Page 37 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
“How is it cheatin’?” he asked, his voice dripping with mirth.
“It just is.”
“Well, I disagree,” he said. “And now that I’ve won, I get tae claim me prize.”
She huffed. “And what is yer prize then?”
His stormy gray gaze drifted from her eyes down to her lips and Isolde watched as a hunger flashed across his face. His expression was suddenly filled with a desire so great, it radiated off him like heat from a hearth. The way he was looking at her made Isolde’s heart quiver. She trembled, though not from fear. But from what she knew he wanted—what prize he was about to claim—and her own desire to let him take it.
Struan leaned forward and when his mouth met hers, Isolde’s lips exploded with sensation. She tingled all over, goosebumps breaking out on every inch of her skin. As his tongue swirled around hers languidly, her insides churned and she felt like her mind was spinning in skull. His fingers pressed hard into her shoulders and she leaned into him, kissing him back with all the emotions he stirred inside of her.
Isolde had never kissed a man before, but she’d heard enough of it. The small, breathy groans from Struan made her think she was doing a good job of it. She felt his body tense and his skin grow warm. And then she felt something long and stiff pressing hard against her belly, which set firestorm of molten-hot sensation flowing through her veins.
As if he realized it at the same time she did, Struan pulled away and took a step back. Their eyes lingered on one another’s for a long moment, and all Isolde could focus on was his soft, wet lips. She longed to feel his embrace—his kiss—again. Raising her hand, she touched her own lips with her fingertips, imagining she could feel the sensation left behind by his mouth.
“I—I’m sorry Isolde,” he said softly. “I overstepped.”
She shook her head. “Nay. Ye didnae overstep. ‘Twas yer prize fer winnin’ the game.”
As she stared into his eyes, a lance of guilt speared Isolde through her very soul, making her wince. She could not believe that she had allowed herself to enjoy the moment—to enjoy Struan—when she was essentially holding the secret about Finlay from him, and he was beholden to do as she asked for fear of never finding his brother. Not telling him was cruel. Making him play her games was worse. In that moment, she felt that she was no different than her father.
“The fog’s liftin’,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We should… we should be goin’, I think, if we want tae stay ahead of me faither’s men.”
Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and walked back toward their makeshift camp, guilt hounding her every step.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The fog had eventually lifted, and they spent most of the day riding in silence. Struan though, couldn’t keep his mind off the kiss they’d shared. After pulling away, Isolde had gone abruptly to the horse and despite the fact that their bodies were now pressed together on the back of it, she had managed to keep some distance between them. She was stiff and unyielding, and said but a few words to him since they’d left their campsite on the moor.
Struan had felt the heat and the passion in her kiss. He knew she had wanted and enjoyed it every bit as much as he had. And he was relatively certain Isolde was thinking about it too. He wanted to ask her about it but he could tell she would not be receptive to the conversation.
With a heavy sigh in his heart, he guided the horse off the moor and onto a path that cut through a thick forest. Though far from her father’s lands, they were still near Cluny Castle, so he thought it best if they remained vigilant and cautious, sticking toback trails and hunting paths rather than traveling on the main roads.
“Dae ye need a break?” he asked. “Tae stretch yer legs a bit?”
She nodded. “Aye. It’d be nice tae walk about a little.”
Struan stopped their mount beside a river and slipped off the back of the horse. He turned and helped her down, longing to touch her. However, Isolde immediately stepped away from him and walked to the edge of the river. With her back to him, she folded her arms over her chest and watched the sunlight glinting off the surface of the water. Struan frowned as he walked the horse to a narrow clearing where it could take a drink and graze on some grass.
As he walked back to where she stood, he froze. His skin tingled and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He cut his eyes left and right, scanning the forest around them. Shafts of golden sunlight speared down through the canopy overhead, dappling the ground while leaving much of it in gloomy shadow. On the surface, nothing seemed amiss. But he was sure something was.
The birdsong that had filled the air earlier had disappeared. Nothing stirred in the foliage and not a single sound could be heard anywhere. It was as if the entire world around them was holding its breath. And Struan knew that likely meant one thing.
“Isolde,” he called.
Before the words had fully left his mouth, two men burst from the foliage, naked blades in hand, and rushed toward her. Struan saw Isolde turn and pulled his own blade to rush forward.
He recognized the MacPherson tartan and sigil the two men wore and felt a churning in his gut. These men were well trained and fierce in battle, with their focus now on Struan as he bore down on them, their swords ready.
“Isolde, run!” Struan shouted.
As she turned and bolted, the first man rushed forward to meet him and their swords clashed with a high ringing sound that filled the air around them. The soldier stepped back then lunged forward, the tip of his blade leading the way. Struan knocked the blade aside with his own, then threw a punch that caught the man in the jaw. His head snapped viciously to the side and blood flowed from his nose freely. But he remained on his feet and slashed at Struan, driving him back a couple of steps.
“We’ve nay quarrel with ye, stranger,” the man said. “We’re here for the woman.”
“If ye want her, ye’ll have tae go through me.”
“Ye dinnae want tae dae this.”
