insistence between her legs as their mouths parted and their tongues caressed. She arched against him in a desperate bid to alleviate her longing, but the clink of chainmail offered no respite.
His mouth slanted over hers with a low groan and pulled her more firmly against him. Their pelvises pushed against one another, yielding only pressure against the thick gambeson and impenetrable chain.
She gave a desperate whimper. Wanting more.
Her blood was impossibly hot as it raced through her veins like fire, and her thoughts fixated completely and totally on Cormac. On her desire for him.
He stepped away, panting. “We must stop.” He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.
“I don’t want to,” she murmured. She tilted her face toward him and nuzzled her nose to his so their lips whispered against one another.
His mouth touched hers in a firm kiss, as though he couldn’t help himself any more than she could. Delicious chills raced over her skin.
He gave a low growl of an exhale. “We canna do this.”
Isolde curled her arms over his neck. If her sensations were aflame despite so many layers, she could only imagine what they could experience without.
“Ye’re shivering.” He tenderly ran his thumb down her cheek and brushed away a damp bit of hair from her brow. “Ye need to return to the castle and put on a dry kirtle lest ye become ill.”
She tucked her lip into her mouth as though she could capture the spicy taste of him and the thrilling feel of his kiss there forever. His attention dipped to her mouth. The thrum of desire pounded harder. He wanted to kiss her again as badly as she wished he would.
“Will you be at the joust?” she asked.
“Nay.” He ran his hand through his hair. It was a casual gesture that left his black hair rumpled and boyishly endearing. “I need to gather some information during the joust.”
Her fingers itched to smooth over the mussed tresses. “What sort of information?”
“On Brodie and the Ross clan.”
Thoughts of Brodie invaded their cocoon of happiness like a draft of chilled air creeping beneath one’s blankets. She scoffed. “What’s he done this time?”
Cormac’s jaw clenched, and she could tell he regretted having mentioned it.
Her curiosity piqued, she tilted her head. “What is it?”
“Isolde, ye must allow me to fight his champion for ye.”
Isolde shook her head vehemently. “He might kill you.”
Cormac stared at her, his expression fierce. “He will kill ye.”
Isolde didn’t argue. What could she possibly say when what he said was most likely the truth?
“Mayhap I could hire a champion of my own,” she suggested. “Can you recommend one?” While she had not taken many coins from Gilbert’s coffers, she had enough of his finery to fetch a considerable sum.
“Ye have one right here.” He lifted her hands in one of his. “And I’m better than anyone ye’ll pay.”
She loved the strength of his fingers curled around her own. Even as she relished his need to protect her, she hated what it might cost him. Tears warmed her eyes. “Your life is far dearer to me than any amount of coin.”
He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “I told ye that I would never leave ye unguarded. I stand by that vow. I will defend ye. I will fight Edmund the Braw for ye.” He leveled his gaze with an earnestness that sank into her heart. “I will fight him, and I will win.”
“I cannot discuss this any further.” Isolde tugged her hands free of his grasp and pushed away from him. “I must go. They’ll be expecting me at the joust given my absence previously.” She paused at the tent flap and glanced at him. “I trust I’ll see you at the feast?”
He inclined his head. “I’ll be there.”
Heat crept up her cheeks, but she didn’t bother hiding her blush or how much pleasure she took from his words. She put the helm back on her head and slipped from the tent, rushing back to the castle.
Matilda had a fresh kirtle waiting for her as well as a roaring fire by which to dry her hair and quell the icy chill that had settled into her bones. Isolde stared into the flames as Matilda pulled the armor from her body and put a linen robe over her cold, wet skin.
In her mind, Isolde experienced Cormac’s mouth on hers again, smooth and sensual. The heady rush of lust washed over her again, and she did not bother fighting the