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Authors: Kinley MacGregor
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only made her ache more for him.
Gracious, she’d never felt the like. No wonder some women turned wanton.
Who knew touching a man could be so pleasurable?
Ewan growled deep in his throat as he tasted the sweet honey of her mouth. It had been so long since he last kissed a fair maid.
So long since a woman’s hands had brushed through his hair.
He had forgotten the pleasure, and yet as he kissed her the thought was in his mind that no other woman he’d sampled had ever tasted this good.
It was followed by another thought…
While he was kissing her, she wasn’t speaking.
He laughed at the thought.
Nora stiffened, then pulled back. “Are you laughing at me, sir?”
“Nay, love,” he said honestly, smiling even though he wanted to cease as he brushed her swollen bottom lip with his thumb. “It was but a passing thought that made me laugh.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe him. “And what thought was that?”
“That you can’t talk and kiss at the same time.”
Her face turned bright pink. “You are a knave.”
“Aye, to the core of my rotted soul.”
Her gaze turned gentle, warm. “It really isn’t proper for me to be out here with you like this.”
Her gaze ran over his body, making him harden in lustful need to touch more of her. To touch all of her. “My mother would be quite scandalized.”
He dropped his hand from her chin. “Your father would be furious.”
“Aye, he would indeed. No doubt he’d want your head.”
Aye, and not the one on his shoulders. “No doubt.”
She cleared her throat and turned around. She took three steps, then stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. “Oh, and Ewan?”
“Aye?”
“You kiss very nicely.”
Bemused, Ewan watched her leave.
You kiss very nicely . The words rang in his head and brought an odd wave of arrogant pride to him.
Why that was so, he couldn’t imagine. All he knew was that he had an overwhelming urge to follow after her, scoop her up in his arms and see if she was so bold and outspoken in the privacy of his bed.
And on the heels of that thought came another, much more painful one.
He would never know.
A man who had caused the death of his brother and best friend didn’t deserve a woman like her.
He deserved nothing at all.
And nothing was all he would ever have. He owed that much to Kieran.
Chapter 4
C atarina paused by the fire as she listened to the three men plotting their attack against Ewan MacAllister while a fourth man leaned back against the wheel of the wagon, watching them.
Pagan had his arms crossed over his chest as he sat with his long legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed. His long, dark gold hair spilled over his shoulders and chest. It had a reddish cast to it from the firelight that played in the sharp, handsome angles of his face.
He was truly a handsome warrior. Tall. Well-muscled. Serious to a terrifying level. He had the deep blue eyes of a predator who never missed a single detail.
Whenever he looked at Catarina, she felt the profound urge to cross herself.
No one was really sure where he came from. He refused to speak of his past or his homeland, which must be far away since he had an exotic accent none of them could identify.
Their only clue about his past was his unnatural ability with a sword. It was obvious he had been trained and trained well, but they didn’t even know if he was a knight or a former squire.
Not to mention, Pagan wasn’t really his name. It was a nickname Lysander and others had given him long ago in the Holy Land for his wild fierceness and for the fact that he feared no one. Not even the Heavenly Father Himself.
Or so Pagan said. For a man who claimed he had no soul or respect for divine justice, he was never found without a small crucifix around his neck.
He hadn’t been in their company long. Only a few weeks. He’d joined them in England while they’d been on their way north to Scotland. Catarina hadn’t been sure if they could
Gracious, she’d never felt the like. No wonder some women turned wanton.
Who knew touching a man could be so pleasurable?
Ewan growled deep in his throat as he tasted the sweet honey of her mouth. It had been so long since he last kissed a fair maid.
So long since a woman’s hands had brushed through his hair.
He had forgotten the pleasure, and yet as he kissed her the thought was in his mind that no other woman he’d sampled had ever tasted this good.
It was followed by another thought…
While he was kissing her, she wasn’t speaking.
He laughed at the thought.
Nora stiffened, then pulled back. “Are you laughing at me, sir?”
“Nay, love,” he said honestly, smiling even though he wanted to cease as he brushed her swollen bottom lip with his thumb. “It was but a passing thought that made me laugh.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe him. “And what thought was that?”
“That you can’t talk and kiss at the same time.”
Her face turned bright pink. “You are a knave.”
“Aye, to the core of my rotted soul.”
Her gaze turned gentle, warm. “It really isn’t proper for me to be out here with you like this.”
Her gaze ran over his body, making him harden in lustful need to touch more of her. To touch all of her. “My mother would be quite scandalized.”
He dropped his hand from her chin. “Your father would be furious.”
“Aye, he would indeed. No doubt he’d want your head.”
Aye, and not the one on his shoulders. “No doubt.”
She cleared her throat and turned around. She took three steps, then stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. “Oh, and Ewan?”
“Aye?”
“You kiss very nicely.”
Bemused, Ewan watched her leave.
You kiss very nicely . The words rang in his head and brought an odd wave of arrogant pride to him.
Why that was so, he couldn’t imagine. All he knew was that he had an overwhelming urge to follow after her, scoop her up in his arms and see if she was so bold and outspoken in the privacy of his bed.
And on the heels of that thought came another, much more painful one.
He would never know.
A man who had caused the death of his brother and best friend didn’t deserve a woman like her.
He deserved nothing at all.
And nothing was all he would ever have. He owed that much to Kieran.
Chapter 4
C atarina paused by the fire as she listened to the three men plotting their attack against Ewan MacAllister while a fourth man leaned back against the wheel of the wagon, watching them.
Pagan had his arms crossed over his chest as he sat with his long legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed. His long, dark gold hair spilled over his shoulders and chest. It had a reddish cast to it from the firelight that played in the sharp, handsome angles of his face.
He was truly a handsome warrior. Tall. Well-muscled. Serious to a terrifying level. He had the deep blue eyes of a predator who never missed a single detail.
Whenever he looked at Catarina, she felt the profound urge to cross herself.
No one was really sure where he came from. He refused to speak of his past or his homeland, which must be far away since he had an exotic accent none of them could identify.
Their only clue about his past was his unnatural ability with a sword. It was obvious he had been trained and trained well, but they didn’t even know if he was a knight or a former squire.
Not to mention, Pagan wasn’t really his name. It was a nickname Lysander and others had given him long ago in the Holy Land for his wild fierceness and for the fact that he feared no one. Not even the Heavenly Father Himself.
Or so Pagan said. For a man who claimed he had no soul or respect for divine justice, he was never found without a small crucifix around his neck.
He hadn’t been in their company long. Only a few weeks. He’d joined them in England while they’d been on their way north to Scotland. Catarina hadn’t been sure if they could
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