Page 11

I solde stood before him, the lamplight flickering over the delicate features of her face, and he expelled a tortured breath. When he’d opened the door to her, he’d feared he had fallen into a fevered dream, but she was no nighttime fantasy. She had come to him, despite all the risks that entailed, and he could scarcely fathom it.

Her plait trailed over her shoulder and errant red-gold curls brushed her cheeks and she gazed at him, more tempting than any of the forbidden visions that haunted him whenever they were apart.

He should send her away, while he still could. But instead, he remained mute, drinking in the reality that Isolde was in his chamber, and there could be only one reason for it. Especially since her faithful dog did not shadow her heels as he usually did.

“Did I wake ye?” Her voice was hushed.

“No.” It wasn’t quite the truth. He’d been half asleep, his mind filled with lustful images of seducing Isolde, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “But it wouldn’t matter if ye had.”

He took her lamp and placed it, and his candle, on the table beside the box bed, before taking her hand and pulling her close. Lust thundered through his veins and pounded at his temples, and he was so damn hard he feared for his sanity.

His honor was all he possessed. The only thing he had in the world, to prove to Isolde he was worthy of the trust she put in him. But he feared it wasn’t strong enough to resist her when she melted against him, and when the beat of her heart sank into his blood like a powerful aphrodisiac from the dawn of time.

She released a shaky breath. “I should have waited until the morn. Ye’ll think me foolish, but I cannot help the hurt I feel.”

“Hurt?” With more difficulty than he’d ever admit, he hauled his rabid hunger back and tried to focus his desire fogged brain. What had he missed? And then a possessive wave of outrage boiled through him, and he cupped her jaw, tilting her head back so she looked at him. “Who’s hurt ye?”

She shuddered before taking a great breath, and he steeled himself for her revelation. No one had the right to upset his Isolde and, stranger from the sea or not, he’d ensure justice prevailed.

“I cannot believe Amma would do such a thing, but she told me so herself.”

He knew she called Lady Helga amma , an old Norse word for grandmother, and his righteous anger ebbed. Whatever Lady Helga had said paled to insignificance against the myriad insults against Isolde he’d imagined during these last few moments.

“What did she do?” Tenderly, he brushed an irresistible curl from her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm, and he swallowed, battling against the urge to sweep her into his arms and take her to bed.

It seemed she hadn’t appeared at his door for the reason he’d imagined.

Her fingers traced along the front of his shirt, and he tensed. She wasn’t being provocative on purpose. The reminder didn’t help cool the fire licking through his blood.

And then she grasped his shirt and a frustrated groan lodged in his throat.

“It was her.” Her whisper was agonized, and he forced himself to focus on what she was saying, and not what she was doing to his body. “It was Amma who approached Bruce Campbell about an alliance. How could she betray everything we believe in?”

He knew how little Isolde thought of Clan Campbell, and over the last few days he’d learned—relearned, most likely—how the Campbells had eroded the MacDonalds’ power over the Western Isles.

The possibility that Lady Helga had been coerced into agreeing to an alliance between Isolde and Bruce Campbell’s son had lodged in the back of his mind. Only a laird from an equally powerful clan stood a hope of challenging such an alliance. It was the reason why he needed to leave Eigg and find out who he truly was.

But if Lady Helga was the driving force behind it, how did that change things? He couldn’t challenge a noblewoman with ancient royal blood in her veins. A lady who’d allowed him to recover in her own castle.

Frustration curdled deep in his gut. “So it’s not the Campbells holding ye to this betrothal?”

“Ah.” She gave a bitter laugh. “The alliance with the MacDonalds of Sgur is too enticing for any Campbell to disregard. Amma may have made the first approach—and I’m not certain I can ever forgive her for it—but ye can be assured Bruce Campbell won’t let the prospect of digging his claws into Eigg slip through his fingers.”

“I swear to ye, Isolde, if I have the bloodline, I’ll challenge every damn Campbell for the right to make ye mine.”

She hitched in a jagged breath. “I don’t care about yer bloodline.”

His smile was grim. If only it could be that simple. “I do. And so will Lady Helga.”

“Promise ye’ll return to me, Njord.” There was a note of desperation in her voice, that tore through him like a barbed lance. “No matter what ye discover, whoever ye turn out to be, ye must return to Eigg and let me know. Don’t leave me wondering for the rest of my life.”

“I wouldn’t do that to ye.” His voice was rough, and guilt ate through him. Because if he discovered he wasn’t fit to wipe her boots, he’d no intention of seeing her again. Or of facing Lady Helga, with the knowledge he had nothing to offer her granddaughter. Only humiliation waited for him on that path.

But she clung to him, her bottom lip trembling. How could he deny her anything when she gazed at him with such faith? Before he could stop himself, he raked his fingers through her hair and cradled her head. “I promise I’ll return.”

She gave a ragged sigh and gave him a tremulous smile. “Thank ye. I could not bear it if ye deserted me.”

He pressed his forehead against hers and tried to ignore the hammer of his heart that filled his head and made coherent thought so hard. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. And how would returning, only to tell her they had no chance of a future together, do anything but hurt them both?

But now he’d promised her. Even if it killed him inside, he’d keep that promise.

She wound her arms around him, and he tugged her close. Too close. Unlike every other time when they’d been together, they weren’t wearing heavy plaids, and he screwed his eyes shut and savored the sensation of her body melting against his.

She sighed and her shawl slipped from her shoulders. Roughly, he shoved it to the floor. She wore only a shift, and there was no way on God’s earth that she couldn’t feel his erection burning against her through his shirt, but he couldn’t pull back. It was a sweet torture, but he’d rather this, than nothing.

Her hands slid over his back, coming to rest just above his backside, and she tipped her head back, catching his gaze. Her eyes were dark with passion, her uneven breath warmed his jaw, and then she went onto her toes and kissed him.

*

Isolde’s eyes closed in bliss as Njord responded, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that vibrated to the core of her being. It was reckless, and she should leave before she entirely lost her senses, but surely one more kiss would not hurt.

His fingers tangled in her hair, a savage gesture, and sparks of desire prickled along her skin as he freed her hair from its bindings. Her breath caught in her throat as he ravished her mouth, his tongue teasing and exploring as though he had never tasted her before.

It was heady and magical, and her fingers grasped his shirt, tugging at the material until she felt bare flesh. A strangled groan escaped, but she could scarcely tell if it was her or Njord. Her heart thundered and his hard length dug into her stomach, hot and thick, and she had the dizzy sensation that if his strong arms were not about her, she’d sink to the floor in a boneless heap.

She traced her fingertips over his naked buttocks and his hips flexed, pushing his magnificent erection even more securely against her. A shudder raced through her as she palmed his tight arse, and in response, he tore his mouth from her and panted in her face.

For the last week, his face had haunted her dreams, and she could recall every aspect of his features when they were apart. But now, as he gazed at her with raw lust glowing in his eyes, a fierce, predatory determination emanated from him, and she scarcely recognized him at all.

It was utterly thrilling.

“Ye should go, Isolde.” His voice rasped in the heated space between them, but he made no move to release her. “If ye stay, I cannot trust myself...”

He didn’t finish his thought, but it didn’t matter. “I trust ye,” she whispered. And she wasn’t certain whether she meant she trusted him not to compromise her, or she trusted him to compromise her in the most breathtaking way imaginable. And then, because his honor was so much a part of who he was, and he would never take her if he suspected she harbored even a slender doubt, she rose onto her toes and murmured against his lips. “There is no one else I’ll ever want to give myself to but ye, Njord.”

A shudder rippled through him, and although surely it was not possible, his manhood pressed harder than ever against her.

“I cannot take yer maidenhead. Not like this.” His hoarse words, an attempt to dissuade her, failed when his hands roamed down her back and cradled her bottom.

She gasped, her fingers involuntarily digging into his flesh, and his grin verged on madness as he stroked her in an intimate caress. Somehow, she found her voice.

“Ye cannot take it if I give it freely.”

He gave a rough laugh before he grasped her shift and inched the material up her legs. How could the delicate slide of her hem against her skin feel so decadent?

“I’ve dreamed of this.” He kissed her, a deep, exploring kiss, that sent quivers of need cascading through her vitals. His knuckles skimmed her back, and belatedly she realized what he was doing.

Her gaze caught his and slowly she released him. With infinite care, he tugged her shift over her head before dropping it to the floor.

And she was naked before him.

Her mouth dried as his hungry gaze raked over her. The fire had burned low in the hearth, and although the lamp and candle threw out a golden glow, most of the solar was in darkness, but there was surely enough light for him to see every curve of her body.

Heat washed through her, but she had scarcely moved to cover herself when he threaded his fingers through hers, preventing any show of belated modesty.

“My dreams were sadly lacking.” Had she imagined that note of awe in his voice? Her tense muscles relaxed, and she offered him a small smile. But it seemed he hadn’t finished. “Ye’re beautiful, Isolde. I can scarcely believe my good fortune in having found ye.”

“We found each other,” she whispered, and he kissed her, tenderly, almost reverently, and she quivered as desire licked through her like a molten flame.

“Ye’re cold,” he muttered but she didn’t feel cold. Not when the heat from Njord’s body swirled around her like an ethereal embrace.

He swept her into his arms, and she gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he strode to the bed. “Don’t want ye catching a chill.”

“I’m certain it would be worth it.”

His smile took her breath away, before he gently lowered her to the bed. “I’d never forgive myself.”

He followed her onto the bed, kneeling over her, entrapping her between his muscular thighs. The wooden sides and ceiling of the box bed wove an aura of intimacy around them, and Njord was scarcely more than a dark shadow above her. Yet somehow, not being able to see every feature of his face made this illicit rendezvous exquisitely intoxicating.

“Why are ye still robed?” She tugged at his shirt, and for answer, his teeth gleamed in a wicked smile before he ripped the offending article over his head and flung it onto the floor.

She sucked in a wonderstruck breath as the flickering light enhanced the intriguing shadows across his magnificent chest. Daringly, she traced a finger from his throat to his navel, delighting in how he tensed his muscles in reaction to her touch.

Before she could explore further, his mouth crashed down on hers, and his hard body pinned her to the bed. She pulled her hand free and ran her fingers along his back. His groan vibrated inside her mouth, sending featherlike flutters of need arrowing to her core, and she writhed beneath his unyielding strength.

When he braced his weight on his knees, she clawed his hair in protest. “Njord.” Her voice was so husky she scarcely recognized it.

He gave a grunt of amusement, or maybe pain, she wasn’t sure. “I’m not going anywhere, mo chridhe.”

Her heart melted at the endearment. There was no other explanation for why warmth flooded her breast and surged through her blood and she loosened her death grip on his hair.

He lowered his head and trailed kisses along her throat, as he cupped her breasts and teased her nipples with his thumbs. She arched into his touch, and gasped in pleasure as he took her sensitive peak into his mouth.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, a silent encouragement, and he sucked her tender nipple, and her ragged breath filled the chamber.

When he inched down her body, his fingers skimmed her waist and hips in a featherlight touch that left ribbons of fire in his wake. His hot, uneven, breath dusted her flesh in a sensual caress, and she shuddered, desperately needing more.

And then he shifted, rising above her, bracing his weight on his hands as he kneed her thighs apart. The breath stalled in her throat as his calloused fingertips traced across her stomach and the tops of her thighs, igniting a wild craving deep inside that she’d never imagined could exist.

Restlessly, she stirred beneath him, her legs wrapping around his thighs in a futile effort to pull him down on her body again. But he was immovable, keeping his distance as though he enjoyed hearing her sighs of protest.

Her eyes closed as his fingers teased her thighs, circling higher with every stroke. And then his tongue licked her slit. Shock spiked through her, and instinctively she pushed herself upright. His dark head was buried between her thighs. She had never seen a more mesmerizing sight.

“Njord.” Her whisper was hoarse, and when he didn’t answer, but instead slid his tongue inside her, she collapsed back onto the bed, panting erratically.

Somewhere in the back of her pleasure-fogged mind a small voice of reason urged caution. But she was beyond rational thought as fiery spirals ignited wherever his magical tongue explored.

He gripped her bottom, and her fingers dug into the mattress as his mouth worshipped her. She hovered on the precipice, so close to something she could scarcely imagine, yet clinging to what she already knew. And then his tongue pushed against her clit and her reason liquified. Involuntarily, her muscles tensed, and she gave a choked gasp as unimaginable bliss consumed her.

Before she had time to catch her breath, he imprisoned her hips between his knees and pressed her breasts together. Dazed, she could only watch as he pushed his thick manhood into the deep valley he’d created, and renewed ripples of desire claimed her at this most unexpected move.

“But...” she gasped. Was he not going to claim her maidenhead?

“Isolde.” He sounded wild, primitive, and as he rocked between her breasts her questions fled as need consumed her. “Hold me.”

Enthralled by his command, she threaded her fingers through his, and the sensation of her hands covering his while he cupped her breasts pushed her perilously close to the edge once again. He gave a strangled groan and then went rigid before his hot seed flooded her.

Gasping, she wrapped her arms around him as he collapsed on top of her. Her heart thundered, and his harsh breathing filled her head. Time lost meaning as she clung onto him until, at last, he raised his head and gazed at her.

“Don’t move.” His voice was hoarse as he left the bed, before returning with a damp cloth. Tenderly, he wiped her breasts and throat and then dried her with another cloth. Spellbound, she watched his face as he concentrated on his task, as though ensuring her comfort was the most important task he’d ever undertaken.

Finally, he was satisfied, and once again lay beside her, pulling her into his arms and dropping a lingering kiss upon her head. She snuggled close, her fingers playing with his sprinkling of chest hair, loving how he idly caressed her shoulder.

“I didn’t imagine a man could be so heedful,” she whispered.

“I would never risk getting ye with child.” Tenderly he cradled her face, and she mirrored his actions, loving how his day-old beard chafed her palm.

She didn’t tell him her moon time was due in two days, which would wash out his seed before any consequences could arise. Or that she knew full well how to regulate her menses even during her fertile phases.

That was women’s knowledge, and besides, there was no need. He’d taken it upon himself to protect her, and even though she wished his honor had not been quite so immovable, she couldn’t deny his strength of will left her breathless with admiration.

“Only a man of honor would take such care.” She brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “When ye return to Eigg, there’ll be no need to hold back.”

“Aye. I pray ye’re right, Isolde.” Then he sighed heavily. “I don’t want ye to leave, but we cannot risk ye being found here.”

She slumped against him. He was right, but the last thing she wanted to do was leave.

With clear reluctance he untangled himself from her and gathered her clothes. She pulled on her shift and shivered as the cold linen slithered over her skin, and Njord wrapped her shawl around her before pulling her into a rough hug.

He walked with her to the door and peered outside into the gloom before turning to her. “No one is around. Dream of me until dawn, Isolde.”