Page 10 of Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe #3)

S HOCK FROZE S COTIA the moment Duncan’s lips met hers.

Their eyes met. The battle enjoined. It wasn’t a soft kiss, not a tentative first kiss, not a passion-filled kiss between lovers, but a kiss meant to control, a kiss meant to stop her from telling him exactly what she thought of him. A kiss meant to distract her from ...

And then he tilted his head a little, closed his eyes, and let his lips go soft against hers, and she knew she had won .

.. or would. She played along, knowing that now he was not thinking with his head but letting lust lead his actions.

Lust surprised her in the normally quiet and thoughtful Duncan.

She had not known he had lust within him, but he was not the first lad she had manipulated with his own lust. Lust she could work with.

Lust she could use as a weapon against him.

She let her lips go soft and parted them, just enough to let him think she had given up her will to him.

She pretended to welcome his tongue as it swept over her own, leaning her weight against him, waiting for the right moment to bite him and gain her release as his lust-fogged brain took time to understand.

But the longer she waited, the less she wanted to ...

Her eyes drifted closed and she gave herself over to the taste of him, the feel of his lips against hers, the arousing press of his hard chest against her breasts, the feel of his fingers threaded into her hair, tilting her head so he could gain better access to her mouth, to her jaw where he nibbled, to her ear and the spot just behind it that was so sensitive when he nuzzled it before returning to her lips.

Desire burned in her, brighter and hotter with every kiss until she did not know why she had run from him. She threaded her fingers into his hair, prepared to ...

Nay. She would not let herself be distracted.

Not by Duncan’s soft kisses, or anything else.

She could not let herself be distracted.

There were English on their way here, a battle to be fought, and she would not let Duncan of Dunlairig distract her from her goal: to kill as many English as she could, to avenge her mother’s death, and Myles’s.

She stilled, her breath coming harsh and ragged, even as he continued to nibble at her lips, to pull her hard against the evidence of his own desire.

“Stop,” she said against his mouth. “Duncan”—she turned her head away—“I said, stop.”

D UNCAN HEARD HER speaking but the words did not cut through the sharp desire that drove him.

Her mouth was like nectar, sweet, making him greedy for her taste.

Her body, something he had known had grown softer with a woman’s curves, was a revelation: soft where she pressed against him, warm, with a scent that told him his was not the only desire between them.

And then the word stop filtered into his brain, and he realized with it she had gone still.

Duncan released her so fast she almost stumbled as she immediately put distance between them, the soft mountain air cooling his blood just enough for him to make sense of what had just happened. “I am sorry, Scotia. I did not mean to kiss you.”

She swallowed and he saw her fingers tremble ever so slightly. He was gratified to see the glaze of desire still in her eyes even as he was surprised at the passion that had burst to life between them. But now was not the time to wonder how or why that passion existed.

“It cannot happen again. I do not want that to ever happen again. There will be no trysting, Duncan, not with you. Not with anyone. I’ll not be distracted by ...” She swallowed and raised her chin. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. “Aye, and I agree. Nothing good can come of it.” He ran a hand through his hair, viciously scraping it back from his face. “Shall I find another to train you?”

She looked at him. “Nay. I do not want anyone else knowing of my training until I am ready to fight. Can you train me without ...”—she waved a hand back and forth between them—“this?”

“I can. I will. But to be clear, ’twas not me doing all the kissing.”

Scotia’s face blushed a becoming dark pink, and for a moment he thought she meant to deny that she had kissed him back with a fervor to match his own, but then she gave a quick nod and looked him in the eye.

Pride that she accepted her part in the kiss mingled with his cooling desire, heating it up once more.

“You were not,” she said, her voice cool and controlled though the tremble was still in her fingers, “at least not at the end. I will not kiss you again, either.”

They stood facing each other in awkward silence until at last he could stand it no more. “We should return to the caves. Nicholas needs to ken how you found the child. This knowing of yours might be of use to the clan.”

“Nicholas will not believe me,” she said, licking her lower lip and reminding him of the softness of it against his own.

He closed his eyes so he could not see her and silently berated himself for wanting to kiss her again.

“I will make him,” he said. “I will tell him how you found Maisie, how you knew where she was, and that you have had other knowings . ”

The look on her face when she had been about to speak of one of those knowings returned to his mind.

What could she know that would make her run away from him or, more likely, run from herself?

Whatever it was that had spooked her, she seemed to have put it away wherever she put things she did not wish to think about.

So perhaps kissing her had been the right thing to do after all, distracting her from harsh memories by rousing her desires.

His kiss had roused her desires? ’Twas something to ponder later, for now they needed to tell Nicholas of her skill.

“What are you smiling about?” she demanded.

“You and your secret skill.” He hadn’t realized he was smiling, but since he was he let it grow. “Let us away to the caves. There is a chief to convince that we have a powerful new weapon in our coming battle.”

“Me? I am no weapon.”

“Och aye, lassie, you are, in more ways than you ken.”

She narrowed her eyes, and settled her fists on her hips. “What do you mean by that?”

He wiped the smile off his face and set off for the caves, letting her trail behind him.

She had skill as a warrior, nascent, but growing.

She had an uncanny knowing that made her a far better tracker than he was, and he still did not ken the breadth and depth of that particular skill—’twould add a facet to their training that he had not anticipated.

And she had befuddled his mind with her vulnerability and her strength.

But the lassie had pride enough for ten warriors, and he feared, if he said all of that to her, that fierce pride might overtake the lessons in humility and honor he had been trying to subtly instill in her. He did not wish to stoke that particular fire.

“Duncan,” she said, “what is your hurry? Tell me what you mean.”

She grabbed his sleeve and deftly turned him so he came to an immediate stop facing her. The familiar snap in her eyes was softened by ... doubt? Uncertainty ?

He sighed, knowing he could not lie to her. He chose his words with great care. “I mean only that you are proving yourself equal to the task of becoming a warrior, and now you have revealed a skill that no one else has.”

“No one? Surely you ken things just as I do.”

“Nay, I do not. Do you think it would have taken me so long to find you as you trained if I had this knowing ? Do you think I would depend upon tracks and bits of broken plants and overturned moss when I must find someone?” He cocked one straight dark eyebrow at her since over the ten-and-eight years of her life she was often the one he tracked.

“If I could but know where my prey was, the way you kent where Maisie lay hidden, I would have need of none of those clues.”

He could see his words sinking in, and then she grinned. For a moment he thought she meant to kiss him again, too, but instead she strode past him.

“Well, haste ye on, then, sluggard! This is my way into the battle. We’ve a chief to convince!”

He shook his head, knowing he had not succeeded in keeping her pride out of it. He could only hope that Nicholas would not tarnish it too badly if he did not believe them.

S HOUTS AND WAR cries echoed through the moonless night, raising Lord Sherwood’s hackles as he crouched in the dark with his men.

How could the barbarian Scots see to attack the English camp in the inky darkness?

He’d forbidden any fires, any lanterns, any candles after last night’s attack when the ghastly Highlanders had managed to kill several of his detachment and injure several more, somehow sneaking past the doubled guard keeping watch .

A Highlander pelted toward Sherwood in the dark, seeming to form out of nothing, screaming and shrieking like a banshee as he wheeled his two-handed sword to the left and the right around him as he ran, then disappearing into the night again without engaging.

He could not tell if it was one man who did this or many, for they seemed to come from all directions, though not all at once.

It was as if the Highlanders sought to confuse and rile more than to kill.

The craven bastards had kept up this odd attack for hours, sometimes waiting so long between forays that the English were sure they had abandoned the game, only to rampage around the English encampment again, keeping them all awake, letting the fatigue grow.

Weariness from their rough passage on the ships had already slowed the detachment’s progress into the Highlands.

The arguing amongst his detachment was rapidly getting beyond his control.

Sleep-deprived tempers grew more and more combustible as bellies went empty, or nearly so, yet another day, for the few crofts they had come across had been abandoned, all food and drink missing with the crofters.

As the Highlanders withdrew before the sky even began to lighten, as if they knew the exact moment the first wan light of day would break the night sky and turn it a leaden grey, Sherwood made his decision.

“Set the watches about the encampment,” he said to his second in command.

“Bury any who have not survived the night, and have the cooks prepare anything they can. Anyone not on watch is to sleep. We shall meet the Highlanders here again tonight, rested and ready for them, and on the morrow we shall continue on for Glen Lairig.”

His second strode into the camp bellowing orders while Sherwood climbed up on a large boulder and scanned the countryside around him, planning his own surprises for the Highlanders.

Tonight he would turn the darkness to his advantage.