Conor held down a clansman while the healer stitched up a deep gash to the unfortunate man's side. The hapless male stopped struggling and let out a breath. Thankfully, he'd passed out. The healer kept stitching then proceeded to bandage the wound.

A commotion broke out outside and Conor exited the healer's tent to see what had happened. A wagon approached driven by Dugan, accompanied by four women who preened and waved at the men.

Camp whores. That was the last thing they needed right now. They hadn’t been away long enough for the men to need the distraction. He considered sending them away.

"Can I speak with you?" Adam, a young clansman materialized before him. Conor nodded and continued to watch the women climb down from the wagon. They sauntered behind Dugan, toward a tent they'd no doubt take over from the men inside without any protest.

A trio moved with an exaggerated sway of their hips toward the dwelling, while the fourth dallied behind, her gait more hesitant. Something appeared familiar about her.

"Mister Conor?" The young man got his attention. "I must ask if I may return to the keep. My wife is about to give birth to our first babe and this…" he waved toward the empty field, "battle seems to be at a stall."

"Err," Conor tore his gaze from the woman who'd stopped outside the tent; the other whores had gone into. She stood stiffly, holding her hands over her mouth and nose while staring at two men carrying the newly bandaged clansman back to his own shelter. He looked at the youth before him. The lad looked to be no more than ten and four. "Did you say babe? How old are you?"

"I am soon to be twenty," the lad puffed out his chest. "Married almost two years now," he continued.

"Very well then," Conor scowled at the whore who followed after the injured man, instead of entering the tent. "Go see about your wife and babe. Tell Dugan to take you back when he leaves."

Adam bobbed his head, a wide smile splitting his face. "Thank you, Mister Conor, thank you." He rushed off toward the tent Dugan and the women had entered.

Conor followed the fourth woman. Something struck him as odd about her. Did the McNeil send a spy into the camp? If so, whomever it was lacked skill and stood out right away.

He closed the distance between them, taking care not to make a sound. The oblivious woman peered into the tent where the men had deposited the wounded fighter. She toed a pebble as if in thought and brushed her hair back from her face.

Conor’s brows lifted and his mouth fell open. For an instant he almost smiled, but then a heated rage raced through him. He stormed toward the woman. What the hell was she doing here?

Victoria peered into the tent, hoping to get a glimpse in hopes the injured man was not Conor. The man seemed a bit smaller than Conor, and although they'd been gone but days, she was sure there wasn't much appetizing to eat in the smelly place. The stench of sweat and rotting food would curb anyone's appetite.

The brightness of the day made it hard to see into the dim interior and make out the face of the man who groaned when the others placed him onto a rustic cot.

Maybe she could hide behind the tent and once the men left, go inside to get a closer look. Victoria lifted her skirts, ready to take a step when she was grabbed from behind and heaved upward. A brute threw her over his shoulder and dashed toward a different dwelling, just opposite the one where she feared Conor lay hurt.

She kicked and pounded his back, not daring to cry out. She didn’t want to alert Conor, who could hurt himself further if he attempted to help her. When she slammed her elbow against the man’s side, the beast cursed. "Damn it, Victoria, stop hitting me."

"Conor?"

He did not reply. Perhaps she heard him wrong. It couldn’t possibly be Conor who mishandled her in such a way. She hit him again.

With a swish of skirts and limbs flailing she bounced onto a cot. "Don't you dare touch me, you cretin! I will alert The McDougall, who will have your head," Victoria informed her assailant, as she flung her skirts aside to get a good look at her attacker.

His grey eyes blazed at her. Conor took a deep breath his mouth in a tight line, a jaw muscle jerked. Victoria noted that Conor's hands fisted and loosened while he seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Perhaps gain control of his temper.

She took in the interior of the tent. The cot she sat upon was the only bed in the spacious shelter, so she contemplated this to be his alone.

She brushed her hair away from her made-up face, and wondered if her lip stain smeared. "I must speak to you, it's very important."

Conor's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Instead he took a second deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Are you all right?" Victoria leaned forward, not daring to move from the bunk. He didn't seem pleased at her presence.

"What are you doing here?" He opened his eyes and stared at her, his face more composed. "I thought we agreed you'd wait my return at the keep."

She took in the tall, muscular man. His chiseled face, darkened with a shading of beard at his jaw. A lock of midnight hair fell over his brow, which he raked back with stiff fingers. Irritation pulsed from him.

Although she'd not expected open arms, the hostility he displayed made her wonder if she'd erred in coming. "I am my own person and not one to sit around and darn socks while you play your war games. I realize I gave you my word to wait, but I've decided to return to England. I must, for my brother has arrived. His ships are docked offshore, but a short day's ride from the keep."

"You are deft at escaping. Why didn't you just go to him?" Conor asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Why come here, to me?"

She bit back a curse and jumped to her feet. "Because if I attempt go alone to my brother, I am intelligent enough to know the McDougall's would catch up to me with haste."

"And your brother is also smart enough to know it would be suicide to attempt a rescue through McDougall lands. He's survived the war by avoiding direct involvement, I'm sure the pirate won't dare come here."

"Ugh," Victoria held back the urge to scream. "My brother is a privateer, not a pirate."

The cocked eyebrow made her look away to avoid swearing at him. "Your brother is well-known. He is called The Red Pirate, is he not?"

Victoria stalked to where Conor stood, and put her finger up to his face. "Conor McDougall, do not slander my brother's name. I will not argue this point further with you. Nor will I speak to you anymore until you apologize."

"Ha!" Conor leaned forward and kissed the tip of her finger. "I will not apologize. I spoke the truth."

The light kiss made her blink in surprise. "Will you take me to my brother or not?"

"I will not," Conor replied and went to the tent's entrance. He pushed back the flap and peered out. "You must stay here, out of sight and return with Dugan in the morning."

"You're sending me back? Will you not heed my warning?" Victoria sputtered. "You do not understand, I know my brother, he will stop at nothing to come for me!"

"Then he shall die," Conor told her matter-of-factly. "I'm afraid there won't be much I can do to stop my family from defending themselves."

"Oh, my God!" Victoria shoved against his chest. "You are a stubborn, annoying, maddening man."

"And you dress like a harlot and come here expecting me to abandon a battle to accompany you to the harbor? Should I announce I kidnapped you, but now wish to return you? I’m sure your brother will bow at my gesture, and return with you to England without question or quarrel."

He had a point. Victoria scowled at him, and then the worst thing happened. She began to cry. It wasn’t quiet ladylike sniffles. She began to choke on the long, hard sobs.

Mortified, Victoria tried to run from the tent, but Conor stopped her. He put his arms around her and drew her against him with a gentleness contradicting his earlier behavior. "Shhh, calm down Victoria, please." His husky words made her cry harder.

Her tears soaked into his tunic. She pulled up the bottom edge of it and wiped her nose, not wanting to face him.

"Look at me, Victoria," he lifted her face up to him. "You must stop this crying at once."

"I do not…have to obey you." Her words came out a mixture of anger and hiccups.

"Very well then, cry," Conor replied. He stopped her retort by covering her mouth with his.

She pushed against his chest, but he remained immovable, his body hard as a rock. His essence surrounded her like a fog, she gave up and wrapped her arms around his neck. How she'd missed him.

"Allow me in," Conor commanded and she parted her lips, allowing his tongue access. Immediately she recognized his taste.

His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom and he lifted her up so he could press his hardness into her center.

Victoria moaned. She was angry with him, should not allow this, but her body refused to allow anything other than removing all his clothes and taking him in.

"I want you, Conor," she murmured, and thrust her hips into him. She was pleased by his groan.

"It's all I’ve thought about," Conor replied, his wicked tongue trailing down her throat. "All I crave right now is you."

His hand pushed her breast free from the low-cut blouse and his mouth fell over her hard nipple, taking it in completely, sucking it.

"Oh." Victoria cried out, grabbing at his hair.

He backed her toward the cot, his fingers making quick work of removing her skirts and blouse. Once the clothing fell onto the ground, pooling around them, he kneeled at her feet and removed her shoes.

His darkened eyes lifted to her. "Have you thought of my tongue between your legs, My Beauty?" Victoria nodded and he lowered his eyes to her throbbing center. "I have as well."

His calloused hands trailed up her legs to her thighs with detailed precision. With his fingers splayed between them, Conor pushed her legs apart to allow him access. His head dipped, his breath hot tantalizing.

His tongue darted between her folds. Victoria gasped out loud. Conor chuckled. "Sensitive, are you?"

Once again, he slid his tongue against the most delicate part of her, and she bucked forward into his mouth. Next, his hands moved to the front and spread her open, exposing the now-pulsating nub, which he began to suckle and tease without mercy.

Victoria wobbled and held onto his shoulders, while at the same time pumping her hips back and forth against his mouth. "Oh, God."

Everything began to spin and she surrendered to the rush racing to the precise spot where his mouth met her body. She crested, her legs giving out, but Conor held her still while continuing to nurture her orgasm, prolonging it.

In a haze, she felt him pick her up and lay her upon the cot. She attempted to open her eyes, but could not; her entire being wrapped in a cocoon of sensations. Her body continued to want with an all-encompassing need that only he could fulfill.

She loved how although he was not a gentle lover, Conor had taken the time to prepare her for what came next.

His large body covered hers and he thrust into her without preamble, his thick cock filling and stretching her. "Suck on my tongue." He pushed into her mouth, and began to slide it in and out of her, in a steadfast rhythm, which matched his hips.

With her hands on his taut derriere, Victoria urged him to continue, as again she began to crest.

A cliff from which to fall neared, but she did not reach it, because suddenly Conor slid out of her and rolled her to her stomach.

"You are so tight when I take you from behind; I wish to enter you this way again." Lifting her hips off the bed, he bent over her and bit into her shoulder, his teeth flat, while guiding himself into her again. She almost came at the show of possession.

The combination of slight pain from the bite and ecstasy of his cock moving inside pushed her to want more from him. She pressed her bottom back to meet his thrusts. "Yes!"

He pounded without reserve, standing behind her with his hands on her hips, as he worked his long cock back and forth.

"Come with me," Conor leaned over her and panted against her ear. "I am near."

His fingers found her core, and he glided them with quick motions against her crux.

"Ah!" At once she came, her body milking him as he too, fell into the abyss brought by their lovemaking.

Conor brought her up against his chest, his arms around her waist, while his body shuddered and his hips continued to drive, every drop of his seed pouring into her.

They collapsed onto the cot, Conor on top of her, while she lay on her stomach, both gasping for air.

When Victoria found her strength, she moved away from his heated body, his length sliding out of her. Her legs remained shaky, but she forced her way to stand. She picked up her discarded skirts and wrapped them about her body.

He lay on the cot watching her, not bothering to cover his nudity.

Victoria fought not to study his muscular body for fear she'd go back to his arms. "I am still cross with you, Conor."

"I would be disappointed if you were not." He teased and sat up. "You must return to the keep, Victoria. Once this skirmish is over, I will return and decide what to do about your brother."

He stood and began to dress, "I must see about the injured man and speak to my cousin."

"Conor, we must discuss what your brother plans."

"Not now. Wait here for me. I promise to pleasure you again tonight." He pulled his tunic on over his shoulders, flashed a smile at her and left.

"You are an arrogant lout!" Victoria called after him. She sunk on to the cot and closed her eyes. Why had she allowed it to happen again? On the brink of being betrothed, he'd never be hers. Her chest constricted, she blinked to keep from crying.

Conor entered the tent where the injured man had been taken. The setting sun made the interior of the space too dim to see clearly. He lit a lamp and walked to his side. "Liam, are you awake?"

Liam’s eyelids lifted, the sluggish movements caused by whatever herbs the healer had given him.

"Aye," Liam replied. "Barely."

"How do you fair?" Conor studied the man's face; glad his complexion was no longer pale, but closer to his normal ruddy.

"The bastard ran me through," Liam scowled.

"I have no doubt he's also being doctored tonight," Conor told him, as Liam had reciprocated with a slice into the man's arm. "He may even lose the arm."

His head lulling to the side followed Liam's soft chuckle.

"Conor?" Dugan's head pushed through the tent entrance. "I must speak with you."

"Aye, and I with you," Conor told him, and went to exit. "Sleep well, Liam." He said as he pressed his hand against the now slumbering man's shoulder.

Conor followed his cousin to the wagon where they stood away from anyone overhearing. Dugan always slept in a wagon, refusing to slumber in a tent, never mind that by doing so he became a ready target. The headstrong man insisted he'd thwart an attack, claiming to be a light sleeper.

"Why did you bring the whores?" Conor asked. "We have not been here long enough to warrant it."

Conor shrugged, "I asked Calum and he agreed. Besides, it seems the men are bored." Dugan scratched his chin. "Why, does it seem more like a picnic than a battle?"

"You brought four whores, only three went into the tent," he ignored Dugan's question and motioned to the tent where he'd seen the women enter. "What do you suppose happened to the fourth?"

"She's in your tent," Dugan replied, his voice flat. "If the Englishwoman went to such lengths to be with you, who am I to prevent it." He continued with amusement in his eyes, "It seems Miss Westcott is quite smitten with you."

"You will take her back with you tomorrow. As well as Adam, since his wife is about to give birth."

"A man does not leave the battlefield for such matters." Dugan's eyebrows pinched together. "Why would you allow such a thing?"

"As you stated earlier, this is nothing more than our cousins and the McNeil's, arguing over some cows wandering onto McNeil lands."

Dugan slid his gaze across the expanse of land toward the other clan's domain. "On your brother's orders, I am to travel to see the McNeil at daybreak. I will take the two with me on my return."

"As long as you do so," replied Conor.

"The matter with the McNeil will affect you, Conor." Dugan told him, and looked toward his tent. "How do you feel about Miss Westcott?"

Dugan’s comment took him aback. He and Dugan were close. As cousins, they grew up together and shared much over the years. Women included. He did not intend to share Victoria.

He decided to be honest. "She is like none I've been with. I find I cannot get my fill of her," he replied. "I may take Victoria with me upon my return and move into my own keep with her."

"Marry her?" Dugan asked.

Conor narrowed his eyes at the man before him. "Why do you ask?"

After digging in his pouch, Dugan brought out a parchment. Conor recognized Calum's seal upon it. What did his brother plan?

"It's a betrothal request between you and the McNeil lass, Lisbeth."

Air left his lungs. Being the second in line to lord over the McDougall clan, it seemed his duty finally came and claimed him. Conor could only stare at the parchment; not wanting to believe the time had arrived. He looked back toward his tent. "Dugan, can you delay?"

"Yes, but for how long?"

"Just another day, I must think on this. I must accept it."

"There is more," Dugan told him, placing his hand on Conor's shoulder in a show of support. "Calum intends to marry off Miss Westcott."

"To whom?"

Dugan's amber eyes met his. "To me."