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rough battle-scarred hands. Her fingers were like ice and he realized she was nervous—maybe even scared. He felt a strong swell of protectiveness, and couldn’t remain unaffected by the symbolic allusion to the bond they were about to make. Though there would be no marriage, the handfast would be real enough.
    He spoke the vows that would bind them together for a year. “I, Roderick MacLeod, Chief of MacLeod, do pledge my troth to Isabel MacDonald and with this handfast do hereby covenant to take her to wife for the period of no less than one year.”
    Isabel repeated the vows, and it was done. Except for one part.
    “What are you waiting for, MacLeod?” Sleat taunted. “Aren’t you going to kiss the bride?”
    Rory tensed, knowing that it was necessary. He was reluctant. Not because he didn’t want to kiss her, but because of how much he ached to do so. To taste her. To sample the forbidden fruit of her delectable mouth.
    Cheeks flaming, Isabel stared at her toes, the tips of her silver slippers just peeking out from below the embroidered edge of her gown.
    “Aye,” he said, slipping a finger under her chin. “A kiss to seal our vows.”
    Slowly he lowered his mouth, pausing for an instant to inhale her flowery scent before his lips touched hers. He almost moaned as the rush of desire flooded his body with heat. Dear God, she tasted sweet.
    And she was unbearably soft. Her skin was pure velvet under his fingertips.
    He lingered, the urge to deepen the kiss primal. He wanted to draw her into his arms and crush her full breasts against his hard chest. To feel the shape of her hips as she pressed against his heavy groin. To plunge his tongue into the sweet cavern of her mouth and drink.
    Yet somehow he held back.
    Slowly, he lifted his mouth. Gazing at her face tilted to his, the rosy flush of passion spread across her cheeks, her lips still gently parted, Rory knew a dark moment of almost uncontrollable desire. Desire that gnawed at every inch of his body with a crushing, overpowering intensity.
    For the first time in his life, Rory MacLeod—a man who’d faced scores of fearsome warriors on the battlefield and driven his enemies to their knees with terror—knew alarm.
    He dropped his hand from her chin and took a step back. That wouldn’t happen again.
     
    Isabel had never been kissed before, and she was completely unprepared for the all-consuming intensity of the experience. His rough fingers cradled her face with such tenderness, a sharp pang of longing tugged deep in her chest. And when his lips brushed hers, she knew a moment of pure heaven. A moment of connection so powerful, it frightened her—making her body feel almost not her own. She’d never imagined how a kiss could possess.
    With one gentle touch he branded her.
    His lips were so much softer than she’d imagined, completely incongruous with the hard, implacable chief. He tasted…delicious. His warm, spicy breath engulfed her senses as he pressed his mouth more firmly against hers.
    Her heart fluttered high in her chest and her body seemed to soften as sensation washed over her. She felt weak. Boneless. And wonderfully warm with the swell of burgeoning desire. For a moment she forgot the lie that had brought them together. She forgot the presence of her family and surrendered to the force of a more powerful calling.
    She wanted more.
    She sank against him, leaning her body closer to his. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from him and sense the strength barely harnessed under the powerful façade. He was big and hard, making her deeply aware of her own femininity.
    For one precious instant it seemed as if he was going to wrap her in his muscular arms and deepen the kiss. His mouth moved over hers and the rough stubble of his jaw scraped over her skin, sending ripples of anticipation shuddering through her. His fingers tightened on her jaw as he pulled her closer. Unconsciously her lips parted, knowing there was something more.
    Perhaps he