Ravished By The Iron Highlander (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Read online

  Her shaking fingertips were dug into his shoulders and her body was heaving. Pressing the side of his face on her outer thigh, he sucked in deep breaths and wrestled to snatch the shards of his control from where they had been scattered to.

  When he felt his control was firmly in place, he lifted to face her. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide and her lips bitten. “…Stop.”

  The word seemed to float between them as light as thistledown, but heavier than lead with meaning. He kissed her cheek softly. “Thank ye.” Lifting away from the bed, he caressed her face and stroked her hair. “Sleep well, Isabella.”

  He did not dare look back as he left the room as seeing her laying on the bed, disheveled and still shivering with want would be the unconquerable hook that would drag him back to her. Closing the door, he walked to his room, ready to put this long day behind him.

  While unclothing himself, he made a mental note to order a seamstress to make Isabella some more dresses. Isabella, lovely precious Isabella Absently, he pressed a hand to his chest where a sudden ache began to blossom. With his window flung open, he slid into the sheets and grabbed a pillow, resolutely ignoring that he would have rather sleep near Isabella. But it wouldnae be just sleeping, would it?

  * * *

  Sometime during the night, a storm rolled in but not with rain. Thick sheets of snow began to fall and Duncan had gone to shut the windows, knowing that by morning, the whole land would be covered in a white snowy blanket. The loch would be freezing cold and chunks of ice the size of summer melons would be bobbing in the dark waters.

  After watching for a while, he retreated to bed, mourning that Isabella was not in his bed with him. His sleep was fitful and he woke with the cold silver-golden rays of the winter sun stabbing his eyes. He cursed the damned orb sun having the audacity to rise, just as he cursed the night for the little sleep he had gotten and not having Isabella in it.

  He wanted time to thoroughly explore Isabella’s body, give her the chance to find his. He treasured how she thought, her compassion, her core of strength, and her good sense. He wanted her to know him, to know his family, his history, his life.

  Up from bed, he cleaned quickly and dressed. As he had suspected, the land was white and the sunlight rendered the whiteness blindingly silver.

  Isabella is going to need a better coat and dress to go out.

  The hills beyond the loch were lolling in, tempting for a horse ride. The deluge of snow had lessened to a gentle fall. Leaving to find Isabella, he quickly popped in to see his mother but she was not there. He went to Isabella’s room, and she too was gone.

  Curious, he went to the great hall and saw his mother there but not Isabella. His curiosity turned to distress. Where was she? Not even bothering to ask his mother he spun on his heel and went out. Catching every servant, he could find, he asked about Isabella. No one knew where she was and his distress turned to pure, cold fear.

  “Isabella!” he called, pacing through the corridors and checking every room along the way. Not seeing her, he stopped and pressed a hand to the wall. Where would she go?

  His mental eye landed on the Bailey where a large cache of weapons rested. But the bailey was outside. Had she braved the cold to go there? He left the castle and, thankfully he had boots on, having grown up with this cold, walked to the bailey. The tower was somewhat squat but was wide. If she was there, he would be relieved.

  A guard was at the front, covered in his leather armor, a heavy tunic, a fur cap, and a thick plaid wrapped around him for more protection. “Guards, did a lady come here? Slender, golden-eyes and with long dark hair?”

  “Aye, me Laird,” the man said gruffly. “Came here just as I arrived too.”

  With relief, Duncan went in and took the spiraling stairs down to the upper level where the swords were. He found Isabella with a sword to her side and a small shield on her arm. Her hair, combed in a braid, was wrapped like a halo around her head. Her coat was on the ground—very foolish of her—but she looked—spectacular.

  “I should give ye some armor, Madam Valkyrie,” he said and she spun, face going crimson with embarrassment. “Ye are fierce.”

  She laid the weapon down and sighed, “I’m sorry. I know I should have not left without telling you but…” she paused, “I did not feel comfortable going to the great hall.”

  He felt he knew why but had to ask, “Because of me mother?”

  Isabella’s arms wrapped around herself in a gesture of vulnerability he had never seen. “She does not like me, Duncan. It does not matter that I saved you, she does not want me here.”

  “Isabella,” he began, hating that he was thrust between the two women he loved—and knowing he loved Isabella did not perturb him or make him wonder when his affection had changed from learning to love again to being in love. “It's only been a day. Give her some time to adjust.”

  “And what if she doesn’t?” Isabella asked as he began to pace. “I’d be living on tenterhooks for as long as I’m here. And I know you want to protect me but you can’t be with me all the time.”

  Coming close, he held her shoulder then slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her in to nudge her head under his chin, “Just give her a few more days. Me mother is nay malicious.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she sighed and embraced him before pulling away. “Now…tell me about these weapons. How old are they? I don’t think I’ve ever seen some of these in my life.”

  Grinning, he went to grab a halberd off the wall, “Well, lass…this is…”

  * * *

  Nine days had passed since he vowed that his mother was going to change and with no sign of her doing so, Duncan wanted to go back in time and eat his words. Isabella was never in the great hall for the morning meal, dinner or supper and spent most of her time in her room or in the bailey. Duncan had tried to find some common ground between them but they lived conflicting lives.

  His mother did not approve of a woman handling a blade or knowing how to fight. She firmly believed a woman’s place was in the home, being submissive to the men around and humble-minded at all times. When Isabella had spoken how she had bested three page boys in a swordfight he had seen his mother’s face twist in disgust.

  When his mother had asked her if she knew how to cook or sew, Isabella said she had never asked to learn either, thinking it was better to know how to defend herself. A tension, stronger than the crackling electric that preceded a lightning storm, sprang alive in the room. His mother’s scorn and Isabella’s stony defiance had him calling his mother’s attention away before ushering Isabella from the room.

  He had learned quickly to not have them in the same room. Days passed and he was stumped on how to mend this deep fracture in his home. His days had been split in three, time doing his duties, time speaking to his mother, and time taking care of Isabella.

  Most nights, he was tired to the point of falling asleep on his feet, but he always found a way to attend to his mother and his love. One night, when he had more strength than others, he coaxed Isabella out from the room and out into the snow-laden grounds.

  When they hit the cold air, he laid a thick fur mantle around her shoulder and handed her some gloves then kissed her.

  “Where are we going?” She asked.

  “Just trust me,” he requested. “That’s all I ask.”

  20

  The night was cold but the fur mantle Duncan had given her buffered the chill, as did the gloves. With the tenderness she had come to know he always used with her, he lifted her up to a saddled horse and then joined her.

  He guided the horse past the bailey onto a trail that took them down a gentle hillside. The silvery rays of the gibbous moon overhead lit the wooded trail with fleeting light but shadows were around them. Her breath frosted as she breathed out, the warm air making a silvery mist ahead of her. It was icy as the frost covering the trunks of the barren trees they rode by.

  “Where are we going?” She asked with a giggle. “Are ye going to tak
e me to a fairy glen and exchange me for some gold?”

  He bit her ear, “Nay, lass and yer worth far more than a piddly sack of gold. And second, ye still havenae mastered the accent yet so stop tryin’. And ye’ll see where we’re going when we get there.”

  The mystery in his actions and the promise in his tone had her anticipating the outcome. They rode down even farther and soon she began to smell the scent of decaying pine leaves, moss, and she heard water rushing over stones.

  Twisting to look at Duncan—whose eyes were trained ahead—she looked back to see that he was taking her into a…cave? What in god’s name were they doing there, at night? Her hand tightened around his as they rode farther, the horse’s hooves sinking into the soft silt that came from deteriorating riverside rocks.

  Then they passed through the dark place and emerged into a small, secluded cove, where the loch spread out before her with its wide dark depths. A tiny boat was tied to a rock, bobbing and weaving with the tide. She looked over to Duncan with her heart in her throat. “Is this…a boat ride?”

  “I once told ye about the stars, Isabella,” he smiled. “I want ye to see them in their full glory.”

  Alighting from the horse, he then took her down and her feet sank into the soft silt too. Duncan secured the horse then helped her into the bobbing boat to sit. Then she realized he had made up an inclined pallet for her to lay on and gently she rested her back on it. This way, she stared right up into the sky and the beauty of the stars had her sucking in her breath.

  The boat dipped when he sat, and he unearthed an oar from its belly. With a quick tug, the tie was loosened and they were off, sailing into the loch.

  “I come here to swim sometimes,” he said, “When the water isnae cold enough to freeze me heart right through me chest, that is.”

  Though her attention was taken by the stars, she noticed that Duncan did not stray too far from the shore. She turned to him, “I can swim, you know.”

  “Lass,” he sounded humored. “Swim or nae, ye willnae survive a moment in this icy water, but I’ll row to the middle if ye want.”

  He shifted his rowing and the boat ventured farther into the lake. Isabella dared to dip her fingertips in the water and the cold that lanced up her hand had her realizing that Duncan was right. If she did fall into that water, she would be dead in a heartbeat.

  Looking up, she traced the formations of the stars. Back at home, she had read a book on stargazing but had never memorized the shapes. Vaguely, she wondered if she was looking at Orion’s Belt.

  Reaching up, she splayed her fingers and loved how they were softly illuminated and outlined. “Duncan, this is lovely. Thank you.”

  She felt the boat stop moving and realized they were somewhere in the middle of the loch. Duncan had stopped rowing and they were only drifting on the water. The forested land, on both sides, was cast in deep shadow.

  The moonlight was in its full splendor lighting up the lake in a romantic glow. Its glorious shimmer made her wonder if this pool was god’s looking glass. The loch and the land were quiet and still all around, even the insects were at peace.

  Scotland is…magnificent. No wonder Aunt Matilda lives so close to it.

  Duncan took her hand and she laced her fingers with his. She decided to tease him, “Do you do this to all your…interests?”

  “Nay,” Duncan said. “Truthfully, I have never done this but there is another reason we’re out here so late. Look up.”

  She obeyed and then, while she was staring, the sky came alive. Stars were darting across the sky, streaking the dark sky with long glistening bands of light. Her hand tightened in Duncan’s as the newly transformed sky had her mind locked in bands of fascination. When she blinked, the wonder had gone and the sky was still again.

  “How…” she twisted to look at him, “how did you know this was going to happen?”

  His thumb was making circles on the back of her hand, “A druid told me.”

  She eyed him and then poked him with her fingers, “He just happened to tell you, or did you go to him?”

  “Nay important,” he said. “But I am happy ye saw it. Isabella—”

  “Hm?” She asked while staring languidly at the motionless stars.

  “Will ye marry me?”

  Isabella jerked so hard, she nearly fell over the side of the boat and even when Duncan grabbed her, had rocked the vessel so badly, icy water had splashed up into it. Her heart was now in her throat for another reason. “Marry you! Duncan!”

  “Aye?” he asked, with a teasing smirk on his face.

  “Are you playing with me?” She asked only to have him shake his head. “Duncan, I cannot marry you, not with this…strain between me and your mother!”

  “My mother isnae the one who is offering to marry ye,” he quipped.

  Aiming a slap at him, Isabella nearly tipped the boat again. “Duncan!”

  “Calm ye,” he chuckled and grabbed at her, “or ye’ll end at the bottom of the loch with the selkies and me ancestor.”

  He had the gall to jest about this! She looked at the land with desperation, “Get us on solid ground, now.”

  The magical moments it took them to get into the middle of the loch, felt torturous when they were on the way back. When the boat scraped on the gritty ground of the shore, she nearly leaped out to get on the ground, almost slipping on the wet sand to get to the cove.

  When Duncan joined her—after taking his sweet time tying up the boat—she nearly pounced on him. “Marry you! Duncan! Are you jesting?”

  “Nay.”

  “Is this a dream?”

  “Nay,” and, again, humor laced his tone.

  Pain lanced through her heart when she thought he was taking all this for a jest. How could he do this to her when she loved him? When she was in love with him?

  “Duncan, don’t do this to me,” her voice broke at the last word.

  “What?”

  She swallowed down her words,

  Because I love you.

  For a long moment, crashing waves filled the silence. “Isabella,” he said, his tone solid and deep, “Ye’d be doing the same to me if ye refuse me. I love ye so much me heart pains me when yer nay near. When I dinnae see ye smile or hear ye laugh. When yer quick wit meets mine like dual swords, …” he came closer and though it was dark she saw his eyes glimmer, “and when we kiss ye make me forget the world around me.”

  Joy threatened to have her knees buckling, “You do the same to me.”

  Then, his hand closed on her hips, pushing her softly backward until her back met the rough stone wall and his lips descended with crushing force on hers. She answered his deep kiss with her own. Both of her hands were pushed up and he locked both wrists above her head with one large palm as he devoured her mouth, branding her as his with a searing kiss.

  Her back arched against the mossy stone as his free hand grabbed under her knee. Understanding his wordless order, she hopped up and wrapped both legs around his waist. He trapped her there, with his large, hot body pressed directly on hers. She felt him—all of him. His wall-like chest, the rigid muscles of his abdomen flexing on hers, his firm waist and under her bottom, the stiff outline of his manhood.

  Duncan shifted to wedge his thigh between her legs, the hard trunk of his limb rubbing with delicious friction on her core, had her gasping. Without thought she rocked against the hard trunk of his thigh, her breath going staccato at the deep throb and ache there.

  “Aye,” he rasped against her lips, “use me to yer pleasure.”

  She could not stop if she tried. Duncan groaned deep in his throat as she undulated on him, the rumble of his voice vibrating through her chest. His lips took hers again and his tongue slid even deeper into her mouth, and, on instinct, she sucked on it.

  The tails of her dress were shoved up and his hand slid under her thigh but his hand did not touch her there, he only rested like a hot brand on her skin. His touch had her arching with a cry of want slipping from her lip. “Plea
se, Duncan, more. I want more.”

  * * *

  “God’s wounds, lass,” Duncan groaned as he slid his hand up to her center and found her flesh wet. When he touched her pearl, he found her nub swollen and throbbing on his hand. He slid his fingers in her wetness and teased her secret flesh, loving her shivers and her arching.

  She was angling her body, tempting him to enter her however he could. His manhood was turgid under his trews and he ached to join her and have them be one but this was not the place. He thrust his middle finger into her snug sheath and as her spine arched her fingers sank into his shoulders.

  “Dunc—” her cry stopped as he slid another inside.