Highland Temptation

by Jennifer Haymore

  Slowly, the storm released her, and she drifted back down to earth, her body sated, saturated in pleasure, her muscles like putty. For the first time, she felt the sticks poking into her back through the woolen blanket, the heavy weight of Colin, who had collapsed on her, and heard the harsh sound of his breaths.

  Eventually, he came back to himself enough to roll off her, into the muddy grass beside her. A few moments later he sat up, looking down at her.

  “You lie there, with your blond hair all around you like a halo, framed by grass and plaid, and so bonny you look more like an angel in a portrait than a woman. Sometimes,” he said in a quiet voice, gazing at her, “I canna believe you’re real.”

  “I am,” she assured him, her tone low and drowsy.

  “Are you certain?” he asked. Gently, he moved a lock of hair away from her face. “Mayhap you’re the leannan sìth, come to seduce me.”

  “A fairy?”

  “The most bonny fairy,” he agreed. “Of the aos sìth, who live in the fairy mounds deep under the ground in the land across the Western Sea.”

  She smiled at him. She loved his Scottish superstitions and how he spoke of the mythological Celtic creatures as if they were real. With a generally absent father, Colin had been raised by his mother, whose people had once worshipped Pagan gods and goddesses, and who had passed down all the stories and superstitions for hundreds of years.

  “The leannan sìth chooses a single human lover. She inspires him and brings him great happiness, as you have done for me.”

  Warmth settled in her chest. She made him happy, and that fact made all the lingering self-doubt and self-hatred that her father had pounded into her seem insignificant. She had the ability to bring happiness to someone. To this man, in particular, who struggled with so many demons.

  “But then,” Colin continued, “insanity follows, nipping at the heels of happiness. And the lover dies young, mad, and usually with great violence.”

  She surged up, and went on her knees, her skirts a muddied mess around her, and wrapped her arms around him. “I am no fairy,” she murmured into his neck. “I am a real woman. Flesh and blood. Who loves you and wants you to live a long and contented life.”

  He held her against him, his breaths deep and heavy.

  She closed her eyes, wanting to tell him about how in the past week she’d watched Mr. and Mrs. MacCallum. About how she’d imagined a life like theirs. The older couple loved each other deeply, and though they’d lived more simply than Emilia had ever known people could live, they were genuinely happy. More than once, Emilia had imagined herself and Colin that way. Content with living simple lives. With children and grandchildren who adored them and came to visit them regularly. Brimming with so much satisfaction and joy that it was natural to share their home and meager trappings with those in need.

  But even though Colin loved her, he hadn’t spoken of the future, and she had no idea how it could work between them. He was not only a knight, he was a member of the Highland Knights, a position highly respected and lauded by aristocrats and commoners alike. He spent his days and nights rubbing elbows with London’s elite. But Emilia—now that the truth about her father’s treachery was out—would be banished from that world. Disgust would drip from people’s lips as they spoke her name. The sight of her would evoke whispers.

  An attachment to her would sully him.

  He pressed his lips to the side of her head. “I canna…” He sighed, and she looked at him quizzically.

  “I canna express how…” He shook his head. “Grateful isna the right word, but I dinna ken what is.”

  “Grateful? For what?”

  “Blessed,” he corrected. “That you’ve come into my life. That you dinna run from my demons. That you’re so fierce and strong.”

  She nearly laughed. She’d spent most of her life thinking she was horribly, terribly weak. No one had ever called her fierce or strong before, but when it came to Colin, she knew she was.

  “I…” Her voice broke and she tried again. “You must know—in many ways I am a coward.”

  “Nay,” he said flatly.

  “I am. I allowed my father…”

  “You didna allow your da anything. He wronged you. You didna have a choice in the matter.” His voice softened. “Look at me, lass.” She did, locking her eyes with his. “He tried to suck the strength from you. The life out of you. He made you feel weak and defeated, I ken that. But your strength was always there…waiting.” He pressed a hand to her chest.

  “I let him kill my mother,” she whispered.

  He jerked back, his hand dropping to his side and his brows furrowing tight. “What?”

  She swallowed. “I heard them…it was late at night. They were in his bedchamber. She was begging him not to…to hurt her.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she battled the tears back.

  “Emilia…”

  “But he did. He stabbed her in the hip with the fireplace poker, and I just stood there right outside the room, listening, like a ninny.”

  “Is that how your mother died?” he asked in a raw voice.

  “She died later. The poker burned her, and the wound was deep. Later it festered. She died a fortnight after he hurt her. He was long gone by then…in London.”

  She looked up at him. “If I had been brave, I would have gone in there. I would have stopped him. My own cowardice killed my mother.”

  He blinked hard. “Nay. He did. Pinfield killed her, not you.” He began ticking off items on his fingers. “First, you were young…”

  “I was sixteen. Not so young,” she argued.

  “You were only a lass,” he insisted. “No doubt you weren’t allowed in your father’s bedchamber, were you?”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t, but—”

  “Did they lock the door?”

  She nodded.

  “And there was no way on earth or in hell you could’ve kent that what was happening would hurt your mother so badly. No way.”

  That was true, but still. The guilt was an ugly lump of tar in her gut that had settled there when her mother had taken her last breath, and had never gone away. “I’m just saying I’m not so brave. You shouldn’t trust me to always be brave, because…”

  Truth was, she could fail him at any time. Overcome by quaking fear, as she’d been that night. By the sickening weakness that took over her body and prevented her from acting when she’d needed to. It was all well and good when she couldn’t see Colin’s demons. But what if someone real came after him? Someone angry and deadly, like her father in a rage? What then? Surely she’d shrink away, collapse under the weight of the fear, like she did whenever her father was involved.

  “Emilia.” He pulled her back into his arms, and she sank against him, feeling hollow and cold, and so glad that he was solid and strong.

  “Maybe…together…” She looked up at him. “We can help each other be strong. Maybe together we can prevail over all…all that evil.”

  “Mayhap we can, mo leannan,” he said softly. “When I am with you, I feel like I can.”

  “So do I,” she whispered. “So do I.”

  She could only pray that the feeling was right.

  —

  They rode until dusk, when they stopped in Newcastle upon Tyne, hoping for some anonymity in the busy streets of a bigger town. After Colin secured them a room at a large inn, Emilia hurried inside, head down, her bruised face well hidden under the large hood of her cloak. Not wanting to risk being seen and remembered, they took dinner in the room, and afterward used a sponge to wash the remnants of the afternoon’s mud from their bodies.

  “Your face is healing well,” Colin observed, studying her with a shrewd eye as, dressed in her nightgown, she sat in a chair and began the arduous task of combing out her wild curls.

  “Is it?” She touched the delicate area beneath her eye—this room had no looking glass, but the last time she’d looked into one, the bruise had been a sickly yellow.

  “Aye. You’ll be good
as new in no time.”

  “Except for this,” she said, moving her finger to the thick scab over her cheekbone.

  She rarely mentioned this particular injury, because when she did, Colin’s fury became a nearly palpable thing, as it did right now. His lips tightened, and his eyes turned a stormy deep brown-orange, like a leaf turned by an autumn chill. “Aye,” he said through clenched teeth. He turned and pulled on a shirt with angry movements, the hard ridges of his torso disappearing beneath the clean linen.

  They both knew it would leave a scar she’d carry with her forever. That whenever she looked at a stranger, the first thing he or she would see would be the mar on her face. That they’d wonder what had caused it. That many people would instantly judge her.

  “I’ll live,” she said, managing to make her voice light. “I’m not vain enough to think a little scar will destroy me.”

  “You’re not vain at all.” He stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. “You ken that whatever scars you bear make no difference to how I see you, aye?”

  She managed a smile. “Well, you didn’t run for the hills when you saw my back that first night. So I believe you.”

  “You’ll always be bonny to me,” he said softly. “The bonniest woman in the world.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “Now, that’s an exaggeration.”

  He looked offended. “Nay. ’Tis no exaggeration. ’Tis the truth.”

  She gazed at him, her smile growing soft. Her Scot definitely had a way of making his woman feel special. “I love you,” she whispered.

  Gazing at her, he lowered himself to his knees in front of her until he was looking up at her sitting in the chair. His hands went to her knees, then to her hands. He gently unwrapped her fingers from the comb and set it aside before clasping both her hands in his.

  “Emilia,” he said softly. “I ken our time together has been difficult. We have been on the run, and I have…” He swallowed. “I have, at times, not been at my best. Through it all, you have shown strength and resilience, and I’ve learned that nothing can arrow happiness into my soul like the flash of your bonny smile. Nothing can make me feel as contented as the feel of your body in my arms. Nothing can make me as satisfied as finding my release inside you. Nothing can bring me peace like the sound of your voice. You are like no other woman in the world to me. You lighten my days…”

  “Oh, Colin,” she whispered, squeezing his hands tight as he hesitated.

  “Before you came to the townhouse that night…I believed that I was doomed to misery and madness.”

  “No!” she gasped.

  “Aye, ’tis true. I believed the demons would never let me go. But you…” He gazed at her as if she were a true miracle. “You have made me believe that I can defeat them. That it’s possible I might be happy and fulfilled, and live the life I dreamt about as a lad.”

  She gazed at him, at this wonderful man who’d do anything to protect her. Who treated her with endless kindness. Who’d offered her love without expecting anything in return. She loved him so much.

  “I love you, Emilia. I want nothing more than to wake every morning with you at my side for the remainder of my days.”

  A pang of something entered her heart. The fear that she would damage him somehow. That she would bring him down.

  “I—” she began, but he cut her off.

  “In the past weeks, you have wound your way into my life, into my soul. You are so deep inside me, I could never let you go. You are a part of me. You are everything to me. I want to be with you. I want to care for you, protect you, and love you for the remainder of my days.”

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “Emilia…Will you marry me?”

  Chapter 20

  Everything in Emilia was pulled taut, her lungs so constricted she wasn’t able to drag in a breath.

  You will hurt him, eventually.

  You will fail him.

  You will bring him down.

  It was the voice of her father in her head, the voice that had tried, again and again, to destroy her. To minimize her until she had nothing left. Until she was nothing but a weak shadow of a woman.

  But that wasn’t the man kneeling before her. This man had brought her back to life, had reminded her she was more than a cowering little girl. This man had made her, for the first time in her life, believe she was a strong, capable woman.

  And, she realized, he would always support her like that. He’d always encourage the fierceness that flickered inside her. The strength that others might try to beat down.

  She pushed away that nagging voice of doubt and gazed at him, tightly squeezing his hands. Despite the risk, there was only one correct answer to his question. Only one that would bring her happiness.

  “Yes, Colin. I will marry you.”

  “Oh thank God,” he gritted out. He yanked her off the chair and brought her into his arms, kissing her so thoroughly she forgot all her doubts. How could she doubt when everything about this man was so perfect, so right?

  “We’ll arrange for a license,” he murmured between kisses. “As soon as we’re back in London.”

  “Yes,” she said, and kissed him back, deep and long. “Yes.”

  He took her hand in his own, threading his fingers through hers. Staring down at their joined hands, he murmured, “Handfast with me.”

  “Handfast?” she asked.

  “Aye. ’Tis an old Scottish tradition. ’Tis said that long ago, when a man and woman would meet at the annual fair, they’d clasp their hands together and agree to live as husband and wife for a year and a day, after which time, if they both agreed to it, they’d be legally wed.”

  “What if they didn’t agree?”

  “Then they could go their separate ways and be done with each other, no harm done.”

  “But that won’t happen,” Emilia said.

  “Nay,” Colin said with certainty. “Not for us. And I dinna wish to wait a year and a day for us to be wed.”

  Warmth filled Emilia’s chest. “Neither do I.”

  “But I’m not really speaking of that kind of handfasting. The annual fair, the year and a day—all that is mere legend, according to my mum. She speaks of true handfasting as it was in long years past.”

  “What was that?”

  He squeezed her fingers a bit tighter. “A pledge. An oath from the man to the woman and from the woman to the man that they will be married in due course.”

  “Like…a betrothal?” she asked.

  “Aye, exactly. A formal betrothal.”

  She nodded slowly, understanding why this would be important to a Scot who took his oaths and promises very seriously.

  “Will you handfast with me, lass?” he asked softly.

  “I will.”

  They sat facing each other on the floor, and he took both her hands in his now, his eyes dark and serious. “I, Sir Colin Stirling, take thee, Lady Emilia Featherstone, as my betrothed wife, and thereto I pledge thee my troth.”

  Smiling softly at him, Emilia repeated the vow, squeezing his fingers as tightly as he squeezed hers. “I, Lady Emilia Featherstone, take thee, Sir Colin Stirling, as my betrothed husband, and thereto I pledge thee my troth.”

  Still holding hands, their lips came together in a promissory kiss that held so much tenderness and banked passion that it seemed to spread through Emilia, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

  Gently, Colin pressed her down so she lay on her back on the floor, gazing up into his eyes as his body pressed over hers.

  “Tell me again,” he murmured. “Tell me you’ll be mine.”

  “I’ll be yours,” she said breathlessly. “I want nothing more than to be yours. Forever.”

  That was the truth. He kissed her again, hot and languid, the heat of it spreading through her until her whole body was ready for him, begging for more.

  Still kissing her, he reached down, his fingers slipping into the wetness between her legs.

  Arching up to him, pressing her
center against his fingers, she whispered, “I’m ready, Colin. Always, for you.”

  He made a rough growling noise and pulled his fingers from her, settling over her and moving his kilt and her nightgown aside before burying himself in her with one strong thrust.

  She gasped at the instant sensation of him filling her so completely. She was tight around him, feeling him everywhere, the sensation spreading through her entire body.

  “I love you, lass,” he gritted out, bending over her ear. Then he took her earlobe between his teeth as he moved within her, and she groaned.

  So many sensations, so many emotions swirled within her, she couldn’t begin to pick them apart. In such a short time, this man had changed her, had brought her out of the dark and into the light. She’d never imagined that she could feel so deeply connected to someone. At this moment, their connection was so much more than purely physical.

  The pleasure was deeper, more intense, more essential. It wound through her, sparking in her core and wrapping around her heart. It had her in its grip, and she held on to Colin and gave it free rein, losing herself in swirling ecstasy.

  An enormous wave of pleasure crashed over her and through her. As if from a distance, she heard herself groaning and whimpering as Colin threaded his hand in her hair and licked her jaw just beneath her ear as he muttered Gaelic words so hotly they burned through her.

  With her body still awash with ecstasy, she felt him reach the pinnacle, pulsing deep, his seed hot and wet.

  He groaned softly as he came down from it, lifting himself up on his elbows to gaze into her eyes, his chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths.

  “Sorry.”

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  He looked around. The chair legs were on one side of them, the table legs on the other. The wood-planked floor was cold and hard beneath her body—but she hadn’t noticed that until this moment.

  “I meant to take you to bed like a proper husband-to-be. Not like some heathen who hadn’t seen a woman in ten years.”