Highlander Unchained

by Monica McCarty

  The earl smiled, not at all offended by Lachlan’s obvious distrust, especially since it was warranted. “Your cooperation.”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Argyll wanted to bring him in line with the king. He asked much, after what the king had done by imprisoning his brother. But Lachlan was pragmatic enough to realize that he was in better standing with Argyll than without. He would never trust King James again, but perhaps he shouldn’t have in the first place.

  “My dispute was never with the king, only with Hector. It is the king who has broken faith with me. I will need your support not only for my brother, but also in my dispute with Hector over the return of my castle. If the king intercedes on my behalf, I will have no cause to disagree with him.”

  Argyll’s brows shot up. “You bargain with your brother’s life at stake?”

  “As much as you do with your wee cousin racing to the altar with Lord Murray.” Lachlan knew how to bluff. He would have married anyone to release his brother. But he would not bargain from a position of weakness.

  The earl studied him thoughtfully. Lachlan held himself perfectly still, to all appearances calm despite the unrest churning inside him.

  Finally, Argyll nodded. “Done. But remember, don’t think about forcing the lass. As she angers me, Flora is a bewitching little minx, and I would not see her harmed. You’ll not get my support if you do.”

  “And the release of my brother?”

  “Once I am assured of Flora’s agreement, on your wedding day I will see to his release.”

  And thus the devil’s bargain had been struck.

  Marrying Argyll’s cousin had seemed a small price to pay for the release of his brother and the return of his castle. He hadn’t realized the heavy toll it would exact.

  Unconsciously, he pulled her closer. A soft, contented sound escaped from between her lips. She opened her eyes. He stilled, heart pounding in his chest, looking into those fathomless blue depths. She was only half-conscious, but the look in her eyes was so soft and yielding—without pretense of wariness—that it cut him to the quick. It gave him a glimpse of a future that he’d never dreamed of. Of a connection so powerful and strong, it didn’t seem possible.

  But it was nothing compared with the effect of the wide smile that turned her lips when she looked at him. His chest squeezed painfully with longing. Longing for something that wasn’t his. But what would it be like to hold her in his arms like this for real? To make love to her and have her smile at him with such boundless happiness?

  It would be perfect.

  He watched confusion traverse her face.

  “I must be dreaming,” she murmured, her voice cracking from the rawness of her throat. She closed her eyes, giving way to unconsciousness once again, and snuggled against him. Her fingers gripped him tightly, and her soft cheek rested over his aching heart.

  He couldn’t move. Every inch of his body was taut with desire. Desire for something that he’d never wanted before, but that now hovered just out of his reach.

  While she was deathly cold, it hadn’t been hard to dissociate himself from the sensation of her naked body molded to his. But as she warmed, so had he. All that soft, pliant skin plastered against his became impossible to ignore. He slid his hand down her spine from her nape to the small of her back, savoring the velvet under his fingertips, and the soft curve of her bottom. Wanting desperately to bring her against him. To slide deep inside her with long, slow strokes and make her his.

  All vestiges of her icy swim were gone. Unconsciously, she rubbed against him, her nipples hardening. Raking his chest and making him instantly hard.

  He caressed her again, cupping her bottom, his entire body drumming with temptation.

  God, he couldn’t do this. He wanted to touch her all over. Run his hands over every inch of her nakedness and kiss her until she cried out.

  But honor held him back. He wouldn’t take advantage of her like this. Not when she was weak. Her body might want him, but she didn’t.

  Flora had run from him because she was scared. Scared by what had nearly happened in the laird’s solar. But their bodies were made to come together. Just holding her against him, he could feel it. He knew how good it would be.

  With a soft groan, he tore himself from her seductive grasp. Not wanting to be in bed with her when she woke, knowing that his presence would only upset her.

  He’d done what he needed to do; the danger had passed. She no longer needed him.

  He pulled on a clean shirt, wrapped a fresh plaid around himself, and secured it with his chieftain’s badge. Turning back to the bed one more time he took in every detail, his heart swelling hard in his chest. Unable to stop himself, he bent down and brushed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Rest, my sweet,” he whispered.

  The pale light of dawn stirred her awake. A soft warmth surrounded her. Flora opened her eyes, feeling as if she’d been wrapped in a blanket of sunshine. She felt safe. Protected. Burrowing her face into the pillow beside her, she savored the warm scent of myrtle…and something else oddly familiar.

  Indeed, she felt the strangest sensation of being somewhere that was both unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. Stretching her arms above her head, she noticed the twinge of aching muscles in her back and arms. She raised her head to look around, but it was so heavy. Everything was a little foggy, and it took her a moment to realize that she was not in her chamber.

  The bed was bigger, for one. A large chair was positioned before the fireplace. She looked around, noticing the rough, stark furnishings, similar to those in her room. Unlike her room, however, there was an aumbry for storing clothing, in addition to a large, heavily carved wooden chest before the bed. The window was much narrower than hers, suggesting that she was perhaps on a lower floor of the keep.

  Why wasn’t she in her room, and why was she so thirsty? Her lips were cracked, her mouth dry. She ran her hand along her bare arm, her skin felt so gritty…

  All of a sudden, she realized three things at once. She hadn’t drowned, she was in his bed, and she was completely naked. Each was shocking enough, but together they were enough to toss her into a panic.

  The sound of the door creaking open didn’t help matters. When she saw who it was, the riot of emotions swirling inside her grew much worse.

  “I see you’re awake,” the woman said. “I brought you some broth.”

  Flora had the most appalling urge to hide under the covers. Instead, she forced herself to respond. But what did one say to the leman of the man’s bed you’d just woken up in? “Thank you,” was all she could think of.

  Seeing the question in Flora’s eyes, the woman explained, “The laird asked that I look in on you.”

  “You’re a healer?”

  She shrugged. “I have some skill with herbs.”

  Among other things, she thought uncharitably.

  Bending over Flora, she started her examination. Putting a gentle hand on Flora’s forehead, feeling the pulse at her neck. All of which seemed very strange. Eventually, curiosity got the better of her. “What is your name?” the healer asked.

  The woman gave her a long look. “You know who I am?”

  Flora nodded.

  “Seonaid,” she answered.

  She started to lift the plaids covering her, but Flora held them tightly, her cheeks on fire. “I’m fine.”

  The woman lifted a perfectly arched brow. “Your modesty is wasted on me. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. It is your decision, but you nearly drowned, and then nearly froze to death.”

  Flora’s blush intensified. “You don’t understand.” Her voice lowered. “I don’t have any clothes on.”

  Seonaid shook her head as if Flora were addled. “You were freezing to death.” At Flora’s obviously perplexed expression, she continued, “You needed the heat of another against you to warm you quickly. ’Twas the only way.”

  Flora’s brows gathered together across her nose. “I don’t understand….” Her voice fell off,
and her eyes widened as comprehension dawned. The blush was nothing to the mortified heat that spread across her face as her embarrassment got much worse. Dear God. It was him. It hadn’t been a dream. How could he take advantage of her like that?

  Seonaid must have read her thoughts. Her face flooded with anger. “He saved your life. You should be thanking him instead of worrying about your precious maidenly modesty.”

  Flora flinched at the venom in the woman’s voice. And at the knowledge that Seonaid was right. Flora’s moment of misplaced outrage subsided. “I’m sorry, you must think me very ungrateful.” She bit her lip. “It’s just that I don’t remember much of what happened.”

  Seonaid peered at her intently. Then apparently deciding that Flora was in earnest, she nodded. “I’m sure the laird will answer your questions when you are feeling better.”

  Flora swallowed. The laird. Dear God, what would she do when she saw him? How could she ever look at him again, knowing what he’d done? What he’d seen?

  Faint recollections came back to her, making it worse. Images that seemed hazy like a dream, but which she now suspected were very real. Big, strong arms surrounding her. Her cheek pressed against a warm, hard, and very masculine chest.

  This time, Flora didn’t argue when the woman continued her examination. She even made Flora wiggle her toes and fingers, and Flora didn’t say a word in protest—though it seemed very silly indeed.

  Finally, Seonaid finished her ministrations, handed her a sark that had been left at the foot of the bed, and declared her surprisingly well.

  Flora quickly pulled it over her head. The thin linen gave her no small measure of relief.

  “I will send up a posset for you to drink. And then you should rest.”

  “Thank you,” Flora said, and meant it. Given the circumstances, she was surprised by the woman’s kindness.

  Seonaid turned and walked to the door, then hesitated and looked back at Flora. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. The laird did nothing more than warm your body.”

  A point she seemed happy to make.

  “I know.” And she did. Flora recognized that despite his determination to have her, Lachlan Maclean was too honorable to prey on the weak and helpless. And last night she had been both.

  With her hand still on the door, Seonaid asked, “So you’ll be marrying him now?”

  Flora drew back, shocked. “No!” She calmed. “I have no intention of marrying anyone.”

  Again, Flora got the impression that the woman thought her a fool. As if no woman of sound mind would ever refuse Lachlan Maclean.

  “Even after what happened?”

  Flora shook her head emphatically. “As you said, it was an emergency. It changes nothing.”

  Seonaid gave her an appraising look. “He wants you.”

  Flora blushed. “Well, I don’t want him.” But the woman’s sharp gaze read the lie. Flora lifted her chin. “Even if I did, I still would not marry him.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple,” Seonaid said mysteriously.

  Neither did Flora. Still, it was odd to have this woman echoing her own thoughts. There was something strange about the laird’s wooing of her. From the beginning, she’d sensed both a calculation and an urgency. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never seen the laird pursue a woman with such intensity. Let alone one who claims not to want him. You are very beautiful, but he has had many beautiful women. I wonder if there is another reason, that is all.”

  Initially, she thought the woman felt sorry for her, but now Flora wondered whether Seonaid might have another motive for voicing her suspicions. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  She shrugged. “He wants you, but he will not wait forever. He is a very virile man.” The authority in her voice made Flora’s chest ache. “And when he’s done chasing what he cannot have, I’ll be waiting.”

  Long after the woman left, Flora heard her voice. And the warning that had twisted Flora’s heartstrings in knots.

  Chapter 11

  Seonaid’s posset proved as potent as her warning, and it was another day before Flora felt well enough to rise from bed and return to her room under Morag’s watchful eye. The first thing she did was request that a tub be sent up. The salt from the seawater was irritating her skin, which had begun to itch.

  By midmorning, clean, fed, and dressed in a gown that had appeared on the chest the day before while she slept, she almost felt like a new woman.

  Almost.

  But not everything could be washed away with lavender-scented bathwater. The knowledge of what he’d done to her, for one. Snippets of memories haunted her, teasing the edges of her consciousness with an unexpectedly powerful tug of emotion. She’d lain naked with a man. Even if she couldn’t recall the details, it was hardly something she could forget—though she desperately wished she could.

  But he’d saved her life. That was one thing she’d never forget. She owed him…something.

  She tapped her fingertips in a rolling motion on the stone sill as she gazed out her window to the sound. From this vantage point, escape looked like such a simple proposition. The water appeared placid and the distance to the Isle of Mull barely a stone’s throw away. How had it gone so terribly wrong?

  Since neither the laird nor his sisters had been to see her, she still didn’t know exactly what had happened. Their absence disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. Even though he’d abducted her, and she had every right to escape, she felt in some way as if she’d let them down in her attempt to do so.

  It was irrational, but true nonetheless.

  Turning from the window, she sighed, more confused than ever. If anything, her attempt at escape seemed to have made the jumble of emotions tangled inside her even worse. Lachlan Maclean had kidnapped her, wooed her with curious intensity, sparked her passion, refused to release her, and then rescued her. She didn’t know what to think. In some ways, she feared him more than any man she’d ever met. He held a strange power over her that she couldn’t dismiss or ignore.

  There was, however, one thing she knew she had to do. No matter how uneasy the prospect of confronting him made her, she needed to thank him. He’d saved her life.

  Opening the door, she expected to see Alasdair back at his post, but was surprised to find the corridor empty. If anything, she’d thought the guard would have been doubled. She frowned, not knowing quite what to make of it, and hurried down the corridor.

  Considering the ordeal she’d been through, she felt remarkably well—until she started to go down the stairs. A wave of dizziness overtook her, and she had to grab the stone wall to keep from taking a tumble. When it had passed, she resumed stepping down the stairs, suitably chastened and a bit more careful.

  Focused as she was on the narrow stone steps, it wasn’t until she reached the great hall that she noticed how unnaturally quiet it seemed. The boisterous sounds of life that she’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks had dimmed to silence. She passed a few serving women, but they quickly turned their heads to avoid her gaze.

  It soon became apparent why. Exiting the keep, she glanced into the courtyard and saw a gathering of what looked to be every man in the castle before their chief. Though she heard only the tail end of his speech, it was enough for her to realize what was happening. The men were being reprimanded and punished for allowing her to escape. “Fail duty,” “possible attack,” and “confinement in the dungeon” left no doubt.

  A not insubstantial pang of guilt needled her. No wonder no one would meet her gaze. It was because of her that these men were being punished. And she’d learned enough the past few weeks to understand that the worst punishment of all was for a Highland warrior to be shamed before his chief.

  But the dungeon…

  She shivered. Her attempted escape had far greater repercussions than she’d realized.

  She’d never seen him disciplining his men, and it was more than a little intimidating. His expression was hard and implacable,
and his voice resounded with absolute authority. To his people he was lord, master, judge, and jury all in one. Her mother was right. A Highland chief was like a king of his own small fiefdom. Such absolute power was disconcerting, making Flora realize just how vulnerable she was. If he’d wanted to, he could have done almost anything to her—forced her to marry him, ravaged her, imprisoned her—and no one would have lifted a finger. It took a strong man to hold such power, know when to wield it, and do so nobly and with honor.

  She didn’t think he’d noticed her standing atop the forestairs, but as soon as the men had dispersed, he pinned her with his gaze. Heated awareness rippled through her, and then a deluge of powerful emotion and all that had happened that night came back to her in full force. She could remember everything.

  The first glimpse of him on the beach. The surge of hope that had given her strength to keep fighting as water poured into the skiff. Watching him swim toward her, the powerful strokes cutting across the heavy current. Knowing how hard he’d fought to reach her in time. Hearing his voice. The steady, soothing tones that had staved off panic as the boat finally succumbed to the waves and tried to take her with it. The comfort of knowing that he was out there as the water dragged her under. Holding on to the image of his face before blackness overtook her.

  She remembered everything.

  The raw intensity of his kiss when he’d pulled her from her watery death. How she’d felt in his arms. How safe. How protected. How right.

  And then later, waking to find him beside her. The gentle warmth that seemed a balm to her soul. Reaching for him. The erotic sensation of his naked body molded to hers. His hands on her skin. Her breasts pressed against his chest. His powerful, muscular legs entwined with hers.

  He’s a very virile man. Seonaid’s words rang in her head like a taunt. Yes. She’d felt evidence of that snuggled up against her. He wanted her. Yet from his leman’s words, Flora gleaned that he hadn’t been visiting Seonaid. The relief she felt upon learning that told her much. But how much longer would he wait?