It was not enough.
Her lips parted, softening against his and she could taste him. His flavor was sweeter than honey, which was strange because the man was so far from sweet, but she had never known anything as delicious as Lachlan's kiss.
Craving more of that flavor, she touched his lips with the tip of her tongue. He growled like a hungry wolf, his entire body vibrating with the sound. It shivered through her, too, making her shake and her knees grow weak, but she did not want to stop the kiss.
Far from willing it to end, she wished to do wanton things… to touch him and to be touched by him. She wanted his hands on her face again, cupping her cheeks while he kissed her.
She wanted to feel his skin, imprint his scent and the feel of him on her mind to carry with her into eternity. Her fingers itched to trace the pattern of the tattoo that circled his bicep and then the one of the animal on his back. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and the dark curls scattered over the sharply defined muscles of his chest and torso.
She allowed herself to press one hand, open palmed, against the front of his chest on the side not covered with his plaid.
Everywhere her skin touched skin, it tingled. It was the oddest sensation she had ever known and it fed the desire burning her insides. It felt as if she were meant to do this, as if she had been born to connect to this man alone.
That could not be true. He was not her intended. She could never be his bride. Tears leaked from behind her eyelids from inexplicable pain at the thought.
She should pull back. She had to stop this before she lost her heart and her honor. Propriety and sanity demanded it, but her heart cried that this was her one chance to taste true desire. Once she was married to Talorc, she could never experience anything like this again. She couldn't. Not with him. Talorc did not smell right… he would not taste right.
Most likely, he would not even kiss her.
He hated her.
How could she belong to a man who hated her?
But her brain insisted that this kiss was still wrong.
Finally, she forced herself to listen and tried to break away from Lachlan, but he responded by moving his grip to her waist and lifting her into more intimate contact with his big body. The apex of her thighs met a hard ridge and with a groan, he pressed her against it. Pleasure suffused her on a wave of such overwhelming delight, she cried out against his lips.
"What the hell are you doing?"
The raucous voice infiltrated Emily's thoughts just as Lachlan went stiff, his hold on her biting into her waist.
He lifted his mouth from hers. "Go away, Ulf."
"Balmoral warriors do not bed married women," Ulf said, spitting the words out with enough disgust to make Emily's face flame with shame.
She buried it against Lachlan's neck.
"She is not married."
"She said she was."
"She lied."
"And you have only her word for this?" Ulf demanded.
"Yes," Lachlan ground out as he lowered Emily until she was standing on her own two feet again.
He turned to face his brother, stepping away from her at the same time. Chilled by the loss of his touch, she rubbed her arms. He stood between her and Ulf, but she did not feel as if he stood with her—only in front of her. He was a barrier, but not an ally.
Shame that she wanted him to be suffused her. She was not married, but she was promised. To a man who has flat-out refused to marry you, her brain reminded her. Did that negate the betrothal? It couldn't when Abigail's future was at stake.
"Why should we believe you now, English? One way or another, you are a liar." Ulf sneered at her.
"I'm not lying."
He abruptly turned his attention to his brother. "What the hell were you doing kissing her, regardless? She is our enemy."
"She is not our enemy and you will not call her such again." Lachlan's tone was so harsh, she could barely make herself believe he had been the man kissing her so tenderly only moments before.
Ulf did not appear impressed by his brother's ire, however. "I bloody well will. Just because you're controlled by that beast inside you does not mean I will abandon reason for such base urges as lust. It's obvious to the other soldiers as well. They're back at the beach betting on whether or not you have tupped her yet."
Emily gasped at the crude terminology and the implication of Ulf's words. The others knew that Lachlan wanted her? They thought he was having her… right now? By the saints, didn't they realize she was a chaste and honorable maid?
She hadn't been acting like either a moment before though. She'd touched a man's bare chest… and wanted to do more.
Perhaps she was depraved.
"I am not governed by my beast, I am benefited by him," Lachlan said in a hard voice.
"So you say."
What was all this talk of beasts? Was Ulf trying to say that lust was a beast? She'd heard it described thus by the priest that served her father's barony, but Ulf did not seem a religious man who would eschew the pleasures of the flesh. Did he mean to imply that he did not have the same beast raging in himself, or simply that he felt no such thing for her?
She suspected the latter and did not feel in the least offended by it. Relieved more like.
Ulf's sneer was now directed entirely at his brother. "Then prove your superiority instead of making a mockery of it."
Lachlan sighed. "She is innocent."
Emily was confused. Of what had she been accused?
"You kissed her to determine if she had been touched or not?" Ulf asked, sounding marginally approving. "To test whether or not she told the truth?"
"Yes."
Emily stared at both men for several seconds before fully comprehending the import of their conversation. When she did, she wished the earth would open up and swallow her. She had responded with lascivious abandon to a test the odious laird had been making on the veracity of her words. While she had been lost to something beautiful and she had believed meaningful, he had merely been trying to discern if she told the truth or not.
It was humiliating… and it hurt.
Nevertheless, she was shocked he'd drawn that conclusion, considering how wantonly she had incited his ardor.
"He might refuse to touch an English wife," Ulf mused.
"Not even for the sake of his pride would a Chrechte warrior refuse to mate his wife. Honor demands he touch no other." Lachlan shook his head. "Nay. She is not his wife and we have only her word she is his betrothed, though I am inclined to believe that part of her story."
"You are certain of her innocence?"
"He has never even kissed her."
Ulf looked at Emily, his expression mocking. "She is that unskilled?"
"She is completely untouched."
"She was," Ulf said with a smirk, now obviously thinking his brother's actions bordered on the heroic.
Why shouldn't he? She had been thoroughly humiliated by her response to the kiss. And that had to be obvious by the blush burning her face and neck. No doubt Ulf was most pleased by such a circumstance, but she wanted to strangle Lachlan.
He had promised not to hurt her, but once again he had lied… for he had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, and not merely her pride. She felt wounded, but she would not give him or his horrible brother the satisfaction of knowing that.
And she was never going to believe another word Lachlan said. A man who could kiss like he meant it—but didn't—could not be trusted.
When they got back to the others, Emily forced herself to apologize to the warrior she had hit with the driftwood. Her words were met with a shrug and then the man turned his back on her.
Fine. She wasn't going to be hurt by his rejection. She was through being so tenderhearted around these barbarians. She took their feelings toward her entirely too seriously. Hadn't she lived almost her whole life with her father and stepmother thinking less of her than if she were a servant in their household?