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She cocked her head in thought. “We will see who can shoot the truest at an agreed-upon target. If I win, ye will tell me yer fondest childhood memory since I dunnae currently have any of my own. And if ye win—”
“Ye will remove the MacLean plaid that ye’re wearing and wear the MacLeod plaid instead,” he rushed out. He knew such a thing should not matter to him. She was not his. She was not even a MacLeod. But it mattered very much. He’d not realized just how much until he’d said the words.
She inhaled a sharp breath, then spoke slowly, as if testing how her words would make him respond. “Does it matter to ye?”
“Aye,” he admitted, “though I dunnae have the right to ask such a thing of ye.”
She nodded. “Ye dunnae, but I’ll accept yer terms.”
Relief shot through him.
“Do ye have a plaid to give me if ye win?” she asked.
“Aye. Ye can wear mine, and I will get another.”
She nodded. “Now, what shall our target be?”
He glanced around the thick wooded area in which they stood. In the distance, well beyond the target she had shot at before, was a low-hanging branch with a large nut hanging from it. He grinned and pointed. “That nut is our target. We will shoot at the same time, and whoever hits it is the winner.”
She looked in the direction he was pointing, and her lips parted. For a moment, she simply stared. “Be ready to tell me yer memory.”
He snorted as he withdrew his arrow and nocked it while she did the same. “On a count of three.”
She nodded but did not look his way. He allowed his gaze to linger for the space of a breath, watching as that same adorable line appeared between her brows again. He wanted to keep watching her and see all the ways he now knew she prepared. But he had no intention of losing, so he returned his attention to his own bow.
“One,” they said in unison. “Two. Three.”
The arrows released almost simultaneously, but by nature of the fact that he was much larger than she was—therefore could make his bow string tauter for a more forceful release—his arrow sailed past hers, hit the nut, and lodged in the tree.
Grinning, he glanced at her and found her looking intently at his arrow with a smile on her face. He looked back to the tree and laughed. Her arrow had split his down the middle. “Ye forgot to account for my superior strength as a man,” he said.
She gave him an amused look. “And ye forgot to account for my superior mind as a woman. I wanted to wear yer plaid, and now ye must honor the contest and give it to me.”
Her words left him speechless for a moment, but as he watched her struggle to stop the trembling laughter on her lips, he threw his head back and chuckled until his gut ached. She let her own hearty laughter spill out, and it filled him with joy like he’d never known. As they both caught their breath, his gaze met hers, and the desire he saw reflected back at him battered his self-control.
Wordlessly, he set down his bow and stripped off his plaid, holding her gaze, which had become dark and beckoning. Yearning strummed through him as he moved so near to her that her scent filled his nose like a heady aphrodisiac, and her body heat caressed him. As he put the plaid on her and his fingers touched her silky skin, need exploded within him. He encircled her with his arms, bringing his hand to the small of her back to tug her close. Her soft, womanly curves pressed intimately against his hard, throbbing body, fitting him perfectly, and when she whimpered her need, he captured her lips with his.
Her mouth was velvety, warm, enticing, and not enough. He wanted more. He wanted all of her. He broke the kiss as his desire mounted, and he feathered kisses to her neck where he sucked in her silky skin on a long draw. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, the nails digging in and revealing her own urgency. She pulled him nearer now, twining her hands in his hair and wriggling against him.
Her chest brushed against his hot skin, and he knew that if he did not stop now, he may not be able to stop at all. Ruthlessly, he discarded the thought, driven by his relentless yearning for her. He took her mouth with his once more, one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other cupping her heavy breast. She shuddered in his hand, and it was all the encouragement he needed. He circled his fingers gently around her hard bud. A guttural moan came from her that nearly drove him mad with wanting.
He broke the kiss to press his mouth to her chest, and her heartbeat pounded in his ear. “What are ye doing to me?” she demanded in voice hoarse with desire.
Her question, so telling in its innocence, caused the reality of what he was doing to crash in on him. He froze, his entire body rebelling against him as he released her and stepped away. When his gaze locked on hers, it took everything within him not to wrench her to him again.
“Jesus,” he muttered, disgusted with himself. He’d been a breath away from taking her, and she was likely an innocent. He would never take that from her and not marry her, and to marry her would mean he was choosing to risk that he could change Eolande’s prophecy for his future. If it was only his life that hung in the balance, he thought he might just take that chance, but he could not risk putting his family in jeopardy.
“I’m sorry,” he said, jerking a hand through his hair.
“Oh nay, Cameron!” She moved toward him, raising her hand as if to touch him. He stepped out of her reach, knowing if he let her touch him, he’d be lost to desire once more. Lines of confusion appeared on her brow. “I liked what ye were doing to me,” she said in a quiet but firm voice.
He groaned at her honest admission as it hardened him further with yearning. “I liked it verra much, as well,” he replied. “But this—” he motioned between them “—we kinnae do. I should nae have kissed ye. Twice.”
The anger that settled on her face shocked him. She crossed her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes. “Ye are a coward,” she accused.
Maybe she was hurt, and this was her way of showing it?
He frowned. “Ye dunnae ken—”
