Chapter 30
Donall shouldn’t have been surprised by his reaction to watching Lady Isolde unbraid her hair. She stood before one of the bedchamber’s tall, arch-topped windows and the moonlight bathed her in silvery luminosity, while he remained in the shadows.
If she could clearly see his face, she’d know she’d done what no other woman accomplished. She’d bewitched him. And she had yet to fully loosen her braids.
She’d only unraveled half their length, releasing one section at a time. Any moment, the whole of her bronze-gold hair would spill free, rippling to her hips. He knew he should say something.
A few words of praise, at the least. But she caught him so off guard he could only stare.
The last thing he’d expected was for Isolde of Dunmuir to enchant him.
But she did, shaking him to the core, making his heart thunder and his loins tighten.
What she did to his mind, his logic, didn’t bear consideration.
He just knew he wanted her.
Worse, he suspected he would never get enough of her. That even years from now, once these nights of forbidden passion were ended – even then he would hunger for her.
Ache for her. Go mad with the need to pull her into his arms, again slake his craving for her.
He glanced at the little jar on the window ledge. Sakes, he might spill the moment she reached for it.
“Do I displease you?” Her voice came soft and hesitant, the doubt in her eyes tugging at his heart. A sensation far more disturbing than the fire licking at his groin.
“You could no’ displease any man.”
“I do not care about other men. But I see your frown.”
“If I look fierce, sweeting, it is only because you have set my blood on fire.”
She looked surprised, then smiled. “Do you think mine has remained cool?”
He returned her smile. “I would hope not.”
“You would be right.” She resumed the unbraiding of her hair. “I will soon be scorched to a crisp.”
Donall’s heart thumped. By the hounds, but she had him in her palm.
Could she see what she did to him? Did she know that his heart, his very soul, rested at her feet?
“Then we shall fall to ash together, sweetness,” he said. “I can think of worse ends.”
Perhaps I do not want us to end?
Donall blinked, not sure he’d heard her.
She was tilting her head, peering at him intently. “You asked me to undo my hair, but you look pained.”
I am pained, he almost roared. He’d run hard as granite, doubted his loins had ever drawn so tight.
“I am fine, lass. Dinnae you worry.”
“Shall I redo my braids?” She lifted two handfuls of her tresses, let the strands spill through her fingers.
“Nae, leave your hair undone. It pleases me.”
Looking curiously at him, she lowered her hands. “As you wish,” she said, and gave a light shrug.
“What I wish, my lady, is to love you.” His hands clenched against the words his heart tossed so freely at her feet.
Was he mad?
He supposed he was because his declaration was true.
“Is that not why we are doing this?” She misunderstood his meaning.
“Aye, so it is,” he went along with her reasoning. “All this is because you desire a covenant.” He gestured to her and then at the little pot of vermilion on the window ledge. “Sealing such a pact should be pleasurable to us both. Another reason is because you are in need of more enlightenment.”
Lastly, because I have fallen in love with you, his heart added.
She smiled, surely unaware of the might of a MacLean man’s love massing so near. She simply gathered her hair and bunched it into a glorious tumble she pushed above her head.
“Enlightenment and knightly kisses,” she said, moonlight catching her upturned face. “Can it be you enjoy instructing me?”
“Sakes, but you ask a lot of questions.” Could she not see the hard ridge of his arousal? “Lady, you take my breath. As a seductress, you are unequalled. But I question how well you can see.”
“There is nothing wrong with my eyes.”
“Ah, well…” He left the shadows and crossed the room to her. Deliberately, he stepped into the silvery light by the windows, hoping she’d see his desire.
She didn’t.
But he noticed everything about her. His awareness of her quickened, her nearness stirring him so greatly he wouldn’t be surprised if one false move caused his aching length to snap off.
Turning aside, he looked out at the moonlit night. He braced his hands against the cold stone ledge, inhaled deep of the brisk night air.
Regrettably, it didn’t cool him.
He glanced back at her, and promptly lost himself in her beautiful eyes, in the shimmering mass of her hair. Somewhere deep inside him, he felt a surrendering. And in ways that would forever change him, for she hadn’t simply loosened her braids.
She’d also undone his heart.
She’d smashed its casing first with her refusal to accept his offers of ransom.
Then she’d shown no interest in his brooch.
And now she’d laid further claim with her shining eyes.
He saw so much in their depths. Vulnerability, innocence, an eagerness to explore her sensuality, and a total lack of the greed and calculation he’d encountered in the other women he’d known.
The ones who’d wanted only what he could give them.
None had wanted simply him.
Until Isolde of Dunmuir.
He reached for the little jar of courtesan’s rouge. He held it as he watched a bank of mist gather far out to sea. The mass of gray-white blurred the outline of MacKinnons’ Isle, swirling over its high cliffs and eventually hiding the island and even the horizon.
He curled his fingers tighter around the little jar. If only he could erase his cares as easily as a line of fog could swallow the view out a window. He’d then rid himself of the truth that, just like his former bedding partners, Isolde of Dunmuir didn’t truly want him either.
She wanted his seed, nothing else.
She didn’t care about how many baubles he could give her. Nor did his standing among the other Highland lairds and chieftains impress her. After all, she claimed such status herself. His coin and worldly goods didn’t matter to her.
And that set her apart – as did so much else.
He wanted her in the worst possible way.
And not just to scratch the itch in his loins. She eased the ache in his heart. An emptiness he hadn’t known needed filling until he’d met her.
Feeling more lost than ever in his life, he leaned against the edge of the window arch and breathed deep of Dunmuir air, so thick with the smell of the sea and damp old stone.
To him if was the scent of capitulation.
Even her alliance scheme now struck him as appealing.
He pulled a hand down over his chin. Truth to tell, the only thing troubling him was not having met her earlier.
At a time when he could have wooed her properly.
Or perhaps he might have done as his more rough-hewn ancestors and whisked her off to Baldoon, claiming her in the old way, making her his bride.
Even now, he was tempted.
Could he truly be in love?
He wasn’t sure. But he knew what Gavin would say. He also supposed his friend would be right.
Excitement raced through Isolde as she watched the MacLean at her window. She sensed the change in him the moment it happened, could almost see his resolve spinning away.
And that meant it was time.
So she drew a steadying breath and began undoing the fastenings of her bodice. To her surprise, she didn’t feel a single stab of guilt because her purpose had changed so dramatically. She now wanted the MacLean regardless of who he was and what he represented.
Plain and simple…
She was falling in love with him.
Sure of it, she slipped her arms from her sleeves and allowed her gown to fall open to her waist. He tilted back his head and stared at the tops of the arched windows as if he’d plead strength from the gods.
When he again faced her, raw desire smoldered in his eyes. He handed her the blush of rose, his gaze settling on the low-cut bodice of Evelina’s borrowed chemise.
The one made of see-through gauze silk with slits up the sides.
Something urgent and primal, a wholly male sound, came from deep in his throat as he looked her up and down. He did so slowly, as if he wished to brand every inch of her into his memory. When his gaze again reached her breasts, he took a deep breath. His eyes darkened, turning a rich, peaty-brown.
He stepped closer and took her wrist, drawing her into the pale beam of moonlight.
“Stand here where I can see you better,” he said, his husky tone stirring her as much as the warm, strong feel of his fingers on her skin.
“You are lovelier than I’d imagined.” Again he let his gaze roam over her. “This silvery night becomes you, but I vow you’d bring any man to his knees at any hour, and anywhere.”
Isolde’s heart fluttered. His words touched her deeply. The look in his eyes affected her in other ways, making her feel an urge to press her thighs together to still the tingles dancing over her woman’s flesh.
He took another step closer. “You are magnificent.”
“I am just me.”
“So you are.” He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “And I thank the gods for that. They have blessed me greatly.”
She held his gaze, entranced.
Falling ever deeper under his spell, and that was dangerous.
“You are known to flatter women,” she said, surprised to feel a piercing resentment at every woman who might have reveled in his praise.
“There are no other women.” He shook his head slowly. “They faded from my memory the moment I first saw you.”
“Oh…”
“It is true.” Releasing her wrist, he thrust his hands into her hair.
He let the strands glide across his knuckles, spill through his fingers.
“I could touch your hair for hours,” he said, twirling a long and curling lock around his hand.
“Perhaps even days,” he added, letting the strands tumble to her hips.
Isolde melted, so delicious were the shivers rippling through her.
“I would not stop you.” She shook out her hair, her boldness rewarded by the flash of his smile. “It pleases me to have you touch my hair thusly.”
His smile deepened. “Ach, lass, I have only begun to please you.”
“Then I am the one blessed.” She lifted her chin on the admission, refusing to hide her passion. In truth, she doubted she could, so intense was her longing.
“You would bring the devil to his knees,” he said with a roughness that excited her. Then he made a sound almost like a growl and buried his face in two great handfuls of her hair, the raven darkness of his own, a stirring contrast against the gold-bronze of hers.
A tremor rippled through his bowed shoulders and seeing his enjoyment of her hair only stirred more intense feelings in her. She’d even swear she was turning liquid, might soon find herself as a puddle at his feet. And how could she not feel such excitement?
Mercy, he was drinking of her hair. Slowly moving his head back and forth, nuzzling his face into the strands. And watching him did dangerous things to her.
It also made her bold.
“So, Sir Knight,” she said, her daring sending hot little jabs of pleasure to the secret place between her thighs. “Shall I use the blush of rose now?”
He straightened to touch her face, trailing the curve of her cheek with one finger. “Are you brave enough?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“What do you want?” His finger slid across her lower lip, and then he drew it back again, more slowly this time. “Tell me your desire, lass.”
“I want…” She glanced at the windows. A strong wind blew and thin, torn clouds were beginning to hide the moon. “My wish is to be as wild and free as this night,” she said, turning back to him.
I want total abandon.
Passion to blaze so hotly even the blackest winter wind couldn’t touch us.
He stepped closer, his own gaze going to the window arches. “Pleasure as raw and thrilling as the night wind racing across Doon?”
“Just so.” She smiled, wondering how he knew her mind.
“Then let us begin with a kiss,” he said, pulling her close. “A reward for undoing your braids.”
“A knight’s kiss?”
“That and more,” he promised, the look in his eyes making the heat inside her flame like a balefire.
“Then all is well.” She held his gaze, waiting. What came in the days to follow no longer mattered - only one thing did and she’d seize it, this night they’d have together.
These hours were hers.