Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kenna was sure this was now a stranger pinning her between himself and the horse.
Tearloch had transformed into a man without care.
Besides the genuine smile, the deep line that typically lingered between his brows was gone along with the furrows meant to intimidate the rest of the world.
There was no glower, no suspicion behind his eyes.
Some secret excitement left no room for anything else.
He was suddenly years younger than she had first suspected. Or at least this stranger was.
And this stranger, she did not trust.
He finally looked away and bellowed. “All to horse! And away with ye! Lady Kenna and I will follow anon.”
No one moved. Horses stamped their impatience. The men only stared at the pair of them. Kenna was equally confused.
She shook her head. “Only a moment ago, you complained—”
He laid a finger on her lips to keep her from finishing.
Duncan cleared his throat and hollered, “Ye heard him, lads. Let’s to home!” Then he shooed the others out of the meadow toward the road. Jamie mounted Queenie and prodded her, but the animal paused in passing to nuzzle a laugh from her.
“Go on, now.” Tearloch said to the horse, pushing the giant head away. “’Tis my turn.”
Jamie scowled at the man, something she thought was unwise to do to one’s leader. But Tearloch only smirked. Had the two men changed skins?
The young man opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it and spurred his horse away, but not before giving Kenna a fleeting look of pure pity.
“Whatever have you done to the boy?” When she noticed her laird and master still held her tight, she asked, “Do you mean to lift me onto the saddle, sir? Or do you mean to dawdle?” The next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Is your wife not anxious to have you home as well?” Embarrassed, she looked away, though she still hoped he would answer.
“I have no wife. Yet.”
When she dared look again, that smile was still there.
His eyes gleamed green in the light of a clear day, as if they’d been dipped in icy water before being placed in his head.
But her own eyes were more interested in those lips.
With the tan of his skin, they looked to be carved from dark, soft wood that made her want to kiss them just to prove they were indeed flesh and blood, as she remembered.
He licked them, and she stopped thinking altogether.
She fumbled for something to say, then remembered what he’d said to Queenie. “Your turn?”
“Pardon?”
“You told Queenie it was your turn. For what?”
He inched closer and studied her eyes. “Perhaps I meant it was my turn to throw you to the ground.” He suddenly pulled her against him.
She reached out to save her balance and her hands tried to grasp his arms. But they were too large to wrap her fingers more than halfway around.
So she grabbed at the thin fabric instead.
“No armor today,” she breathed.
“No armor. Nothing to protect me…from you.”
She laughed. “From me?”
“Aye. Ye’ll be gentle with me, will ye not?”
She rolled her eyes, but then she caught sight of his tongue darting out to wet his lips again, just before he crushed his mouth against hers. He bent her backward just enough that she had to wrap her arms around his neck and hold tight.
New, bright, and shiny tingles coursed through her body, and she was happy, so happy that the two of them were alone. No one clearing their throat, suggesting they stop.
“Oh, my,” she said against his mouth, when he gave her a chance to catch her breath. But then he stole that breath away again when his lips began laying a trail down the side of her neck. And when she could inhale, it was with a loud gasp.
Tearloch growled in answer, then bent to sweep up her legs and lift her off the ground. “Hold tight,” he said, and pulled the rolled blanket from the back of her horse and flung it on the ground. Then he kissed her again, urged her lips apart, and distracted her with his tongue.
With her eyes closed, she felt him get down on one knee before setting her away from him, onto the blanket with a thick cushion of flowers beneath. She turned her head to gain her bearings and stop the world from swaying.
The horses munched noisily nearby. They were well and truly alone.
“Or perhaps,” he said, recapturing her attention, “I was telling Queenie it was my turn to give you a ride.”
Instantly her wits returned. She had been in this situation before.
Ten years before. How could she have been so stupid as to be alone with a man again?
Nevermind that she preferred this one to that slithering snake, Balloch.
Apparently, men were all alike in their interest in her.
It would pain her to hurt him, but she would do it.
She struggled to get out from beneath him, batted away his gentle caresses, and thrashed her head from side to side, to avoid those perfect, warm lips. She must never let them touch her again.
His smile gone, he brought a hand to the side of her face, held her gently but firmly while he looked deep into her eyes…and tried to kiss her again.
She had no choice. She screamed with all her might. He winced to the side from the bells ringing in his ears, no doubt.
“Listen to me, Lass,” he purred.
“Nooo!” she screamed again. Surely those men would come back. She took a deep breath and gave a blood-curdling scream just in case they were deaf or very far off.
Tearloch rolled to her side to rub his ear but kept one leg over hers to hold her down. He caught both her hands, held them in one of his own, and with his free hand, forced her to look at him.
She realized he wasn’t worried about anyone stopping him. He didn’t expect anyone to rescue her. Now she knew what that look on Jamie’s face meant as he left her in the care of her laird and master. He knew what was going to happen to her. He knew and he left. They all left.
Suddenly she felt foolish for believing she’d made any friends among them. Like Agatha had told her all her life, she truly had less worth than a horse.
If she couldn’t find the strength to get away from Tearloch, he would do his worst, take away the only thing with which she could barter, and force her to join the others, to sit among them.
She could just imagine their faces across a campfire, grinning with what they knew, disgusted at what she had become.
She would rather die…
Tearloch knew the exact moment the lass realized his intentions. The flash of fear in her eyes was not unlike the previous evening, when his men had howled in the woods to discourage her from fleeing in the night.
Then she fought him. Had no qualms about using her screams as a weapon to deafen him. And she’d nearly succeeded. But then he’d watched as her mind worked, and whatever conclusions she’d landed on…changed her.
In the time it took his ears to cease their ringing, she’d become a different woman. And if she’d been his enemy, he would have retreated at the look of determination and hatred in her eyes.
Even Macbeth had not looked so fierce in his last defiant moments.
That was it.
She’d seen defeat ahead of her, and she had decided to fight him to the death over it.
Not good. Not good at all. Perhaps retreat would be best for the moment. After all, he could hardly convince her that she’d lost her maidenhead if she’d only been kissed.
Slowly, he removed his leg.
When she tried to free her hands he said softly, “Stop.”
“No.”
“Trust me.”
“Never again. I will fight ye with my last breath, and then my maid’s story will be the truth.
I will not be dishonored and then forced to face those men again.
” She was gearing up to fight harder. He could see it coming.
But there was something more there. Something in her eyes he’d not seen in them before, and it was hatred… and pain…and…
It was sorrow.
God’s teeth, she was going to cry. Speaking to a woman was new to him. Speaking to a greetin’ woman was hard for any man. For him it would be impossible.
“Shhhh.” He moved closer and pressed his face to the side of her head. “Haud yer wheesht. There will be no dishonor here.”
She stiffened even more. “I will never believe you.”
“It is true,” he whispered in her ear, then breathed the scent of her deep into his lungs.
“Then we can join the others now.” Her breathing sped.
“Not yet.” He placed a kiss behind her ear, then backed away before she spooked. He would like to seduce each part of her body in turn, but this clearly would not be the time for it. “Ye scared the horses away.”
“What?”
The fight had left her voice. Had a mere kiss to her neck accomplished that? If so, perhaps it was the perfect time for it after all.
He took a strand of her hair and let it slide through his fingers. “The horses. Ye scared them away with yer screams. We’ll just wait here a wee while.” He let his fingers trace a trail down the side of her neck and she shivered.
“And just what are we to do while we wait?” she asked breathlessly.
“What we’re doin’ is fine with me.”
He had worked his way to her collarbone and wondered just how much pressure it would take to break the seams of her clothes, once she was willing. Her breathing was nearly frenzied. Was he such a fine hand at seducing that he could have her panting so quickly?
But she wasn’t panting. She was fuming. When he cared to look at her face the loathing was back.
“You are no better than the other. You will take because you can. You lie. You all lie. So you can take your honor and that of your king and—”
“Hold yer tongue, woman.”
“No, you hold. I will kill you if I can. It will be fine practice for killing The MacPherson.”
And in that moment, he believed her more than capable. Rather than worry him, however, it enraged him. She was willing to give herself to any man just to kill another, but she could not stomach giving herself to him?
He’d see about that!
He squeezed her hands to gain her full attention. “Ye want so badly to see The MacPherson dead? Fine. I will take what ye were offerin’ at the fire last eve. In turn, I will ensure that Leith MacPherson is in his grave as soon as the King has come and gone.”
Her eyes flew wide, as did her mouth and he wished dearly for Duncan’s kerchief to stuff between her lips.
He released her hands and jumped to his feet to put distance between them, afraid of what he might do in his fury.
How dare she turn him into this…this ungrateful son who could speak so casually about his father’s life?
A father whose death he might have prevented if he hadn’t wanted the glory of being at Malcolm’s side when he finished off Macbeth.
It would eat at him forever that he’d been celebrating while his father bled his last drops less than a league away.
But if Leith MacPherson were there now, he would chide Tearloch for thinking a father’s life worth more than a king’s. At least their rightful king.
She was a fool to question Malcolm’s honor in the face of his champion. If she weren’t the king’s sister—
But she was. And he’d promised to deliver her whole…