Page 16 of The Highlander’s Hunted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #2)

16

T here must be a mistake.

Katie glanced back over her shoulder, tempted to retreat to the parlor. She would happily sleep in a barn if this was the alternative.

“It’s the only room we have,” the innkeeper explained. “Most travelers sleep in the barn or the stalls with their horses—occasionally, wherever they’ve been drinkin’—but I cannae have such an honored guest doin’ so.”

“It’ll do,” Hector replied.

Katie stared at the back of his head.

It bloody willnae!

“Would ye care for a bath?” the innkeeper asked, oblivious to Katie’s unease.

Hector nodded, striding past the older woman and into the room. “Aye, thank ye.”

The innkeeper flattened herself against the wall to allow Katie to pass.

Katie desperately wanted to head back down to the noise and heat and reassurance of other patrons, but she had always been taught that manners were everything. It would’ve been rude to reject the innkeeper’s generosity.

Groaning inwardly, Katie thanked the older woman and squeezed by, staying close to the door.

She waited until the innkeeper had gone before voicing her concerns. “I dinnae mind sleepin’ in the barn with yer horse.”

“Lucifer doesnae like to share,” Hector replied from the fireplace, his back to her.

The burnished light silhouetted him, accentuating that rippling muscle and warrior-like physique. He was a statue cast in bronze, and she couldn’t resist admiring him from a distance. A safe distance.

“Lucifer?” She frowned, wondering if she had misheard.

“Aye, me horse.”

“Ye call yer horse Lucifer?”

Hector grabbed handfuls of his shirt, pulling it from beneath his belt. “Why nae? Ye saw it today—he strikes fear into the hearts of men, and he’s a devil on the battlefield.”

“Seems… unwise, that’s all,” Katie mumbled, her eyes widening as he pulled the long, shift-like shirt up and over his head.

He stood by the fireplace like that, tilting his head from side to side as if loosening the knots in his neck. And when the maids came in a short while later, forcing Katie to move further into the room, he made no attempt to cover himself.

One of the poor maids nearly dropped the bucket of hot water she’d brought up, but Hector paid no attention to the intrusion. He kept staring into the flickering flames as though he saw something in their depths.

“That’s all of it, M’Laird,” another maid said, once the tub by the fireplace was full.

Hector made a grunt of acknowledgment, and the maids hurried off, closing the door behind them, trapping Katie inside with a half-naked man.

Of course, she could have reopened the door or gone down to the parlor as she had planned, but his silent contemplation kept her there.

“What are ye doin?” she asked, after a moment.

His hands fell to his belt, and she heard the clink of the buckle being unfastened.

With a jolt, her hands shot up to cover her eyes. “M’Laird! What are ye doin’?” she gasped, the question carrying a different cadence.

“Takin’ a bath,” he replied gruffly. “And ye neednae stand there, hidin’ yer face like ye havenae seen this before. Dinnae think I didnae ken ye were lookin’ closely last night.”

Her face burned behind her hands, made worse by the fact that she couldn’t tell him he was mistaken. “I… only saw because ye… didnae give me much choice, harin’ after me without a stitch on!”

“Shouldnae have tried to escape, then,” he retorted.

Katie hardly heard him above the rustle of heavy clothing sliding to the floor, joined by the metallic ting of the buckle hitting stone. If she peeked between her fingers, she knew what she’d see.

I willnae give ye the satisfaction.

Cupping her hand around her left eye, shielding herself from that exquisite, dangerous sight, she stumbled to the bed. It was just wide enough for two, but if he could claim the bath, then she meant to claim the bed for herself. Just herself. All she had to do was fall asleep faster than he could bathe.

She sat down with her back to him, hurriedly slipping out of her sodden dress, though her shift would not be going anywhere.

Dragging the covers down, she squeezed her eyes shut and wriggled beneath them, pulling them up to her chin. Only then did she open her eyes again, staring up at the slanting rafters, spotting an old bird’s nest.

She concentrated on the bits of twig and hay, and the fluff of a forgotten feather, through every splash and slosh that Hector made in the bath.

She would not look; she could not. Her imagination was already running wild, picturing those powerful limbs and sculpted torso slick with the hot water, envisioning her hands running over that glistening skin, soaping away any dirt or pain. A moment later, she daydreamed of being in the bath with him, their limbs tangled, his body pressed against hers, his lips teasing hers, his hand sliding?—

Go to sleep. Ye must close yer eyes and go to sleep.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing slumber to come… though she worried that her dreams wouldn’t be any more cooperative.

Sometime later, curled up on her side with her knees to her chest, Katie heard Hector emerge from the bath. The slap of wet feet on the stone floor, the whisper of linens drying him off, the quiet sigh of relief that he likely hadn’t meant for her to hear.

She stayed perfectly still and kept her eyes closed, slowing her breathing while her heart pounded faster.

In her mind’s eye, she placed him in the room, tracing his movements—standing at the fireplace, taking something from the plate that had been brought up with the water, gulping down a drink. She heard the flutter of fabric, though she couldn’t tell what it was.

Then, with her heart in her throat, she heard him moving toward the bed.

Surely, he’ll see me sleepin’ and go elsewhere…

The dip and groan of the bed told her otherwise.

“I ken ye’re nae sleepin’,” he said, staying on top of the coverlets and blankets.

She shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, her back to him. “How’s yer leg?”

“Fine.”

She stared at the wall, seeking a sense of calm. “Do ye think we’ll get to Inverness and back to Castle MacKimmon tomorrow?”

“If the storm ends in the night, aye,” he replied, the bed creaking as he shifted his weight, evidently trying to find a more comfortable position.

He didn’t touch her, despite his size. She pictured him on the very edge of his side, his arms crossed, making himself as small as possible. She clamped her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.

“Are ye shy now?” he asked, stealing the chuckle away. “Is that it?”

She swallowed thickly. “I dinnae ken what ye mean.”

“Ye didnae behave like this in the woods,” he reminded her.

Though she had yet to see him smile, she imagined him smirking. Clearly, he was seeking revenge for her smothered laughter, for taking up so much of the bed.

“Ye didnae blush and hide yer face and turn away from me then.” The bed protested as he leaned closer, his breath tickling the back of her ear. “Do ye only like me when I hunt ye down, lass? Is that what makes yer blood rush?”

She threw back the blankets as if the village bells had just sounded to warn of an attack, and she had two siblings and a dog to get out of the cottage to safety. Jumping up, she grabbed one of the coverlets and draped it around herself, backing away from the bed and the man in it.

“Ye must nae be used to a lass who doesnae flirt about or give in to ye at the merest suggestion,” she rambled, her throat tight. “Ye cannae just… just… seduce me like ye would yer maids. I’m nae for ye. I have… a husband to find and a family to take care of, and when I go home in a few months, I’d like to return the way I left. If ye… corrupt me, I willnae be able to marry, and I’ll have nay one but meself to protect me siblings and?—”

He got up in one fluid motion, his lower half concealed by a wrapped length of bath linen. One moment he was lying down, the next he was walking toward her, his arm sweeping around her waist and pushing her back against the wall.

She gasped when it hit her shoulders. “Dinnae…”

“Dinnae what?” He stood over her, his hands braced against the wall on either side of her face, holding her there.

She closed her eyes, fighting to keep her breathing even. He was so close, and she knew what happened to her mind when he got so near her. She lost all sense and reason—something she couldn’t afford to drop again.

“Ye ken what,” she murmured. “Go back to bed, M’Laird. I’ll… sleep on the floor by the fire.”

His hand curved around her chin, willing her to open her eyes. “Ye’ve got this wrong, lass.”

“Ye’re nae tryin’ to seduce me?” she shot back, her limbs already trembling, her stomach fluttering with a desire that she would not give in to.

A dark laugh escaped his throat, almost provoking her into looking at him. With every shred of willpower she possessed, she managed to keep her eyes shut.

“Nay, ye have that part right,” he replied in a silky voice. “What ye have wrong is that ye belong to a husband who doesnae exist yet. Aye, ye may leave in a few months, but, for now, ye’re mine to keep.”

Her breath hitched.

“Mine to touch,” he growled, the air stirring as he dipped his head, his lips grazing the juncture where her neck met her shoulder. “Mine to claim.” He kissed the column of her throat. “Mine to hunt.”

His breath caressed her lips, prompting them to part slightly, her mind disoriented by the lack of sight. Somehow, it heightened everything else—the mere promise of a kiss making her skin flush with a feverish heat; the sound of his harsh breaths stirring her desire into a frenzy; the whisper of his exhales as potent as his touch; the clean scent of him making her hands itch to touch his warm, tempting skin.

“Do ye understand?” he murmured, dropping his head to kiss the center of her chest, right where the valley between her breasts began.

She shook her head. “Ye cannae hunt me if ye cannae chase me, M’Laird. And I’m in a room where I cannae run anywhere.”

“Then dinnae,” he replied, taking hold of the blanket she’d draped around herself.

He unwrapped her like a gift, sliding the blanket from her shoulders. The skim of his callused palms made her shiver with pleasure, the friction felt through the thin fabric of her shift. Against her better judgment, she imagined what those hands would feel like on the rest of her, caressing her entire body.

“I willnae give in to ye,” she insisted, air sawing in and out of her lungs.

“Have ye nae already?”

She swallowed the moan that threatened to betray her, clawing at the wall to suppress the urge to reach out to him.

“I have to marry, M’Laird,” she panted. “Nay man will want me if I’m nae… as I am now.”

His hand came to rest on her waist, applying pressure as he ran his palm up to her breast. “A man wants ye now.”

Oh, heaven help me!

“I must keep me virtue,” she urged, her voice cracking.

Hector grazed his teeth across the soft flesh of her earlobe, whispering, “I never said I’d take it.”

“Then what are ye doin’?” she gasped, her resolve weakening with his proximity.

She still couldn’t see him, her eyes squeezed shut, but she could feel him. He leaned into her, kissing his way along her jaw, teasing her as he trailed his lips to her mouth and then away again.

Torture, really.

“Enjoyin’ the fruits of the hunt,” he whispered, so close to her mouth that she couldn’t bear it another moment.

Abandoning all her sanity, her eyes flew open, and her arms slipped around his neck, pulling him to her as she crushed her mouth to his. Needing to feel the fire of that kiss again, needing to know what came after the moment she’d stopped the last time, needing to be flush against the heat of him, needing to feel something more than drudgery for as long as the illusion lasted.

She forgot all her promises to herself and kissed him as if her life depended on it, hot and fierce and unyielding. If he was surprised that she was the one to grab him, he didn’t show it, kissing her back with all the passion he’d promised.

Touch me… Claim me… Hunt me… M’Laird, I submit…