The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(79)

He trusted few, and none completely. Trust got people killed. “If you are not spying for someone, then explain how you came to be here alone in a tree.”

She bit her lip, color staining her pale cheeks. “I was in the village, taking some of Cook’s honey cakes to wee Iain, who’s sick—they’re his favorite, you know”—he didn’t—”when I saw Lady Janet and decided to follow her.”

The tic at his temple throbbed. She acted as if she’d done nothing more than gone for a pleasant stroll rather than ignored every instruction he’d given her. He took a step toward her, tightening his fists, fighting for patience. “So am I to understand that the reason I find you here is because in a fit of jealousy you decided to follow the woman you thought I was bedding, even after I told you that I was not, into the countryside … alone?” His voice shook with anger. When he thought of what could have happened to her … it made him damned near lose his mind. “God’s wounds, Christina, do you know the danger you could have been in?” Many of the possible consequences flashed through his head, including an image of her with that torn gown. “You promised me you would not leave the castle without a guard.”

He’d backed her up against a tree, and because she had nowhere left to retreat with him looming over her, she nodded with an apologetic wince.

She was too close. He could smell her sweet, flowery scent, and it stirred his anger hotter. Did she always have to smell so damned good? It must be some cruel test of restraint intended to drive him half-crazed.

“You make it sound so foolish, but what else was I to think? You tell me nothing about where you are going for days on end, yet it was clear that you had confided in your leman.”

Because he was trying to protect her, damn it. He didn’t want her anywhere near this. It chilled his blood to think what danger any inadvertent knowledge of Bruce’s guard could put her in. This was treason, and the fact that she was a woman would not stop Edward of England. “Janet cooks for us, that is all. I asked her and she agreed—without asking questions.”

But Christina ignored the jibe. “What is going on out here anyway?” she asked, wrinkling her tiny nose. He shot her a warning glance that she did not heed. “Who are these men, and why are you training them in secret?”

The cold in his bones could only be described as fear. “You will return to the castle, forget everything you have seen, and never come here again. Do you understand?” He was shouting. No one made him lose control like this. She shrank back, but he took her arm and forced her to look at him. The pounding in his heart would not subside. He wanted to shake her until she listened to him. “You are to never ask me about this again.”

Only inches separated them. He’d never tried to intimidate a woman with his size, but if it made her see the seriousness, then he would do whatever he had to. By all that was holy, she should be terrified. But it seemed his wee wife trusted him more than she should. Right now, he didn’t trust himself.

A mutinous look crossed her delicate features. “Perhaps I shall ask Sir Alex,” she said, meeting his black gaze without flinching. Hell, she’d recognized the bloody Englishman. “Or Lachlan MacRuairi.” She gave him a coy smile. “He said if I ever needed—”

Tor snapped. He pulled her hard against his chest, a dark emotion washing over him. “MacRuairi is a viper. Stay away from him.”

Eyes wide, she nodded. Whatever that black emotion was, she saw it—or heard it in his voice—and fear quieted any thoughts of argument.

“I didn’t mean it,” she said, her mouth trembling. “I will never mention it again, if that is what you wish.”

He froze. What was he doing? She was looking at him as if he might strike her. God’s wounds, not all men were like her father. He would never hurt her, he only wanted to protect her. It was just that she’d made him … jealous.

But he didn’t get jealous.

His chest was so tight he couldn’t breathe. He pulled her toward him, knowing it was the only way to get relief. He couldn’t fight it. She was too close, and the temptation was too strong.

Their eyes met; he was drowning. “God, what do you want from me?”

Her eyes widened at the raw emotion in his voice. But before she could answer, he bent his head and did what he’d longed to do since almost the first moment he’d met her. With a groan, he covered her mouth with his.

Seventeen

He smothered her gasp of surprise with his mouth. Christina’s heart slammed into her chest at contact. It was incredible—nothing like before. The perfunctory brush of his lips on their wedding day could hardly compare to this fierce onslaught. To this possession.

The exquisite pressure, the incredible sensation, the closeness. It felt perfect. So right. As if her mouth had been made for this. Only for this. With him.

She felt as if she’d just plunged into a dark pool and was drowning in sensation. The heat. The hard strength of his body. His sultry scent. The dark, spicy taste of him. He overwhelmed her senses with the sheer force of his raw masculinity.

And his mouth … sliding, tasting, moving over hers. Pure heaven! His lips were firm and every bit as soft as they looked, coaxing—nay, demanding—her response.

So she surrendered. Willingly. Sinking into his fiery embrace, returning his kiss with all the eager enthusiasm that her inexperience could manage.