Page 20 of Beguiled By the Highlander
His fingers tightened around hers, and his calloused hand cradled her cheek. A thousand butterflies filled her breast, and strangest of all, the wind that buffeted them felt as warm as sunlight.
“No one,” he murmured, and she could not fathom if he was repeating her words to himself or asking her for clarification. His thumb stroked her warm cheek, and his eyes darkened. It was exhilarating, and yet that cursed twist of guilt would not die.
It was no good. She could not lie to him, even by omission.
“No one I can stomach,” she whispered. “My grandmother harbors a mystifying desire to see me wed to a Campbell from Argyll. But we’ve never met, and I shall not wed a man not of my own choosing.”
A frown slashed his brow as though the notion of a Campbell expecting to claim her hand irked him. Ah, how she hoped the notion irked him. The very thought of it made her lightheaded.
“A Campbell?” His gaze was intense, but there was the faintest note of uncertainty in his tone, as though he tried to place the name. Then he expelled a sharp breath, and his fingers slid from her cheek and caressed her throat. Sparks ignitedbeneath her skin, and before she could stop herself, she grasped the front of his surcoat.
“Is the name familiar?” But in truth, she didn’t care, and it was terrible, for the most important thing was that he regained his memories. Yet right now all she wanted was for this moment to never end.
“No.”
She heard the frustration in that word. And her heart ached for him. But then he pressed his forehead against hers, and she forgot about everything but him.
“Ye shouldn’t wed a man ye don’t care for.” His breath fanned her face, and a delicious shiver ran through her. “Ye deserve so much more than that, Isolde.”
She tipped her head back, and his fingers raked into her hair. “I’ve no intention of wedding him. He only wants me for my lands, and to breed countless bairns. And I shall tell ye this, I won’t be any man’s broodmare, least of all a cursed Campbell’s. The very notion of it fills me with dread.”
“Don’t say such things.” There was a harsh note in his voice, and his fingers tightened in her hair. “No man should treat ye with such little regard.”
Her heart warmed at his vehemence on her behalf. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to stay on my Isle, ye’ll see.”
“If I knew who I was.” He bit off his words and ground his teeth. “I cannot offer ye anything when I can’t even recall my own name.”
Holy God, was he suggesting he would court her, if he knew his past? Her heart thundered against her ribs, but somehow, she pushed out the words that needed to be said.
“I don’t need anything. I have Sgur Castle.”
“But what do I have? A man should have his own legacy. That’s only right.”
“I’m certain ye do. And I know ye’ll remember one day, when ye least expect it.” She knew no such thing, but it was a small lie, to keep hope alive. “Don’t fret about it, Njord.”
The dark clouds of frustration that wreathed him faded, and he smiled at her. “How can I fret about anything, with ye in my arms? I thank God every day that ye found me on the beach. How easily I could’ve perished.”
He stepped closer, until there was no space between them. If she held her breath, she fancied she could feel his heartbeat echo through her blood, but of course, that could not be. Not when they both wore so many layers of wool and linen.
Logic didn’t stop a ripple of delight coursing through her, though.
He released her hand and cradled her face, his intense gaze roving over her as though memorizing every feature. Then his lips brushed hers, in a kiss as ethereal as a butterfly’s touch, and she gave a soft gasp.
He didn’t pull back. His hot breath dusted her in an evocative caress before his mouth once again claimed hers, and this time, he wasn’t seeking permission.
The tip of his tongue teased the seam of her lips and she opened to him, needing whatever he offered. His tongue pushed into her mouth, a shocking invasion, and thrills spilled across her flesh as he explored and tasted as though he could not get enough of her.
She wound her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight, loving the way his big body crushed against hers. If only they were not hampered by endless lengths of plaid.
Panting, he broke the kiss, and she clutched fruitlessly at his shoulders, trying to pull him back. His groan vibrated through her, a throbbing counterpoint to her own. “Ye make me lose my mind.” He grimaced. “Whatever mind I retain.”
“There’s nothing wrong with yer mind.” She sucked in a great breath, that chilled her down to her lungs. But it didn’t help calm her erratic heartbeat. “Just a few holes in yer memory.”
His laugh sounded pained. “Aye. And ’tis those holes that prevent me from—” He snapped his jaw shut and shook his head.
She longed to know what he could not say, but her imagination was more than up to the task. Her hands slid from his shoulders to his biceps, and she lingered there, entranced by the solid muscle beneath her fingers. How she would love to glide her palms over them in all their naked glory.
Sjord’s wild barking tore her from her bewitching reverie, and she frowned in his direction. In the distance, several women were heading towards them, clearly on their way to the village.
