Highlander Guarded: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 10)

by Rebecca Preston

  "She does?" Kieran frowned. "That's — Scarlet, you know I hate to side with an Englishman, but…"

  "You're going to agree with him, aren't you?" she sighed. "You're going to tell me he's right, and that I should stay here like a good little woman —"

  "Scarlet Adams, I know far better at this point than to tell you to do anything at all," he said firmly, giving her a pointed look. "I'm not foolish enough to have forgotten the last time I tried to give you an instruction for your own good."

  She grinned a little guiltily, thinking back to the instruction to stay in the village. "And I stand by my decision to go poking around," she said smugly. "After all, I've learned so much now. And I think I could learn more if I could get back to the Weatherby manor."

  Kieran looked at her for a long moment, disbelief etched on his features. "You're not saying what I think you're saying, Scarlet."

  "Why not?" she demanded, getting a little carried away. "If I could break in, talk to some of Arabella's people… didn't you say she was involved heavily in what happened to Emily? She's the key, Kieran. We could use her to figure out once and for all what happened to Emily — if she really died in childbirth, or if it was something more sinister. What if Arabella killed her, Kieran? Don't you think she'd want you to find out what happened to her and the baby?"

  His expression was dark. "Aye, of course I want to know," he said, giving her an irritated look. "Don't be daft. But I sure as blazes don't want you getting hurt in the interests of that knowledge. Finding out what happened won't bring her back, Scarlet."

  "I know. But — I mean, aren't you curious?" She drummed her fists on the table, impatient with him. "Don't you want to —"

  "Of course I am. But I'm not risking your life to do it, Scarlet."

  "Oh, they wouldn't even see me," she said irritably. "In and out without a trace, that's the Adams guarantee." She hesitated again, remembering — a little belatedly — that she was still keeping her true profession secret from Kieran. "I'm light on my feet," she said with a shrug. "And I'm pretty good at sneaking around."

  There was the curiosity she'd been trying not to arouse, she realized with irritation as he peered across at her in the firelight. "And what use does a student have for such skills?"

  "I'm just —" She took a deep breath. Time to change tack. "I'm just saying, I could sneak in and find out what —"

  "You didn't answer my question," Kieran said suspiciously. "It's not like you to be so evasive."

  She stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing. There were a few possible courses of action here — she fancied she could see them, spread out before her like roads in a mossy wood she was choosing between. One road — keep lying. Tell him he was right, it was too dangerous… and hole up in the castle like a scared little mouse. She didn't like that road at all. Another road — keep lying, tell him he was right… then sneak out to the Weatherby manor regardless. He'd be furious, of course. Their relationship — whatever it was, this spark between them — probably wouldn't survive such a significant betrayal. Not again. Not after the first time, at any rate.

  But what was the third option? Come clean? Tell him she was a professional thief, that she was ten times more comfortable with breaking into houses than she was on horseback? Risk his judgment? What would he think of her, if he knew what she did for a living — more than that, too. Being a thief wasn't just her livelihood, it was her life. Her identity. Who she was. If he couldn't love a thief… then he couldn't love her, plain and simple. Because when you cut the thief out, there just wasn't much left of Scarlet Adams.

  But at the same time… what kind of love could they have if he was loving a lie? If being a thief was such a big part of her identity, what did it mean that she was holding it back from him? What kind of a relationship could they really have while this enormous secret stood in the room between them? He was looking at her, curious, quiet — doing that thing he did sometimes where he stayed quiet in the interests of seeing what she would say if he didn't stop her. She took a deep breath.

  "Alright. Here's the truth. I'm not a student. I never was a student. Didn't even finish high school actually. Do you have high school in medieval Scotland? Doesn't matter. No formal schooling. When I was six, my dad started teaching me to be a thief and a con woman. I was extremely good at it. Still am."

  Kieran's eyes were widening with every word, but she couldn't stop this train now that she'd started it. It was strange — she felt exhilarated, as though she was excising some tumor, finally getting a weight off her chest that had been crushing her ever since she'd first laid eyes on Kieran. Was this what they meant when they said that the truth would set you free? They were onto something, whoever they were.

  "I wasn't at Weatherby's manor just because you told me not to go — I was there to rob it. I did actually. Stole a bunch of trinkets I still haven't had a chance to pawn. All of this is to say — Kieran, I can get back in there. I'm smart, I'm experienced, and I've cased the joint before. And it's enormous. A person with my skillset could stay there for weeks without being detected. If there's anything to find out… Kieran, I could do it."

  He stared at her for a long moment, and she found herself holding her breath. That was odd. She was really, truly worried about what he thought — about whether he'd kick her to the curb now that he knew who she truly was, what she did for a living. Would he? He was a guard, wasn't he? Wasn't he sworn to uphold the law here?

  "I believe you could," he said finally, shaking his head a little, and the tiny smile on his face made her heart leap. "But I don't want you to."

  "Because it's illegal?" she said, gritting her teeth. "Because you're a member of the Watch?"

  He looked at her blankly. "What? Lord, no. I don't care if you rob some Englishman. He's stealing our lands, the least we could do is return the favor." He looked at her curiously. "Were you worried about that?"

  "No," she lied, feeling her face growing hot.

  There was a grin spreading across his face. "Why, Scarlet Adams, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were worried about what someone thought of you."

  "Not worried," she said, too quickly, fighting the urge to laugh as his grin widened. "Don't care at all, actually. I'm a hardened criminal, MacClaran, I don't care about anything or anyone except my next score —"

  But he was still grinning that grin at her, his eyes dancing with a light that she was realizing she'd been petrified would go out when he knew what she really was. "Yes, you do," he said simply. "You care about me."

  "So, am I allowed to break into Weatherby's mansion or not?" she demanded, hating how flushed she felt, how acute her relief that he still cared about her was.

  That did its job, at least — the grin faded from his face, and he shook his head, worry returning to his expression. "Scarlet — it's too dangerous."

  "It's not —"

  "You're not going to get my blessing on this," he said sharply, looking her straight in the eye with a seriousness that sent a chill down her spine. "I've learned better than to order you around, Scarlet. But all I can do is ask you not to do this. I can't — " He took a deep breath. "I don't want to risk you. Don't want to lose you."

  At least he didn't say 'again', she thought ruefully. He was getting better at not confusing her with Emily so much… which, as their relationship deepened, she was appreciating more and more. But the 'no' still smarted. She itched to argue with him, to push the issue, to tell him that he was a coward who was missing out on closure on something important… but then she looked at him in the firelight, felt the relief still fluttering in her chest that he hadn't rebuked her for her life of crime, and felt the strangest impulse come over her.

  The impulse to let something go for once.

  Scarlet shrugged her shoulders. "I'll stay," she said simply. "I'll stay safe and sound in the castle, if that's what you want."

  And the smile that spread across his face almost made up for the nagging sense, deep in her stomach, that she was doing the
wrong thing entirely.

  Chapter 25

  The days began to pass, slow and grueling. Scarlet did everything she could to distract herself from the pressing question of just what had happened to Emily MacClaran. She settled into her room, reorganizing the furniture, and even getting into the habit of scrubbing and sweeping the flagstones every day. She volunteered for little jobs and duties around the castle, hoping that learning more of the workings of the place might make her feel more at home here. She found her way into the archive of books on the second floor, poking around in the dense texts stored there, fascinated by the Gaelic text, even if she couldn't read a word. And she spent time in the stables, occasionally mustering the bravery to ask to ride the old black mare that Kieran had brought down to Weatherby's manor to fetch her. Marianne had been teaching her to ride about the courtyard. She wasn't much good at riding, still, but she practiced when she could, taking the placid mare for careful loops of the courtyard. What she really wanted, of course, was to ride out beyond the gates, to explore the wild countryside, the hills and dales and moors of Scotland… but of course, she wasn't allowed out there, was she? There were people out there, looking for her. People who thought she was a woman who'd died years ago.

  People who thought, for one reason or another, that she belonged dead. That never failed to send a shiver down her spine.

  She wasn't happy in the castle, though. She felt restless and stir-crazy, like a caged bird — she didn't trust anybody around her, even the other time-stranded women, and though they made occasional overtures of friendship toward her, she was very good at dodging them, at dissembling, making excuses. Kieran, after a long conversation, had promised not to share the truth of her profession with anyone else at the castle until she was ready… provided, of course, that she refrained from plying her trade among the denizens of the castle. She was almost offended by the suggestion.

  She spent as much time as she could with Kieran, too, in between his shifts on the Wall and his patrols. He was the light in the grim darkness of being stuck in the castle, and she was determined to take full advantage of the choice she'd made… the choice that still made her feel, deep down, a little like she was betraying herself. Sure, it was comfortable, going along with what he wanted, staying safe and sound in the castle… but deep in her bones, she knew it wasn't going to last long. It wasn't the kind of peace that she could maintain, not for long.

  Still, those few weeks were… oddly pleasant. Mostly because of Kieran's company, if she was honest. She gave up very early on kidding herself that she was avoiding the trap of catching feelings for the guy — it was abundantly clear that that particular ship had sailed. He had her. The dancing light of his eyes; that smile that almost seemed to catch her off-balance when she was least expecting it; the warmth of his body when he held her close… and other things, too. The tenderness with which he checked in on her to make sure she didn't feel rushed, didn't feel pressured into physical contact that made her uncomfortable… this sixteenth-century man was more mindful of her boundaries and consent than just about any so-called enlightened twenty-first century man she'd ever been with, and she was growing retroactively disgusted with the poor treatment she'd accepted from those men.

  Riding practice, working odd jobs around the castle, evenings with Kieran, repeat. She knew she was going to lose her mind eventually, knew that this wasn't sustainable… and when Kieran brought up her restlessness one night, about three weeks after Lord Weatherby's ill-fated visit, she all but exploded.

  "Of course, I'm restless! There's nothing to bloody do around here," she said, gesturing irritably at the stone walls around them. They were in Kieran's chambers, eating a late supper together, as had been their habit of late. That was another thing that was annoying her — she was putting on weight, even with all the extra stair-climbing and physical exertion she was taking on. Too much food, too much comfort. Not that Kieran seemed to mind. Quite the opposite. It seemed that girls with a little more meat on their bones were the more desirable option, these days. Not that she gave a shit what men thought of her body, but it was an interesting contrast to the stick-thin beauty ideal from her own era.

  "You're doing riding practice every day, aren't you?"

  "Walking around in circles on a horse is not exactly intellectually stimulating, Kieran," she said irritably. "I want to leave the castle. I want to do things. Real things, not just… treading water."

  He sighed. "I know it's tedious, Scarlet. But I promise you — once Arabella and her people leave the area we'll make up for all this time spent cooped up."

  "And when will Arabella and her people be leaving, pray tell?"

  He hesitated, clearly unwilling to say what he was about to say… but a beady-eyed stare from her eventually unfolded him, and he sighed. "We've run into their patrols a dozen times in the last week, mostly in the village. They're still searching, and they're not giving up. It seems a woman matching Emily's description was seen in the local inn a few weeks ago," he added drily, giving her a pointed look. "So, they think that if they wait long enough…"

  "I'll come back," she sighed, hating it. "Right. So, there's no end in sight."

  "I'm sorry," he said softly, reaching out to caress the side of her face in a way that always made her heart skip a few beats. "Truly. If there's anything I can do to keep your mind off things…"

  She raised an eyebrow. "Is that an ulterior motive I sense?"

  The glimmer of a cheeky smile. "It might be."

  "You cad," she said haughtily, moving a little closer to him on the low couch they were sharing. "Taking advantage of a restless woman's extra energy…"

  "Mm," he agreed, leaning in to press soft, light kisses to her throat, sending shivers down her spine.

  How did he always draw such a strong reaction out of her body? Men she'd been with before had barely been able to make her feel this way even with their hands in her pants… then again, she supposed that was the point.

  "Truly a monster."

  "And here I am, defenseless against you," she murmured, feeling her eyes flicker shut as he kissed a trail down her throat, across the open collar of the tunic she was wearing. Stuck in the castle as she was, she'd given up all pretense of wearing anything but men's clothes — the MacClaran men wouldn't let her wear their tartan, but she'd managed to snag a couple of pairs of trousers that more or less fit with the aid of a belt, and she felt much more herself, even if the servant girls stared and tittered as she marched past. Short hair and men's clothing… she was probably quite the sight.

  Still, right now she almost felt like she'd prefer to be wearing a skirt. A very short one. Kieran's hands were roaming, agonizingly slowly, and she could feel her heartbeat picking up in anticipation. They'd explored this territory before, of course, the two of them — inch by inch, he'd worked his way across her body, always stopping for the evening once he felt her begin to stiffen up. And slowly but surely, as the evenings passed, she'd found herself stiffening up less and less.

  There was something in the air tonight, too. Something that was making her heart pound harder than it had the last few times, something that was driving her on with a new edge, something that made her grab him a little more possessively, pull him close to her with more feeling… she could feel his breathing quickening as their kiss deepened, as her hands roamed… she'd been holding herself back from touching him too much, wary of getting him too excited, of prompting him to push her further than she wanted to be pushed… but tonight, well, she had a strange feeling that she wanted to be pushed quite some distance, in fact. And he was responding to the intensity of her demands, cautiously but with enthusiasm, kissing her deeper, his hands roaming across her body with more enthusiasm… and before she knew it the two of them were shedding layers of clothing, breathing hard, wrapped in each other, barely daring to make eye contact for fear of breaking the spell. It was though she was in a trance… as though Kieran's touch was the only thing that could possibly distract her from how miserable and
restless and trapped she was. As though if she finally grasped whatever satisfaction lingered beyond the limits she'd imposed on their lovemaking, maybe she'd finally be able to find peace here, trapped in the castle…

  And before she knew it, he was lifting her in his arms and carrying her to his bed. At any other time, she would have locked up completely, stiffened in his arms, pushed him away with a murmured apology and simply lay with him, him stroking her hair, until they had both fallen asleep — if anyone in the castle had noticed how many nights they spent together, she hadn't heard any gossip about it. But tonight… somehow, she just didn't feel her usual hesitation. She felt his body under her hands, strong, and warm, and wonderful, and all she wanted was to dive into his arms and stay there.

  As she dragged off her final layers of clothing, breathing hard, impatient, Kieran caught her eyes, stilled her hands with his for a moment as he gave her a long, curious look. Giving her a chance to back out, she realized with a mixture of affection and exasperation. He was so good like that. Good with checking in, with making sure she was okay… but right now, she didn't want him to be cautious. All of her frustration, all of her feelings of being cooped up seemed to be building up in her, and although it made no sense at all, she knew somehow that making love would make it all go away. So, she just smiled, lay back on the bed and drew him down on top of her, wrapped her legs around his waist, kissed his throat until he was gasping and trembling… and then her eyes fluttered shut as he finally slid himself to the hilt inside her.

  It felt — it felt — she caught her breath as he groaned softly against her throat, his body twitching with pleasure, and when he drew back and pressed himself into her again, she almost gasped. It was as though they were made for each other. She'd known they had chemistry; that was evident from the long make-out sessions they'd had, from the way the very scent of him stirred her up, from the spark between them when they so much as touched… but now, in this most intimate of settings, she gazed up at him in ardent wonder, shocked by how perfectly they fit together. He must have been thinking the same — those blue-green eyes dark with desire but unmistakably touched by a fond, loving smile, he kissed her deeply as their lovemaking continued, holding her close, keeping his rhythm slow and steady. The pleasure was almost like an ache, deep in her body, or else like a fire being stoked, piece by piece… and to her shock, she didn't feel distant or alienated or outside of herself as she so often did when men were touching her. Quite the opposite. She'd never felt so embodied, so part of herself… and part of him —