Page 23 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

T here’s a word for women like her.

Freyja shuddered as Lamont’s scathing words haunted her. She knew only too well what word he meant, and even thinking it chilled her to the marrow of her bones.

Witch.

“Freyja.” The concern in Alasdair’s voice dragged her back to the present, but it still took everything she had to meet his dark gaze. Did he secretly think she practiced witchcraft?

No. She wouldn’t believe it. He’d defended her, and for that alone she knew she’d made the right decision in promising to marry him.

She smiled at him, but it hurt her face, and she had the terrible conviction she was about to weep. And not just for the loss of her beloved Afi.

It was because Alasdair had championed her healing skills.

“God, Freyja.” Roughly, he pulled her into his arms, and she pressed her cheek against his chest as he awkwardly patted her back as though he thought that would comfort her.

Didn’t he know just being here with him gave her all the comfort she needed?

“I’m sorry ye heard any of that.” He stopped patting her and his arms tightened around her until she could scarcely breathe.

It was oddly soothing. “It’s not what ye think, Freyja. ”

It was exactly what she thought, and she had to make him see that.

“Lamont has always resented me, Alasdair. His father and grandfather were physicians of Kilvenie, and their word has always been absolute. He’s never understood why Afi would listen to me, let alone respect my advice.

But...” Her voice trailed away. This was far harder than she’d imagined.

No one spoke that taboo word aloud. It was foolish, she knew.

A word itself didn’t hold power. It was those who would use the word against her, and their power resided in the Witchcraft Act that had been passed just a few years ago.

How Lamont had gloated when he’d told of it. As if he’d expected her to instantly turn her back on all the learning that generations of her foremothers had painstakingly gathered.

“Lamont.” There was a vicious undertone in Alasdair’s voice as he pulled back just enough to catch her gaze. “Ye mustn’t think twice about him. But what he said—”

“I know I didn’t kill Afi.” She was grieved he had died, but he’d been beyond any help, and she’d always known it deep in her heart. “I eased his pain, and that’s all I could do. And I must thank ye for defending my healing arts against Lamont’s—his insinuations.”

An odd expression flashed over Alasdair’s face, as if her remark had taken him aback. She couldn’t think why he was surprised that she was grateful for how he’d stood up against another man for her right to practice her medical skills. Maybe he didn’t realize what a rare thing that was.

“I’ll always defend ye against anyone. Ye can always count on that.

But that man makes my skin crawl, and that’s a fact.

” He shook his head and tenderly cradled her face.

“Why are we even discussing him? He’s not important.

Ye’re the only one that matters. How are ye, Freyja? Is there anything I can do?”

She’d always thought the phrase my heart melted was foolish romantic nonsense. And yet here she was, with her heart seemingly melting into a puddle in her chest. What remarkable tricks the body played, but she was too weary to fight it with logic.

The truth was, she didn’t even want to. There was no need to protect herself from his charm anymore for fear of falling too hard. When Alasdair returned to the Highlands, there’d be no wounded heart to mend, for she’d be accompanying him.

But first she needed to marry him.

Good Lord. How could she put her mind to organizing a wedding when Afi had yet to be buried?

She squeezed her eyes shut, but Afi’s face swam into view, reminding her that she’d never see him smile or hear him laugh again. Grief clutched her heart, and she wound her arms around Alasdair, his unyielding strength her anchor in this uncharted storm.

“Just hold me.” Her voice was husky with the tears that clogged her throat and without a word he wrapped his arms around her, his biceps a living wall of muscle keeping the outside world at bay.

Such foolish thoughts. Yet she couldn’t help the way he made her feel. His now-familiar scent of worn leather and untamed woodlands filled every breath she took, sinking into her senses as though they were spices from the Far East, and tiny flames licked through her blood.

He buried his face in her hair, his hot breath causing tremors to dance across her head. Shivers skittered along her arms, and she pressed herself even closer to his hard body.

His groan vibrated through her, as sensual as a physical caress, and sharp darts of pleasure collided between her thighs. She gasped and tilted her head, and his dark gaze scorched her with trammeled desire.

“I should escort ye back to the stronghold.” His hoarse voice stoked the smoldering fire in her veins, and she dug her nails into his shirt-clad back. “Before I do something I’ll regret.”

“Would ye regret it, Alasdair?” Her fingers tangled in his wonderful hair, the silken threads like nothing she’d felt before.

Caution unraveled and vanished, like wisps of early morning mist in the forests and she rolled onto her toes, until she was only a hairsbreadth from stealing a kiss. “For I wouldn’t.”

“I won’t compromise ye.” He sounded tortured as raw passion blazed in his eyes. “I’ll not trick ye into marriage, Freyja.”

It was hard to think clearly when he said such noble things, and when the erratic thunder of his heart next to hers told such a different tale. His hands roamed over her back before cradling her bottom, and need spiked through her like trapped lightning.

“There’s no trickery,” she gasped. “Ye cannot compromise me, now we’re betrothed.”

Blessed Eir, what was she saying? There was a madness in her blood, for surely otherwise she’d not lose her good sense so utterly. But this wasn’t wrong. Nothing had ever seemed so right, and she knew Alasdair felt it too.

He sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth. “Is that what ye want, Freyja? To wed me? Not just because Ranulph commanded it?”

She gave a breathless laugh. How honorable of him to ask her, and now of all times. “How can ye doubt it? Ye’re the only man I’ve met who’s made me even think about marriage. If either of us should be asking that question, ’tis I of ye. I should so hate to think ye feel trapped, Alasdair—”

He growled low in his throat, a primal sound that thrilled her to her core, and when he claimed her lips in a savage kiss, her knees had the alarming urge to collapse.

She clung onto his shoulders as he ruthlessly explored her mouth, his tongue teasing and stroking until she could think of nothing but the pleasure sparking through every particle of her body.

He tore his mouth from hers, and panted in her face, a wild gleam in his eyes. “Do ye think that’s how a trapped man would kiss ye, Freyja? Don’t ever think that again. I’m here because I want ye, ye hear me?”

She believed him. He could have left Rum at any time since her grandfather’s unexpected request, but he’d chosen to stay. And he’d made that decision before she’d told him she would inherit Kilvenie Tower, so he wasn’t even motivated by the thought of her dowry.

Not that Kilvenie would go to her husband. Long ago, Afi had told her the stronghold would be hers, regardless of whether she married or not. But Alasdair didn’t know that.

“I hear ye,” she whispered. “And I want ye too.”

He shuddered before trailing burning kisses along the line of her jaw. Her head tipped back, and his teeth grazed the column of her throat. She clawed his shoulders before plunging her fingers through his hair and clutching him in a death-defying grip.

“Tell me to go.” The tip of his tongue teased her earlobe, and she scarcely heard his words let alone retained the wit to respond to him. All she knew was she never wanted him to stop. “Before it’s too late.”

“It’s too late.” She barely recognized her own voice. Her words were slurred, as though she’d over-indulged in the finest French wine. “I need ye, Alasdair.”

Ah, how she needed him to quench this fire that burned like a furnace and turned all her thoughts to smoldering ash. She had the fierce urge to wrap her legs around his waist and crush him against the wall until the madness consuming her vaporized.

Without warning, he grasped her bottom and hauled her up and her fantasy became a reality as she wound her legs around him and her skirts bunched around her knees. With a startled gasp she clung onto him as he strode into the nearest vacant stall and backed her against the wall.

“I’ve wanted ye since the moment I saw ye kneeling in the straw.

” His fingers tenderly stroked her face before trailing with seductive intent over her shoulder and cupping her breast. Her breath stuttered in her throat as the warmth from his palm seeped through her gown and scorched her sensitized flesh.

“Yer first time shouldn’t be in a stable, but God help me, ye’re too hard to resist.”

“I’d rather be here with ye now than in the finest castle.”

She meant every word. Here, with only the muffled sounds of the neighboring horses and the scent of hay surrounding them, they were in their own world, a moment out of time, a special memory she’d cherish forever.

Unlike the marriage bed, this had nothing to do with alliances or duty.

He lowered his head as his fingers tugged open her bodice, and dizzying exhilaration spun through her when his mouth branded her naked breast. Feverishly, she grasped his shirt, desperate to feel his skin beneath her exploring fingers, but the linen seemed to go on forever and his plaid hampered her best efforts.

“Eir, damn it.” Curses. Had she said the Norse goddess’ name out loud? Thankfully, Alasdair didn’t appear to notice, which was just as well since she was in no condition to rectify her mistake.

He shoved her more securely against the rough wall and his hand slid beneath her skirts, caressing her thigh in ever-increasing circles as his passion-filled gaze caught hers.

She panted in his face, her mission of ripping his shirt from his back forgotten, as his fingers edged closer to her throbbing clit.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she crossed her ankles, locking him in place, just in case he had the unthinkable urge to pull back. His grin was tortured, and he shook his head, almost as if he could read her mind.

“I’m not going anywhere.” His smoky promise sent shivers of awareness across her cheek, and she leaned forward and captured his mouth in a kiss that seared her reason.

His fingers teased her folds, and a groan scorched her throat as liquid heat bloomed, and when he broke their kiss primitive satisfaction carved his features. “Does that please ye, mo leannan?”

She wasn’t certain whether it was his intoxicating touch or his whispered endearment that thrilled her more. And it didn’t matter, for both were entwined within this ephemeral cocoon they’d woven about themselves.

My sweetheart.

“It does,” she breathed, and her head fell back against the wall as his finger dipped inside her, stroking her slick flesh and swollen clit until all rational thought fled her mind. Only one thing filled her world. “Alasdair.”

“Aye, I’m here, my beautiful Freyja.” He rained kisses along her throat and pleasure spiked through her, sucking the air from her lungs as she bucked helplessly against his unyielding palm.

Beyond the pounding of her heart, she heard Alasdair give a primal growl as he shifted position. She gasped mindlessly, scarcely aware of what he was doing, until the head of his cock pressed against her tender flesh.

“Christ, Freyja.” His hot breath was a sensual caress across her cheek. “I must have ye, my sweet bride, and make ye mine.”

His mouth crashed down on hers and he nipped her lip, the sharp sting arrowing through her in a shocking blaze of delight. As she wound her arms tighter around his shoulders, he pushed into her, and a fleeting burn had her gasping in shock inside his mouth.

He stilled, breaking their kiss although their lips still touched, and slowly her tense muscles relaxed as her body stretched to accommodate him. Tremors licked through her, and she stirred restlessly, needing more. Needing him .

“Are ye all right?” He sounded tortured. “Did I hurt ye, leannan?”

Words were beyond her and she shook her head, spearing her fingers in his nape in silent encouragement.

The worry faded from his eyes, and he pushed her hair back from her cheek before grasping her naked bottom with both hands and thrusting inside her with a suddenness that drove the air from her lungs.

“My Freyja.” He whispered her name, again and again, and each time he did, ripples of pleasure swirled through her. He filled her so completely, like nothing she had imagined before, and instinctively she squeezed her muscles around him.

He sucked in a sharp breath and his jaw clenched. Enthralled, she did it again and his agonized groan echoed around the stall.

“Ye’re killing me, so ye are.” His grin was feral. “’Tis a good thing ye’re a healer.”

“Don’t get yer hopes up. This is outside my scope of knowledge.”

“Then I’m happy to teach ye.”

Her laugh turned into a heady moan as his restraint vanished and a wild gleam filled his eyes. He rammed into her, shoving her roughly against the wall with every frenzied thrust, and the lingering remnants of passion in her blood once more ignited.

She ground her hips against him, taking everything he offered, and demanding more. With a stifled hiss, he went rigid and spilled his hot seed inside her, and she shattered around him.