Secrets of a Highland Warrior

by Nicole Locke

  She was his wife. His future uncertain, but this...?

  Since he arrived the division between clans made a division within himself. From one moment to the next his thoughts and actions changed, but since the courtyard Ailsa had been a constant.

  Impossible possibilities here, but she, somehow, was a certainty within him.

  Something righted itself inside him as the full resolution of his wants became clear. He wanted this wife. With a marriage not forced on him and one not full of secrets and accusations. But he’d hurt her—maybe now he needed to make some amends. Not everything, but a compromise so that there could be some peace between them.

  ‘I could help you,’ he offered.

  Ailsa tied a scroll and picked up another one. ‘You’d get in the way.’

  True. He didn’t like it though. ‘I could organise—’

  ‘Haven’t you done enough, Lochmore? You need to leave.’

  Rory stepped over the paper and watched Ailsa tense. He hated his large and clumsy body in places like these. When he reached the other side, he leaned against the wall. She kept her head down, her shoulders hunched. Did she think he’d harm her?

  ‘I did meet with your father.’

  Ailsa hesitated, before she shuffled more papers.

  ‘I know of the divide now.’

  Ailsa’s head snapped up. ‘Divide?’

  She had to know. ‘Between Hamish and your father.’

  She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened again. ‘You guessed.’

  ‘He told me...but it wouldn’t be hard to guess. My family has had dealings with Hamish. He’s never been the type to allow Lochmores free rein on his land and invite them to dine.’

  ‘Or offer the Tanist’s daughter for marriage?’

  He looked at her pointedly. ‘Oh, he would, if it meant getting the Tanist’s only issue out of the way. How long have you known?’

  ‘Their differences? All my life. As to the marriage, you were there when I first knew of that.’

  ‘You’re a terrible liar.’

  She jerked. ‘Me a liar? You’re the one who gave his vows before God and then didn’t keep them.’

  A stillness overcame him. An understanding. ‘You’re afraid. Why?’

  Startled green eyes met his before she looked away again. ‘What would I have to be afraid of?’

  ‘You’re not merely here for the cure, you’re here to discover the poisoner. The documents aren’t only on healing tinctures.’

  Her eyes swept the room and the sudden tension left her body. It immediately alerted him. She was a terrible liar, but now he wondered if he had truly discovered the lie. It was his turn to search the room, but he could think of no other reason for her presence here. Why she looked at lineage documents as well as healers’ recipes.

  ‘You understand the difficulty of it,’ he said. ‘Who would want to murder a Lochmore and a McCrieff?’

  ‘I’m here for exactly what I said I was...to find the cure and I’m also organising the room. And if you are thinking of blaming my father, you met with him today. You know what kind of man he is.’

  ‘I know what kind of man he is and I can’t rule him out. He has reason to kill Hamish.’

  ‘My father is loyal and wouldn’t harm his Chief!’

  ‘Despite their differences?’ he asked.

  ‘They’ve always differed in opinions.’

  ‘And always differed in power. But your father has some now.’

  ‘Killing Hamish wouldn’t serve the clan, nor would harming the Lochmores.’

  ‘Harming the Lochmores would always serve the McCrieffs.’

  ‘Not with our marriage, which was suggested by a McCrieff. My father will not harm you or yours.’

  His wife was as direct as always. The room was cold, the wall damp and the stone he stood on was unforgiving. She’d been toiling here for hours. For him, for them or for her own interests? A wife he wanted, but could he chance his clan, his future with her?

  ‘I won’t harm you either, Ailsa.’

  ‘Why are you talking of this with me?’ she asked.

  He sank a bit further on the wall, crossed his arms. ‘You don’t need to be afraid of me.’

  She dropped the parchment in her hand and rested her hands on her bent knees. Like this she was so much smaller than he and almost fragile looking. But her gaze held his and he knew the falsity of that impression. His wife held unimaginable strength. After all, she had brandished shears at him.

  ‘I think your family have underestimated you as well,’ he said. ‘I think your father has also tried to protect you.’

  ‘Shouldn’t all fathers protect their daughters?’ She stopped, hesitated. Looked away as she said, ‘For that matter shouldn’t fathers protect their sons?’

  His father. His lie.

  His wife. Too far away, was his only thought as he sank to his knees next to her. He relished that she didn’t move away. ‘Ailsa.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

  Taking a chance. ‘I’m helping you. These documents are everywhere.’

  She shook her head once, twice. ‘Last night...’

  He needed to apologise, but how to say it? Her hands fluttered in her lap and he took them. Her hands were cold and he rubbed them. Her lips parted as she watched his clumsy attempts. He was acutely aware of his callouses, how his hands engulfed hers, of the hitch in her breath.

  How it matched his own. He didn’t know this woman existed until yesterday. Couldn’t imagine the way she felt, or the way her mind worked. All he knew was he wanted more.

  A tug on her hands woke Ailsa from her reverie. Wrenching her hands free, she skittered back, not caring about the papers she bent. ‘You must think me a fool, Lochmore.’

  She had lost her friend years ago. Months ago, she tried to save two McCrieffs. Last night she lost a bit of her pride to this man. This was no time to be weak.

  ‘You are anything and everything but a fool, Ailsa. As many differences as there are between us, that is truth.’

  ‘Can you not just leave?’

  ‘We’re married.’

  She pointed at him. ‘And there you go, changing the story again. Are we or are we not married? Because I can’t keep up with your moods even in such little time that I’ve known you. You may think me blunt, but you are everything but. Deceit is everywhere around me.’

  ‘You are surrounded by your clan, your father and your Chief. Why would you think there is deceit?’

  ‘Did you not think that I felt deception when my father held back clan information, when he handed me off to you? When you agreed to marry me, then didn’t consummate the marriage?’ She pulled a pile of documents on her lap. ‘Leave Lochmore. Leave me to this. I’ll heal your friend; I’ll find the remedy in this mess I made. Then you can take Paiden and go. We’ll pretend it never happened. Maybe our arranged marriage in name only will be enough deterrent for war between our clans over the land.’

  He was silent so long, she thought he’d finally listen to her and leave. Instead, though he stayed very still, she felt as if he moved closer. She knew it was the size of the room compared to the size of the man, but this close, her awareness of him was something more than that. She was aware of him by the subtle heat coming from his tall frame, and the way the air seemed to move differently around him. And though she couldn’t possibly see his steady brown eyes, she felt his measuring gaze on her.

  And he kept looking at her despite her not looking back.

  ‘For a moment, forget the clans. How did you think it would be between us?’ Rory asked quietly.

  ‘There is no us.’ She kept staring at the papers in her lap. ‘I only hoped our union would be enough to stem the differences between our clans.’

  ‘And the differences within yours?’

  Her gaze finally
snapped to his. ‘There are differences in every clan.’

  ‘Not many clans have two rulers.’

  ‘Hamish is ill.’

  ‘But he was well enough at one point to order someone to poison my friend. If I’m to believe your father innocent, then the order must have come from Hamish. Maybe that poison was meant for me.’

  Her thoughts muddled, her tears threatening. She didn’t want poison or swords or talk of death any more. She’d had enough of it. Shuffling on her knees, she turned her back to him. ‘Can you not leave?’

  ‘You know of the secret meetings your father has been holding. Did you see Hamish have some as well?’

  ‘Hamish is the Chief, he has no meetings that are secret.’

  ‘But they are private.’

  ‘I’m a healer; not part of the council.’ A useless healer, for the documents in her lap she’d seen before. They were as worthless to her as this conversation. They didn’t provide the answers regarding the poison used, or who administered it. They didn’t even hint at what to do with this husband of hers, who sat with her on the floor.

  ‘You’re a healer, but you’re also part of this divided clan,’ Rory said. ‘One that most likely will be even more divided upon Hamish’s death. It is of little wonder why your father wanted to keep ruling, but what then with our marriage?’

  ‘We’re not married,’ she said stubbornly.

  He exhaled roughly. A few papers ruffled next to them. ‘I felt married.’

  She couldn’t breathe at all.

  ‘I felt married when I gave my vows, when we shared that bed,’ he said, his voice low almost reverent. ‘When I held you.’

  She didn’t want to hear this. There was no purpose for this. Not for her and definitely not for him. He had no need for the deceit here. And, if she was right, and he was Hamish’s son... Hamish, who poisoned his friend, but might have wanted to poison his own child.

  Was it possible that Hamish knew Rory was his son? If so, he needed to get as far away from her as possible.

  ‘Save your seducing words, Lochmore. They are unnecessary. Leave now and there is nothing permanent between us. All can return to as it was.’ She turned her head to catch his eyes which had impossibly darkened and held emotions that weren’t there before. She wasn’t prepared for them. A banked heat, a longing, a thwarted rage.

  ‘How was it?’

  Caught in the turbulence of his eyes, she answered, ‘Last night?’

  A soft huff of breath from him. ‘Your past. You want to return to it as it was...but I know nothing of it. How can I know it was better?’

  ‘It’s not for you to know.’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  She didn’t need time to think about the answer, but she tried. Yet nothing in this room or from the muffled sounds above would change the truth. ‘It wasn’t better.’

  ‘You know of my hell. Paiden is my very dearest friend. He is a brother to me and I am terrified to lose him. I know you know this because you’ve seen it from the very first. You tried to shield me from your clan in the Hall that morning when he collapsed.’

  ‘And you held a sword to my neck.’ When he had been filled with so much powerful anger and anguish she’d felt it, she’d instinctually protected him. The end result of that was pain and uncertainty now. ‘It doesn’t matter how I felt then. You made it clear last night what your feelings between us are. Didn’t you say, this is how it should be? So let it be, Lochmore, and leave me alone.’

  His left hand clenched in a fist. ‘You know my burdens, I don’t know yours. Perhaps if you shared yours... Why won’t you share them?’

  She turned her head, her back remained to him. She didn’t have to answer any of his questions. ‘What will it prove?’

  ‘Nothing, except... Nothing.’

  It was Rory’s hesitancy, his revealing of vulnerability that pricked something within her though her defences were up. What was it? Perhaps it was Rhona’s story. Or perhaps it was the time they’d spent together or that moment where he’d seen her hiding when he arrived in the courtyard? Whatever it was, it compelled her. This man compelled her. She fought his demands, requests and stubbornness. But in the end, there was a part of her that wanted him to know. That part she had no defence against and so she told him.

  ‘I had a friend once who was like a brother, though why we were close I don’t remember,’ she said. ‘He was the least sensible friend I could have picked.’

  She kept her head down, but could no longer touch the papers that were blurring around her. Lost in the past, defenceless against unhappy memories, she didn’t want to remember Magnus, that day or what she lost. Because as much as she loved and was loved by her clan, other than her father, she never dared get that close to someone again.

  ‘What happened?’

  Rory’s deep voice jarred her from thoughts. Exhaling, she said, ‘You already can guess.’

  ‘I want you to share this burden with me.’

  His voice was closer, she felt his breath. For a flicker of a moment, she thought to argue with him, to tell him to move away, but Magnus deserved to be known...even if it was by this man. ‘Lochmores reeved. Magnus charged out to stop them and was trampled by horses. I was there with him when he let go of my hand. I saw and heard everything. His sharp cry, the crunch of his bones. He didn’t...he didn’t die immediately.’

  Rory cursed, but she didn’t care for his emotions. Only for hers and she felt too much. ‘I’ve hated the Lochmores since that day. I hated you for coming on to the land and dining at our table.’

  ‘But you married me.’

  She pushed the papers off her lap, grabbed another scroll. ‘We’re not—

  ‘We said our vows. You said them and meant them.’

  She ripped the ribbon around the parchment. ‘We were before Clan and God.’

  But Rory knew the truth, she did it to save lives because she cared. This woman hadn’t lied to him; she was incapable of it and he had treated her wrongly.

  ‘Are we done now?’ she asked. ‘I have more to read and you are in the way.’

  He watched Ailsa open the scroll and read the contents. She did her best to ignore him, but he was incapable of ignoring her. He wanted her, this woman, this wife, but again he asked himself, could he chance it?

  If he confessed the facts to Paiden, what would he say? That he was a fool...no, Paiden would use a more colourful insult while also challenging him. Paiden most likely would want Ailsa to himself. Any man would. But after he treated her the way he did, did he deserve her? ‘I don’t want to leave.’

  Ailsa lowered the scroll and finally, finally, looked over her shoulder and up at him.

  ‘You’re still kneeling next to me.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘And you’re closer.’

  All true. ‘You told me of Magnus. I couldn’t stay away.’

  Great green eyes held him. How long had he known this woman? Mere hours, moments. Carefully, holding her gaze, he leaned forward until his body almost touched her curved back. Her eyes widened and then darted to his arms, as he cradled her and clasped her hands beneath his. Then one by one he lifted her fingers until the scroll fell into her lap and he brushed it aside. With so much revealed between them, he wanted nothing in their way.

  She smelled of lavender and old parchment, she smelled of her, and he wanted a taste.

  ‘I told you of Magnus, so you’d leave,’ she said, her voice a shiver.

  He relished that telling response. ‘Are you certain?’

  The heat of Rory’s body sank through her skin, thawed her cold limbs. Ailsa felt the slight dig of his knees in the small of her back before he eased them open, edged forward and pressed against her hips, her thighs.

  The rasp of their clothing was barely heard above the pounding of her heart, the choppy exhalation of his breath.

  Then she heard nothing
but the wet slickness of his tongue, felt nothing but the tiny flick against the back of her ear. Her body flooded with awareness, her skin prickled with need.

  Another warm exhalation from him and the soft press of his lips to the back of her ear, down her neck and to the edge of her gown. Another flick of his tongue before his lips followed the path upwards.

  ‘Rory.’

  With his lips against her throat, he growled, ‘The way you say my name.’

  Possessive. Territorial. Ailsa swore she could feel that very male sound to the marrow of her bones as it swept need, lust, desire through her.

  Too much heat, too fast as he lifted his head, and she turned hers to see his eyes rake from hers to her lips, down the curve of her neck and along her spine, then back up again.

  Despite knowing better, she asked, ‘How do I say it?’

  ‘As if you always wanted to.’

  Every defence Ailsa held crumbled. Why bother when he saw her so clearly? ‘What do you think you are doing?’

  ‘What does it appear I am doing?’ Rory asked, his gaze locked on to her lips.

  ‘I think...do you want to kiss me?’

  His eyes to hers again. Dark, so dark there was hardly any colour to them at all. ‘Soon, but first I want more of this.’

  More of this was more of those soft, heated kisses along the fragile cords of her neck until he was lifting her hair and kissing underneath. The warmth of his breath contrasted with the whispering chill of the room. Then he clenched her hair in one fist and the imprisoned tendrils swept against her overly sensitive skin until her body shivered. He groaned and continued his path on the other side, up to her other ear.

  She couldn’t touch, couldn’t kiss him. She could do nothing but bow her head to give him more access, of which he took advantage.

  One of his hands contained her hair, the other now pulled on her gown, trying to expose more of her to his touch, to his kisses. The fabric cut into her neck and she flinched. He stopped immediately. ‘Sorry.’

  A heartbeat. Two. There was no one here but them, daylight still and she heard no one above. The door was secure; they were alone. ‘Don’t stop.’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’