Her Enemy Highlander

by Nicole Locke

  Her effort not to look at Caird worked, but she didn’t miss the sound he made as she tucked her arm around Hamilton’s neck when he lifted her.

  When Hamilton returned her, the camp was settling down for the night. Malcolm was dampening the flames and Caird, his movements hampered, was patting his horse.

  He had risked his life when he pursued her into the woods. But why? He said she was necessary, but necessary for what?

  She was not surprised to see his pouch tied loosely to his belt again. Anyone as overbearing as Caird wouldn’t be careless with such a valuable. Yet even so, he seemed obsessive about the dagger and gem.

  He was also adamant to obtain his answers. Since he didn’t believe she was the dagger’s owner that meant all he had to do was catch the thief.

  There was no reason for him to keep her. There had to be something more here.

  Weary at her curiosity, she started to lay down on the blankets they had provided for her.

  ‘Move over.’

  Startled, she looked up. Caird stood over her, his eyes unreadable.

  She glanced at the others, already arranging their sacks and blankets to sleep. If they slept away from her, so could he.

  ‘Go away,’ she hissed, arranging herself more fully in the middle.

  ‘You’re on my blankets.’

  They were given to her and she didn’t feel like giving them up.

  ‘Are we talking?’ she whispered. ‘Because I can’t pretend to be your whore if you doona pretend to worry about me.’

  ‘Done pretending.’ He grunted. ‘Move over.’

  She was comfortable, but it was more than that. She didn’t want to cede any more to him. ‘Nae.’

  He crouched low, his back straight. This close, she could feel the heat of him, feel the strength of his will to make her move.

  ‘Do you want my touch?’ he whispered. ‘I’m a large man and those are my blankets.’

  Out of stubbornness, she thought about moving, but she didn’t want to sleep on the damp ground.

  Her face flushed with annoyance, but she sat up and made space for him.

  With a grunt, he settled beside her, but did not lie down. Instead, he propped himself against the padded log, and adjusted the pouch to his side. There was no sound of coins, and she wondered if they were removed because the weight hurt his ribs.

  He moved again and stretched his legs out before him, but he did not touch her. In fact, with his arms crossed, he looked as if he made an effort not to touch her.

  Bristling, she plucked at her gown. Apparently it was true when he had said he could barely touch her without feeling the need to wash. His words hadn’t been forgotten. Hurting still because of the words, and chiding herself because she wondered if his ribs pained him, she vowed to do everything she could to ignore him.

  Unfortunately, her vow didn’t stop her ears from hearing his body shift, or the hitch to his breath. She couldn’t deny it, even with his cruelty to her, his pain...affected her. She had lied to Camron when she answered that Caird was nothing more than a friend to her.

  He was more than that; from that first kiss she knew he was more. It was the way, despite everything, she continued to respond to him. Even more, it was that she knew he was generous and kind. He had shown her that at the inn before they’d known their clans.

  Whatever it was about him, she was beginning to feel as tightly bound to him as the linen. It shouldn’t be this way. Was it her grief making her seek and want Caird? She had more than enough to worry about. She shouldn’t be curious about the Colquhoun, she should only be angry at him.

  ‘You shouldn’t encourage my cousin,’ he said.

  Caird’s eyes were closed, his manner appeared nonchalant but she felt the tension in him.

  She stopped arranging her gown. ‘I encourage nothing.’

  He grunted.

  Did he intend to humiliate her? ‘I needed to relieve myself,’ she added.

  He adjusted his back and settled into the thicker blanket. ‘If you plan to sow dissension, it will not work.’

  ‘It shouldn’t matter if Hamilton helps me. I thought we were done pretending,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Aye,’ he replied after a while.

  ‘Then how are we to proceed?’ She lay down.

  He didn’t answer and she looked to him. His frown had deepened.

  Exasperated, she adjusted herself until she was comfortable. She was done with her curiosity, done with being worried by his broken breathing, done with this confusion. She just had to wait for a distraction, steal the dagger and be free of them.

  ‘Doesn’t matter how we go on,’ Caird whispered so softly, she wondered if he meant to say the words out loud. ‘I will have my answers.’

  When she felt Caird’s eyes on her, expecting her to reply, she turned her back.

  * * *

  It was almost morning when Malcolm motioned Caird to follow him to the stream. Caird wanted to begin this conversation earlier, but Mairead’s sleep was restless. He knew he could not leave her when there was a chance for her to wake again.

  It couldn’t be because in her sleep, she had turned and faced him.

  Her hair spilled wildly against the blanket. He knew she was just as tempestuous, just as unpredictable.

  Just as scheming. Before he’d sat next to her, he sensed she’d been planning something because she kept looking at them, and at their supplies. For a Buchanan, she wasn’t good at hiding her emotions. For he also perceived her frustration.

  When he sat down, he wanted to question her, but by then he was next to her, felt her ire, smelled her hair and he could only think of Hamilton carrying her to the woods, and how her arms wrapped around his neck. How he wanted it to be him instead.

  Sighing, he rose to join his brother. It wasn’t the lack of sleep causing his sudden tiredness or his unknown emotions about Mairead, it was the responsibility he faced right now.

  Quietly, they walked away from the camp and stopped short of the stream so the ground remained firm under their feet.

  ‘So she fled...’ Malcolm started. His brother knew his horse better than Camron and Hamilton. ‘Why?’

  ‘I doona know,’ Caird answered.

  ‘She had the dagger.’

  Caird lowered his voice. ‘Nae.’

  Malcolm remained silent.

  He was glad the ground below him was firm because he knew the conversation would soon not be. ‘She was escaping, but I think not with any intent.’

  ‘I’m not following this conversation.’

  Caird shifted his stance to relieve the pain in his ribs. ‘She had woken, but wasn’t awake. May not have even thought of why she was running.’

  ‘Angry or scared?’

  ‘Both.’ He thought of the emotions on her face. ‘But there was something more there.’

  ‘This isn’t like you. Wondering about a woman’s emotions. It isn’t like you to travel with anyone only to ignore them. And you are ignoring her despite sleeping next to her. Who is she?’

  Caird walked further down the stream. He knew he was supposed to make an effort at pretending to be her lover, but the farce was too heavy even for his broad shoulders.

  He was the middle brother, and the responsible one. Bram was the laird, and a fair one at that, but Bram always served his own interests and pleasures first. Malcolm being the youngest would never know clan responsibility.

  Caird was the dependable one. His silence was just part of that control. He carried the authority needed to rule the clan. He did not pretend anything, let alone affection.

  He stopped just short of the damp earth around the stream. In this dim light, he’d likely get his boots wet. He wished he knew how to navigate the conversation. ‘Mairead is who I told you she was.’ he star
ted. ‘She came to my room trying to find the dagger.’

  Malcolm quickened his steps until he stood in front of Caird. ‘Aye, well, but who is she? What is she in all this?’

  The sun was rising. Shafts of grey light were beginning to reflect off the water, but the sun’s light did not reach his brother’s face. Caird minded the darkness now. What he was about to say would hurt his brother. The least he could do was look him in the eye.

  ‘Mairead,’ Caird paused, ‘and her clan is Buchanan.’

  He did not need the light to see his brother gutted by his words. Malcolm’s startled movement was enough to know that as sharp as a sword, his words struck deep.

  Malcolm took a step closer, tension in every movement, his voice tight. ‘I doona believe you.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  Malcolm cursed. ‘If you were not weakened, you’d feel the brunt of my fist.’

  ‘For once, I’m glad of my injury.’

  ‘This is not humorous. I could kill you.’

  Malcolm swivelled around and picked up a broken branch. Swinging wide, he struck it against a tree. The crack shook the leaves above and echoed across the stream. No doubt it woke the others as well. Caird hoped they would stay away.

  Malcolm kept his voice low, but each word was guttural with anger. ‘A damn lying Buchanan. Deceitful, untrustworthy baseborn—’ He pulled himself up. ‘You bedded her.’

  ‘Nae.’

  ‘She is comely. You were drunk. She was in your room all night. You’re telling me you did not want her?’

  Caird paused. He wanted her. Desired her as he hadn’t any other woman. He had been drunk, but his vision wasn’t blurred. She had been conjured from his very dreams. Her impossibly wild curly hair, the width of her hips, the feel of her thighs.

  His body still wanted her, even when he knew she was a Buchanan.

  Despite her lies, despite her scheming, even now his body didn’t care.

  The ride from the inn had been torture. Her bottom between his thighs. The curve of her stomach and breasts touching his arms with every breath she took. He was hard with the remembering.

  His injury be damned. If Malcolm knew the truth of how he felt, he would feel his brother’s fist.

  ‘I did not lie with her. There was the scuffle and my head hurt afterwards.’

  ‘Hell,’ Malcolm scoffed, unbelieving. ‘You and your ale. Just a few drops and your controlled silence disappears. You probably talked her to sleep.’ He looked at him squarely, his tone changed. ‘When did you know?’

  Mairead’s surprise at his hair colouring, her eyes widening with understanding that they were enemies. ‘Before the jewel was discovered.’

  ‘Still you didn’t tell me. This is not a secret you should have kept,’ Malcolm said. ‘It would have changed everything we did since the inn.’

  ‘I couldn’t have that.’

  ‘Couldn’t have! You are my brother, but you are not my laird. You best of all know my hatred of Buchanans. All Buchanans. I can never forgive any of them for what happened.’

  As if he could. Caird cursed, and his anger rose. He had not told his brother for good reason. ‘I am using my head, not my emotions.’

  ‘Are you? Is that what you call it now?’

  ‘Careful, Brother.’

  ‘You have betrayed me and our clan.’

  Caird changed his stance, but it was enough to stop Malcolm. He knew this would be difficult for his brother, but he would not take insults against his honour.

  ‘The true danger is the jewel,’ Caird said, ‘not the Buchanan.’

  Exhaling, Malcolm stepped back. ‘Oh, the same Buchanan, who said the dagger was her brother’s? It could not be hers. Since she lies, how is she not a danger?’

  ‘She was surprised the jewel was inside.’

  ‘Of course she was,’ Malcolm said. ‘She’s lying.’

  ‘She is, but about something other than the jewel.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’ Malcolm asked.

  Caird wasn’t certain at all. He couldn’t base anything on his instinct. When it came to her, his instincts were hardly logical.

  Malcolm snorted. ‘Do you believe the dagger holding the Jewel of Kings was her brother’s?’

  ‘Nae. It isn’t possible it’s the Buchanans’.’ Caird started walking again, slowly, not needing the distance, but the distraction this time. ‘But she is a link to the jewel and it’s too powerful not to have answers.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t leave her at the inn?’

  ‘Aye, and until we find the thief or some truths, I cannot be sure of anything.’

  ‘You risk our cousins discovering we travel with a Buchanan. They will not be pleased.’

  ‘Nor will they when I bring her to Graham land.’

  ‘You intend to tell them?’

  Caird shook his head.

  ‘I would have taken the dagger and left the woman.’ Malcolm picked up another stick and swung it absently. ‘You have a lying Buchanan saying a costly dagger is hers. Obviously it isn’t. And you have another liar, who says the dagger is his, but now we aren’t so certain it isn’t.’

  ‘There is more to this than that.’

  ‘Aye, there is. This false love interest you play?’ Malcolm asked. ‘At least I know why you are not convincing.’

  ‘I’ll not be pretending long,’ Caird said. He knew he was unconvincing in his wooing of Mairead.

  ‘For how long?’ Malcolm asked, continuing to swing the branch. ‘Because you are not doing well with it now.’

  ‘When we find the thief, we release the Buchanan.’

  ‘Unless we need both.’

  He hoped not. He could not be with Mairead for longer than was absolutely necessary. Only last night she had been like a wanton angel in his bed, her very flesh burning into him. Despite knowing who she was and the discovery of the jewel, he could not rid himself of the way she felt.

  ‘We do not need Mairead or the thief,’ Caird replied. ‘It is not the thief who controls the dagger. A man like him does not work by himself. We need another.’ He might have been drunk, but there was no doubting Mairead had surprised the man in the hall. That man was a weapon, not a thinker. And a weapon always had someone wielding it. There were more people involved than Mairead and a thief.

  ‘Could she not be in partnership with him?’

  Caird paused. ‘And they had a disagreement?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Caird swallowed the feeling of wrongness. Mairead a partner with the thief? He wanted to swing a branch as his brother had. Instead, he said, ‘It has merit.’

  ‘It could be why she ran. To warn him of our approach.’

  Could it be true? ‘I doona think so,’ he replied.

  His only proof was in that moment before she’d run. One moment she’d been asleep, the next agitated, but her eyes hadn’t held cunning.

  He hadn’t expected the force or accuracy of her kick. Yet, it had been her eyes that stunned him. He understood the look now: a trapped animal. Tortured.

  ‘How would you know?’ Malcolm’s words were tight. ‘You can never trust a Buchanan!’

  His brother was right. She was Buchanan. She called the man they had set loose a thief, but that dagger did not belong to her or her family. Just like all Buchanans, she could not be trusted. The thief could well be her lover.

  ‘Trust will have nae play in this,’ he said, trying to suppress his sudden anger. ‘We still must get to the games. The thief knew we were going to Graham lands, and he could be there even now.’

  Caird inhaled and felt the sharp pain in his side, but the pain was nothing compared to what he was about to do to his brother.

  ‘She will need to ride with you to Graham lands,’ Caird said bluntly.
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  ‘Never!’ Malcolm exclaimed. ‘She rides with us and you want me to hold her? I’m likely to snap her neck. How could you ask this of me?’

  ‘You must. I shouldn’t with my ribs and the Grahams must never know.’

  * * *

  ‘We must never know what?’

  Caird looked over Malcolm’s shoulder as Camron and Hamilton emerged from behind the trees.

  What had they heard? He glanced at Malcolm’s mutinous face before he turned to greet his cousins.

  ‘You look surprised to see us, cousin,’ Camron said. ‘We know things aren’t right. Spooked horse? Tear tracks on her face, and you glaring at her? Who is she to you?’

  Mairead had warned his pretending was no good.

  ‘Will you tell us?’ Hamilton added. ‘She is extremely comely, but a stranger none the less, and we’re thinking she isn’t who you say she is.’

  Malcolm stayed silent, but Caird could feel the anger rolling from him. His brother was carefree, but never careless. What to tell his cousins now? Bringing them into this would make everything more complicated.

  But he was no good at lying and too much was at stake. ‘A Buchanan,’ he ground out.

  Their surprise was greater than their hatred, but only at first.

  The Grahams were renowned for their loyalty. They knew what a Buchanan meant to a Colquhoun. ‘Return her to the inn,’ Camron ordered.

  ‘Nae,’ he answered.

  ‘You cannot possibly,’ Hamilton added, looking at Malcolm, ‘you cannot possibly mean to take her to the celebrations—’

  ‘I doona want her either,’ Malcolm interrupted.

  Now Camron and Hamilton looked even more confused. The Colquhouns never disagreed in front of anyone.

  ‘We’re almost to the keep. We can’t call the games off. They were planned by our clans,’ Hamilton said. ‘Your laird couldn’t hold them, and our clan deserves happiness. They should carry on.’

  Camron crossed his arms. ‘It’s too late to call them off, but just because Colquhouns have some say in the celebrations, I’ll not have them sullied by a Buchanan.’