Highlander Untamed Read online

  Isabel had a duty to her family, but deep down she wanted to be selfish. She wanted to be happy. She wanted Rory for herself. But though she no longer felt an overwhelming drive to be the savior of her clan, she didn’t want to let down her family. She could not live happily knowing that her failure had led to the destruction of her people. She desperately needed to find an alternative solution to help her family defend against the Mackenzies. As at Dunvegan, the Mackenzie attack on Strome Castle could come at any time.

  Something clicked, and a kernel of an idea began to take hold. The Mackenzies. They were the key. Her father and the MacLeod shared the same enemy. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The ancient Arab proverb brought back from the Crusades could be her salvation. She tried to contain the burgeoning hope brimming inside her.

  Maybe she didn’t have to choose.

  Rory’s fighting force was nearly as large as her uncle’s. If her father had the MacLeod’s support, he would not need Sleat. And Isabel would not need to betray the MacLeods by stealing the Fairy Flag or disclosing the location of a secret entrance—if one existed.

  Her mind raced as she began to consider the possibilities. Could this work? It might be the perfect solution. But how could she get Rory to agree? She couldn’t just go to him with her request. Not while he still intended to send her back. Not while his alliance with her family was temporary.

  So how, then, to prevent him from sending her back?

  He had to fall in love with her. If he fell in love with her, he would not want to send her back. She frowned, realizing it was not simply a matter of earning his love. She knew Rory was counting on the alliance with Argyll to help sway the king to decide in his favor on the disposition of the disputed Trotternish peninsula. She would have to find a way to make the union with her equally as profitable.

  However, there was also the fact that she was a MacDonald. Rory hated Sleat. But perhaps if Rory fell in love with her, he would be willing to forgive the connection.

  One thing was certain: She knew Rory would never forgive betrayal. She shuddered, remembering his face when he’d discovered her searching the Fairy Tower. She dared not contemplate his fury if he ever found out she’d handfasted with him intending to deceive him. But if she was successful, maybe he need never find out about her treacherous purpose. She considered confessing, but she dared not. Not while she was uncertain of his feelings. And she couldn’t take the chance that her plan wouldn’t work.

  It wasn’t perfect, but she had to try.

  And if she succeeded, she would have her heart’s desire: a place at Dunvegan and the respect of her family. And most important, Rory’s love. For deep down, Isabel realized that earning his love had become vital. As necessary as the food she ate or the air she breathed. He’d become a part of her.

  Letting her hair fall from her fingers, she stood up, suddenly anxious to begin. She looked down and watched as the wretched letter floated to the ground. Uttering a small oath, she picked it up, crumpled it in her fist, and tossed it into the fire. She smiled grimly as the flame caught the parchment, curling the edges with blackness until it vanished into a small billow of gray smoke—the hateful words of betrayal obliterated into nothingness.

  Her decision freed her from the inertia of the past few months. It gave her the excuse she needed to go after what she really wanted. Simply waking up in Rory’s arms wasn’t enough. She wanted the intimacy and closeness that could come only from making love.

  Isabel knew what she had to do; he would not come to her. Seduction it must be. She tried not to think about his warning not to manipulate him. Her motives were pure. She would fight for Rory’s love and seduce him—not to betray him, but because she wanted to hold on to him.

  She squared her shoulders and headed up the stairs to change for the evening repast. Tonight. After the meal, she would retire to their room and wait.

  She bit her lip. What was she going to do when he got there? She had learned much about kissing over the last few months and had a vague idea of the rest courtesy of their previous interludes. But there was a vast difference between knowing in the abstract and instigating in the reality. How would she let him know that she was ready to take the final step?

  Isabel took her time winding through the dimly lit corridors. Though it was only late afternoon, the days were exceedingly short in the wintertime and dusk had already fallen.

  She opened the door.

  A taper flickered. Warm, steamy air entwined with a delicious masculine scent of spice enveloped her.

  She knew he was there even before she looked. When she did, her heart dropped to her toes.

  Rory had just stepped out of his bath. He wore a drying cloth slung low on his hips and—she swallowed—nothing else.

  Her eyes gorged on the rugged masculinity of his powerful physique. He was magnificent. His broad naked chest, glistening with tiny droplets of water, tapered to a narrow waist above powerfully muscled legs. There was not one inch of him that was not cut and hard as rock. His body was a finely honed weapon of warfare, the numerous scars that crossed his chest evidence of his hard-earned prowess. The damp linen hugged his hips, dipping low above his groin, and outlined every ridge of his…Her eyes dropped farther, and her mouth went dry. Of his enormous arousal. The thick column strained against the thin cloth, leaving her no doubt of his desire.

  Isabel flooded with heat. Awareness crackled in the sultry room like dry kindling in a hot fire. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure he must hear. She lifted her eyes to his and nearly withered under the force of his penetrating stare. Never had she been the focus of such all-encompassing desire. She felt the hunger, the need. The whiplash of raw heat. His gaze possessed her. Like an animal caught in a trap, she was paralyzed by all that sexual potency fastened on her, claiming her. He looked as though he wanted to tear off her clothes and ravish her. It was a side of him—a wild, primitive, uncontrolled side—that she’d never seen. And for a moment, the intensity frightened her, even as it humbled her with its strength.

  They stood perfectly still, staring at each other. His eyes glowed like sapphire coals. As he’d removed the leather thong that usually bound it back, his damp golden chestnut hair slumped forward across his face to his chin. The shadows that partially hid his face hardened his features into sharp angles—making him appear even more menacing than his large physique would suggest.

  Isabel shivered with anticipation. Never had she been more certain of anything in her life. The intensity of his desire only emboldened her. She wanted to tame this man, to claim this warrior for her own.

  All thoughts of a well-planned seduction fled. The time was now. Gathering the reins of her courage, she lifted her chin and took a small step toward him.

  His body went rigid, every muscle taut with restraint. A tic in his jaw pulsed as she drew near. Slowly, she removed the plaid she wore for warmth and draped it over the chair.

  “What are you doing?” he asked through clenched teeth, his voice strained.

  “I came to dress for dinner. I didn’t realize you had called for a bath.”

  “It’s too cold to swim in the loch.”

  “Of course.”

  “You should leave.”

  She shook her head and took another step toward him. She was standing so close, she could hear the harsh unevenness of his breath. He was holding himself by a thread, and she knew it. Relished it. Savored it. And yearned to make it snap.

  He stepped toward her, and she could see that his eyes were dark and heavy with desire. He reached down to cup her chin as he looked deep into her eyes. “Are you sure?” His voice was husky and full of promise, the soft brogue more pronounced. “My duty lies elsewhere. This will not change anything, Isabel. Even if I wish it differently.”

  Isabel’s heart tugged. Did he wish differently? The glimmer of hope gave her all the encouragement she needed.

  The polite small talk had drained every ounce of Rory’s reserves. He was running out of patience. Surel