Isabail melted a little beneath him, surprised by the compliment. He did not seem the sort to offer a woman unnecessary praise. And she knew that the desire he felt for her conflicted with his anger over what had been dealt to his honor and his kin. Much as her desire conflicted with her need to see justice done for her brother. What a pair they were.
His hand tugged at her skirts, lifting them and baring a thigh. As his broad hand found her warm flesh, he groaned, a deep, primal response that made Isabail’s heart beat faster. To be wanted so clearly, so freely, was new to her. Andrew had always been admiring but reserved. In the bedroom, there had been few words and ever fewer spontaneous groans of delight. MacCurran was a much more earthy man, and for some reason that pleased her.
As did the rough caress of his callused hand over her bare thigh. It was a delightful friction that made her breath catch in her throat.
Tentatively, a little unsure of how to behave, Isabail lifted a hand to MacCurran’s face and allowed herself to explore the raw masculine beauty of his face. The hard line of his jaw, with its late-day stubble of beard, the high arch of his cheekbone and the curve of his ear. He seemed to approve of her wandering, leaning in to her hand and kissing her with deeper intent.
Isabail’s fingers slid into the damp waves of his hair, lost in a wondrous explosion of sensations—the rasp of his lips on hers, the duel of their tongues, and the thrill of his daring touch on her inner thigh. Sparks of exquisite awareness built in her belly, making her restless with anticipation. She wanted more.
She lifted her hips against his and felt the telltale evidence of his desire. A throaty mewl escaped her lips as she struggled to convey her growing sense of need.
He raked her skirt higher and laid a gentle hand over her mons. Isabail’s knees fell open, giving him wider access, and she closed her eyes. As his thumb began to tease her most intimate flesh, she gave herself up to the full gambit of pleasurable sensations. MacCurran knew precisely how to touch her to cultivate the stormiest responses. A finger entered her, and then two. His strokes were a perfect rhythm, and the tension inside her built to a near unbearable level. Just when she thought she would burst, he eased down her body and replaced his hand with his lips.
Isabail was scandalized. But only for the briefest of moments.
When he suckled her gently and played the instrument of her desire with his tongue, she forgot about her ideas of what was proper and let the MacCurran take control. He took her places she’d never been, and only moments after his mouth touched her, she was rocked with the sweet shudders of release.
“Oh, my Lord.”
MacCurran kissed his way back up her body to her lips. “I promised you a proper thank-you.”
Still relishing the gentle trembles that rippled through her body, Isabail did not open her eyes. To be honest, she wasn’t sure she could look him in the eyes. Andrew had never done that. Never kissed herthere. “That was a unique expression of gratitude.”
He chuckled and pulled her against his chest. Placing her cheek next to his strong and steady heartbeat, she snuggled deeper into his embrace. Her hand slipped beneath the soft linen of his tunic and flattened against the chiseled plane of his chest. Warm and solid.
“Are you not eager for some respite yourself, MacCurran?”
He covered her hand with his, holding it in place. “You have my leave to call me Aiden,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in her ear.
She smiled. She’d heard others call him by his given name, but most of his kin simply addressed him as the MacCurran. The clan chief. In her mind, MacCurran was a splendid name for him—strong, fierce, and bold. “You are the chief. I’m comfortable to address you thus unless you would be offended.”
“Not offended,” he said. “But you are entitled to a more intimate address. I call you Isabail.”
“I am your prisoner,” she said dryly. “You may call me whatever you wish.”
“I would dispute who is the prisoner,” he responded quietly. “I have but to look into your eyes and I am captured.”
Isabail’s heartbeat, which had been settling into a normal pace, sped up again. He delivered the pretty words with such a perfect note of seriousness, she was tempted to believe them. Certainly, a hope she had not yet dared to give voice to sprouted to life.Ifhe truly cared for her, andifthey could find some way to prove his innocence... perhaps... just perhaps, a future was possible. But she was reluctant to dwell on the notion; it was such a tender bud.
“Then, as my prisoner, you are commanded to complete the task you have started. Leave us both sated and replete, and I will honor you with a prize.”
Another chuckle rumbled through his chest. “And what prize will that be? You’ve not much to offer.”
“Och, you would be surprised.” She tilted her head and put her lips to the warm skin of his throat. “Will you do as I command?”
With a swift movement, he rolled and pinned her to the mattress. Dark and purposeful, he swooped down to claim her lips. They were still plump and full from his previous kisses, and she opened to him as she had before. Only this time she responded with more than just her body—she offered a piece of her heart. Ah, who knew what the future might bring?
* * *
Aiden woke to a cold, wet press against his arm. His eyes flew open, and his hand instinctively reached for the sword that lay beside the pallet. But he halted midgrab. It was the hound. Standing next to the bed, looking down at him with its soulful brown eyes.
As Aiden stared back, the beast tilted its head, as if curious.
“Away with you,” he whispered to the dog. Isabail’s head lay on his chest, her limbs sweetly entwined with his, and he had no desire to see her disturbed.
The dog did not leave. Instead, the great animal lay down and continued to stare at him. As if it expected something. Never having owned a hound, Aiden had no notion as to what that something might be.
“Go,” he said, pointing to the door.
