Between a Highlander and a Hard Place, page 21
She landed in a bone-jarring heap, pain jolting through her body. She stumbled as she attempted to stay on her feet and Brenda came down nearly on top of her.
“Hey now…”
A man stood up from where he’d been sitting near the front entrance.
“Run!” Brenda shouted.
Athena reached back for Brenda instead, grabbing her hand as they took off down the street.
“I’ll crack yer skulls!” the man declared.
He was close. Athena knew it but didn’t dare risk a glance behind them. Another burly man guarding a tavern door in front of them rose up as they dashed past. The end of the block came, bringing hope, but she heard the swish of the club, pushing Brenda away as it sailed through the air between them.
“I am Brenda Grant!” Brenda shouted. “Touch me, and ye will answer to all the Grants!”
She aimed her voice at the men coming out to block their path. They were stuck, the man smacking the club against his palm as he closed the distance between them.
“Don’t much care who ye be,” he sneered. “I’ve been paid to keep ye in hand, and I am no’ going hungry—”
Two hands suddenly appeared on the side of his head. Huge hands. They wrenched his head about, causing a cracking sound before the man slumped to the ground in a dead heap.
“Ye should have cared,” Symon Grant remarked as he stood over the body. He looked past them to the others. “No one wrongs a Grant and lives.”
Symon.
Athena blinked, certain her mind had broken, leaving her insane and imagining him there.
But he looked at her, locking his topaz eyes with hers, and she felt the connection all the way down to her toes.
He was real.
“Thank Christ,” Brenda muttered, grabbing Athena and moving toward her cousin.
There were still men on the street, silently watching them as they decided whether to take Symon’s challenge. Symon pushed the women behind him as the crowd began to realize they were dealing with more than just Symon. The feathers raised on the side of his cap made it clear he was a laird. They disappeared back into the shadowy doorways where the last of the evening light reflected off their eyes like rats in the dark.
Not that it mattered.
Symon reached down and clasped her wrist in his hand, his fingers wrapping all the way around her wrist.
All that mattered was that she’d freed Brenda. There was a victory in the action. Perhaps not redemption, but atonement at the least.
Symon pulled her toward his horse and mounted. Tamhas offered her his interlaced fingers to use in mounting.
She savored the feeling of his arms around her, not caring about the tears that eased from her eyes. Pride mattered not at all. Only the stolen moment of being held close by the man she loved.
Because, of course, it would be for the very last time.
* * *
“Where is Will Tinker? Ye’ll tell me which house he took ye to.”
Bothan Gunn asked the question of Brenda, although it was clearly more of a demand. Stained with blood and dirt, Brenda lifted her bruised and scraped chin and faced off with him.
“We managed quite well,” Brenda replied.
The Earl of Sutherland kept a house in Edinburgh for when he came to court. The staff opened the doors wide when Symon informed them who he was.
“Athena.” Symon turned to her. “Tell me which house he took ye to.”
“So you can return and do murder?” she asked.
“Justice,” Symon insisted. “Or have ye forgotten Kory so soon?”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “I have not. I would never forget that he died because of my foolishness.”
Bothan had been facing off with Brenda. The Gunn chief turned to look at her with a question in his eyes.
“As much my doing as yers, Athena. Tamhas has warned me more than once about leaving on me own,” Symon said.
There was a grunt from Tamhas. The captain was enjoying the attention of the servants who were eager to have something to do other than clean an empty house. A manservant had appeared with a gleaming tray holding mugs of cider.
Symon and Bothan ignored the refreshment, intent on only one thing.
“Ye go back down there, and Will Tinker won’t be the only man ye kill—his friends will come out of the gutter to defend him,” Brenda insisted. “I for one would just as soon go north where we can get back to living. This town has naught but filth and pain in it.”
She looked down at her hands and started trying to wipe the blood off her fingers. Then she let out a frustrated sound before she pushed past Bothan and escaped through a doorway.
Bothan started after her. Symon reached out and caught his arm. “Give her some time, Gunn. Me cousin looks as though she’s had a rough time of it.”
Bothan wasn’t content. His complexion darkened, and his attention shifted to Athena.
“I won’t tell you either,” Athena informed them both. “Brenda is correct. You will both end up in a fight. Better to return to your home free men.”
“That bastard came onto me land and put his hands on ye. It cannae go unchallenged,” Symon insisted, with Bothan nodding his agreement.
“It can, for Will Tinker is the sort of man who cares nothing for his name or word. Those who do business with him know him for the scum he is,” Athena replied.
“Ye are me wife,” Symon insisted.
She stepped back, uncertain as to what to make of his declaration. She saw the determination flickering in his topaz eyes, but her mind couldn’t seem to grasp the idea. Not when she knew he had to detest her.
“Excuse me, Bothan.” Symon spoke quietly to his fellow chief without taking his eyes off her. “It seems I need to have a bit of time with me wife…she’s confused.”
Symon scooped her up a moment later, stealing her breath with just how easily he took her weight.
She seemed to forget how large a man he really was.
Because you trust him…
It was true and something she didn’t lament, for he’d proven himself to her. Which was a good thing because he took her through a doorway and up a flight of stairs and into a chamber. Symon turned her loose before bracing himself in front of the closed chamber door with a look that sent a shiver down her spine.
“Ye…” he began softly. “Ye are me wife, Athena.”
“Your people will hate me for the way I caused Kory’s death,” she began, dragging a deep breath into her lungs to steady herself and say what she knew was logical and just. “So…I do not expect you to honor the arrangement we had. I understand you must be concerned with your people’s opinion of your wife.”
He cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. “What ye need to understand, lass…is that I have had ye, with yer agreement on the matter.”
“Kory would not be dead if I had not walked away without an escort.”
Symon offered her a nod. “He’d also no’ be dead if I had no’ decided to distract Brenda from acting as chaperone to ye with a letter to Bothan Gunn.”
“You what?” Athena asked incredulously.
Symon’s lips twitched into a rather smug grin. “Enjoying me confession? Good. It’s the truth that I was trying to find a way to keep me cousin from interfering in me courtship of ye.”
“I believe the word is seduction.”
Symon’s grin grew. “I was certainly hoping it would come to that.”
And it had indeed come to pass.
Her cheeks heated. His attention shifted to where she knew her skin was turning crimson. His lips thinned, and she recognized the look of hunger flashing in his eyes.
It triggered something inside of her. Like a spark falling from a flint stone to a pile of tinder. The entire purpose was to allow a flame to ignite.
And she felt it flicker to life deep inside her belly.
Symon read her feelings right on her face. He nodded slowly before he began to come toward her.
“Wait…” It wasn’t what she wanted to say. No, her flesh was heating for him, her nipples drawing into tight points behind her bodice.
“I’m going to toss yer skirts, sweet Athena,” he promised her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “And once I satisfy ye, I am going to strip ye bare and love ye until ye have no more strength to argue with me.”
“You cannot—”
He was looming over her now. Something flashed in his eyes, a warning that curled her toes with anticipation. “I can,” he rasped out, stroking the side of her face as he slid his hand back to clasp her nape. “And it will be me pleasure to convince ye to join me in passion.”
He sealed her reply beneath his kiss. Symon didn’t tease her with soft kisses. He took her mouth with a demand that froze her breath in her chest. It was searing hot and carnal in every motion. He pressed her lips open with his, holding her nape with a grip that kept her his captive.
Even if she was a very willing one.
There was no way to deny it. Need and hunger were living forces inside her; the wanton side of her nature seemed in tune with him, responding to his kiss just as surely as she would have flowed into a dance she’d rehearsed.
Instinct told her how to kiss him back, and her memory of their night together fanned the flames licking at her insides. Her clitoris throbbed, eager for attention from his hand.
Symon didn’t plan to let her linger very long with need clawing at her insides. He pressed her back, placing her against a wall as he grabbed a handful of her skirts and pulled them high.
“Christ, ye drive me to madness,” he whispered next to her ear. “Tell me ye cannae wait any more than I can…”
His tone was edged with the same frustration she felt. She’d just never expected to hear Symon Grant brought to the same level of craving as he reduced her to.
His hand was on her thigh, sliding up and down it for a moment. She arched back, sensation driving her nearly mad as it went racing along the surface of her skin.
“I crave you, Symon. God knows I should not.”
He lifted his head, locking gazes with her. “Why does it distress ye so, Athena?”
“Because…” He gripped her hip, sending a jolt of excitement through her core.
“Because…why?” he demanded in a raspy tone.
He slipped his hand down and over the curve of her bottom and then along the underside of her thigh as he lifted it up so his hips nestled between hers.
“Why, Athena?” he demanded, his eyes flashing with determination to pry the answer from her.
“Because I cannot think when you touch me…”
A confession…
Her weakness…
His lips twitched in response, the glint in his topaz eyes hardening with purpose. His cock was hard behind the layer of wool that made up the front of his kilt. He’d locked her knee around his waist. Nothing mattered but the certain knowledge that he was pulling up the barrier between them, making her gasp as she lifted her hips up toward him.
The first brush of his cock against her slit made her moan. Her passage clenched, eager and needy to be stretched.
“What have ye done to yerself?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
Her eyes had slid shut as the need to see became irrelevant to the way she wanted to just sink down into the moment of being taken.
“Athena?” He was suddenly moving back, reaching for the tie that kept her bodice closed. It popped open, and he plunged his fingers into the lacing, pulling the lace free so the garment opened wide.
She’d forgotten about the French maids…
“Oh…well…”
Athena found herself stammering. Her clothing was falling away. Symon tugged and pulled at her laces, determined to bare her. The light of evening still lit the room, making her shift away as her skirts fell down to puddle at her ankles.
“The maids at the palace were French, so they…” It seemed impossible to actually say. She stepped out of her clothing, slipping away from Symon while he paused to give her time to explain. Her chemise fluttered just above her knees.
“Show me.” There was a wicked gleam in his eyes.
Something about the way he watched her filled her with confidence.
Or perhaps it was more precise to call it boldness.
She wanted to captivate him. He was huge and impossibly strong. Dark and dangerous even if her trust of him made her forget from time to time.
And his gaze was on her, his jaw tight as he waited for her to grant his request. She fingered the edge of her chemise, tugging it up to bare her thighs. His eyes narrowed, his lips thinning with hunger.
Vanity wasn’t a good trait, but she admitted she enjoyed knowing he was captivated by her.
“Sweet Christ,” he murmured as her sex came into sight.
“They insisted,” she offered as she hesitated to draw her last garment completely off.
He moved toward her, cupping her chin and pressing a kiss against her lips. “Get into bed and stay there, lass. I’ll be back in just a wee bit. Need to shave this beard off before I come near ye, or I’ll scratch yer tender skin.”
He turned and left, moving so fast the back pleats of his kilt swayed.
“He will be able to lick your little pearl, and it is…bliss!”
The maid’s prediction rose from her memory.
Her cheeks flushed again, and so did the rest of her body.
She’d heard rumors. London was a town full of all manner of entertainments, holy and not so holy. Her uncle’s housekeeper had taken to whispering a few things to her once Galwell had begun to court her.
Things a woman should know, she’d explained.
Athena paced around in a circle and found herself facing the bed once more. Lying down and waiting for Symon held no appeal, even if she’d have been put to bed after her wedding in just such a way.
No…Symon was not like Galwell.
She circled around again, taking the time to look at the chamber. There was a dressing table. Athena went toward it, searching through the drawers until she found a comb. She dug the pins from her hair until it fell down. Using the comb, she brushed it all out until it was a fluffy cloud.
The sun had set, the shadows growing darker. Using a flint stone, she struck it into the tinder pile and held a candle in the flame. A golden pool of light grew from the candle. Athena carried it to another candle on the mantel and lit it.
“That’s how I first saw ye…” Symon’s voice came from the darkness. “Lit by the light of fire and wearing almost naught.”
He emerged from the shadows by the door, wearing only a shirt. His face was clean and the rest of him too. Water still glistened in his dark hair. It was a strange thing to think, but she realized she’d never seen his feet.
He chuckled softly and drew his shirt up and over his head. There was a confidence in him she envied. For he stood there, firm and unwavering in nothing but skin.
Well, she wasn’t going to be a mouse…
Setting the candle down, Athena pulled her chemise over her head. Her hair floated down to rest against her back as she watched Symon take her in.
He didn’t rush. No, he took his time, sweeping his gaze over every inch of her. His expression captivated her, filling her with confidence because she saw the approval on his face.
“I wanted to ravish ye, there in the light of the May fire,” he rasped as he moved closer. “Ye enchanted me, and by Christ, I was happy to fall under yer spell.”
He’d reached her, stopping one pace from her. She would have sworn she felt his body heat. Her skin was so sensitive that she sucked in her breath when he settled his hand on her hip.
“Ye wanted me to steal that kiss…”
Athena felt her lips curving into a smile. “Looking for absolution?”
His eyes flashed at her. “I’m looking for an accomplice…one to join me in mayhem—”
“You mean debauchery.”
He flashed his teeth at her. “I most assuredly do, lass.”
“Well then,” she muttered, hardly recognizing her voice for how husky it sounded. “I must do my part…”
She reached forward and touched his cock.
He sucked in his breath, spurring her on.
She teased his length with her fingertips. She was surprised by how soft his skin was, but beneath that, his cock was hard and rigid. Hunger returned to gnaw at her insides, but she realized she craved the anticipation as much as the actual moment.
Perhaps he did too…
She closed her hand around his length, pulling and milking him as she watched the way his face drew taut. The grip on her hip tightened, his chest rising and falling faster.
He captured her nape and kissed her, his lips demanding, and she met them with a hunger of her own. They twisted toward one another, touching, turning, moving in a tangle of limbs and unbound hair.
Symon gathered up a handful and growled softly as he buried his face in the strands. She heard him inhale and realized she liked the way his skin smelled as well.
So carnal…
And yet so very enjoyable.
“Now, I am going to enjoy what I shaved for.” He scooped her off her feet, cradling her against his chest as he took her toward the bed. With only the two candles lit, the bed was shrouded in darkness.
It suited the moment, for she craved the unknown things rumored to be lurking in the night shadows.
Symon didn’t disappoint her. He pressed her thighs wide, slipping down her body so she felt the touch of his breath against the wet folds of her sex.
The first touch of his lips against her clit sent her arching away from him, not from the desire to evade him but from the sheer volume of sensation the connection yielded.
