MacAdam's Lass Read online

  He grabbed his tankard and took a large gulp of ale, a gulp he definitely didn’t need and shouldn’t have taken.

  She arched her brow seductively above smoldering green eyes. “An’ am I distractin’ ye now?”

  He smiled in self-mockery. “Ye know ye are.”

  The lass might be half-drunk, but she knew damned well what she was doing. The wee minx was riling him up like a lad poking at a hornet’s nest. Shite, another ale, and she’d have him by the ballocks.

  Josselin returned his smile, then hiccoughed. Things were going quite well, she thought, even if she had drunk a wee bit more than she’d intended. So far in her inquisition of Drew MacAdam she’d learned he’d been in the field for three years, he was staying at this inn—up the stairs, third door on the right, and he was born in…what was it again? Tint. Clach. An.

  She creased her brow. What an odd word. Sometimes she wondered if Highlanders named their burghs by clearing their throats. Tintclachan. She’d have to write that down as soon as she had pen and parchment.

  Meanwhile, Drew had definitely taken an interest in her. Her plan to get closer to him was working. Soon she’d have the besotted Highlander eating out of her fingers and spilling all his secrets.

  Marry, she must have some talent as a spy after all. ’Twasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined, nor as unpleasant. Indeed, sitting in the cozy tavern with a full belly by the warm fire, watching the way the light danced over his hair and flickered in his smoky blue eyes and kissed his curving lips…

  Her chin slipped suddenly off her palm.

  She blinked. Perhaps she shouldn’t have ordered that last ale. She’d meant to get the Highlander drunk, but at the moment he didn’t look half as addled as she felt.

  In fact, he looked amazing.

  In the firelight, his skin was golden, and his eyes were the deep color of the sea. Where his hair hung in jagged locks, shadows played across his cheek, flirting with the upturned corners of his lips and sweeping over his angular jaw, already shaded by a day’s growth of dark beard.

  She remembered how it felt—that short stubble—rough against her cheek, in contrast to the gentle pressure of his mouth, and the memory sent a delicious shiver through her bones.

  ’Twasn’t that she wanted to kiss him again. God knew ’twas not a sensation she cared to repeat—that blood-simmering dizziness that left her speechless and breathless and witless and weak.

  On the other hand, if ’twould further her progress toward uncovering his secrets, she supposed ’twas a wee sacrifice she must make for queen and country.

  Of course, she’d keep the tightest rein on her affections. She didn’t intend to bed the man, after all. ’Twas only a kiss. And they’d kissed before. Thrice.

  Aye, she resolved, she’d do it.

  No sooner did she make that decision than, moving her tankard out of the way, she rose from her chair and bent toward him. She captured the back of his shaggy head with one hand, clasped his suddenly slack jaw with the other, and molded her lips to his.

  Chapter 24

  Drew was so astonished by the lass’s attack that he actually flinched.

  In the next instant, of course, he moved from astonishment to baffled pleasure.

  Finally his male instincts took over. He seized the opportunity…and the lass…and returned her enthusiastic kiss, ignoring the clatter of upset tankards and spoons as they grappled across the table.

  She tasted of ale and woman and desire, the last flavor more intoxicating than anything he’d ever drunk before. His head whirled as she came after him with a vengeance, pressing her lips to his with delicious determination.

  What had come over the lass, he didn’t know. Nor did he much feel like asking. He only wanted her to keep on.

  As she continued her impulsive caress, the world somehow gradually dropped away. Suddenly there was no tavern, no ale, no crackling fire, only this beautiful woman and her irresistible kiss. Her touch was as real as anything he’d ever felt, and he longed to embrace her more fully. But he was half afraid to move, lest he burst the fragile bubble of the moment.

  So while she clung to him, he slowly tangled his fingers through her tresses, angling her face so he might delve between her eager lips. She responded with a soft mewl of pleasure and let her mouth fall open, granting him leave to explore. Ever so gently, he swept his tongue across her soft lips, and she sighed, shivering, into his mouth.

  But when he would have made patient forays with the tip of his tongue into the sweet recesses there, gradually earning her trust, tempting her to greater intimacies, all at once Jossy made it abundantly clear she was having none of that.

  She grabbed his face between forceful hands and, with a groan of feminine need, opened her mouth wide and utterly devoured him.

  The lusty growl he returned must have come from some animal lodged in a deep, dark corner of his chest. The wild creature charged to the surface, shoving aside Drew’s noble intentions and ravenously slaking its thirst on the willing maiden.

  And still she didn’t recoil. Instead, she demanded more, clawing at his neck, gasping against his mouth, thrusting and parrying with her tongue as if they were engaged in a duel to the death.

  His blood boiled, his heart pounded, and his grew instantly hard, as hard as the oak table over which they tussled. Faith, if he’d been the coarse-mannered Highlander he pretended to be instead of an English gentleman, he’d have cleared the table with a sweep of his arm, tossed up her skirts, and taken her then and there.

  What the Highlander had done to her, Josselin didn’t know.

  She couldn’t think.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  And she couldn’t stop.

  He was scattering her focus and shattering her restraint, stripping away her inhibitions and destroying her self-control. Yet she’d never felt more vibrant and alive.

  Her lips tingled as his mouth moved restlessly over hers with a nameless hunger. Her heart raced, her bones melted, and she could hear the blood singing in her ears. She knew only that she desired, she needed, she craved, and that some sensual reward kept eluding her, dancing just out of reach.

  A moment more, and she might have lost herself completely to desire. But with the last remaining dregs of reason, she managed to hold on long enough to sense the change in the room.

  Applause.

  The men in the tavern were clapping. And whistling. And cheering.

  She opened her eyes.

  He heard it, too. He grunted and frowned like a groggy child, then lifted his lids a quarter of an inch.

  Recognition struck them simultaneously, and they drew apart. Josselin stumbled back, plopping down onto her chair while Drew scrutinized the applauding audience with a stormy scowl.

  “That’s it, MacAdam!” someone crowed. “I knew ye wouldn’t disappoint.”

  “Four kisses! Pay up, Cullen!” another man shouted. “That’s two pounds ye owe me.”

  “Oh, fine,” Cullen grumbled. “Anyone want to gamble on five then?”

  “Five!” someone yelled back.

  “Those Highlanders are a lusty lot,” the tavern wench declared, giving Drew a wink. “If I were ye gentlemen, I’d wager on six.”

  Hoots and cries went up, and for a few moments, Drew looked disoriented, as if he’d been roughly wakened from a deep sleep. Then, bemused, he shook his head as he settled back down onto his chair.

  But Josselin felt the blood rise in her cheeks. She was humiliated and confused and, aye, a wee bit tipsy, and she longed to skewer a few of the leering spectators. Lucky for them she couldn’t summon up the coordination to draw her dagger.

  What had happened? What had Drew done to her? She’d meant to give him one kiss, that was all, a kiss to incur his trust and loosen his tongue.

  Loosen his tongue. Aye, she’d certainly done that, she thought as an unwelcome wave of desire washed over her. But then he’d done…whatever ’twas he’d done, and he’d ruined everything. He’d made her forget all about he
r objectives, her progress, her service to the queen. Not only that, but he’d drawn attention to her, which was the last thing she wanted.

  Yet there he sat, looking not a bit sorry.

  ’Twas ungentlemanly, uncouth, and unforgivable. With an angry pout, she reached across the table and gave him a good shove.

  “What was that for?” His brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

  “Ye know what.”

  She huffed out an annoyed breath, then shot to her feet. Unfortunately, she didn’t quite have her balance, and she listed a bit to the left. Drew caught her arm to steady her, and she slapped his hand away.

  But at her next step, her knee buckled, and she would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her waist.

  “Easy, lass.”

  She sighed. Bloody hell. This assignment was not going well at all. Her legs had turned to custard. Everyone was staring at her. And curse it all, she couldn’t even remember the unpronounceable name of the Highland spy’s home town.

  “Let’s get out o’ here,” he murmured.

  She glared at him, making a halfhearted effort to wrench herself out of his grasp. But his gaze softened, and the curious vulnerability she saw in his eyes took the edge off of her ire. Still, nothing save leaving would ease the sting of her shame.

  They departed to the bawdy jeers of the tavern patrons, and if it weren’t for the Highlander whisking her quickly out the door, she might have hurled a few choice oaths their way.

  Drew was glad of the sobering sea breeze that slapped his face as they left the tavern. It cooled his fevered brain, even if it couldn’t quench the fire burning in his loins.

  Only one thing could do that.

  And that wasn’t going to happen. Not today.

  Perhaps if he’d truly been a ruthless Highland laird, accustomed to seizing what he wanted and damn the consequences, he might have taken advantage of her innocence. ’Twould have been easy to seduce the wanton maid, given she was in her cups and over her head.

  But his uncles had raised him to be an honorable man. Never in his life had he violated an unwilling lass or seduced an unwitting one, and he wasn’t about to start now, even if that lass was an enemy Scot.

  While they weaved their way back to the beer wagon, Jossy remained silent, which was a blessing. He didn’t think he could endure discussing what had happened at the tavern, and he certainly didn’t want to dwell on what wasn’t going to happen now.

  Instead, he did what he’d always done when he suffered from excessive sexual frustration.

  When they arrived at the links, he took out his fairway club, stood at one end of the course with a dozen balls, and hit the bloody hell out of them.

  Chapter 25

  Two ales. That was Josselin’s new limit. Faith, she’d almost exposed herself and endangered her mission by imbibing too freely yesterday. True, a bit of the ale’s fortification had expedited her progress somewhat. But from now on, she’d avoid walking that narrow precipice between tipsy and sloshed.

  If the Highlander came to the links today—and the odds were in favor of it, seeing as how a number of his supporters were demanding to win their coin back and knew he could prevail against the visiting golfer—she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  So she believed, until Drew arrived on the course at dawn, gazing at her with his seductive blue eyes, tempting her with his sweet, wicked grin. Then she suddenly longed for a cold pint in which to douse her lust.

  She told herself over and over that he was only a target. There was no true affection between them. ’Twas all a ruse. If he was a spy, as she suspected, they were probably playing at the same game. Any romantic overtures were cool, calculated manipulations on both their parts.

  That was what she told herself.

  Her heart, however, told her something entirely different. It leapt as he came toward the beer wagon. It fluttered as he flashed her a contrite smile. It pounded as she recalled the warmth of his lips pressed to hers.

  “Good mornin’,” he said.

  “Mornin’.” Marry, was she blushing? She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Ye’re here early.”

  “I’ve got somethin’ for ye.” He dug in his pouch, enclosing something in his palm. “Hold out your hand.”

  She did. He slowly uncurled his fingers on her palm, sending an uninvited shiver up her arm and leaving behind a tiny metal bauble.

  She smiled. “A thimble.”

  “To guard against pricks,” he told her with a wink.

  “Ye didn’t have to.”

  “Oh, aye, lass.” He leaned in closer, confiding, “’Twas at the queen’s command, after all.”

  She placed it on her finger, admiring it as if ’twere a priceless ring of gold, which made Drew chuckle. Then she tucked the thimble into her pocket and casually asked, “So…do ye think she’ll ever challenge ye again—the queen?”

  Drew’s reply could be important. If he was a spy, and he’d scheduled a match with Mary, Philipe would surely want to know about it so he could make certain the queen was well-defended.

  But Drew only grinned. “Not unless she’s lookin’ to drain the royal coffers.”

  “Faugh!” Josselin bristled at the slight to her queen. “Mary’s said to be an exceptional golfer. She was likely only havin’ a bad day. Ye said yourself ’twasn’t fair to challenge her when she’d ne’er played the course before.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s a fine player,” he said with a cocky tilt of his brow. “’Tis only that I’m better.”

  “Hmph. How much skill can it take to knock a ball about on the grass?”

  His jaw dropped at her insult, and he shook his head.

  “That’s it, lass,” he said with a grim smile, glaring at her in feigned threat and grabbing her wrist. “I’ve heard enough out o’ ye about the dubious merits o’ my sport.”

  He tugged her out from behind the counter.

  “What are ye…” she stuttered. “Where are ye tak-… I can’t leave the beer-wa—”

  “Davey!” he called, startling the driver, who was napping atop his perch. “Keep an eye on the wagon. Jossy will be back in half an hour.”

  Davey gave him a vague wave.

  She pulled back, panicked. “But what are ye—”

  “Ye’re goin’ to learn to golf.”

  “But I can’t just…I’m supposed to stay at—”

  “Don’t fret, love,” he said, tugging her forward again. “Ye’ll get no business at this hour.”

  She went along reluctantly. She hated to leave her post, but what he said was true. ’Twould be an hour before the crowd would even arrive. Besides, she was supposed to be forming a closer bond with the spy, wasn’t she? And what better way to bond with him than to share his passion?

  Those words hadn’t come out quite right in her mind, but ’twas too late now. The Highlander was already dragging her across the green and lecturing her on the finer points of his silly game.

  “The club’s too long for ye,” he said, sizing it up against her as he bent to scoop a handful of sand out of the first hole to form a mound. “But ye can slide your hands down the shaft a bit.”

  She clenched her fists around the club.

  He laughed, rising to stand behind her. “Ye don’t want to throttle the thing, darlin’. Here.”

  When he suddenly enveloped her, folding his arms over hers, she jerked reflexively.

  He immediately let go. “Wait,” he said, spinning her around to face him. “Let’s get rid o’ this.” He unbuckled her belt, lowering it—and more significantly, her dagger—to the ground. “There.”

  He turned her back around and resumed his intimate position, which was so unnerving that she actually glanced about the course to check for witnesses. Thankfully, they were alone.

  “Place your hands so,” he said, guiding her hands with his own, “and hold it like ye would your dagger—not too tight, not too loose. Aye, that’s it. Now spread your legs and bend your knees a wee bit, centerin’ yourself. Good
balance is the key.”

  Josselin was having a hard time listening. His body practically surrounded hers. His arms were warm and sure, his chest felt like a wall of muscle at her back, and below that…

  “Most importantly, keep your head down. There’s no need to be watchin’ where the ball goes. ’Twill take care of itself. Ye need to focus on gettin’ your swing right, and the rest will follow. Do ye want to try then?”

  She nodded.

  With his hands over hers, he slowly swung the club back and up behind her head, then forward and up again in a great arc. ’Twas not unlike the exercises she did with a sword.

  “That’s it. Now try again. Keep your leadin’ arm straight, and just tickle the blades o’ grass with the club.”

  They swung together a second time, a third, a fourth.

  She closed her eyes. Every inch of her skin felt charged, and swinging their limbs together created a pleasing sensual friction. His voice was low and seductive against her ear, and the way he was pressed against her backside made her feel faint.

  “Ye’re a bit stiff,” he said.

  She had to bite her lip at that, for she wasn’t the only one who was a bit stiff.

  “Keep your knees bent and your head down. Aye, better.”

  She swallowed hard and tried to focus. She could learn this. If Queen Mary could do it, she could do it.

  “That’s it,” he said, easing back away from her. “Now try it on your own.”

  Relieved of his proximity, she relaxed and tried several more swings. Soon the movement began to feel natural.

  “’Tis like wieldin’ a sword,” she remarked.

  “Aye,” he said with a laugh, “though I’m not goin’ to ask how ye know that.”

  She made a dozen more swings. “Are ye goin’ to let me hit the ball, or am I supposed to swing at empty air all day?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Are ye plannin’ to hit it true?” he said with mock gravity. “Because I don’t have that many balls, and I can’t afford to lose one in the firth.”