Page 304 of Wicked Highland Heroes

You know I have never taken an unwilling woman.” “Liar,” the lady interjected.

Iain leaned her back in his arm and stared into her eyes. “You do not know me, lass. Why say such a thing?”

“I am unwilling, yet you force me to go with you.”

For an instant her logic confused him and memory of another woman made captive by a man who claimed love flitted through his mind. “Aye,” Iain agreed, through tight lips. “But you will choose to marry me.” He gave a quiet order to one of his men and pulled on the reins, once again wheeling his horse away from the abbey. “Come to us in ten days, Father,” Iain threw back before they were out of earshot.

“He will only come to bring me back,” she said through clenched teeth. “I will never marry you.”

Chapter Two

A drop of moisture splattered on Iain’s forearm. He looked heavenward. Gray clouds edged past a sun that hung low in the western horizon, but no rain threatened. He reined in his horse and leaned the woman back in the crook of his arm. Tears distorted the blue irises that stared back at him. She pushed wildly at his chest as if to scramble to a far corner of the saddle, and he realized his arm had tightened around her.

Iain cursed under his breath and gathered the edge of the sash that hung around his shoulder. He dried the tears pooled in each eye, then traced the fabric down where tears streaked her face. His manhood pulsed in sudden awareness to the agitated rise and fall of her breasts.

Her eyes widened and he consigned his lust to hell when she jerked her head aside. This woman was no serving wench to be bedded without preamble. Still…he released the breacan and, with a finger to her chin, brought her to face him again. Her gaze dropped to the leather wristband as he slid fingers around the nape of her neck and into soft tresses. No doubt a mistake to kiss her again so soon, but the quiver hovering on the edge of her lips was more than he could resist. He lowered his mouth to hers.

Her lips remained closed, but the promise of a soft response was evident in the tremor he sensed. Iain released her. She righted herself and threw her head against his chest in an obvious attempt to discomfort him. He answered with a low growl and hugged her closer.

An hour later, Iain commanded a halt. He dismounted and reached for his captive. She shoved his hands away.

Iain gave a weary sigh. “Come, sweet. I am too tired to do battle tonight.”

He pulled her from the saddle. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging herself to him. His loins sprang to life. Blood roared through his ears and a mental picture leapt up of her beneath him as he pounded into her gloved warmth. The haze of desire evaporated with her cry of pain. Murky clouds hovering over ash and pine trees snapped into focus and understanding hit.

“Christ,” he muttered. He hadn’t considered the possibility she wouldn’t be accustomed to so many hours in the saddle. He reached around and rubbed the knotted muscles in her back. “The pain will pass in a moment.”

Her hands slid down his chest. Iain stifled a groan at the thought of those fingers continuing downward.

She batted at him and he released her.

“There is a stream within the trees,” he said.

Suspicion formed in her eyes.

“You need not worry, lass. No one will bother you.”

Her gaze shifted to the sword strapped to his horse. “Mayhap I should be allowed protection?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say he’d give her use of his sword from now until eternity, but he squashed the impulse. “I give my word that no one, least of all me, will venture near you until you ask.”

She hesitated, then turned. He winced when she reached to massage the small of her back as she limped across the rocky ground toward the trees. Tomorrow, he would be sure to halt throughout the day so she could rest from the saddle. If she—a thought struck.

“Lass,” he called.

She halted, her back to him.

“What is your name?”

An instant of silence passed, then she turned. “You should have asked Father Brennan before you stole me.” She whirled and disappeared into the trees.

Iain stared, open-mouthed. Was the wench refusing to tell her name? He swung his gaze to where his comrades sat, only to discover they looked just as dumbfounded as he. Iain took a step after her, then broke into a broad grin. So, the doe would revenge herself on the hunter.

* * *

Victoria burrowed within the surrounding warmth. Vague recollections seeped past the unfamiliar smell of damp wool and fresh pine. She stretched her arms in a slow, lazy action, bringing a rush of cool air down along her limbs. She lowered her arms to her sides and her left elbow hit something hard. In a flutter, the night sky met her startled eyes and she froze. The warmth she nestled against was her captor.

Her body shook and Victoria concentrated on the night sky, forcing her eyes to locate the Summer Triangle. In the westernmost point lay the blue-white star of Vega, the main star of the constellation, and Lyra, the brightest of all the stars in the triad. Lyra, the lyre. She fought the tears that stung her eyes and followed Vega to the east to Deneb, the dimmest of the stars. To the south was Altair.