The Chief Read online

  Eyes wide, she nodded again. She’d mistaken the source of his anger. “I know you had no wish to marry me, and that because of my father’s trick you felt honor bound to do so, but I swear I will cause you no more trouble.” He wanted to laugh. If she only knew how impossible that was. But his amusement disappeared when she added, “I will try to please you.”

  He stopped breathing, the soft entreaty sending dangerous images through his head. Like of her on her knees taking him deep in her mouth.

  God, he could almost feel the hot stroke of her tongue. He was hard as a rock. The lass had no idea the havoc her innocent words had wracked on his baser desires. She would please him. Too well. But that was not what she meant.

  “It had nothing to do with you,” he explained. “I simply did not think the alliance would benefit my clan.”

  She looked confused. “But the Frasers are an old and powerful family.”

  “Aye, an old and powerful Scot family.” He wondered how much she knew about her father’s plans. “I prefer to stay out of Scotland’s politics—and its wars.”

  “But how can you? You are a Scot.”

  “I’m an Islander,” he said, as if the distinction should be obvious.

  “But a Scottish subject still.” She looked at him with growing horror. “Surely, you don’t support Edward?”

  The famous patriotic Fraser blood clearly ran in her veins. “I support my clan. I do what’s best for them.”

  He’d said all he intended to say on the matter, but then she surprised him. “And marrying me—a Fraser—would pit you against Edward if there is another rebellion.”

  His gaze narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “What do you know of a rebellion?”

  She immediately looked contrite, realizing that she should not speak of treason so freely. “Nothing. It’s just that my father makes no secret of his hatred for Edward, and because of Lamberton’s presence and how badly they wanted this alliance, I assumed they wanted your skills as a warrior for something.”

  He couldn’t believe how close she’d come to the truth. He realized he was going to have to tread carefully around her. The lass was too damned clever for her own good.

  He couldn’t remember ever having a conversation like this with a woman. Hell, he rarely talked this much with his men. Vaguely bothered by the fact, he said brusquely, “What’s done is done. We will simply make the best of it.”

  Her expression dropped; she looked crestfallen by the abrupt change in his tone.

  “I’m truly sorry for my part in what happened.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I hope you will be able to forgive me.”

  God’s blood, there it was again. That sweet, vulnerable look in her eyes that filled him with an urge to pull her into his arms and move heaven and earth to make it go away.

  “It’s your father who should be seeking forgiveness, not you,” he said brusquely. His mouth fell in a hard line. “He should be flogged for sending an innocent maid into a room like that, knowing well that I would think you were a very different kind of woman.” Embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks, but he held her gaze. “Because of that I caused you pain, and for that I’m sorry.” His voice deepened. “It won’t be like that next time.”

  Tonight. Anticipation surged hard inside him, his body growing tight and hot. It couldn’t come soon enough. She was like an itch that needed to be scratched, and he couldn’t wait to ease the discomfort.

  He half expected her to drop her gaze shyly, but instead she nodded, her eyes wide with trust.

  For the first time in his life he questioned whether he’d be able to hold that trust. He was having a hard time keeping his body under control just looking at her; what would it be like to have her under him, her legs wrapped around him as he drove in and out of her tight, wet heat? Would she moan? Move her hips under him?

  He stood up. “I must return to my men. We will be in the Little Minch soon.”

  “Oh,” she said. He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment that crossed her face. The last rays of daylight filtered through the mist, bathing her delicate features in an ethereal light. Her skin looked so soft—almost translucent. He ached to touch her. To sweep his finger across the curve of her cheek and cradle all that velvety softness in the palm of his hand.

  He jerked back. Where had that come from? Cradling her face? He’d never felt inclined to do anything like that before.

  He stared at her. Wondering what it was about this girl that brought out such odd impulses.

  And what the hell was he going to do about it?

  —

  Christina didn’t want him to go. After waiting all day to talk to him, she’d hoped for more than a few brief minutes before he returned to his men.

  Apologizing had been easier than she’d anticipated. Despite the fearsome appearance, his cool, controlled demeanor gave her the confidence to speak her mind without fear of reprisal. It was a heady feeling, not having to mind every word for fear of throwing her father into a rage.

  She’d been nervous to broach the unpleasant subject of her father’s trickery but knew he deserved an explanation. Though his acknowledgment that he hadn’t wanted to marry her initially stung, he had changed his mind—that had to mean something. Moreover, he seemed to accept her apology with a matter-of-fact practicality that made her think he did not blame her, which was an enormous relief.

  Although she’d said what she wanted to say, she didn’t want him to go. She liked talking to him. He listened to her, answered rather than dismissed her questions, and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.

  Just being near him like this made her heart race. It was as if her body was responding to some invisible force, her nerve endings flared and her senses heightened. The closeness also gave her the opportunity to watch him, and she hoped for another peek behind the steely curtain. There was more to this cold, fearsome warlord—she was sure of it.

  She had a lifetime to get to know him, but she didn’t want to wait for the intimacy that came from the passage of time. She wanted nothing more than to sit beside him and talk until she learned everything there was to know about Tor MacLeod.

  He was her husband, yet she knew virtually nothing about him. Her father had told her that he was widowed and that his two young sons were being fostered, but nothing else about his family. Did he have brothers and sisters? As he was chief, his father must have died, but what of his mother?

  What did he like to do when he wasn’t vanquishing foes on the battlefield or saving maidens from dragons big and small?

  Did he prefer ale or wine? Food savory or sweet? Was he messy or neat? What made him laugh?

  She bit her lip. Did he laugh? Of course he did, she thought nervously. Even if it was hard to imagine his serious expression ever relaxed enough to let down his guard, everyone laughed.

  She didn’t even know how old he was—mid-thirties, probably.

  He stood to go and her mind raced with a reason to delay him. All of a sudden, breaking out of the clouds ahead of them on the right, the steep cliffs of a rocky coastline magically appeared.

  “Wait,” she said, stopping him. She pointed over his shoulder. “Is that it?”

  He answered without turning around. “Aye, that’s Skye.”

  The almost imperceptible softening of his voice told her that she was on to something—clearly, he loved his home. “Will I be able to see Dunvegan soon?”

  “Soon enough. This is the west side of the isle. We’ll sail north around Duirnish and into the sea loch, and then you will be able to see the castle.”

  His gaze flicked back to the men at the sails. She felt she should feel guilty for delaying him, but she didn’t. Not if it meant he would stay. “Won’t you tell me more about it?”

  He sat back down with a sound that might have been a sigh. “What would you like to know?”

  He crossed his arms before his chest, and the resulting bulge of muscles made all coherent thoughts fly out of her head. Her mouth went dry, the bla