Page 18 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
It had been a long day on the back of their horse and through it all, Struan had been keenly aware of Isolde’s body pressed against his growing arousal. He would have had to have been dead not to react to her. And he was but a man after all, and very much alive at that.
The smell of her hair had filled his nose all day. Worse, the way she swayed and rocked in the saddle, her body unintentionally grinding against his as they rode had made it next to impossible not to be aware of the soft curves of her body. He tried to ignore them. Tried to push them out of his mind, but with every movement, she made it all the more difficult.
The scent of woodsmoke, roasting meats, and the sound of voices filled the woods around them. Struan tensed and so did Isolde. Their bodies taut, they silently crept along the wooded trail. Struan stopped the horse and slipped off the back of the horse, then turned and lifted Isolde out of the saddle as well. Together, they moved to the screen of bushes that separated the path they were on from the source of the hints of life.
“Looks like a small village,” she said.
“Aye.”
“Perhaps we can shelter here for the night? A real bed might be nice.”
Her tone was hopeful, and it made him chuckle to himself. For all her spunk and feistiness, Isolde was not a woman cut out for sleeping rough out in the wild. Struan was certain she was well used to feather beds and creature comforts.
Dark shadows ringed her eyes and her face was pale. She looked spent. No doubt, the fact that she had stayed up most of the night caring for him was part of the reason she was exhausted. He fingered the small purse he’d lifted off the soldiers he’d fought. There was enough coin for them to get a decent night’s sleep and a hot meal. It seemed to be the very least he could do to return the kindness she’d shown him.
“All right,” he said. “But we cannae go in as ourselves.”
“What dae ye mean?”
“If ye’re faither is out lookin’ fer ye, and I’m sure he has tae be, any innkeeper between here and Achnacarry will have our names,” he said. “We have tae use a different name.”
“All right. That makes sense,” she said as she nodded. “So, what names should we use then?”
“We could pose as a braither and sister just out on a travel?”
She looked down at herself then at him pointedly, her lips curling wryly. “And who’s goin’ tae believe we’re siblings, then, eh? We look naethin’ alike.”
He frowned. She had a point. “All right, what dae ye suggest then?”
“Posin’ as a husband and wife makes the most sense.”
A cheeky smirk crossed her face. “Daes it now?”
“Aye. It daes.”
“If ye wanted tae be me wife, there’s better ways tae ask. I mean, ‘tis all so sudden, but?—”
She yelped and grabbed a small pebble from the ground and launched it at him. It sailed over his head, making him laugh.
“I’d rather be the horse’s wife,” she growled.
“I can arrange that. I’m sure there’s somebody in the village who can wed ye two.”
She scowled at him and grabbed another pebble from the trail. She missed again but Struan caught her by the wrist and in onefluid movement, spun her around and pinned her to the trunk of a large tree behind her.
He pressed close to her and was keenly aware of her soft body and the way her full, round breasts pressed against his chest. Those embers of arousal within him sprang to life, spreading their insidious heat through his veins.
The tips of their noses were scant inches apart and her breath, warm and sweet, washed over his cheeks and neck. Her eyes glittered with uncertainty and a touch of fear. There was something else though. Something deeper. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it wasn’t fear. It wasn’t uncertainty. To Struan, it almost seemed like… desire.
“Let go of me, ye brute,” she breathed.
“Ye’ll need tae keep from provokin’ me, lass. I’ve tried tae make this journey we’re on as pleasant as I can, but I can make it more difficult if ye’d prefer…dear wife.”
Isolde swallowed hard, pinned to the tree by his gaze as much as by his body. She licked her lips and raised her chin, narrowing her eyes and glaring at him with defiance.
“Take yer hands off me,” she said coldly. “I’m nae yer prisoner. I’m yer partner. Dinnae forget that I’m the only one of us who kens where yer braither is.”
Struan ground his teeth together as a low growl rumbled out of his throat. But she had a point. And it galled him to admit that she did. What galled him the most though, was that with that one sentence, she had stripped away his illusion of control. She held all the power… and she knew it. He needed her as much, if not more, than she needed him.
