Tender Feud

His eyes had gone dark blue again, she saw. The hot blue of barely leashed, soul-deep desire.

“Raith…make love to me.”

“Yes…” And when he took her mouth again with hungry authority, she felt his desperation, his need.

Her own shaking excitement was barely controllable as he divested her of her nightshift and carried her to the bed. She thought he would take off his own clothing then, but he followed her down onto the soft mattress, his lips worshiping her silken skin until Katrine was restless and aching for more than the devastating touch of his mouth. She ached for completion. She wanted to feel his hard, magnificent body naked against her, wanted to feel him moving deep within her.

“Raith, please,” she demanded on a soft moan.

He left her impatiently then, to strip off his clothes, watching her all the while. He had managed to dispose of the ribbon that bound her hair and had loosened the thick braid till it was a glorious mass of untamable curls. Her hair seemed to flame in the gilded lamplight, while her eyes had darkened to the green of mountain grass in a Highland summer. Raith thought he had never seen anything so lovely.

When she reached out her arms to him, he came to her without doubts as to his need for her. Stretching out beside her, he fitted their bodies together as they were made to be. Slowly, in a movement as natural and inevitable as breathing, he sank inside her, gliding into her womanly softness in a long smooth continuous thrust that soon had Katrine gasping and arching her hips in an ancient rhythm.

Adapting to that splendid rhythm, Raith took her possessively, with tenderness and fierce hunger, till she was sobbing his name. Murmuring his own incoherent words of desire, he buried himself ever deeper within her silken warmth, seeking to ease his torment, seeking shelter from the reality he had insisted on recognizing, seeking the oneness he had never felt with any other living soul, the overwhelming feeling of rightness.

He found it with her, a world of sheer joy and tumultuous, hurtling pleasure, a world of delight and dreams and endless possibilities. And they left it together, their breaths and heartbeats mingling as they slowly returned to physical earth.

Sighing sweetly, Katrine lay unmoving beneath him, sated and content, knowing herself complete. Sighing heavily, Raith lay unmoving, sated but discontent, knowing himself for a fool. For with the return of reason came the relentless invasion of memories…his stillborn son, his late wife. Ellen had been out of her mind those final hours—and he must be out of his mind now to risk Katrine’s life, Raith concluded. He couldn’t let this go on. The price was too dear. He cared for her too much. He cared....

The admission startled him. In what instant had his motives of vengeance been replaced by the simple desire that burned in him now and had nothing to do with lust? He wanted her safe, wanted her protected.

Rolling on his side, he gathered Katrine’s relaxed, sleepy body in his arms. Her wild hair spilled over his chest and throat, making him feel as if he were surrounded by flame, but he forced aside the sensation as he considered the transformation of his sentiments. What he felt was not love—he could never love a Campbell. The emotion was more like a fever burning in his blood. A fever he was powerless to fight.

But why was he so helpless? Why did he have so little control where Katrine was concerned? Why was he even attracted to her? Again and again she had infuriated him, tried his patience, challenged his authority, cut up his peace, stirred up his clan, rearranged his life and his priorities, burrowed into his soul....

Shying away from the thought, Raith settled Katrine more comfortably against him, then drew up the sheet over them both as he pondered the problem.

“What’s to be done with you?” he murmured at length, his mouth moving against her hair. But the answer was obvious. He had to find a way to protect her as well as his clan. Which meant putting her out of reach, where he couldn’t touch her, where he wouldn’t be tempted or driven to disregard his resolve…as he had tonight.

When Raith finally reached a decision, there was a hollowness in the pit of his stomach that he refused to examine too closely. But at least he was able to sleep, for he could see an end to the torment that had plagued him during the past weeks.

Beside him Katrine dozed, only to waken a short while later, blinking at the unaccustomed lamplight. The realization that she was in Raith’s bed, pressed against his hard body, cradled in his arms, stole over her slowly, bringing with it a kind of quiet joy and the wish that she could always wake up this way. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, and she drew back slightly, gazing at him with wonder. His body was so beautiful…lean and powerful, with corded muscles in his shoulders and arms, and a sprinkling of black hair on the chest. His face, too, was beautiful to her. Despite the faint shadow of stubble, in sleep he looked young and unguarded and incomparably vital.

But she wasn’t fooled by the peaceful, handsome face. Neither her pleading nor their lovemaking had made a whit of difference in his attitude toward her or their marriage, or altered his plans for his raid on Clan Campbell. She knew that for a certainty. Suddenly her quiet joy was replaced by quiet desperation.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Raith, Katrine eased from the bed and dressed in her nightclothes. She kept an eye on his slumbering form as she went to the hearth to gather up his weapons. Her heart was beating so loudly she wondered if it might wake him. But she had no choice. The killing and hatred had to stop, and if there was any way she could prevent further bloodshed, she would do it. Even if it infuriated Raith. Even if he wanted to murder her.

She thought of placing all the weapons on the round targe, using the Highland shield as a tray, but soon realized the resuiting burden would be too heavy and cumbersome to manage. She settled on only the heavy claymore and targe. Even those were almost too weighty for her to carry, but she managed to slip from the room without waking Raith, then steal downstairs, leaving the house by way of the back door.

The moon was full, providing ample light for her to see the path to the glen. Katrine made her way there as quickly as she could, heading directly for the loch. She meant to deliver Raith’s weapons into the shimmering depths, and when that was done, she would return to the buttery. If it took her all night and a hundred trips, Katrine vowed, she would empty the MacLeans’ secret cache of every weapon she could find.

But first she would see to Raith’s. The targe made a tremendous splash as it hit the moonlit surface, and Katrine watched with grim satisfaction as it and the claymore disappeared from sight.

Raith heard the splash from some distance behind her. He had woken to find both Katrine and his claymore gone, and upon searching, had spied her from his bedroom window. Puzzled, he’d set out in quick pursuit.

Realizing now what she had done, Raith came to an abrupt halt. “God’s blood,” he breathed. For a moment he felt only rage and impotence. Then impotence vanished. He had never been a violent man with women, but he knew then what it was to anticipate murder with relish.

“Katrine!” he bellowed, and sprinted after her.

At his shout, she whirled in alarm. Her startled brain commanded her muscles to move, but they were frozen in place as Raith came hurtling toward her, his dark face a mask of fury.

“You cockle-headed gomerel! You’re completely daft! By God, I’ll badger you within an inch of your worthless life!”

She had always known he became far more Scottish in his speech when his emotions gained the upper hand. At the moment he was sounding very Scottish. Finally jolted into action, Katrine turned to run.

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nbsp; She was fairly fleet, but she was no match for Raith. Even though he stubbed his toe on a gorse bush—which slowed him momentarily and elicited a violent curse from him—he managed to cut her off before she had taken five strides. With the fierceness of a Highland storm, he seized her arm, dragged her along behind him, settled himself on the nearest decent-sized boulder, flung her over his knee and, despite her struggling, proceeded to blister her backside.