Highlander Besieged

by Vonda Sinclair

  "Why not ask her to dance?"

  Cyrus glanced at his sister. "Who?"

  "Lady Lily, of course." Isobel frowned, scrutinizing him. "Are you well?"

  "Aye. Why wouldn't I be?" Hell, he'd almost made a muck of that one.

  "Have you talked to her and tried to get to know her?"

  "Kilverntay didn't give me an opportunity. He asked questions nonstop during supper."

  "If he hadn't been seated beside you, what would you have talked to her about?"

  Cyrus shrugged. Damned if he knew what to talk to a girl of twenty summers about. What had he said to the lasses during his youth? Come to think of it, he hadn't done much talking to them. He was more interested in action. "I ken naught of ribbons and gown styles, and she has no knowledge of laying siege to a castle."

  Isobel burst into laughter.

  Having no inkling what she considered so humorous, he merely glared.

  After tugging on Dirk's sleeve, she whispered into his ear. He shook his head. "I'll not ask him or any man that," he declared.

  Cyrus was glad to see that Dirk wouldn't let his wee wifey walk all over him.

  Isobel blew out an annoyed breath.

  "What is it?" Cyrus demanded, growing more riled by the moment.

  "Surely you have..." Isobel bit her lip. "How should I say it?" She glanced to her husband.

  "He has. Have no worries over it."

  "Damnation, Isobel," Cyrus muttered. "Just say it. You ken I hate beating about the bush."

  "Surely you have had... romantic relations with a woman in the last ten years."

  "I have bedded women, aye. But that had naught to do with romance." Though he hated to speak so frankly to his sister, she had asked for it.

  She sighed. "You must learn to be charming, like Fraser."

  "Ha. I want a wife, not a bed partner for one night."

  "All the more reason to talk to her."

  Why had conversation become so difficult? Because he'd been focusing on military campaigns for so long, he was out of practice in social situations, especially with ladies. Most speech had involved commanding his soldiers and clansmen. Or discussing tactics with his brothers and sword-bearer. He'd been around very few ladies of late.

  Again, Isobel was whispering in Dirk's ear and whatever she said made him look highly uncomfortable. "Men do not discuss such things, Isobel."

  "But you used to have the same problem."

  Cyrus frowned. "I have no problems."

  "Talking to women," Isobel clarified. "Dirk used to have a problem conversing with me when we first met. He was unaccustomed to having discussions with women. He could teach you a thing or two."

  She was right, but what could Cyrus say to that? He got along well with his brother-in-law, but he didn't want to take any sort of lessons in chit-chat from him.

  "Forget it," Dirk told her. "You're only making matters worse."

  Isobel turned to Cyrus. "Do you want to marry the daughter of a marquess or not?"

  "Of course." His sister's inane questions exasperated him. "'Tis why I'm here."

  "Well then, put forth some effort. Have you even spoken ten words to her?"

  "I don't need to have long, in-depth conversations with the woman I marry."

  She gave an unladylike snort. "You can't just come here, marry a woman, bed her, and then nine months later have an heir. There's a lot more to it than that. I know because I'm a wife."

  "The marquess doesn't even live with his wife, and he has five children," Cyrus reminded her.

  "But he used to live with her."

  "Mayhap he only visited with her once a year. Anyway, I doubt they've had many meaningful conversations. She's not even here."

  Isobel blew out a breath. "If you dance with Lily, you won't have to talk."

  She was right about that, but it had been over two years since he'd danced. He was completely out of practice. Maybe if he drank a few more drams of whisky, he could loosen up enough to dance.

  "I give up. Come, dance with me, Dirk. A new reel is starting." She dragged him onto the dance floor.

  "Only one," Dirk muttered. "And don't overwork yourself. You have the bairn to think of."

  "'Tis not a vigorous dance. I may be with child, but I can still move."

  Cyrus supposed he would have to dance with Lily at their wedding, so he may as well get used to it. He leaned over and helped himself to the whisky, filling his wee glass.

  When he saw Elspeth laughing at something Fraser said, Cyrus ground his teeth. Why the devil did that bother him so much? He didn't care who Elspeth talked to. He had no interest in her.

  He downed the whisky, but found it didn't help.

  It annoyed the hell out of him that her bright ginger hair gleaming in the candlelight captured his attention. Her figure was slender, and her gown sparkled as if it was shot through with silver threads. He could not figure out how a merchant and penniless baron's widow could afford such expensive clothing. Not only that, but several jewels glittered between her throat and her enticing cleavage at the plunging neckline. His lips itched to brush over the pale, flawless skin between the jewels.

  Muttering a curse, he forced himself to look away. Desperate for some peace of mind, he poured another dram of whisky, downed it, then arose. He stepped down from the dais, rounded the front and glanced about for Lady Lily. Where had she gone? The music and the reel had ended, he realized, while he'd been stewing in his own thoughts. He scanned each corner but didn't see her. Dermott stood talking to one of the men now.

  "I believe she retired for the evening." The female voice came from behind him.

  He turned to find Elspeth. Speechless for a moment, he finally recovered and gave a brief bow. "Lady Grey."

  "Please, call me Elspeth."

  Irrationally pleased, he gave a deep nod. "If you'll call me Cyrus."

  "Of course." Her face was flushed and her breathing elevated. 'Twas obviously from the dancing, but it made him think of exertion from carnal pleasures. He wondered what she would look like with her lustrous hair disheveled and a satisfied smile upon her rosy face. And her whisky-colored eyes dark with desire.

  The heat of her skin caused her exotic perfume to waft to his nose. 'Twas the most entrancing, seductive scent he had ever experienced. He could not even put a name to it. Without doubt 'twas an expensive French perfume, making him imagine rich white flowers in the moonlight, a sweet, spicy comfit and earthy sensuality rubbed across bare skin. He wanted to examine each note of her fragrance even as his eyes perused every inch of her face.

  Saints, since when did he enjoy self-torture? The whisky had infected his brain with a warped madness. He stepped back a foot, trying to escape the bonds of her scent.

  "Lady Lily wished me to tell you she's exhausted from her travels. She lives with her mother and sisters some distance from Rebbinglen."

  He nodded, wondering if Lily truly was exhausted... or was she only avoiding him? "I should've asked her to dance," he blurted... then regretted it. Why had he said that? Too much whisky?

  Elspeth gave a slight grin. "'Haps tomorrow night."

  "Be Elspeth's partner for a few minutes, will you?" Bypassing him, Fraser tapped him on the shoulder, then strode away toward the exit door.

  What the devil? Cyrus glanced back to Elspeth.

  A becoming blush still colored her high cheekbones. "'Tis not necessary. I'd prefer to rest anyway."

  "We need one more couple to complete the set," Rose announced. Her gaze scanned the room and landed on him. "Would you and Elspeth like to join us?"

  Noticing everyone staring at him, he shrugged. Lest they all think he was frightened of a silly little country reel, he turned to Elspeth. "Would you care to dance?" Besides, it would be good practice while Lily wasn't watching.

  Elspeth hesitated, unsure whether Cyrus truly wished to dance with her. She glanced at Rose who appeared hopeful in getting the fun started again. Well, in truth, Elspeth did enjoy dancing, no matter who it was with. Fra
ser had certainly been an enjoyable dance partner. Would his brother be? She could not imagine it, given his scowl. Surely she could survive one dance with the fearsome man.

  "Very well," she said.

  Cyrus held out his ungloved hand to her—a large, strong-looking hand—sending a rush of heat over her skin. Good heavens, why did she feel almost fevered when she was near him? She placed her much smaller gloved hand in his and he led her toward the formation. His hilt-roughened skin snagged against the fine fabric. Suddenly, she wished she wasn't wearing gloves. What would his bare skin feel like?

  All the dancers formed two long rows, men on one side and women on the other. When the lively music started, she watched the dancers close to the musicians begin first, moving around in intricate circles and formations, sometimes clasping hands or elbows with various people, not just their partner. Avoiding eye contact with Cyrus, she waited in anticipation until it was their turn.

  Following the prescribed steps, Cyrus swung her around a few times, then letting go, they each clasped hands with other dancers during the various turns. When next she glimpsed his face, he was grinning. Good heavens, he was stunningly handsome when he smiled. His face was transformed and so captivating she could hardly take her eyes off him. 'Haps he was finally relaxing. She was certain bride hunting must be a stressful endeavor.

  A reel was a community dance that didn't require constant handholding, but she found herself looking forward to touching him again each time after she spun away from him and circled among the other dancers. He was a few inches taller than Fraser and near twice as brawny. Not that Fraser was small by any means, but that Cyrus towered over every other man there, except for Dirk. She had never been around such imposing Highlanders. She was only now growing used to their belted plaids and the way the material flicked this way and that during the dance.

  At the end of the set when the group disbanded, he gave a dramatic bow, reminding her of his younger brother. "I thank you for the dance, m'lady."

  She curtsied for effect. "'Twas my pleasure, my laird."

  He shook his head as if bemused with himself. "I'd forgotten how entertaining dancing could be. I've had very little time for amusements the past several years."

  "I'll be sure to tell Lady Lily you're an excellent dancer."

  Nodding, he studied her intently, his dark eyes spellbinding. "I would appreciate it."

  Dermott bypassed him. "They're starting a card game in the library."

  Cyrus lifted a brow. "I'll see you on the morrow." He bowed to Elspeth.

  "Goodnight." She curtsied once more and proceeded up the stairs. Why did she sense Cyrus's attention lingering on her? She glanced back to find him just turning away to follow his brother.

  A heated awareness still consumed her. Good heavens! What was happening? She was not drawn to Lady Lily's intended. Nay, she wanted naught to do with any man. Her life would be far more secure if she remained an independent widow in charge of her own financial affairs. She did not need a man complicating things.

  'TWAS AFTER MIDNIGHT when Cyrus stumbled from the library with the other men, annoyed that he'd lost near every hand. Apparently, he had gotten Elspeth's maddening perfume on his hands while they'd been dancing, and as a result, he hadn't been able to concentrate on the cards. He knew that many fancy ladies wore perfumed gloves.

  Trying to erase his unreasonable reaction to her, he'd imbibed a generous amount of Rebbie's expensive whisky.

  "We'll get up bright and early in the morn and ride out hunting." Rebbie's tone was too eager by far.

  Cyrus leaned a hand against the carved wooden column to keep himself steady. "Wish you would've told me that earlier."

  "Getting too old for this, are you?" Rebbie teased.

  Cyrus forced a laugh. "Hardly. I look forward to it." 'Twas a lie. He'd much rather sleep off the drink in the morn, but he'd have no chance of that. At least, he could catch a few winks between now and then. He was only a couple of years older than Rebbie. He would keep up or die trying.

  The men disbanded, heading to their guest chambers in various wings of the castle. After visiting the garderobe, Cyrus climbed to the top of the stairs and headed for his door, the third one on the right. He turned the knob, entered and closed the door back. Though the fire had burned down low, the dim room had a comfortable warmth that made him realize how sleepy he'd become.

  Turning toward the bed, he yawned and was unpinning the sash of his plaide when a scream rent his ear.

  He muttered a curse and leapt back. "What the devil?"

  "What are you doing in my chamber?" a female demanded.

  Was that Elspeth's voice? Or was Cyrus imagining things? "God's teeth!"

  Finally, his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see Elspeth's slender form where she knelt on the bed, the covers drawn to her chin, a most tantalizing sight.

  "'Tis my chamber," he said defensively. Wasn't it? Oh hell! Was he lost? He glanced around the room but 'twas too dark to see much of anything.

  Chapter Four

  "Nay, 'tis my room." Elspeth couldn't believe Cyrus MacKenzie had blundered into her bedchamber by mistake. Or had it been intentional? Exactly how sotted was he, anyway? She'd left the door unbolted so her maid could come and go as she pleased, never imagining a man would walk in.

  He glanced at the door. "Is this the third room on the right?"

  "Nay, the fourth."

  "Devil take it. Now I cannot even count," he muttered, as if to himself.

  She almost smiled at that, glad to see the earl was not perfect, and that he could admit when he erred.

  "Pray pardon. I must be next door." He bowed. "I will see myself out." He turned away, heading toward the door. Abruptly, he paused. "Could I ask you not to mention this to any of my brothers? Nor Rebbie, for that matter. They will find it rich beyond bearing and claim I can no longer tolerate fine scotch."

  His apology, as well as his request, caused something within her to soften. Mayhap he wasn't as fearsome as she'd first thought. "I can keep a secret."

  "Oh, and please don't tell Lady Lily. 'Twould surely ruin my chances with her if she knew."

  "I shan't tell anyone." Truly, she wouldn't, especially since he'd asked so courteously.

  He nodded and moved to the door. He opened it a crack, then quickly closed it back.

  His actions perplexed her. "What is it?"

  Unexpectedly, a knock sounded at the thick oak door, startling her. "Good heavens, who is that? Is it my maid?"

  Still facing the door, Cyrus shook his head.

  After wrapping the plaid blanket around herself, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her bare feet sank into the plush Turkish carpet by the bed, then she padded across the room on the cool smooth floorboards.

  "I swear I'm going to throttle the lad," Cyrus whispered.

  "Who?" She stopped a few feet from him.

  "Fraser." Cyrus glanced around at her. Even in the dimness, his dark eyes penetrated her defenses, just as they had in the great hall.

  She frowned. "Fraser is out there?"

  "Aye, who else? He's intent on seducing you."

  "Oh. Saints." Mortification washed over her.

  "Exactly."

  "I would never... oh, goodness. Mayhap he will go away." Had she laughed at one too many of Fraser's jests?

  The knock sounded again, louder this time. Blast Fraser and his persistence. She liked him a great deal and he was, of course, gorgeous, but she would never have a fling with him. He seemed young and frivolous.

  "Who is it?" she called.

  "'Tis a surprise," Fraser answered in a flirtatious tone.

  "Oh, heavens." Her face still burning, she looked up at Cyrus. His excessive height made her feel very small, overwhelmed and flustered. "I'm exhausted and need to sleep," she called back to Fraser.

  "'Tis what I would love to do, but my room has been taken over by bats."

  "God's teeth," Cyrus hissed. "Is this how he seduces women?"

>   Elspeth covered her mouth so her amusement wouldn't burst out, then ran back to the bed and collapsed upon it. Unable to suppress her laughter, she yanked a pillow over her head.

  After she'd gained control of herself, she sat up. Cyrus motioned her toward the door. She dried her tears of mirth and approached.

  "Tell him you're not interested," Cyrus whispered. "So he will go away."

  "M'lady," Fraser murmured outside the door.

  "Nay, Fraser. I regret... that I cannot allow you into my room. But I thank you."

  "Och. I have the worst luck. You break my heart, m'lady."

  "My apologies. You will one day find the perfect wife."

  Fraser muttered words she could not understand and walked away grumbling.

  "'Twas the ideal choice of words." Cyrus snorted. "You've scared the life out of him. He wants no wife."

  She snickered. "Well, I'm glad you were here, in truth. Otherwise, he might have walked in."

  Cyrus shook his head. "Nay, he didn't try to turn the knob. He wouldn't have entered unless you'd invited him. I have to say, he is a gentleman. If he wasn't, I would kick his arse." Cyrus sounded almost as if he'd raised his brother.

  "I've always found him to be respectful."

  "Good. If he isn't, you let me know."

  She nodded. "I appreciate it."

  "Now, I must find my own chamber." He cracked the door again and peered out. "Looks clear." He glanced back at her.

  Without saying anything more, he slipped out and softly closed the door. With his tall frame and masculine power gone, the room suddenly seemed far larger, emptier and quieter. She pulled the blanket about herself and hastened back to the bed to snuggle beneath the warm covers.

  Her eyes wide with the lingering excitement, she stared at the large canopy overhead. She couldn't have imagined such interactions with two attractive Highlanders—one in her bedchamber and the other trying to get in. Most ladies would be shocked senseless, but not much surprised her.