To Desire a Highlander by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Read Free Book Online

deliberate look, irritation sparking in her lovely emerald eyes. “It wasn’t enjoyable to me.”
    “Is that so?” Roag smiled at her.
    Her chin came up, the movement treating him to a delicate waft of lavender, a scrumptiously light and feminine scent that sent a rush of heat straight to his groin. “I didn’t like it at all.”
    “I dinnae believe you. For myself, I couldnae resist kissing you.” He was also sure that she was the work of the devil.
    Stepping back, he braced his legs apart and crossed his arms as he eyed her up and down. For sure, he had the rights of her. Only the fiend himself could craft such a bewitching enchantress. Lushly made, possessed of a fiery temperament, and with her coppery curls in wild abandon, she’d tempt the most hard-hearted man. Even one who’d sworn that he’d gone off women, something he, as a well-lusted, hot-blooded sort, certainly hadn’t done.
    He appreciated women.
    Nae, he craved them like the air he breathed. Perhaps even more so.
    What a shame Lady Gillian was such a botheration.
    But she was, so he kept his most roguish smile in place, hoping it was bold enough to send her running home to her cozy hearthside at Castle Sway. An island keep he thanked the gods he’d taken the effort to learn by name as the Clan MacGuire stronghold.
    Truth was, he’d spent days studying a list of the Hebridean chieftains he might encounter on this mission. He’d learned their titles and by-names, the location and names of their island homes, their allies and enemies, how many ships and men they commanded, and even their peculiarities if they were known to have any worth noting.
    He’d passed hours holed up in a little-used chamber at Stirling Castle, questioning the few men who’d met Donell MacDonnell, learning all he could about the rascally, skirt-chasing chieftain.
    There’d been no mention of Lady Gillian MacGuire.
    And he was going to have strong words with Alexander Stewart, King Robert III’s notorious brother, commonly known as the Wolf of Badenoch, and undisputable leader of the secret order of warriors known as the Fenris.
    A clandestine brotherhood of trust that the Wolf had now breached beyond repair, sending Roag to this spit of rock in the windiest, coldest corner of the Hebridean Sea without warning him that the man he was supposed to be, by all the hamstrung, cross-grained gods and their minions, hadn’t just been a lecherous scoundrel of a hot-blooded wenching blackguard, but a fine lassie’s betrothed.
    It was an inexcusable oversight.
    He’d been assured he’d find Laddie’s Isle deserted, empty of all but weed-draped rock, the roar of the sea, and the bite of cold, salty air.
    The isle wasn’t supposed to be occupied by a siren.
    Nor had he thought to meet such a vixen’s father and brothers, men clearly eager to foist her upon him.
    He required peace and solitude, a quiet place to work in stealth.
    Lady Gillian stepped hard on his toe and poked a finger into his chest, reclaiming his attention and proving she was just the hellion he’d imagined. “We are betrothed, not wed or even handfasted,” she declared, her eyes blazing. “More restraint would be appreciated.”
    “Dinnae push me, lass.” Roag pulled his foot from beneath hers and scowled at her. “My patience has already been tested this day, more than you ken. So have done and be glad I’m no’ of a mind to do more than kiss you.
    “For the now,” he added, just to rile her.
    Vexed himself, he glanced over his shoulder at his men, at her family. They were at the far end of the cove, making for the steep cliff path up to the ruined tower. Some were already climbing the harrowing track. He watched them for a moment and then turned again to the iron-gray sea, the freedom of its tossing waves.
    Annoyance sluiced him. His damned head still throbbed, the ache even worse now. Closing his eyes, he pulled a hand down over his bearded chin.
    Hoping to brace himself to better handle what was