Her Enemy Highlander. Nicole Locke
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a bonnie lass...with curly hair...entered my room. But I promise if you lie with me on that there bed, I won’t be a clumsy lover.’
With the tips of his fingers, he started caressing her skin again. Behind her ear, down the cords of her neck, then across her shoulder, then up again to repeat.
Caird. He had a name. Not so much a stranger any more and his fingertips were doing strange things to her again.
‘If you lie with me, I promise to be the most skilled lover who has ever taken you.’ His voice was a low purr of pleasure. ‘My lovemaking won’t be fast. Urgent, aye. But I’ll take my time with you, lass. I’ll make sure my body moulds to yours so you won’t feel the chill of the night’s air.’
She could feel the roughened surface of his fingers, the heat from the palm of his hand. She felt naked under his gaze.
‘My hands will caress you. With heat, my tongue will taste your breasts. Ah, to see them, to feel how they’ll tighten.’
His words seared through her. She should have been shocked or at least offended by his intimate words. But instead she was captivated. Enticed.
‘I’ll make you crave my hands and my mouth as I stroke across your stomach.’ He flattened his hand until his entire palm slid low at the base of her throat. ‘Your legs will spread and my mouth and hands will move lower still.’
He must have loosened her ties or her thin gown was no barrier to his ministrations. He was pushing her gown down from her shoulders. The bodice loosened above her breasts and the sensation of the air’s coolness was nothing in comparison to the heat of his hands. She parted her lips to let in more air and didn’t mistake the look of triumph in his eyes.
What was she doing?
‘Nae!’ Swiping her arms to break his contact, she ran to the door and wrenched it open.
Blindly, Mairead entered the hall and rammed into a man heading towards the stairs. The impact knocked the wind from her and threw her back against the wall.
The man’s cloak loosened and his hood fell. She saw his face and the flash of a silver dagger tucked into a belt around his waist.
‘You!’ she cried.
Turning suddenly, the man took a moment to register who she was. His surprise held him still.
She found her tongue. ‘You thief! You murderer. Give me my—’
‘What’s going on here?’
Caird entered the hall. His loose tunic just covered him, but didn’t hide the sword he carried.
Mairead blinked. Had he grabbed the sword before or after she cried out?
The man adjusted his cloak. His eyes turned calculating. With Caird here, she didn’t know what to do. If she made accusations, the questions would be numerous. Kissing Caird didn’t mean she trusted him. The dagger was too valuable.
Even lunging for the dagger would be futile. She had no weapon with which to fight. At best she’d get hurt. At worst, killed.
Her plan of stealing the dagger and returning home was now impossible. Her hands were tied. By the look of the gleam in the man’s eyes, he had come to the same conclusion.
The man inclined his head; his lips a smirk. ‘Pardon, wench. I see you are already detained for this evening. I meant nae harm.’
‘What’s this!’ Caird indicated with his sword. ‘Is this your friend?’
Mairead didn’t even think. Caird seemed...uncontrolled. His stance widened, his tunic not covering the aggression and tightening of muscles in his legs. He looked like he was about to spring. Maybe she did have a weapon she could use. Her practised Buchanan lying would come in handy.
She nodded haughtily. ‘Aye, and now he leaves like a thief in the night.’
‘A thief?’ Caird looked at her closely. His eyes narrowed, his posture becoming even larger. ‘He’s ripped your gown!’
She looked down. Somewhere between Caird’s expert hands and the impact with the murderer, her well-worn gown had torn. Horrified, she frantically adjusted the thin strips of cloth covering her breasts. It was useless and she kept her hands across her chest.
The murderer sensed the change in the air and attempted to put up his hood. ‘I never touched the wench! This is all untoward; I bid you both goodnight.’
The swift whip of air was all she heard as Caird’s sword came up in front of the man. He could move, but only if he wanted to be cut in half.
‘She called you thief,’ Caird said. ‘Exactly what were you thieving?’
‘Nothing, the wench—’
‘Stop...calling her wench; she’s a lady compared to the likes of you.’
The man’s entire demeanour changed from umbrage to overly pleasing. He raised his hands, and shrugged his shoulders as if in defeat. ‘You are welcome to the lady. It was an accident. She bumped—’
‘It wasn’t an accident!’ she interrupted. Mairead wouldn’t let the man’s false humbleness ruin her only chance for retrieving the dagger. ‘This is the man I was to meet. But he saw me come from your room and in a rage he tore my gown!’
The man’s eyes widened in fright; if it wasn’t dark, she’d swear she saw sweat break over his brow. Even better, he looked guilty. Good, he should feel guilt. Especially since she was wishing him dead.
Caird’s sword sliced the cloak’s tie under the man’s chin. The cloak billowed to the ground, revealing her dagger and a sword strapped to his belt.
‘You need to apologise to the lady,’ Caird said.
‘But I didn’t—’
Another slight movement and this time the sword neatly slashed the man’s tunic. Right across his heart.
Mairead bit her lip to hide her reaction. Grief, desperation, anger...and now this?
Caird did everything she wished to do, but it wasn’t enough, not for what this man, this thief, had taken from her. She wanted to swipe the sword and slice the black heart of her brother’s killer.
The man’s eyes grew wide. There was no calculating gleam there now. His eyes darted to the sword, to Mairead and then to the staircase; his right hand visibly twitched. Was it because he feared Caird? She hoped so.
Being half-undressed didn’t make Caird look vulnerable. In fact, his well-muscled, well-trained body looked more formidable than the sword he held. She couldn’t believe she had curled her body around the man as if he was safe. Right now, he looked anything but safe.
A flash of movement.
‘The stairs!’ she yelled.
Caird lunged, but the murderer wasn’t planning escape. He had the dagger in his hand and he swung it around. Moving his sword and body to the side, Caird pounded his great fist on the man’s head.
The murderer teetered on the edge of the stairs. Caird clutched the man’s shredded tunic. It tore and the murderer tumbled down the stairs like wet clothes in a river.
A door opened behind them and a tall lean man stepped out. His short dark hair was tousled, and a lock fell over his forehead. A recently healed scar ran the length of his left cheek and down across his bare chest. He looked menacing even as he carelessly leaned against the doorframe and looked pointedly at Caird, Mairead, then the man crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.
His lips quirked before he burst out laughing. When he was done, he pretended to wipe his very green eyes and asked, ‘Need any help?’
‘You took your sweet