The Virgin’s Pursuit

Joanne Rock

Exiled noblewoman Isolda of Iness longs for the one thing her forest home cannot provide—a baby to inherit her family’s lost lands. She has already chosen the virile hunter who visits her woods to father her child, intending to lure him to her bed before quickly sending him away. Besides being young and handsome, the stranger also warms Isolda’s untouched body with a desire she has never felt before….

With no adoption agencies in the Middle Ages, where would a noblewoman turn if she desperately wanted a baby and she’s been cast out from her keep during war time? While I’m sure there were many children in need of good homes during the 11th century, Isolda of Iness can’t afford to come out of hiding long enough to search for a child who needs her. So she resorts to baby-making the old fashioned way. All she needs is the right man to cross her path.

Cormac of Glenmore can’t believe his eyes when Isolda—a virgin by all accounts—launches a full-scale seductive assault. It takes a heroic effort to resist her, but that’s just what he must do. Because Cormac wants far more than one night with the mystery woman in the forest, and he’ll do whatever he needs to make her his for a lifetime.

I hope you enjoy The Virgin’s Pursuit and, as always,

Happy Reading!

For my grandmother, Grace, a heroine in her own right.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 1

The potion tasted bitter, but the result would be the sweetest blessing imaginable.

Isolda drank it down in one gulp and shuddered, her eyes focused on the second half of the equation that would bring her heart’s desire. She imagined this one would taste far more pleasant.

Peeping over a low-hanging branch from her hiding place just outside her woodland cabin, Isolda of Iness watched the hunter as he prowled through the forest. Tall and powerfully built, he moved with surprising silence over fallen tree limbs and dead leaves. He was young. He was virile.

He was the perfect choice to be the father of her baby.

She had watched him hunt in her woods for many moons, and had long admired his respect for the animals. He never took more than he needed, and he always treated the land and its creatures with care. In a world gone crazy—with wars and violence everywhere she turned—Isolda had come to value a strong but gentle hand in a male. Her hunter was a rarity among men, and she would have no other give her the one thing she could not provide for herself in the forest home she’d come to love since her self-imposed exile.

The longing for a babe had started even before her retreat to the woods. Norman invaders had killed the neighboring lordling she should have wed. Even though she had not loved the man or the match, she had looked forward to becoming a mother before all of Northumbria was cast into turmoil.

Nearby, the hunter paused. His thick muscles bunched. He turned.

She had never ventured this close to him before, always keeping her distance and making herself disappear when anyone passed near her well-hidden hut. But today, she wanted to be seen. Noticed.

She’d planned for this moment over and over again—how to win him to her bed to achieve her heart’s desire, yet send him on his way again without undue interest in her life. Her past. Her precarious position as an exiled noblewoman.

What kind of life would it be for her child if her true identity was discovered? No. She had to be very, very careful. Discreet. That meant she couldn’t approach him like a highborn woman accustomed to sweet manners and courtly deference.

She would throw off her mantle of decorum for the sake of the babe she wanted so desperately. A child that she would nurture to strength in the safety of the woods until her heir was strong enough to claim the Iness birthright.

That meant she would approach the hunter with the earthy charms of a young kitchen maid or an experienced widow. If only she had observed such interactions more carefully instead of averting her eyes to the occasional lovers’ games that played out in darkened corners of the hall or shadowed nooks between the corridor tapestries.

Now the hunter’s tawny eyes swept the tree line, penetrating the thick hedge of thorny brambles she’d trained all around her tiny thatched dwelling. Her heart pounded with a strange excitement that plagued her only when she laid eyes upon him. She told herself it was because she knew he was the key to her success if she wanted to have a baby.

Yet she’d never experienced such a reaction when she’d been in the company of her betrothed, before her world fell apart.

“Who’s there?” The hunter spoke, and his voice was a new sound to her. He’d always been silent in the past, except for the occasional whistle to his merlin if he brought a bird for hunting.

The timbre of his smooth, deep bass hummed all around her, echoing through her veins. The welcoming reverberation calmed her and helped draw her feet forward.

Her body accustomed to the thorny hedge, she ducked and drifted easily through the maze of sharp obstacles until she stepped clear of it. Into sight.

“Greetings, sir,” she started, unsure of her words, but injecting a note of husky warmth into her voice. “Your journey must be a long one to venture so deep within the woods. Fare you well?”

He studied her in silence with the same predatory stillness she’d observed many times when he stalked his prey.

She’d never been so close to him, nor had she ever viewed him so keenly before. He had the lithe strength of a stallion with his sleekly muscled grace. His dark looks were not the foreign variety of the Norman invaders, although his tawny eyes were unusual for a Scot. Thick, dark hair shone with good health and revealed good care of his person, one of many reasons she’d chosen him for this task.

He was garbed in the muted shades of the forest, with dark braies that hugged muscular thighs and ended around the taut bulge of his calves. His boots were laced up the ankle, the heavy leather protecting him from the thick forest brush, and enabling him to tread with utter stealth.

His tunic was of a crude hue that many a crofter would wear in the field. Yet the fine pleats and embroidered embellishment about the placket conveyed a far higher status. A deposed nobleman? The thought struck a deeper note of fear. Nay. No nobleman hunted the woods alone as often as this forest warrior. His sword was simple and free of gems and scrollwork. A rough leather strap served as his belt, with a functional eating knife at the hip.

Surely this hunter’s position leaned more toward a successful trade.

“My journey has been long,” he admitted after a moment, his finely sculpted mouth capturing her attention as he spoke. “Have I ventured near another town to meet a fair maid I’ve never spied before?”

“I wash clothes in yon river,” she lied, pointing away from her cottage to help ensure he did not know where she lived. With luck, he would think her a lowly washerwoman and never seek her out again, which would keep her babe safely in her care alone.

Then, rousing her courage, she made a bold suggestion. “Perhaps you would like me to wash your clothes?”

As soon as she made the offer, she realized she’d spoken a bit too softly, her tone lacking the brash flirtation she’d heard more experienced women use. But the words themselves were so improper, she found it difficult to infuse them with more suggestive meaning.

“You are unprotected here?” he asked, looking around the clearing for some companion. “Does no one accompany you?”

The concern in his voice alerted her to how badly she’d misjudged this business of seduction. He was not thinking about stripping down to nothing and taking advantage of her in the remote woods. He worried for her safety. The notion touched her heart even as she feared she would not be able to achieve her heart’s desire. What if this man proved too noble to touch an unchaperoned maiden?

“My friends have returned to our village with the washing, but I have lingered here…hoping to see you.” She met his gaze with all the directness she could muster, allowing the carnal nature of her desire to show in her eyes.

When an answering heat fired in his expression, a tense awareness apparent in his limbs, she glanced away again. She had not expected such immediate results from her admission.

“This is not the first time you have been in these woods.” It was no question. His voice, tinged with new understanding, stroked over her senses.

He stepped closer.

Her throat constricted.

She merely shook her head in response.

“You take a great risk,” he chided, lifting a hand toward her.

Everything within her stilled. His fingers skimmed the fabric of her sleeve without grazing the skin beneath. Her flesh tightened and tingled with his nearness. Heaven help her, she did take a great risk. What did she know about him, besides his gentle respect for the forest animals?

“I have seen you walk with care through these woods before,” she admitted, her gaze fixed upon the broad column of his throat, since she found it difficult to meet those tawny eyes directly. “Your demeanor did not suggest a need for fear.”

Her heart thudded strongly, the fertility potion she’d consumed adding to the dizzy sensation he inspired. She was not prepared for the brush of his fingertip beneath her chin or the gentle tilt of her jaw to face him.

“A woman can never be too careful alone with a man.” That heat she’d felt rolling off him before returned with new force, prickling her skin like too much time spent in the sun. “The lure of such sweetness can bring out the beast in any male.”

He warned her away, his voice turning as fierce as his gaze. But strangely, she had no wish to heed it. Something in that fiery expression of his made her more curious than fearful.

“I have learned experience is a far more memorable teacher.” She raised her palm to his chest, letting it hover over his heart for a long moment before she found the power within to drag her fingers lightly along the hard plane of muscle.

She had witnessed her cousin tease a young groom thus once, and that man had been noticeably affected. Would her touch prove as tempting to the hunter?

“What game is this?” His eyes narrowed, and he released her chin to grip her hand in his. “If these are the hands of a laundress, then I am the king of the realm.”

He smoothed his thumb along her palm, making wide circles that spiraled and narrowed until he reached the heart of her hand. Only then did she realize her error in the lie. For while her hands were no longer the smooth, unblemished mark of her rank, they also lacked the deep red, irritated flesh of a laundress.

Her cheeks flushed hot from the untruth, but she could not lose him now. She had been drinking her potion for a fortnight, preparing herself for this meeting when she was at the most fertile time of her moon cycle.

“You do not play enough games, sir, if you find this one objectionable.” Taking a deep breath, she willed her heartbeat to steady along with her nerves. “Does it matter how we come to be in one another’s path so long as we both enjoy the diversion?”

Cormac of Glenmore did not begin to find anything objectionable about the willful, independent woman doing her utmost to seduce him.

If anything, he had ventured into these woods for many moons in the hope of protecting her from afar. He’d heard tales about the daughter of a noble house who had escaped her home during a Norman attack. Her father had died defending his keep and her mother had remarried one of the invaders to save herself. But their sole heir had disappeared. Some claimed she’d been carried off like her mother. Others said she’d perished in these very woods during the harsh winter that had followed. Yet there’d been sightings of an ethereal, golden-haired beauty roaming the woods, rumors of the sole heir’s spirit lingering in the forest where she’d died.

The blue-eyed blonde pressing her palm to Cormac’s chest right now was no spirit, however. She was a living, breathing woman who tempted him beyond reason. He’d lured her out of hiding as surely as he’d coaxed the cagiest harts and boars from their lairs. But even though he would give his sword arm to take what she offered, the predator inside him remained wary of any prize that appeared too easily won.

A greater danger might lie ahead. He simply couldn’t see it yet.

“Perhaps it does not matter what brought us to these woods.” He kept her hand captive in his, certain he must have found the elusive Lady of Iness. “But I would know your name at least. I am Cormac.”

Would she remember the name? He had served the Scots king long enough to have met nobles from most of the ruling houses, including her father. He waited for any sign of recognition, but found none. It was a common enough name, especially with no identifying characteristic attached.

“Very well, Cormac.” She tossed her unbound hair behind one shoulder, her lack of veil marking her as a lowborn woman. Or a highborn one who wished to hide her status. “I am Isolda.”

The confirmation of her identity was bittersweet. Yes, he’d hoped to find the lawful heir to the Iness lands. But knowing it was she who stood before him meant he could not lift her skirts and tumble her to the ground the way he could have with an eager laundress.

Still, her surcoat was not the stiff, jeweled garb of a noblewoman. Perhaps the months living in the wild had softened a fabric she’d stripped of all baubles, or maybe she’d taken a maid’s clothing before departing the keep the day of the Norman raid. But the pale, sun-worn fabric conformed to her lean, womanly curves. The skirt hem was ragged from thorn bushes and time, the whole lower half of her garb darker from accumulated spatters of mud, even though presently it had been washed clean.

She wore part of the hem tucked into her girdle to better move through the forest, a trick employed often by field laborers. The raised skirt revealed an even paler kirtle beneath, and a hint of creamy ankle just above her boot.

Bending over her hand, he brushed his lips across the backs of her fingers.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isolda.” With an effort, he raised his mouth from her sweetly scented skin, knowing he could not allow himself a taste.

He’d sought her too long to rush the meeting with undue haste. But why did she wish to tempt a stranger with such a bold overture? Never before had he been lured so thoroughly by a maid. Even now, his blood rushed through his veins like spring sap, his senses acutely heightened. Had the stretch of companionless seasons made her that lonely?

“You are determined to be noble, I see.” She frowned up at him as she withdrew her hand from his, her mouth forming a delectable pout. “Do you love another, I wonder?”

He had offended her. By the saints, she was a brazen lass to make her pursuit of him so apparent. What did a lord’s daughter see in a man dressed so plainly he could be a merchant or tradesman?

Sunlight shone through the scant canopy of leaves remaining on the trees overhead, bathing her in dappled shadows.

“No woman holds my heart,” he assured her, missing the feel of her already. “And since you hardly know me well enough to wish for such tender sentiment yourself, I wonder what made you seek me out.”

“Women do not grow lonely where you are from, sir?” She folded her arms about her waist and seemed to take his measure.

“If they do, they have not come to me about it.” Was that truly all there was behind her request?

The notion flattered him. Women of the Scots court only sought him out for his wealth. His standing with the king. Even the widows were more concerned with lucrative remarriage than pleasure.

How ironic that now he sought her out for political purposes, while she seemed to want him for something far more interesting.

“And why should they? You have a heart of stone, I fear.” She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Perhaps you require more temptation than an inexperienced maid is used to providing.”

She tapped her lips thoughtfully, as if considering the idea. His blood surged with carnal longing, and he tried to imagine what played through her mind.

He would be lucky if he could make his legs walk back to the keep at this rate. The heavy weight between his thighs would not be eased anytime soon.

“Lady, you misunderstand—”

His words dried up in his throat as her fingers reached for the laces up the side of her surcoat.

“I know little of men,” she said, sliding loose one of the ties until her surcoat hung shapelessly about her figure. “But I have heard men are moved by what they can see.”

His eyes burned with the desire to blink, to give his brain even a moment’s respite from what he feared she was about to do. If he could have moved he would have reached to stop her. To save them both from the fierce tide of heat that rolled through him. Yet he stood frozen and watchful, like a great buck just before the firing of a deadly arrow.

Perhaps she recognized how powerless she held him, for she smiled with the knowing of Eve before she bent to lift the hem of her heavy outer garment.

“Isolda, you should not—” he protested, holding himself back with formidable restraint that would not last.

But before he could finish the thought, the noblewoman-turned-woodland nymph plucked off the gown and flung it to the ground. Clad in the softest linen kirtle imaginable, she stood before him. The garment revealed every curve and hollow, every shadowy nuance of the most comely form he’d ever beheld.

Full breasts tested the strength of the worn fabric where it cupped her graceful curves. Her hips swayed from side to side as she neared him, bringing the whole, decadent offering closer to him.

“Well, Cormac?” She paused a mere hand’s span away, close enough for him to inhale the clean scent of her hair and the earthy fragrance of womanly desire. “Will you banish my loneliness for just one night?”

Chapter 2

Could he see her tremble?

Isolda could not imagine her shame if he refused her. Yet she had pursued him as far as she dared. Every maidenly instinct screamed in protest at her boldness. But she was not the pampered daughter of a rich overlord any longer. Life in the forest had taught her self-reliance and daring, strengths she’d never known she possessed until she’d needed to hunt her own food. Build her own shelter.

She’d sacrificed her pride, her refined manners and many worldly possessions already. Surely she could part with this one last remnant of her old self—her innocence—for the sake of her dreams? Her family legacy should not die with her.

Cormac’s eyes darkened from tawny gold to rich amber, his gaze moving over her body with a thoroughness that both thrilled and frightened her.

What have I done?

She had never felt so vulnerable. Even in the dead of winter, she had not once been so exposed. Thinking she’d given her scheme long enough to work, she was about to retrieve her surcoat when he reached for her.

His hands clamped about her sides, holding her steady as his mouth descended upon hers. She had no time to react, her lips parting with surprise. But any startled sound she might have made was lost in his kiss.

She knew this was not the kind of kiss a lady would receive. An unbetrothed woman of her once lofty station would never have been so thoroughly handled. He used his hands to draw her close, pressing her to him in sudden, aggressive contact.

Her whole body caught fire. Whatever had been simmering slowly before now leapt into full flame at the contact of his hard, masculine form against her soft curves. His tongue stroked hers with a knowing skill that left her breathless and wanting. His kisses were deep and thorough. She clenched the front of his tunic in helpless surrender—or was the grip a desperate plea? She wasn’t even sure herself.

But Cormac knew.

Her bold act of partial disrobing had sent his noble intentions packing, leaving in their wake a man with more base—and exciting—desires. His thigh slid between her legs, anchoring her body against the tree behind her and awakening her most secret places to a delicious new thrill.

She told herself she was simply excited that her plan to conceive was working. But the sweet arousal swirling through her senses owed more to the man than to achieving a goal. Apparently, Cormac knew how to make coupling something more than just functional. He could make it so deliciously exciting she thought she might faint.

“Tell me you deserve better,” he muttered against her lips between kisses, his voice rough and demanding. His thigh pressed harder between her legs and she couldn’t suppress a shudder of pleasure. “Tell me to go.”

He seemed to want her to refuse him, and she had no idea why. He’d claimed to love no other. What else would stop a man from what she so freely offered? Aye, what she was growing frantic to offer? The delicious pressure between her legs made her weak with desire, her whole body melting into his as her fingernails scraped lightly down his chest and then up underneath his tunic.

He was hot and hard everywhere, his whole body fiery and fierce. She had never imagined she could feel so wanton with a man she did not know—would never see again. But the hunter was different. Special.

“We cannot do this.” He made a rough sound and jerked away from her, leaving her swaying on her feet. If not for the tree at her back she might not have stayed standing. They stared at one another in potent silence, each of them breathing hard with frustrated passion.

“I do not understand.” She shook her head in confusion and hurt, her whole body aching with unfulfilled need.

He swung toward her, his gaze as dark as ever, his nostrils flaring.

“I will have you, Isolda.” His words rang through the quiet woods with the finality of a vow sworn on a knightly sword. “But first you will promise to wed me.”

The idea was so ludicrous she could not hold back a startled laugh.

“What hunter passing through his overlord’s forest wishes to wed the lowly maid he finds there? This is no royal court, sir, and I am no titled daughter.”

“Are you not?” The cool challenge in his voice took her by surprise.

But no more than the aloof, assessing gaze.

At that moment, she saw something more in the hunter’s eyes than his gentle respect for the land and his easy skill with a bow. She spied the warrior within.

This was no simple tradesman. Underneath that quiet, steadfast demeanor beat the heart of a proud and arrogant knight of the realm.

“You knew.” Her skin chilled with the realization that this man had hunted her as surely as he’d flushed out other reluctant creatures. She reached for her surcoat and hastily slid it over her head. “This whole time, you knew me?”

Her heart pounded as furiously with this mortifying betrayal as it had earlier with attraction. She could not believe the gravity of her mistake. What if she’d unwittingly conceived a child by some man who purposely sought to control her family legacy through the babe?

“I have sought you since the spring—”

“All those hunting trips have been—” she could scarcely speak around the sting of his falseness and her foolishness “—ruses to make me trust you?”

His brow furrowed. “Nay. I have merely hunted after spending long hours searching for you. It seems you have known of my presence longer than I have known of yours.”

He appeared vexed by the idea, while she still reeled with the revelation. Her hands fisted at her sides.

“And who are you, truly?” she prodded, determined to know all at once. “You do not dress like a Norman, but are you one of my enemies in disguise? Or perhaps you are some ambitious Scot who wishes to use my unfortunate circumstances to gain a hint of legitimacy to retake Iness.”

She could already picture the betrayer dragging her and her babe to the Scots king to plead for her lands—lands he would control as the father to her child.

“I am Cormac of Glenmore.” His jaw tightened in irritation. Perhaps he did not care for the depiction of himself as a manipulative opportunist. “And I have no need of your name to retake Iness.”

“Nay?” She knew of Glenmore. Remembered the holding was not half so grand as her family seat had been before the Normans arrived.

“Nay. It is already done. I drove the Normans from Iness last spring. The lands are mine, as is the restored keep.” He spoke clearly enough, yet to her, the claim could have been in a foreign tongue.

It made no sense. It was not possible.

“The Normans left many retainers on the walls….” She shivered at the hurtful old memories. “I remained close to the land long enough to see there would be no easy return. The Normans entrenched themselves at Iness and I thought—my family had thought—they would use Iness as a base for further Scots conquests.”

Her father had warned her of such a possibility. Her mother had been ready to run away before the first riders even arrived at the gates. Isolda had heard rumors from the keep that her mother had wed one of the invaders in the aftermath. If those tales proved true, her mother had sailed to Normandy many moons ago. Isolda had left the grounds closest to Iness only when all hope of return seemed lost.

“The Normans have fled and will not come back again.” He gripped her arms, as if to impress his words more fully upon her. “Iness is mine, but I would share it with you if you will come back and bind our fates in marriage.”

She shivered beneath his touch, remembering how ready she’d been to give herself to him earlier, when she thought they would never meet for a second time. Now she knew he had planned the encounter long ago, seeking her out for her political importance. Surely he wanted his babe in her belly as much as she had earlier this day. But he wanted the legitimacy his offspring could give his rule, and nothing more.

“I cannot wed you.” Her plans had come to naught. Her fertility potion was wasted on a day that would bring no seed to her womb. “I chose you because I found your ways appealing, while you sought me merely for my name and title. A marriage between us will only remind me how I’ve failed my family by selling my name and birthright far too cheaply.”

Hurt and saddened, she turned to retreat into the forest, certain she could elude him and fade back into the woods forever.

“We have not finished our business here,” he warned, his warrior voice so commanding and certain she wondered how she had ever mistaken him for a simpler man.

“I have spoken my piece, Cormac of Glenmore.” She did not hurry, but her eyes looked ahead to find a break in the hawthorn hedges that would help guide her back home. “I will never accept your proposal.”

She could stay in the forest indefinitely. One day, she would find someone else to give her the child she craved….

The very idea made her wince. She had not realized how much she’d come to idealize her hunter, a man who did not even exist.

“I’m sorry, Isolda.” He was suddenly right behind her, his words warm against her ear as he dragged her back and held her fast. “But I cannot allow you to slip away again.”

Cormac had never experienced such teeth-grinding torment as he knew now.

Isolda squirmed against him in a futile attempt to free herself, and every shift and movement of her delectable form tempted him to take what she’d so freely offered earlier.

Before he’d informed her they would wed.

He would get to the bottom of her behavior later, since her kisses had been passionate, but obviously innocent. Right now, he just needed to bring her home. Preferably before he forgot all about the need for restraint and reminded her exactly how fast he could coax a sweeter response from her.

“You have no right.” Isolda finally stilled, though she glared at him over her shoulder as if her gaze alone could cast him into the fiery depths of hell itself.

“Not only do I have a right, I have a moral obligation to ensure a noblewoman is not struggling to survive on my lands when I could provide for her. You are my responsibility now.” He whistled to the horse he’d left grazing in a meadow nearby.

“Who struggles?” Her raised voice let loose her frustration with a directness most gently-bred women would not indulge in. “I am free in the forest and I am happy to be so. The days do not present hardship, but the joys of a simpler life.”

This was no furious ranting of an angered woman. Certainly, she seemed to believe she would fare well alone in the forest.

“You are an uncommon woman, Isolda of Iness.” He couldn’t deny a new respect for her. “One day, you will tell me all about how you carved out a hidden existence in the woodlands right under Norman noses, but for now I need to get you back to the keep.”

His horse arrived—a fleet-footed mare with enough strength and speed to cover the many leagues before nightfall.

“I am not leaving,” she protested, her wide eyes and wrinkled nose telling him how repugnant she found the very idea. “I will never go back to Iness until my family’s banner flies over the keep.”

“That is where you are wrong.” He did not give her any warning before he swept her off her feet and deposited her on the mare’s back.

She gasped and nearly shrieked, but she was a wise enough horsewoman to know better than to frighten the animal.

“You are mad,” she accused, firing off the words like her own stock of arrows. “I escaped Iness once and I will only do so again.”

Hoisting himself up into the saddle behind her, Cormac found he was once again subjected to the sweet torment of her fragrant form pressed tight to his chest.

“Then I will have to keep my eye on you night and day to be sure that doesn’t happen.” The idea of such close proximity sent a surge of pure longing through him.

He smiled when she met his words with cold silence. Kicking the animal into motion, he leaned into his new captive, gladly reminding her of the heat that flared between them when they touched.

“You suggested once before that I don’t play enough games.” His hand spanned her ribs just beneath her breast, his thumb close enough to touch that plump swell if the horse should hit the ground with a bit of extra force. “But perhaps I just needed one that I found enjoyable.”

“Holding a woman against her will is no game,” she said stiffly, keeping herself as still as possible as they moved together in rhythm with the animal’s cantering pace.

“Then I will make sure I only hold you when you want me to.” It would be no small hardship, since he suspected she would never again come to him as easily as she had that morning.

“That will never happen.” The heat in her tone when she said it gave him hope.

Where there was smoke, surely fire would follow. As he guided the mare to the east, where Iness awaited, Cormac knew he only needed to fan the flames.

Chapter 3

She was home, and yet not home at all.

Isolda walked as a ghost through the corridors and staircases of the keep where she’d grown up, her footsteps echoing hollowly on the stone steps leading out of the courtyard.

Cormac had been by her side every moment since they’d arrived, but she felt utterly alone in this place that had once been so familiar to her. The words he exchanged with his servants and retainers were a dull drone she hardly heard. Her ears were attuned to the sound of a squeaking lift used to raise water from the well and the soft ring of the chapel bell to signal Mass. Her heart ached with the memories of the life she’d lost when the Normans came.

“It has grown desolate under your care,” she accused softly as she followed him up the staircase leading to the private chambers.

Iness had a circular keep, with a courtyard in the center and the great hall, smaller hall and sleeping quarters ringing that open area. Brilliant tapestries and hanging lanterns had brightened the way up this passage just one year ago. Now the spring sun did not touch the covered steps where so many trespassers had trod.

“A man lives simply when he has no family.” Cormac shoved aside the broken door at the top of the steps, the bent hinges hinting at the violence that had torn through the keep. “But I would think you would rejoice that the Normans have been driven back. The destruction of Iness was complete before I set foot on the drawbridge.”

She nodded vaguely as they passed her mother’s former chambers. “You would not use violence without cause. I believe that much about you at least.”

Reaching the laird’s chamber, he held the door open for her. When her feet halted, their eyes met in the same sort of challenge that had volleyed between them all day. Now she was too tired to argue a battle she knew she would lose.

She needed to recover her strength if she hoped to escape him and his absurd notion of marriage.

“If I did not know you plan to run away at the first opportunity, I would not insist you share my chamber.” He reached toward her as if to usher her inside the room.

Unwilling to test her reaction to his touch again after spending most of the day aboard his lap, Isolda ducked inside and found the same echoing emptiness in the antechamber. Beautiful wooden furnishings had vanished, though a few scant remains of broken pieces lay near the hearth. How sad that the lazy barbarians had destroyed the fine workmanship on those pieces rather than haul their own firewood. She could not see into the bedchamber with the door partially closed, but she guessed the room would be equally somber.

“I do not fear your proximity.” She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin, needing to make sure he understood why she accepted his arrangement so meekly. “I am untouched and still marriageable. Since I know you will not resort to force to take me, I believe you will guard my innocence until you can barter me away to some loyal supporter of yours and strengthen his allegiance.”

He shook his head as he closed the door behind them, sealing them inside his private quarters for the night. A hearth fire blazed at her feet, but it was not enough to ward off the shiver that overtook her when he approached.

“A more politic man might choose that route,” he agreed, moving right past her toward the door to the bedchamber. “But don’t forget I have already tasted your kisses and your passion. I will not part with such a prize.”

He held the bedchamber door for her now and seemed to expect her to enter the intimate sanctuary willingly.

“You will not experience that privilege again.” She trembled at the thought. Or did she tremble at the dark look in his eyes, the same one that had precipitated his kisses before?

The day had all been too much for her.

“I will. And soon.” He did not wait for her, but snaked a hand about her waist and nudged her closer. Not to him, but to the bedchamber entrance. “Until then, do you care to tell me why you were so insistent on seduction in the woods this morn?”

Her skin heated in the place he had touched her, even though she’d hastened forward immediately to free herself from him. It was as if her body remembered the feel of his hands upon her and now simmered with anticipation each time his fingers neared her. In one short day, Cormac of Glenmore had imprinted himself upon her.

“No.” She searched the laird’s bedchamber as she stepped inside, finding it warmly appointed if not exactly furnished. The massive bed frame had disappeared, but in its place a high pallet covered in heavy furs rested close to the hearth. Another fur hung behind it where a tapestry used to be. Aye, the hunter had put his skill to admirable use here.

What would it be like to take refuge in that soft retreat beside this hard and unyielding man? The image that blazed across her mind only grew more vivid when she shut her eyes to block it out.

“Isolda.” He took a seat at the foot of the bed as he toed off his boots. The act was simple and unthreatening, yet it underscored a marital intimacy she had no intention of sharing. “Come sit beside me.”

Her gaze went from his powerful shoulders to his broad palm, which was gently stroking the rich brown fur near him on the pallet. She had sat astride his thighs for many leagues this day, and before that, she had flung off her surcoat and pressed her half-naked body tightly to his. Yet committing to this seat alongside him on the laird’s bed seemed a line she dared not cross.

Her heartbeat quickened as she shook her head.

“I will take my rest in the antechamber.” Her breath caught in her throat, her whole body in an uproar as she watched the firelight cast bronze shadows in the hollows beneath his cheeks. “You can spare a fur for a guest, can you not?”

He did not seem to hear her. He stared at her hard, his amber-colored eyes traveling the length of her body as if she were a map on which he planned his journey.

“If I had not insisted on the honorable course, where do you think we would be right now?” When his eyes met hers at last, they were aglow with an inner heat. “Would we be in your cottage in the woods? Some forest retreat where you’ve taken no other man?”

She opened her mouth to respond and found she could not speak. Her mouth went dry as she thought about her thwarted hopes for this day. She had not just wanted a babe. She’d wanted the hunter.

As if sensing her dilemma, Cormac reached for a stoppered flagon of wine beside the bed. Pouring from it into a crude wooden cup, he filled the vessel before passing it to her.

She drank thirstily, mindful of that unsettling gaze still upon her. Only now, her thoughts were every bit as jarring. She’d sought the hunter because she wanted him. What would she do now that her hunter and the new laird of Iness were the same? It was like her home no longer being her home—Cormac was not the man she once thought him.

He was far more powerful. Infinitely more dangerous.

But as captivating as ever.

“I prefer not to consider things that did not come to pass,” she told him finally, once the wine had loosened her tongue and taken the edge off her scattered emotions.

Returning the cup to his hand, she purposely did not touch him. But she did not miss the way he turned the vessel in his palm, twisting it until he could place his lips over the same spot that she had. He tipped the cup to his mouth and drained the contents, then set it at his feet.

“But since we are bound together to keep you safely in residence at Iness, yet I have sworn not to hold you against your will, I find myself in need of conversation at the very least.” He leaned one elbow back on the pallet and watched her. “How else will we pass such an interesting night?”

She began to wish she had simply lain down in the bed and feigned sleep the moment he’d invited her onto the fur next to him. But she had not survived a harsh winter in the lowlands by doubting herself. She would not start now.

“I wanted a babe.” Her cheeks heated with an admission that was far from maidenly. “I longed for a child even last summer when I was poised to wed a man for whom I felt no tenderness. He fell in battle even before my father did, so our union will never come to be. Yet I still longed for a child of my own. A child who might one day gather the strength to reclaim his birthright.”

Cormac wondered if Isolda would ever cease surprising him.

She wanted his child? Or she had, until she discovered his true identity. By the saints, she was a rare and bold woman.

“If you had succeeded in your plan and I had not revealed myself, you would be raising my son to make war on me.” The very real possibility chilled him. “I would have never left you alone if I thought there was any chance you carried my child, Isolda. I protect what is mine.”

“Then we are both fortunate I did not succeed.” She rubbed her arms with her hands, as if a chill had settled over her. “Perhaps it is no surprise since I have never—.”

She waved away whatever she’d been about to say and turned toward the hearth fire, allowing the blaze to warm her instead of his hands. Curse his promise not to touch her unless she wished it. All he needed was a few moments with his hands upon her. His mouth upon her. Then again, had his mouth been ruled out?

He made a note of that weapon in his store before he returned to an earlier tactic he suspected had yielded at least some awareness on her part.

“Do not think I’ve forgotten my question.” He reached to lightly brush a hand against her skirts. Not enough to touch her leg beneath, but enough to set the worn fabric swaying against her. “Where would we be right now if I had allowed your touch to ensnare me for this child you seek? Did you fashion some kind of hut for yourself, or did you find an abandoned shelter for refuge these past moons?”

He was genuinely interested. Not having been raised to take care of herself, Isolda showed admirable resolve to survive on her own these months. He could not guess what dangers she must have faced in the wild.

“I found a ramshackle hut and assembled some fallen logs and sticks to fashion a new roof. It is not a fortress, but the spot is well concealed in the landscape so that you must really search to find it.” She had turned to face him as she spoke, her fair features animated as she revealed this small secret. “I transplanted thorny hedges to completely surround it this spring, so it is even more difficult to discover now.”

“A keep is only as strong as its walls.” He enjoyed this vision of her toiling in the soft spring earth, coaxing life from the most dangerous plants to protect herself. “And what of me? When did you first see me venture near your holding?”

She gave him a wry smile at his use of the term for the home she’d made. It marked the first hint of softening he’d seen in her since he’d revealed the truth of his position.

“I first saw you the week of Twelfth Night.” She paced before the hearth a bit, and he sensed she was trying to warm herself still. “That might have been the only time I saw you leave the forest empty-handed. There was a bitter chill.”

“I searched for you even then.” He remembered those early forays into the woods. “I had not claimed Iness yet, but even then I was touched by the tale of a nobleman’s maiden daughter who ventured out into the forest rather than let a Norman claim her.”

“All that time you sought me?” She quit her pacing, surprise arching the brows above sky-blue eyes.

“I will not lie—the birds and beasts were plentiful. But I hunted for you as well.” He gestured toward the pallet again, moving farther from the spot himself so that she would not feel threatened. “Sit. You will never warm yourself while you wear wet boots, and I have no other seat to offer in our ransacked keep.”

She bit her lip a moment, but practicality won out over modesty. Settling herself on the thick fur, she lifted her hem a fraction to expose her bootlaces and went to work unfastening them while he tried not to watch her like a hawk.

“I cannot afford to catch a chill if I wish to escape.” Perhaps she intended the statement as a reminder that he had not won their battle yet, but her defiant warning only made him smile. “Last winter, I feared sickness more than any other predator since I had no one to care for me.”

His smile vanished. The thought of her helpless and alone was a cold fist in his gut, steeling his resolve to not let her out of his sight in the future. He did not know when she had become so important to him, but he recognized that she had. Perhaps he’d fallen for her long ago, compelled by the whispered legends that had sprung up about her among the villagers who’d once known her as the lord’s daughter. Some piece of his imagination had been fascinated with her long since then. Today, when she’d flirted with him so artlessly and offered to wash his clothes, he’d been completely won.

His hand covered hers as she worked the laces on the boots. He eased aside her fingers until he could unfasten them the rest of the way.

“You have someone to care for you now.”

Chapter 4

Isolda had been flustered by his touch before. But now, combined with such tender words, she was devastated by this slight brush of his fingers along her stocking as he eased off her boot.

He did not hold her. He’d promised he would not do so against her will. But this caress stroked so sweetly up her ankle, his thumb curving about her thin woolen hose, that she could not find the strength to deprive herself of his gentle attention.

With one foot, he shoved aside her discarded boots and moved to the floor in front of her. That could be no more risky than him being beside her on a luxurious pallet, could it?

“You have been alone for a long time.” He maintained the light contact just above her heels, then lightly kneaded the backs of her legs. “Many of the villagers worried and wondered about you. They would be relieved and proud to know you fared so well on your own.”

She had not considered the crofters and their families, who had always been kind to her as a child. Their hard work had supported her father and made Iness strong.

“I have forgotten what it feels like to be a part of a community. A family.” The maternal instincts that had flared inside her for so long returned, but this time, they were bound up with something more.

Desire.

The magical vibrations curling over her skin right now did not stem from any wish to be a mother. They originated wherever Cormac touched her.

“I would like nothing more than to make you feel very welcome here.” He punctuated the sentiment with a sly trip up the inside of her knee with one finger. “But I do not want to tax you on your first night back. Are you tired?”

Tired was the furthest thing from her mind as goose bumps chased over her skin.

“I think you know very well that I am not.” She could not stifle all the feelings that she’d stored up for him over the past moons, her secret longing stirring her blood as thoroughly as his unhurried exploration of her legs beneath her skirt.

He did not rush her. He would not press her. And the knowledge that she could yet stop him made her relax in his care.

“Then I will touch you only for as long as you wish.” His chest pressed against her knees as he leaned closer for a kiss.

Without thinking, she shifted to make room for him, parting her legs slightly. But then, with no barrier keeping him at bay, her thighs were suddenly pressed to his hips, and no amount of bunched fabric between them could hide the hot, hard length of him against the place where she ached most.

Her gasp of pleasure turned to ragged breathing as he sealed his mouth to hers and kissed her with all the unrestrained passion she had longed for in the forest. This had been what she’d sought from him then, only she had not imagined the raw power of such kisses and such intimate caresses. Her womb clenched and her breasts tightened against the soft linen kirtle. Her whole body felt afire.

His mouth played with hers gently, nipping her lower lip and licking a soothing swipe along the plump softness before he deepened the kiss. But each time sparks flew behind her eyes and she sought more contact, he went back to that soft, coaxing nip at her lips until she wanted to shout her frustration. Her fingers twisted in his tunic, urging him closer, seeking more.

The hard width of his chest teased the tips of her breasts into pebbled points until she arched into him. Her surcoat fell away at his bidding, and she realized he had not been entirely stingy with his touches—he had been carefully unlacing her until her clothing fell away. The heavy surcoat lay about her waist, but the kirtle remained to veil her skin from his.

He angled back to observe her, his gaze dragging along the length of her body before meeting hers.

“My heart stopped when I saw you dressed like this in the middle of the forest.” He hooked a finger in the neckline of the thin fabric she’d washed and worn so many times since her escape from Iness. “Do you know how much restraint it required not to shred this infernal cloth so I could feel your skin?”

She was beginning to have a good idea. Her heart hammered so loudly the fabric fluttered softly with the vibration.

“You have no need of such restraint now,” she reminded him, knowing she should stop this madness soon before she tied her future to his irrevocably.

But not yet. Not when she needed him like she needed her next breath.

The finger that he’d hooked in the neck of the kirtle slashed downward, disintegrating the fragile material and laying bare her skin beneath. Cool air hit her for an instant before his lips brushed over the pink crest of one rosy nipple. She cried out at the exquisite feel of his mouth fastened on her. He licked lightly at first and then drew hard until her fingers wound in his hair to hold him there.

He wrapped his hands about her hips, tugging her tight to him, reminding her of the fire between her thighs. Each swirl of his tongue over her breasts sent an answering ribbon of desire through her belly and lower still….

His kisses ceased suddenly and he lifted her higher onto the bed, placing her carefully in the middle of the furs. He dragged the remaining garments down her body, hose and all, leaving her utterly naked.

Desperate to feel his skin upon hers, she tugged his tunic from his braies and hauled the garment up and off. She contemplated freeing the rest of him, but while she hesitated, he captured her hands and held them still.

“Isolda, wait.” His breathing matched hers in its uneven rhythm. “I can bring you pleasure without taking your innocence. But if that is what you wish, you should not touch me.”

His skin burned her palm where she touched him and she felt the coiled tension of his muscles. He held back for her sake? Her heart softened toward him all the more and she realized she would need to hold back something of herself as well if she wished to arise in the morning with her heart intact.

No matter how sweet his seduction, Cormac had only sought her for her name. Her political value. The thought helped to stay her hand when she wanted to reach out more than anything.

“I would not see you suffer.” She skimmed her nails up his chest, marveling at the raised network of scars that snaked across his skin.

He returned his hands to her hips. Her belly. Firelight danced over his flesh, calling to her fingers to stroke him the way he did her.

“Seeing you find pleasure will be a reward I’ll never forget.” He had scarcely finished saying this when his hand dipped between her thighs.

She gasped as his fingers plucked at the sleek, sensual knot of nerves he found there. The warm slide of his sure touch was a decadent thrill unlike any other he’d shown her.

Liquid fire surged in her blood. His touch seemed like a lightning strike, burning a wicked path all through her body. Her hips pressed against him, all thought of reserve smoldering to ash at this consuming blaze.

She opened her eyes, seeking her hunter for reassurance as his touch worked sultry magic. The flush of desire on his skin and the rapt intensity of his gaze told her how much his promise to her was costing him. His manhood throbbed with every heartbeat under the barrier of his braies. She could feel the impressive length of him against her hip as he gave her pleasure.

“Hold me,” she commanded, stilling his hand with her own. She needed to delay her response until she could help him feel what she was feeling.

She did not know what their future held, but she understood their destinies were bound together somehow. No man and woman quested and searched for each other the way they had without creating a bond. She wanted the power of that connection now.

“Are you sure?” He spoke with a fierceness that might have unsettled her at any other time. But she understood the source of that fire all too well now.

“Yes. Please. I want to touch you and feel everything with you.” She reached for the ties on his braies, knowing she could make him understand immediately once she touched him.

Would she affect him as powerfully as he affected her?

The growl low in his throat told her yes. She stroked him lightly, reveling in the fiery heat of the velvety skin.

“I need to be in you now,” he whispered hoarsely, the urgency in his voice assuring her she definitely affected him.

Gladly, she parted her thighs wider, welcoming him. He nudged her sleek folds and the tension inside her seemed unbearable. She wanted—needed—this completion so much.

“We must move slowly,” he warned her, his tawny eyes darkening as he held her hips steady.

“Nay.” She shook her head, the need for him strong as some unknown fulfillment awaited. “Now.”

She thrust her hips up in spite of him, and he had no choice but to answer the rocking motion with his own. She knew the wrenching hurt was the tearing of her maidenhead, a sharp pain that she clenched her teeth through, determined to find the pleasure to follow.

“Are you all right?” Cormac held himself very still, but already the hurt faded.

“Aye.” She nodded, her nails scraping gently over the heavy muscles of his back. “Please.

Restraint fell away. He shifted inside her, slowly at first. Once. Twice. Then the rhythm altered, rousing a cry of delight from her. She held fast to him, refusing to be left behind in the groundswell of the coming storm. All the feelings that he’d roused when he touched her returned with a vengeance. Sleek. Sensual. Insistent.

Her eyes remained heavy-lidded, but she watched him as he moved over her, finding the rhythm that pleased them both. He was a considerate, honorable man with a passion that made her dizzy.

When the storm of sensation finally tossed her into a tailspin of luscious fulfillment, she clung to him helplessly, her wondrous cries following his shout of completion. Wave after wave of rapture rolled over her, drowning her in unimagined joy. As she sighed her sweet satisfaction into the night, she listened to his heartbeat grow slow and steady.

They were connected in ways he didn’t realize yet. He’d come to the woods for her for more reasons than he acknowledged. He must have.

She only wondered how to prove to him they were meant to share more than a stronghold. More than a name. With such a passion flowering between them, they could surely find the greatest prize a man and woman could reap.

She wouldn’t have given herself to him if she didn’t believe it. And she would never submit to the political marriage he wanted if he did not seek that deeper bond with her. She might have only just returned from her life alone in the woods, but she would rather return to such solitude than live alone beside a man who would never love her.

As physically sated as she felt right now, her spirit remained restless. So as she watched her hunter-warrior fall into sleep, she considered how to ensure she had a path back to her old life, just in case the new one did not yield the love she hoped for.

Chapter 5

Cormac heard her stirring before dawn.

She moved quietly about his bedchamber, her steps quick and light as the woodland dweller she’d become over the last year. He had fully expected her to try and escape him, but he had not anticipated it would come so soon.

Their lovemaking had been the most powerful consummation of his life, their union searing into his memory with the force of raw emotion. She must have felt it as well. So why leave so soon afterward, when she had to be exhausted from the long journey and he had as good as promised her a lifetime of protection as his wife?

Perhaps he should not feel betrayed since she had warned him she would try to flee. But for some foolish reason, he thought what they’d shared would change her feelings. Soften her heart.

He lay still in the darkness, taking note of her progress about the chamber as she slid on her garments and boots. When she opened the door and slipped out into the corridor beyond, he vaulted to his feet and dressed. He could have stopped her earlier, but then he would not know the means she used to get away.

Besides, part of him still could not believe she would really choose a solitary existence in hiding over a life at his side. Growing angrier by the moment, he hastened into the passage outside his chamber and listened to the sounds of the keep before dawn. In the distance, he heard a soft echo of footsteps moving into the courtyard at the center of the keep.

What way out could she find there? He charged down the steps, in her wake, grabbing a torch off the wall on his way.

Reaching the courtyard, he saw nothing out of place. Moonlight slanted down onto part of the stone expanse, but there was no movement here. A bit of his anger shifted to worry as he strained to hear her footsteps again. Shouldn’t he have gained ground on her?

Then, recalling how long she’d remained hidden in the forest, he guessed he’d underestimated her ability to keep to the shadows. How many times had she seen him in the forest when he had failed to spy her?

Tossing aside his torch, he allowed the darkness to swallow him again. If she moved with stealth through the predawn hours, so would he. Never had a hunt been as important.

He breathed deep, searching for her scent in the still air. Her fragrance remained on his skin, but even if it hadn’t, he would never forget the essence that was hers alone. Keeping to the shadows against the wall, he followed his senses and his instincts, alert for the smallest sign of her.

He could not let her go. Would not let her leave him when she didn’t fully comprehend the dangers—

Her scream chilled his blood and sank his heart like a stone to his feet.

“Isolda!” he shouted, running toward the far side of the courtyard where her shriek still echoed.

And echoed.

Skidding to a halt near a wooden barrel, Cormac listened to her lingering, hollow cry and understood exactly where she was.

The woman who’d captured his heart had fallen into the well shaft.

“Isolda!” he shouted again, leaning into the pit from which they drew water.

The smell of damp stones and moss wafted up from the cavern below, where a fresh stream rushed in a fast-moving current. His fingers dug into the spongy growth around the well as he waited for a response. Was she injured too badly to speak? Or could she be so intent on escape that she would not even give him a cursory reply?

Heart fist-tight, he reached for the rope that must have held her at one time. He would follow her either way. The fierceness in his chest told him he would follow her into Hades itself if necessary.

“I am all right.” A muffled reply drifted up the shaft finally.

Blood drained from his legs so fast he nearly fell back. He’d never experienced such profound relief.

“Stay there,” he ordered, tense with residual fear for her. “I will come for you.”

“Nay.” Her reply was resolute. Determined. Yet it contained a hint of sadness that the dark and hollow distance between them could not conceal. “I have known freedom for too long to become a bartered object ever again. I have no wish to trade marriage rights for my blood ties to Iness.”

She would argue with the one man who could save her? No wonder stubborn Isolda had survived the wild alone.

He did not know if it was his fear for her safety or his need to quarrel with her that hoisted his leg over the side of the well, but he didn’t think twice about scaling down the narrow shaft to follow her wherever she went. The stony passage had been build for little more than a bucket to pass through it; the space was more suited to a woman’s smaller frame than his.

“Cormac?” Her voice loomed nearer this time and he realized he must be close.

The sweet worry in her tone spurred him past a spot where his shoulders stuck against a protruding rock in the wall. His tunic tore along with his skin, but he eased downward a little more.

His knees slid free of the narrow confines as the sound of rushing water filled his ears. Praying he did not have far to fall, he relaxed his grip on the stone walls and fell.

The ground rose fast to meet him, surprising him with how fast he hit muddy sand, smashing his knee on a jagged rock. He heard Isolda cry out and was surprised to realize he could see her.

Impossibly, the light of dawn penetrated the cavern from a small opening in the rock wall nearby. He realized it must be a passage in and out of the keep. Isolda’s means of escape.

He shook his head to clear it and slowly got to his feet in the inky black cave beneath Iness Keep. Sharp rocks were padded by dark moss in a space that seemed no bigger than his bedchamber.

“You are not a bartered object.” He wiped his hands on his braies before he reached for her, needing to feel her healthy and whole. His fist-tight heart expanded in his chest with new realization. “You are a treasure that I’ve long searched for.”

She stilled for a long moment. Studied him with new eyes glowing in the dim light.

“You sought me for my name and title. You cannot deny that.” Her fair hair lay in tangles about her shoulders, her surcoat tied awkwardly from her hurried departure and her hem ragged from her fall.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

He edged her away from the current to safer terrain alongside the underground stream. Dark rock surrounded them, while the water glistened with the hint of rising dawn.

“No more so than the man your father betrothed you to.” He recalled that she’d had a contract for marriage before the invasion. A contract that came to naught when her intended husband had died protecting Iness.

She shrugged, a frown pulling her brows together. “A bird that’s never known freedom does not miss what she has not experienced.”

Cormac tried to appreciate what she wanted and what she’d been willing to risk.

“You could have died in that well shaft.” He approached her slowly, needing to impress his point without scaring her away. “And what if you now carry the babe you wanted so desperately? Would you risk a child for the sake of a freedom fraught with danger?”

He wanted to tuck her under his arm and keep her safe. He had seen much violence in the world and knew how quickly life could turn upside down without the least warning. He would not let anything happen to the people he cared about.

And this woman was the only person he’d thought about for many a fortnight.

“I have been more unwise than I realized,” she admitted. “I only thought to see if the escape route still existed, and perhaps to test the rope to make preparations for another day.”

As a bit more light penetrated the cave, or perhaps as his eyes adjusted to it, he spotted a fresh scratch on her cheek and rubbed a bit of dirt away from it.

“You planned to leave eventually, just not today?” The revelation stung while his body still hummed with the pleasure she’d given him.

“I hoped that we might find happiness together, but I could not sleep until I knew there would be a way out if you only wanted a marriage because I was the heir to the former laird.” Her blue eyes revealed a tenderness he had not spied from her even when he had cradled her body to his. “I knew that I could not sit idly by as you broke my heart that way.”

The raw honesty of that confession touched him. The words marked the first hint that their future might hold a far greater treasure than he’d imagined.

“You credit me with enough power to break such a staunch heart?” He smoothed her tousled hair away from her face, and wondered if a woman like Isolda could ever be tamed.

Somehow, he suspected he would grieve if her bold spirit was ever dampened.

Her gaze tracked his. Cagey. Careful.

And he realized he went about this all wrong.

“Wait.” He began again, hoping he understood now how to appeal to a woman who’d stood strong in the face of so much hardship and heartbreak. “I will tell you instead that you, Isolda of Iness, have enough power to break my heart. Indeed, you fairly crushed it to naught when I heard your scream echo through the courtyard. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“Perhaps you felt that way because you see me as a key to legitimizing your claim to Iness.” She lifted the same argument that she had since he had first revealed his identity, and he debated how to smash it for good.

“Would you trust my intentions if I forsake Iness?”

She went as still as the stones all around them. He could swear he heard her heart beat over the gurgle of the rushing water.

“What?” She blinked.

“I would regret the loss of what I won by the sword. But our king will remain grateful to have a Scots keep back in Scots hands. Malcolm would surely trade some other holding with me if I presented a reasonable exchange. Until then, I have Glenmore as my birthright.”

He had no trouble making that vow if it meant keeping her. She was worth far more to him than the holding.

Isolda fought off the chill of the cave as she tried to absorb what Cormac said.

It sounded like he would be willing to give up Iness just to demonstrate that he wanted her—no matter her political importance. Could he really mean that? She recognized she was tired and overwhelmed from an endless ordeal, but there could hardly be any other way to interpret his words.

Perhaps a man who would do such an unconventional thing as forsake a hard-won keep would not mind her less-than-conventional ways.

“You would do that for me?” A soft prickling began in her heart, like the sensation of pins and needles in a limb when it awakens after going numb.

“Aye.” He ripped off a small patch of his tunic, tearing the fabric so that he held a small square of it. This he dipped in water and wrung out before applying the cold cloth to her cheek. “I have found a woman who can survive a harsh northern winter with no maid and no retainers to help her. Imagine what that kind of woman could accomplish with a household at her command. Imagine what you could do to improve the lives of the villagers who have lost loved ones to war and possessions to raids.”

She tipped her head to one side as he cleaned her cut. His gentle touch reminded her of his lovemaking and so many other touches.

“I do not want to marry for the sake of a good work partnership,” she pressed, although by now, she was beginning to guess Cormac of Glenmore saw the potential for much more than a political alliance here.

Pleasure radiated from his touch on her cheek to her temple. Her shoulder. Her breasts.

Her heart.

“Then marry for love,” he suggested simply.

Her pulse spiked wildly. Real hope filled her mind with visions she had not dared to allow herself.

“You are a warrior. A conqueror.” She did not say it as an accusation, but as an observation. “What do you know of love?”

He tipped her chin straight to look at him head-on.

“I know it takes hold of two people who seek each other day in and day out for many moons.” His hands smoothed over her shoulders, down her arms and back up. “I know it only grows when the marriage bed is a place of intense pleasure.”

A thrill shot through her faster than the water quickening at her feet. Warmth flooded her cheeks. Shyly, she smiled. “Can you find love with a woman who pretends to be a laundress and attempts to seduce you in the forest?”

He tossed his head back and laughed.

“Aye. That is just the kind of place you find it.” He wrapped his arms about her waist and drew her close, tipping his forehead to her. “That is where I found it.”

Her whole body sighed with happiness. Relief. And best of all, dreams for the future.

“So did I, my hunter.” Arching up on her toes, she brushed a kiss over his lips. “And I do not want you to give up Iness.”

“Are you certain?” He tensed, his gaze penetrating.

The warrior was back, if only for a little while. Isolda smiled, thinking she would come to love this side of Cormac, too. Maybe she already did.

“Positive. Now, my warrior, let us find our way out of here so we can celebrate a new beginning.”

Happiness seemed to glow like a fire inside her, and for the first time since her return to Iness, she felt at home.

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Three-time RITA®-nominee Joanne Rock became fascinated with the Middle Ages during her undergraduate years when a dedicated history professor made the period come alive. Today, Joanne indulges her love of all things medieval through her books, and she continues to pen both sexy contemporary and historical romances. Her work has been reprinted in twenty-three countries and translated into nineteen languages. A former college teacher and public relations coordinator, Joanne has a Master’s in English from the University of Louisville where she adored all the works of Chaucer despite a tongue-twisting struggle to read the poems in Middle English. Visit her at http://www.joannerock.com to enter monthly contests and learn more about her work.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-5287-9

The Virgin’s Pursuit

Copyright © 2010 by Joanne Rock

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