The Highlander's Christmas Quest Page 10

  "Ye could kiss me here," she suggested, turning to face him.

  Dougal arched his eyebrows in exaggerated horror. "For shame, Miss Macbain, it’s a church."

  "God willnae mind."

  "In that case…"

  His embrace firmed, and his lips met hers. She kissed him back with all the love overflowing from her heart, but soon the moment came when she wanted to touch him. To her displeasure, when she wriggled to loosen the cape, he lifted his head.

  "It’s too cold to do this here. Hold tight to the rigging." Before she could muster a word of protest, he slung her up in his arms and strode out into the open.

  "Someone might see," she said, even as she cuddled closer. On this freezing winter day, he was as warm as a furnace.

  "At this hour on Boxing Day, my love, the only creatures stirring on all of Askaval are ye and me, and perhaps that fine pony of yours. Everyone else will be sound asleep or nursing a sore head."

  "Put me down. I can walk." Although there was something breathtakingly thrilling about a big, powerful man hoisting her around as if she weighed no more than a kitten.

  "Och, what sort of a kidnapping would that be?"

  She snuggled closer, inhaling lungfuls of his delicious scent. As she told him, she knew that scent better than her own name. Salt and lemon soap, and the warm essence of Dougal himself. It was the fragrance of paradise to her, and it proved that the impossible had happened. He’d come back to her, and they were to be married in a couple of weeks.

  "Nice to see you’re in your breeches. I feared now you’re a respectable betrothed woman, ye might decide it was skirts all the way."

  "Well, some saucy laddie asked me if I’d wear them. And I hate to disappoint a saucy laddie. Are ye taking me back to Tigh na Mara?"

  He gave a dismissive grunt. "Kirsty, my bonny, you’re no’ listening to me. Returning ye safely to your father isnae much of a kidnapping either."

  She untangled one hand from beneath the cloak and curled it around his neck. Now that her surprise, if not her desperate curiosity receded, she started to take in a few more physical details. He was wearing a black greatcoat and a tricorn hat that he must have borrowed from her father. His thick hair was tied back in a tidy queue that she itched to muss. She loved seeing him with his rich auburn hair flowing down his back.

  "Dougal, ye dinnae have to kidnap me. I’ll go wherever you wish."

  For the first time, she met his eyes. The heat in that glittering blue sizzled along her veins and made her toes curl in her shiny black boots. Dear heaven, he didn’t look like an angel. Instead he looked like a pirate. "That sounds gey wifely, mo chridhe."

  They’d left the church behind now, and Dougal’s booted feet crunched over the dead leaves littering the ground. She glanced around the windswept woods.

  "We arenae heading toward home." Except the truth was that from the moment she first saw him, home for her was with Dougal.

  "I told ye we’re no’ going to Tigh na Mara."

  "So where are we going?"

  Even from below, she saw that jaw firm. "Somewhere I can be sure nae loving parents or nosy islanders are likely to interrupt us. Are ye afraid?"

  "Terrified," she said. "Will ye kiss me when we get there?"

  "Would I be a kidnapper worth my salt if I didnae?"

  She stroked the back of his neck. "You’ve always been a knight in shining armor. This new marauder personality isnae too convincing."

  "You’re no’ getting into the proper spirit of this, lassie." He shot her a disapproving glance down his long, straight nose. "I’ll have to work harder."

  "You’re chivalry personified."

  "That would be a pity, when I’ve given up all ambition to play Sir Galahad."

  They left the woods and crossed the grassy headland above the beach. "Is that so?"

  "Aye. You’re in the hands of a ruthless pirate."

  She’d had a moment of thinking him a pirate. It hadn’t lasted. "Ye dinnae have to steal me away at all."

  "You’re no’ offering me much of a challenge, Kirsty." His disappointed sigh was no more convincing than his buccaneer act. When he climbed a rise, she saw what she expected to see. The Kestrel pulled up on the beach below them. "I set off from Bruard, vowing I’d rescue a maiden from an island and make her mine. By hook or by crook, that’s just what I intend to do."

  Odd how the reference to Fair Ellen didn’t sting. It always had before. "I dinnae need rescuing."

  "That’s what ye think." He hitched her higher in his arms and descended the brae to the small beach.

  Kirsty didn’t protest when he set her on the seat in the narrow stern with a gentleness that would disgrace any genuine pirate. Nor did she make any attempt to escape when he pushed the boat into the water and jumped in. Why would she? She was exactly where she wanted to be.

  The Kestrel rocked wildly as he came aboard, and she placed her hands on the gunwales to keep her place. This side of Askaval was usually useless as an anchorage because of the prevailing winds, but since the storm on Christmas Eve, the winds had changed direction. The winds had changed direction for her, too, and promised to blow fair, when two days ago, she’d predicted nothing but dismal weather ahead.

  "Where are ye taking me?"

  He set the sail. Her beloved really was a pleasure to watch, large and graceful and competent. She shivered and wrapped his cloak more tightly around herself, but her trembling had more to do with anticipation than with the teasing breeze. Because he wasn’t the only one who hungered for time to explore their love.

  Before he came to sit beside her, Dougal removed his hat and set it safely under the seat. He took the tiller, while his other hand held the rope that controlled the sail. "I told ye. I want to get ye alone."

  She curled her hand around his brawny arm. Even through several layers of clothing, she felt his radiant heat seep through into her skin.

  "Papa will worry. Perhaps we should stay on Askaval and help clean up after the ceilidh. Ye can kidnap me this afternoon after we’ve had our dinner."

  He frowned at her, although the sparkle in his eyes made her giddy heart skip around like a spring lamb. "You’re a gey practical captive, lassie. Are ye no’ one bit nervous?"

  "Should I be?"

  "Perhaps ye should wait and hear what I’ve got in mind. Any sensible girl would be beside herself, by God."

  "I’m brave enough to face anything ye can bring."

  "I know ye are, Kirsty." And for the first time that day, laughter didn’t edge his deep voice. "Also I might just have told your papa that I was taking ye out for a sail and no’ to expect us until this evening."

  Definitely Sir Galahad rather than a pirate, but she kept the observation to herself. Although perhaps Sir Galahad with a naughty spark in his eye, now she looked at him more closely. "He’ll think we’re up to something."

  "And he might just be right."

  She had a moment to digest that. At last, she felt a twinge of genuine disquiet. "Dougal…"

  "We’ll talk about it when we get there, mo chridhe." His brilliant smile soothed her fears, although it shouldn’t. She’d never seen a man more intent on wickedness. "Now hold tight while I steal ye away to my lair."

  "I cannae wait." She already had an idea of where they might be going. A scattering of small fertile isles surrounded Askaval, unpopulated except in summer when the islanders ferried their sheep across to enjoy the rich grazing. These isles were the secret behind Askaval’s famously flavorsome and tender lamb.

  He gave another theatrical sigh. "Your cooperation is spoiling what I’d hoped would be an exciting story to tell our bairns, mo chridhe."

  More anticipation rushed through her blood. "Bairns, is it? That seems rather a long step from where we are now, my arrogant laddie."

  This time, he smiled at her with a sweetness she’d never seen before. Her heart flipped over and turned to sugar. How on earth could she resist him?

  "Aye, well, we have a lot of talking to do and
a lot of plans to make. But let’s wait until we’re on dry land and I’m no’ battling to control a captive and a boat in a choppy sea."

  "The captive isnae giving ye much trouble."

  "I wouldnae say that. I’d say she’s given me nothing but trouble."

  Dougal didn’t sound like he minded too much. Kirsty settled close to his side and let him steer his boat. Right now, she didn’t care where he took her, as long as he stayed near and kept calling her his heart in soft Gaelic.

  Once the Kestrel came out of the small bay, she caught the breeze and sliced through the waves like a knife through butter. They passed the closest, smallest islands, then jibbed toward the pier on the largest one further out to sea. Seal Island boasted the most substantial dwelling on these skerries.

  Unsurprised Kirsty noticed smoke rising from the snug bothy’s chimney. "How did ye know about Seal Island?"

  "I’ve managed to have a few chats with the islanders without ye hovering at my elbow." He leaped onto the pier and tied up the Kestrel. Then he bent toward her with a smile turning his eyes to sapphire. He held out his hand. "Come, Miss Macbain."

  Chapter 11

  Despite seeing the smoke outside, Kirsty was surprised to find the cottage set up with a roaring fire and food and a bottle of wine. "Where did all this come from?"

  Dougal closed the door behind him, shutting the two of them into this small space. She gulped in trepidation as she looked around, noticing that the big bed in the corner was made up with finer sheets than the islanders usually ran to. Another ripple of fear that wasn’t entirely fear ran through her.

  "You’re no’ the only one who can sneak around Askaval, doing devious things in the middle of the night, lassie." He swept his greatcoat off and hung it on the hook near the door.

  "It’s all from Tigh na Mara?"

  "Where else?" He stood in front of her and regarded her with steady, searching eyes.

  She still wore the cloak he’d wrapped around her at Saint Ninian’s. Slowly she took it off and set it on a chair, all the while keeping her eyes glued to his.

  Somewhere on the trip over to the island, she’d made a decision. This might be their only private moment before they married. With such a short engagement, they’d both be whirled away into a flurry of wedding preparations. She loved this man, and this was her chance to show him how much.

  "Will ye kiss me, Dougal? Ye promised you would."

  After removing her jacket, she raised her hands and began to undo her plait. As he watched her, his eyes darkened with stirring carnal interest.

  She spread her fingers and ran them through her thick dark hair to loosen it from its confinement. Shrugging off her short coat, she stepped closer. "I wish I was wearing silk and lace."

  He made a dismissive gesture. "I dinnae give a rat’s arse what you’re wearing. It’s ye I want."

  Another long voluptuous shiver. She tugged her plain white shirt free of her breeches. "And it’s ye I want. Show me what you feel."

  He stepped back with a shocked expression on his face. "Kirsty, ye misunderstand me. I didnae bring you here to seduce ye."

  She arched her eyebrows in disbelief. Despite her appearance of confidence, her heart was racing with nerves. "What about the fine bed linen?"

  He sighed. "Aye, well, perhaps that was more wishful thinking than actual intention."

  "Perhaps I’ll seduce ye." She gave a low laugh. "Dougal, you’re blushing."

  His smile was wry. "Aye, that I am."

  "Chivalry again."

  "Och, no, I’ve abandoned chivalry. I told ye."

  "You’ll never abandon chivalry." It was her turn for a wry smile. "You’re still my perfect knight."

  He looked uncomfortable. "Ye wouldnae say that if you knew what was going through my mind right now."

  "How intriguing." She pulled her shirt over her head. She dropped it to the wooden floor, a luxury in a crofter’s cottage like this. Beneath her shirt, she wore a warm woolen vest that preserved her modesty. For the moment.

  He backed away. "Kirsty, ye should stop. I promised your father I’d return ye to him as pure as you are now."

  Definitely not a pirate. "I’m no’ feeling very pure."

  He sighed and reached out a hand to cup the side of her face. The moment his fingers made contact with her cheek, she saw his expression change. "Neither am I, my bonny lassie."

  "I want ye to make me yours, Dougal," she whispered, staring into his brilliant eyes.

  She saw honor battle with desire in his face. As she knew it must, desire emerged victorious. "Kirsty, are ye sure?"

  "Ye know," she said in a hushed voice, as if she shared a precious secret, "there’s a Highland tradition of handfasting. If I pledge myself to ye and ye pledge yourself to me, we’re wed fair and square."

  He lifted his other hand until he cradled her head between his palms. When he stepped closer, her heart crashed against her ribs then faltered to a trembling stop.

  "I pledge myself to ye, Kirsty Macbain." His voice was deep and resonant with feeling.

  Happiness flooded her, yet absurdly she had to blink away tears. She put her arms around him. "And I pledge myself to ye, Dougal Drummond. Forever."

  "Och, mo chridhe," he murmured and placed his lips on hers in a kiss that confirmed the sacred promise they made.

  Kirsty moved far enough away to smooth the ruffled hair back from his face. She loved the texture of his hair, heavy and silky and warm like the rest of him. It only gradually dawned on her that he’d given her leave to touch him as much as she wanted to. And she wanted to, by heaven. He angled his head into her caress like a cat being stroked.

  Dougal stepped back, which she didn’t like. Then he caught her hands and brought them to his lips for a fervent kiss which combined homage and seduction. Kirsty wasn’t proof against the heady mixture. Her breath caught in her lungs, and her knees turned wobbly.

  He looked at her as if he beheld a goddess. When he looked at her that way, she felt like a goddess. "My darling…"

  She shivered, and he paused. "What is it?"

  "I love it when ye say that to me."

  His soft kiss on her lips felt like worship. "You’ll get used to it."

  She shook her head. "I dinnae think so."

  He went back to kissing her. All of Kirsty’s wild longing exploded into incendiary bliss. She sank into his kiss, so lost in the universe of sensation that it was a surprise when he lifted her in his arms and carried her across to the bed. With shaking hands, he slid away her vest and his own waistcoat and shirt. Her greedy hands started to explore the broad, muscled planes of his chest and shoulders.

  His lips and hands were everywhere, making her sigh and gasp. When he bent his head to kiss her breasts, a cry of astonishment escaped her. He drew one nipple between his lips, and a surge of arousal jolted her. Throbbing heat set up between her thighs, and she twisted against the bed in search of some relief from this tormenting delight.

  There was some confused wriggling, sighs of delight, and breathless laughter as he broke off from covering her in a rain of kisses to remove her boots and breeches.

  For the first time in her life, she was naked with a man. She trembled, as she felt the air on her bare skin, although it wasn’t cold in the cottage. But when his gaze fixed on her, an ocean of heat flooded her. Some of it was shyness. The rest was invincible desire. "Dougal…"

  Again that sweet smile that told her how much he loved her, and pleasure swamped her brief embarrassment.

  "You’re so beautiful," he said softly.

  He leaned over her to kiss her until she couldn’t see straight, let alone worry about silly ideas like modesty.

  Her seeking hand stroked his back and chest, rubbing the crisp curls of auburn hair that covered his pectorals. The curls arrowed down across his flat stomach to disappear beneath the top of his breeches. Breeches that did little to hide his excitement.

  "May I… May I touch you?" she stammered, as he scraped his teeth down her nec
k. That drove her mad, made speech difficult.

  "Aye, my love. Please."

  He caught her hand, and for the first time, she noticed he was trembling, too. He pressed her palm flat against the front of his breeches. Something large and hard and vital swelled under her touch.

  He groaned as round-eyed, she stared up at him. "You’re big."

  A strangled laugh emerged, as he bumped his hips forward so her hand shaped itself to his virility. Even through the doeskin covering him, he felt so powerfully alive. The pounding pulse between her legs became more insistent, shaking her whole body. This was the part of him he’d put inside her when he made his ultimate claim on her. Once he did that, she’d be a virgin no more, but Dougal Drummond’s woman.

  He reached up to release the cord tying his hair. It fell about his shoulders in a rich red tumble. Kirsty’s heart squeezed with longing. He was so beautiful, and she’d been so sure he was lost to her. She could hardly believe that he was with her now, in a fever to make her his.

  "Are ye afraid?" He cupped her breast, and his thumb played with the tight point of her nipple until she shifted in impatience.

  "No…" she said on a moan. She wriggled again. "Aye."

  Her heart played a violent game of leapfrog in her chest. She closed her eyes in rapture as he rolled her nipple between thumb and index finger. "Blast ye, Dougal, how on earth do you expect me to think, let alone talk when ye do that?"

  He gave a soft laugh and bent to kiss the other nipple. The soft flutter of his tongue tightened every muscle in her body and made her press her hand against his breeches. To her amazement, she felt him harden beneath her touch, when he was so hard already.

  "You’re ready for me," she said on a raw exhalation.

  "Aye." He drew away to roll out of the bed. With dazed eyes, she watched him drag off his boots and unbutton his breeches and haul them down. Painful tenderness scraped at her heart when she noticed that Dougal, who was never clumsy, had difficulty controlling his hands as he fumbled with the fastenings.

  Once he stood bare in front of her, awe replaced tenderness. Tall, potent, perfectly made. Her gaze dropped to the huge, insistent part of him that rose against his belly from a nest of russet hair. Another thrill coursed through her, made her shiver.