Page 9 of Wicked Passions

“More than even,” he growled. “My laird is a man of many talents.”

“Alastair,” chided Callum, but his gaze was warm.

“Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I mean no offense.”

Lady Isla tilted her head. “I know you don’t. I’d wager Glennoe has far more talents than many would guess, and is far too modest to list them. However, he confesses a weakness in his ability with a sword. One talent I will never hide, nor be modest about, is swordplay. I was Sir Lachlan’s best student until my tumble from grace. What I am offering is…lessons. In secret. If you wish, Glennoe. If marriage to me, knowing how unconventional I am, might be something you truly desire.”

Sword lessons!

Alastair met Callum’s troubled gaze, knowing he would be torn at such an offer. Honor demanded they obey the king’s rules; yet both knew if Callum did manage to reach the last four, with his current ability he would have no chance in winning the tourney. The other entrants had fought in vicious clan battles, committed daring border raids against the English, and stood shoulder to shoulder with the king as he quelled uprisings. Thanks to years of cruelty; the mockery and beatings that had followed each defeat by his father, other clan members, or his cousin, Callum hated to even pick up a sword. But with Lady Isla as a tutor, maybe he could learn some new skills or improve his stance and grip and footwork just enough to hold his own against the other men.

Alas, they had no more time to discuss the matter, for the king and queen now approached.

“The minutes have flown in the company of a fine lass,” Alastair said too-heartily, bowing to Lady Isla. “Laird, we should go and begin preparations for the foot race on the morrow. The competition shall be fierce.”

Lady Isla held out her hand to Callum. “It was a great pleasure to meet you, Glennoe. I look forward to hearing your opinion on a great Highland pastime. Good fortune to you and your squire in the tourney.”

Callum bowed over her hand, then rather daringly for him, kissed it. “Thank you, my lady. I hope—”

“Isla!” said Margaret as she joined them. “Your father and mother eagerly await you. Do not tarry in this Hall any longer.”

The lady didn’t express annoyance at her fourteen-year-old queen’s scolding by even a glance or twitch, yet somehow Alastair could feel it and he admired the restraint. He felt much sympathy for the king and the sacrifices he’d made to ensure the unholy alliance with England succeeded. Everyone in the realm knew James didn’t love his Tudor wife, but he was always courteous, and to placate her further, he’d sent his mistresses and all the illegitimate children he doted on far away from Stirling Castle.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lady Isla said, curtsying deeply. “Good day, all.”

The king smiled as he watched her leave the Great Hall. “A great treasure for the worthy winner of my tourney. Are you pleased with the five events, Glennoe?”

Alastair tensed at the seemingly innocent question. He remained wary of their sovereign’s indulgence of time just now, and what purpose that might serve. For James would certainly have a purpose. Their king might be younger and far more amiable than most, but he had already proven himself a formidable, shrewd, and practical man. Much like Callum, James was forced each day to mend the mistakes of his father as best he could.

Callum inclined his head. “They honor the character of my king perfectly, I believe. Part warrior, part gallant. So yes, Your Grace, I shall be pleased to demonstrate a range of skills in the quest to win the hand and heart of Lady Isla. And to provide a spectacle for the enjoyment of my queen.”

“Well said, well said,” murmured the king. “I expect great things from you, perhaps more so because you will not be expected to progress far. Prepare your laird well, Master Graham.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” he replied, understanding the dismissal for what it was.

Lest anything they said be overheard and repeated to spiteful ears, Alastair and Callum departed the Great Hall in silence, and held their tongues crossing the outer close also. Several of the other entrants remained outside, clearly hoping for further time with Lady Isla, or even a private audience with the king. From the expressions on their faces, they were furious that such a lowly laird had been permitted both—none more so than wretched Red MacDonald, who gave them both a dagger glare.

“Well,” said Callum eventually, as they descended the steep path toward the cottage. “That was interesting. I have much to think about this evening.”

Ha. Interesting was a woefully inadequate word for an afternoon where they’d met a bold, beautiful woman who offered the world…if they broke the rules. But his laird preferred to mull matters over before making a judgment, so there was no hurrying the conversation.

Tomorrow, however, would be a different tale entirely.

Chapter 3

Isla sat up in bed with a start, her heart pounding and limbs trembling.

For a moment she wondered if she’d cried out, but all around her was quiet, her father and mother still fast asleep on the other side of the chamber. After untangling the linen sheet and quilt from around her legs, she lay back on her pillow and let her eyes adjust to the faint flicker of smoldering fireplace and candle stubs in the pre-dawn gloom.

That dream.

Her cheeks flushed. She was no green girl; a virgin yes, but she’d seen and heard things that a youngest child tended to see and hear because others forgot she was there. Not to mention the ribald conversations and cock-waving jests made by the lads during rest times at St. Andrews. Yet her mind had taken that knowledge, Glennoe’s kiss to her hand that had jolted her fair to her toes, and Master Graham’s gruff questions and brawny folded arms, and blended it into something wickedly erotic.

She’d been naked, the men fully clothed. They had held her wrists behind her back while teasing her nipples to hard points, kissing her neck and lips before parting the bush of black hair that covered her mound, and caressing the tender pink pearl nestled there. As she’d whimpered and writhed at the sensual torment, each had taken one of her hands and guided it to their hose-covered cocks, telling her in blunt, raw terms what she must do to please them.

Naturally, that was the moment she’d woken. And now she needed to touch herself more than anything in the world, to ease the restless, pulsing ache at her center, something she usually only did after victory in a swordfight when her whole body burned with wild elation. In the past there had been a forbidden element to her pleasure, for in the absence of a man who heated her blood, it had been the thought of Sir Lachlan returning to the manor and bedding Lady Marjorie and Lady Janet that had brought her release. Now, all she could think of was Glennoe and Master Graham tearing away her shift and nightgown, roughly parting her thighs and holding them wide open as they explored the slick folds of her cunt.

“Yes,” she whispered, turning onto her front before sliding a hand down between her legs to coat her fingertips in honey and rub her swollen pearl. “Please.”