Page 28

Something snapped within him. She was right, he was not entirely comfortable, but he was holding to his decision, because this was the right thing. If she kept insisting, she was increasing the heaviness and guilt in his chest.

“Just wear them!” he barked.

He didn’t want to snap at her. He had a glass bottle of uisge on the table against the opposite wall, and he walked there briskly and poured a goblet for himself and for her, then handed it to her. She sniffed it while he downed his drink. She tasted it and grimaced and gave the goblet back to him.

“There’s no need to spit fire, Aulay,” she said. “I just mean, I understand it can’t be easy for you to let another woman wear your wife’s clothes.”

He studied her, the creamy white of her skin, the lush breasts, the beautiful curve of her waist going into her round hips. “Mayhap ye understand,” he said. “But I canna trust anything ye say until I am sure ye’re telling the truth.”

He would get the truth out of her about the shipwreck, whatever it required.

Seeing her in his bedchamber was intoxicating—he couldn’t stop envisioning himself throwing her onto the bed and covering her with his body. If he tore that ridiculous dress to pieces, would her skin underneath it be just as soft as the skin on her face when he cupped it? He could fish the truth out of her that way…

Her chest rose and fell quickly, her gaze falling onto his bed and returning to him, dark and glossy.

She wanted him, too.

Slowly, he put the goblet back on the table and walked around her. She was standing with the clothes clutched to her stomach, breathing heavily.

“Stop pacing around me like a lion,” she said. “You won’t scare me.”

“Ye should be scared. I’m this close to doing something I very much want to but shouldn’t. Why did ye come up with all those strange lies? Do ye think I’m stupid? I didna build the richest clan of Scotland from nothing because I lack wits.”

Aye, his goblets were made of gold, his bed had a rich drapery and nice blankets, furs. A Persian rug lay on the floor. The chairs, the table, and the bed were made by master carpenters, with beautiful carvings on the handles and backs. An intricately carved ivory box that came all the way from the Orient stood on the table. The cross over the door was silver with golden decorations and rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. The swords and shields that hung on the walls dated back to Somerled himself, the great Norse-Gaelic warlord who, two hundred years ago, through his conquests, created the Kingdom of Argyll and the Isles. Somerled’s sons had started the MacDonald, Ruaidhrí, and MacDougall clans. These weapons were Aulay’s pride and glory. He’d hoped to give them to his son—a futile hope, it seemed.

She raised her chin and then did something that completely threw him off guard. She reached out to him with her hand and touched his lips with her fingertips. The touch was like a kiss, the brush delicate and sending a jolt of desire straight into his groin. Her eyes glistened with the heat he remembered from their kiss.

“I don’t care about your wealth,” she said. “Just let me leave this island.”

Let her go? He’d show her to tease him like that.

He took her by the hand, threw her onto his bed, and covered her with his body. She gasped and wriggled, trying to get out. So bonnie, with her cheeks flushed and her mouth red, her eyes glistening under her long lashes. Her body was soft and warm under him, all curves. He could feel her lush thighs that he’d like to spread with his knees and pleasure her, and watch her cheeks gain more color as she screamed his name in ecstasy.

“I have this wealth on this island ye want to leave so badly because I’m a trader. Because I have the fastest and best ships.”

With his arm supporting him and his hips holding her firmly in place, he painted a map on her chest. “We sell fleece to Bruges and Dordrecht in the Low Countries.” He made a long route down to her left breast. “We trade with Norway and France and Galicia. Other Mediterranean countries.” He gently brought his finger down between her breasts and then went back up again and circled her nipple, and she inhaled sharply. “We go as far as Iceland and Hamburg.” His finger went back up to her neck, and he gently traced it up to her chin.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, her skin flushed. He felt heat rush to his cock. God’s bones she was bonnie. “Great,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Behind England’s back”—he brought his fingers higher and cupped her face—“I trade with the Irish. Edward II has been hunting MacDonald ships in the Irish Sea, but we ken how to evade them and how to fight.”

He pressed his thumb against her lush lower lip. It reddened and became fuller. Oh, she wanted him like he wanted her. He craved to bite that lip gently and suck on it.

She wriggled under him, breathing heavily. “So? What are you trying to say?”

She felt so good under him. Christ, if he kissed her now, they wouldn’t be able to stop. He shouldn’t take advantage of her being his prisoner. He shouldn’t abuse that power, even though he really wanted to. He still didn’t trust her, but taking her would be about pleasure, not trust.

“I’m trying to say there’s nae people more skilled at sea than clan MacDonald. And yet, with all my ships and all my men, I canna find the English shipwreck. The shipwreck that ye survived. How?”

“I…” There was doubt in her eyes. A question. And fear. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“What are ye hiding, lass?”

She was silent for a while, seemingly having lost her breath. She pushed against him, and he let her go right away.

She stood up and paced the room, putting some distance between them. He sat up and leaned over his knees, watching her every move.

“You want to intimidate the shit out of me,” she said. “But it won’t work. You think I’m lying. But I want to tell you the truth, actually. Only, this truth will make you think I’m crazy.”