DevilsHeart (4 page)

“Um, I’m okay. I promise. You can probably get off of me
now.”

He grinned and shrugged. “I am in no hurry. I rather like
the feel of you beneath me.”

A surge of panic rushed through her limbs, causing them to
twitch. Whether it was pity or he tired of her inability to play along with his
flirtations, the man released her wrists and stood. Offering her his hands, he
lifted her to her feet.

Avoiding his eyes, she gave him a brief, tight-lipped smile
of thanks and then turned toward the young man who had almost run his sword
through her. “
Tha me duilich
,” she apologized once again.

The man released her hands and she whispered to him, “
Gu’unrobh
maith agad.
” It meant “thank you”. Picking up her skirts, she turned away.

Her hip still ached from the hard landing, but she shoved
the pain aside as she berated herself for her lack of confidence. Ugh. Why was
her reaction to men always that of a deer caught in headlights? He must think
she was the biggest idiot he’d ever met.

She hurried toward the castle, snickers following her as she
skirted the wall. Her stomach clenched. Though she couldn’t understand a word,
she was all too familiar with the tone since she had spent a good portion of
her grade school and middle school years being teased for her shyness and
studiousness.

She rounded the corner and the deep, warming timbre of the
man’s voice curled her toes as he shouted. “Wait—what is your name, lass?”

Leah didn’t dare stop. This humiliating introduction to the
guy who had earlier caught her staring at him as if he were a juicy steak had
gone on for long enough. He was probably joining his friends in a good laugh at
her.

She headed straight for the plain wooden door leading to the
back staircase. Something latched on to her elbow and yanked her backward,
however, preventing her escape. She spun around until her entire body crashed
into what seemed like a warm brick wall. Determined green eyes flashed in front
of her a split second before large fingers threaded through her hair, holding
her head in place as firm lips pressed into hers.

Oh God, it was
him
.
Shit.
Was he actually
kissing her?

Panicked, she gasped and shoved his chest. Undeterred, he
tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth as one hand skimmed down her body,
skipping along the side of her breast until it reached the small of her back.
He pulled her close, pressing her abdomen against him. His heart thudded in a
steady rhythm beneath her fingers as his warm mouth covered hers again.

She needed to push him away but, damn it, her arms refused
to obey. His tongue slipped between her lips and retreated. Hot, luscious waves
of need rippled through her thighs and she was lost. She melted and parted her
lips to invite him back inside, her fingertips curling around fistfuls of his
linen shirt.

He pulled back, his tongue grazing her bottom lip. He
pressed another soft kiss to her willing mouth. “What is your name?”

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Her lashes
fluttered as she pushed her name out between erratic breaths.

He repeated it and it rolled off his tongue like a caress.

A strange ease filled her now they were away from prying eyes.
She pressed her lips together to prevent a smile from forming. “And you?”

“Rathe.” He tilted his head as his gaze traced the contours
of her mouth. “Of the Sinclairs of Duncraig.”

Her lips tingled under his scrutiny. What the hell had just
happened? Had he not been a part of the jeering in the courtyard? Or had he
been the one being teased?

He lowered his face toward hers, pausing several times as
though to give her a chance to deny him. She held his gaze, her breath caught
in her throat, until his nose brushed against hers.

God help her, but she wanted to kiss him again. She tilted
her face forward and her parted lips brushed his.

His hand slipped around the back of her head and pressed her
toward him, his lips covering hers in a slow, shivery kiss.

Holy crap, she was kissing total stranger. And a hot one at
that. Every muscle in her body froze at once as her inexperience caught up with
her. What now? Should she pull away? Should she open her mouth?

Damn it, Simon, why couldn’t you have ever kissed me like
this?

Rathe broke the kiss, saving her from her troubling
indecision. “Are you certain you are not hurt? You took quite the tumble. I
would be happy to escort you to your chamber and see to whatever injury I may
have caused.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing more than a bruise.” Her lashes
trembled as she dropped her eyes from his and released her hold on his shirt.

He grinned, his finger tracing small, maddening circles
along the small of her back. “Are you going to make me chase you, lass?”

She fought back a groan of frustration. Images of his hands
on her, slipping up under her skirts, pressing his body to hers, assaulted her.
Her knees weakened and she leaned into him as a ripple of arousal coursed
through her abdomen.

No. This was all wrong. And dangerous. She stepped out of
his embrace.

“I see.” His hands dropped from her waist and he clasped
them behind his back. “So, it is to be a chase then, eh?”

The small, shy smile was upon her lips before she had the
chance to stop it. “I should go.”

She turned, avoiding Rathe’s eyes. Tempted to run back into
the castle, she struggled to maintain her composure as she walked away. Her
sister’s chiding voice rang in her head, urging her to turn around.

Leah bit her lower lip, her heart flipping. She brushed the
sensation aside. She had always wished Simon would have looked at her the way
Rathe did now. Was she stupid? How could she turn her back on the first man to
take a genuine interest in her in years?

No, she was reading far too much into all of this. There was
no way a man who looked like he had just stepped out of some Hollywood
historical drama was interested in her. She had just been dumped by her
soon-to-be husband and her heart was still too wounded to be trusted.

She should forget about Rathe and every other
thirteenth-century man who had caught her eye. It was time to find a way home.

“Oh, this is such a bore,” Lady Barclay muttered as she
scanned the room. “Drunkards, the lot of them.”

Leah sipped the red wine from the small silver cup in her
hand. Her eyes traveled the same path as her companion’s across the dimly lit
hall filled with men from the various clans as well as tables groaning with
enough food and drink to see them through the darkest of winters. Lady Alpina
Barclay was the half-English wife of the Laird Barclay whose lands bordered the
mormaer’s to the south. She had arrived with her husband and his entourage not
long after Leah’s embarrassing encounter with Rathe the day before.

Grateful for the distraction and the presence of someone who
spoke English other than the mormaer and Rathe, Leah attached herself to
Alpina, enjoying the company of such a forthright, talkative woman. Much of
history painted women of the past as quiet and dutiful, much like the mormaer’s
wife, Mary. Alpina, however, spoke her mind to whomever present and never bit
her tongue, even in the presence of David, who was her husband’s social
superior.

Raucous laughter bounced off the stone walls around her and
mingled with the efforts of the musicians who roamed the crowd, creating a din
not unlike the bars her sister would drag her to every other weekend when Simon
went to his fantasy football gatherings. Normally Leah found this much activity
in one small space to be overwhelming, but tonight it held a small fascination
for her.

Alpina snorted. “I cannot believe he would dare show his
face anywhere outside his own lands.”

“Who?”

Alpina motioned with her head across the room. “The
Sinclair.”

Leah’s heart stopped as she followed Alpina’s gaze to a
tall, dark-haired man laughing amongst a group of men on the other side of the
hall.

Rathe.

The mere word drew an unwanted sigh from Leah’s lips. She
had avoided him the entire day by sticking close to her chamber. After a very
long and very sleepless night of tossing and turning as the memory of his lips
tormented her, the last thing she needed was to bump into him again.

“That man’s soul is as black as the devil.”

Ugh. Gossip. But Leah needed something—almost anything at
this point—to scare her desire away from this man for good. “Why do you say
that?”

Alpina snorted. “Where do I begin? He is a bastard. He has
tupped half of the women in Scotland and France, for one thing. I have also
heard he turns absolutely soulless in battle. His eyes rage a sickly green as
the devil possesses him and uses his body to bring death and destruction. No
man can be as undefeatable as he is without making some sort of pact with
Satan. Mark my words.”

A smile of amusement tickled Leah’s lips. Ah, the medieval
version of rumors.

She glanced at Rathe and their eyes clashed. One corner of
his mouth turned up into a smirk and he winked. She bit her lower lip and tore
her eyes away, her heart thundering.

“And his wives.” Alpina leaned toward her. “You have heard
about his wives, haven’t you?”

Wives?
Did she really want to hear this after all?
Sure, it was dangerous being around the guy, but she’d like to keep at least a
bit of the fantasy alive. If only so she could have something to daydream about
when she was once again staring at the tattered literacy posters on the wall of
her small office in the basement of the library.

“Well, it is said he killed them. The first for not
delivering him a son and the second for delivering him another man’s son,”
Alpina whispered into her ear.

Leah’s stomach fell. She had always been a decent judge of
character. He was overwhelming and forthright, to be sure, but he hadn’t struck
her as possessing a black heart. Why would he have bothered saving her from
being run through with a sword if he was as evil as Alpina insisted?

The little hairs on the back of Leah’s neck bristled. Rathe
wasn’t a man who needed her defense, but she detested gossip. “Perhaps they are
simple rumors put out by those who are jealous of his success,” she murmured as
she set her now-empty cup down next to Alpina’s.

Alpina scoffed. “I do have it on good authority, I assure
you. I doubt he is known as the Satan of the Highlands for nothing, you know.”

Leah chewed on her bottom lip as she braved another glance
in Rathe’s direction. He was nowhere to be seen. Her shoulders relaxed as the
wine’s alcohol warmed her blood.

“Come.” Alpina turned away. “It is late and we should
consider retiring soon. The men are only going to get drunker and you, my dear,
will end up finding yourself ill-used if we stay much longer. These Highlanders
are pure animals.”

Leah nodded. She’d reached her limit for the evening anyway.
As she turned, she smacked into someone whose hands spanned her waist to hold
her steady as she stumbled backward.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, her hands flattening on the man’s
massive chest.

Rathe grinned back at her and he drew her hips against his.

Her eyes widened and she froze. The hardness of his thighs
pressed into hers and his pecs flexed beneath her fingers.

He leaned forward, resting his cheek on hers. “You look
about as frightened as a hunted doe.”

She struggled to find her voice as her throat dried with a
tentative inhalation. “You make me nervous.”

He dragged his lower lip across her cheek to her neck. “And
you make me hot.”

The heat of his breath seared her skin. She squeezed her
eyes shut in a vain attempt to gather her scattered thoughts. The laughter and
music in the hall faded, replaced by his soft breath in her ear. She struggled
to resist the urge to press her lips to his neck as her nipples peaked.

He slid his thumb back and forth over the still-tender flesh
of her bruise from yesterday’s tackling incident. “How is your hip?” His cock
hardened against her stomach.

Her breath caught in her throat, a moist heat surging between
her thighs. Was she imagining that? Of course she was. A man who looked like
him wouldn’t be turned on by a little mousey thing like her. “Bruised. No
thanks to you.”

His laugh resonated deep within his throat. “Now that is
more like it. I like me a spirited lass.”

“Do unhand her immediately!” Alpina shouted.

Leah jumped, pressing into Rathe. His fingers flexed into
her waist.

“Do not force me into bringing my husband and the mormaer
over here!”

Rathe lifted his head from Leah’s. “Good evening, Lady Barclay.”

“It was before you arrived,” Alpina challenged. “Now unhand
her. She wants nothing to do with the likes of you.”

He glanced down at her as one corner of his mouth lifted in
a salty grin. “Might I assume you have been filling the lass’s head with dark
tales of my past?”

Alpina snorted. “I do believe, Laird Sinclair, your
reputation precedes you.”

His hands fell away from Leah’s waist. “I am always at your
service, lass,” he murmured.

Her lips parted in a deep inhalation as he pressed a long,
lingering kiss upon her hand. She swayed but managed to right herself as he
withdrew to his full height. She caught his eyes and held them, searching for
any clue to the evil Alpina was so certain existed. He smiled, nothing in his
features suggesting he was anything other than what he appeared to be.

The air chilled around her as he stepped away. Leah wrapped
her arms around her waist as Rathe bowed before Alpina.

“Lady Barclay.” Amusement laced his voice as he turned and
disappeared into the crowd.

Alpina grabbed Leah’s shoulders and held her steady as she
looked her up and down. “Are you all right, my dear? Did I not say you would be
ill-used if we stayed much longer? Oooh, the nerve of that man!”

Leah nodded as the din of the boisterous men suddenly
clanged in her ears from out of nowhere. Her knees buckled for a split second,
but she locked them back into place.

“Oh, look!” Alpina wrapped a hand around Leah’s elbow and
drew her attention away from the direction in which Rathe had gone. “It is my
dear Lady Mary and the mormaer!”

Alpina waved at them and David nodded at her as he drew his
wife over to them.

“I am happy to have found you, Leah.” David released his
wife’s arm and clasped his hands behind his back. “I have excellent news for
you.”

Alpina nodded with a huge grin plastered across her strong,
hawklike features. A gentle smile played at Mary’s lips.

Was David taking her back to Fannich? Or maybe he had even
located the old woman who was going to now help her get back home. Her stomach
flipped with excitement. “What is it?”

“The king has decided you should be rewarded for your
selfless rescue of my son, who also happens to be the king’s godson, mind you.”
David’s eyes twinkled as though he were quite pleased with himself. “He has
decided to bestow upon you a parcel of land up north you will carry with you
into your marriage.”

Leah’s eyes flicked between them, apprehension and confusion
rendering her immobile. “Marriage?”

“I have the perfect husband for you, my dear,” he announced
with a smile.

* * * * *

Rathe tilted his head back and allowed the rest of the ale
to slither down his throat. The woman had been haunting him. Long, supple body
that yielded beneath his as he pinned her to the ground. Soft lips that melted
when he kissed them.

He’d desired women before—and had them too—but this one was
different. A strange, heady combination of timidity and sensuality. Of ice and
fire. His boldness frightened her, but as soon as her icy exterior thawed she
transformed into a passionate little minx.

If only that meddling old Barclay woman hadn’t interfered.
The woman had had it out for him ever since he refused her father’s offer of
her young, sickly sister in marriage. Rathe’s first wife had been similarly
constituted, always pale and cold no matter the weather and quick to complain
about the remoteness of his land in the western Highlands. Her death in
childbirth was unsurprising, especially after her laboring in the dead of
winter to bring forth a large, healthy baby girl.

Leah was so different from either of his two wives. Or, for
that matter, most of the women he’d had the pleasure of bedding over the years.
Shy and inhibited but somehow regal. All curves and softness along with a good
amount of height to match his own large stature and still tuck into his arms like
a wee dove. Many women had exhibited one or two of these characteristics over
the years, but none had possessed them all.

He traced the outline of her hip across the room with his
eyes and his cock stirred. Soft, supple waves of auburn hair. Trim waist. Velvety
skin.

But then her shoulders tensed. The mormaer’s lips moved as
his brows drew together in confusion. Lady Barclay slipped her arm around
Leah’s waist and Lady Mary stroked Leah’s hand.

Bad news. A strange tightness in his chest almost pulled
Rathe across the room as Leah lifted her hand to wipe one eye while shaking her
head. The mormaer’s lips ceased moving as he stared at her.

Rathe shifted, crossing his arms. His eyes narrowed as David
shook his head and Leah’s shoulders slumped. Her defeat tore at him and he
stepped forward just as Lady Barclay shifted Leah toward the staircase. He
hesitated and Lady Mary patted David on the arm before following behind the
other women.

Good. Let the women take care of it. It was probably for the
best anyway.

“Care to be topped off, my lord?”

Rathe tore his eyes away from Leah. Bright-blue eyes flashed
at him. “Janet.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Heard you got in yesterday morning.” She arched her back,
drawing attention to her ample breasts nearly spilling out of the low neckline
of the straw-colored linen underdress, or leine, peeking out from beneath her
bodice. “Sorry I was not around last night. My mother was feeling poorly and
begged me to stay with her.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” His cock didn’t stir this time.
He’d always loved Janet’s cleavage and the flirtatious smirk was a
near-permanent fixture of her face. But it did little for him tonight. “I do
hope she is feeling better.”

“Oh, she is.” She closed the distance between them. Her
breasts grazed against him and she tilted her head up, parting her lips in
invitation.

Dear Janet. Always so ready and willing. Just hours prior to
his arrival at the mormaer’s holding, he had been looking forward to her soft,
ample curves welcoming him into her. It had been too long since he’d last
tupped a lass and he needed release.

So why now was he less than interested?

A flash of long, wavy auburn hair flew through his mind’s
eye. Soft, pink lips. Brilliant hazel eyes reminiscent of the mountains around
his keep in late fall.

Damn it. Since when did the thought of another bonny lass
ever get in the way of him enjoying the lass in front of him?

“They will all be drunk enough soon,” Janet purred, trailing
one finger down his chest to his abdomen. “I could slip away.”

Rathe grabbed her finger just before it reached his groin.
“Another time, Janet. I have something I need to take care of tonight.”

He handed her his empty ale cup and she shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” she replied with a flash of vexation. An
instant later, her expression softened. “Shall I wait or am I free for the
evening?”

He grinned. “You are free to do as you will, lass.”

She returned his smile and pivoted on one heel. “I would not
say no should you stumble upon me flat on my back and decide to join in,” she
threw over her shoulder.

Rathe chuckled, admiring the exaggerated sway of her hips as
Janet sauntered over to a nearby group of men and poured golden ale into
outstretched cups.

As one man pinched Janet’s ample behind and she laughed,
slapping his fingers away, Rathe’s gaze was drawn back to the staircase. Leah
had seemed upset. Should he check in on her and make sure she was all right? Or
would that be presumptuous of him? They’d only had a couple of brief encounters
and each one had resulted in him attempting to seduce her. Odds were she’d see
his attention as suspect at best and a manipulation at worst.