Tempt Me With Kisses by Margaret Moore Read Free Book Online

left.”
    “Women,” the Saxon muttered, shaking his head as if he would never understand the creatures.
    Although pleased with his clever deception, Iain was careful not to display his satisfaction. “You have no idea where she went?”
    “No.”
    “I tell you what, my friend,” Iain suggested with his most persuasive manner, “if you let me rest a bit and try to get the wind back in my lungs, I’ll stand you an ale for my thanks.”
    The man’s eyes gleamed at the thought of a free ale, and after he fumbled about with the keys, the gate swung open.
    His shoulders slumped as if overwrought, Iain followed the man into the small gatehouse. A tiny hearth glowed with burning peat, and nearby stood a table and chair. Iain took the chair and the man waited by the hearth. Steam and the stink of wet wool and sweat arose from the Saxon.
    “Nobody knows where she went?” Iain asked again, hating the fellow for his Saxon stench, and the devious Fiona even more.
    “Lot o’ talk in the taverns about how she cleared out so quick and mysterious,” the Saxon replied. “Hired a guard as far as York, they say, and then after that…?”
    He shrugged his brawny shoulders.
    York. She could set sail from there to … anywhere. That homely bitch.
    He had promised a thousand marks to King William, and he was going to bloody well provide it. Fiona MacDougal was not going to ruin his plans. No woman was going to make a fool out of him.
    By God, he would find her, and he would get his money, one way or the other.
    Trying to keep his boiling wrath under control, Iain got to his feet. “I’m ready for that ale now.”
    The Saxon turned to open the door, and as he did, Iain slid his hand around the man’s head to cover his mouth. Then he plunged his dagger between the Saxon’s shoulders. He smiled with grim delight as the fellow uselessly struggled and the life left his stinking carcass.
    One less insolent Saxon in Scotland.

Chapter 3

    I nstead of going directly on to the barracks after leaving Fiona in his bedchamber, Caradoc ducked into his solar. He did not want to see anyone until he was once more in complete control of his wayward emotions.
    As he tossed his clothes onto the messy table, he battled to subdue the surges of impassioned desire coursing through him.
    Long ago, in a vain attempt to stop Connor and Cordelia from teasing him, he had learned how to hide his outward reactions. If they couldn’t goad him, he had reasoned, they would tire and stop.
    That had not worked, but by the time he had decided it was ineffective, he had come to appreciate the privacy and protection his stoic mask created. People did not know what he was thinking or feeling, and that gave him an advantage. It also made him feel strong and in control of one aspect of his life, at least.
    Then, as the years had passed, he had learned how to control more than just the mask. He could control his emotions as well as their display.
    At least so he had believed, until today.
    What was wrong with him now that he could not subvert the desire coursing through him? Why could he not remove the image of Fiona and her bright eyes and soft lips from his mind, or stop envisioning her remaking his bed with clean, fresh sheets, and silken pillows that a man could sink into? Why could he not prevent the picture of her beneath him, naked and anxious, making small sighs of love and arousal as he slowly pushed inside her, from forming in his head?
    He strode to the window where he drew in great breaths of air.
    It had to be because she had surprised him with her offer, he told himself. She had disrupted the pattern of his days.
    As having her beside him in his bed would disrupt the pattern of his nights.
    He must control such thoughts and the feelings that went with them. He must be strong, not weak. He must rule, not be ruled.
    He was the lord here. It was the role he had been born and bred for. It had been his destiny from the time of conception. It was what he had