The women looked quietly surprised—and impressed. She realized then that many didn’t know to what extent Latharn had gone to reclaim his titles.
“Eibhlin speaks the truth,” Ros said. “Please consider what she’s said when ye speak with yer husbands if they still doubt him.”
“Ye did well,” Ros said, after the women filed out of the chamber. “The way ye spoke for him . . . 'tis clear how much ye love him."
Panic coursed through her veins. “Do ye think the other wives noticed that I—"
“No,” Ros assured her. “They ken who yer father was; they think ye’re speaking out of loyalty tae him.”
“I am,” Evelyn said. “And . . .”
“Latharn,” Ros said gently. “I ken. Ye're fighting for the men ye love.”
* * *
Ros's words echoed in her mind during that night's feast as she watched Latharn and Ros seated at the head table, battling with her envy. It did feel like she was fighting for Latharn: fighting her love for him. Would it get easier once she was back in her own time, centuries away from him? No, she realized, her stomach lurching. It will only be more painful when we’re forever separated.
The guests soon got up to dance, and she focused on drinking her ale, not wanting to watch Latharn and Ros dance. She felt a hand on her arm, and looked up to find Crisdean gazing down at her with a gentle smile.
"A dance, my lady?"
She obliged, noticing with suspicion that his eyes were twinkling. His smile widened, and she realized that he was maneuvering her toward Latharn.
They effortlessly switched partners so that Crisdean was dancing with Ros, and she found herself in Latharn's arms. She met his eyes, sparks of electricity colliding within her belly at the look of raw hunger in their dark depths.
“I sent my brother tae fetch ye," he confessed. "I missed ye today."
“I missed you too,” she returned, her heart soaring at his words.
“Tonight,” he said, his breath fanning against her ear. “I’ll come tae yer chamber.”
He released her, and there was an odd look of regret in his eyes before he turned to dance with Ros. Evelyn pushed aside her unease at the look, her body humming with anticipation and desire.
When the feast was over and the castle fell silent, she paced restlessly in her chamber until her door slid open.
Latharn entered, crossing the room toward her without a word, lifting her in his arms as he branded her mouth with a searing kiss. She returned it with a moan, and he carried her to the bed where they made love with a quiet intensity that caused a thunderous climax to claim them both.
Afterward, as they lay entwined, she reached up to trace his handsome features with her fingers. She ached to tell him the depths of her feelings for him; she was tired of hiding them. Evelyn opened her mouth to confess her love, but at the look of regret in his eyes, dread splintered her heart.
"What?" she whispered.
“Ros and I will have tae keep up the appearance of the betrothal for longer than I anticipated,” he said with a sigh. “There are still clan nobles who need convincing tae ally with me. While we're staying here, I cannae risk coming tae yer chamber anymore."
Pain clenched her chest, but she gave him a jerky nod.
"Of course. I understand."
''Tis not what I want," he murmured, reaching out to stroke her hair. "But this alliance—”
"You don't have to explain," she said, sitting up and covering her chest, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and exposed. "I said I understand. You should go."
Latharn looked shattered, his handsome features creasing with a frown.
"I want tae spend the night at yer side before I—”
"No, you were right. How do you think the chieftain would react if he knew you were coming to my chamber? You shouldn't spend the night here."
A tumult of conflicting emotions played across his face. He reached out, tugging her close as he claimed her mouth in a brief kiss. She was the one who ended it, looking away from him.
"What I said before still holds, Evelyn. While ye're in this time, ye're mine. As I'm yers."
She nodded, though she only felt a hollow ache inside, watching as he dressed and slipped out of her chamber.
It didn't seem as if he belonged to her. He belonged to his duties, to the clan he would one day rule. Most importantly, he belonged to this time: a time that wasn't her own. And despite her love for him, she needed to remember that.
Chapter 23
Regret coursed through Latharn over the way he’d left Evelyn the night before. She'd looked so shattered when he told her he could no longer visit her chamber while they were at the castle. It was far from what he wanted, but he couldn't risk losing the alliance; there were now the lives of his men to consider. Still, he would have given anything to take the look of hurt off her face.
But yer time together is temporary, he reminded himself. Soon, the vastness of time would separate them. Perhaps it was best to prepare for that now.
He had to force the image of Evelyn’s shattered face from his mind as he entered the great hall to meet with his men, Modan, and Modan’s nobles.
“My laird,” Gormal said, standing to greet him with a smile as he approached. Gormal had been more jovial ever since Latharn had agreed to wed Ros. “We were just discussing the number of men ye now have on your side. With the men ye’ve gathered, Artair Dalaigh’s men, and the men from Chief Creagach’s clan, we have enough men tae attack within the fortnight. We still have some of the chieftain’s nobles tae convince, but on the whole, we now have enough men tae take on Padraig.”
Latharn met his brother’s eyes, who seemed to understand the importance of this moment, giving him a solemn nod. This was the moment he’d been waiting for since he’d arrived—the moment he had enough men on his side to take on his cousin.
“’Tis best if we have a surprise attack,” Latharn said. “Padraig kens we’re going tae attack, but not when. ’Tis will be tae our advantage tae take him by surprise.”
He spent more time discussing battle strategy before the men dispersed, leaving Latharn alone with Modan. Modan stood, giving him a nod of respect.
“It brings me joy that my Ros will marry someone as brave as ye,” he said. “She’s seemed happier as of late—I believe that’s because of ye.”
“Ros has made me happy as well,” Latharn said, not meeting his eyes as he spoke the lie. “I wanted tae thank ye again for allying with me. I ken ’tis of great risk tae ye.”
“There are still some of my nobles tae convince,” Modan said, his expression darkening. “But I will make them join ye if they want tae remain loyal tae the clan.”
Unease prickled the base of his spine; Latharn didn’t want anyone to join his side by force. But he couldn’t tell Modan how to handle his own men.
“I believe victory is at hand for ye,” Modan continued. “I want ye tae wed my Ros shortly after the battle is won.”
It took great effort to meet Modan’s eyes and nod, though panic spiraled through him. If Modan didn’t accept his offer of another noble marrying his other daughter, what if he’d have no choice but to wed Ros? Images of Evelyn raced through his mind: her beautiful body in his arms, her smile, her golden eyes lighting up with delight at the sight of him. It felt like a betrayal to even consider wedding another woman, even though Evelyn would soon return to her own time.
As he left the great hall, the sound of Evelyn’s musical laughter stopped him in his tracks. He turned, noticing that she was standing close—too close—to Tulach at the far end of the corridor.
When had they become so friendly? Or had they always been friendly? His gut churned—was there something more going on between them? And if so, how had he not noticed it before?
When Tulach pulled Evelyn into his arms for an embrace, Latharn stalked toward them, a fierce scowl on his face. They turned to face him as he approached; Tulach gave him a hasty nod. He ignored him, his focus on Eibhlin.
�
��I need tae talk tae ye,” he bit out.
Evelyn blinked at him in startled surprise. He noticed with irritation—and a spark of lust—that he could see the tantalizing view of her bosom in the green gown she wore. Had Tulach enjoyed the same view?
With a growl he grabbed her wrist, leading her away from the startled Tulach and into a small antechamber, closing the door behind them as he glowered down at her.
“What?” she asked, panic flittering across those lovely features of hers. “Latharn, what is it?”
“Ye and Tulach,” he snapped. “Is there something between the two of ye?”
Her surprise vanished, and that familiar defiance flared in her eyes. If he weren’t so angry, he would have felt a swelling of pride. His lioness.
“How dare you ask me such a thing?” she snapped. “You are the one who is betrothed, who told me ye were going tae stay away from—”
“I’m not truly betrothed, and ye ken it,” he barked. “Now answer the—”
“Have you already forgotten that you said we need to keep our distance here? If people thought Tulach and I were lovers that would lift any suspicion off us.”
He couldn’t stop the growl that escaped from his throat at her casual mention of her and Tulach being lovers. He leaned in close, only a hairbreadth away from her sensual lips, lips he wanted nothing more than to kiss.
“If Tulach lays a finger on yer lovely body, I’ll—”
“Don’t threaten Tulach! He’s been a loyal spy for you, and he’s my friend. How dare you—especially after what you said last—”
“I also said that ye’re mine while ye’re here, as I am yers,” he snapped, though a sliver of guilt encircled his gut. She was right about Tulach’s loyalty, but he wouldn’t tolerate him with Evelyn. He couldn’t tolerate any man with Evelyn.
“Latharn, you’re not being reasonable,” she said, her tone softening. A pained look entered her eyes. “I know that your betrothal to Ros is just for show, and I like her, but now you see how it feels for me. Imagine if you had to watch me and Tulach pretend to be betrothed—and ponder us actually being married, me in his bed. And imagine if I told you we had to stay away from each other while doing so.”
The jealousy that tore through him was powerful, and he clenched his fists at his sides.
“I ken I’m not being reasonable,” he said. “And what I told ye last night—’tis not what I want. As soon as we’re out of this castle, ye’ll be in my bed every night—until ye return tae yer time.” He had to force these last words out, anguish twisting his gut at the thought of her departure.
He couldn't stop himself from leaning in to kiss her, and Evelyn’s mouth seemed to melt beneath his. Need and desire for his lioness flooded his senses, and he held her close as he plundered her mouth with his, as if he could claim her with his kiss. When he released her, they were both breathless.
“Do ye understand me?” he rasped. “We belong tae each other.”
“Understood,” she whispered, her golden eyes aflame with desire.
* * *
He tried not to stare at Evelyn during that night’s feast, but he couldn’t help himself. After their passionate confrontation, he’d had his duties to tend to and hadn’t seen her for the rest of the day until now. He was like a moth drawn to a flame when it came to gazing at his Evelyn. And that is what he thought of her as—his Evelyn. Even if he didn’t truly have a claim on her, the sight of her with Tulach had brought his possessiveness roaring to life.
He rarely noticed what lassies wore, but with Evelyn he noticed every detail. She’d brought several gowns with her; tonight, she’d changed into a gown as blue as the summer’s sky, the swell of her breasts prominent beneath its bodice.
“Why donnae ye just bed the lass right here for everyone tae see?” his brother murmured in a low voice.
He scowled at Crisdean, who sat at his side, but he quickly turned his gaze to Ros, giving her a polite nod. She only gave him an amused smile; she fully knew of his preoccupation with Evelyn.
“Ye cannae keep yer eyes off Ros’s sister,” Latharn returned.
Crisdean flushed. It hadn’t escaped his notice that he’d kept casting surreptitious glances toward Sofie, Ros's bonnie younger sister, who sat at the opposite end of the hall with her ladies.
“She’s a bonnie lass,” he grumbled.
“As is Eibhlin,” Latharn said, his eyes again straying to her with a scowl as she threw her lovely head back and laughed at something Tulach said.
“I’m not the one who’s supposed tae wed the chieftain’s daughter,” his brother grumbled, and Latharn had no retort; he was right. For the time being, he needed to appear utterly devoted to Ros.
Latharn looked around the hall; the atmosphere was relaxed and jovial, his men easily mingling with Modan’s men. He slid his glance back toward Evelyn, who was looking at him, but she averted her gaze when he met her eyes.
He wanted to dance with her, to feel her in his arms, but he forced himself to remain at Ros's side, and dutifully walked her out of the hall after the feast was over to the visible approval of her father.
It took great effort to not go to Evelyn’s chamber that night, forcing down his arousal at the memory of her in that blue gown, her flame-red hair flowing down her shoulders to the curve of her luscious breasts.
When he finally drifted off, he heard startled shouts and cries outside the castle.
He shot up in his bed, his heart hammering with panic. He raced to the window to see at least two dozen men approaching the castle on horseback.
Latharn whirled as his door flew open. Crisdean and Horas stood in the doorway, their faces white with panic.
“Padraig kens ye’re here,” Crisdean said. “We’ve been betrayed.”
Chapter 24
Latharn raced away from Creagach Castle on horseback, Evelyn seated behind him, her arms wrapped securely around his waist. Crisdean, Horas and Gormal flanked them, and his other men trailed behind, their horse's hooves pounding furiously on the ground.
Half of his men had remained behind to fight alongside Modan’s guards. He’d wanted to stay and fight alongside them, but he’d had no choice but to flee. Padraig wasn’t with the men he’d sent to attack the castle, and Latharn needed to face his cousin directly in the larger battle to come.
Before he’d fled the castle, he’d raced to Evelyn’s chamber, ignoring Horas’s protests that his men would get her out. He wouldn’t leave until Evelyn was at his side.
He’d fled the castle with Evelyn’s hand in his. For all his frustration and fury, he was glad that she was at his side; he never would have left her behind. He could feel the rapid thump of her heartbeat against his back as they rode; her fear was palpable.
Latharn tightened his grip on the reins, his fury rising. He never should have let his guard down. He knew that some of Modan’s nobles were hesitant about joining him; he hadn't suspected that they would betray his whereabouts to Padraig. Horas had told him that Modan was furious and surprised at the betrayal; he was fighting alongside his guards against Padraig. Latharn was uncertain of the state of their alliance. Would the nobles who’d sworn their loyalty to him now go back on their word?
They rode until it was nearly dawn, and they were at the far northern edge of Clan Creagach’s lands. The cottage where they were to hide out wasn’t the fine manor they’d stayed at before, but the home of one of his men, a smith by the name of Sgaire who kindly offered it to him. Sgaire would stay in the nearby village with a relative; his home was large enough to house Latharn, Horas, Gormal, Crisdean and Evelyn. His other men would stay in the village or set up camp on the surrounding grounds.
As Evelyn and the others entered Sgaire's cottage to settle in, Latharn remained outside, watching the rising sun cast its light over the horizon. He needed a moment alone to take in the air and calm the simmering fury that still scorched his veins.
He was weary of running, weary of trying to convince men of his worth. He’d been so close
to striking, to facing Padraig on the battlefield and taking back what was his by right. But now, there was yet another setback.
Latharn closed his eyes, expelling a shuddering breath. What if he was destined to fail? Perhaps he’d never reclaim his father’s lands. Perhaps he should have stayed away.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
He turned. Evelyn approached him from behind, a plaid cloak wrapped around her body to ward off the chill of dawn. His body hummed with awareness the way it always did at the very sight of her, but he turned away to face the horizon.
“Ye should go inside and sleep, Evelyn.”
“So should you,” she returned, stopping at his side. Although they’d been riding all night, she smelled of lavender and rosewater; her scent calmed his senses. “You’re doubting yourself, I can see it in your eyes. You had to know this wouldn’t be easy. But you’re so close. Don’t give up.”
“I willnae,” he muttered, not wanting to admit to her his self-defeating thoughts from moments earlier. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t turn back now. Though some of Modan's men had betrayed him, he still had scores of men who’d sworn their allegiance to him. He wouldn’t let them down. And he couldn’t let a snake like Padraig lead Clan MacUisdean.
“I need tae stop running," he muttered. "Padraig will only keep hunting me down. I’m going tae send for Artair and his men. 'Tis time tae fight.”
Evelyn nodded her agreement. “And . . . I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to consider what I and the others have suggested about Neacal. He could be an ally and change the tide for you.”
Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six Page 14