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

  Isabella was still in his arms and when he angled his head to kiss—trying to soothe the hurt he had caused—she turned her head away and the soft movement stung him deeper than if she had taken a hot iron and seared him like cattle.

  His eyes landed on her cheek and her eyes were on the ground—away from him. Duncan’s hands dropped from her shoulders and she slipped away from his grasp with a small shake of her head and unsympathetic eyes. “You need to listen to me, Duncan. This is Ralf’s doing.”

  The words sunk in, as she disappeared from his sight. And he turned away with dismay curling his insides in knots, Good god, I’m a fool…what was I kenning? I need to make this right…now.

  * * *

  “Find yerself on the losing end o’ an argument, did ye, me Laird?” Fergus’ breezy voice called from the darkened entrance of the bailey’s top level.

  He twirled the cup of ale before swallowing a large gulp. “What makes ye say that?”

  “Because ye are in an empty, cold Bailey with a lamp and a bottle of ale,” the soldiers’ captain said astutely. “Doesnae take much to ken ye lost a fight.”

  Emerging from the dark arch, the captain dropped to sit with him, and reached for the bottle “May I?”

  “Help yerself,” Duncan muttered as he gazed out into the dark hills before him. To the forested hills that rose to mountains and to the sheer cliffside that fell to the loch below.

  “Ye have a listening ear at yer disposal,” Fergus offered. “I willnae promise to be unbiased because I ken that whatever Miss Isabella said to ye was probably right.”

  Snorting under his breath, Duncan huffed out a laugh. “Why dinnae ye lot just swear yer allegiance to her?”

  “Oh, we have,” Fergus grinned. “Ye just dinnae ken it yet. Now, stop dallying and tell me why ye are up here, sitting on a cold floor and taking on the brunt of cold icy air and riskin’ flatulence.”

  Thinning his lips first, Duncan admitted, “She told me that the latest attacks, her accident and Dougall’s poisoning, were orchestrated by an agent her brother had sent here. And I, like the fool I was, told her that it wasnae possible as we hadnae left any trail that he could have followed us by when we came here. Then to make meself ten times the fool, tried to kiss her and she turned away.”

  “Och,” Fergus groaned. “That is the hardest rejection a man could get. But the solution is easy, swallow yer pride, go to her and apologize.”

  “I ken that,” Duncan stared out into the darkness. “But the question is, will she accept it? I was…brutally direct with her. And I should’ve kent better. She just came out of a very harrowing situation and is very vulnerable.”

  “If she is weak, me Laird, then ye have to be strong. Nay like a brute but to assure her that all will be well,” Fergus advised. He stood and landed a hand on his shoulder. “Ye’ll figure it out, me Laird but let me warn ye, if ye alienate Miss Isabella, yer life with us soldiers will become very difficult.”

  His laugh was wry. “I hear ye, Fergus, loud and clear.”

  * * *

  Duncan’s eyes were stuck on Isabella’s room door but he was not going to enter it. It was late and she was probably asleep, so he sat at the doorway, considering what he had gone there for. What was he going to say?

  His head was knocking on the wall near the door when the door was tugged open. “Are you going to come in or continue to mope at my doorway like a lost puppy?”

  He stood and, ah, hell.

  Staring at Isabella’s beautiful face, he knew he was lost. She owned him, mind and soul. It was not just her beauty, her playful irreverence of how a woman was supposed to act, or how she made him want her—it was all of those and more. She had resurrected his ability to love and trust a woman…she made him feel.

  And his guilt for hurting her was eating from the inside.

  To top it off, she was gazing at him as if he was the only thing she wanted in the world but was afraid to reach out and take it. So, he breached the gap for her and took her close.

  “Forgive me, sweetling,” he murmured into her hair. “Me head was off me shoulders when I spoke earlier. I dinnae mean to brush yer words off like they were nothing when I ken ye were worried. I have very deep doubts, lass, that this is nay yer brother. Word would have been sent to me if he had landed on me land and nay strangers are here. I kent it was only a bitter servant or villager who had a grudge against Englishers.”

  “But what about Ewan?” she asked and her voice was muffled. “Why would anyone angry against me hurt him?”

  “I wish I could answer that but I cannae,” Duncan’s regret was deep. “But what I hate more is that I upset ye and I’m sorry. I truly am pained that I hurt ye.”

  She did not speak, but eventually he felt her smile against his shirt. “Your apology is accepted but you are a bampot,” she sighed. “I still love you but if you do that to me again, I’ll run my blade through ye.”

  He grinned, “And what have I told ye about me accent?”

  “Be quiet,” she whispered then kissed his neck.

  Her kiss had him seeking her mouth but met her ear instead. Hungrily, he suckled on it, tasting her skin once more was like devouring ambrosia.

  Isabella’s wanton whimper made him groan, and his want for her was steadily building like a rising tide. She shifted and kissed him, sliding her hand under his shirt. Her touch was like setting a match to the powder keg of his desires but he forced himself to let her lead.

  She took the tails of his shirt and tugged them up. His arms were up and his shirt was off. The cold wind caused gooseflesh to rise up on his bare chest and arms but he stayed, submitting to her will. Her soft hands pressed on his stomach and his muscles contracted hard. Sliding them up, to the back of his head and around his back, she drew him in for a kiss.

  It was not shy, nor was it tame—it was demanding, hot, needful. “Make it up to me,” she whispered in his lips.

  The keg ignited, “I will, love but it won’t be quick.”

  Untying her wrapper, he pushed it off her shoulders, and it fluttered to the floor like light thistledown. Her nightdress gone, he dipped and lifted her to press her back on the wood-covered wall. Their mouths fused, and his tongue delved into her. When she sucked on his tongue, he felt it all the way in his bollocks.

  Her breasts were peaked on his chest and he caressed one, the soft firm mound filling his palm. Her nipple was stiff and he drew his thumb across the taut peak, earning him a soft, breathy moan.

  Hoisting her up on the wall, he braced his knees on the wall, and freed himself from his pants. “Wrap yer legs around me love.”

  As she did, he found her core and slid a finger along her opening, stroking to maximize her pleasure. Soon she was moaning, her dew coating his fingers. Her hips rocked demandingly into his touch, and he thrust two fingers inside her, stroking her from inside while kissing her. Her body was moving on his finger, clenching around him with a silk grip. With his thumb, he teased her wet nub and felt her wetness coat him. Her arms were over his shoulders and her lips were suckling his.

  Holding her thighs, he positioned himself at her wet entrance and slid slowly into her. Isabella’s long breathy moan ended in a gasp when he was bottomed out. Her fingers sank into his skin while she clamped down on him.

  “Yessss…” she hissed.

  His hands gripped her slim hips, and he held her in place, thrusting in slowly and maddeningly. Her tight sheath was a continuous clamp around him, and the pleasure from being so deep inside her body was racing up his spine.

  Isabella grabbed the back of his neck and tugged him in to kiss her and his lips stayed there while taking her slow and deep. His hand grasped her waist, wrenching her down as he thrust up.

  “Duncan,” she panted, “get me on the bed.”

  Groaning, he took her from the wall and to the bed, laying her on it while he rid himself of the rest of his clothes. She welcomed him back into her with a deep kiss.

  Trapping both of her hands over her h
ead, he kissed her neck and entered her again. His movements were still slow and languid as the tide. Isabella was flowing with him, counterpoint to his movements, pushing when he pulled and arching when he curved.

  “So bloody sweet,” he growled on her wet skin. “I’ll never let ye go, Isabella. Ye’re the other half of my soul.”

  His hips surged upward trying to not let his leashed passion possess him as he wanted to have her moaning under him until the sun came up. He slid one hand away to cock her hip over his and then dip to suckle her breast before kissing the side of her neck.

  Her nails scratched the back of his neck. “I feel it too.”

  She clenched tightly, her belly trembling under him while she nipped at his jaw, scraping her blunt nails down his side. Their mouths collided in a hot, hungry tangle, as he slid his hand between them and massaged her bud.

  Her head flung back with a choked out breathy, “God.”

  “Nay,” he grinned wickedly. “Just me.”

  Now, his passion was unleashed, and he began driving into her, his thumb circled her pearl as he grew close to his completion. With each powerful shove, she clenched around him and her passage was fluttering around him, he knew she was on the brink of falling over the edge while he was teetering on it too. He wanted her to fall first. She grabbed at him, sinking her nails into his hand as pure bliss enveloped her face.

  Watching her, kicked his completion off and his body jerked, his shaft swelled. With a groan that came from the deepest part of his belly, he pulled out shuddering and spilling himself in his hand.

  He shifted to the side, and collapsed onto his back, reaching out to drag her on top of him. With her cheek pressed against his pounding heart, he kissed the top of her head, then her ear. “I meant every word I said, love.”

  “I know,” she mouthed on his wet shoulder. “Duncan…”

  “Hm?”

  “When we marry, let's agree that when we argue, we’ll make love for the apology,” she said.

  He laughed, “I’ll agree to that, though I suspect there’s an underlying reason for that request. I ken ye just love me for me body.”

  “If that wasn’t true and I wasn’t comfortable with you here against me, I’d force you to sleep on the floor,” Isabella grumbled.

  Smiling, he held her close, right over his heart, a rightful place as she already owned it.

  27

  A frantic banging on the door had her launching out of the best sleep she had in years. She sat up, grabbing the sheets to her chest while Duncan was already on the move, grabbing his discarded trews and shirt from the floor to put them on.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered frantically.

  “I dinnae ken but ye dinnae fash, I’ll find out,” he whispered back as he went to the door and opened it. He held it open enough to let him speak while keeping her out of sight.

  “What?”

  “Sir,” the man’s voice was fright with fear. “The bailey Sir…it's on fire!”

  “What the devil!” he roared. “Go, I’ll be there.”

  He spun but Isabella was already up on her feet, grabbing for the clothes she had laid over a chair, the pair of his trews, and her shirt. She had her boots on in record time and she used a section of her hair to tie the rest of her tresses back in a ponytail.

  “Isabella—”

  “Don’t waste your breath!” she cut him off, “I’m coming with you.”

  She pushed past him and ran out into the corridor and he took off after her. The castle was in a panic, people were alarmed, running hither and thither, some were huddling at the doorways, staring. Isabella pushed through the crowd and dropped unto the back lawns.

  It was snowing but the bailey was a beacon of fire in the darkness, shooting to the heavens in the middle of the night. This sight was dreadful, the smoke was thick and the snow was making it all a mess. Fire was billowing out from the windows; the stone was glowing black-red and heat was pulsing through the once-icy air.

  The building could not be saved and all they could do was look at it collapse in on itself. She felt Duncan’s arm wrap around her shoulder and tug her close. “Who could have done this?”

  “Why did they do it?” Duncan uttered darkly.

  She felt someone come to her side and she spun to see her aunt there, her face pale and the lines of stress deeply ingrained. The flickers of the fire’s light made her aunt’s face even gaunter. She reached over and took her hand.

  Matilda offered her a faint smile. “I don’t know why this happened, but trust God's will, Isabella.”

  Agnes, her aunt’s shadow, was not beside her. In fact, Agnes was nowhere to be seen. Unsure why that was, she asked, “Where is Agnes?”

  “She is ill,” her aunt said soberly, “retired early from last night.”

  Facing the macabre sight, Isabella leaned more into Duncan’s rigid side and grimaced. Things were escalating. First, her accident, then, Ewan’s poisoning, and now, the bailey was on fire. What was next? Would they wake up to find someone with a knife in their back?

  And worse, who was behind all this?

  The ear-splitting snap of wood, heralded the crashing cave-in of the roof. Isabella hid her face in Duncan’s neck, trembling. She could not shake the idea that all this was her fault. That Ralf was behind it.

  “Let’s get ye inside,” Duncan said, turning and steering her back into the castle.

  Numbly, he guided her through the great hall—where a lot of grim-faced people had already gathered— and to the kitchens where a few cooks were already manning pots and pans.

  At a tiny table, he pulled out a chair for her and she sat bracing her elbows on the tables and covering her face with them. She heard Duncan ask for some warm milk and buttered bread. She did not even look up when the trencher was set before her and the cup.

  “Please eat, Isabella,” he coaxed.

  “I still think this my fault,” she said, broken-heartedly. “I’ve brought destruction to your home, Duncan.”

  “Ye cannae say that,” he replied, deep surety coloring his words. “I admit, aye, things have come one blow after another, but ye are nay the reason for all these things.”

  I am, I know I am…

  “Now, eat,” he ordered.

  Not having the strength to argue, she took the cup of milk and drank before breaking the buttered bread. Nibbling, she felt little comfort in eating but she did not want to put more stress on her lover.

  The doors pushed in and a woman she had not seen in a while, Lady Elsbeth came in. Her face was grim and tone curt, “Miss Isabella,” she greeted. “Duncan, the fire is out and the soldiers need to speak with ye.”

  He shot an apprehensive look between the two of them but did not move at once. Lady Elsbeth huffed, “I know how to be civil, son. Now, go.”

  Duncan stood and dropped a kiss on her forehead, with an uttered promise to be back as soon as he could, then went off. Lady Elsbeth took his place and she folded her hands on the table. Isabella took pains to look everywhere but at her.

  “Will ye please look at me?”

  Not in the mood, Isabella asked, “Why should I?”

  “Because I need to apologize to ye,” the lady said and her grave tone had Isabella looking up, warily.

  Lady Elsbeth breathed in. “I must apologize for my actions to ye, ye dinnae deserve my unfounded suspicions. Truthfully, I have never seen my son as happy as he is now and ye are the cause for it. Please understand, a mother only wants the best for her children and I’ve seen him in the throes of despondency for years. I had all but given up on him finding love again and then the war came where I feared I’d never see him again. But ye saved his life and ye love him. That’s all I ever wanted for him.”

  The words sounded true but she was not ready to accept it yet. “You say unfounded suspicions. Seeing as what is happening now, I’d think you would be more suspicious.”

  “I dinnae ken ye are the cause of this,” the lady said.

  “How ca
n you not see it?” she asked, desperately. “I arrive and suddenly, Ewan is nearly dead and a part of your ancestral home is burnt to the ground. If you had problems like this before I had arrived, then I’d believe you, but if you say you have not, then the only conclusion is that I brought it here.”

  “Miss Isabella—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head and standing, “I can’t do this.”

  Taking off, she ran back up to her aunt’s room and nearly bumped into Agnes who was coming out of hers. The woman was fiddling with her sleeve and…wait…was that burn mark on her arm and soot on her fingers?