Tempted by a Highland Moon

by Gwyn Brodie

  Lady Murray smiled. "Much thanks, Duncan."

  "You're welcome." Why was she suddenly being polite, when before, she'd treated him with such indignation? She was up to something, of that, he was certain. But what?

  Gloaming turned into night, while firewood was gathered, and the tent for the ladies readied. Once a fire was built, everyone settled nearby to have their supper, before finding their beds.

  Kila followed Verona to their tent, then stopped and turned back to Duncan. "I bid you good night."

  "Sleep well, lass."

  She smiled and nodded, before going inside and securing the tent flap behind her.

  Duncan checked on the guards and the horses, before bedding down near the fire. He laced his fingers beneath his head and stared up at the multitude of stars. Then his gaze slipped to the tent, and his thoughts, as they always did of late, turned to the lass. She had gotten to him in a way no other woman had—and, unfortunately, she belonged to another man.

  THE FIRST LIGHT OF dawn was peeking through the crack in the tent flap, when Kila awoke with an urgent need to relieve herself. Careful not to wake her stepmother and the two maids, she rose from her pallet, wrapped herself in her cloak and stepped outside into the cool morning air. A Murray guard nodded to her as she headed to the designated shrubs, which, thankfully, were well out of sight of the clearing.

  Balfour watched Kila leave the tent, and gathered his bow and arrow from where he'd hidden them beneath his blanket. No one, except for Verona, knew of his skill with a bow. Not even Kila was aware he'd been trained in archery by the best her father's wealth could buy.

  The previous night, Verona had insisted he make his bed some distance away from the others, to make certain he wouldn't be seen when he slipped away the following morning—just in case he found Kila alone. And as luck would have it, the opportunity they'd been waiting for had presented itself. He circled around the loch, and concealed himself behind a tree, and after nocking an arrow in his bow, he waited for a clear shot.

  Before heading back to her tent, Kila washed her hands and face in the cool water of the loch, then looked at her surroundings, enjoying the breathtaking beauty of the breaking day. The misty pink-tipped mountaintops, touched by the first rays of morning sunlight, jutted toward a cloudless sky. The peaceful loch was still, except for an occasional ripple from a stiff breeze or a fish near the surface. The surrounding trees teemed with birds, singing their first songs of the day. Two red squirrels chattered away in a nearby pine, their bushy tails twitching this way and that as they chased one another up and down the trunk of the tree.

  At the lower end of the loch, bluebells carpeted the ground near a large oak tree. Kila gasped. She loved bluebells. Surely Duncan would have no objection to her picking a few. After gathering several of the fragrant flowers, she turned to leave, then decided to collect a few more to add to her bouquet. As she bent forward, an arrow struck the trunk of the tree in front of which she had just been standing. She screamed and flattened herself against the ground, then lay still, trembling and praying that whoever had tried to kill her would think he had succeeded, and not loose another arrow.

  Duncan grabbed his targe and broadsword and raced toward the loch, accompanied by Connor, Eadan and several guards. His breath froze in his chest when he saw the arrow buried in the oak, and Kila lying still on the ground. He motioned for Connor and Eadan to circle around, then, praying that she yet lived, raced to her side and dropped to his knees. Shielding her body with his targe, he gently turned her onto her back, but saw no wound. He pressed his ear to her chest.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered.

  Duncan grinned. "Seeing if you're dead or alive." He said a silent prayer of thanks that she was unharmed.

  "Well, as you can see, I'm alive. But I was pretending to be dead, thinking the archer would stop launching arrows at me if he thought so."

  He nodded. "You were right to do so." The lass had a good head on her shoulders, and a brave heart. The vast majority of women he'd known would have fainted, or gotten themselves killed trying to run away, except, of course, Jillian, Sorcha and Claire. Those three were women to be reckoned with.

  Connor and Eadan came out of the wood alone.

  Duncan scowled. "I see you didnae find the whoreson."

  Connor shook his head. "Nay, but we did find the ground disturbed where he waited beneath a pine."

  Kila looked up at Duncan with fear in her wide eyes. "Someone is trying to kill me?" she asked, her voice a notch higher than normal.

  He took her by the shoulders and gently shook her. "'Tis no' certain, Kila. It could have been any one of us he waited for." He didn't wish to worry her any more than she already was. "I'll take you back to your tent to get dressed, then we'll leave here after breaking our fast. I dinnae wish to scold you, lass, but if you had done as I told you, and not roamed away, you might no' have nearly had your head taken off, do you understand?"

  She nodded. "Aye," she said quietly, looking down at the bouquet of bluebells scattered about. They'd been crushed beneath her. She lifted a limp stem. "I only wished to pick a few bluebells. I love bluebells."

  Duncan's heart pitched in his chest, and he swallowed hard. How could one woman be the sole cause of so many different emotions in a man? He took her arm and helped her from the ground, then led her back to camp, keeping her between himself, Connor, and his targe.

  A short time later, while they were breaking their fast, Conner sauntered into camp with his hand full of bluebells, and gave them to Kila.

  She gasped and smiled, as she accepted the flowers. "How sweet of you, Connor," she said, burying her dainty nose in the fragrant blooms.

  He turned to Duncan and grinned.

  Duncan cursed beneath his breath. At the moment, he wanted naught more than to knock that silly grin off of Connor's face. Duncan himself had been thinking of gathering bluebells for Kila before they left there, knowing she would bestow her lovely smile upon him. With a low growl, he got to his feet and began to ready the horses for their departure.

  Once the pack horses were loaded, everyone mounted, except for Kila. She couldn't seem to find her mare.

  "You'll be riding with me." Duncan stated matter-of-factly. "Conner will bring your horse along."

  She raised a brow. What was this braw Highlander up to? "For what reason can I no' ride my own horse?"

  He blew out a breath. "For your own protection, my lady, you'll be riding with me."

  Duncan seemed a bit on edge, and she wondered why. She sighed. Perhaps he was right, and she would be safer riding with him. After all, she'd nearly been killed by an archer's arrow but a few hours before."Very well." She waited beside his stallion for him to lift her up, realizing her heart was pounding at the thought of the two of them being in such close proximity to one another for such a long period of time.

  Once she was seated on the horse, Duncan effortlessly swung up behind her, and encircled her waist with his arm, drawing her back against his hard chest.

  "Keep the targe in front of you," he said, placing the shield before her, prior to covering them both with his plaid.

  As they rode along, she enjoyed the comforting warmth radiating from Duncan's well-honed body. His wife would never have to worry about freezing to death as long as he was about. She blew out a breath and hugged the targe to her chest. The thought of him having a wife didn't set well with Kila. She closed her eyes, imagining it was she who was lying warm in his arms on a cold winter's night, buried beneath a pile of thick furs. Most likely he would turn his face to hers, then kiss her passionately, while his large masculine hand glided over the bare skin of her....

  "Lass, are you no' well?"

  Her eyes snapped open. "W-w-why do you ask?" She stuttered, hoping her voice didn't sound as breathless as she felt.

  "Well, I can feel your heart beating clear through your back against my chest, and you appear to be having trouble breathing. Do you need to stretch your legs?"

  She
shook her head. "Nay." Thankfully they continued on, for Kila wasn't certain her trembling legs would hold her.

  Duncan grinned. If he wasn't mistaken—and he didn't think he was—the lass was enjoying riding with him, nigh on as much as he was with her—though, of course, she'd never admit it. Since the moment he'd mounted behind Kila, he'd been conscious of every place her body touched his, and of her every movement. Even now, he fought to control the intense need brought about by her shapely arse pressed between his thighs. If he wasn't careful, the lass would ken full well what she was doing to him.

  VERONA GLANCED OVER at her brother and frowned. Balfour had kept his distance for the better part of the day, and she'd not allow him to ignore her for one moment longer. Fuming, she rode up beside him. "What happened?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

  He shrugged. "I missed, and didnae have time for another try. I nearly got caught by one of the guards while slipping back to camp," he whispered. "And I'd but hidden my bow and returned to my bed when MacDonell came to see if I was in it. I pretended sleep and he left."

  She shook her head in disbelief. "After what I had to pay to provide you with private archery lessons, I was under the distinct impression you had become an excellent archer. It appears I was mistaken in my belief," she sneered.

  He didn't argue with her. He knew better.

  Verona glanced to her right, and caught a glimpse of shiny black berries in the filtered light near the edge of the wood. Deadly nightshade. Just what she'd been looking for, and it might very well be her last opportunity to acquire the poison fruit before they reached the inn.

  She left Balfour and rode up beside Duncan. "I'm afraid I really must relieve myself."

  "Very well." He dismounted and helped her to the ground. "We'll wait for you here."

  Once she was out of sight, she quickly gathered all the berries she could find into the skirt of her chemise, which she then tied into a pouch. It took a great many berries to make enough poison to kill someone, and she should know. She used her chemise to wipe the deadly juice from her hands, reminding herself to wash them as soon as they stopped to drink. She certainly didn't wish to find herself caught in her own web.

  She returned to her horse, and Duncan lifted her up.

  Balfour rode up beside her. "I ken what you were about, sister," he whispered. "Did you get what you were after?"

  "Dinnae I always?" She smirked. Verona now had what she needed to make absolutely certain Kila never made it to Whitestag Castle.

  IN HOPES OF REACHING the inn before nightfall, Duncan had pushed on, stopping only to rest and quench the thirst of both horses and riders. He looked up at the darkening sky. Gloaming was nigh upon them, but they should arrive at the inn long before night settled.

  Kila had fallen asleep some time ago, with her cheek pressed against his shoulder and her face tilted up to his. Gazing down at her, he knew he'd never seen a more beautiful lass in all his days. Her full pink lips were slightly parted, and he well remembered the feel and taste of them pressed against his own. Her dark lashes swept down across her cheekbones. In sleep, she looked very much an innocent in need of his protection. He swallowed hard, and tightened his hold on her.

  He'd not entirely told Kila the truth when he said the archer could have been after any one of them. He had a gut feeling it had been her he was after. It seemed more than a coincidence she had nearly lost her life twice in such a short span of time. But who could possibly want Kila dead? Duncan didn't ken, but if it was the last thing he did, he intended to find out.

  As they neared The Pheasant Inn, the enticing aroma of food caused Duncan's stomach to growl. He loved naught better than a good meal, and he intended to eat his fill.

  He brought Tearlach to a stop in front of the entrance, and looked down at Kila, still asleep in his arms. She looked so peaceful, he hated to wake her, but there was no helping it. "Lass," he said, gently shaking her. "We've arrived at the inn."

  Kila opened her eyes and blinked up at him. "I'm glad, because I'm starving."

  He grinned. She was a lass after his own heart, but he feared she already owned it.

  When she sat up, he dismounted, then lifted her down, already missing the feel of her pressed against his chest. Tossing the reins to Connor, Duncan scoured their surroundings. "Stay close, lass, in case we were followed."

  While the others saw to the horses and the ladies' baggage, Duncan, Balfour, and the four women walked into the inn.

  The plump landlord waddled toward them, a smile on his round face. "May I be of service?"

  Duncan nodded. "Aye. We are in need of six rooms, if you have them."

  The landlord's brows shot up. "Indeed I do."

  "Good. Do you have a private dining room? It will need to be quiet large, as there are a great many of us."

  He smiled broadly. "Aye, and I believe it will meet with your approval. I'll show you to your rooms, then notify you when your meal is ready."

  Kila stifled a yawn. She looked exhausted. A few minutes rest before supper would do her good. "Very well. My men will see to the ladies' baggage."

  The landlord nodded. "Then please follow me." He led them up the stairs, then right, down a short corridor. I suggest the rooms on the left for the ladies, as they are two of my best."

  Verona stepped forward. "I'll take this one, Lady Kila, of course, will take the other. Come Coira."

  The maid obediently followed her mistress inside and closed the door.

  Kila smiled up at him. "I will see you at supper?"

  He nodded. Duncan had grown accustomed to her being near, and was reluctant to leave her alone with her maid. What if the whoreson trying to kill her had followed them, waiting for another chance?

  KILA PLOPPED DOWN ON the settle beside the fire and closed her eyes. She wasn't used to traveling for such long periods, and was bone weary. If she wasn't so hungry, she'd pass supper by and go directly to bed. But her belly had been growling from the moment she'd stepped through the door of the inn, and she meant to fill it. Besides, the smell of food drifting up from below was nigh unbearable.

  "I've turned down the bed covers, m'lady. Perhaps ye'd like a bit of a rest before supper."

  Kila opened her eyes and smiled. "Much thanks, Wyn. I believe I might, but I order you to wake me should I fall asleep."

  Wyn chuckled, well aware of Kila's appetite. "Aye, m'lady, if ye insist."

  Less than an hour later, Kila was shown to a private room in back of the inn. A fire roared in the massive fireplace, and the stone walls were covered with tapestries and antlers of many stags. A well-worn, but clean, wool rug covered the oak flooring beneath the long table.

  She took a seat on the bench beside Verona, who barely even acknowledged her presence. But Duncan, seated across from Kila, smiled and waved his hand over the well-laden table. "Eat your fill, lass. They're to keep it coming 'til I tell them to stop."

  Kila laughed, winning a dark glance from her stepmother, which she chose to ignore. She'd always despised Verona's constant criticism, but as of late, it bothered her more than ever. She watched the attending servants fill the trencher with steaming stewed parsnips, before placing a platter of warm honey-oat bread, slathered with melted butter on the table. She tore off a small chunk and tucked it into her mouth. A soft moan escaped her.

  Duncan nigh choked on his ale. He could well image her making that same sound when he pressed his lips to the silky skin of her throat. He frowned. Where the blazes did that come from? He shook his head to clear it and filled his trencher for a third time.

  Kila chose a second strawberry tart from the platter in front of her, and Duncan smiled. The lass liked her food, nigh as much as he did.

  Her stepmother snorted. "Laird Monro may not prefer a plump wife, my dear," she said loud enough for the entire room to hear, before rising from the table.

  Kila's eyes widened and her cheeks pinked. "What an awful thing to say, Verona."

  Verona raised a brow, as she looked down her nose at
her stepdaughter. "Perhaps 'tis something you should keep in mind. Now, if you will excuse me," she said sarcastically, before leaving the room.

  Duncan clenched his teeth, not believing the arrogant woman had purposely embarrassed her in front of him and the others. Kila was flawless in every way, and her stepmother had no right to indicate otherwise. "Dinnae listen to her," he whispered. "You'd be a bonnie lass, no matter how many tarts you ate. One more will make no difference." He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. "Did you no' ken most men prefer a lass with a wee bit of flesh on her bones, including myself?"

  A hint of a smile curved the corners of her full lips. "I'm certain you're only saying that to make me feel better."

  "Nay. 'Tis the truth. Besides, I think you're absolutely perfect."

  Her smile broadened, then she took a bite of her tart, leaving a morsel of strawberry at the corner of her mouth.

  "You left a bite," he said, wiping it away with his thumb, unprepared for the rush of heat that swept over him when he brushed against her lower lip.

  ONCE SHE LEFT THE GREAT hall, Verona hurried up the stairs and down the corridor. Making certain no one was about she quickly entered Kila's bedchamber and closed the door. She knew it would be empty, as Wyn and Coira were still having their supper down below. Earlier, after sending her maid on an errand, Verona had quickly crushed the berries of the deadly nightshade and drained their juice into a vile. She now slipped the poison from her bodice and poured every last drop into the pitcher of spiced wine sitting on the table beside the bed. Her stepdaughter always enjoyed a cup before going to sleep, and this one would be her last. After making certain nothing appeared disturbed, she opened the door a crack and peered out. Seeing no one, she left Kila's room and hurried into her own bedchamber. She stretched out across the bed, and gloated. Balfour may have failed, but she had not. By morning, Kila would be dead and her worries would be over.