Chapter Four

The wee kitten was soft as it burrowed into the space between her neck and her hair, tickling Isobel’s sensitive skin. A small giggle escaped her as it started making noises akin to the men in the Royalist Resistance camp who snored, except this noise was pleasant to the ears and pleasing to the senses as the little vibrations massaged her flesh. She pulled the creature down, holding it out by the scruff of its neck as she’d seen someone else do once.

“How do we find it a home?” Holding it toward her husband once again, she tried to get him to take it, but he looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, or as if he wanted to laugh at her.

“Ye will have to carry it as ye ride.”

Panic welled inside her. She couldn’t carry it, but she couldn’t leave it here. It might not survive in these dense woods. Deer tracks littered the bank and the area probably harbored many dangers, like wildcats and foxes.

“I dinnae ken how to hold a cat.” She drew it into her lap, where it proceeded to climb back up to her neck.

“Then ’tis time ye learned.” Grant held out a hand to help her from the ground. She took it, noticing how solid and reassuring it felt, and she realized it was the first time they had really connected. Unbidden, her gaze fell to his lips; they were full and a pleasant shade of rose. Hell, she wanted to kiss him again. She shook the thought from her mind.

“Why can’t ye take it?”

“Because it likes ye.”

Nae, it couldn’t like her. What was she to do with a pet? It would only get in her way, but the big amber-colored eyes pleaded for help. Swallowing, she decided to carry it back, but she would be finding it a home as soon as possible.

“Here.” She held it out for him to take as she climbed onto the mare. He cradled the kitten and murmured some words to the creature, but she couldn’t make them out.

He held it up to her, and she shook her head. “Why don’t ye keep it? Ye seem to ken what yer doing with it.”

“Ye saved it.”

Frowning, she sighed and held out her hands. She would argue, but he still had to climb onto his horse. The only other option was leaving it, but how would it survive?

“And ’tis fun to see ye no’ in control of something.” Those bonny blue eyes of his lit with mirth as he smiled up at her.

Was he making fun of her? He wanted to see her flustered. Sitting up straighter, she pretended she knew what she was doing. She chose not to give his remarks or the smirk on his face any credence. Instead, she held the wee thing in one arm and drove the horse on with the other.

Thankfully, the ride back to Cairntay was short, because the little thing kept digging its claws into her gown and attempting to climb into her hair. She’d almost dropped it on a couple of occasions.

After stabling the horses, she held it out to him, but a grin spread across his face as he crossed his arms and shook his head. He was amused by her discomfort and what made it worse was that she was finding she enjoyed seeing a smile on his face.

“What does it eat?” she asked.

“Have ye never had a pet before?”

“Nae, and I dinnae want one.”

“Looks like ye have nae choice. They like cream and meat. Come,” he said as they walked through the empty yard at the back of Cairntay. He led her to a little building half buried in the ground near the castle walls. After taking the steps down, Grant lifted the latch and pushed open the door, hooking it on something to keep it ajar.

“The larder?” she asked as they walked in.

“Aye. We’ll find something in here for it.”

“I cannae see a thing.” The only light came from behind them and the clouds blotted out most of the sun’s rays.

“Give me a moment.” And just a few breaths later, Grant had a candle lit.

Shelves were piled high with provisions, but she had no idea what she was looking for. After she set the creature down and lost its warmth, she noticed the room had a chill to it, just like the larder back home. The kitten must have missed their connection as well, because it started climbing up her skirts, claws pulling at the material.

Gasping, she backed away, bumping into the door and loosening the latch when she hit her head on a shelf. “Ouch.”

“Nae,” Grant called out and lunged for the door, but in his haste, he pushed it farther along on its course. He crashed into the frame and the walls seemed to shudder with the force. The sound of banging metal gave her a sickening dread in the pit of her stomach.

Rubbing her head, she blinked, trying to adjust to only the candlelight in the room. The kitten had found her, its claws clinging her skirts. “Ah.” She pulled the creature free. She wouldn’t be surprised if the new gown had tears in it from the animal’s vicious talons.

Banging on the door, Grant yelled, “In here.” He continued for several moments before giving in and turning his frustration on her. “It appears we are stuck for now.”

“’Tis nae my fault.”

“Ye should have been more careful. Ye seem to be good at doing things without thinking.”

“Are ye referring to this or something else? I can assure ye I never do anything without thought.” How dare he blame her for this.

“Then that makes some of yer decisions even worse.” He seemed to loom over her in the small space, the light shining on him as she backed a step. Hell, she was never afraid of anyone, and she was not going to let her husband have the advantage.

“If anyone is to blame, ’tis ye. I told ye I dinnae ken anything about these creatures. Ye should have taken it.” Peeling it from her arms again, she held it out to him. But this time the cat twisted, clawing at her, trying to hang on.

“Ouch.” The kitten fell, landing on its paws and scrambling into the dark. Turning away from her husband, she held her arm toward the candle to inspect the damage. Three lines had formed on her skin, small traces of red seeping through them. Then she felt her husband’s presence beside her. He reached down and took her arm.

“Are ye all right?”

“I will be.” She breathed in as his woodsy scent invaded her.

His fingers traced the sensitive skin around the injury, and strange tingles pulsed out from the connection. Her chest tightened because, heaven help her, she wanted to kiss him. She attempted to retreat, and although his grip was gentle it was firm. Instead of pulling free, she managed to draw his solid body into hers.

Glancing up into his eyes, she wasn’t sure if they had darkened or if it was just the room, but he didn’t release her. She swallowed. His free hand coiled around her waist, gently cradling her to him. A foreign feeling erupted somewhere inside her and instead of pushing him away, she held still to examine it.

The hand holding her injured arm slid up past her shoulder, over her neck, and fingers delved into her hair as her body decided not to obey her command to retreat. His hand threaded its way into her scalp then removed the few pins she’d been able to secure there.

She found her feet moving backward as he guided her into the closed door. Tugging gently at her loosened strands of hair, he tilted her face up toward his. The next thing she knew, his lips were crashing down on hers and sweeping her into something new, something she had never wanted before that made her insides ignite with unexplored desires.

Oh, hell, she liked it.

…

Grant wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. Her skin was surprisingly soft beneath his rough hands. And the way she trembled at his touch when her gaze focused on him had every muscle in his body tightening. She looked so bonny in the candlelight. Her lips parted in what appeared to be an invitation. Isobel’s attention pulled him in, making him want to see if she put as much effort into the mating between a man and a woman as she did into fighting.

He would need an heir one day; why should he deny himself her body because he didn’t approve of her past actions? She was his wife, after all. His. And judging by the way she gasped into his mouth as his tongue delved in between her parted lips, she was completely his. Despite all the time she’d spent pretending to be a man and with men, she’d never kissed one. How was that even possible?

His wife had secrets, and he suddenly found himself wanting to know more. How was it no man had ever touched her? How would it feel to claim her body as his own, and why had he let his anger stop him last night?

Tentatively, her tongue reached out, dancing with his, sending him into a spiraling mix of confusion and need mingled with frustration at himself that despite who she was, he wanted her. A violent explosion of emotions found him backing her into the hard surface of the door and covering her body with his. She gasped into his mouth and he slowed as he was reminded of her innocence, something easily overlooked by her experience on the battlefield. The contradiction perplexed him, drawing him in; he eased, letting the hand around her waist drop to gently caress her ass and pull her taut with the throbbing pain between his legs.

Letting his mouth stray from hers, he moved to her neck and nibbled on the soft flesh as a whiff of her exotic scent cascaded through his senses and spurred him on. As he sucked on the sensitive skin, she moaned and arched into him. Her hands clasped on to his hips as if he were driving her down a perilous road with nothing but him to hold on to. He was rewarded with a soft, pleading whimper. She might fight like a man, but she was all woman underneath.

A sudden push at her back jarred them. He let his mouth drop from her neck. Another push. Stepping aside, he hid her behind his back as the door swung in to reveal one of the kitchen servants.

“Excuse us,” he said as the newcomer reddened. “We were locked in trying to find something for the cat.” Why was he trying to explain? He could take his wife anywhere he wanted, but she deserved better than him thrusting into her in the larder in the middle of the day.

Tiny claws scratched at his legs as the forgotten kitten made its presence known. “Ah, there’s the wee thing.” After picking up the kitten, he held it out for the servant to see, as if he should offer an explanation for assaulting his wife in a most inappropriate place.

The man just smiled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I forgot something.” The door almost closed behind him, but Grant reached out and caught it.

“Here.” His voice was harsh as he rounded on Isobel and gave her the cat. How had he forgotten himself yet again around her? Just as he had the day Tomas had died.

The sun had reemerged and shone into the space where they were standing. He realized he’d left a mark on her neck. He’d never done that to a woman before, but he’d never had a woman so wantonly give in to his attentions. Her lips were swollen and a deeper shade of red, and her hair was mussed as if they’d spent hours alone together, not the few moments it had taken him to come completely unhinged. And, oblivious to their surroundings.

Angered at himself that he’d lost control and nearly taken her with the food storages, he passed her the kitten. “Feed it.”

He lost his senses when he was near Isobel and that led to trouble. He walked a short distance away to wait for her as he thought about his dead friend and stifled the desire to truly make Isobel his wife.

…

Hours later, he found himself sitting at the table for the evening meal when the object of his affliction walked in with his mother. She wore the same dress, but she’d brushed her hair and left it to fall loose around her shoulders and cascade to her waist, where it slid back and forth over her curves. He’d spent the afternoon trying to forget how those curves felt, but it had been no use.

As she sat a few spaces down from him, his eyes strayed toward her. She was fidgeting with her hair, pulling it to the front and covering her neck. He grinned. She was trying to conceal the mark he’d left on her. He found himself wanting to see it, wanting to show that he had claimed her like no man ever had.

His father drew his attention back with, “Are ye and yer wife getting along?”

“As well as we can.”

“She was with yer mother late this afternoon. I believe they toured the castle when ye returned from the village. Where were ye?”

“In the lists.” He probably should have been the one to show Isobel her new home, but he’d needed exertions to ease his mind after he’d lost himself in her embrace. After their kiss, he promptly deposited her in the great room with his mother and hurried back outside.

“Ah, so it’s going that well, huh.” Laughter escaped his father’s lips. He leaned in, winking. “Ye should spend that energy bedding yer wife. Ye have to continue on our legacy.”

Angered by his father’s meddling, his voice rose, but he didn’t care. “Ye ken she is responsible for Tomas’s death?”

The laird’s eyes darkened.

“Do ye think Lyall would want her in our bed? She’d probably demand justice.” He regretted the words as soon as they’d left his lips, because they weren’t true. Lyall would have liked Isobel and she would be happy he had found a wife who matched his spirit.

His father shook his head as if warning him something was wrong, but it was too late. The hall had gone quiet and every eye was on Grant, or actually, directly behind him. Turning, he saw Isobel, face pale and eyes the size of saucers, staring down at her plate as if she were a deer about to be slaughtered.

Her humiliation seemed to change to anger as she took in all the unfamiliar faces, their sympathy aimed at her. He sank down into his chair, ashamed he’d embarrassed Isobel in front of half the clan. He typically kept his temper in check, because as heir to the chief, he would one day need the respect of the clan.

But everything about this lass drove him to madness. It was his only excuse. Straightening her shoulders, she turned her back to him and his mother glared over Isobel’s shoulder, promising a solid set down when she was able to get him cornered.