Her body flushed all over, hot and cold at once as if she had a malady. She could think of naught but how astonishingly hot and hard his body had felt against hers, inside hers. He'd shown her what it was like to be a woman in truth. She yearned for that again. And she wanted him to be fully present this time.

In answer to his command for her to leave, she shook her head, knowing she was wayward and wicked for disobeying a chief.

With a swift, abrupt movement, he shoved up from the tub, splashing water. Water sliding down his phenomenal body, his erection jutting upward, he was magnificent.

Heavens!

His shoulders were impossibly wide above his trim waist. The thick muscles of his thighs flexed as he stepped out of the tub and proceeded toward her, stalking her like a wild, hungry animal. Her heart rate shot toward the stars.

"This is your last chance," he warned. "Get out of here or suffer the consequences."

"Suffer?" She bit her lip to keep from grinning at that word. "You won't hurt me, will you?" she asked softly, knowing he wouldn't.

"I make no promises. I should take my horse whip to your wee arse."

"You didn't whip me last time. And it only hurt for a minute. Then, there was naught but pleasure."

His shaft jerked, drawing her attention. A second later, he stood before her, crowding her against the stone wall, lifting her. Before she could utter a sound, his mouth devoured hers, his tongue invading, tasting. Mmm. Her thoughts scattered in the wake of his sensual assault. The thrust of his tongue reminded her of the way he had thrust himself into her last time, spurring her woman's instincts. Aye, her body craved his plundering.

His hard shaft rubbed up against her crotch through the material of her dress. She held on tightly around his neck as he easily held her aloft. With his hand, he dug under her skirts and petticoats, yanking them out of his way and burrowing beneath until he reached his destination. His fingertips gently stroked between her legs in a most shocking and exciting way. She gasped.

"Damnation, how wet you are," he whispered against her mouth.

She couldn't think how to respond to that. She only knew somehow the moisture gathered between her legs whenever he kissed or touched her. Or when she saw his naked body. She thought it must be female arousal.

His fingers caressed her in slow, spellbinding circles. What magic! The pleasure and her need for him intensified, blotting out her thoughts.

"Aye," she gasped, seeking more kisses.

His wet finger slipped inside her and she thought she would go off like a cannon. She wriggled, trying to find relief from the sensual torment. She again craved the thickness of his large shaft inside her, stroking deep as he had done before.

"Take me," she whispered, locking her arms around his neck.

"Damnation, Isobel. You drive me mad."

Surely 'twas madness she felt inside right now too.

He tugged more of her clothing out of the way. The firm tip of his shaft slid against her most sensitive flesh, then prodded into her.

"Aye, Dirk." She was near delirious with need, her body craving his.

He growled and gently pressed deeper. Withdrew and slid in again, challenging her with each slight thrust forward. She knew he was being a considerate lover now. The first time he hadn't taken it so slow.

He gradually eased his way deeper with each inward lunge, and she appreciated every inch as he drove further, testing her limits. He'd fit the first time so she knew he would again. Finally, he ground his hips, forcing himself in that last inch. He growled a curse and she felt possessed by him, conquered. She was his now. And he was hers. That knowledge consumed her. She didn't know if she alone felt it.

He held himself still, their bodies joined in a most primal, soul-stirring way, his lips brushing over hers, his darkened heavy-lidded eyes staring into hers. Somehow she felt he was staking his claim on her. Finally.

She licked at his lips, hungry for the taste of him. He withdrew almost all the way and plunged into her again, quickly and without hesitation. She gasped at the stunning, thrilling sensations. Again and again, the driving pleasure pounded through her, each thrust more amazing than the last. Faster and faster until she couldn't breathe. Just like last time, some unfathomable rapture exploded through her, possessing her body and mind. She screamed.

His mouth covered hers, caught her cries. Thrusting deep, he growled against her mouth. Grinding his hips one final time, he shuddered against her. A harsh groan rushed out of him along with a curse.

Withdrawing as he carried her, he staggered toward the bed. He fell to it on his back, holding her tightly to his chest. Her face was pressed to his neck and she didn't want to move.

"Saints, Isobel," he rasped, breathing hard. "You near killed me with that."

She smiled. "Nay, surely it takes more than that to fell such a great warrior."

A short laugh escaped him, then they caught their breaths in the silence.

"I have a question," she said.

"Aye?"

"I experienced an intense and indescribable feeling while we were making love each time, toward the end."

"I did as well."

"What is that?"

"The climax of the pleasure. The French call it le petite mort, the little death."

"Aye, for a moment I thought I was dying of pleasure."

He rolled her to the side and grinned. "In truth?"

"Aye, it frightened me the first time."

"There is naught to fear from the climax." He looked smug of a sudden, and proud of himself.

"I wondered if you are a skilled lover, and you are. Incredibly," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "When did you wonder this?"

"When we spent that night alone together in the cottage in Scourie."

"You were a virgin then. What did you know of skilled lovers?"

"Very little. Beitris has tried to tell me what goes on between a man and woman. I could not truly imagine it being appealing until…"

"Until?"

"You. When we were traveling, the way you touched me—helping me on and off the horse, holding me gently but firmly while Rebbie set my finger, not to mention riding behind you on the horse. This only made me want you to touch me more."

He drew in a deep breath, giving her an enigmatic look. "You know what this means, do you not?" he asked.

"Nay."

"I'll not be letting you go back to the MacLeod," he said in a possessive tone.

"I wasn't going back anyway."

"And this means war." His eyes glinted in a fearsome way.

"War? Nay. My brother would not make me marry the MacLeod with his brute of a brother in the household, abusing me. So the MacLeods have naught to get up in arms about. 'Tis their fault I left."

"Well, let's hope your brother works out an agreement with the MacLeod before he realizes I've stolen you away."

"Did you steal me?" She grinned. "Are you a bride thief?"

"I am now. Saints! I never thought I'd do such a thing."

"Because you are so honorable?"

He shrugged. "I believe in doing the right thing."

It is right for us to be together. She almost said the words, but she wasn't sure how he would take them. She hoped he would stake his claim even further and say he wanted to marry her. Not that he felt forced into it. She would only wed a man who truly wished to marry her, for her. Not for her property or her dowry. Nor because of honor.