He ran his finger over her injury, his touch light as a feather. Her skin blazed under his fingertips.
Concern and anger twisted into an ugly knot in his gut. “Are ye sure ’tis no’ broken?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’ve had a break before. I know what it feels like.”
Rage coiled tighter inside him. He hated that she’d known pain before and that she was experiencing it now. He hated the man who had done this to her and those who had forced her into such extreme circumstances. But more than anything, he was overwhelmed by the need to protect her. He wanted to be at her side for the rest of her life with his blade at the ready, prepared to slay any man who even thought of causing her pain.
“’Tis fine, Sutherland,” she said.
He regulated his breathing to cool his ire and caught her sweet rose scent. It was delicate and fine, like her.
“’Tis no’ fine.” He curled his hand around hers, engulfing her slender, icy fingers. He wanted to embrace all of her thus. “Cormac. Please call me Cormac.”
“Cormac,” she whispered his name, her demeanor suddenly reticent.
He couldn’t tear his gaze from the brilliance of her blue eyes. They were pale and flecked with green around her pupil, a color that reminded him of a summer loch. Heat effused his veins, and he found himself fighting the urge to pull her toward him to capture her mouth with his.
He gritted his teeth. He would do no such thing. Not when so many men had used her to their own advantage.
Except he was doing that very thing now too, was he not? He was seeking her hand in marriage so that he might have access to her wealth. His soul went dark with guilt. He should walk away, abandon the foolish notion of wooing her into marriage.
Graham appeared to be getting on well with Lady Clara. Surely, the dowry of one nobleman’s daughter would be enough to sustain the clan until they managed a season of successful crops.
Cormac knew he should back away from her at that moment. Except her gaze swept to his mouth, her expression soft. Her hand was still in his, his large thumb tucked toward her palm with her fingers curled around his grip, holding him to her.
“Where else were ye injured?” he found himself asking.
She turned her face to the side, revealing a smear of blue at the edge of her jaw. “I concealed it with lily root powder at the feast.”
It was not covered now. The mark was half the size of his smallest finger and ran along the sharp line of her jaw. His free hand raised of its own accord, and his fingertips whispered over the injury. Her skin was still damp from the rain and cool to the touch.
“Where else?” He asked.
She pulled her hand from his and gingerly touched her side, along the upper part of her waist near her ribs. “I don’t need to bother with covering the bruise there.” Her mouth quirked in a little smile he wanted to taste.
His hand settled there as well. He cradled her carefully with his fingertips by her waist and jaw. An ache settled within him, a powerful longing for this woman who had been left to care for herself when no one else would do so. A woman whose strength took her where a lady should not have to venture. A woman who had risen to the occasion regardless.
Her tongue ran along her lower lip, leaving it glistening with temptation, and her eyes found his once more. “Cormac,” she said quietly.
“Isolde.” Her name came out sounding gruff with the force of his need.
She edged closer to him, so her chest nearly grazed his. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and matched the pulse of desire in his groin. He should remove his hands from her, walk away and never look back.
She was not meant for Brodie, but nor was she meant for him. Not when he had need of her wealth. Not when he would be using her for land and coin as others in her life had.
He would not kiss her. Nor touch her. Nor long for her.
Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Dark lashes rimmed such an exquisite blue that he felt himself tip into them and become lost with no desire to be found again. Her rose perfume intoxicated him like the strongest Highland whisky. Aye, he should leave, and yet he could not walk away.
What man could resist such alluring temptation?
10
Isolde had never wanted to be kissed before. Men had tried in past years. Most of them idiots, their eyes bright with avarice.
But now—with Cormac’s green gaze pulling her into the embrace of an abyss she never wanted to leave—now she wanted the press of his mouth against hers.
Kiss me.
She inched closer to him and tilted her chin upward, giving him easier access to her lips. His brows tensed as though he was in pain. Or mayhap warring with the decision.
Isolde had spent her life obeying the dictates of men. She’d been an obedient daughter and dutiful sister, and none of it had given her pleasure. Now, in a man’s armor, defending her honor, she had created her path in life, forged with determination and the steel of her own convictions.
She put her hand on the thick fabric of his surcoat, pushed up on her toes and took the kiss he hesitated to give. His mouth was as warm as his hand had been, as soft as she had thought it might be.
She lingered there, savoring the press of their lips together, breathing in his spicy sandalwood and leather scent. His hand caressed the uninjured side of her face in a sensual stroke that teased down her neck and back up the underside of her chin. He cradled the back of her head in his palm and closed his mouth over hers.
Her heart slammed frantically at the nearness of him, at the way his lips moved over hers, at the brush of his tongue. Without realizing why, she parted her mouth for him. He deepened the kiss with his tongue, tasting her in an exquisite fashion that left her knees on the cusp of buckling.
She ran her hand down his surcoat, wishing he hadn’t worn his gambeson and chainmail so that she might sense the bulk of his powerful body beneath. How she longed to feel his body through only a tunic or a linen.
Or perhaps nothing at all.
She could imagine it too easily, the heat of his skin against her touch, their bodies intimately close.
A steady pulse of need thrummed with insistence between her legs as their mouths parted and their tongues caressed. She arched against him in a desperate bid to alleviate her longing, but the clink of chainmail offered no respite.
His mouth slanted over hers with a low groan and pulled her more firmly against him. Their pelvises pushed against one another, yielding only pressure against the thick gambeson and impenetrable chain.
She gave a desperate whimper. Wanting more.
Her blood was impossibly hot as it raced through her veins like fire, and her thoughts fixated completely and totally on Cormac. On her desire for him.
He stepped away, panting. “We must stop.” He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.
“I don’t want to,” she murmured. She tilted her face toward him and nuzzled her nose to his so their lips whispered against one another.
His mouth touched hers in a firm kiss, as though he couldn’t help himself any more than she could. Delicious chills raced over her skin.
He gave a low growl of an exhale. “We canna do this.”
Isolde curled her arms over his neck. If her sensations were aflame despite so many layers, she could only imagine what they could experience without.
“Ye’re shivering.” He tenderly ran his thumb down her cheek and brushed away a damp bit of hair from her brow. “Ye need to return to the castle and put on a dry kirtle lest ye become ill.”