The Volatile Amazon Page 5

  She shifted her gaze so Ian wouldn’t know she searched for possible escape routes. Although he had to already know she was sizing the place up, she wouldn’t be too obvious. Pacing away from the main building, she indulged her curiosity and climbed to see what was on the other side of that wall.

  The stone steps were slick and mossy, but she nimbly made her way to the walkway. How embarrassing that she had to stand on tiptoe to peer over the side.

  A hand grasped the back of her T-shirt and pulled her back when she strained to see if there was a dirty moat surrounding this side of place. Ian’s frown could have melted the polar ice cap.

  “What?” Sarita asked.

  “’Tis no use.” He leaned over the wall, stretched his muscular arm out and smiled. Blue sparks surrounded his fingertips, but he didn’t wince. “Try all you like, lass. But you can’t breach the barrier. This place is surrounded with an enchantment, so ‘twill be no use to try your powers.”

  “Powers?” she asked, feigning innocence by batting her eyelashes.

  His chuckle told her the ruse wouldn’t work. “Ye might as well accept your fate. Perhaps my home doesn’t have the luxuries you’re accustomed to, but you’ll be kept comfortable until you can be of use.”

  Sarita crossed her arms under her breasts and glared. “What do you want from me?”

  He looked out over the wall.

  She thought about following his gaze, but she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. The moon waxed close to full, casting quite a bit of light. His features appeared softer, perhaps from the moonlight or perhaps because he liked what he saw as he stared at the property surrounding his castle.

  “As I said, you’re a means to an ends.”

  “And what ends are you seeking?”

  “Revenge.”

  The man certainly didn’t mince words. “How could I possibly help you with revenge? I’ve never wronged you.”

  “But someone you love has.”

  Sarita almost posed a question about who in her life could possibly have pissed off some stranger from Scotland then thought of Artair.

  Yet he’d been a part of the Amazons, serving as their Sentinel, for hundreds of years. He had no connections with the modern world. Anyone Artair might have wronged would be nothing but bones in a grave long since forgotten.

  Had one of her sisters crossed paths with Ian? The Amazons always debriefed each other after every mission. None had mentioned a foray into Scotland or a tangle with a handsome hunk of Scotsman before.

  “No questions?” Ian asked.

  She shrugged. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  “You’re so sure of that?”

  “I can tell you’re lonely. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called me down for supper.” She kept her voice soft and coaxing. “How are Sile and Ewan related to you? Aunt and uncle perhaps?”

  He shook his head.

  “Friends?”

  “Members of my clan.”

  Since he was letting down his guard, Sarita pushed a little harder. “Which clan is that?” She swept her arm out to the courtyard. “Where are the rest of the clan members?”

  “Long gone.” His voice had grown harsh. “Dead. Every last one of them. Rotting in their graves.”

  Nothing he said made any sense. “You talk in riddles, Ian. You’re young. How could people you were laird to be gone that long?”

  “’Tis nae your concern.”

  “Goddess, you frustrate me.”

  “Angry that you can’t call forth your vines, tie me up and make your escape?”

  “Vines?” she asked, trying to keep innocent curiosity in her tone.

  “Give it up, lass.”

  “Give up what?”

  He narrowed his eyes, set his hands against his hips and frowned. “You’re Rebecca MacKay. You’re Earth. You came for Marbas because I turned him loose. Animal demons are yer domain.”

  “Why in the hell would you free a baby-munching demon on purpose?”

  “To lure you out so I could capture you. You’re here so that I can bring that bastard you claim as husband to justice. Artair MacKay must die.”

  Chapter Five

  Ian wanted to give Rebecca a good, sound shake. How dare she stand there looking all sweet and innocence when she married the man who’d destroyed everything he’d believed in? “Have you nothing to say?”

  Her shrug pushed his control to the snapping point.

  Rebecca had pledged herself for all eternity to the man Ian wanted dead with every fiber of his being. Artair had the right to kiss those full lips, to touch that tempting body.

  Had she borne him children?

  Had she nurtured his seed in her womb and given him a child to carry on the MacKay line?

  Had she gifted Artair with the one thing Ian always wanted but was denied—a family?

  A raging jealousy weighed as heavily on Ian as his need for justice. He should be disgusted with himself for wanting her, for desiring a woman who’d spread her thighs for Artair MacKay. She was damaged goods, spoiled by the touch of a man who wasn’t worthy to lick a true Highlander’s boots.

  Yet Ian wanted her anyway. If his fantasies had their way, he would toss her on the closest bed and make passionate love to her throughout the night until the sun rose again. Her taste had been branded on his lips. Her shape would be familiar to his hands. He could almost feel her tight heat surrounding him.

  “Well?” he shouted, trying to scatter his lecherous thoughts by focusing on Artair’s sins.

  She cast a cool eye his way. “Well what?”

  “You won’t defend him?”

  “How can I defend Artair when I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

  Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her closer, lowering his head until he stared directly into her dark eyes. “He had me murdered.”

  She’d tilted her head back to return the stare, her gaze every bit as unwavering.

  No woman had ever possessed the courage to stand up to him the way she did. Being laird made women fear him. Not this woman. She matched his intimidation tactics and reflected them right back at him. And damn if that didn’t make him want her more.

  “Funny, but you appear alive to me,” she drawled.

  “Magicks. I was resurrected by magicks.” Dark magicks brought him back to the Highlands, and this time the Seior—the forbidden magicks—was practiced by the goddess who’d pulled him from the barren land he’d called home for far too long.

  “Seior.”

  For a quick moment, he feared she’d read his mind. He knew little of the Amazons’ abilities, only that they were endowed with powers of earth, fire, air and water and had some special skills revolving around those endowments. His mistress told him she had once been an Earth before she became a goddess, but she hadn’t told him whether Amazons were able to know another’s thoughts. “How do you know about that?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve given it a lot of study. Figured the more I knew about the scary side of magicks, the better off I’d be. So where did you come back from?”

  “What?”

  Rebecca’s mouth fixed in a frown. “You say you were resurrected. From where? Heaven or hell?”

  The question caught him so off guard, he blurted out an honest answer. “I’m nae sure. Limbo perhaps? ’twas nothingness. Just...nothingness. I despised it.”

  “Who brought you back?”

  He shook his head. “’Tis not for you to know yet, lass. I’ll not be telling you my story merely to satisfy your curiosity. You’re to be held here to draw Artair out so that I may have justice.”

  “Sounds more like revenge.” Her arms rose between his and pushed out, breaking his grasp.

  “Call it what you will. The man might as
well have murdered me by driving his own dirk into my heart. ’twould have been a kindness compared to how I died.”

  Pain flickered across her face, but at what? At hearing the callousness of her husband? Or at sympathy for Ian’s suffering?

  “How did you die?” Her voice was a raspy whisper.

  Although he vowed to never speak of that horrible day again, something about her made him open up the old wound. “My clan became convinced I was a witch. Do ye know what they did to witches in the Highlands in my era?”

  “If you knew Artair, you would’ve lived around, what—the eighteenth century?”

  Ian’s voice rose with his anger. “So you have no doubt I am alive even though I also lived so long ago?”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “Think then, lass. What punishment was given to one who practiced witchcraft?”

  Understanding dawned on her, making her eyes fly wide. “No.” Her breath quickened. “No, they wouldn’t have... They didn’t—”

  “Aye, they did.” He pointed to the vast grassy courtyard. “Bound to a stake, I burned to death down there as my clan cheered. The same people who I worked hard to keep fed with a roof above their ungrateful heads. May they all rot in hell. And know this, Rebecca MacKay—I plan to send your husband to join them. Soon.”

  “Artair would never have done something like that! He’s not that kind of man.”

  “The hell he isn’t!” It took everything Ian had not to grab her again and shake some sense into her. His frustration overwhelmed him, and he wasn’t sure he’d walk away from this confrontation without inflicting some of his anger at Artair on the man’s wife. “Because of him, my clan suffered. Then I suffered. I mean to pay him back for each ounce of pain.”

  He had to get away. His rage and the passion he felt for her were drowning him. Stepping around her slim form, he hurried to the stairs.

  * * *

  Sarita could sense the tumbling emotions in Ian and was pleased she’d drawn more information from him. Unfortunately, those strong emotions were making him careless.

  She called out a warning, but it was too late.

  Ian’s foot slipped out from under him the moment it came in contact with the moss-covered steps. His butt hit first before the back of his head bounced against a stair with a resounding thud. He lay as still as death.

  Turning away, she only took a few steps before she ran into a wall of compassion. Torn between leaving him there to try finding a way to escape and seeing if he was badly injured, she clenched and unclenched her fists. Then with a frustrated growl, she hurried to his side, crouching next to him.

  “Are you okay?”

  No response.

  Sarita ran her fingers through his reddish-brown hair, searching for any injuries. What would happen to her if he died? Would she rot forever in this magically protected castle? She knew nothing about Sile or Ewan except that their loyalty was to Ian. Would they help her if he were gone?

  “Ian, wake up.” Panic rose in her voice. “Please.”

  She started breathing again when he groaned.

  As he tried to push himself up on his elbows, she put a hand against his chest, as though someone as small as she could hope to hold down a man as large as Ian. “Let me make sure you don’t have any injuries.”

  “The only injury I have is to my pride.” He smoothed his rumpled plaid back in place, covering his well-muscled thighs. “And perhaps my arse.” He brushed her hand away and sat up. A smile crossed his lips and soon lit his whole face. “I havenae fallen on those stairs since I was a boy of five. Artair would always—”

  The change in him happened so fast, it left her breathless. His grin had been so inviting she’d almost leaned in to kiss him. That was what had drawn her to him each night—his warmth and the way he enjoyed all of her touches, each tender kiss. His irresistible smile. She’d seen that warmth a moment ago, but a ferocious frown swept over him when he’d said Artair’s name.

  Dreams were nothing but fantasy. In reality, this man would use her to hurt Artair. That, she wouldn’t allow. This man wanted the Sentinel—the Earth Amazon’s husband—dead. Her loyalty remained with Artair and her sisters. If she couldn’t divert Ian from his path of revenge, it would eventually destroy him.

  Oh, who in the hell was she kidding? Somehow this frustrating Scot had already wiggled his way into her mind. Every night he’d spent with her, every time he’d reached for her, he’d claimed more of her. And if that wasn’t stupid...

  “Can you get up?” Sarita offered him her hand.

  “I’m nae crippled.” He ignored her gesture and got to his feet. Then he brushed the dirt and bits of moss off his backside before heading down the rest of the steps.

  She followed. “Watch your step. Don’t want to fall again.”

  Feet on solid ground, he whirled to face her, catching her when she stood on the last step. Although she was still shorter, it was easier to look into his eyes. At least she didn’t have to tilt her head all the way back to glare.

  “You’ve a sharp tongue.”

  “A sharp tongue? Why? All I did was tell you to watch your step.”

  “Don’t pretend that innocence with me. I know what you meant. That husky voice of yours—”

  “Husky? You think my voice is husky?” Yes, it was a bit on the deep side, but it wasn’t masculine.

  She thought of her sisters’ voices. Rebecca always sounded like Mary Poppins because of her motherly tone. Megan and Gina didn’t come across different than any other women. They had feminine lilts, but nothing that forced men to comment.

  Seemed like every time Sarita opened her mouth to speak to a man, he felt compelled to make mention the huskiness or roughness of her voice.

  “I don’t sound like a man.” She tried to step around him.

  Ian blocked her and set his hand on her shoulder. “’Twas not an insult.”

  “Husky.” She huffed an angry breath. “Sounds like an insult to me.”

  His hand rose so he could run his fingers over her braid. “’Tis a voice meant for seduction, lass.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I love to hear you speak. Your voice is as warm as a good swallow of uisge beathea.”

  She’d heard Artair call whiskey uisge beathea more times than she could remember. “So now my voice isn’t just husky, it sounds like liquor?”

  Tugging her braid, he pulled her closer. She allowed it until his lips came close enough that his breath brushed her face. “Aye. It sends heat through me.”

  Ian’s mouth captured hers.

  Sarita wanted to resist, but then his familiar taste and scent flooded her senses. She was powerless to keep from threading her arms around his neck and kissing him back. Goddess help her, she heightened the exchange. Her tongue tickled against his lips.

  He smiled against her lips and opened up to her. Her tongue invaded to stroke across his, and he growled, his chest rumbling with the sound that sent heat swirling between her thighs.

  Memories of her dreams interfered, making her feel as if she’d always been this man’s lover, as if they were meant to see this kiss through to the promise it made to her body.

  * * *

  Ian pushed her back against the cold stone wall. He buried his face against her soft neck. He hated himself for wanting her so much, but he was losing the fight to keep his distance. The memories of those incredibly erotic dreams made it impossible for him to put her out of his mind.

  “Artair...” she whispered.

  That name hit him like a bucket of ice water.

  He stepped back, furious with himself. At least she gasped for breath with the same intensity, saving his pride.

  “So you were thinking of your husband, aye?” He lashed out, his own emotions so tied in knots he
wasn’t sure he’d ever work them loose. Jealousy. Anger. Longing.

  That thought made his scowl deeper. No matter how much he wanted to make love to her, he wasn’t about to do so while she fantasized about another man. Especially that bastard Artair MacKay.

  “Why did you kiss me?” she demanded. “You can’t just kiss me whenever the mood strikes!” Her eyes had narrowed and she’d clenched her hands into fists at her sides.

  “You kissed me back.”

  She sputtered in protest.

  “I promise you this, Rebecca.”

  “What?”

  “When I take you—when it’s my body joined with yours—you won’t be thinking of any man but me.”

  On that, Ian stalked away before he lost the last piece of his discipline.

  * * *

  Sitting in front of the fireplace, Ian sulked.

  Things were already more complicated than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t expected to feel anything for his captive Earth. She was supposed to lure out Artair for him and the Amazons for his mistress. Yet Rebecca haunted his every thought and guided his every action.

  Waging a battle between going to his own bedchamber or seeking her out and finishing what they’d started in the courtyard, he startled at a bang on his front door.

  Only one person would come to the castle, and he wasn’t much in the mood to see her. Unfortunately, turning her away wasn’t an option—not if he wanted to fulfill his quest. “You best let her in, Ewan.”

  “She wasnae invited. I say let her rot on the doorstep.”

  Whoever was at the door pounded again. Harder.

  “Ewan...please.”

  “As ye say, laird.”

  Old Ewan moved at a snail’s pace, his ghostly form floating above the floor. He muttered about rude guests loud enough for anyone to hear, which came as no surprise. The man was as loyal as a summer day was long, but when he had an opinion, everyone was made to know it.

  The pounding continued until Old Ewan finally opened the huge oak door.

  Helen swept inside, the hem of her pink medieval gown caked with mud. As she strode over to Ian, she left a trail on the clean stone floor.