Her Enemy Highlander

by Nicole Locke

  If she demanded again for him to take her, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

  So he was foolish. Rushing the journey and risking their lives. He knew there would be shallower sections of the flood. Unfortunately, the water covered most of the landmarks, and Caird could only guess this section would provide a safer passage. His guessing was only another risk.

  ‘There’s too much water here,’ Mairead said.

  ‘Didn’t you come across some when you came to the inn?’

  ‘Nothing like this and there was a bridge of sorts. This water here’s too high.’

  ‘We won’t go around it,’ he answered.

  ‘Do you mean to do this?’ she asked, a tension in her voice. He had never heard such a tone before. She was more than worried. She was terrified.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘There’s a dead deer over there!’

  The dark clouds overhead had left the deer in shadows. Still, she had seen it, bloated, its head buried in the turgid water.

  ‘Wouldn’t happen to us.’ There was no hope for her fear.

  He pulled the reins to the left and the horse shied before Caird had him going forward again.

  Crossing here would work. In truth, the river was better with broken banks. The water slowed as it spread shallowly over the land. It would give the horse time to become used to the water.

  ‘It’s nae more than five men’s length of swimming,’ he added, to quell her fear. He knew it was a paltry comfort. Five men’s length of swimming, aye, but he had a sick horse, Mairead with a hurt ankle and he with sore ribs he’d hastily rewrapped. ‘You can ride the horse.’

  She stopped walking, forcing him to look at her. He’d avoided looking directly at her since they’d woken.

  ‘Can it carry me?’ she asked.

  He nodded. Another guess, but there was no choice. With Mairead on the horse, she would make it across. If they started to go down, if the water got too deep, he would simply let go. The only loss would be him.

  And the jewel. But maybe that wouldn’t be such a loss. It could go back to being a legend, become a beacon of hope again. Better a legend than to be captured by the English. To be used—

  No. He wasn’t thinking rationally. He needed the journey to end, the mystery of the jewel to be solved.

  When they had got as close as they could, he halted the horse near a boulder for Mairead to use to mount. The boulder was wet and slick with lichen. He would have to help her.

  She quietly approached him and he chanced a look at her. It wasn’t her fear keeping her quiet. There was a light in her eyes.

  ‘You’re looking forward to this?’ he said, unable to hold the words back.

  She shrugged and took his hand. ‘What if I am? I’m almost home.’

  ‘Can you swim?’ He lifted her until she was mounted. Only when she’d settled, did he let go of her hand.

  Her mouth curved, not out of embarrassment, but out of daring. ‘You care for my safety?’

  He ignored her and tied his cloak and the pouch carrying the dagger and jewel to the horse. She watched him, but he did not raise his eyes to her. At least now, if he did drown, the jewel would not be lost.

  Adjusting the damp hem of her gown, she asked, ‘I know you would not go to all this trouble to be rid of me here.’

  He frowned, unable to answer her. She confused him. She was scared, couldn’t swim and she now teased him? What questions and conclusions had she reached while they walked?

  Certainly different conclusions than his own, which had seized on only one emotion since yesterday: desire. Even now, when they could drown, he wanted her. He craved to just touch her hand again.

  Refusing to answer her, he looked the horse in the eye. Gently, but steadily he brought it to the water’s edge. He was in control now.

  ‘Would you, Colquhoun?’ she demanded of him.

  He glanced heavenward for patience. The cloud cover made it darker than usual for late afternoon. It would rain and soon. The water would only get deeper.

  ‘Brace yourself,’ he ordered, leaning forward. The water was cold, unforgiving, stronger than he was expecting, but no deterrent. He kept moving steadily forward. The horse trusted him and did not shy.

  ‘What for?’ she called out.

  Exasperating female.

  When he felt the sharp incline, he widened his stance as water rushed over his chest. Despite her bold words, he saw her tighten her grip on the saddle.

  Wrapping the reins tighter around his wrist, he pushed away and stroked hard to get the horse off the bank. Immediately, water battered them, hard, fast. He lost direction more than once, but he kept his focus on the far bank. The horse jerked, pulling him under, but he couldn’t look back; his entire being was focused on getting them to the other side.

  They were close.

  He felt a sharp pain as his shin smacked against a boulder; he tugged to the left to get the horse around it. He pulled again, the leather biting into his hand and wrist just as the horse found purchase. Trying to avoid getting trampled, he loosened the reins to increase the space between them. They were safe.

  And then Mairead disappeared.

  Just as he turned around, he saw a slender foot as she upended into the water. Never taking his eyes from her, he tugged at the reins wrapped around his wrist, but the wet leather wouldn’t give.

  She slipped further away, the weight of her gown pulling her under. Furiously he fought the reins that cut deep into his bleeding wrist until he was free. Slapping the horse to the shore, he dived.

  Nothing.

  Coming up for air, he saw her head bobbing up. She was sputtering, fighting the water and already out of his reach. The fierce current would keep them apart. He’d never catch her this way because there was no log or branch to find purchase and bridge the gap.

  His heart lurched as she went under again.

  Swimming to the shore, he ran along the broken bank. The water slowed him, but he began to gain ground, overtaking her until he pushed into the deep water again.

  Closer!

  He stretched his strokes towards her. Her hands reached for his, the erratic current twisting them away until he caught her and pulled her closer to him.

  ‘Kick!’ he ordered as he dragged her to shore.

  Finally, land beneath his feet, water becoming shallow. When he could, he let go of her and fell on his back. She flopped down next to him.

  Searing pain in his side restricted his breathing. His ribs weren’t broken, or he’d be dead. He was very much alive and his body made certain he knew it.

  He felt throbbing in his leg from the boulder and hundreds of abrasions stinging across his skin. Roaring in his ears; lungs desperately filling loudly with air. His heart not quite comprehending, thundering in his chest. Alive.

  The water had been like ice shards battering him. His push off the bank, his faltering, knowing too late he entered deep waters. His ribs, loosely re-bandaged, restricting movement. The strong water sweeping his bandages away.

  Then making it to the bank, the flutter of relief, only to turn and see Mairead disappear. Swallowed by the same water that had tried to seize his life.

  But he had reached her, pulled her here. They were alive.

  His heart comprehended, eased and then he heard it. Laughter. Sputtering, choking gasps. Great bursts of unbridled sound.

  Mairead in shock.

  His tunic twisted as he rolled on to his side. Mairead lay next to him with clenched eyes, and skin mottled from cold and lack of air. Her sodden hair clung to her cheeks and forehead.

  When she opened her eyes, he saw that recklessness, excitement and laughter all danced inside her.

  ‘Oh, you almost killed me!’ she gasped between her lost breaths.

  He knew o
ther emotions tainted her laughter: hysteria, fear, the same incomprehension he felt that they were alive. But she laughed and it was lightning to him. Alive.

  He raised himself up and placed his head on his bent arm.

  Her tight yellow gown, now sodden and torn, threatened to burst. The bright fabric outlined her body’s peaks and shadows, and exposed every facet of her ample yet petite frame.

  Her right arm was carelessly thrown above her head, her left lay by her side and near his. He didn’t need his hands to know where her breasts swelled, her stomach curved or her legs dipped. He hungrily saw it all.

  A question entered her eyes. ‘You had the dagger.’

  The dagger, inside the pouch and strapped to the horse along with his cloak, was now further up the shore. Not here, poised on a cliff as he knew he was.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, peering into the chasm of her eyes. He felt suspended as if his feet had already stepped off the edge and his mind hadn’t caught up.

  She stopped laughing, her dancing eyes watching him.

  ‘Have you come to harm?’ he asked, anticipation lacing his words.

  Tangled in her gown, her legs were unknowingly open, bent by a resting knee. He knew exactly where her right ankle was, how he could wrap his hand around the slender bone to gently lift and place it across his hip.

  Her eyes darted aside, running an internal inventory as she stretched her legs, her arms, unconsciously bowing and arching her body.

  ‘Aye or nae, Mairead.’ His voice was urgent. He was going to jump off the cliff and it was imperative he take her with him.

  She shook her head, the wet tendrils sliding across her now pale cheeks. Her skin was no longer mottled, but warming with the air she breathed. Very much alive.

  ‘I doona think so,’ she answered.

  Moving closer, he hovered over her left hand resting beside him, and eased himself until he was acutely, agonisingly, aware of where it touched. As she curled her fingers into the earth, his mind went blank as he imagined her palm raised up instead of down.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her eyes darkening with comprehension despite her words.

  ‘I’m taking.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Caird’s eyelashes, spiked from water, framed eyes swirling grey, then green. Eyes darkening with conflicting emotions far more dangerous than the flood. Then Mairead saw nothing as his mouth took hers.

  Before, his kisses had coaxed and teased, delighted in the feel of her being with him. Even as his hands firmly caressed with need, he had only given a gentle pressure of his mouth, a faint touch of his tongue.

  Now Caird’s mouth was pitiless against hers. Taking only, seizing her lips without asking for any response from her. Kisses punishing every word and deed since that night at the inn.

  Her sodden gown chafed and abraded. Soil and pebbles prickled against her skin bared from rents in her clothes. Freezing rivulets of water pained as they flowed across her cheeks, her neck and cut down her body. She was cold to her very bones.

  Yet she also felt the saturating heat of Caird’s body, the warmth of his breath and his hands tracing along her cheeks. Heated flurries from his calloused fingers roamed up and over her ears, down the sides of her neck and back again.

  Furious kisses, tender touches.

  His lips, wet from the water, slanted over hers and conquered with every touch. Kisses tasting of water, salt, sand. Tasting of him.

  Her body did the only thing it could: respond.

  Her gown, shrunken tight across her back, bound her arms. She could only caress along his shoulders, to the tops of his arms, but her hands flowed along every indent and cord she could reach, every sinew of muscle and bared skin.

  Under the weight of her heavy gown and the press of his legs locked rigid with control, she restlessly moved her hips.

  But she wanted more and could find no purchase. She was confined and restricted by her gown, and that hurt more than his kisses.

  A sound emitted from deep inside his chest, a conflicting growl of anger and approval.

  He raised his head and her eyes opened to find him watching her. A flare in those grey-green eyes framed by black. More heat. More cold, as his long darkened hair dripped icy water to her chest. Brow furrowed, breath deepening from need, he whispered, ‘Ah, Mairead, your response.’

  ‘Now, Colquhoun?’ she asked. ‘Now will you—?’

  ‘Do you want me still?’ he whispered and his lips hovered across her cheeks, and along the delicate shell of her ears.

  She gave the only answer she wanted. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Then your clothes,’ he murmured as his fingers trailed along her bared left arm, the sleeve claimed by the flood, ‘they need to be removed.’

  His fingers continued, further up, gentle caresses seeking and finding the slash across her chest, moving with such surety until her covered nipples ached.

  His mouth returned to hers, his tongue tracing, tiny bites beginning and ending along her lower lip. She gasped at the sharpness felt there and instantly between her legs.

  His hands moved across her body, gripping the fabric and trying to move it. His lips and tongue demanding her response, secure in the knowledge he would receive it.

  She wanted to give, tried to reach more of him, barely registering the sound of tearing fabric before she could reach no more. He pulled away, even as her fingers sunk deep to keep him close.

  ‘Your clothes!’ he cursed. Releasing her hands, he kneeled. His frown was fierce as he fisted her heavy gown, lifting and dropping the fabric pinning her body down. The mist surrounded him, surrounded her like a cold heavy blanket. The air was becoming difficult to breathe with the storm waiting above.

  She rose to lean back on her hands.

  His eyes searched hers then searched her clothing, looking for an opening through the too-heavy fabric. His white tunic was transparent and stretched; his breeches ripped from the crossing. But his countenance was just as stretched, just as ragged as his clothing, when he gazed at the apex of her thighs. Her gown left no detail unveiled, and her legs were opened causing a sharp dip of fabric.

  She ached as he looked, and as his eyes burned heat, she ached more.

  Against her bared skin, drops of rain fell from above, tiny pinpoints, warmer than the river, hotter than her icy gown.

  Caird cursed; his eyes were wild and unwavering.

  More drops of rain, and Caird hurriedly pushed the hem of her gown above her legs to her waist and pulled her on to his lap. The fabric surrounded them, but bared her underneath, where neither of them could see, but she could feel.

  Ah, how she felt as Caird’s thighs parted her own, and pressed against her. As his hands, supporting her waist, pulled her closer. As she felt what he couldn’t hide pressed within the stretch of his breeches. She leaned further into him and gasped.

  At her sound his head lowered, his fingers kneaded, his eyes locked between their bodies, as if he coveted to see what she could feel.

  Only knowing she needed more, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled closer. ‘Oh!’

  His head jerked up to watch her response. ‘Mairead?’ His eyes were swirling chips of need.

  Rain fell, stinging her eyes, blurring her vision, making her colder still. She didn’t care. She couldn’t keep her breath; her body urged her to move again and she did.

  His cheekbones sharpened as he pulsed against her. Taking in her every response, he seemed relieved, seemed agonised. ‘Not alone on the cliff,’ she thought he murmured.

  Her breasts pressed against him, her arms stretched above his head. Shifting his thighs beneath her, he clenched her gown, her hips, her bottom, supported her as he now purposely moved her body against his.

  His eyes watched hers. Again and again he rocked her and pressure
built. Not enough.

  ‘Your arms,’ he urged. ‘Raise your arms. Clutch my shoulders, pull yourself up. That’s it.’

  When she tilted forward, his fingers flexed as he pushed her down against him. ‘What is—?’ she gasped.

  Pelting rain drowning out their sounds, their breaths. Smatterings of Caird’s words. Cruel rain falling harder, trying to separate them. Caird holding ever tighter to her gown at her hips, keeping her pinned to him, refusing to let the rain win. She could feel his shudders, his need, flexing against her, her own clenching response.

  ‘Mairead, let go,’ he pleaded as his eyes demanded.

  He lifted her again, tilted, pressed her over him. She shuddered, feeling it, knowing she was almost where he wanted her to go. Her grip on his shoulders loosening, her arms and legs floating, as everything within her tightened. Rain now lashing against her back. His hot grip flexing, again, pressing, again, closer, again. There.

  ‘Caird!’ she said, using his name, as she released against him. Over and over, as the rain drove down.

  He pulled away to release his breeches, to end his need.

  Then the flood that had almost drowned them fell from the sky.

  Caird clutched her against him, and kissed her unremittingly. But the rain insisted. Frustration built, as need was denied. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Caird yelling at her, but she couldn’t understand, her hearing and her body no longer her own.

  More words from Caird. One word breaking through: shelter.

  Caird grabbed her hand and gathered the horse. Her gown impeded every step; she couldn’t find her balance. She was hot from his touch, cold from the rain.

  Pulling her closer, he protected her from the worst of the wind. She tried to match his steady pace, knowing he wouldn’t be looking at her, that his determination was moving them forward until there was a solution. But she struggled with her clothes, with her hair, with the droplets sliding off her nose.

  His long strides were defiant against the nature trying to break him. The elements battered against him, but like a mountain, he came to no harm.