Free For the Highlander's Pleasure by Joanne Rock Page B

the fabric, cursing an unholy string of oaths no innocent should know, and managed to free herself for only a second before she stumbled neatly into his arms.
“Whoa, lass,” he cautioned, pinning her struggling arms from behind before she could scratch him.
She soaked his garments right through his lightweight mail. Her skirts streamed water into his boots and cooled his hose in an icy blanket. Her tunic did the same to his sleeves as he held her captive.
“Unhand me, vile beast!” she shouted, though her voice lacked the same fever pitch as before. “My maid is but recently departed. She will return with help.”
Chances were excellent that she lied, but he could not afford a skirmish with a throng of irate villagers when he needed to reach the seat of the local earldom ere nightfall.
He did not rove the eastern seacoast to ravish beguiling maids, but to stalk a vile knave unworthy of knighthood.
“I will not hurt you, wee one,” he assured her, towering more than a head above her.
She stood tall for a woman, actually, but even so he could have rested his chin upon her head. Her damp hair twisted in wild ropes around her as she swung from side to side in the circle of his arms. Like dark seaweed, it clung to him even after he held her tight enough to still her completely.
It was, he realized, quite tight indeed.
In a flash, all the misplaced lust he’d felt earlier came roaring back to life with the incentive of her sweetly rounded rump fitted to his thighs. With her arms successfully pinned to her sides, he had ended their skirmish with his hands planted just beneath her breasts, his knuckles nudging the plump flesh enough to lift the firm mounds high.
And not even one of the woman’s saints would have denied himself a glance down the front of that sodden tunic to her ample curves.
“Have you not already looked your fill, warrior?” The woman ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Not even your hulking size will protect you when my father the earl discovers you have touched me.”
Finn wrenched his gaze up from the full, high swell of her breasts that he had viewed more fully just a short while ago. He spun the woman in his grip to see her face. He feared no petty Border lordling. But he had journeyed many leagues in search of the Caladan noble who had put out a call for a champion. Could the comely lass be the same man’s kin? Finn had heard rumors about the dark curse on the lord’s lands, including one killing that bore some similarity to his own brother’s death. If this was the domain of the lord in question, Finn would serve the noble until the assassin was vanquished by his blade. He could not afford to let the faceless, cowardly dog escape him again.
“Does this earl seek a champion?” he asked, even knowing the lass might invent any manner of story to protect herself if she thought she was in danger.
Yet the girl’s demeanor suggested she could be highborn despite her lusty play in the river inlet. Nobility did not always breed the fire out of a woman.
He loosened his hold but did not release her.
“Why?” she asked, answering his question with a question.
Peculiar. And yet indicative of a highborn woman. Their pretty manners meant they spoke in circles more often than not.
“I will be that champion,” he assured her, thinking the lass could lead him to the keep even if she was naught but a village maid.
The expression that crossed her face was as inscrutable as her words, though it sounded as if she muttered something like “useless herbs.”
“I have heard of no such lord,” she informed him, wrenching out of his grip. The moment she did so, however, she seemed to realize the mistake of her action. With a horrified glance downward, she spied the full import of her now transparent tunic.
So clear was his view, he could easily imagine the feel of her bare breasts in his hands, the texture of a beaded crest against his tongue.
It was turning out to be a difficult day to ignore