The Chief Read online

  With a harsh sound, he tore his mouth from hers and pulled away. “Enough!”

  Her body startled at the harsh curtailment of pleasure. Instinctively, she reached for him, but he held her forcibly at arm’s length.

  She blinked. The haze of passion slowly lifted and she met his shocked, accusatory gaze. He was staring at her as if she’d just grown another head. As if she frightened him. Her eyes widened. She frightened him.

  Because she made him feel something he didn’t want to. He cared about her. Though the stubborn, thick-headed man didn’t realize it. But he would. Her bruised, swollen mouth tugged to a smile. It was really rather sweet.

  He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough. “I’m taking you back to the castle,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Now!”

  Christina let him drag her along, not caring one bit about the sudden surly turn of attitude or the unmistakably grim set of his jaw.

  None of it mattered. For nothing could take away the certainty of her newfound knowledge.

  She’d penetrated the icy shield. It was the sign she’d been waiting for. He cared for her. The proof was in his kiss.

  —

  Tor didn’t know what in Hades had come over him. One minute he was furious, the next he was kissing her like he’d never kissed another woman before. Like he was ravenous in his need of her. The passion didn’t bother him; the sharp tugging in his chest, however, was a different matter.

  Unconsciously, he’d held back from kissing her, as if instinctively realizing the danger. Now he knew why. The connection was too strong. The feelings were too powerful. Too intense. And trying to bottle them back up would be a Herculean—if not Pandoran—task.

  Now that he’d tasted the honey sweetness of that mouth he would think of nothing else. He cursed and shoved a branch out of the way so hard it cracked.

  He could hear her breathing hard behind him and slowed his step, realizing he was walking too fast. He gave her a sharp look. She was being quiet. Too quiet. Following along meekly beside him with nary a complaint.

  And he didn’t like that look on her face. The slight upward curve of her mouth could almost be characterized as smug. What did she have to smile about? He’d nearly ravished her in the middle of the day against a tree, for God’s sake.

  “We’re almost there,” he said brusquely.

  “That’s nice.”

  That’s nice? His eyes narrowed. What was she up to?

  “Will you be attending to more clan business today?” she asked politely.

  “Aye,” he said.

  “Why have you never kissed me before?” He nearly tripped over a rock at the unexpected change of subject.

  “I don’t know,” he said gruffly. “I suppose I never thought of it.”

  She lifted a brow as if she knew he’d lied. “Well, I rather liked it.”

  Good thing he wasn’t eating or he would have choked.

  “Rather a lot,” she said. “I’m afraid I must insist upon it from now on.”

  Insist upon it? Tor was incredulous. Was his wee wife issuing him orders? He was chief. No one else would dare speak to him with such insolence. He really should correct her. But before he could form a reply, she said, “What else have you not thought about?” She peered suspiciously into his horrified gaze. “I hate to think there’s anything else I’m missing.”

  Her eyes dropped to the substantial bulge beneath his leine. The dart of her tiny pink tongue over her bottom lip sent a bolt of lust right to his groin. She sensed his reaction, and this time, there was no mistaking the smile that curved that sensual mouth.

  Heaven help him.

  With a toss of her long, silky hair, she resumed walking, leaving Tor a little dazed and quite a bit rattled.

  A subtle shift had taken place between them, and Tor had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. Not at all.

  He was more than a little relieved when the village came into view. Dunvegan village consisted of twenty or so small thatched cottages scattered within a mile of the harbor, a small market where the farmers and fishermen gathered to hawk their wares, the village blacksmith, stables, and an alehouse.

  As they drew near, he felt a prickle of disquiet. Something was wrong. It was too quiet. Normally, at this time of day the village would be bustling with activity, but it seemed as if everyone had gone indoors.

  When they turned toward the harbor it became clear why. Two unfamiliar galleys sat anchored in the water.

  He cursed, and was just about to send Christina into one of the cottages until he discovered what was going on when Rhuairi came rushing toward them. “Thank God, you’ve returned,” he said. “I dared not send word.”

  “What’s happened? Whom do those ships belong to?”

  “It’s John MacDougall.” Damn. John of Lorne, the MacDougall chief’s eldest son and tanaiste. And a right bastard. “With the Earl of Ross imprisoned by Edward, MacDougall has come to collect the rents. When he was denied entry to the castle—the men wouldn’t let him in without your permission—he and his soldiers decided to confiscate half the winter reserves. Coll suffered a blow to the head when he tried to stop them from taking half his stores of dried beef.”

  Tor uttered a blasphemy and clenched his jaw. So Edward’s new sheriff had decided to make his presence felt on Skye by harassing his people?

  “How many men did you bring with you?” he asked the seneschal.

  “Only a few. I was already in the village when they arrived.”

  And Tor was without his retinue. Normally, the difference in numbers wouldn’t concern him, but he didn’t usually have his wife to consider. Tor had vowed to stay neutral in Scotland’s war and had no wish to battle Edward’s sheriff, but MacDougall was an arrogant arse and he didn’t trust him. “Take the lady back to the castle—”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” Christina gestured toward the harbor.

  They’d already been seen. MacDougall and at least two score of his men were coming from the opposite direction—near the market—heading to the boats, laden with crates. MacDougall limped slightly as he walked, his crippled leg the source of his epithet as John “Bacach,” or Lame John.

  Tor’s gaze leveled on hers. “Stay near me at all times.” She nodded. “And let me do the talking,” he added as an afterthought. MacDougall was sure to question the circumstances of their marriage, and Tor didn’t want her to inadvertently say anything that would make Edward’s new sheriff question his neutrality. He clenched his fists. MacDonald’s plan was about to be tested. John MacDougall might be an arse but he was no fool. He doubted that the timing of MacDougall’s visit was a coincidence. Edward must have heard of his marriage.

  “Ah,” MacDougall said as they approached. “The very man we’ve been looking for. I’ve come to collect the taxes, but your guard refused me admittance and claimed that you were away.”

  Tor stopped a few feet from him. “As you can see, I’ve returned.” The two men squared off against each other. Tor towered over him by at least a half foot, but MacDougall was built like a boar—thick and heavily muscled. He also had the benefit of forty men behind him. Tor had Rhuari, a handful of guardsmen, and his wife. Because of Christina’s presence, he could do nothing, and they both knew it. Still, it wasn’t in his nature to back down. “So you thought to rob my people of their goods?”

  MacDougall smiled coldly, reminding Tor very much of his viper of a cousin MacRuairi. The MacDougalls, MacDonalds, MacRuairis, and MacSorleys represented four branches of the descendants of Somerled. The feud and struggle for power between the MacDougalls and the MacDonalds was every bit as virulent—and significant—as that between the Bruces and the Comyns. Both clans wanted to be the dominant force in the Islands, but right now it was the MacDougalls.

  “Consider it a deposit on the balance of the taxes that you owe.”

  Tor held his temper in check. “The king has already received his payment for the year.”

  MacDougall lifted a dark brow. “Tha