For the Highlander's Pleasure

And not even one of the woman’s saints would have denied himself a glance down the front of that sodden tunic to her ample curves.

“Have you not already looked your fill, warrior?” The woman ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Not even your hulking size will protect you when my father the earl discovers you have touched me.”

Finn wrenched his gaze up from the full, high swell of her breasts that he had viewed more fully just a short while ago. He spun the woman in his grip to see her face. He feared no petty Border lordling. But he had journeyed many leagues in search of the Caladan noble who had put out a call for a champion. Could the comely lass be the same man’s kin? Finn had heard rumors about the dark curse on the lord’s lands, including one killing that bore some similarity to his own brother’s death. If this was the domain of the lord in question, Finn would serve the noble until the assassin was vanquished by his blade. He could not afford to let the faceless, cowardly dog escape him again.

“Does this earl seek a champion?” he asked, even knowing the lass might invent any manner of story to protect herself if she thought she was in danger.

Yet the girl’s demeanor suggested she could be highborn despite her lusty play in the river inlet. Nobility did not always breed the fire out of a woman.

He loosened his hold but did not release her.

“Why?” she asked, answering his question with a question.

Peculiar. And yet indicative of a highborn woman. Their pretty manners meant they spoke in circles more often than not.

“I will be that champion,” he assured her, thinking the lass could lead him to the keep even if she was naught but a village maid.

The expression that crossed her face was as inscrutable as her words, though it sounded as if she muttered something like “useless herbs.”

“I have heard of no such lord,” she informed him, wrenching out of his grip. The moment she did so, however, she seemed to realize the mistake of her action. With a horrified glance downward, she spied the full import of her now transparent tunic.

So clear was his view, he could easily imagine the feel of her bare breasts in his hands, the texture of a beaded crest against his tongue.

It was turning out to be a difficult day to ignore fleshly pleasures.

Scrambling to pluck the damp clothing off herself so it did not cling in such an intimate way, the woman stomped toward her tethered horse, her cheeks flaming with heated color.

“But I know that I’m close to Caladan and I seek a Caladan lord,” Finn prompted, hoping she would relent and show him the way, since she must know it.

Scowling, she heaved herself on the back of her mare before he could assist her. Her thighs squeezed the horse’s flanks, her wet skirts sending rivulets of water down the beast’s sides.

“I know not where you should head,” she replied. She leaned over the animal’s back, murmured in its ear and nudged its side. “But even if you find such a lord, no Border earl would lower himself to hire a Highlander to fight his battles.”

With a rumble of hooves, the lusty woodland sprite was gone. He would almost have thought he’d imagined her altogether if not for the damp imprint her delectable body had left upon his clothes.

So, whistling for his own mount tucked in the forest nearby, Finn trusted his instincts about the cheeky lass and set off through the trees to follow her wherever she might lead.

Chapter Two

No warriors came to the feast of gathering.

Violet shivered her way into a fresh chemise and rich yellow kirtle, the hearth fire in her small sleeping chamber doing naught to ward off the unease that pricked her skin. She’d returned home from her journey to the riverbank to find the keep empty of men save her father. None of his knights sat in the hall with him for fear of being chosen as his champion—or perhaps they were more afraid of being chosen as her mate. Some said her father had allowed her to run wild, and perhaps that was true. She was more apt to be in the woods than the kitchens, testing herbal mixtures or digging in the dirt to ensure the healthiest plants for her remedies.

Still, marriage to her would mean wealth and lands for her husband. Surely her unconventional ways would be a small inconvenience.

“Violet?” Inna’s voice came through the chamber door. “Your da is keen to see you in the hall.”

“Aye,” Violet muttered, nervous at the thought of facing her father when no one had answered his call.

Digging through the silks and linens of her wardrobe, she searched for a sheer swath to wrap about her hair and neck. The herbs from Morag’s failed potion had left her skin hot and vaguely itchy. She could not bear the thought of any heavy fabric upon it. Her whole body felt oversensitive.