Chapter Three
Dawn broke swiftly over the serene camp.
Because Dirk believed that well and truly everything could go wrong, he was pleasantly surprised that their first day of traveling toward Bute was uneventful. In fact, he found himself impressed with Lady Lilias’s skill with her mare and still a bit stunned at her honesty with him when he’d questioned her at Dunstaffnage.
Save for his father and grandmother, no one had ever spoken to him so bluntly, not even his mother. While he was certain Fenella had a way with seeing that his father had done what she asked, with her son she’d been nothing but indulgent.
Dirk surveyed his men dismantling their camp from the night before. Tents had been constructed for the women to sleep in. Throughout the night, he’d expected Lady Lilias to attempt an escape, but she seemed to have slept peacefully, for not once had she emerged.
Half the men at a time had slept on makeshift pallets round the fires, the other half had conducted watch. The scents of roasting rabbit and campfire still fell heavy on the summer air from the night before.
As they finished cleaning up, Dirk signaled for everyone to mount up for their second day of their journey.
Dirk’s mother was hail and hearty from having traveled much with his father, and for a moment he worried over Lilias, until he recalled the tongue blistering she’d given him in the great hall the day before. Every time he thought about it, a hint of a smile took over his usual frown. Not a good sign. She was his ward, and yet he found himself overly interested in her comfort and eager to speak with her. As such, he’d barely said a word to her since they’d left Dunstaffnage.
He watched her when she wasn’t looking, and caught her doing the same to him more than once. The elegant way she moved was mesmerizing. Long legs glided and rounded hips sashayed, fluid on the horse as well as the ground. Her arms swayed with grace, even when she lifted them to tuck her wayward hair back into place. A slight tilt to her head when she spoke showed her refinement. Though he supposed most could be taught such poise, Lilias’s elegant movements seemed to come natural to her, born of self-confidence. He only had two concerns: her spark of defiance and her eating habits. There was naught he could do but attempt to tame the rebellious part of her. And as she’d confessed to him her nervous state, he chalked her lack of appetite up to that, but he’d have to be certain she ate more today than she had the day before. Wouldn’t do to have the woman fainting from lack of nourishment.
Dirk steered his horse toward Lilias.
“Good morning, my laird,” she murmured.
“I trust ye slept well?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Eat.” He didn’t wait for her to argue, but tossed her an apple, which she deftly caught.
When he continued to stare at her, she bit heartily into the fruit, then mumbled, “My thanks,” as she chewed.
Dirk grinned, then took his place at the head of his party, which consisted of two-dozen warriors armed to the teeth, Lady Lilias, and his mother. His grandmother had remained behind at the castle, acting as mistress for the interim.
“Ride,” he called out.
The ladies rode in the center of the party, surrounded by guards. Though Dirk was the powerful Lord of the Isles, that did not mean that opportunists would not strike. Outlaws, Sassenachs, Vikings, all of them roamed the lands seeking out their next bounty, whether it be money, lands, or simply a body to run through.
Throughout the morning as they rode, he continued to check on the women, partially because it was his duty, but also because he wanted to… He’d ignored her most of yesterday, answering only in grunts, nods, or shakes of the head, hoping that by doing so he’d be able to push aside whatever this interest in her was, but it wasn’t working. If anything, his awareness of her grew.
Ballocks!
“My laird.” ’Twas her. She rode up beside him, back straight, legs astride.
A fleeting and damning vision of those thighs wrapped around him assaulted his senses. How could he be jealous of a horse?
“My lady?” Irritation dripped in his words.
The lass raised a brow, acknowledging his surliness, but then ignored it. “If it is not too inconvenient, I would like to stop soon for a brief respite.”
They’d been riding hard for four hours straight and were due for a break, but Dirk had wanted to forge ahead, hoping to make up time incrementally to shorten his delivery of the bride. A sennight was proving too long. Already on the second day of the journey, he was resisting the urge to—
What? Kiss her? Ravage her?
Dirk glanced at Lady Lilias and gave her a brief nod—a mistake, given he was momentarily stunned at the way riding gave her cheeks a flushed look, her dark hair flying wild around her face. The lass was absolutely stunning. Perfection.
Ballocks! Ballocks! Ballocks!
If he’d not known better, he might have thought that his mother and grandmother had chosen her specifically to torment him.
Dirk blew a whistle and two scouts rode ahead to find a good, safe place to stop, which they found only a mile ahead, alongside a trickling burn.
The men set to brushing down the horses, giving them water, and allowing them to graze, while they did much the same to themselves.
The two women, chatting as though they were old friends, wandered behind a wall of thick brush for privacy. Dirk assigned several men to watch, while the rest ate and relieved themselves. They’d not be here too long. Half an hour tops.
The hair on the back of Dirk’s neck rose. He studied the camp, taking note that his mother and Lilias had not yet returned. Two of the men who were on watch stood on the perimeter, unbothered, and the other two were in the woods, to the right and left. He could just barely make out their frames. Straight ahead, was where his mother and Lilias had sauntered off to.
The niggling sense that something was wrong continued, and he headed for the brush. He’d hurry the women along. Wouldn’t do for them to be back there for too long.
Dirk had not gone more than six steps when his mother broke through the tree line, her face ashen.
“Dirk.” Her voice quavered.
“What is it?” He reached for his sword, the men in the camp also immediately on alert.
Fenella opened and shut her mouth, wavering on her feet, then finally managed to draw in a breath and gush out, “Men… They… They took her!”
Dammit! How had they not heard? How had his men on watch not seen?
“How many?”
“Three.” She was shaking and dropped to her knees on the forest floor. “They must have been following us, for they… they knew who she was and they took her.”
“I’ll get her back.”
Dirk barked orders for three men to accompany him, and the rest to protect his mother and secure the camp. He’d deal with his lazy men on watch when he returned. They leapt onto their horses and charged toward the brush where Lilias had been abducted. There were visible signs of a struggle on the ground. Dirt and leaves were disturbed in deep grooves where Lilias must have dug in her heels. Several larger boot prints. No hoof prints.
Good, lass. She wasn’t going to let them have her without a fight. That told him several things. Most important of which was that this wasn’t a rescue mission on her part. She’d truly been abducted.
The men were not on horseback at this side of the burn, but judging from the disturbed earth on the opposite side and the fact he could not longer see any signs of them, their horses had been on the opposite side. A swash of blue fabric clung to one of the low-hanging tree limbs across the burn—part of Lilias’s gown.
“Across the way!” Dirk ordered. They led their horses through the shallow water to the other side and followed the tracks at a clip until they set upon the outlaws.
Pulling the great claymore from his back, he let it rest on his lap, the sun glinting from the massive emerald in the hilt. This was the MacDougall sword, the legacy of his family, had been used in hundreds of battles by lairds past, and was now his.
Three men, dressed in shabby, dirty clothes, and full of bravado. Shaggy beards covered most of their features and seemed to be a collecting point for several meals past. Their tartans were indiscernible. They weren’t starving nor did they care much about their appearance. Hired hands. Men who paid loyalty to no one save their own coin pouch. Mercenaries at best.
Lilias was not in sight, which meant there had to be at least a fourth man somewhere. Dirk scanned the woods and nodded to his men to be on alert.
A man, clearly labeling himself the leader of their pack spoke, “We thought ye might try to find us.”
Idiots. Clearly, he would try to find her. “Where is she?” Dirk demanded.
“Ye need not concern yourself with that. Ye’ll be meeting your maker soon enough.”
Dirk made a pretense of rolling his eyes as he checked the surrounding area. Besides whoever was detaining Lilias, there didn’t appear to be any other men than the three who held their swords out, ready to do battle. They lousy lad’s weren’t much of an outfit against Dirk’s larger numbers, but daring, he’d give them that. Too bad daring didn’t warrant leniency. They’d dared to take what was his, and now they would suffer for it.
“Afraid I’ll not be able to satisfy ye today on that account,” Dirk said, feigning boredom. “What do ye want with her anyway?”
The maggot grinned. “Glad ye asked. We’ll be happy to give her up to ye now for a small price. Ye ken, we were going to charge that bastard Olafsson a ransom, but seeing as how ye’re here, we’ll make do with what we’ve got.”
Dirk raised a brow and smirked. “I’ll not be giving ye a single coin.”
“Suit yourself.” The leader of the three vagabonds shrugged and raised his sword.
Dirk glanced at his master of the gate and best-trained warrior. “Gunnar, I’ll leave ye to it.”
Gunnar grinned, bloodthirsty, and leapt from his horse. The other two MacDougall warriors following, engaging the three mercenaries in a fight they didn’t see coming. Meanwhile Dirk dismounted, going in search of Lilias and more of the bastards.
The sounds of swords clashing followed him into the trees. Creeping soundlessly, he tuned out the battle echoes, the swaying of tree branches and focused on human noises. A struggle sounded not to far from him. Made his heart cease beating. Dirk prepared to engage Lilias’s captor, only to find her quite alone, tied to a tree, struggling like mad to get herself free. A thick rope was tied tightly around her waist and upper arms. Her once neatly plaited hair had come loose, a mass of unruly tangles, falling into her eyes which were wide as raven’s eggs and glaring daggers. Cheeks red, but no bruising visible. A gag in her mouth. Gown only mildly torn.
His heart leapt at the sight of her. “My lady,” he murmured, kneeling before her. Anger simmered off her in solid waves. Her breaths, heavy and angry. More rage than fear, and he was again struck by how amazingly unique she was. How strong. He tugged the gag free, and used his sgian dubh to cut the hemp rope wrapped five times around her ribs. “Are ye all right? Are there more men?”
She wriggled free of the rope and tried to stand, her chest rising and falling from heavy breaths, the aftershock of her ordeal. Dirk grasped her hands in his and tugged her to her feet, wanting to hold on tight to her, but she yanked herself free, running her hands through her hair and looking about her frantically.
“There were three of them,” she mumbled. “Where are they?”
“Ye’re safe now.” He wanted to tell her not to worry, but how many times had she likely been told that? Having just been abducted, she would want to know her captors were themselves incapacitated. As it was, the sounds of the melee had quelled. “My men have them, my lady.”
“I…” She slumped against Dirk, wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her feminine curves against his body and holding tight.
Dirk lost his breath, unsure how to react, and sensing that having her in his arms was so right at the same time that it was definitely dangerous. Lilias gazed up at him, relief touching every angle of her face.
“I didna think my fate could get any worse, my laird.” There was a wealth of emotion in her declaration. Fear, relief, doubt all of it mixed together in a solid punch to his gut.
“I should have kept a better eye on ye. This is my fault.” He pressed his lips together in a solid line, berating himself further and with harsher language inside his own mind.
Surprisingly, her gaze was blameless. “Nay, ye couldna have known they were coming for me. Dinna blame yourself.”
Dirk shook his head. “I know the risks, and I got too comfortable. I can only promise it will not happen again, and beg your forgiveness.”
Lilias swallowed, the delicate line of her throat bobbing. “Ye have it.”
Dirk slid his hands around her back, feeling the warmth of her supple body along his. Relief at having found her essentially unharmed, made him feel weak—a sensation he rarely experienced. Her lips were full, pink, and begging to be kissed. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together, his heart pounded, the beat matching hers through the layers of their clothes.
Heaven help him, but he was going to kiss her. Kings and wars be dammed.
Although she was tall for woman, the warrior holding her in his arms was an incredible, towering force, and he was going to kiss her. Lilias was certain of it.
And she was powerless to stop it. In fact, as his face descended toward hers, she lifted up on her tiptoes, eager to meet him halfway.
She closed her eyes as his warm lips softly brushed over hers. Everything tingled and sparked in that moment. The tips of her fingers, her skin, her lips, her knees, her toes. Heat stroked out over her, filling her with a desperate need to cling to this man.
Dirk MacDougall. Lord of the Isles.
Warmth. Safety. Desire. All of it clashed within her as his mouth moved over hers, taking possession of her entire being.
The man she was supposed to hate. The man responsible for her current fate. Her champion and yet also her warden. The man kissing her senseless and making her forget for the moment just who and what she was.
Scents of leather, spice, and the outdoors lingered on his skin. The dried fruit they’d eaten at camp flavored his mouth and she knew she’d never be able to eat another again without thinking of this moment.
While she might have thought it impossible before, with his arms around her, his lips on hers, the world and all her troubles melted away. The wind softly blew at her hair, sweeping away the world as she knew it. No woods. No traitorous abductors. No foreign kings. No marriage.
She’d kissed that young retainer once, and it had made her giddy for weeks. But that had been the rushed kiss of a lad. Dirk’s kiss was that of a man—a man who knew what he was doing. Heaven help her, she wanted this kiss to never end. His hands skated up and down her spine, kneading her flesh. And then he grew bolder, stroking a hand up her ribs toward her breast, before pausing just below the heavy flesh. Frissons of mesmerizing sensation wound their way around her limbs, her ribs, centering somewhere in her middle. Heat, blessed heat and passion. Lilias clung to him, crushing her breasts against his solid form. Her nipples pebbling to achy points. Begging him to take his touch a little higher. And when he did, she gasped against his lips. A thousand butterflies took flight in her belly, and with nowhere to escape, they thrummed within her, making her feel weightless and heavy all at once.
Dirk was sweeping her up into a maelstrom of sensation and emotion. His hand cupping her breast so light, and yet so potent. This was shameful. This was decadent.
Lilias couldn’t help kissing him. Couldn’t help threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Soft locks and hot skin. There had been something sizzling between the two of them since she’d walked through the doors at Dunstaffnage, and here it was, manifesting itself in this passionate kiss and their shared fear of her being taken.
Oh, but this was beauty. This was perfection.
How could something so wicked be so perfect?
’Twas Dirk who pulled away first, softly disengaging his lips from hers, holding her out at arms length, leaving her bemused and full of warm, tingling sensations. Where her fingers rested on his chest, she could feel the pounding of his heart.
“My lady,” he said clearing his throat, regret saturated in his manner.
Dark eyes met hers, and she was once again struck by what the seer had said.
Stormy of eye.
There was most definitely a storm there. Was it too much to hope that Dirk was the man for her? Too soon to tell? That was not the line of thoughts she should be having. Of course, it was too soon. One kiss did not a lifetime make. One kiss would not change the alliance or Dirk’s duty to his country.
“We should get back,” she offered, not wanting to offer or hear his rejection, for that was undoubtedly next from one of them. “I wouldna want your mother to worry.” She straightened her hair, her fingers catching on snarls. “Your men, they will…they will need to hear your orders. And the outlaws will…” She swallowed, unable to finish.
Her lips felt swollen, tingly, and her face flushed. Her breaths were heavy, heart pounding. There would be no hiding that she’d been thoroughly kissed.
“I should not have done that. Ye are meant for another.” Dirk’s fierce frown returned. Dark brows were drawn together, creases etching the corners of his eyes. Lips that were once so lush and kissable were now thinned with tension.
Lilias shook her head. “That is where ye are wrong, Dirk. Ye should have kissed me because I am meant for another.”
Rather than explain herself, how she would never experience a kiss like that with Olafsson, that this may well have been the last bit of pleasure she could have stolen for herself, she lowered her gaze, shutting herself off from him. There were some things she’d rather save for herself.
Dirk slipped his hand along the small of her back, branding her with his touch, as he led her back toward his men. Lilias resisted the urge to turn and run, to make him chase after her if only to kiss her again. To give him some challenge. To demand he return her to Cameron Castle or keep chasing her forever. But he’d only grow weary of her games, and then he’d likely tie her up. That was the last thing she wanted.
“Best we head back.” He gripped her arm, gently, and guided her back toward his men.
Expecting to see the three outlaws in a bloody pile, she was surprised to not see them at all. The men gave Dirk a solid nod, exchanging some silent conversation. They barely spared her a glance and she was grateful for it, because her lips still burned and she was certain they would know what had happened when Dirk found her.
They mounted their horses, and before she could blink, Dirk lifted her up on his mount to sit on his hard lap. Arm linked around her waist, he tugged her back flush to his chest. Lilias worked hard to keep her breaths steady, to lean forward and away, but he only pulled her back, making her torment complete. She’d never thought sharing a horse could be so sensual—but then, she’d never kissed a man or let him touch her the way Dirk did either.
Once back at camp, Dirk made the decision that they should find an inn or manor to stay at for the night, given the events of the day. ’Twould give the men time to circle back and find out if there were any other mercenaries laying in wait.
Lilias wanted to protest that she did not need a soft bed and a roof over her head to recoup, but she supposed it would be wise to keep to herself that his kiss appeared to be all she needed. At least she would go into her marriage knowing she’d felt something before everything was taken away.