The Lass Defied the Laird (Explosive Highlanders Book 1)

by Lisa Torquay

  He would. He was sure of it.

  With this comforting concept, he headed for his study. Piles of papers awaited his attention.

  ~.~.~

  Next morning, Aileen descended to the cellar to make a much-required inventory of its contents. The last one dated from three years earlier. She must begin again to keep track of it.

  Footsteps sounded behind her and she did not need to turn to see who approached. She would recognise it in kingdom come.

  “Aileen.” Did the man have to pronounce her name in such thawing way?

  “Good-morning, Taran.” She greeted without lifting her head to the giant. “An inventory here is long overdue.” She explained.

  The cramped silent space lent an aura of intimacy too disquieting to be acknowledged.

  “Can I help?” His deep voice closer.

  At the question, she swivelled her eyes to his. Damn! She was not supposed to look at him or she might become a puddle of want and longing.

  “I believe I got everything under—“ He neared her and her thoughts scattered.

  The bottle she held in her hand grabbed into his, fingers grazing. His manor’s management constituted her task, his interference unnecessary. Though she appreciated it he trusted her enough to do her tasks and gave her freedom to decide as she saw fit. He proved to be very attentive to the land’s running. Both formed a strong team, she cogitated.

  “Here.” He started. “This is an eighteen-oh-two whisky.” He said so that she could note it down on her ledger.

  Without an alternative, she accepted his offer, and they worked side by side for a while. A double effort to concentrate not dispensable.

  And she had to own to being in his company made all the difference. The task flowed more smoothly. His proximity tempted her in a manner she did not experience before now. Heart beating fast, skin clammy with temptation, insides wrenching for his touch intensified that simple chore.

  As he talked to her, he surreptitiously, diminished the distance causing his manly scent to tease her nostrils and her to corner on the other side of the tiny place.

  When they finished, they had moved to the opposite wine shelf, which put him between her and the door.

  “Thank you for your help.” She said, not quite looking at him, stuffing the ledger in her apron’s pocket.

  She motioned to the door, his tall frame never bulged. No other option than to raise her eyes to his. The green darkened and fire laced with ice flooded her.

  Time froze.

  The thrashing of her heart must be audible in the silent cellar, together with the rushing of her ignited blood.

  He could not have come closer, could he? For the heat of him reached her. Or had she got closer?

  Blast it!

  The steel wall of his chest filled her vison, and she craved to fill her hands with it. Her hands, her lips, her nostrils.

  Audible breathing echoed in the cramped room. Not only hers.

  She would give her most valuable possession to reach for him. A fantasy of her placing her palms on his bare knees to graze them up under his tartan and caress the hair roughened skin until her fingers closed around—

  Great! Now her cheeks flamed with a colour unmistakably akin to arousal.

  Her treacherous imagination did not stop because she saw herself going on her knees to take him hungrily in her—

  “Excuse me.” She croaked, eyes darting everywhere but him.

  “Why, Aileen.” The rasp coarse. “You do not seem that eager to leave.”

  Empty lungs sucked in air. “Do not start, Taran.” She warned.

  His scrutiny burned her entire skin. “Actually, I want to… finish.” A pause for her blood to scorch. “In a very specific spot.”

  The spot in question swelled and overflowed. This was so unfair! It would favour her if the man had not been so compelling.

  “Is that so?” The inane question the unique thing her scattered brain became able to utter.

  Legs braced in that posture of his, fists went to his trim hips. “Touch me, Aileen.”

  The command persuasive to the point she must apply fierce willpower not to comply. The urge to do it so intense it hurt. Her fingers curled by her side until they whitened at her knuckles.

  If she rewarded him with this now, he would never seek to put things to rights and they would be embroiled in his incongruous behaviour forever.

  She made herself go cold with the possibility. “No.” She responded glacially. “Let me pass.” Her mahogany gaze flashed on his cement-like.

  Stay there, she directed her eyes. The two pairs wrestled for dragging moments, his molten, arousing. Hers firm, for how long she would not dare tell.

  Slow, almost languid, he moved to her side, insisting his chest rub her shoulder. The impossible man knew how to instigate a woman to regret resisting.

  And she did. As soon as she stumbled out to climb the stairs hurriedly. Before she went back down and made good on his taunt.

  ~.~.~

  Taran strode decisive to the entrance hall, following Glen’s announcement later in the day.

  He had gone after his wife in the cellar out of sheer necessity to be close to her. Working side by side exhilarated him at the same time it soared his temperature. When she ogled him with such avidness only she could muster, he had been a hair’s breadth to taking her. He consumed every ounce of self-control to wait for her to decide their course of action.

  And the hurricane left him hard and frustrated. Swimming in the loch unthinkable, he must wait for his… enthusiasm to subside. For a long, long time.

  The woman was driving him insane with her determination to solve the entangled situation.

  Talking of which… “Drostan, Fingal, Lachlan.” He greeted the three McKendrick lairds standing in the hall in formal green and black tartan. His wife proved to be right once more.

  The consequences of his deranged break down quick to come.

  “McDougal.” Their stances none too friendly.

  Any wrong move in this and he might put said wife in dire position. Protecting her his priority now.

  “Shall we go to my study?” He invited, and they headed to it.

  On the way, the door to her own study opened. A smile began to flourish with the sight of her brothers, soon morphed into a worried frown.

  “Stay out of this, Aileen.” Lachlan warned.

  It was the same as if he had invited her to join them. “The deuce I will.” She replied vehement, following them.

  Taran did not even try to divert her, knowing it to be useless.

  The door closed behind the five of them and Taran served whisky to everyone.

  As he tasted it, Lachlan commented. “This one is not bad, either.”

  Nodding his thanks, Taran’s attention encompassed the visitors.

  “So…” He prompted after a hearty swig.

  Drostan clasped hands behind his back. “We heard about an… incident.”

  “A mis— “ Aileen began, but Taran interrupted her.

  “The renegade pawed my wife.” He asserted before the buidseach said it had been a misunderstanding for his sake.

  Lachlan tried to hide an amused smile. Seemingly, Taran did not stand alone in his opinion of their cousin.

  “Alistair is too far gone in English ways to paw anyone.” Fingal protested.

  “It can be taken as a breach of peace between clans.” Drostan stated.

  “No, it cannot.” Insisted Taran. “I defended her honour.”

  “In an apple bobbing game?” Lachlan came.

  The renegade told the tale minutely.

  “You brutes are not breaking the alliance over this, are you?” Aileen did not disguise her indignation.

  If they did, she would be cut off her family because of him.

  “It is not our intention.” Drostan answered.

  “But the incident became notorious.” Fingal informed. “Even the McPhersons came to inquire about it.”

  This gave Taran pau
se. That his deceased wife’s clan were nosing in showed the thing might become serious.

  Freya had also been a McPherson, which entangled clan politics even more.

  “I will make a public apology.” Taran proposed.

  Aileen’s mahogany gaze snapped on him. “No, you do not need— ”

  “Let us settle a meeting between our two clans and I will do it.” Taran continued, interrupting her.

  The mistake had been his and he would not risk her happiness for it.

  Drostan looked at his brother-in-law with no small amount of admiration. “Do you mean it?”

  “I do.” The McDougal answered firmly, stare set on The McKendrick.

  “Will anyone listen?” Aileen asked emphatic.

  “Not this time, buidseach.” Taran expressed with consideration.

  “Buidseach?” Lachlan laughed.

  “It suits her.” Fingal agreed smiling.

  Drostan’s attention alternated between them approving the tender epithet.

  “With winter upon us, we should settle it for spring.” Taran suggested.

  “You are right.” Drostan answered. “Many chieftains live in far places.” Which meant they would not be able to travel with the snow.

  The atmosphere cleared and everyone felt more relaxed, including Aileen, who wore a stunned expression on her.

  Not long ago, Wallace named Drostan the Chief, delegating the leadership to his eldest. Ewan having appeared might have had something to do with it.

  Though Fingal and Lachlan would remotely inherit the clan’s chief position, they got also called lairds, for being directly connected with Drostan. Their father had made sure the clan saw them as such.

  ~.~.~

  The McKendricks departed the following morning as the weather did not look good enough for a longer stay. Also, Drostan had a clan to lead which made him too busy for leisure trips.

  Taran sat in his study, having bid his brothers-in-law farewell not five minutes earlier. Certainty he had done the right thing calmed him. The last person he wanted to suffer with his mistake was Aileen. Naturally, nobody would expect a clan chief to apologise, especially in public. Many would deem it humiliating. Not Taran. He had been in the wrong, he saw, nothing more sensible than do the right thing.

  More than that, Taran did the impossible for this alliance, including marrying the lass. It should only be coherent he strived to keep it. For both clans’ sake. And for hers. She did not deserve to get caught in a continued clan squabble which might last another century. No. He had done the right thing, indeed.

  As if a weight had been taken from his shoulders, he concentrated on work.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Aileen did not meet Taran since morning when they saw her brothers off yesterday. Today she and the housekeeper organised the larder for winter, which made for a very busy day. A bath restored her energies later.

  Still astounded with Taran’s attitude concerning her cousin, she did not fathom what to make of it. She had been vexed with the way the four men excluded her from the decision even if she understood it pertained clan affairs. Hence, decided by men. But her husband volunteering to a public apology made her speechless.

  What was the man about here?

  He should not expose himself to such a thing. The consequence might be the loss of faith from his people. Men viewed honour defending as a legitimate reason for a punch. Or several. Possibly, the McDougal clan might come to regard it as correct. He had no obligation to go to this length. Yes, she wanted him to straighten it, she had told him so. But not at the cost of his pride. Even less of his credibility.

  By the time she finally refreshed, she perceived light from his chambers. After a deep breath, she took courage and opened the connecting door, planning to discuss this with him.

  His large frame sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, he looked at his joined hands. She did not like the tempestuous expression he displayed.

  As the door clicked shut, he lifted his head, his green irises lit like torches. “She had a liaison, liaisons, I cannot be sure.”

  She did not need to ask to realise he talked about his late wife.

  The statement shocked her. It must not have been a pleasant memory.

  Not only this. Fiona must be witless to give up a man like him, even though at the time he had been little more than a lad. Had it been her, she would have berthed herself to him.

  “I am sorry.” She blurted, at a loss what to say.

  Air escaped his nostrils. “Do not be. I did not love her, neither she me.”

  She waited sensing it encompassed a whole well of enfoldments.

  “Shame and wounded pride persisted, despite everything.” Low cracked voice, a difficult confession.

  It rooted much more profoundly than he allowed to let on to others. Her heart ached at the image of him as a too young man having to cope with a child, the clan and a broken marriage. She cursed his father for engineering it and robbing him of a choice.

  “Not that I call myself a saint.” His long fingers raked his coal hair. “When it became clear she would not come back, I took mistresses.”

  Though she apprehended his reasons, the idea of him having mistresses did not sit well with her stomach. Shannon came to her mind. An energetic man like him would claim no less.

  Her silence stretched as she gave him space to express what he locked inside so tightly.

  “The frame of marriage that crystalized in my life is of adultery.”

  It shed light on his behaviour at her interacting with other men.

  Their eyes met, his laid bare to her, in their depths the struggle to overcome his past and the consequences of it.

  No other action available. She walked to him, sat on his thigh and collected him in her arms. She possessed no way of changing his story or how it marked him. But she could offer comfort. His head came to her robe-covered bosom, his strong biceps around her, feminine head on his. A long time passed thus.

  His breathing normalized, his taut body relaxed a tad. “You spoiled me for any other men, Taran.” She confessed.

  Coal head shot up, two pairs of eyes merged. “Is that so?”

  His lady nodded. “The possibility of any of them touching me is disgusting.”

  For the first time in days, she saw a faint smile on his havoc-wrecking lips. “You did the same, buidseach.”

  “I had better have.” She replied bluntly. “Imagining you with another woman churns my stomach.”

  “Same here.” He complemented.

  Next she knew, their mouths fused in a kiss full of longing and desire.

  They never let go in the night.

  ~.~.~

  Far into the midnight hour, they lay among rumpled sheets, the moon presiding over them, as the fire died in the fireplace. Her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, hers across his large chest.

  Taran found peace at last.

  “You need not apologise to both clans, you know.” She emitted, as her hand caressed the hair peppered expanse.

  His head turned to her. “I do.”

  “People might be hard on you.” She insisted.

  He shook his head recalcitrant. “I will not condemn you to a renewed clan rivalry.”

  It was her turn to lift her head to him. “My brothers would not comply.”

  “Maybe.” He conceded. “But chieftains have a mind of their own.”

  “I— “ She ventured.

  “I will not change my decision on that, Aileen.” Firm and adamant.

  “I do not need your protection, you pig-headed giant.” She nearly blustered.

  Why altercate with her? He would protect her, end of, he determined.

  “Giant, am I?” He answered instead, pinning her to the mattress.

  When he showed her what else might be deserving of the adjective, she moaned. “Oh, that giant I like.”

  They spent no more time with words.

  ~.~.~

  “Right.” Taran said, checking the list. �
�Do you require anything else for Christmas?” He sat at her study as she asked him here to plan for the holiday.

  “Let me see.” Her eyes downed to her notes. “Sam is coming.” She remembered.

  “Time flew.” He commented, a wistful expression on his rugged face.

  “He might bring a friend, who knows.” His son sounded more sociable in his letters.

  “Did he write you about that?” He asked.

  “Not really.” She mused. “But he has more contact with colleagues his age, so I would rather be prepared.”

  “Oxford is doing him good.” The dainty chair dwarfed with him on it.

  She tilted her head before she answered. “A dream come true for him.” The tartan wrapped around him gave the impression he was even bigger or her room even smaller.

  “Another thing I have to thank you for, I admit.” His hair ruffled by the wind as he had come from the stables.

  Fingal, a horse lover, would have liked to see them. A pity they must leave in so short a time.

  “It is not a question of thanking.” She stood from her chair. “It is a question of making others happy.”

  She rounded the table and leant on the desk. She called him here for the list, sure. But she wanted something else, too.

  “I see it now.” He said.

  “We could order those cakes from the baker’s in the village.” She suggested, coming back to the point.

  Her eyes strolled over him, so manly on that delicate chair.

  “Yes, Sam is very fond of them.”

  Stare down at him, she started unbuttoning her spencer.

  His eyes darkened. “What are you doing?” His tone became hoarse.

  “It is a bit hot here, do you not think?” The comment came velvety.

  “No.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It is… pleasant.”

  Spencer agape, her fingers caught the underdress. His scrutiny followed her fingers almost in affliction. “The cakes for Christmas will go to the list.”

  Eyes fast on her hands. “Cakes?”