Niall stiffened at the mention of Ferghas. He wanted to ask him more about Ferghas, to find out everything he could about him, but he didn’t know how much the real Artair knew about him.
“Ye rest now,” he said finally, giving Latharn a nod before leaving.
“Artair.”
Niall halted as Caitria approached Latharn’s chamber, her green eyes wide with worry. She rushed to him, and surprise—then warmth—flowed through him as she threw her arms around his neck.
“I heard there was an accident,” she said, suddenly looking shy as she released him. “I—I was worried.”
His heart swelled at the realization that her worry was for him, and then a heaviness settled over him as he recalled that her brother had died during a hunting accident.
“I’m fine,” he murmured, reaching out to give her hands a reassuring squeeze. He looked around the corridor; servants bustled to and fro. He needed to talk to her alone.
“I’ll escort ye tae yer chamber,” he said, keeping her hand in his as he led her back down the corridor.
Once they were alone in her chamber, he turned to face her.
"I need tae ask ye something.”
“Aye?”
“’Tis about Ferghas,” he said, and there was no mistaking her flinch as she met his eyes. “How long have ye been acquainted with him?”
She stiffened, removing her hands from his and lowering her gaze.
“He’s been a friend of the family’s—and my father’s—for years. Everyone in the clan adores him.”
He studied her closely. She held herself rigid and avoided his gaze.
A sudden and fierce wave of protectiveness swept over him. Had Ferghas harmed her? Threatened her?
“Has Ferghas . . . done anything tae ye?” he growled. “Harmed ye in any way?”
“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Why—why are ye asking me about Ferghas?”
Because he’s dangerous, he wanted to say. Because I think he may be linked to the danger you’re in.
“I doonae trust him,” he said instead. He decided to not mention the hunting incident—for now. He didn't want to bring back painful memories of her brother's death. “I want ye tae stay away from him.”
He braced himself for questions or protests, but she nodded her head in quick agreement—which proved she was already wary of Ferghas.
“Of course,” she said, her tone taking on that formality once more. “As a betrothed woman, it would be improper for me tae visit with another man alone.”
He regarded her warily. There was that polite facade again.
“Ye can confide in me,” he said, ignoring the splinter of guilt in his chest, as he added, “we’re tae be wed.”
Something shifted in her eyes—joy? wariness?—before it vanished, and she gave him a stiff nod.
“Is there anything else I can do for ye, m’laird?”
Both annoyance and desire propelled him forward. He wrapped his arms around her, tugging her into the circle of his arms. Her lovely eyes widened in astonishment, her lips parting, and lusty images of the things he could do with that mouth filled his mind.
“I told ye,” he said. “Call me—" He wanted to tell her his true name, but he forced out the false one anyway—“Artair.”
“Artair,” she whispered. His desire spiked, and he couldn’t help himself; he needed another taste of her . . .
He sealed his lips to hers in a kiss. She moaned against him, and he pulled her closer, reveling in the feel of her taut nipples brushing against his chest through his tunic. How easy it would be to lift her up into his arms, to carry her to the bed, to taste every sweet inch of her before claiming her body with his own. He’d never wanted another woman as much as he wanted her; just the feel of her body against his was sweet torture.
But he forced himself to release her and stepped back. She looked up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.
“Remember what I said,” he murmured, his voice husky with restrained desire. “Ye can confide in me. And never call me ‘my laird’ again . . . or I’ll be tempted tae remind ye just who I am tae ye.”
Chapter 9
Long after Artair left her chamber, his kiss still lingered on Caitria’s lips. She didn't see him again until supper in the great hall, yet she could hardly concentrate on her meal; her gaze kept straying to his mouth in spite of herself. His blue eyes met hers, and she swallowed hard, discerning the desire that lurked in their depths.
She hoped he would walk with her after supper, or at least escort her to her chamber. Instead, he gave her a polite nod and left with her father when supper came to an end, and disappointment twisted her gut.
As she tried to drift off to sleep that night, intrusive thoughts of making love circled through her mind. And not in the cursory way she'd thought of it before—wondering how much pain there would be during her first time, or how often she would have to do it. Instead, she found herself imagining it . . . in detail. Would Artair take his time with her? Would he put his lips on every part of her skin, teasing her before finally claiming her body with his own? Would his blue eyes darken with desire, the way they did when he kissed her, with his name on her lips when their bodies joined?
She turned onto her side, recalling the gossip she'd overheard from her maids about the act of lovemaking.
"My husband doesnae take his time," one maid had bemoaned to another. "He's done only moments after entering me.”
“Men look ridiculous when they reach their release and spill their seed,” she’d overheard another maid whisper with a giggle. "'Tis difficult tae not laugh when my Daklen has his release.”
She didn’t think Artair would look ridiculous when he reached his release. She pictured his handsome features strained with desire, his breathy moan as he spilled his seed inside her . . .
Caitria awoke with a gasp. She’d fallen asleep with those scandalously erotic thoughts about Artair.
Ailsa entered her chamber and Caitria lowered her gaze, as if to hide the erotic thoughts that had dominated her mind.
“’Tis time tae wake, my lady,” Ailsa said, placing a gown on her bed. “The laird wants tae see ye.”
“The laird?” she asked, unable to keep the eagerness out of her tone. Artair wanted to see her?
“Yer father,” Ailsa amended, her lips twitching in amusement at the obvious disappointment in Caitria’s eyes.
Setting aside her disappointment, Caitria dressed and went to find her father, who waited for her in the courtyard. He beamed, his brown eyes lighting up at the sight of her.
“Good morning tae ye,” he said, linking arms with her and leading her out of the courtyard.
“Good morning," she returned with a polite smile. "Is . . . there a reason ye wanted tae see me?”
“Cannae I just wish tae see my daughter? I’ve not seen ye alone for some time,” he said.
He was right. Before her betrothal, Drostan would often send for her just to walk with him around the grounds of the castle and inquire about her day, listening intently to her responses. Unlike other noblewomen of the clan, whose fathers barely spent time with them, her father went out of his way to spend time with her—especially after Tadhg's death.
“Yer mother and I are pleased that ye and Artair are getting along so well,” he was saying now. “The day of yer wedding draws near. Everyone of importance in the clan will be in attendance.”
Only days ago, dread would have tightened her chest at the thought of her upcoming wedding. But as she recalled Artair's words, of taking her to the distant lands she dreamed of, excitement darted through her.
"I cannae believe it. My only daughter soon tae be wed," Drostan said with a sad sigh. "When ye were still a bairn, I'd watch ye and Tadhg playing in the courtyard, and I'd think—those two are the loves of my lives. Ye and my Liusaidh."
Caitria stopped, moved by the emotion in her father's voice.
"I'll come visit ye often. Ye have my word."
"I shall hope so," he s
aid with a wink. "If that husband of yers will let ye out of his sight."
Caitria smiled, a spark of delight dancing through her at his description of Artair as her husband.
They continued to walk in companionable silence, and when they returned to the castle, Artair was heading out the front doors; Drostan passed her off to him with a pleased smile.
Caitria wondered if desire could make a man even more handsome and drank in the sight of him. His white tunic was partially opened to reveal his muscular chest beneath, and he wore a plaid tartan kilt of deep crimson, his sword hilted at his side.
He gave her a heart-stopping smile before taking her hand without a word and leading her away from the castle.
"Where are we going?" she asked with a startled laugh.
“’Tis a surprise,” he said with a wink, leading her toward the stables. "The stable boy tells me ye have a favorite horse?"
"Aye. Her name is Kerr," Caitria said, pleasantly surprised that Artair had cared enough to ask. She led him to Kerr, who was tied up in the rear of the stables.
He helped her onto the horse before climbing on behind her, and they tore out of the stables.
They rode past the familiar moors that surrounded the castle, and excitement swirled through her as they kept riding past the familiar lands.
They didn't stop until they reached a waterfall, tucked deep within a thick patch of forest, nestled between two jagged hills comprised of craggy rocks. The rushing waters of the waterfall spilled into a small, meandering stream. Sunlight shafted through the trickling waters and lit up its deep blue waters.
Caitria shook her head in awe. She'd never known such a sight existed so close to the castle.
“How have I never seen this before?” she whispered.
“Because ye’ve rarely ventured beyond the castle grounds,” he said, coming to stand at her side. “It may not be far from yer castle . . . but there are ways to travel without going very far.”
“Thank ye for showing this tae me,” she said, beaming. But she went rigid at the thought of her parents. It'd worry them if they knew she'd left the castle grounds. “But my parents—"
“For once, doonae concern yerself with what yer parents will think. Only think about ye for now,” he said gently.
She obliged, pushing thoughts of her parents to the back of her mind. She slipped off her shoes and moved to the edge of the stream, getting as close to the waterfall as she could, closing her eyes to savor the sound of the rushing water over the rocks.
She felt Artair's presence close behind her and turned. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world when his head dipped and his lips met hers. They kissed hungrily, Caitria clinging to him as he thoroughly explored her mouth. Caitria savored every moment of their kiss—his hands holding her body close, the slight scrape of his stubble beneath her fingers as she lifted her hands up to his face, the soft insistence of his lips probing hers.
He released her with great reluctance, but kept her in his arms, pressing her back against his torso as they turned back to face the waterfall.
“My father took me tae a waterfall like this, once,” he said. “'Tis one of the few times I can remember him spending a prolonged time with me."
She turned to face him, delighted that he was telling her something personal.
“'Tis odd . . . I was still a boy, and I can only remember fragments of that day. The pressure of his hand on mine as he took me close tae the rushing waters. The sound of his voice—it seemed tae me so very deep when I was a lad—as he explained the history of the place. The delight in his eyes when I asked questions." His blue eyes filled with sadness. “We didnae have many moments like that."
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her heart filling with sympathy. Melancholy filled his eyes, and she wanted to do what she could to chase his sadness away. "Ye still havenae told me what interests ye.”
He studied her for a long moment, and she thought he wouldn’t answer, until he finally said, “History.”
“History?”
“Aye. Things that have happened in the distant past. I enjoy reading about such events . . . studying them, trying tae figure out why they happened."
His eyes brightened as he spoke, no longer filled with the sadness of moments before. She’d never known anyone who concerned themselves with events of the past, especially a Highland laird. Their concerns seemed to only lie with their lands and property, or conflicts with other clans. Artair had never mentioned such an interest before. It again struck her how little she knew the man she was going to marry.
“My tutors taught me about ancient Greece and Rome,” she said. “Their great leaders . . . the grand buildings they made, many of which still stand. 'Tis when I first started tae dream of travel, tae long tae see such things for myself."
"'Tis one of my favorite time periods tae read about," he said, his face lighting up, like a torchlight cast onto darkness. "Ye can still see remnants of Emperor Hadrian's wall south of here."
"Maybe ye can take me there one day," she said, a rush of excitement coursing through her at the thought. "After we're wed."
He stiffened, and it was as if a door had been abruptly shut, the guard in his eyes returning. She removed herself from his arms, frowning.
“Artair?” she asked, and he flinched at the sound of his name. “Artair, what’s wrong?”
“Caitria,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her face. “There’s . . . so much I wish I could tell ye.”
“Like what?” she pressed. She took his hand, imploring him with her eyes. "Artair . . . ye can tell me whatever it is. We're tae be wed. We shouldnae have secrets between us."
Her words seemed to only increase his guardedness.
“We should get back," he said, his voice strained. She watched him walk back to Kerr, a shard of hurt pricking her at his sudden coldness.
As they rode back, a heavy dread replaced the joy that had infused her. She was now certain he was hiding something from her, and it surprised her how much this bothered her. She almost wished they were still polite strangers—then she wouldn't care so much. But her physical hunger for him had awakened an emotional hunger, and she was starved for any emotional scraps she could get from him.
When they returned to the castle, he left her at her chamber door with a curt bow. She watched him go, an idea seizing her.
Caitria hurried to her father's study, which was thankfully empty. She searched until she found a leather-bound manuscript on one of his cabinets. She'd have to ask her father's permission to gift the manuscript, but she had no doubt he'd agree. She hoped this gift would help Artair open up to her.
"My lady.”
Caitria stilled at the sound of Ferghas's voice behind her as she exited her father's study. She turned to face him, wary, recalling Artair’s warning. But his handsome face was warm and kind, and for a moment she hesitated, wondering if she’d overreacted during their last encounter—and if Artair was wrong about him.
“I’ve been searching for ye,” he said.
“I went riding with Artair,” she returned, and started to walk away, but he blocked her path. His expression darkened, the jealousy in his expression unmistakable.
“Ye should be careful of him, Caitria.”
She gritted her teeth, again moving to step past him.
“He's tae be my husband, I've nothing tae fear from him. Now, if ye will kindly move—”
“There's something different about him,” he said. She hesitated, only for a moment, but he caught it. “Ye ken it tae be true.”
She stilled, thinking of those tiny, indiscernible differences she'd noticed about Artair, and her growing certainty that he was hiding something from her.
“I care about ye, Caitria,” Ferghas said, stepping close to her—too close. He reached out to touch her face, and she acted on pure instinct. She stepped on his foot.
He cursed and stumbled back, looking genuinely shocked. Shock coursed through her as well—she’d never done something
so bold before. She stilled as a rage she’d never seen in Ferghas before flashed across his face, and he took a threatening step toward her. He halted when two giggling servants passed by, and his rage melted away, replaced by a bright, affable smile. A chill crept down her arms—it was like watching someone put on a mask.
“Think of what I’ve said, my lady,” he said, giving her a brusque bow before leaving her.
She watched him go, shaken by the rage she'd seen in his eyes—yet his warning lingered.
There’s something different about Artair.
Chapter 10
Long after he’d returned to the castle, Niall paced his chamber, raking his hand through his hair. He knew that Caitria was disappointed when his guard went up—but it had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth, consequences be damned. Every time she called him Artair, it was hard not to flinch. The small flare of guilt that had initially filled him at his inadvertent deception had grown into a full-fledged flame; he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the pretense—especially now that he cared for and desired her so much.
He had to remind himself, over and over again, that she belonged to the actual Artair, someone who belonged in this time. He needed to focus on the reason he’d come to this time in the first place—to rescue her from the danger that threatened her. And that danger, he was certain, was Ferghas.
Ever since the hunting incident, an unsettling suspicion had taken root in his mind. Caitria’s brother Tadhg had died during a hunting accident. While Ferghas was definitely an arse, was he also a murderer? Had he killed Tadhg, who was the heir, to seize power for himself after marrying Caitria?
When Caitria had a servant fetch him to her father’s study the next day, his dark suspicion about Ferghas had firmly taken hold. But he was uncertain if he should share his suspicions about him, given that he had no concrete proof.
He found her standing in the center of her father’s study, giving him a hesitant smile, and a sense of déjà vu struck him. His chest tightened as he realized that he’d seen this moment before, in one of this dreams. Her standing before him, giving him a shy smile, wearing the same ruby gown she wore now.
Niall's Bride: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 4) Page 6