Highland Warrior by McCollum, Heather (people reading books TXT) 📗

but then walk away. They always follow if there is a chase involved. Brenna’s continual prompting surfaced in Kára’s mind. She had ignored her friend’s advice, because there had been absolutely no one about whom she’d want to encourage. That had changed with one casual grin and request to buy her a drink. And the knowledge that she could truly help save her people.

The Highlander moved about the barn with methodical focus, taking his horse’s saddle off and leading him to the water trough. He gave the majestic creature a couple handfuls of oats from the bag on the wagon and walked back outside. Kára leaned farther over the edge, her ears straining to hear above the whistle of wind through the small holes in the daubed walls. The sound of splashing water made her smile. He’d found the real well. Had he first gone to her doorway realizing there was only stone and earth below?

The door whipped open as the wind caught it, and the Highlander strode in with his furs in his hands, shutting the door behind him. “Your tracks stop here, lass,” he called. He dropped the furs with his sheathed sword and ran hands down his face as if ridding it of water. His tunic was open, showing he had washed quickly despite the cold. She sucked in a silent breath as he drew it over his head. “I have caught ye,” he said. “That was your challenge.”

Kára’s gaze traveled along his form, barely visible in the darkness of the barn. Lord help her, she wanted to see him completely bare.

“Shall I come above?” he asked, batting at the rope to make it swing.

Bang. Twang. “Fok,” he cursed low as he knocked her pitchfork over, making it hit the stone stool that sat in the corner. “If sleep is all ye have in mind this eve, I will sleep below. I will not hurt ye, lass. I do not rape.”

Good to know. Kára untied her outer cloak in the darkness, watching his predatory pacing around the corners of the bottom floor. He did not attack women, but he most certainly tupped. His body looked to be made for it. He had probably bedded many women, beguiling, beautiful women. Should she tease and then stop him? Lure him back to her village to finish her seduction?

Seduction? She almost laughed. She had no idea what to do with him, her half-made plan forming as she went. But one thing was certain—she couldn’t let him leave Orkney now that he wasn’t working for Robert. If there was a chance of wooing him to her side of this war, she must try. And if her bringing him to Hillside as her lover deterred Torben from pursuing her, so much the better.

She moved silently back to the rope, holding to the top where she could slide down. He stood below in the darkness. There was only enough light from the cracks in the wooden door for her to see his broad bare shoulders directly below her. I will slide down. Then kiss him, coyly tease him, and invite him back to Hillside Village.

Using the rope, she swung over the edge and down the length, her legs raised to settle over his shoulders. Her heels caught against his chest so she could clench his head with her thighs. “Fortunately for you, Highlander, I do not rape, either,” she said, squeezing.

Before she could do anything else, he grabbed her hips, the strength in his grip slightly biting as he yanked her around. Her heels slid to his upper back, bringing the crux of her legs right before his face. She heard him inhale deeply as if smelling her heat. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, and his hands dug into the back of her arse, pushing her hips forward against his mouth.

He exhaled from the back of his throat, forcing hot breath out. The heat penetrated her trousers, straight to the ache between her legs, making her breath catch as a pulse of lustful fire flared up from it. Without thinking, she rocked into him, her legs clenching around his head, and he repeated the fiery exhale.

Stunned at her immediate response, she loosened her hold to slide her legs down the slope of his back, settling her crossed feet on his arse, her legs wrapped around his thick body. Coming level with his mouth, she kissed him. A carnal, overwhelming heat surged within Kára as his warm lips slid against hers. Holy hell.

He tugged the end of her braid to free its binding and raked upward through her loosening hair. His fingers slid to her nape and up along her scalp as they pressed bodies and mouths together in the dark. Hunger swelled inside Kára, hunger like she’d never felt before, not even with her husband when they were married. She felt ravenous for this man, as if she were starving, her body breaking and shedding the ice in which she’d encased herself over these lonely years. Her plan to lure him with teasing burned to ash under the pressure of his body against hers.

Despite the savage way they clung to each other, his kisses did not bruise. She swept her tongue inside his mouth. He growled low, holding her under her arse and letting her slide farther down until her crux met the thickness of his cod through the wrapping over his hips. He tasted of honey mead and smelled of wild wind, raw strength, and clean man. Kára felt hot and lost. Without thought, she ground her pelvis against the largeness of him. It had become instinct, a deep need.

His lips slid a path along her jaw to her ear. “Ye smell of lust, dróttning.”

“Kára,” she rasped. “My name is Kára. It means wild.”

He chuckled softly. “Kára,” he whispered near her ear, the word coming slow as if he savored her name on his tongue, tasting it as if tasting her. She shuddered.

“Kára, lass, I am going to lick every sweet, hidden part of