Highland Temptations Box Set: Books 1-3

by Aileen Adams

  He was adored, that much was clear. Bairns were forgiving creatures. They wished to be loved—more than that, they wished to love.

  And they wished to love him. This was not a matter of their mother and father dying, of being sent somewhere to spend the rest of their lives against their will. It was not the same as when she and Liam had gone to Malcolm.

  Not the same at all.

  15

  “What do ye think?” Drew waited, arms folded over his chest, for his cousin to offer an opinion. Or at least to acknowledge that he’d spoken.

  After enough time had passed without either of them speaking, Rufus glanced up from the saddle he was in the act of rubbing oil into. “What did ye say?”

  Drew blew out a short, frustrated sigh. “Did ye hear a word I said?”

  He attempted to recall, at least, putting his work aside for a moment and furrowing his brow in concentration. “Ye were speaking of the twins. Needing help with them, which we all know.”

  “Aye. You’ve started well.”

  Rufus opened his mouth—then, after a moment, snapped it closed. “I must admit, I remember no more past that point. Forgive me. My mind is in so many places at the moment.”

  “Just one place.” Drew jerked his head toward the main house, clearly visible from the stables.

  “Dinna blame me for it.”

  “I never said I did. I dare say I would be the same.” Though he might at least grant others the courtesy of listening to them when they spoke, especially after the person in question had already stated the importance of what they had to share.

  “I ask myself whether I shall be able to make it through this.” Rufus laughed at himself. “And myself sitting out here, while she is the one in the house, suffering.”

  “It does not seem as though she suffers. I only told myself yesterday that she looks and sounds much better. Innis claims she’s been holding down her meals.” Indeed, it appeared as though the tonic did as the healer promised.

  This was not enough for Rufus. “That does not make her well. Nor does it mean the bairn is well.”

  The way his brow furrowed, the circles beneath his eyes, tore at Drew’s conscience. He had hoped the tonic, and the change in Davina’s condition, might bring his cousin a measure of peace.

  Instead, he now waited for some new calamity to befall them. Drew clapped his shoulder. “Ye must cease tormenting yourself. All will be well.”

  “Would that I had your confidence.” A faint smile played over his lips. “I can rely on ye, at least.”

  “On me?”

  “Aye. We’ve had no further theft on the farm, and I am sure ‘tis in no small part thanks to ye.”

  His stomach turned over in a full flip, sending bile rising in his throat. It was very nearly the worst thing Drew could hear, for the truth was something entirely different while also being somewhat the same. He was to thank for there being no further theft, but not for the reason Rufus believed.

  Which brought him back around to the matter he wished to discuss. “Perhaps ye shall keep that in mind, then, when I tell ye I have brought on a lass to mind the twins on my behalf. Davina will not be able to do it for much longer—not that she can now, which weighs heavily on me.”

  Rufus frowned. “Who is this lass?”

  Another lie. “From Avoch. She lost her parents, and her younger brother went to live with someone elsewhere in the Highlands. She helped raise him, and has a way with young ones. I felt sorry for the lass and offered her the chance for a bit of security here while she does a great favor to me.”

  Would he believe it? Would he demand to speak with the lass? Ask for the names of those who might speak on her behalf? Question her past?

  He had no doubt the lass could lie as quickly and easily as breathing, but this did not mean he longed to witness any such thing.

  He waited, watching, hoping.

  Rufus grinned. “I know better than to question your judgment. Dinna forget to bring her by so we might meet her.”

  It could not be that simple. “Ye dinna mind her living here, on your land?”

  “Not if it means ye can do a better job during the day, and Owen will stay far from the sow and her brood,” Rufus chuckled. “As I say, I trust ye.”

  Which might have been the worst thing he could have said, for his assurance hung heavy on Drew’s conscience through the remainder of the day. No matter what he put his hand to, there was no forgetting Rufus’s easy smile and confident tone. I trust ye.

  By the time he returned to his home, with the sun well on its way to sinking beneath the western horizon, he ached everywhere and was in a shorter temper than usual. If the lass had never ventured over the wall, he would not have to withhold the truth.

  Why had he ever protected her? Now that her brother was no longer his to protect, why not renege on their agreement and turn her over to the law? She deserved it. This was wrong, all wrong, and he would tell her so.

  This was the worst time for the sound of laughter to greet him as he swung open the door. He found Anne on hands and knees, with Moira seated on her back and Owen running about and squealing as they gave chase.

  They did not notice him at first, so involved were they in their play. Moira held great handfuls of Anne’s loose curls, using them as reins to guide her steed about the room.

  “Charge! Charge!” she shouted, bouncing upon Anne’s back, bursting out in shrieks as they galloped to where Owen hid beneath the work table.

  In any other circumstance, on any other day, this might have done his heart good. He might have laughed at the sight, might have watched with a fond eye. He might even have joined in, taking Owen’s part as the lad was outnumbered.

  This evening, he closed the door with a resounding bang. “What is this all about, then?” he asked, looking at each of them in turn.

  Their smiles faded as one.

  Moira scrambled from atop Anne and smoothed down the front of her linen shift. “We were…”

  “I saw what ye were doing,” he snapped. “And did it ever occur to any of ye that I might return home with a terrible head? The last thing a man needs at such a time is screaming and screeching.” He fixed a stern gaze on the twins. “Ye know better.”

  “They are bairns.”

  He turned his head to stare at the young woman who was smoothing back her wild locks and tying them with a ribbon. The defiant tilt of her chin told him she was in no shrinking, demure mood. Then again, when was she ever?

  “Are they, now?” he asked, hands on his hips. “I had only just asked myself why they appeared so much smaller than I. Thank ye for making it clear.”

  She worked her way from her knees to her feet, brushing off the front of her striped skirt with a scowl. “And I had nearly forgotten how short-tempered and ill-mannered ye are.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Not. In front. Of them.”

  She would not be swayed. “Why not? They ought to know by now how ill-mannered their uncle is. How short-tempered. They are bairns behaving as they ought to. There is no call for ye to shout at them or make them sorry for enjoying themselves.”

  Moira tugged at her hand. “Anne? ‘Tis all right. Dinna fight, please.”

  Anne ran a hand over her head, smiling. “Never fear, sweet one.”

  Sweet one? When did this begin? Only two days together and already they were fast friends. Owen, too, had fallen under her spell, going to her and wrapping an arm about her legs.

  “I see,” Drew murmured, looking at this strange scene. “I must wash.”

  Anything to get out of there. Anything to escape the sense of the walls closing in on him. The children were already attached to her. It would be the height of cruelty to send her away now, and he would never be able to look at them again without recalling how he’d sent their beloved Anne to prison.

  Even if it were her fault entirely.

  He ought not have been surprised when the door opened and closed behind him while he marched to the well.

 
“What are ye on about, then?” she hissed, matching him step for step.

  “Lass, if ye have even a shred of wisdom, ye shall stay away from me tonight. I have nothing to say to ye.”

  “This suits me fine, for I dinna wish to hear ye speak. But ye will listen to me, Drew MacIntosh.”

  “Dinna take that tone with me.” He whirled on her, stopping so suddenly she had no choice but to collide with him. Her much smaller, softer body seemed to bounce off his, and she began to fall backward.

  Reflex sent his arms out, hands grasping her waist and pulling her in. He merely intended to steady her, but he had not expected to enjoy the feeling of her beneath the layers of linen. Warm, firm, full.

  She flung his hands away. “Dinna touch me.”

  He ought to have known better than to imagine she would thank him for keeping her on her feet. “I was merely trying to keep ye from hitting the ground. I will not make the same mistake again.” He continued to the well, finding his way through the dark. It fell quickly at this time of year.

  “Those twins love ye,” she uttered as she continued to follow. What did he have to do to be free of her?

  “What of it?” He reached the crank and started to turn it, raising the dripping bucket. “I know they do.”

  “Why do ye speak to them so?”

  “Because I happen to be in an ill temper.”

  “When are ye not?”

  He hauled the bucket in and for a moment contemplated tossing its contents over her. He then imagined the satisfaction of throwing her bodily into the well and leaving her. Anything for a moment’s peace.

  “As it so happens, I was generally in a fine mood before I met ye. Ask anyone.”

  “That must be the reason behind your reputation as a fighter.”

  “One has nothing to do with the other.”

  “I believe ye forget yourself. Ye forget those bairns are not an enemy to fight.”

  His blood began to boil, and it was a wonder the water into which he plunged his hands did not steam. “’Tis ye who forgets herself, lass. Ye might be more mindful of the reason ye are here and not in prison.”

  In the low light of the fire inside the house, glowing through the window at Anne’s back, he saw the way she threw her hands into the air.

  “If this is the answer I will receive every time I remind ye of what a fool ye are, I dinna know why I waste my time.”

  “For once, we agree on something.” He splashed water on his face, glad for the chance to cool himself off. “Ye are wasting yer time.”

  When he started back to the house, she stepped in front of him. “Wait. Please. Allow me to speak.”

  “What have ye been doing thus far that makes my ears ring so?”

  “I shall make your ears ring. Ye might be able to avail yourself in a tavern, but I know how to fight as well.” She raised a fist, shaking it in his face. “Dinna test me.”

  This was growing more tiresome by the moment, and his stomach was a great, empty cavern which he wished to fill. “What is it, then? I am hungry and have worked hard today.”

  She let out a long breath. “Ye are too hard on them. I will not stand by and listen as ye shout at them for being nothing but young, healthy, happy children. They love ye, though I must say I canna understand why. They do not deserve the sharp side of your tongue whenever ye feel the desire to menace someone.”

  “Menace?” he snorted.

  “Aye. That is what I said. Ye are a menace when ye desire to be so, and they dinna deserve to be menaced. While they love ye now, there is a limit to such love. Love can turn to fear very easily, Drew MacIntosh, and it does not turn back to love no matter how a person strives to make it so. Even if it does, the love will not be the same.” She pointed to the house, jabbing her finger through the chill air. “They will not be the same.”

  He was uncertain what moved him more, her words, or the emotion behind them. Her voice shook, as did her entire body.

  The truth in them took his breath away. He did not wish to drive Owen or Moira from him, not when he loved them so dearly. “I—I dinna know—” he stammered, every ounce of fight drained from him in the face of this grand truth.

  He had never seen it that way. Now, he would never see it any other way.

  “Ye dinna know how to raise them,” she finished on his behalf. “I dinna think anyone does. Rufus will not when his time comes. But ye cannot bellow at the wee things when ye are tired or angry with me. And taking it back or asking their forgiveness will only work for so long a time, as I said. Ye must not allow them to grow in a house with such anger, never knowing what to expect from ye. Would ye wish for them to grow into frightened, wide-eyed things afraid to even speak to ye?”

  This brought to mind Liam, his wide-eyed, frightened manner. “Is that what happened to ye, then?” he dared ask.

  She did not throw his words back at him or speak sharply, for once. “Aye. To Liam, mostly. I watched him turn from a bright-eyed, eager, winning thing to a lad who would bite the finger from anyone who laid a hand on him, but should that hand be raised before him as if to strike, he flinches to protect himself from the blow he believes is soon to come.”

  “Because he has been struck so many times.”

  “’Tis not only hands and fists, but voices. Shouts, sharp words, they have worn him down. I would not wish to see it happen to them.” She passed a hand beneath her eyes, where he imagined tears had begun to flow. Darkness concealed them, but given the emotion in her voice, he would have been greatly surprised at their absence.

  He held his arms out to the sides, shrugging helplessly. “I understand, lass. I have no argument to offer, perhaps for the first time in my life. I vow to take this most seriously. I dinna wish to bring them any harm.”

  “If ye are angry, take it out on me if ye must. But not on them.”

  He snickered at this. “I dinna think I shall have trouble with that.”

  16

  “Anne?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “How long will ye be with us?”

  Anne pulled herself from her thoughts of Liam—worries, really, more than thoughts, that Malcolm was not mistreating him. She shut her eyes tightly to keep tears from forming, then opened them, and frowned up at the sky, lying on her back as Moira was. They were side-by-side, staring up at the clouds, deciding what each one looked like while Owen conducted pretend swordfights with a thin stick not far off.

  Even at such a tender age, he wished to be a soldier. Like as not he’d witnessed Rufus’s men practicing their sword skill in the clearing near the main house, which she had spied while on a walk with the twins.

  A walk which served more than simply passing time. She needed to have a sense of the space in which she was captive—for that was what she was, and nothing less—if she had any hope of escape.

  There would be no trouble getting over the back wall again, and good thing. A pair of hands had repaired the broken section the day before, but even if she had to wait until the mortar hardened it would be nothing more than a matter of finding something on which to boost herself. The wall was not so short back there, likely because there was not normally anyone living so near it and as such the eastern-facing border required greater protection from thieves.

  Such as herself.

  She might bring a chair out from the house and use it to climb over. After that, it would be nothing more than tracing her path and escaping. Simple, really.

  Until Moira asked such a question and caused an invisible hand to squeeze her heart.

  It would be important to choose her words carefully. “I canna say, dear. As long as I can stay.”

  “How long is that?”

  “I am uncertain. I would like to stay with ye forever, but we canna always do what we wish to do.” She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. They reclined on her cloak, spread out along the sparse grass. The chill as of late had already begun to kill what was once green.

  “Why can ye not stay?” Mo
ira twirled a birch leaf between two fingers. “We have ever such nice times together, do we not?”

  “That we do,” Anne agreed, smiling fondly at the lass.

  “Is there someone else ye love, somewhere else?” Moira’s wide, child’s eyes stared up into hers without artifice, without anything but utter honesty and trust. “Is that it? There are other little boys and girls you love better?”

  “Och, nay, my dearest.” Anne pressed her lips to the child’s forehead. “Not at all. I dinna believe your cousin Rufus would wish to have me live here for always—nor would Uncle Drew. Besides, I canna always sleep on the floor of your bedchamber. Ye will grow older and not wish to have me there always.”

  “That isn’t true!” Moira exclaimed, aghast at the very thought.

  “Och, but I believe it is. Ye shall understand better when ye are a bit older, I promise.”

  “That is what everyone says,” the child sighed.

  “I remember how I hated hearing that when I was a wee thing.”

  Owen’s shrill voice echoed through the air. “Anne! Anne!”

  She sat upright, her head turning this way and that. He was running to them, having dropped the makeshift sword. From the look on the lad’s face, one would think the devil himself was on his way.

  Not the devil. A stranger, but a female one. Bonny, with a dark complexion than Anne’s and thick, rich, lustrous hair which appeared black beneath a hooded cloak.

  Anne stood, gathering the twins behind her. “Who are ye?” she asked, loud and strong. “What brings ye here?”

  The stranger stopped short, eyes going round. “I mean you no harm.” Her voice was like music.

  “Who are ye?” Anne demanded nonetheless. Even a lovely stranger could bring great harm. She was moments from sending the twins into the house and charging at the lass.

  “My name is Shana Blackheath, and I am a friend of Drew and Davina. My husband is William Blackheath, head of the guard of Laird Richard Munro. Drew sent me back to meet the bairns, and yourself.”