Page 17 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I solde’s eyes fluttered opened and she sat bolt upright, her heart hammering in her chest. The first thing she realized was that she could not see.

The world around her had been blanketed in a thick, white fog, keeping her from seeing any farther than the fire Struan had built.

Tendrils of smoke rose and drifted into the wall of fog, the fire nothing more than smoldering embers now.

The second thing Isolde realized was that she was alone. Struan was gone. Her mouth dry and her pulse racing, Isolde threw his cloak off and jumped to her feet.

“Struan?” she called.

The fog seemed to swallow her voice. She wasn’t sure anybody could have heard her had she screamed at the top of her lungs. It was an irrational fear, but part of her thought her father’s men had found them in the night and taken him.

But why would they take him and nae me?

It made no sense to her. So, where had Struan gone? He wouldn’t have left her there all alone.

“Struan?” she called again, not sure her voice carried much farther than the smoldering remains of the fire.

Movement to her left drew her attention and when the figure emerged from the fog like a malevolent wraith, Isolde nearly jumped out of her skin, a sharp squeak bursting from her mouth. Struan’s handsome face resolved, and he looked at her strangely.

“Where did ye go?” she almost shouted.

He held the wood in his arms up for her to see. “The bleedin’ fog is cold and wet. I thought ye might want tae thaw yer bones.”

Her heart began to slow, and she pressed a hand first to her chest then to her forehead as a wave of relief washed over her. He dropped the wood and got the fire going again.

“Ye didnae think I left ye in the night, did ye?” he asked.

“I didnae ken what tae think. I just woke up and ye were gone,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. “I was scared me faither’s men had taken ye.”

He laughed softly. “Yer faither’s men wouldnae have taken me easily. Even as deep as ye sleep, ye’d have woken up tae that.”

Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her gaze, shaking her head.

She knew that. It made sense that she would have woken up to Struan battling her father’s men.

But waking up and just seeing him gone had scared her.

As if sensing her discomfort, he stepped forward and put a gentle hand on her arm.

She raised her head and looked into his gray eyes, the earnestness within them making her draw a sharp breath.

“I’d nae just leave ye like that, Isolde.”

There was a hitch in his voice that seemed to match the emotion in his eyes. There seemed to be more behind his words than he was saying and a lump rose into her throat. It made Isolde wonder what she would feel if he stepped even closer.

What his lips would feel like brushing against hers…

His eyes widened slightly, and a strange expression touched his face. He looked as if he realized he’d said too much and took a step back, taking his hand off her arm, leaving Isolde to mourn the absence of its firmness and warmth. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“I mean, ye’re the only one here who kens where me braither is,” he said. “And I made ye a promise tae get ye tae safety.”

Isolde winced at the sound of his words. Whatever illusion of connection she hoped they had shared the previous night evaporated in an instant.

Daes he only protect me because he promised tae, till he reaches Finlay?

Isolde refused to believe that.

Struan turned away and put a little more wood on the fire, the tension in the air between them suddenly thicker than the fog that encased them.

Struan was a breathtaking man. And in the moments when he seemed untroubled, like yesterday, and his eyes fell on her, it filled Isolde with a warmth that began in her belly and quickly spread through her body.

It never failed to make her heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings and her belly churn with a heat that although pleasant, felt so intense, it hovered on the edge of uncomfortable. No man had ever made her feel like that before with nothing more than a glance.

It was vain and superficial, she knew, but Isolde craved those looks from him.

He made her feel the way she used to dream of her husband looking at her when she was young.

He was not her husband, of course, and wouldn’t be.

But the feelings he stirred in her were powerful and genuine, and Isolde wanted to let herself feel them, if only for a short while.

She had no idea what the future held or if she would ever find a man to love her the way she’d daydreamed of.

The way Struan made her feel might be the closest she ever got to it, so she wanted to enjoy it a little longer.

She knew it was an illicit game to play, but it would at least be a memory she could take with her.

A feeling that would sustain her through the long, cold nights that undoubtedly lay ahead of her.

Isolde cleared her throat. “Well, I think we’re more likely tae get lost in this fog than we are tae find our way,” she said. “I think we should stay here and wait it out.”

“There’s nay tellin’ how long it’s goin’ tae last,” he said. “Could be an hour. Could be a day.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have tae find a way tae amuse ourselves until it lifts.”

Struan chuckled. “And what dae ye have in mind then, eh?”

A slow, mischievous smile touched her lips. “Let’s play hide and seek.”

“Hide and seek?” he said with one of those laughs that made her tingle from head to toe. “Are we playin’ at bein’ bairns now, then?”

Isolde shrugged. “Why nae? We could use a bit of fun. Especially ye.”

“Especially me, eh?”

“Aye. Ye take everythin’ too seriously,” she replied. “Ye need tae learn tae laugh more.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye. ‘Tis so,” she said. “If ye dinnae find me, then ye’ll have tae take me with ye even after I tell ye where Finlay is.”

“Take ye with me? Tae Achnacarry?”

“Aye.”

“Is that what ye want?”

“It is,” she said simply.

He seemed to think it over for a moment then smirked. “Very well then. If I dinnae find ye, then I’ll take ye with me. Ye have me word.”

“Good,” she said.

“And if I dae find ye?”

“Surprise me.”

She breathed and with another mischievous grin, turned and disappeared into the fog. Isolde ran, careful to avoid falling into any holes or tripping over the roots of the scant few trees around them.

“This is silly,” Struan’s voice echoed out of the fog. “We’re nae bleedin’ bairns.”

The fog was so thick, it distorted sound and his voice sounded as if was coming at her from everywhere at once. She couldn’t tell exactly where he was. But she knew that worked in her favor as well. Isolde giggled.

“There’s naethin’ wrong with lettin’ go of yer concerns now and then,” she called back. “’Tis called havin’ fun, Struan Cameron! Ye should learn tae dae it more often! It keeps the wrinkles away from yer face.”

Putting a hand to her mouth to stifle another giggle, she ducked behind the wide, thick trunk, carefully peering out from around it, although it was pointless.

She wouldn’t be able to see Struan moving through the fog until he was right on top of her.

But she thought she’d found a good hiding spot and knew it wouldn’t be long before he gave up.

“’Tis foolish!” Struan called out again, his voice muffled, sounding a thousand miles away.

Isolde giggled to herself. “Then we’re foolish!”

“This is fun tae ye?”

“Aye. ‘Tis a load of fun tae me.”

She pressed her back to the tree trunk and put a hand over her mouth, laughing to herself.

But then a shape materialized from the fog in front of her.

It was so sudden and unexpected, Isolde yelped and jumped.

Struan was quick to put his hands on her shoulders and push her back against the tree, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I found ye,” he said.

“How? How the hell did ye find me? Ye must have cheated!”

His chuckle was a deep rumble and slid across her skin like bathwater, warming her from head to toe and every space in between. She shifted in his grasp feeling an uncomfortable heat blossoming between her thighs she’d never felt before. Her mouth grew dry but her palms grew damp.

“I’ve been a soldier a long time, lass,” he said. “I’ve had tae fight in fogs like this before. I ken how the fog plays with sound.”

“That still counts as cheatin’.” she muttered and crossed her arms in front of her.

“How is it cheatin’?” he asked, his voice dripping with mirth.

“It just is.”

“Well, I disagree,” he said. “And now that I’ve won, I get tae claim me prize.”

She huffed. “And what is yer prize then?”

His stormy gray gaze drifted from her eyes down to her lips and Isolde watched as a hunger flashed across his face.

His expression was suddenly filled with a desire so great, it radiated off him like heat from a hearth.

The way he was looking at her made Isolde’s heart quiver.

She trembled, though not from fear. But from what she knew he wanted—what prize he was about to claim—and her own desire to let him take it.

Struan leaned forward and when his mouth met hers, Isolde’s lips exploded with sensation.

She tingled all over, goosebumps breaking out on every inch of her skin.

As his tongue swirled around hers languidly, her insides churned and she felt like her mind was spinning in skull.

His fingers pressed hard into her shoulders and she leaned into him, kissing him back with all the emotions he stirred inside of her.

Isolde had never kissed a man before, but she’d heard enough of it.

The small, breathy groans from Struan made her think she was doing a good job of it.

She felt his body tense and his skin grow warm.

And then she felt something long and stiff pressing hard against her belly, which set firestorm of molten-hot sensation flowing through her veins.

As if he realized it at the same time she did, Struan pulled away and took a step back.

Their eyes lingered on one another’s for a long moment, and all Isolde could focus on was his soft, wet lips.

She longed to feel his embrace—his kiss—again.

Raising her hand, she touched her own lips with her fingertips, imagining she could feel the sensation left behind by his mouth.

“I—I’m sorry Isolde,” he said softly. “I overstepped.”

She shook her head. “Nay. Ye didnae overstep. ‘Twas yer prize fer winnin’ the game.”

As she stared into his eyes, a lance of guilt speared Isolde through her very soul, making her wince.

She could not believe that she had allowed herself to enjoy the moment—to enjoy Struan—when she was essentially holding the secret about Finlay from him, and he was beholden to do as she asked for fear of never finding his brother.

Not telling him was cruel. Making him play her games was worse.

In that moment, she felt that she was no different than her father.

“The fog’s liftin’,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We should… we should be goin’, I think, if we want tae stay ahead of me faither’s men.”

Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and walked back toward their makeshift camp, guilt hounding her every step.