Traitor or Temptress

Levering his body off hers, Iain got to his feet. ‘Get up,’ he snapped. Without waiting for her to obey he reached down and grasped her arm, jerking her roughly to her feet. Lorne winced when a pain shot up her forearm into her elbow, realising she must have hurt it in the fall, but Iain was so furious he was blind to her discomfort. Again he grabbed her injured arm in a powerful grip. She gasped in protest at feeling another shooting pain, but he was dragging her in his wake towards his horse, which had made a more dignified descent than its master. Placing his free hand on the saddle, Iain loomed over his captive, his gaze a cold blast, his expression intense.

‘How far did you think you’d get alone and defenceless, you little idiot? Is it that you are hell bent on self-destruction, or merely out to thwart me?’

Without waiting for her to reply, he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her effortlessly on to his horse, before hoisting himself up behind her and wrapping his iron-thewed arms tightly round her waist in a grip that was meant to hurt and retaliate.

‘I will give you a warning, Lorne McBryde—just one,’ he said in a low, savage voice close to her ear. ‘If you ever try anything like that again or do one more thing to exasperate or anger me, I will personally see to it that you await your father’s arrival at Norwood in my deepest, darkest dungeon. Do you understand?’

Lorne swallowed convulsively and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, glad when his arms relaxed their iron hold.

‘I have your word?’

‘Yes.’

‘Say it.’

‘You have my word.’

Chapter Three

Silence lay heavily between them on the ride back to the castle, but each was conscious of the closeness of the other. With her back moulded to the hardened contours of Iain’s body, Lorne was more shaken by what had happened than she had let him see. Her throat ached and her eyes burned, but she would not cry.

They rode into the courtyard where a knot of men stood around waiting for them to return. Iain swung himself on to the ground and roughly pulled Lorne down after him. When she took a step back, his hand clamped down painfully on her forearm. Her face contorted with a new wave of pain, but Iain had his head turned away and didn’t see.

Archie rushed forward, relieved that Lorne appeared to be unhurt, but the same could not be said of his master. ‘My lord, your face is bleeding. It must be tended.’

Iain wiped his beard with the back of his hand, scowling when he saw the blood. He directed a single look at the woman by his side, his rapier-sharp gaze holding hers. ‘It will be tended, Archie, but not by you. Take someone with you to look for your horse. It bolted on hearing the sound of the horn.’

Still gripping Lorne’s wrist and forcibly pulling her behind him, Iain strode with long purposeful strides across the courtyard, through the trees and down to the burn. Once there he let go of her wrist and looked at her coldly. Lorne set her jaw and tried to fight the sudden fear that threatened to engulf her. She knew the folly of her escape effort, and retribution in the form of Iain Monroe had come swiftly for her foolishness.

‘Stay there,’ he snapped, knowing he would have to guard her carefully in the days ahead. She was impulsive and headstrong, and so unpredictable that he never knew what she would do next. Kneeling on one knee, he bent over the water and washed the blood from his beard. Standing and then resting his hips on a large boulder, which brought his face on a level with hers, he produced a small dirk from his belt, testing its sharpness with his thumb. His eyes were merciless when they settled on Lorne.

‘Come here.’

Mutely she obeyed and moved to stand in front of him, her eyes riveted on the knife. When he handed it to her, she took it with trembling hands. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Shave me.’

Her eyes widened until they were two great green orbs, and her soft lips parted in disbelief. ‘Shave you? But—I—I can’t,’ she whispered shakily. ‘Oh, no. Certainly not. I won’t do it.’

‘You can and you will.’

‘But—I’ve never—’

‘Now is the time to learn,’ he bit back, refusing to let her off the hook lightly. He noticed her shaking hands and his eyes narrowed. ‘And if you draw a single drop of my blood you must be prepared to suffer the consequences.’

Lorne’s eyes snapped to his, stormy once more. His tone threatened terrible consequences should she commit such a crime a second time. She did not know him well enough to discern what thoughts and intentions his face was reflecting, and she was unable to imagine what form his reprisals would take. However, hurt that he might believe she truly intended to harm him had the effect of subduing her nerves and reverting her to her former state of proud rebellion.

‘Are you not afraid that I might use this knife to slit your throat?’

Despite the stubborn tilt to her chin and her rebellious tone, there was a tiny quiver of fear in her voice, and when Iain heard it his heart softened. She had shown so much daring and amazing courage, so much indefatigable spirit in running away and fighting him so relentlessly, that he’d actually thought she was fearless. Now, however, as he looked at her, he saw the strain of the last twenty-four hours on her face, the mauve smudges beneath her eyes and her pallor.

‘No. I trust you,’ he said gently, deciding that helping her to relax while she held the knife was in both their best interests. ‘Just stay calm and you’ll do just fine.’

The soft words coming on the heels of his sudden change in persona from captor to carer took Lorne by surprise. It sounded nice, but she continued to glare at him in furious silence.

‘Now—come closer.’

Amazed by his unflappable calm, Lorne moved to stand to one side of him, intending to perform the dreaded task with as little contact as possible between them, but Iain had other ideas. Gently but firmly he took hold of her hand, drawing her closer so that she stood directly in front of him between his thighs. Placing his hands on her hips to prevent her moving away, his eyes laid siege to hers. In the circle of his arms he could feel the alert tension of all her muscles. Her stillness was like that of an animal poised for flight.

‘I want you where I can see you. Now—stop glaring at me and start shaving.’

Conscious of his hands holding her firm, with a militant look in her eyes she tipped his head back with her finger and began to ply the blade carefully to the lean contours of his jaw. Shaving the uninjured side of his face first, she passed the blade over his cheek, wiping it after each stroke on a kerchief which Iain provided.

‘If you cooperate, life will be much easier for you when we reach Norwood,’ he told her, his eyes tracing the classically beautiful lines of her face, thinking that she really was extraordinarily lovely, her skin fine and soft.

Lorne sighed, feeling inclined to do just that. For one thing she was in no fit state to continue sparring with him—not that she wanted to. She was also physically exhausted and her arm was hurting.

‘Have you never shaved your brothers?’ Iain asked conversationally, liking the feel of having her close. His gaze was able to dwell on her hairline, on the fine bloom of pale blonde hair, which was like a newborn babe’s.

Preoccupied with her task and gnawing on her bottom lip in deep concentration as she carefully applied the blade to that vulnerable area beneath his nose, she shook her head slowly. ‘I told you, I was sent to England to live with my grandmother. I haven’t seen either of my brothers for seven years.’

She paused in her task and frowned irately when she felt his hands slide further around her hips and tighten slightly on her bottom with the practised ease of a born seducer. The movement shocked her to the depths of her virginal innocence and made her heart pound in her chest.

‘I think you’re beginning to enjoy this. Do you have to hold me in quite that way? Please remove your hands,’ she said, meeting the enigmatic gaze of the man who was nine years older than her in years but centuries older than her in experience, who had done and seen everything there was to do and see, and who knew exactly the effect his intimate hold was having on her.

Her prim reprimand brought a reluctant smile to Iain’s lips and urged him to draw her a bit closer, settling her thighs intimately against his loins, the action flicking a fiery brand across his senses. ‘Not a chance. Not until you’ve performed your task to my satisfaction. I don’t want you taking off before you’ve finished removing my beard,’ he murmured teasingly, his warm breath touching her face.

Lorne began again, oddly relaxed by the low timbre of his voice and the steadiness of his gaze. ‘Do you always wear a beard?’ she asked softly.

‘No. Only when my military duties keep me away from home for any length of time—or when I’m hunting, as now. I find it tedious always having to shave.’

‘You have a manservant. Couldn’t he do that?’

He chuckled at that. ‘I wouldn’t trust Archie anywhere near my face with a sharp blade. I prefer to do it myself—unless there happens to be a pretty maid with a steady hand willing to perform the task for me.’

The softening of his voice caused Lorne’s heart to skip a beat. ‘I seem to recall you gave me little choice,’ she replied, avoiding his eyes by wiping the blade once more. ‘You—you are a soldier?’ she asked, not really surprised, for there was an aura about him of a man who had often confronted danger—and derived pleasure from it.

‘Was. When peace was restored between England and France, I returned to Norwood and vowed to live an untroubled life running my estate and pursuing life’s simple pleasures—which I was doing nicely until you came crashing into my life with all the force of a tribe of Highlanders. Unfortunately, peace at Norwood will not be restored until this business with your father is settled.’

‘I didn’t ask to be kidnapped,’ she retorted sharply. After a moment’s silence in which she was uneasily conscious of his eyes perusing every detail of her face, she said, ‘During the war with France, did you serve in Flanders?’

‘I did.’

‘Robert, my brother, was there, too.’

Iain scowled with derision. ‘I know—fighting for King Louis.’

Lorne was quick to defend her brother. ‘To be fair to Robert, he fights for what he believes to be right—just as you do—and his prime concern is for the Highlands and the Highlanders’ way of life. But I remember what you said when you came to Kinlochalen that day. You spoke the truth when you said the Highlanders were enmeshed in the ways of the past, settling scores by the old methods. You also said that the world is changing, that Scotland is changing, but Robert’s obstinate and independent spirit will never accept change.’