echoing in his ears, and the blood seethed in his veins, a molten river of lust. He had taken enough women in the past to know every facet of passion. Yet here, with Elise, it felt like the first time.

The first time but with tantalizing foreknowledge of what was to come, and this time, he possessed the needs of a man, not a raw boy.

He lowered his head toward her. Her lips parted, a silent invitation, and his mouth captured hers.

Her lips were soft beneath his and his breath stilled as he savored the moment. She didn’t move, either to push him away or draw him farther into her scented heat. A low groan filled his ears and vibrated through his head. The kiss was chaste. Nothing like he had imagined it would be with Elise. Yet his cock hardened as though she had sunk to her knees and taken him into her mouth.

The thought pounded in his mind, a heady counterpoint to the thundering of his heart. He cradled her face and traced her parted lips with the tip of his tongue. A tantalizing hint of spiced wine teased his senses and he couldn’t hold back.

He claimed the short space that separated their bodies. Her breasts crushed against his chest and his erection burned through his plaid. Surely she could feel him? Feel how much he wanted her?

His tongue penetrated her mouth. Her strangled gasp caressed his tongue. His fingers tightened around her face, holding her still as he plundered and explored. She tasted of heaven.

He would go to hell.

He did not care.

Her hands curled around his forearms. Her touch was oddly hesitant, not as assured as he expected. But the feel of her fingers against his skin caused lightning to spear through his loins.

He slid his hand into her hair, holding the back of her head. Her nails dug into him, needle sharp and unexpected, and he wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and held her close.

She molded to him so perfectly. A soft, scented haven in a dark world of chaos. He wanted her. Needed her now. But she was a princess and no matter what she had done before, he couldn’t take her on the rough ground or up against a cold stone wall.

God, this was torture. A torturous pleasure he had never dreamed could exist. Would she invite him back to her bedchamber? Or should he demand that she do so?

Her body stiffened and she tried to pull back. He broke their kiss and panted into her face. Her breath was uneven and her eyes dark with passion but there was no mistake. She was trying to escape his embrace.

Fingers still tangled in her hair, he slid his other hand along her back, and then held her possessively against the swell of her arse. A shuddered rippled through her and her eyes glazed, but she didn’t fall against him. Didn’t spear her fingers through his hair and drag him back.

Instead, she pushed back against his restraining arm, her palms flat against his chest. Her ragged gasps razed his senses but something was off kilter.

Wrong.

He dragged in a pained breath and glared down at her. Her eyes widened and despite the frustrated lust pounding through his body, he recognized that look.

Fear.

It was the second time she’d looked at him in such a way. God Almighty, how could she fear him? Ancient distaste churned his gut and he loosened his hold on her, despite how every nerve he possessed balked at the notion.

“I must go.” Her voice was breathless but she didn’t look away from him, as if searching for an escape route. She stared at him, and he had the strangest certainty that the lingering tendrils of fear that still clung to her were not directed at him.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. He gritted his teeth, fought to batten down the rabid lust that clamored through his blood and only then trusted himself to speak.

“Why?” It was a feral growl and Elise tensed. He had the surreal notion she was bracing herself for scathing insults. What the fuck was he thinking? No man would insult a princess. Certainly no man would insult Elise. He bared his teeth at her in a poor attempt at a smile. “Because I don’t shower you with pretty words?”

She bit her lip. He caught a glimpse of her white, even teeth and the sight sent a shocking spear of need through his groin. But much as he wanted to despise her, he had the uncanny certainty that she hadn’t deliberately led him on.

She had, after all, promised him nothing. It had all been in his mind. But it didn’t ease the fire in his blood or the ache in his balls.

Or the grim knowledge that had he been Ross, this night would not have ended with harsh words or thwarted lust.

“Forgive me.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. Her hands were still flattened against his chest but she no longer pushed against him. He could almost believe she touched him because it gave her a degree of pleasure. But if that was the case, why did she wish to leave?

Had he been mistaken? Was this all a game to her?

He leaned toward her, until their breath mingled. He saw her lips tremble before she pressed them together, as though harnessing her courage. The thought that she needed to do any such thing while in his company raised both his ire and his frustration.

“I don’t play games, Elise.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of fact. “If you want me, tell me. If you don’t, go back to the hall and pick a warrior who is more accommodating to your fastidious sensibilities.”

She didn’t slap his face for his insolence. For an incredulous moment, he thought he saw pain flash over her face, as though his words wounded her. Then she tilted her head in a regal manner he had come to recognize.

“Unhand me.”

The insane thought thudded through his mind to sweep her into his arms and silence her protests with his mouth. A part of him was tempted. No matter that she pushed him aside now, moments ago she had lusted for him. But mainly his gut recoiled. Because if Elise truly did not want him and he took her by force, it made him no better than his father with his pitiful conquests.

No better than Elise’s filthy pirate husband.

With damning reluctance, he released her. She didn’t instantly turn on her heel and leave him. Instead, she remained where she was, and he couldn’t fathom the expression on her face.

She looked as though she hadn’t expected him to comply with her wishes.

He knew he should retreat but he couldn’t move. She might not wish him to touch her but she appeared to have no objection to his presence. This had to be a game to her. How could it be anything but? Did she play this game with all the warriors? What did she expect from him?

The questions hammered in his mind, but he had no words to voice them aloud.

And then she let out a ragged breath and shivered. He had to forcibly smother his instinctive urge to touch her again. To wrap his arms around her and ensure she was protected from the Highland’s chilled breeze.

He folded his arms so he wouldn’t be tempted to follow through on his thoughts. She had repelled him once. He wouldn’t give her the opportunity to do so again.

“Cameron.” Her voice was so low he scarcely heard her. She no longer had a look of regal disdain on her face. She looked…

He struggled to comprehend how she looked. But it was beyond him.

“Aye?” Why was he still standing here, as though he was her slave? Yet he knew he would never leave her until she was safely back inside the palace. No matter how many games she played.

“It is not that… I don’t want you.” She licked her lips and he stared at her, speechless. Not only because of her words. But because of the strangely haunted look on her face. He could almost believe she wasn’t playing with him at all. “I understand if you must allow your fellow Scots to believe we shared a liaison. But…” Her voice trailed away and she gripped her hands together before taking a quick breath. “But I’ve never chosen any warrior before.”

Before he could hope to respond to that, she turned and stumbled. He reached for her arm to steady her, but she had already regained her balance. One hand pressed against her thigh, she returned the way they had come and with a silent curse, Cam followed her.

He had never quite understood women, but he didn’t understand Elise at all. He drew level with her, but she refused to look his way. In only a few more moments, they would reach the great doors to the palace and any chance of conversation would, he knew, vanish.

“Elise.” He took her hand and pulled her to a halt. She didn’t look at him, but didn’t try to pull free. Except now, he didn’t know what he wanted to say to her. Did she truly mean she hadn’t fucked any of his fellow warriors? Or had he misunderstood?

“Please release me.” Her words were soft and finally she looked at him. A sharp pain speared through his chest at the resignation he saw in her eyes. Did she think he would forcibly drag her into the hall, to proclaim to all present that he had conquered her?

Even if he had indulged in such barbarism, the guards would run him through with their swords before he had taken a dozen strides. Why then did she look as though she expected him to debase her in public?

Slowly he released his grip on her hand. He watched her take a ragged breath before she rearranged her disheveled veil. Without another word or glance in his direction, she turned and walked into the palace.

He stood there, blood seething, his thoughts a tangled whirl of confusion. Elise said she wanted him. But she wasn’t prepared to go any further with him. In all his encounters with Scots women—both noble born and not—once mutual desire had been acknowledged between them, he had never been rebuked. He knew from his fellow warriors, if not from personal experience, that the Picts were no different.

But Elise was different. Discordant images stabbed through his brain. Why had Stuart MacGregor and the others claimed to have enjoyed the princess’s charms if it wasn’t true?

I understand if you must allow your fellow Scots to believe we shared a liaison. Her resigned words whispered through his mind. He’d barely registered her comment at the time. He’d been too staggered by everything else she had said.

Did she really think he would besmirch her name in such a manner? Outrage churned, burning through his chest and instinctively his fist closed around the hilt of his sword.

But it wasn’t fury that Elise could think such a thing of him. It was because his fellow Scots had chosen to besmirch her name, rather than admit she had denied them.

He couldn’t blame her for thinking he would do the same. She had no way of knowing he would cut out his tongue before he spoke of her, whether she had succumbed to his non-existent charms or not.

But beyond the anger, beyond the frustrated lust that still thundered in his veins, another thought pounded. A thought so revolting he could scarcely comprehend it, but a thought that gained traction with every infuriated beat of his heart.

Did Elise remain loyal to her husband because she loved him?