Page 10 of Her Highland Destiny

“I believe you do not wish to fight me.” She eased from her crouch into a more comfortable sitting position beside him, her legs crossing beneath the heavy length of her skirt. The wool lay against her calves and outlined the fine curves. “You said as much before. Do you still feel that way?”

This lass made him think little of battle and more of loving. A strange consideration, as he had not been tempted in many, many years. Not since Allisandre. Ten long years ago.

He sat up in his bedroll and assumed a similarly relaxed posture with one arm casually slung over his bent right knee. “I dinna want to fight ye. But I fear it may be unavoidable.”

Her eyes settled on him, pale in the firelight. But he’d seen them in the daylight and knew them to be the fairest blue, like an iced loch in the middle of winter and rimmed with a ring of sapphire. They were fringed with lashes as dark as her black curls, and just as thick. Eyes that could steal a man’s soul.

“Because you have the stone,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he answered in a gravelly voice. “Because I have it and I know ye want it.”

4

Cassandra leaned toward the warrior with the dark mysterious eyes, half crawling to the lure of him. His heartbeat mingled with the earth and thrummed in a sweet, enticing melody. She had sensed it before, she realized, when she’d first seen him.

But, at the time, her heart had been pounding too loud in her ears to discern it in the chaos.

She stared down at his massive chest, where a slight lump rose from beneath his chain mail. The stone. Her body edged forward as though drawn toward him. She lifted her gaze to his penetrating stare.

“Aye,” she said in a sultry tone she did not recognize as her own. “I want the stone.”

His gaze trailed over her body, bold and unabashed. She ought to have been offended by his impertinence and should have been inclined to deliver a righteous slap upon his cheek. And yet her heart pounded too hard for her to move. Her blood ignited with a delicious heat and her nipples prickled with a sexual consciousness she’d not yet experienced.

“Is that all ye want?” he asked in a thick brogue. His eyes glittered with understanding in the low light.

His brow was creased with a lifetime of worry, but his lips were full and supple beneath his neatly trimmed beard. She found herself watching his mouth, wondering what it might feel like against hers, what he might taste like.

“I think ye’d taste like apples.” He leaned on one arm, moving closer. “Crisp and sweet and fresh.”

The breath fled her lips and her throat went dry. A virgin’s fear within her warred with a woman’s curiosity.

“That’s what ye smell like.” His eyes lowered and she realized he stared at her mouth with the same intensity as she gazed at his.

“Like what?” she breathed.

“Apples.” He said it in a growling exhale, the sound intimately primitive.

Except it didn’t scare her, it excited her. The blood shot quickly through her veins with heat and an anticipation she did not understand. She wanted to experience it all - the quiet, cool night, the wash of flickering golden light, the heady power of the stone blazing only inches from her hand, and that beautiful mouth set beneath the darkness of his beard.

“I smell like apples.” Her lips curled at the thought.

“If ye dinna mean to kill me, why come here?” He shifted nearer still, until he was practically bowing over her.

Cassandra’s body thrummed with heat and longing. Should she feel this way about the man with whom she was supposed to be locked in a lifelong battle? It hadn’t occurred to her to ask Morag at the time.

But then, she had never expected to feel this.

The heat of desire was unmistakable. She stared up at him, not backing down from his question.

“Why are ye here, Protector?” His gaze raked down her body.

She arched her breasts upward, her essence alight with sexuality. With need.

“For the stone,” she gasped. “For you.”

“For me.” He caught her waist in his massive arms and dragged her body against his.

A surprised moan escaped her lips. He could kill her right now, drag a blade across her exposed throat while her core burned with lust. She ought to flee.