Claimed by the Highland Warrior. Michelle WillinghamЧитать онлайн книгу.
was here and her guilt of betrayal. She’d married someone else. And though Iver was dead and there was no shame in kissing Bram, it felt strange.
His mouth moved against her cheek, along the line of her jaw. A spiral of desire tightened within her breasts, spearing down between her thighs. And when he pulled her down on top of him, she felt his heated arousal pressing against her.
‘Nairna,’ he whispered. His voice was husky, a deep bass note that rumbled against her throat. Her skin flushed, while warmth pooled within her body.
She didn’t know where these feelings were coming from, but they terrified her. Bram’s hands moved down her back, bringing her hips against him. The sensation of his arousal cradled against her womanhood made her moist with wanting, her nipples tightening beneath her gown.
His mouth captured hers in demanding possession. Every part of her body was attuned to his touch and the longer he kissed her, the more she wanted him. She envisioned lifting her skirts, feeling his hard naked body against her own.
Confusion warred inside her, for she wasn’t supposed to respond this way to a man who was virtually a stranger. Caught between past and present, she didn’t know whether to trust her heart or her mind.
Bram’s palm moved down her cheek, stroking her in a caress that evoked the feelings she’d tried to bury. His face was harrowed, as though he’d seen things he shouldn’t have. And he’d grown so terribly thin.
‘Bram, where have you been all this time?’
He didn’t answer at first. Then he sat up, keeping her on his lap. His hands framed her face, as if he were trying to learn her features. She covered his hands with hers, staring into his eyes. Willing him to tell her the truth.
‘I was a prisoner at Cairnross.’
She’d heard of the English Earl and his cruelty. Her heart bled at the thought of Bram enduring captivity for so long, in such a place.
‘I thought you were dead,’ she managed.
He touched her as if he were afraid she might disappear. His roughened palms abraded her skin, his fingers trembling. ‘I thought you would have married another by now. That you’d found someone else.’
I did, she nearly said, but stopped herself, not wanting to hurt him. She’d married Iver, desperately wanting a home and a family of her own. But now, it shamed her to think of what she’d done. It made her feel like she’d committed adultery, though she knew that wasn’t true.
Her cheeks grew hot and she didn’t know how to tell him about the marriage. A tear spilled down her cheek, but whether it was from grief or joy, she couldn’t tell.
Bram’s thumb brushed it away, and his hands moved down her shoulders, resting upon her waist. He drew her into his arms, caressing her back. ‘You’ve grown into a woman since I saw you last.’
Nairna’s skin prickled. A latent fire seemed to rise up from within her, burning her flesh with need. His mouth bent to her throat, and she bit back a shuddering breath at the kindled sensations. His thumbs stroked lazy circles over her spine.
But when he moved to the upper curve of her breasts, she panicked.
‘Bram, wait.’ She stood up, pushing him away. ‘I need to know what’s happened since you—’
‘Tomorrow,’ he whispered, rising from the bed.
He looked wild, his eyes blazing with fierce need. He reminded her of a savage tribesman who had come to claim his woman at last.
For a long moment, he stared at her, as if he didn’t know what to do next. Before she could voice another question, he walked towards the door. He turned back again, his hand resting against the door frame. For a breathless moment, he studied her, as if making a decision.
Then he left, without a word of explanation.
Chapter Two
Seven years earlier
‘For God’s sakes, Bram, keep your eyes upon your opponent!’ his father roared.
Bram blinked, staring at Malcolm MacPherson who was attempting to stab him in the training match. He balanced his footing, trying to determine where the dirk would slash next. Though both of them were sixteen, Malcolm had a stronger instinct for fighting.
Bram lunged left, only to be slashed from the right. The blade didn’t cut his skin, but skidded off the chainmail armour his father had made him wear.
He adjusted his position, trying again to find Malcolm’s weakness. For a time, he successfully defended himself, predicting where the next strike would come. He’d sparred often enough in the past, but not in front of so many people. He could feel the MacPherson chief watching him, as if determining his worth. His cheeks warmed, for he’d much rather fight a single opponent with no one staring.
As the fight wore on, his attention began drifting again. He moved out of habit, and from his peripheral vision, he spied a maiden walking towards them. It was Malcolm’s sister Nairna, who was only a year younger than himself. He’d seen her before, but he’d never really noticed her.
She wore a gown the colour of new spring grass, with an embroidered cap covering her long brown hair. The strands fell to her waist, and as she moved, he found himself entranced. He could sense her watching the fight.
He barely missed the blade that came slashing towards his throat. Bram threw himself to the ground, grunting when Malcolm rolled him over and pinned him.
‘You let yourself be distracted by a girl?’ his opponent taunted. ‘Or were you wanting to wear her skirts?’
The insult sent a haze of red surging through him. Bram released his rage, using the momentum to force Malcolm off him. In a ruthless motion, he twisted the young man’s wrist until he disarmed him, then lifted his dirk to Malcolm’s throat.
‘She’s your sister,’ he gritted out. ‘Show some respect.’ He held his position long enough to demonstrate that he’d held his own in this match, before rising and sheathing the blade.
He strode away, not bothering to speak with his father or the chief of Ballaloch. His father had brought him here to visit over a fortnight ago, and Bram didn’t know why. He wasn’t included in the conversations between the two chiefs, but he knew they were watching him.
He kept walking, not even looking where he was going, until a hand pressed a dripping cup of water into his palm. Bram stopped short and saw Nairna standing before him. For a brief moment, her eyes met his, before she released the cup and walked away.
The water was cold, quenching his thirst. He hadn’t even known how thirsty he was. Casting a glance backwards, he saw that Nairna had not brought a drink to her brother, or anyone else. Why?
He drained the cup, feeling his face warm. Shy and thickheaded when it came to girls, he preferred to remain unnoticed, fading into the background. He didn’t know how to talk to them, and, more often than not, he avoided them.
But it wasn’t only girls who made him uncomfortable. He rarely spoke and hated being around larger groups. Though his father had chastised him for his reticence, ordering him to talk with guests and behave as a future chief, Bram never knew quite what to say.
Fighting was easier. As long as he could wield a claymore or a dirk, no one cared about his inability to converse. And in the middle of a cattle raid, it was rare for anyone to be watching him. They were too busy saving their own necks.
He made his way back to his discarded tunic, where he’d left it by the wall. He set down the cup and saw something round inside the folds. Wrapped in cloth, it was still warm. Bram glanced around him, but saw no one nearby. Inside lay a small loaf of bread.
His stomach rumbled as he tore off a piece, devouring the food. Nothing had ever tasted so good, after he’d been training all morning.
Nairna