Page 35 of Beguiled By the Highlander
He paused, tipped back his head, and eyed the formidable wedge that dominated the landscape. Its steep face that towered over the castle was impossible to climb, but by following the rugged furrow that wound around the far side of the ridge, they would eventually reach the final slopes that led to the summit.
“I’ve never seen a mountain like it,” he said.
She didn’t ask if some of his memories had returned, the way she had earlier in the week when he made similar comments. It seemed his mind remembered certain things, and it was only the most important elements of his life that remained swathed in fog.
“That’s because there is no other mountain like it,” she teased. “And no other isle like Eigg, either.”
“I believe ye.” He tossed another bone-melting grin her way, and heat bloomed between her thighs as she recalled the magic his mouth had kindled when she’d been in his bed. The breath caught in her throat and her heart quickened, sending delightful ripples of awareness across her skin. She had never imagined such rapture could exist, and without him taking her maidenhead, too.
She swallowed a groan of frustration, grateful that the incessant wind that blew across the moor snatched the sound away before Njord heard it. How would she survive the following months without him?
But there was still tonight. And she planned on visiting him, aa soon as the castle fell silent, so they could enjoy such bliss again.
His arm slipped around her waist, and he brushed a possessive kiss against her temple. She released a sigh and leaned against his welcoming strength. “When ye look at me with such passion, the only thing on my mind is how much I want to ravish ye.”
“That’s good to know,” she responded. “I should be mortified if I was alone in wishing to ravish ye within an inch of yer life.”
He laughed, and the sound sank deep into her blood, warming her from the inside out.
“Ye’re far too tempting for my peace of mind, Isolde. A man can only take so much.”
How she loved it when he said such things to her. How odd that she’d never craved any man to profess such devotion for her, until she’d met Njord.
And how easy it was to believe Roisin was right, when she said it had been a sign that Njord had washed up on their beach. Theyweremeant to be together. And in her heart, she was certain he was of Clan MacDonald.
As they scrambled over the slippery rocks, laughing and pulling each other onward, a bittersweet pain pierced her breast at the knowledge that by this time tomorrow, he would be on his way to Oban.
She’d give anything if only he decided not to board the ship and sail away from her.
At last, they reached the summit, and the plateau spread out before them. The sun glinted on the calm, azure sea, with a clear view of the archipelago of the beautiful Small Isles. It was truly the perfect winter’s day, with only a few light clouds and no dense fog to spoil the panorama, and Njord expelled a breath of appreciation as he surveyed the view.
“Worth the climb?” she enquired as she unstrapped the blanket from his back and laid it on the ground. They would likely still get damp, but it would surely be worth it to spend time alone with him.
“’Tis certainly a sight.” He cast his gaze to their close neighbor, the Isle of Rum, its mountainous terrain rising through the sea mist and seemingly touching the clouds above. “I see why ye love yer isle, Isolde.”
“Ye should see it in spring.” And, with a little luck, he would. “Come, hand me the satchel. I’m famished.”
They sat on the blanket, and she pulled out the oatcakes and pasties she’d packed earlier, as Sjor chased elusive scents to hidden burrows. And when they’d eaten their fill, Njord wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a lingering kiss.
She snuggled against him, sliding her arm around his waist and holding him tight. Could this day be any more perfect?
His sigh echoed through her, reaching places inside she didn’t even know existed.
“Will ye still want me if it turns out I’m one of the cursed Campbells?”
She laughed and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’d do my best. But I still hold out hope ye’re a MacDonald.”
He grunted and pulled her on top of himself as he lay back on the blanket. “No MacDonald, nor Campbell neither, could care for ye the way I do.”
Her heart melted. “Ye care for me, do ye?”
“Ye saved my life.”
She gave him a mock frown. “I don’t want yer gratitude.”
He leered at her. It was most enchanting. “What do ye want from me, my lady?”
“That would be telling. Ye must work it out for yerself.”
