Читать книгу Claimed By The Wolf Prince - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 9

He tasted just exactly as she had imagined—of man, of myth and danger, and something more elemental. His tongue touched hers, and Iona gasped, for no man had taken such liberties with her in all her one and twenty years. Sweetness flooded her, heated her. Her lips parted wider. Of their own accord, her arms wrapped themselves around him. The solid, sinewy length of his body threw her senses into wild disarray. His kiss deepened, and she moaned.

With a harsh cry, Struan pushed her away. His chest heaved. The air was heavy with the scent of their arousal. He was stunned by how close he had come to losing control. The urge to lay her down on the sand and thrust into her, claiming her for his own without finesse, was almost too much to resist. He had no right to claim her, but she felt so good it was difficult to even remember that fact, let alone act upon it.

Breathing heavily, he pushed back the fall of hair over his brow, lifting his head to test the wind direction. “We must make haste. The tide is on the turn, and there is a storm brewing,” he said, focusing on the need to make sail, determinedly ignoring the siren call of this vulnerable, bewitching female.

Iona shivered violently. What was happening to her? So contrary to her perilous situation, her body’s response was, and yet so fierce. Behind her, the forest looked impenetrable. Even if she could escape—which she severely doubted—she had no idea how to get home, nor any means of transport. She really was a prisoner, at the mercy of the legendary Faol—for the time-being, at least. Until her father paid up, as surely he would, when he realised she had been taken. And then she would be released. Surely.

She eyed the broiling sea nervously. The McKinleys were not fisher-folk. “I take it there is no point throwing myself upon your mercy and begging you to release me?”

“None whatsoever. Your foolish father broke faith with us, and all the Highlands must see that he is duly punished.” Looking at her, holding herself tight as if she would break if she let go, Struan felt a foolish urge to do as she asked. This was not her doing. The laird deserved to pay the price, not his innocent daughter.

He straightened his shoulders and touched his fingers to his amulet. It wasn’t the first time he’d had cause to question the ancient ways, but for now he must be content to uphold them. It was too soon after his election as Alpha to contemplate change, nor to allow emotion to interfere with duty. He would not tolerate such weakness in the members of his pack. Of a certainty he must not display it himself. “Come,” he said curtly, holding out his hand, “there is no more to be said. With luck, we’ll be on Kentarra by nightfall.”

White horses foamed on the crest of a heavy swell as Struan pushed the little clinker-built sgoth out to sea, leaping lithely aboard as the water lifted the hull from the sand. The wind tugged the sail as soon as he released it, making the boat surge forward.

Iona, who had only ever sailed in the calm of a summer’s day, clutched the wooden seat as the little craft dipped and climbed in the ever-deepening swell. Across from her, Struan, perched casually in the stern, seemed quite unconcerned, holding the tiller straight, gazing off into the distance. “Where is Kentarra, I can’t see it?” she asked nervously, looking at the empty ocean.

“It is there, if you know where to look,” he replied with an enigmatic smile. An icy spray arched over them. “Pull the fur around you, it will keep you warm.”

As she did as he bid her, Iona allowed her gaze to linger on her captor’s half-naked body. His long black hair streamed out behind him, his muscles rippling as he fought to hold course. He looked like part of the landscape, a force of nature. His raw animal power, though constrained, was there nonetheless. He made her feel as if she should hold her breath. Waiting. Watching. Wondering all the time, if he would unleash it. Looking out at the fast-diminishing land, down at the deep, dark ocean, she realised she was in every way completely out of her depth. Her patent vulnerability disturbed her, but not as much as it should. She should be frightened but she didn’t know quite how to describe how she felt. Nervous. Tense. Reckless. A little wild. And excited, too, there was no denying it. The boat rocked as it crested a particularly high wave, and she clutched anxiously at the sides.

“Try to get some rest,” Struan said.

“Rest! How can I rest when I’ve been kidnapped and am being taken to some Godforsaken island against my will, to suffer who knows what barbaric indignities?” Iona muttered. But she dropped down into the hull and curled up, pulling the furs tight around her.