He couldn’t concentrate on anything but the elusive grasp of her hand. “Surprise me,” he said with difficulty.
She did.
Rather than take him in her hand, she slithered down his chest, kissing and licking along her dangerously slow path. Rory couldn’t think; a red haze clouded his vision, and the blood pounded in his ears. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, giving her time to find her way.
Oh God, she was so close. He ached for the press of her warm, hot mouth around him, sucking, taking him deeper. Suddenly, she stopped. His eyes flew open. Her mouth was inches from him. While he was watching, her tongue flicked out to lick him. His ass clenched as he fought the overwhelming rush of heat. Their eyes met and held. It was the most erotic, intimate moment of his life.
“Mercy?” she asked.
Rory couldn’t speak, he was too damn close to bursting. Her tongue swirled around his thick head. Every muscle in his body tightened. “Mercy,” he choked.
She chuckled and finally slid him into her warm mouth. Her soft pink lips surrounded him, pulling him deeper as her tongue slid against him. He showed her how to take him deep and how to use her hand because there was too much of him. Finally, when he couldn’t take any more, he pulled her on top of him, entering her in one hard thrust.
He held her hips as she moved up and down, clenching him like a silken glove with her muscles. Rory was out of his mind with need. She arched her back, and he knew she was close. He lifted her harder, faster, until she tensed, shuddered, and broke apart. Rory felt the pressure of his own release build from the deepest part of him. The intensity shook him. Every muscle, every fiber of his being, compressed in one hot moment, tightened, and then shattered into a thousand pieces. She rocked against him, wringing every last drop from his climax.
Rory felt as if the life’s blood had been drained out of him. He couldn’t have moved if the tower were on fire. Slowly, the feeling returned to his limbs, and the haze faded. It took him a moment to realize what he had done. He’d spilled his seed inside her, a mistake he’d not made since the first time. A mistake that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with what he knew in his heart. He’d told her with his body, the words he could not say. He loved her. But the realization did not change the fact that he might be forced to marry another. And now he might have gotten her with child. Their child.
What had he done?
He reached over and slid a finger under her chin. “I’m sorry, lass.”
She pressed her fingers over his mouth. “Shush. Don’t.” Ruin it, he heard her unspoken plea.
He didn’t need to say anything. They both knew it would make no difference. If need be, Rory would do what he had to do. But the thought of Isabel bearing his child…
It would tear out his heart.
He couldn’t allow it to happen. The stakes had grown too high. He pulled her tight against him, tucking her under his arm and pressing his lips to her head. The idea that had taken hold two days ago could be the answer to all their problems.
The alternative had become unthinkable.
Chapter 20
By late the following afternoon, Isabel had to smother a yawn behind her hand. It had been a long day following a short—very short—night. Peeking out from beneath her lashes at the man riding beside her, she hoped he hadn’t noticed. Thankfully, Rory seemed involved in his conversation with Alex and Douglas.
She shifted her bottom in the saddle uncomfortably. It galled her to admit it, but she was beginning to feel sore after not having sat a horse at any length for some time. They had traveled much farther than they’d originally intended—a distance of nearly six leagues—past the coastal village of Bracadale and nearly halfway to Sligachan before turning back toward Dunvegan. The splendor of the spring infusing the countryside had urged them on with its vibrant color and fresh beauty. Shades of lavender from the heather and lime from the grassy moors undulated with the breeze. Isabel welcomed the opportunity to leave Dunvegan and explore Skye, but it was getting late and exhaustion from the excitement of the last few days was catching up with her.
Rory had warned her that it would be too tiring, especially after their vigorous victory celebration, but Isabel had insisted on accompanying him and his men as they escorted her family, Argyll, and the MacCrimmons partway on their long journey south toward Armadale. Now she wished she had heeded his warning. Her mouth twisted. Though she’d never admit as much to Rory. He’d just look at her with that inscrutable expression, but she’d know exactly what he was thinking: I told you so.
He knew her so well. At times, it seemed, better than she knew herself.
Isabel’s thoughts kept drifting to the night before. Even with the extensive lovemaking of the past few months thoroughly expunging her innocence, she could not prevent the deep blush that crept up her cheeks at the memory of her all too willing surrender to the marauding warrior bent on wreaking new havoc on her senses.
And last night he’d held nothing back, spending himself deep inside her.
She tried not to put too much significance on what had happened, but it was impossible not to hope. Rory was not a man to make the same mistake twice—especially when he’d been so careful after that first night. Was he starting to see her as a part of his future? A future that after her conversation with Ian now seemed possible? All she needed to do was mollify her uncle and find a way to give Rory the land that was the source of the feud—that didn’t involve marriage to someone else. Isabel was not without friends in the royal household. Perhaps she could help Rory. But how?
A strong, unusually warm coastal breeze tore an errant lock of hair from its feckless restraint. The red gold silken threads flew haphazardly across her face, tickling her nose and momentarily obscuring her view. Annoyed, Isabel captured the defiant tresses with her fingers and tucked them securely behind her ear.
They’d departed Dunvegan not long after breaking their fast, but the day was nearly gone. The rose-hued sun lingered on the late afternoon horizon as they skirted the woodland and steered their mounts toward Dunvegan village only a few furlongs ahead. Almost home. She could soon relax. The incident in the forest was still too fresh in her mind, and she was glad Rory had insisted they take the longer route around rather than risk another attack in the forest. She wondered if it was more for her benefit. Did he realize how the shadowy darkness of the trees terrified her?
Caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t realize Rory had been watching her. “Tired?” he asked innocently.
Isabel straightened her back and thrust back her shoulders, ignoring the shot of pain in her aching back. “Not at all.”
“Stubborn lass.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, ’tis not much farther.”
“Will we be back before dark?”
Rory nodded. “We can pick up our pace when Colin returns.”
They’d traveled slowly, enabling Colin and a small party of warriors to scout ahead of them as they rode. Rory was not taking any chances. With the Highland gathering and temporary truce behind them, Isabel knew that Rory anticipated an attack from the Mackenzies. In fact, Douglas had led a small party of MacLeod warriors to follow the Mackenzies early that morning to ensure that they departed Kyle Akin, where they would cross to Kyle of Lochalsh. Rory had also kept a close eye on Sleat, who had traveled in the party with her family as far as Dunscaith Castle. Dunscaith was very close to Armadale, where Argyll and her father would then cross to Mallaig.
She inhaled the salt-filled air. The sea was close. The birlinns moored along the shore in the village would carry them back to Dunvegan.
The deep laughter of men echoed in her ears. The MacLeods were still basking in the glow of their resounding victory. For most of the journey, she’d been subjected to the loud, boastful banter of Rory’s warriors replaying every second of the various trials of skill and strength that had taken place over the past few days.
As the stories were mostly about him, Rory kept unusually silent, but he did seem amused by
the more exaggerated retellings. Yet even though he seemed relaxed, Isabel knew he was constantly alert to their surroundings. She was watching him so closely, she noticed him tense.
“What’s wrong?” Isabel teased. “Are the stories of your legendary skills not to your liking?”
Ignoring her gentle ribbing, he frowned. “Colin should have returned by now.”
Isabel felt a shiver of fear creep down her spine, but Rory’s presence prevented her from panicking. “Do you think…?” She didn’t want to voice her fears.
“I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances.” He halted his men and began issuing his commands; the sudden pounding of hooves stopped him. It was Colin, and from the blood running down his arm, Isabel knew what had happened.
“Mackenzies,” Colin gasped, his breathing labored from his hard ride. He pointed. “About a score of them, ahead.” He looked directly at Rory. “They were waiting by the boats, but now they’re heading in this direction.”
“Mackenzies?” Isabel echoed. Her blood ran cold. “But Douglas watched them cross the kyle this morning.”
“It was a trick,” Rory said. “The Mackenzie did not send all his men to the gathering. He must have sent others separately, in secret, trying to catch us unaware.” But Rory was never unaware. As he began to shout his commands, Isabel realized that he’d anticipated something like this. If it weren’t for her presence, Isabel suspected he’d be looking forward to the fight. He seemed to thrive on the pressure, on the danger. Except when he looked to her; then he looked worried. “Isabel, stay close to Alex. He will lead you from harm.” She didn’t want to leave him, but he must have read her thoughts. “You will obey me. We don’t have much time, they’ll try to surround us.” Even as he spoke, Isabel could hear the sounds of horses coming from behind. To Alex he said in a low voice, “Take her through the trees. We will meet you at the boats. And Alex, you know with what I entrust you?”
Alex met his brother’s gaze and nodded, then spun his horse around.
“You’ll be careful,” she pleaded.
His gaze met hers, and something passed between them. An intensity of emotion that bore deep into her bones. “Aye, lass,” he said gently, “now hurry.”
With one long look at Rory, she turned after Alex. The Mackenzies were heading straight for them, having just crested the small rise ahead of them. Arrows started to fly. Her heart pounded with fear. What if something happened to Rory? What if she never saw him again? She should have kissed him, told him that she loved him, but it was already too late.
Rory and his men attacked right in the direction of the flying arrows.
“Hurry, Isabel,” Alex shouted.
Only the knowledge that her presence would endanger Rory even more gave Isabel the strength to leave him. She would not make the same mistake she’d made before. Rory was the greatest warrior she’d ever beheld; his skills would not fail him. Still, she could not quiet the voice in her head that reminded her even Achilles had his heel.
The fierce battle cry of the MacLeods echoed in her ears as she followed Alex into the forest at breakneck speed. The light was fading fast. She couldn’t repress the shudder of trepidation that moved over her as the memories assailed her. The forest. Dusk. It was too eerily similar. Fear rose in the back of her throat, but she tamped it down.
They rode for a few minutes, but her thoughts never strayed far from the battle taking place behind them or the man who was waging it. Please, don’t let anything happen to him. Suddenly, she heard a shout behind them.
“Alex! Behind you.”
Relief swept over her. It was Rory. He’d followed them through the trees. Her relief, however, was short-lived as an arrow flew by her, missing Alex by inches. Isabel looked behind her to see a handful of Mackenzies hard on their trail. Alex stopped and quickly brought his horse around, positioning himself between her and danger. He raised his claymore just as the Mackenzies descended on them. Isabel heard the clatter of steel as the fighting began.
Alex held them off until Rory could catch up to him. With the two of them, the small band of Mackenzies didn’t stand a chance. Isabel stared in horrified fascination as Alex and Rory methodically, ruthlessly, dispatched their enemy.
They were so close to escaping unharmed. But just as Rory lifted his claymore on the final man, a lone arrow shot from the trees found its mark straight into Rory’s gut. He slumped forward over the thick neck of his powerful warhorse. His golden hair draped over the shiny black coat of his destrier. Blood spread across his saffron-colored leine croich, staining it a horribly deep, dark, saturated red.
For one terrifying moment, Isabel’s heart stopped. Time stood still. He is dead. When a piercing, animalistic scream tore shrilly through the clear day, she didn’t realize that the sound had come from her.
“No!” Her guttural cry sounded no more than a whisper.
Rory lifted his head, and their eyes met. Wordlessly, he sought to comfort her. He was alive.
Slowly she exhaled.
When Rory spoke, he addressed Alex, his voice weak and raspy. “Another group must have followed. Use the old passage. Hurry.” Isabel noticed his knuckles were stark white as he clenched the reins, fighting to hold himself upright on his horse.
Isabel felt panic grip her chest, catching her breath in its tight hold. She felt smothered by an invisible cloak of horror. This couldn’t be happening.
Alex recognized her panic and brought her back to reality with the cold, calm voice of authority. “Isabel, collect yourself. Do not fall apart on me. Move quickly now, we have to get Rory back to Dunvegan.” His words acted like a physical shake. “Do you understand? If we do not get him back, he will die. It is our only chance. We must move now before they have time to surround us.”
She nodded. Her voice seemed stuck in her throat.
Alex grabbed the reins of Rory’s horse and raced through the cover of the woods. Tears flew from the corners of Isabel’s eyes, aided by the force of the wind as her horse pounded through the underbrush. Heedless of the branches scraping her cheeks, she followed Alex at a terrifying speed as he led them north toward Dunvegan through the woodlands, skirting the open coastline and shaggy moors where the Mackenzies had waited. Even now she could hear the wild cries of their pursuers just behind them, excitedly closing in for the kill.
Rory’s head bounced awkwardly over the neck of his horse. The thought of the pressure of the arrow on him with each rough stride of his horse acted like a knife twisting in her own stomach. I can’t lose him. The pain must be excruciating. He would never survive. She’d seen injuries like this before and knew it would be a miracle if he survived even the day.
“Not much farther, Isabel, don’t slow down. We’re almost there!” Alex yelled, his words almost lost, muffled by the crashing thunder of hooves.
Isabel forced her mount faster. Never very good with directions, she knew if she lost sight of Alex and Rory, she would never find her way out. If the Mackenzies didn’t find her first.
“They’re up ahead, we’ve almost got ’em.” The Mackenzies sounded close, too close. As if they were right behind her.
“Faster, Alex, they’re gaining on us. We’ll never be able to hold them off.”
“We’re almost there.”
He headed left toward the coast and led them along the edge of the woods, through more dense underbrush and down a well-covered path that led to the rocky shoreline. They had reached the tiny inlet of the loch just south of the castle. There was nowhere left to go. Above them, perched high on its rock of inaccessibility, Isabel could see the castle not one hundred feet in front of her. So close to safety. But they might as well have been in Edinburgh. To reach the castle, they would have to fly or swim. The loch surrounded Dunvegan on one side, and on the other, the landward side, a cavernous rocky trench fronted it.
“Where are we going?” she shouted ahead to Alex.
“Just follow me.”
She could no longer see Rory. Alex had urged Ror
y’s horse ahead, and there was barely enough width on the rocky coastline for the horses to travel single file. Please let him live.
Alex led them around the inlet and headed straight for the rocky cliff where the edge of the steep crag met the edge of the trees. Isabel cautiously raised her eyes to the ominous thirty-foot sheer wall of rock and the curtain wall of the castle that rose high above it. There was no way in. Unless Alex planned to scale the wall with Rory on his back, they were cut off by water on one side and inaccessible terrain on the other.
Alex slowed his pace and headed straight for a large, jagged rock covered with dense foliage.
She could hear the battle cries of the Mackenzies behind her. They were hidden from view by the trees on their right, but she knew that any second her party would be visible. And vulnerable.
Her horse followed Rory and Alex as they dove right into the middle of a thicket, turned sharply left behind the jagged rock, and disappeared into nothingness.
A damp, dark chill enveloped her body. She could hear the snorting of Alex’s horse in front of her but could see nothing in the darkness. Slowly, her horse followed Alex’s destrier as if by instinct. Or scent. She blinked repeatedly, accustoming her eyes to the loss of light. Finally, she could make out stone walls and a damp floor. They’d apparently entered a wide tunnel in the cliff. Alex stopped in front of her and turned, motioning with a finger to his lips for quiet, then continued into the bowels of the rocky cliff.
After a few minutes, they stopped completely and Alex slid from his horse.