Artair's Temptress: Highlander Fate Book Five

by Knight, Stella

  “I’m a solicitor,” she said. “I handle property law.”

  He studied her face, but he saw no excitement, no passion for this profession.

  “It pays the bills,” she said with a shrug. “I think I’m mostly looking forward to the day I can retire and live in the manor I’m fixing up.”

  “Aye?” he asked. “Alone?”

  "I'll have family visit—my Aunt Maggie. Kensa. And friends," she said with a trace of defensiveness in her tone. "But . . . I enjoy my solitude."

  He couldn't deny the relief that filled him at her not mentioning a husband to join her in this manor, though he knew, like his earlier jealousy, he had no right to feel that way. And though her need for solitude was familiar—he often craved the same—it made him wonder why such a lovely lass wouldn't want to share her life with anyone.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Are you looking forward to getting back to your life?”

  “Aye,” he said, though he felt no joy at the prospect. "Caitria is happy with the man she's found—I suspect she's far happier than she'd ever have been with me. Our marriage would have been a mistake. I'll eventually find someone tae wed, tae have my sons, but for now I'm content with my solitude—like ye, lass."

  And he had been content with his life of solitude, his focus on duty. But that was before he met the golden-haired witch who smelled of honey, and whose touch seared him with heat. A witch who would soon vanish from his life and this time to the future in which she belonged.

  “That woman who helped us—Loirin,” Diana was saying, her brow furrowed. “I wonder why she helped us? Do you think her brothers are hurting her?”

  “If they are, ’tis not our concern,” he said firmly.

  “I still wish we’d asked her to leave with us,” Diana said. “She looked so frightened.”

  He surveyed her, reaching out to smooth the worried crease of her brow with his fingertip.

  “I’m sure she can handle herself,” he said. “She has a bairn. Perhaps that’s why she remains with them. Ye’re very kind, Diana. Tae think of someone else at a time like this.”

  She just gave him a shrug and a shy smile. Their eyes locked—and there it was again, the heat that roared to life inside him as if someone had lit a fire in his belly—a heat that threatened to swallow him whole.

  He opened his mouth to urge her to get some rest, but there was a wanting in her eyes, and it seemed as if the chill around them had evaporated. Now he was only aware of the softness of her body against his, her parted lips, her flushed face. Her eyes lowered—just slightly—to his lips, and he couldn't hold back a moment longer. He needed a taste of her.

  He leaned forward, capturing her lips with his. She melted into him, her mouth opening to his like the petals of a flower opening to the sun. He groaned as he explored her sweet mouth with his tongue. She let out a soft sigh, which only further ignited his arousal. He held her even closer, relishing in the feel of her hardened nipples against his chest through the layer of their clothes, eager to taste every part of her. He kissed her until they were both breathless, and when he finally—reluctantly—pulled back, her breathing was ragged, her eyes still alight with desire.

  He wanted more, so much more, but he forced himself to rein in his desire. They were only together for the time being, for the purpose of going their separate ways.

  "We need tae sleep," he forced himself to say. "We have a long journey ahead."

  She blinked, as if coming out of a stupor, and nodded her agreement.

  He held her in his arms as she drifted off, but he remained awake long after she fell asleep, his body awash with unrequited desire—and need.

  Chapter 7

  Diana awoke as shafts of sunlight filtered into the stables. Artair still slept next to her. She gazed at him, a smile touching her lips as a yearning filled her. He was a beautiful man—the sunlight illuminated his strong jaw and his long lashes, which looked golden in the light. She recalled his lips on hers the night before, and desire stirred within her. Unable to stop herself, she reached out to brush a stray strand of chestnut hair back from his face.

  Artair stirred, his blue eyes flying open. His eyes met hers, and she swallowed, longing for him to pull her in his arms, to kiss her again . . .

  "We should leave,” he muttered, getting to his feet and breaking the spell.

  “Right,” she said, swallowing against the hurt that washed over her at his abruptness.

  She stood to brush the straw from her gown as Artair reached into their sack of supplies and handed her a piece of bread. “We need tae keep moving north tae find another inn—and we need tae find out exactly where we are.”

  His tone was all business, to the point of being brusque, as if they were polite strangers as opposed to two people who’d traveled through time together, faced an immediate hostage situation, and then shared a steamy kiss.

  But Diana nodded; he was absolutely right. The sooner they reached the Highlands, the sooner she could get to the portal, and he could get back to his life.

  The bread was tasteless, but she forced herself to eat it all. Artair seemed to sense her distaste for the bread, telling her with a smile that they’d find a better meal at an inn.

  When they mounted their horse, Artair rode at a more leisurely pace, though by the firm set of his muscles, she could tell he was still on guard. Diana prayed that Tamhas and his brother wouldn’t attempt to pursue them further.

  They rode until midday, and Diana found herself relaxing the farther north they rode. She wanted as much distance between them and Tamhas as possible. They didn't speak much, and the memory of their kiss raced through Diana's mind on an endless loop; she had to force herself to push the images aside.

  They soon arrived at a bustling village that was larger than the one Tamhas and his men had taken them to. Artair asked a passing man for directions to the nearest inn, and they made their way to the center of the village where Artair handed the horse over to a stable boy, informing him that the horse needed to be watered and fed immediately, they had been riding for some time.

  They paid for two rooms, and the innkeeper told them they were in the village of Lockerbie, not far from Dumfries. She noticed that Artair paled at the mention of Dumfries.

  “What’s in Dumfries?” she asked, as soon as they were alone in her room. “I saw your reaction when the innkeeper mentioned it.”

  “My sister and her husband,” he said gruffly. “They’re not in Dumfries, but just outside it. They have a home there.”

  “Perfect,” Diana said, relief swelling inside her. “We can get more supplies and food for the journey north.”

  "I told ye before—my sister and I didnae part well. 'Tis been many years since we've spoken."

  Diana studied the hesitation on his face.

  "Do you want to see her?"

  “Aye,” he replied, after a long pause, though his expression remained tumultuous. “We’ll go see her—but we’ll stay here for the night.”

  He turned, moving to the door, still not looking at her.

  “Get yerself a meal downstairs—whatever ye want. Yer aunt gave us plenty of coin. I’m going tae the local church.”

  Diana frowned. Though she knew people from the medieval era were far more religious than in her time, it struck her as odd that Artair would feel the need to seek out a church, especially given that her status as a witch didn't seem to bother him. He seemed to find her magic intriguing, not evil.

  He smiled at her startled expression, the tumult in his eyes vanishing.

  “I want tae confirm the year. Record books at churches often have them listed. I donnae want tae alarm the innkeeper by asking him the year.”

  After he left, Diana moved over to the window, looking out at the bustling street as Artair disappeared among the crowds. Even if she hadn’t gotten them exactly to the year 1390, given her scant knowledge of the time period, by the look of people's clothing and the village itself, it looked like she’d gotten them pretty
close.

  Despite her earlier self-admonishment for getting them to the wrong location, she’d still guided them back through time in one piece. A sudden swell of pride rose in her chest, along with a trace of wistful sadness. Her parents would have been proud of her.

  She made her way downstairs, where she had a vegetable stew served with bread. She chose to eat in her room as the innkeeper and other guests openly stared at her when she spoke, and she didn't want to draw too much unnecessary attention.

  Artair still hadn't returned when she'd finished eating. To quell her worry, she mentally reviewed some spells Kensa had taught her, spells that could come in handy during their travel north.

  Artair returned to her room just as she was practicing how to light a candle with just her magic. She turned to face him, relieved at the sight of him.

  "I'm sorry it took so long, lass," he said with an apologetic look. "I had tae ask for—"

  “It's all right," she interrupted. "Well? What year are we in?”

  He gave her a grave look, taking both her hands and leading her to the bed, sitting down opposite her. She swallowed, dread rising in her chest.

  “Oh God. Please tell me we’re not hundreds of years away from where we should be,” she whispered. “It looks like we're in the fourteenth or fifteenth century, but I’m no historian, and—”

  She stopped, realizing that Artair’s mouth was twitching. He was trying not to laugh. She yanked her hands from his with a scowl.

  “Artair. What year is it?”

  “’Tis the year of our Lord, 1390,” he said with a chuckle. “I was going tae jest with ye and tell ye we were in the ninth century, but I couldnae—yer face was filled with such fright.”

  Overwhelming relief washed over her, and she let out a laugh.

  “That would have been cruel.”

  “Aye. ’Tis why I couldnae go through with the jest,” he said, his expression turning serious. “Ye need tae have more belief in yerself, lass. It was ye—not yer aunt—but ye who guided us safely back through time.”

  His tone was reverent, and Diana swallowed hard as the now familiar ache of desire wound its way through her body. She recalled his mouth on hers the night before, his strong body pressed against hers, and she ached for him to kiss her again.

  But Artair was already on his feet, moving toward the door.

  “Now that we ken what year we’re in and where we are, the rest of our journey north should be much easier,” he said. “Come down when ye’re ready. I’ll request another meal for us downstairs.”

  He was gone before she could reply.

  * * *

  Diana stood in a forest clearing, her heart pounding as she looked around. She didn't know where she was—but she sensed danger.

  As she stumbled forward, she abruptly halted in her tracks. Two people hurried toward her—two very familiar people. She froze as they drew closer to her.

  The two people were her parents. They were still a distance away, but she could make out her mother's familiar blond hair and brown eyes, her father's dark hair and blue eyes. Joy seized her, and she rushed toward them—but they halted, turning away from her.

  And now Diana could see who they'd been running from. A group of men with painted faces who charged toward them. Panic coursed through Diana's veins; she opened her mouth to urge them to run.

  But it was too late. The men shot multiple arrows at her parents, and they collapsed to the ground, their lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. Diana sank to her knees, screams of grief erupting from her.

  "Diana!"

  Diana awoke to Artair gently shaking her. She met his eyes, her breathing still ragged, her heart still racing, and it took several long moments to realize what she'd seen had just been a nightmare.

  "'Tis all right, lass," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and rocking her as her pulse returned to normal. "Ye were just dreaming."

  She closed her eyes, burrowing herself against his broad chest.

  She dimly recalled the details of the evening before she'd retired to bed. They'd shared a polite dinner during which they'd only spoken of the journey to come, how much supplies they'd need, and how many stops they'd make, before retiring to their rooms with polite good nights. Yet the sexual tension between them still raged, and Diana had fallen asleep with an ache between her thighs.

  “Do ye want tae tell me what it was about?” he asked, pulling back to gaze down into her eyes.

  “It—was just a nightmare,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the horrible image of her parents' dead bodies riddled with spears. She didn't want to relive it; she just wanted to forget.

  "All right," he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "Try tae rest."

  He stood, and she spoke without thinking. “Can you—stay with me?”

  Her voice was small, like a child’s, and embarrassment flooded her.

  “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble to—"

  “'Tis not,” he said, with a gentle smile.

  He settled down onto the bed next to her and pulled her close. The hum of desire roiled through her, but something else did as well. Comfort. A sense of safety—belonging. She'd never felt such a strong sense of safety before. It was what she needed after the horrible nightmare.

  She didn't think she would be able to sleep, but soon found herself drifting off. This time, the images that filled her dreams were only of Artair, his naked body next to hers, his mouth on her lips, and that glorious sensation of belonging. That sense of home.

  Chapter 8

  Artair shifted in the chair by Diana’s bed, watching as she began to stir. He’d been unable to sleep beside her the night before, recalling the delicious feel of her mouth opening beneath his, and a firestorm of arousal had coursed through him. He’d wondered how it would feel to awaken her and claim her mouth, to taste her skin, to sink inside of her, and the thoughts had aroused him to the point of discomfort.

  Guilt had slithered through him—the lass had suffered through a terrible nightmare, and he couldn’t think past his desire. He had to force himself out of bed and into the chair, hoping it would quell his need for her. It hadn’t, but he’d remained stubbornly in the chair, drifting off to sleep whenever he could.

  He watched as Diana awoke and turned to face him, the sleeve of her underdress slipping to reveal the curve of her bare shoulder.

  “Good morning tae ye, lass,” he said gruffly. “Did ye sleep well?”

  Diana nodded and sat up, causing the sleeve of her underdress to slip a little more, revealing even more of her shoulder, and he had to grit his teeth against the ache that flared to life inside of him at the sight.

  “Thank you for staying with me.”

  “Aye,” he said, getting to his feet and stretching; his muscles ached from spending the night in the chair.

  Diana studied him, her eyes widening. “Did you sleep all night on that chair?”

  “No,” he lied. She didn’t need to know that his desire for her had forced him out of bed. “I awoke shortly before you.”

  She smiled, her lips curving, and he allowed himself to fantasize about seizing that lovely mouth with his own. But he forced himself to shove the tantalizing image away, moving to the door.

  "We should be on our way.”

  * * *

  As they rode out of the village and west toward Dumfries, anxiety filled him at the thought of seeing his sister again, and his hands shook on his reins. He'd traveled through time—twice—yet he was more nervous about seeing his sister again.

  He thought of the harsh words they'd exchanged the last time they'd seen each other, and regret filled him. Liosa had expressed frustration over Artair’s increasing self-imposed isolation after their father’s death; how he focused more on his duties as laird than on family or relationships. Her anger reached its apex when he began to turn down invitations to local clan gatherings and suppers.

  “Soon ye’ll have no one in yer life tae care for! Or who’ll care about ye! Ye’
re becoming just like our father! He had no one at the end—no one but us!” Liosa had shouted.

  “Are ye trying tae tell me something, sister?” Artair challenged. “I donnae consider it an insult tae be compared tae the father who loved us—”

  “It wasnae meant tae be an insult—”

  “Our father left the manor and our lands tae me; ’tis all my responsibility! I donnae need ye or anyone!” he roared.

  Hurt entered his sister’s eyes, and he regretted his words. But his pride ruled him in those days. He just continued to glare as Liosa’s face flushed with pain and anger.

  “All right, brother,” she returned softly. “I’ll give ye what ye desire—yer solitude.”

  She left the manor the next day. He thought she would calm down and return, but after one month passed, and then another, he realized his sister wasn’t coming back. His pride and stubbornness prevented him from apologizing, from asking her to return.

  She sent him letters over the years, letting him know of her whereabouts and giving him brief updates about her life, but those letters soon grew few and far between until they stopped altogether.

  He had told himself that it was for the best, that his sister would be happier without him, but he’d felt the gaping chasm of her loss ever since.

  He took a calming breath, telling himself that he’d just request supplies and continue on his way with Diana to the next inn. If Liosa sent him away, it was her right. He expected it.

  They approached his sister’s large manor on the outskirts of Dumfries, which he remembered the directions to from the last letter Liosa had ever sent him. He took in the expansive manor with a sense of relief; at least his sister had married well and was living in comfort.

  He dismounted as they arrived on the narrow dirt path that led to the front door. Before they reached it, the door swung open and a red-haired man he didn't recognize stepped out and eyed him. From his fine clothing, Artair guessed he was the laird of the manor, his sister's husband and his brother-in-law, Laird Keagan Padarsan. A woman soon appeared at the man's side, and Artair stopped in his tracks as he gazed into the eyes of his sister Liosa for the first time in years.