A Warrior's Passion

She swallowed hard, very aware that he was gazing at her face, and that she was no beauty. His words might be only empty flattery, and yet at his softly spoken compliment, heat poured through every limb.

She also knew she was smiling like a ninny, knew she must look besotted, but she couldn’t help it. No man’s words had ever meant so much to her—and surely the sincere approval she saw in his eyes could not be a trick.

He gently took hold of her shoulders and drew her close, bending lower. “Your scruples do you credit, Seona. Beautiful, beautiful Seona.”

The moment his lips touched hers, she seemed to melt like wax in a molten flame. She could no more have turned away from his kiss than she could have willed the planets to stop their circling of the earth.

One of his hands brushed through her hair as the other stroked her back. Willingly, eagerly, she leaned toward him and returned his passionate kiss. His cloak opened and she splayed her hands on his broad chest, feeling it rise and lower beneath her outstretched palms.

With growing urgency, his mouth moved over hers and when his tongue pressed against her sealed lips, she answered his silent request, parting them to let his tongue slide into her warm and waiting mouth.

A low moan escaped her as he clasped her to him as if he would meld them together like beings made of clay.

Then, suddenly, he stopped.

Gasping, uncertain, she looked at him questioningly, her lips still tingling from his kiss.

Griffydd drew a ragged breath and pushed her away, astonished at the desire surging through him. He had never felt like this. Never! Something had to be wrong with him—or with her.

“Have you bewitched me?” he demanded. “Have you put some kind of spell upon me?”

“What…what do you mean?” she asked in a whisper.

“As tempting as the thought of sharing my bed with you may be, I am an honorable man, and I will not be seduced by my host’s daughter.”

“I am not seducing you!”

His hands curled into angry fists at his side and he fought to control his raging temper. Diarmad must have ordered her to escort him here as part of a dastardly scheme to force a wedding between them and therefore an alliance between his father and the Gall-Gaidheal. “Where is the jealous suitor? Or will it be your irate father who is supposed to burst in and accuse me of dishonoring you?”

She stared at him in disbelief at his accusations and the sudden change in his manner.

“For a woman who claims she does not agree with her father’s strategy, you seemed very eager to give yourself to me,” he continued, wrapping the cloak about himself again. “Or perhaps that kiss was only to whet my appetite?

“Unfortunately for you, his plan will not succeed. Although sleeping with you would be a serious breach of courtesy, to the Welsh making love before marriage is not enough to extort a betrothal.”

“No! No—you kissed me!” she protested, dismayed by his suspicion.

“Why did you linger here at this hour of the night? And such enthusiasm to voice your honorable honesty!” he replied sarcastically. “Very clever and very crafty, Seona. Perhaps you think I am feebleminded not to see exactly what kind of trap this is? My father warned me about Diarmad MacMurdoch. It is to be regretted that he didn’t give me similar warnings about you.”

“Because there were no warnings to be given!” she retorted, angered by his implications. “I meant what I said. I wanted you to know that I have no hand in any of my father’s scheming.”

“No?” Griffydd demanded, his cold, skeptical gaze wounding her more than a dagger might have done. “Then what plan of your own were you hatching?”

“None!” she cried, glaring at him and hating him for not believing her. “This is to be the thanks I get for trying to be honest with you?”

She thought of the look in his eyes when he called her beautiful and marveled at her gullibility. “I should have realized you were not to be trusted—”

“I am not to be trusted? If there is duplicity here, look to yourself!”

“I am not the one spouting lies!” she replied, turning on her heel to leave.

He grabbed her arm to halt her progress and came to stand before her.

“I am an honest man, but that does not mean I am a fool. Now tell me what lies I have told,” Griffydd commanded with more angry animosity than even his own parents would have suspected he possessed.

But angry he was, and hurt and upset. He had been tricked by a lovely woman, a woman he still desired so much that, despite her deceit, it was all he could do not to carry her to his bed.

He must be going mad, driven slowly insane by Diarmad MacMurdoch and his desirable daughter, who stood defiantly before him, proud as a queen, bold as an Amazon.

“Take your hands from me!” she ordered scornfully.

He obeyed at once. “What lies have I told?” he demanded again.

Her lip curled and passionate anger burned in her large eyes, although her tone was coolly sarcastic. “Since I am so tempting, sir, I had best leave you to your rest. Sleep well.”

With that, she marched haughtily out the door.

After she had gone, Griffydd stood motionless for a long time before he raked his trembling hand through his hair.

Even now, he half expected a gang of Gall-Gaidheal led by a belligerent Diarmad to charge into his quarters and demand that he wed Seona or die.

He had been trapped like the most naive dupe in Britain.

Then he stared at his quivering fingers as if they belonged to somebody else. Indeed, he almost felt they must.

His was the steady hand. He never trembled, not with fear or longing or excitement.

Dylan did. And Dylan was the lover, never without a woman. Not him.

Yet Griffydd knew he had acted as impulsively as Dylan ever had. At the time, he had given no thought to the ramifications of kissing Seona MacMurdoch.

He had acted with his heart, not his head.

Which was wrong. And weak. And foolish. Most of all, foolish.

Her presence in his quarters had to be part of a strategy, and her apparent sincerity only a trick.

Despite Seona’s denials, she must have been a willing participant in the plan. After all, no one had shoved her through the door or asked her to stay.

Griffydd slowly drew his sword from its scabbard. With deliberate movements he twisted it to and fro until his hand grew steady again.

Until he was master of himself again.

Disgusted with his own gullibility, Griffydd told himself he would think only of the trade pact. He would ignore Seona MacMurdoch, with her fascinating face, spirited manner and huge brown eyes.

She had deceived him once, and he would not let that happen again.

Seona came to a halt on top of the rise overlooking the harbor of Dunloch near the ruined broch. The cold air blew through her loose dress and whipped her hair about her face. It howled through the gaps in the stones of the ancient tower like the keening of mourning women before heading toward the fortress and village below. In the village, a few flickering lights occasionally shone out into the darkness of the night. The sound of drunken singing rose from her father’s hall, telling her that her father was in a jovial mood, obviously anticipating a considerable profit from his pact with the Welshman’s family.