Free Seduced by a Highlander by Paula Quinn

of his wrist, Tristan disengaged the hilt from Alex’s fingers and the sword fell harmlessly to the grass.
    The crowd cheered, while some called out to him to finish the deed with blood. Tristan found Isobel’s gaze and bowed slightly, letting her know his mercy was for her sake.
    He left the enclosure and handed his father back his sword.
    “Well done,” the Chief said, smacking him on the back. Tristan was pleased and a bit surprised that his father was not among those calling for blood.
    His eyes found Isobel across the perimeter, standing with her bloody-nosed brother. He couldn’t hear what it was she was telling him, but she looked angry enough to set his nose and then break it again herself. She sent himoff with her brother Cameron and then turned to meet Tristan’s gaze. She tipped her head to him as if offering him thanks for not hurting Alex, then left the fence.
    “There is Lady Hartley,” Tristan told his kin and hurried off before anyone had a chance to look.
    He kept his pace steady until Isobel reached the line of trees in the garden. He caught up with her quickly once they were out of sight of either of their families.
    Her steps were quick and light, her cool green gaze fixed straight ahead, with no intention of sparing him the briefest glance.
    He wasn’t about to have that. “Greetings, Miss Fergusson.” He stepped into her path, blocking her from moving forward. “I was afraid ye had left this morn withoot biddin’ me farewell.”
    When she looked around at him, his gaze dipped to the heavy rise and fall of her bosom beneath her kirtle, her creamy flesh pulsing with the rhythm of his checked breath. He wanted to taste her there.
    “My brothers are expecting me. Let me by, please.”
    He looked up unrepentantly and moved aside. “Are ye still angry aboot me kissin’ ye, then?” he asked, picking up his pace beside her. “I only did it to—”
    “Ye have my gratitude for not killing my foolish brother, but never speak of kissing me again or it will be
my
fist in yer face.”
    “Hell, I didna’ think ’twas
that
vile.” He held back the smile trying to creep over his lips when she stopped and turned to him, green eyes blazing.
    “Exactly how vile did ye think it was?”
    Ah, there was the fire he was after. A lesser, more cowardly man would have politely bowed out of the battle he’d foolishly entered. But Tristan forged ahead, driven towardher like a parched traveler who’d discovered a garden in the arid dunes. “I’m thinkin’ ’twas yer first time, so ’twas understandable that it might be lackin’ just a wee bit.”
    She tilted her chin up at him, her plump, shapely lips drawing in a shallow breath that flared her nostrils and stiffened her shoulders. She reminded Tristan of an untamed mare that would never tire, and he drenched his vision in the glorious sight of her. “I’d find it a pleasure, quite possibly beyond what I could endure, to help ye become better at it.”
    She was about to slap his face, mayhap keep her word and punch it if the crimson of her cheeks was any indication. “I would rather be hurled into a vat of hot tar than ever have yer mouth on mine again. I hated it, just as I hate ye, MacGregor.”
    “My name is Tristan,” he said, wanting her to see the man she had seen in the garden when they first met. “And if we had no’ been interrupted the other night, I would have told ye that I dinna’ approve of what our kin have done.”
    She laughed, but the sound of it left only anger drifting across the damp courtyard. “Ye are the son of the Devil.”
    “But I was reared by another man.”
    She did not hear him, or mayhap she did and she didn’t care. Her lips hooked into a knowing sneer. “Whatever dark purpose ye have in trying to win my favor, let us be clear here and now; ye will never succeed.”
    Tristan guessed she was correct. It would take more time than they had at Whitehall to woo her to his bed. He understood now why he wanted her