Chapter 16
The warmth from Isolde’s shoulder flowed into Donall’s hand and then spread through him with all the sweetness of a soft summer breeze. Regrettably, in this cold and hostile place, that was a pleasure he shouldn’t find so appealing.
But he did.
Alluring, proud, and yet still so vulnerable, she stirred him greatly. Her enticements slipped past his restraint, warring with the need not to enjoy these trysts with her.
What man wouldn’t?
The gods knew, he wasn’t a monk. Given what she wanted, how could he not be roused? Hot red blood ran in his veins. Of course, he would love to see her naked on her bed, her arms opened to him, the rosy flush of desire tinting her lovely breasts.
He wouldn’t yet think about the sleek, silken heat between her thighs. Even so, the image rose in his mind.
“Odin’s balls…” he ground out the curse, annoyed he’d chosen one that reminded him of his danglers, which, at the moment, weren’t dangling at all.
Frowning, he tried to take his hand from her shoulder, but couldn’t. His damned fingers remained pressed against her as if they’d somehow acquired the ability to ignore his will.
Another oath swept up his throat but he thwarted this one by coughing. And as he did, her shoulder began to tremble. Or perhaps it was his hand that shook?
He coughed again for good measure.
“Are you ill?” She tilted her head, studying him with her amber-flecked eyes.
“Nae.” My blood is on fire, but that is no cause for you to worry.
The problem is mine.
She gave him an odd look. “You were coughing.”
“I swallowed wrong,” he said, not liking how easily he lied.
The lass was a bad influence.
Even worse, he was beginning to enjoy sparring with her. For that reason, he felt a powerful urge to guard his heart. And much as he wished otherwise, the best way to do that was to provoke her. He also wasn’t a fool and he’d be one if he moved forward without setting a few perimeters.
Barriers decided by him, not her.
She daren’t guess he felt a fierce longing for her. Dangerous desires that he hadn’t even known he was capable of, but that he did know could drive him to devouring her whole. And if he did that, he might sate his lust, but he’d lose his soul.
Better to keep her temper up, putting distance between them in words if nothing else.
“See here, lass,” he began, speaking as levelly as he could. “Before this goes any further, you should know that I have lain with many women. Tupping you will be a pleasure, but no’ a rare one. It will no’ give you influence over me. Be warned of that now, before you hitch your skirts.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you speak so crudely to all your conquests?”
“Nae, but you are no’ that, are ye?” He gave her a slow smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “You are my jailer.”
“And you, Sir Donall, are a knight. Shouldn’t you be more chivalrous? You are also a man well-traveled, and pleasing enough in appearance. As for the rest…” She let her gaze flick over him, as if to confirm her words. “I would not expect you to be virginal.”
Donall almost choked.
He did chuckle. “You speak plain, lady.”
“Always.”
“Aye, well. I am no’ sure of that.” He folded his arms, half of him admiring her spirit, the other half wishing he didn’t. The smitten half won, so he lifted a brow and added, “Only pleasing?”
“Perhaps a bit more.”
He smiled, he couldn’t help it. “I stand redeemed.”
“I only made an observation. You would have to be a bonnie man, and persuasive, if the rumors about you are true.”
“Rumors?”
She nodded. “Word is that a woman in a tree wouldn’t be safe from you. That if you strolled beneath the branches, she’d jump down into your arms, begging you to ravish her.”
“Is that so?” Donall’s smile deepened, his newly discovered soft spot warming at her compliment.
“If the tongue-waggers are to be believed, aye.” She set her hands on her hips, the light from the hearth fire limning her curves. “I have to wonder how many women-”
“An untold number, my lady,” he cut in, knowing he shouldn’t let her praise affect him. “All sweet interludes I recall with fondness. Just dinnae ask the lassies’ names for I have forgotten all but a few.”
“Of course, you have.” She frowned.
He let her. “A man has needs, sweetness. Most times, nothing else matters.”
That wasn’t true. Not for him, anyway. But he wanted her to think the worst of him. The sad truth was, he wasn’t sure he could resist her. He’d never given his heart to any woman, having never met one who thoroughly captivated him.
This one could do that. Lady Isolde was the kind of woman who would consume a man. She would get into his blood and he would live and breathe to please her. He didn’t need that kind of grief.
She was a handful and then some.
A vixen.
Her chin came up, proving it. “The kitchen gossip is that you never sleep in the same bed twice.”
“Nor in the same patch of heather or in the same shadowy stairwell.”
“I see.” She stiffened and his hand came free from her shoulder at last.
“Many lairds and chieftains take such advantage,” she said, her voice chilly. “Men of power always do.”
This one doesn’t, sweetling.
Keeping that truth silent, he steeled himself against the crease between her brows. “So they do,” he agreed aloud. “Indeed, I cannae even recall the faces of many of my past lady loves.”
“So you did love some of them?”
“No’ with my heart.” That, at least was true.
Because it was, and brought him too close to revealing his unwanted attraction to her, he added, “As for loving them with my-”
“I know what you mean.” She flushed and glanced aside. “I doubt there are many men who can remember every place they’ve lain.”
He leaned toward her. “You mean every lass they’ve tupped?”
She nodded and even in the candlelight, he could see the deepening of her blush.
He frowned, wondering when he’d become such an arse.
“Enough.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Frustration rode him hotter and heavier than a band of long-tailed and horned demons fresh from the gates of hell. “Enlightened as you are to the ways of lusty men and women, how can you believe a tumble in your bed will solve anything?”
“Because it must.”
“That is no’ an answer, lassie. Why should you not slip from my mind as easily as those before you?”
“I will take the risk.” She turned back to him. “I have nothing to lose.”
“You have everything to lose.” Donall wanted to rail at her. Instead, he smothered a curse.
Sakes, did she not realize he was giving her one last chance to abandon her foolish plan? Could she not guess he hoped to shock some sense into her before she crossed a threshold she’d surely regret?
Gods, he was about to slake his thirst for her only to gain his freedom. How callous was that? But did he have a choice?
He didn’t think so.
“Lady Isolde, do you understand what I am telling you?”
“I do.” She touched her fire-glossed hair, tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “You wonder why I think I can hold your interest long enough to forge peace on this isle.”
“No lass has ever held my attention longer than the time it took to enjoy a few pleasing rolls across my plaid, or bed.”
He didn’t tell her that rolling across either with her would seal his fate, and hers, faster than she could produce another of her flasks of multi-dubbed potion.
It chilled his liver to admit it, but if he could have her – under different circumstances – he’d never again so much as glance at another woman.
Before he could stop himself, he stepped closer and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You still wish to pursue this?” He looked down at her, his fool heart already thumping at the answer he knew she’d give.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Why, indeed.” Because you are about to steal my heart.
“Shall we begin?” She held his gaze, a Celtic goddess, wild and untamed.
“Now?”
“When else?” Something flickered in her eyes, a challenge. Above all, an incredibly seductive invitation. Her lashes, thick and lustrous, fluttered, the tips looking as if they’d been dipped in liquid gold.
Gold-tipped lashes, by all the gods.
Eyes kissed with amber.
Donall tensed, knew he was losing himself, and his resolve.
What other enticements would he discover on the sensual journey she’d invited him on?
Could he bear to walk away when it ended?
Not wanting to think about just what he would do, what she could do to him, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
A mistake for along with the brisk night air, he inhaled her fresh, spring-like scent.
The wildflower fragrance bewitched him, wrapping him in her spell as surely as if she’d cast a net over him, not just capturing him, but fuzzing his wits.
Not liking that at all, he opened his eyes to find her watching him. Her face held a hint of suspicion, but he wasn’t the skirt-chasing blackguard she thought he was, so he’d give her one last chance…
“You are certain?” He lifted a brow, waiting.
“I am.”
“Then so be it.” Holding her gaze, he smoothed the backs of his knuckles down the curve of her cheek.
She blinked and a shiver rippled through her, but her quiver was nothing compared to the roar in his blood, the raw need pounding through him.
In an eye-blink, he’d lengthened and swelled, already near to bursting.
And he hadn’t even touched her.
Not truly.
Glancing away from her, he focused on the pattern of silvered light and dark shadows stretching across the floor where wide bands of moonbeams slanted through the unshuttered windows.
Sakes, but he was torn.
“Lady, you are so desirable. Untouched, yet you would give yourself to me.”
“So I would.” She breathed a soft sigh. “The loss of my maidenhead is a small sacrifice for the good I hope to reap.”
Nae good will come of this. Donall frowned, sure of it.