HIGHLAND FIRE
A tremor of want tore through Tavig. Wrapping his arms around Moira, he pulled her down onto their meager bed. He cupped her face in his hands he kissed her, savoring the heated sweetness of her mouth. The way she shyly bandied the strokes of his tongue, the way she pressed against him, told him she was willing. Tavig knew it was going to be hard to go slowly, gently. His desire for her was fierce and greedy.
Moira felt her nervousness and hint of fear smoothed away with each stroke of Tavig’s tongue, each touch of his hand. This was what she wanted. She had no doubts about it. She also knew she would have no regrets. For ten long years she had known no happiness and no affection. Tavig had made her blood burn. She was certain this would be as close to love as she would ever get and she intended to enjoy it to the fullest. After facing death in Craigmoordun, she knew any consequences she might face for being so free with her favors would never equal the regret she would suffer for continuing to say no to Tavig.
“Loving, ye feel so bonnie. Like warm silk.” Tavig gently traced the shape of her face with soft kisses.
“Ye feel rather bonnie yourself,” she whispered, tentatively running her hands over his broad, smooth back.
“There is still time to stop, sweet Moira.”
“Nay, I dinna wish to stop. I want this and for the first time in a verra long time I will do what I want…”
Books by Hannah Howell
Only for You
My Valiant Knight
Unconquered
Wild Roses
A Taste of Fire
Highland Destiny
Highland Honor
Highland Promise
A Stockingful of Joy
Highland Vow
Highland Knight
Highland Hearts
Highland Bride
Highland Angel
Highland Groom
Highland Warrior
Reckless
Highland Conqueror
Highland Champion
Highland Lover
Highland Vampire
Conqueror’s Kiss
Highland Barbarian
Beauty and the Beast
Highland Savage
Highland Thirst
Highland Wedding
Highland Wolf
Silver Flame
Highland Fire
Published by Zebra Books
HIGHLAND FIRE
HANNAH HOWELL
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
Chapter One
Northwest Coast of Scotland—August 1400
“Come, lass, surely my flattery deserves at least a wee smile.”
Moira stole a glance at the man speaking to her. He had been watching her since she had boarded the ship three days before. Crooked Annie, her sharp tongued watchdog, had grumbled about the man and sternly warned Moira to avoid him. That was not easy to do on such a small ship.
He made her uneasy. His black hair was heavily streaked with gray, and his middle was very thick, causing his doublet to fit oddly. His black beard was straggly, and he wore his hat so low she could not really see his eyes.
Everything about him indicated an aging, somewhat unclean man, yet she noticed a few things that sharply contradicted that image. The tight sleeves of his elegant black doublet revealed strong, slender arms. His equally black hose fit snugly over long, well-shaped legs. His voice was deep and rich, the voice of a vibrant young man. He moved with a lithe grace that belied his apparent age and overfed condition. Then he smiled at her, and Moira was convinced he was not what he appeared to be. The revelation made her even more nervous. Glancing around for Crooked Annie, she was a little annoyed to see the gnarled old woman cozening up to an equally gnarled old sailor.
“She will be over to scold ye and hurry ye away soon enough,” the man said.
“I believe I will go and join her.” She uttered a soft gasp of surprise when he caught her by the hand and held her in place.
“Now, lass, ye dinnae wish to ruin the old crone’s chance for a wee bit of loving, do ye?”
Moira was shocked by his blunt words. The thought of Annie doing any loving at all was almost as unsettling as being touched by the strange man. He started to grin, then frowned. She realized he could read the fear she was unable to hide. Her guardian had taught her well to fear men. It was unfair, but the moment the man grabbed her by the hand, she tensed for a blow.
“Ah, my poor, sweet, timid bairn, ye have no need to fear old George Fraser.”
It stung to hear this man call her a baby, and she quickly regained some of her lost courage, yanking free of his hold. “As I see it, Master Fraser, a ‘bairn’ ought to be verra concerned when a mon thrice her age cozens up to her.”
“Thrice her age?” George gasped then fiddled with the front of his doublet for a moment before shrugging. “Age doesnae stop a mon from appreciating the sight of a bonnie wee lass.”
“Then perhaps your wife ought to.”
“She would have, save that she is no longer with us.” He sighed, slumping against the railing. “My sainted Margaret caught a fever and coughed her last but three years ago.”
“Oh, I am so sorry, sir.” She patted his arm, her sympathy waning a little when she felt how strong and slender that arm was. “I did not mean to stir any painful memories.”
“Here now, ye keep your old eyes off this bairn,” snapped Crooked Annie, snatching Moira’s hand off his arm just as he was about to cover it with his own.
“We