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Torches had been lit, both within and outside the castle. There seemed to be lights below them, on the beach.
They had just arrived at Islay an hour ago, at dusk, having left Lismore just after sunrise. She was frozen from the wind, the mist and the snow, and she remained disbelieving. As she stared at the Atlantic Ocean, she thought, this is a godforsaken place, one well deserved by a godforsaken man—one who takes a pregnant woman and her small children hostage.
How could she attain her sister’s freedom?
The sooner he demanded a ransom, the better.
The three boys had all climbed onto one bed, and Mary now sat down with them, still wrapped in her fur. “Thank you,” she said softly to Lady MacDonald.
Juliana turned to look at Alasdair’s mother. She was gray-haired, blue-eyed, of medium height and build, still pretty and very soft-spoken. She seemed kind—she even seemed concerned. How had she given birth to such a cold, ruthless man?
And what had he truly meant that she should not have been at the cathedral when he attacked it?
Did he regret her involvement in his war?
Juliana shook herself free of such fanciful thoughts. Alasdair Og had no regrets, no doubts, just ruthless ambition.
She took a breath. “What we need is to be freed, so we can return home,” Juliana said, a bit sharply.
Lady MacDonald’s smile faltered. “I hope you are soon freed, Lady Juliana. “
Juliana stared, realizing that she was kind, and that she meant it. Would she be an ally, then? “I do not understand why your son captured us. If only he would release my sister and her children—I would gladly stay as his hostage.” As she spoke, she heard a movement in the corridor, and she tensed as Alasdair leaned against the open door. He slowly smiled at her.
Lady MacDonald said softly, “I gave up trying to understand the ways of men—and their need for war—long ago, Lady Juliana. But my son will make certain you are well cared for while here.” She turned to Alasdair. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yer always right.” He came forward, kissed Lady MacDonald’s cheek as she left them, and turned to stare at Juliana. “If ye think to move my mother to plot against me, ye might think again.”
Juliana hugged herself, her heart racing. She was acutely aware of being in this man’s complete control—she was his hostage, imprisoned in his stronghold, surrounded by the enemy. “Your mother seems kind.”
“Unlike me?” He was amused, and somehow very different now that he was at his home. His eyes had changed, for they were no longer cold and hard. Then she realized his very posture had changed. It was as if he was no longer braced for war.
“She is very kind, but she will not cross me,” Alasdair said. “So ye will gladly remain here, as my hostage?”
“Yes, if Mary and her children are freed.”
He laughed. “Ye might come to enjoy my hospitality, Lady Juliana—be forewarned.” He gave her a sidelong look and turned to Mary, his smile fading. “How do ye fare, Lady Comyn?”
Mary started. “It has been a very long day, but other than being very tired, I feel fine.”
He moved closer to the bed and both Roger and Donald gazed up at him wide-eyed. They had been staring at him with open fascination all day while upon his ship.
“Ye boys must be hungry,” Alasdair said, shocking Juliana.
Roger nodded, his eyes as huge as saucers, and Donald said, “Did ye really hang the bishop?”
“Donald!” Mary said, seizing him and pulling him close.
“I did. Treachery is not a good idea—neither is spying,” Alasdair said matter-of-factly.
Juliana marched over to stand between him and the bed, where Mary and the boys sat. She gave him a dark look.
Alasdair ignored her, smiling at Mary. “Shall I have my mother send ye some supper? I ken the day has been long and difficult.”
“That is kind of you,” Mary said. “I think we will all retire early.” Roger was yawning as she spoke. Thomas was already cuddled up next to her and deeply asleep.
Alasdair slowly faced Juliana, his expression wry. “Ye will stay with yer sister?”
“If the choice is stay with Mary, or sup with you, there is no choice,” Juliana said. “And it is a little late for kindness.”
He shook his head, amused, and left.
“Juliana!” Mary struggled to get up. Juliana rushed to help her, as Thomas murmured in his sleep. “Do not fight him now! Do not provoke him! We are at his mercy. I am happy if he can be kind, even for a moment.”
Juliana knew Mary was right. She wished she had held her temper. Berating him would not bend him to release her sister!
“We are hostages,” Mary said, taking her hand. “If you accept that, maybe we can endure this ordeal with as little difficulty as possible.”
“You are asking me to change my nature,” Juliana said. But even as she spoke she knew her sister was right. Even though she rarely acted upon the knowledge, she knew one always got more flies with honey than with vinegar. “I will be back.” Before Mary could protest, Juliana ran into the corridor.
Alasdair was at the far end, by the landing, and he vanished into a chamber there without seeing her.
Juliana faltered. Surely he did not have his chamber in the tower where she and Mary slept? Surely he was not directly down the corridor from them? And why did that bother her? Perhaps he merely wished to make certain that she and her sister did not escape—even when there was really no chance of ever doing so. Islay was an island, one could not merely walk off!
She recovered her composure, walking over to his door, which was wide open. She paused on the threshold.
Alasdair had his back to her, and he was removing his sword belt. His navy blue-and-red brat was already tossed across the bed. He was clad only in the linen leine he wore, and his leather boots. She could not help but notice how broad his shoulders were, how muscular his arms, how narrow his hips. The tunic left so little to the imagination.
“So ye follow me to my chamber?”
She tensed. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”
He slowly turned. “Yer a noisy woman.” He was smiling. And his gaze was drifting down her lilac surcote, past the gold girdle she wore, and then back up again.
She did not smile back. “I don’t like it when you look at me in such a manner.”
His dark brows rose. “In what manner... Juliana?” He started slowly towards her.
Her tension increased. He knew what she meant! “I am here to...” She stopped.
“Yer here why?” He was laughing at her, but without a sound. She saw the amusement now in his eyes. And he had halted so close to her that she could see golden flecks in his blue eyes.
She stepped slightly back. “I’m here to apologize.” The moment she had spoken, she wished she had not. He had attacked her, not once but twice, he had taken her and her sister and nephews hostage!
“I can imagine how hard it is, for ye to say yer sorry. I accept.” He chuckled.
She felt like striking him, as nothing was amusing now, but knew better. “I am also here to beg you another time to spare my sister and her children from this ordeal! You have me—you do not need them.”
“My hospitality is only an ordeal if ye make it one, and Lady Comyn seems disinclined to do so. But ye, lady, love to fight.” There was no mistaking his look now—it was one of male admiration.
Juliana took another quick step backwards. As she did, his hand shot out, and he seized her wrist, preventing her from moving any farther away from him. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Why does my admiration distress ye so?” His tone had become so soft, and so seductive.
“I do not want your admiration!” Her heart was slamming. “What are you doing?” she managed to say. “Release me!”
“What do ye think?” he said, no longer smiling. His gaze was on her mouth. “Yer beautiful.... I’m a man.” He pulled her close. She was in disbelief—or was she? For she had known from that first day in the cathedral that he wanted her. A woman always knew when a man was smitten. And yet she had come to his room, all the same.
He was compelling. She had to admit that now. He was powerful, proud, arrogant and ruthless... a prince of the isles....
But that did not matter. They were enemies.
And yet, when Juliana found herself in his embrace, and she pressed her hands on his hard chest, trying to think coherently was impossible. He held her body against his, and he was all hard, huge muscle, straining against her softness.
But she had come to plead for her sister’s freedom another time...or had she? She couldn’t think with his scent enveloping her as it was.
“I think ye came here for more than an apology,” he whispered roughly. He wasn’t amused now. His eyes were dark with heat.
She did not bother to deny it. “Damn you,” she gasped. “If I kiss you, will you release Mary and the boys?”
“Lady, I want more than a kiss.”
Her hands curled into fists on his chest. She could barely breathe. Desire was unfurling within her at a shocking rate. “You will not get more than a kiss!”
He suddenly caught her face with one hand. “Ye challenge me and I gladly accept,” he said roughly, and he kissed her.
Juliana froze as his mouth covered hers—hard and fierce, forcing her lips apart, his tongue thrusting inside. Shock evaporated. Something huge—terrible and wonderful—fisted deep within her.
She relaxed against him, her fists opening, sliding over his chest.
He grunted in satisfaction, his hands moving down her back and over her buttocks. He pushed her against the wall.
Crushed there, Juliana felt nothing but the onslaught of his mouth, the pressure of his body, and a stunning desire. She moved her hands into his tangled mane of hair and kissed him wildly back.
Their tongues entwined, their lips locked, and he pushed one huge thigh between hers. Then he broke the kiss.
Juliana looked into his blazing blue eyes, overcome by urgency and shocked by it. No man had ever kindled such disturbing desire in her before. She was clinging to him, hard.
“Ye kiss the way ye fight. Do ye love the same way?” he asked thickly.
She began to realize what they were doing—what she was doing. He was Alasdair Og and she was Juliana MacDougall. She braced against his chest as her mind raced. What if she could persuade him to release her sister and her nephews? Wouldn’t his lovemaking be worth it?
“Ahh—dinna think now.” He kissed her deeply again.
Their mouths mated and fused, wildly. The desire built to another crescendo. She was breathless and faint, and as he tugged on her braid, freeing her hair, persuading him became a distant memory, because her blood was on fire as never before.
He suddenly caught her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. As he laid her down there, he paused before coming down on top of her. “Juliana? I’m about to go mad, so if ye wish to leave, ye had better run from me now.”
He was breathing hard, poised on all fours above her. As he spoke, he settled one knee between her thighs.
Of course she should leap up from the bed and run away. But Juliana reached up and clasped his jaw fiercely. She wanted to kiss him again.
His eyes blazed. He moved on top of her, lifting her skirts to her waist. Juliana cried out as she felt his manhood against her sex, stunned by the powerful sensation.
As his mouth covered hers, she threw her arms around him. She arched against him, the movement an invitation as old as time. He growled roughly, his mouth on her neck, her collarbone, her breast.
All thought had vanished. There was only his hard, heated body and her raging need. Juliana reached down and ran her hand over the back of his hard thigh, beneath his leine, and then up over his hard buttock. He began moving his mouth over her rib cage, her belly. He went lower and Juliana went still, paralyzed.
She felt his tongue. Desire exploded.
She wept in pleasure and, when he rose back over her and moved hard within her, she wept in ecstasy.
* * *
JULIANA WAS AFRAID to move. She listened to Alasdair as he left the bed and moved about the dark chamber, carefully tugging her cote and surcote down. She heard him stoking the fire. Then she heard a whoosh, and the chamber blazed with light.
She instantly saw him standing by the hearth, his back to it, as he stared at her.
She felt her cheeks flame. Her heart slammed. Slowly, she sat up. Her sanity had returned.He was Alasdair Og and she was Juliana MacDougall. Worse, she was his hostage. What had she done?
“Did I hurt ye?” he asked quietly.
“No, you did not hurt me.”
What had just happened? How had it happened? When she had never done more than kiss a man before? And she did not want to speak with him now. She stood up. With her fingers, she raked through her long hair, hoping he would not see that she trembled, and then hurriedly braided it.
He walked away, opened a chest, returned. He handed her a ribbon.
She tied the braid, not looking at him. The ribbon was blue, of course it was, him being a MacDonald.
Damn it, she thought. Why had she just experienced such uncontrollable desire? Why now, with her worst enemy, of all possible men?
And he was staring. She wanted him to stop. She wet her lips. “Will you free Mary and her sons?” At least some good might come of this horrible mistake.
But he did not reply. He simply stared at her.
Her heart sank in shock and disbelief. “I slept with you!” she cried. “You will not free them?”
“Ye slept in my bed because ye wanted to be with me. Yer a passionate woman and we both ken.”
She could not deny either claim. “You deceived me,” she began.
He raised his hand, his face hard. “I did not plan this. I made no promises. Ye followed me into my chamber.”
She froze. And too late, she knew she had erred by daring to approach him in this room.
“But I will free yer sister when her ransom is paid, that is my promise.” With that, he strode to the door. Then he turned. “Will ye come to dine?”
She was ravenous but she hesitated.
