He shoved her skirts higher, spread her legs and moved down as if to examine her most secret place in the candlelight.

"What are you—?"

But then he touched her with his… tongue?

"Oh saints! Dirk? What—?" She tried to protest, but her words turned to moans. All she knew was that he was kissing and licking her in a most scandalous spot, sliding his hot, wet tongue along her nether lips and between. Her arousal flamed up, hot chills covering her, capturing her breath, making her twist and yearn for more.

She heard herself cry out and tried to stop, biting her finger. Her back arched and her hips rocked against him, as he held them in a fierce grip and devoured her.

Oh, what on earth was he doing, sliding his tongue into her? He moaned as if he might enjoy it as much as she did. She had never known a wicked act or a carnal pleasure like this existed. Oh heavens, his tongue flicked at that special spot, the pinpoint of sensation that was near too intense to bear. The many sharp tingles coalesced and spiraled faster, then an explosive pleasure crashed into her, consuming her for several long seconds.

When next she became aware, gasping for breath, her whole body buzzing as if it had been struck by lightning, she felt she was flying. But it was only that Dirk lifted her and set her on his lap again, her legs still spread. She held on around his neck and dropped her head to his shoulder, trying to breathe and make sense of these astonishing sensations. Certainly, he'd given her the climax before, le petite mort, but each time the intensity of it surprised her. Especially this time. Somehow he'd near driven her out of her mind with arousal and sexual pleasure.

"Mmm," he growled against her ear. "You taste sweet, Isobel."

"You are mad to… lick me in such a place."

He gave a little chuckle-moan. "Call me a madman then, but I believe I'll have you for dessert every night."

She trembled at the mere thought of such a sensual treat every night.

"Are you ready for me?" He drew her upward and positioned his erection just beneath her. The velvety tip teased her tender flesh, and she suddenly hungered to feel him deep inside.

"Aye. Now." Abruptly she pushed downward onto him and he jerked, thrusting into her an inch or two. She gasped, having forgotten how his size was excessive, but each second felt better than the last. He moved, sliding in and out shallowly, but gradually driving deeper each time. His jaw clenched hard and he gazed into her eyes with awe and dark passion. He was a fiery one. She wiggled her hips, squeezing him as she lowered herself onto him. Deeper and deeper he slid.

He growled as he reached her depths. He held himself still there, at that perfect spot and stared into her eyes while placing wee sweet kisses on her lips.

The muscles within her body fluttered, caressing his hard length.

He ground out a Gaelic curse, withdrew a bit and thrust. Abruptly he shoved himself from the chair and, with an arm beneath her derriere, carried her across the room.

"Damnation, Isobel, you steal my sanity," he grated.

She again felt she was flying for a moment, then the bookcase shelf dug into her back. He thrust, driving up into her, gently at first, but then with increased force and speed. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkened, he looked like a fearsome warrior determined to take every inch of her and then some.

She cried out.

He halted. "Am I hurting you?"

"Nay. More… give me more," she whispered.

To feel the strength of his powerful, hard body as he held her aloft increased her arousal. His gaze fierce and steady with passion and determination, he continued to drive himself into her, quick and deep.

"Aye," she gasped. "This… I wanted…" She accepted the erotic kisses he fed her just as she accepted him inside her.

He slid his hand between their bodies and rubbed that most sensitive nub of flesh with his thumb, wet circles that made her ache and wiggle, reaching for that pinnacle of pleasure again.

The tingles intensified sharply, converging on her. She arched and stiffened in anticipation. Her breath deserted her and the pleasure smashed in on her like a gigantic wave crushing her, carrying her away. She tried to scream, but his mouth covered hers. She rode him, enthusiastically taking all he'd give her. His hard shaft was merciless. The pleasure spread out through her limbs into her fingers and toes and ricocheted, bouncing back and grasping hold of her again where she clenched around him, desperate to hold him just where he was forever. He was hers. That was the only thing she knew. He was hers and she wasn't letting go. Ever.

He plunged to her depths and held himself there before releasing a growl. His warmth filling her, he jerked against her twice more. He held her tight for a long moment, his harsh breath gusting against her ear.

Muttering a curse, he slowly withdrew and set her to her feet. But her knees were so weak she couldn't stand. Taking her into his arms, he lifted her, then slid down the wall to the floor.

"Damnation," he whispered, gasping for breath.

Sitting there, staring into each other's eyes at close range, they struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern.

His gaze dropped and she realized her petticoats were hiked up past her hips. No doubt he could see all her secret female places that should be hidden, but somehow she wasn't ashamed. He'd put his mouth there, so obviously he liked that part of her. He knew all her secrets and wanted her anyway.

After he surveyed her scandalously bare places, including her breasts, for several moments, his jaw clenched hard, the muscle in his cheek jumping in that sexy way she loved. His eyes met hers and darkened again. "You are…" He shook his head. "There are no words," he whispered.

"You don't need words." She knew how he felt just by looking into his expressive eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him in sweet and passionate abandon.

A knock sounded at the door. "You're wanted in the great hall." It was Rebbie's voice.

***

Around midday, Maighread had opened the shutters of her chamber to try to catch a glimpse of what was going on outside. She'd heard a few yells, but no sounds of battle. Through the glass, she'd seen a large number of men on horseback some distance from the castle. They had to be the MacLeods come to recapture Isobel, didn't they?

Maighread had waited… and waited. Still, there were no sounds of swords clashing and men dying. A few horses galloped away, their hooves striking the frozen ground. After this, at gloaming, the roar of conversation from the bailey and the great hall reached her.

What was happening? Why were the MacLeods not attacking Dirk and his men?

Surely sending Haldane all the way to Munrick couldn't have been for naught. And where was her son anyway?

She knocked at the inside of her own door. That bastard, Dirk, had made the men add a lock to the outside of the door.

"What do you want?" one of the guards asked from outside.

Disrespectful lout, she'd see he was forced out of MacKay Country when she was free.

"I must speak to my maid about a delicate female matter," she said in a submissive tone.

"You tell me and I'll tell her."

Damn the man. She was not accustomed to people refusing to do her bidding. It was all because of Dirk.

She paced back and forth before the fireplace. Somehow she had to find out what was going on.

An hour or so later, the door creaked, startling her. She whipped around. One of the guards set a tray of food inside on the floor. She hurried toward him, but he slammed the door and the lock clicked.