Falling for the Highlander Page 12

  Gasping for breath, Murine had to clutch his shoulders harder and wrap her legs around his hips to keep the position he'd raised her to, but Dougall hardly noticed as he peered at her soft, sweet breasts. Muttering the word beautiful, he lowered his head to claim one rosy nipple, suckling the cold hard bud into his mouth to warm with his tongue.

  Murine cried out and bucked against him at the caress, the action rubbing her hot core over his erection in the warming water and Dougall groaned, then let go of her wet chemise to grasp her bottom and urge her up and down against his length again. The damp cloth immediately dropped to cover his head, but Dougall didn't care. He suckled eagerly at her nipple, swirling his tongue over and over the little bud as he raised and lowered her along his length, driving them both crazy with the intimate caress until Murine tugged the cloth off his head and pulled at his hair and one ear in demand.

  Releasing her nipple, he raised his head to answer the call and claimed her mouth again. This time, though, she was less quiescent in the kiss, her own tongue sliding out eagerly to meet his before she began to suck on his tongue, little mewls of excitement slipping from her throat as she did.

  Dougall couldn't say if it was her excited sounds or the fact that she was sucking on his tongue and it was making him imagine her sucking on something else that did it, but his excitement level ratcheted up sharply and he responded as enthusiastically, raising her bottom a little higher than he'd meant. His erection broke loose from between them with the action, eased forward and hit her pelvic bone hard as he brought her down again.

  The jolt wasn't as painful as it was shocking. It made him realize just how reckless he was being. She was wearing nothing but the shift, its hem now floating in the water around them along with the bottom of his shirt. There was nothing to block the way. One slip and he could take her innocence without even intending to, he thought and froze, holding her still with her lower body a little away from his.

  "Dougall," Murine moaned in protest when he broke their kiss. She tried to shift against him again, but he held her still, trying to catch his breath and regain control of himself.

  "Hush," he murmured and turned sharply toward shore, intending to get them out of the water and set her away from him. He realized what a stupid idea that was when the supporting water fell away and she, probably afraid he would drop her, tightened her legs to keep herself up. Dougall stopped walking and dropped his head to her chest with a groan as her body slid against his again.

  This had really been a bad idea, he acknowledged and took a couple of deep breaths, before saying, "I'm going to set ye down, lass."

  "But I don' wan' ye to," she protested. "This feels good. I like it."

  The words made his determination falter. If it weren't for the way she slurred her words, he might have taken her there and then. However, there was a definite slur to her words. Murine was in no state to think clearly on this. He had to think for both of them, and while he'd pretty much decided he was indeed going to marry Lady Murine Carmichael and bed her well and repeatedly, he would not have her waking in the morning and accusing him of treating her like the whore her brother had tried to turn her into.

  "I like it too, lass, but--"

  "Then why are ye stopping? Did I do something wrong? Tell me what to do and I'll--" Her words died on a gasp as he suddenly dropped her into the water. It was a desperate bid to save them both. She was a tasty little bundle and Dougall could not fight himself and her too.

  Leaving her to flounder back to her feet in the shallow water, he moved quickly back to shore, grabbed his tartan, laid it out, and knelt to begin pleating it with his back to the water. He didn't do more than glance over his shoulder once to be sure she got out of the water safely, but then immediately turned his full attention forward again. He would give her time to dress and then escort her back to camp . . . and then he would not allow himself to be alone with her until they reached Buchanan and were safely married. He would not have her thinking he saw her through her brother's eyes.

  Murine stepped out of the water and wrapped her arms around herself as she peered uncertainly at Dougall's stiff back where he knelt pleating his tartan. She wasn't sure what to do. It had all felt so wonderful to her, but now he seemed angry and she didn't know what to do to fix it. She supposed she'd behaved badly. Actually, she supposed she'd acted as much a lightskirt as her brother could want and Dougall probably thought . . .

  Closing her eyes, she turned to face the water, her mind suddenly awhirl with thoughts. Dear God, Dougall probably thought her little more than a whore. He probably thought she sold herself at every turn for Montrose's gain. No wonder he had dropped her in disgust.

  Glancing around, she spotted her gown where she'd dropped it before going into the water. Murine hurried over and grabbed it up, then hesitated. She could not put it on over her dripping wet chemise, but was sobering quickly and could not bring herself to strip here. In fact, she was suddenly desperate to escape Dougall and the disgust she was sure to see in his eyes.

  She would hurry back to camp alone, change either in the cover of the trees or behind the horses and her bull, then lie down and pretend to be sleeping when Dougall returned to camp. And then she would avoid him for the rest of the trip, she thought as she left him working over his tartan and slipped out of the clearing.

  Murine didn't know what she would do come morning, continue on to MacDonnell to talk to Saidh, she supposed. Although she began to wonder if she should bother. Perhaps she should just go straight to an abbey and see if they would take her without dower. Certainly, she was not likely to marry. Her brief consideration of offering herself in marriage to Aulay was now impossible. She could hardly marry him after what she'd done with Dougall. Not that Aulay would want to marry her once Dougall told him of her loose morals anyway.

  But the possibility of marrying anyone else didn't seem viable either. To let someone else, anyone else do the things to her that Dougall had done--Murine gave her head a brief shake. She couldn't believe she'd let him do those things. It all had seemed--

  Murine grimaced, her fingers twitching on the material of her gown as she walked. She wanted to think that it had all seemed normal and natural, but the truth was she hadn't been thinking at all. Her mind had been consumed by the sensations he'd stirred in her and the growing need that had seemed to well up out of nowhere. All she'd been aware of was the passion overwhelming her. It was only now, when he wasn't kissing and caressing her, that she was thinking at all, and now the fire and desire that had claimed her seemed somehow dirty and cheap.

  Murine breathed out a shaky sigh as she acknowledged that, then glanced around sharply as a branch snapped behind her. Dougall must have finished with his tartan and headed after her. Determined to avoid him, she broke into a run and didn't slow until she came out by the horses on the edge of their camp.

  Spotting the men sitting, chatting and laughing by the fire where the pheasants were roasting, Murine slipped through the horses until they made a curtain between herself and the camp, then quickly stripped off her shift and tugged on her gown. Leaving the shift to dry over a branch, she then straightened her shoulders and made her way out from the horses.

  The men all fell silent at her approach. It was Conran who, after studying her expression, asked, "Is all well, lass?"

  Murine forced a smile. "Fine. I just do no' feel well. I think I need a lie-down."

  "Oh," Conran said softly, but was looking concerned now. Not wanting his concern or kindness, Murine didn't say anything else, but simply lay down and closed her eyes to begin feigning sleep as she'd planned.

  "Are ye done, lass?" Dougall asked, trying not to sound impatient. He'd finished donning his tartan several moments ago, but had then merely crossed his arms with his back firmly to Murine to allow her privacy. He'd expected her to strip her chemise, don her gown and then give him some indication that she was decent and ready to go, but she appeared to be taking her time. And she wasn't responding to his question. Frownin
g, he shifted where he stood and said, "Murine?"

  He didn't wait more than a heartbeat for an answer before turning. His gaze slid over the empty clearing with disbelief, and then he cursed and strode into the woods, headed for camp at a jog. He was halfway back when he spotted movement ahead. He almost called out to Murine then, but didn't and merely picked up his pace a bit. When the figure he was following suddenly burst into a run, he thought she must have heard his approach and also burst into a run to give chase.

  They were nearly to camp when she suddenly veered off to the left and went racing away. Dougall automatically followed, frowning as he did. Where the devil was she going? With her tendency to faint, the damned woman shouldn't even have headed back to camp on her own, but to go haring off into the woods on her own . . .

  Dougall pushed that thought aside and concentrated on picking up speed. He hadn't expected her to put much effort into her run so had been taking it easy up until then, expecting her to slow to a stop relatively quickly. But she hadn't and the distance between them had grown. He would lose her if he didn't--

  Even as he had the thought, the distant figure before him dodged around a large tree and vanished from sight. Dougall put on another burst of speed as he heard a horse whinny in greeting. It was followed a heartbeat later by the unmistakable drum of horse hooves racing away. By the time Dougall reached and ran around the tree himself, there was nothing to see but a couple of hoofprints in the dirt.

  Cursing, he whirled and raced back toward camp, his mind trying to sort out how and when Murine had managed to sneak one of the horses away to that spot, and why she would flee. If she was upset about what had happened between them at the waterfall . . .

  Well, surely his putting an end to what was happening when he had, proved his intentions were honorable toward her and she had nothing to fear? he thought. Besides, the horse had already been waiting for her there, which meant she must have planned to flee before they'd even gone to the clearing. What the devil was--

  His thoughts and footsteps skidded to a halt as he reached the clearing and spotted Murine apparently sleeping by the fire.

  "Dougall?"

  He forced his gaze away from Murine and glanced to Conran. His confusion must have shown in his expression, however, because his brother frowned and stood to join him at the edge of the camp where he'd stopped so abruptly.

  "Is something amiss?" Conran asked, glancing from him to Murine.

  "How long has she been here?" he asked rather than answer the question.

  Conran raised an eyebrow and turned to peer at Murine. "Not long. A few minutes mayhap. Why?"

  "She--I thought--" His voice died away as his gaze returned to Murine and he took in the bright yellow gown she wore. The same yellow gown she'd worn to the waterfall. She'd traded her ripped gown for this one while he'd been off hunting pheasant earlier, he recalled. But the figure he'd been chasing in the woods had been dressed in dark clothes. It hadn't been Murine at all. The realization made him frown. Whom had he been following in the woods? And if Murine had been back only moments, she couldn't have been far ahead of the person he'd been following. Had the individual been following her?

  "You thought what?" Conran prompted when he didn't continue.

  Dougall sucked in a deep breath and shook his head. What he'd thought didn't matter, but it bothered him that someone had been so near their camp. Someone with a horse tethered far enough away that it wasn't likely to be detected by anyone in their group, but close enough to reach quickly if necessary. Dougall had learned long ago to listen to his instincts and they were squawking at him just then. They were reminding him of the string of deaths in Murine's family the last three years, and that when last she'd been injured, she'd claimed something had hit her in the head as she turned. They'd all assumed she was confused after fainting and hitting her head, but she'd insisted she hadn't fainted at all. What if she hadn't? What if she had been hit?

  "Pack up," he ordered abruptly. "We continue on to Buchanan."

  "At this hour?" Conran asked with surprise, following when Dougall walked toward the horses. "The day is half over. We would not reach Buchanan until well into night. Mayhap not until morn if there is no moon and we are forced to move at a walk after the sun sets."

  Dougall stopped, his mouth tightening as he reconsidered. It would be a much longer and more arduous journey if they left now rather than wait for morn. On the other hand, the hair on the nape of his neck was practically crawling with warning. He had a bad feeling that something was amiss and that they needed to get Murine behind the safety of Buchanan's walls as quickly as possible.

  Letting his breath out, he glanced to Murine, then caught Conran's elbow to urge him toward the horses. He didn't want to explain anywhere Murine might overhear. He was determined to see her happy and smiling, not worried and full of fear. He would worry for her.

  Murine listened to the men's voices fade as they moved away and swallowed miserably. It seemed Dougall was so disgusted with her behavior that he couldn't wait to get her to Buchanan and out of his hair. No doubt once there, he'd hand her over to Aulay to arrange an escort for her to MacDonnell . . . after telling him how she'd behaved, of course. It was probably what he'd dragged Conran away to tell him now, she fretted. And Conran, in turn, would no doubt tell Geordie and Alick, she thought unhappily. How could she face any of them once they all knew she'd acted as cheaply as her brother had portrayed her?

  Shame writhing through her, she opened her eyes just long enough to cast a quick, furtive glance toward the two men still seated by the fire before closing them again. Murine liked Geordie and Alick. She liked all of them and was already squirming at the idea of their condemnation once they learned just how loose she could be.

  Perhaps she should just get on Henry and ride away, Murine thought. It could not be that far to MacDonnell from here. A ride of a day to reach Buchanan and half a day to continue on to MacDonnell, the men had said. Surely if she continued in the direction they'd been heading she would find her way there?

  Murine grimaced. She had a lousy sense of direction. On top of that, she hadn't been paying attention to where they were headed before this. She hadn't thought she'd need to. In truth, she supposed she didn't really need to now. The men had promised to see her safely to their sister, and she felt sure they could be trusted to do so. It just meant she'd have to suffer the shame of their censoring looks for the rest of the journey.

  "Murine?"

  Recognizing Conran's voice, Murine stiffened and forced her eyes open to find him crouched next to her. His expression held neither censure nor disgust, however, but there was a certain tenseness to him that hadn't been there before.

  "Ye'd best get up and ready yerself. We're leaving," Conran said quietly.

  Murine considered asking why, but was afraid she wouldn't like the answer, or that he'd avoid her eyes and give a polite lie. Instead, she merely nodded solemnly and sat up, noting that Dougall was talking quietly to Geordie and Alick by the fire. Much to her relief, Conran distracted her then by offering her a hand to help her rise.

  "Do ye need to tend to personal matters ere we go?" Conran asked once she was on her feet.

  Murine shook her head silently.

  "Fine, fine," he said and then glanced around as the other men moved toward the horses. He offered a crooked smile. "Ye'll be riding with me this time."

  Murine had to work hard to keep from flinching. She shouldn't be surprised that Dougall no longer wanted her on his horse, but still it hurt. Lifting her chin, she said stiffly, "I'll ride Henry, thank ye."

  "Ye'll ride with Conran."

  Murine stiffened, but didn't glance around at Dougall's voice. "I--"

  "We have to ride fast while there is still light. Your cow is slow and ye'll just slow him further with yer weight. Ye'll ride with Conran until nightfall." He paused briefly and then added, "Ye can ride the mare after that if ye insist on riding by yerself. We'll have to ride slow then anyway."

  "T
he mare?" she asked, startled into glancing at him.

  Dougall nodded and offered a tight smile. "She's yours now."

  Murine merely stared at him as a rushing began to fill her ears. Her brother had offered her services in exchange for both horses. It seemed that despite Dougall's not actually breaching her maidenhead, their little encounter by the waterfall had earned her the mare. Or perhaps it was simply a down payment and he expected more from her for the animal. Before she could refuse the horse or say anything at all, Dougall turned away to head to the fire and quickly set about putting it out.

  "Are ye all right? Is something amiss?" Conran asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  Murine shook her head stiffly and allowed him to lead her to the horses, reminding herself that she'd brought this all on herself.

  Chapter 8

  "Tell us how 'tis possible to travel to Sinclair to meet a prospective husband and yet end up good friends with the other lasses who were there for the same purpose."

  That question from Geordie had Dougall glancing toward where Murine sat in Conran's lap, but he just as quickly glanced away. He didn't like seeing her so cozy with his brother, and if he didn't trust himself not to behave inappropriately, she wouldn't be there. But after his lapse at the waterfall, it had seemed best to avoid getting too close to Murine until he could make her his own. So she rode with Conran . . . and it was driving him mad.