Once Upon a Highland Christmas(17)
“I wanted us to be away.” She looked at him with her great green eyes, so lovely beneath her thick, gold-tipped lashes.
Her voice was soft, her tone different from just a moment ago. Something in it swept through him like molten fire, sending his thoughts away from Archie and in a direction that heated his blood so swiftly and powerfully, his reaction to her stunned him.
No woman had ever stirred him with a mere glance, a few innocent words.
As if she knew, her lips curved even more temptingly. She waved a hand at the whirling snow, the frost-coated gate that opened onto the cliff path. “It was time for us to go.”
“Indeed?” Grim lifted a brow, scarce trusting himself to speak. “Were you worried Archie would change your mind about our journey?”
“Nothing could do that.” She stepped closer, her gaze not leaving his. Something flickered in her eyes, determination, daring, and a goodly dose of provocative female heat. “This trip means a lot to me. For all the reasons I told Archie and a few more. There is much I wish to accomplish and I’ll not forgo the chance.”
Grim swallowed, his heart thundering wildly.
His manhood pounded in answer.
His wits warned that she’d just challenged him.
He hoped to the gods she had. Because if that was the way of it, he meant to take full advantage. Not just to bed her, at last having her silky-warm nakedness smooth, supple, and willing against his own bared and greedy flesh, but to finally make his bid for her hand.
“Then let us be off, my lady.” He offered her his arm, feeling as if the summer sun had burst into view when she accepted, hooking her arm through his. “This is an opportunity I’d no’ miss either.”
“I am glad.” She let him lead her through the gate and waited smiling as he closed it softly behind them.
And so it came that they descended Duncreag’s steep and ice-slicked cliff path with nary a false step or mishap, despite the howling wind and near-blinding snow. Two sturdy garrons, sure-footed hill ponies, stood at the ready near a sheltering outcrop at the bottom of the cliff. They were there because Grim had trusted their secret with a stable lad he knew wouldn’t breathe a word of their plan.
It’d only taken moments to sling his warming wolfskin cloak about Breena’s shoulders and then settle her onto her mare’s back. He swung up into his own saddle even faster, the eagerness in his heart spurring him on.
Soon they were riding through a dark, winter-still wood, the pines’ needled boughs heavy with snow and the air frosty. On and on they traveled through the cold morning, journeying ever farther from Duncreag and making for Greer MacGregor’s distant Yule beacon.
Once there, Grim was sure he could persuade the sometimes cantankerous laird to forget past ills and make merry with Archie at Duncreag.
Truth be told, Grim had an old favor to claim from the MacGregor.
He’d use it if Greer proved obstinate, forgetful of those who’d aided him in the past.
And when the MacGregor hall torches dimmed that night and the last ale was served, the castle quieting for sleep, he’d turn his attention to Breena. The gods knew he’d waited long enough to reveal his feelings to her. He’d been under her spell for over a year now, his longing for her almost driving him to madness.
Such yearning wasn’t good for a man.
But he’d done naught about it, suspecting as he had that she longed for another. Why else had she always avoided him? So he’d suffered in silence, seeing her face in his dreams and imagining he caught her light, spring-fresh scent on every turn of the wind. Only with the greatest exercise of will did he keep from dwelling on what it’d be like to sink deep inside her, claiming her as his own, heart, body, and soul. Taking her in the intimate, branding way men must possess the woman they love above all others.
Sometimes his will failed him. How he agonized then, the heated images he conjured setting him like granite, robbing his night’s rest.
He wanted her badly.
And now he knew no man stood between them.
He loved her fiercely. So much that he’d still back away, leaving her in peace, if she rejected his advances. He wasn’t a man to force himself on any woman, certainly not on Breena, whom he’d carry on his hands if she’d let him, never allowing her feet to touch the ground.
To him, she wasn’t just a lady, but a princess.
He almost feared to touch her. He worried his huge, battle-roughened hands might crush her.
Yet her challenge at Duncreag’s cliff gate encouraged him. He’d never have believed such a fair and fine maid as her would fall for a big, gruff ox of a man like him, perhaps even desiring him. Their kiss, the things she said, and the way she looked at him lifted his heart, letting him believe she might feel the same.