He dressed and went downstairs to find Liosa setting the table. Bernasa was nowhere to be seen.
“It looks like ye and yer English lass are stuck here, brother," Liosa said wryly. "I sent the servants home last night to tend tae their own families during this storm; we’re on our own till it clears.”
Diana entered the room then, looking even more lovely in a light blue gown. She took in Liosa setting the table and stepped forward.
"Let me help you," she offered.
"There's no need, ye're my guest," Liosa said, her tone cool. "Please, sit down. Both of ye."
He scowled, not liking her cool attitude toward Diana, but opted to stay silent. They'd made good progress last night; he didn't want to fray their strained peace.
When Keagan joined them, they sat down to a meal of venison stew.
"If this storm lasts for days, we may use up our stores," Keagan said, giving Liosa a worried look.
"'We can discuss such matters when our guests arenae present," Liosa returned, not looking up from her plate.
Artair stilled, surveying the sudden tension in his sister—her tight shoulders, her pale face. A household this size shouldn't run out of food stores so quickly.
"Are ye low on food?" he asked. When his sister didn't answer, he pressed. "Liosa?"
"'Tis not yer concern, Artair," she replied shortly.
He exchanged a look with Diana, who gave him a subtle shake of her head. But Artair's instincts were on fire—there was something going on here, something more than just low food stores. He could tell by Liosa and Keagan's mutual tension.
"If ye need help with something—if there are debts, or—" he continued.
"I said 'tis none of yer concern," Liosa snapped. "Ye cannae show up here after all these years and—"
“’Tis my concern,” Artair snapped. “Ye're my sister."
"Am I?" Liosa returned with a bitter laugh. "I assumed ye'd forgotten."
He glared at her, and she returned it; the tentative peace between them now shattered.
"I'm no longer hungry, and I need tae tend tae the next meal," Liosa muttered, getting to her feet.
Keagan trailed her out of the room after shooting Artair a dark look. When he left, Artair turned to Diana, who also gave him a look of annoyance.
"And ye as well, lass? Are ye upset with me?"
"I may have been an only child, but I'm going to assume that taking a domineering attitude with your sister isn't going to make her open up to you. I'm sure she'll tell you what's going on—but you've been apart for many years. You can't press her too much."
Artair glowered, wanting to tell Diana that he could handle his sister on his own, but he bit back a retort.
"Especially," she continued, "considering that we may have to be here for a few days. It's not like there are snow plow trucks in this time."
He didn't know what a truck was but didn't press.
He wanted to go after his sister and demand to know what she was hiding from him. Yet he had to grudgingly concede that Diana was right. Pushing Liosa on the matter would only make matters worse.
Diana got to her feet, moving over to one of the large windows in the dining room and peering out. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and curiosity propelled him out of his chair to approach her.
"What are ye thinking of?" he asked. "If 'tis about me and Liosa, ye're right. I'll—"
"No," she said. "I've already said my piece about that. I was just thinking about how beautiful this is. It snows in London, of course, but there's nothing like snow in the Scottish countryside. My parents would take me up to the Highlands for Yule when I was smaller, and they would lie down on the ground with me to make snow angels. It's one of my favorite memories."
She smiled, her eyes lighting up at the memory.
"Liosa and I would do the same, though our maid would scold us, telling us we'd catch a fever," he murmured, taking in the snow. "Sometimes we'd sneak out tae play in the snow with the servants' bairns."
"Snow is magical for children, isn't it?" Diana asked, raising her lovely eyes to his with a chuckle.
"Aye," he said. "Do ye want them? Bairns?"
He didn't know where the question came from, but he suddenly had a burning desire to know. Diana swallowed, returning her focus to the snow.
"No," she said, and his chest clenched at her words. "This—ability of mine—I don't want to pass the burden of magic onto a child. I know the dark side of what my power can do."
Pain tightened her expression; he wanted nothing more than to take it away.
"I donnae think yer witchcraft—yer magic—is a burden," he murmured. "I think 'tis a part of ye. I think it makes ye special. But there are other special things about ye as well. Ye have a good heart, tae have agreed tae transport me tae the past. And . . . ye’re lovely, lass. The loveliest I've ever seen. It would be a shame not tae pass those traits on tae a bairn of yer own."
Diana turned to face him, a flush spreading across her cheeks. Again, the image of Diana swollen with child—his child—entered his mind, and the desire that followed the image made him reach up to gently grip her nape, to press her close to him, to delve into her sweet mouth with his tongue.
His desire for her consumed him; he didn't care that he was in his sister's dining room—he wanted to take her where she stood, to lower the bodice of her gown and taste her lovely breasts before letting his fingers drift down to stroke her center.
"I want ye, lass," he murmured, tearing his mouth from hers to pepper kisses along her jaw, down to her throat. She let out a soft whimper, and he pulled her closer. "I donnae care that ye donnae belong in this time. I ache for ye, Diana, my golden witch. I can hardly breathe around ye."
"Artair," she whispered, arching her throat as he suckled the skin at its base. "I want you too. So much. But—"
She took a breath, stepping back and robbing him of her delicious heat.
"But I was sent back with you to guide you back home," she said, not looking at him as she spoke. "And that is what—and all—that I'll do. We've been sidetracked enough. My—my magic is still new. I can't let myself get distracted by how much I want you."
"Diana—" he whispered, stepping forward, but she took another step back; the movement splintered his heart.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and hurried out of the room, leaving him alone and aching in her wake.
Chapter 11
I want ye, lass.
Artair’s words filled her with longing. She could still barely breathe when she returned to her own chamber. It’s just desire, she told herself. Searing, off-the-charts desire, but desire nonetheless. It was bad enough that she wanted him, but actually making love to him—the thought of which sent a maelstrom of heat careening throughout her body—would make her start to feel things for a man born centuries before her.
It had taken everything in her power to walk away from Artair, to not give in to the passionate need that raced through her. She needed to focus, to get him back to his manor and then back to her own time.
She pushed aside the memory of Artair’s lips on her throat, the feel of his broad, muscular body pressed flush against her own. She should try to use the extra time she had here in the manor to strengthen her magical skills and practice spells.
Diana locked the door to make certain no one would interrupt her. Artair's sister seemed to distrust her. She could only imagine Liosa’s reaction if she found Diana attempting to perform spells. A rule she had heard time and time again from her parents was to never openly practice magic in the superstitious past.
But as she tried to recite basic spells from memory, she found that she couldn't concentrate. Her traitorous mind kept filling with thoughts of Artair, of the raw desire in his blue eyes as he kissed her. I ache for ye, Diana, my golden witch.
She closed her eyes, expelling a sigh. It would do no good attempting to practice when all she could think about was Artair. She could still make herself useful, and though she was unlikely to ever se
e Artair's sister again once she left here, she was determined to get Liosa to like her.
She went in search of Liosa, finding her in the large kitchens in the rear of the manor. Liosa was concentrating on chopping vegetables as Diana stepped inside.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Diana asked.
Liosa didn't look up.
“No, ye’re our guest. Please—return tae yer chamber."
Frustration roiled through Diana, but she looked around, spotting an apron hanging in the kitchen's corner—one that didn’t look too different from a modern-day apron. She put it on and stepped forward.
“I insist,” Diana said firmly.
Liosa stopped chopping, glancing up at her, and for a split-second Diana thought she saw a glimmer of admiration in the other woman’s eyes.
“All right,” Liosa muttered, returning her attention to the vegetables. “Ye can cut up those squash over there.”
Feeling a ridiculous amount of triumph, Diana moved over to the far end of the counter where a pile of winter squash sat and dutifully began to chop. They worked in silence for several long moments before Liosa spoke.
“Ye care for my brother,” she said, still not looking up. It was a statement, not a question.
Diana flushed, but knew it was best to be honest.
“Yes,” she said.
She waited for a follow-up question, her heart hammering in her chest, but to her relief there wasn't one. Liosa was now resolutely focused on dicing a pile of carrots.
“What was Artair like?” Diana asked, hungry for more knowledge about the man she desired so much. “When he was a child?”
“The opposite of the way he is now,” Liosa said after a brief pause, a nostalgic smile tugging at her lips. “Loquacious. Always telling tales. My father used tae say he was a born storyteller.”
Diana smiled, trying to imagine a cheerful young Artair telling Liosa stories.
“I was frightened of horses when I was younger, so he used tae tell me he could speak tae them. According tae Artair, they told him they would never hurt me. I kent he wasnae being truthful, but it eased my fears.”
Diana chuckled in amusement.
“I never had siblings,” she confessed. “It’s stories like yours that make me wish I had.”
“’Tis just ye and yer parents then?” Liosa asked, glancing up at her.
“Yes. My parents died some time ago,” she said, a twinge of grief piercing her.
Diana felt Liosa's eyes on her as she focused on the squash. She stilled, looking up at the feel of a gentle pressure on her arm. Liosa stood there, her hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry,” Liosa said with an empathetic smile. “My mother died when I was too young to remember, but I do remember how painful it was when my father died.”
Diana returned her smile, and Liosa retreated back to her side of the kitchen. Something seemed to shift between them after that moment; she noticed that Liosa seemed less tense as she chopped.
They worked in companionable silence until Liosa insisted that she leave and wash up for the next meal, but this time she spoke with a genuine smile.
When Diana entered the dining room for evening supper, she felt considerably more relaxed, though she avoided the heat of Artair’s gaze on her when he entered the room with Keagan. When she did look up, she noticed that both Artair and Keagan’s expressions were tight with tension; she wondered what had happened between the two.
As they ate, Liosa filled up most of the silence with small talk, but Diana noticed Artair’s increasing tension. His jaw was tight, and he barely ate. She swallowed hard, wondering if his tension was caused by her rejection after their kiss.
“Diana, will ye leave us for a moment?” he asked abruptly. “There’s something I wish tae discuss with my family.”
She was surprised at the hurt that pierced her at his words, words that reminded her of what an outsider she was. But stubbornness kept her rooted to the spot.
“I insist on staying,” she said, bracing herself, certain that Liosa would demand that she leave. Yet Liosa remained silent, and when she glanced over at the other woman, she again caught a brief glimpse of admiration in her eyes.
Artair glared at her, his eyes flashing, but he also didn’t protest. Instead, he turned his focus to Keagan and Liosa.
“Ye’re both hiding something from me,” he demanded. “I want tae ken what it is.”
Diana frowned in surprise. Keagan and Liosa stiffened, avoiding his gaze.
“’Tis not yer concern—" Keagan began.
“Stop saying that,” Artair interrupted. “Aye, I ken I havenae been in touch, but that doesnae mean I donnae care about my sister and what happens tae her. Now tell me what it is.”
“Artair—" Diana interjected, but Liosa held up her hand.
“Very well,” she murmured.
“’Tis our business, wife,” Keagan hissed, but Liosa was focused on Artair.
“We’ve been having trouble with some border men. Usually they donnae venture this far north, but in the past few months they’ve been stealing our horses, cattle and food stores. One of them—he has a taste for the lassies—he’s threatened tae harm me if we donnae give his men more of our stores.”
A heavy silence fell. Keagan stared at the table, his jaw clenched. Liosa evenly held Artair's gaze, though she'd gone pale. Diana looked at Artair and flinched—she'd never seen him look so furious.
“What are these men’s names?” Artair demanded.
“Artair, ’tis not—" Liosa began.
“What. Are. Their. Names?” he repeated.
“Tamhas and Iomhar. They’re brothers,” Liosa whispered.
Diana stilled, a chill spreading throughout her body. How was it possible that Liosa and Keagan were dealing with the exact same men she and Artair had encountered?
And then she recalled something Kensa had once told her, how traveling through time made things . . . come together. How it increased the possibility of what seemed like coincidence. She’d told her that the men and women she sent back in time always ended up near their fated mates.
Perhaps they hadn’t arrived at the border and near Liosa’s home by coincidence. Perhaps it was purposeful—and they were meant to arrive here, to get caught by those men. Perhaps Artair’s desire to reconnect with his sister was so powerful that the threads of time had sent them here instead of to his manor.
“Do ye have men who can help ye?” Artair asked, pulling her from the whirlwind of her thoughts.
“We’re not like yer Highland clans,” Keagan snapped. “I can protect my wife, my home.”
“Ye clearly cannae,” Artair returned, and Keagan shot to his feet.
“Ye cannae come into my home and presume—”
“Stop it, please,” Liosa pleaded. “Yes, we have men from the other farms who help us. The border men have been nuisances for months, but we can handle them. Now—let’s just finish our meal.”
Artair’s mouth tightened, and she could tell he wanted to protest, but Liosa's pale, pleading face was insistent. He grunted his agreement but was silent for the rest of the meal.
“I’ve prepared another course,” Liosa said, with forced cheerfulness. “Salted herring. One of yer favorites, Artair.”
But Artair was already on his feet.
“My belly is full,” he said shortly, before leaving the room.
Diana gave them an apologetic look and hurried after him as he entered the empty drawing room. He moved to the fireplace, looking down at the flames.
“How is it possible? That the same men who took us hostage—" he began.
“I was wondering the same thing,” she interrupted. “I’ve been thinking—maybe time pulled us here because we’re supposed to be here. Were you thinking of your sister before we traveled?” she asked.
“I was thinking of how good yer hands felt in mine,” he said. There was no heat in his tone; it was a matter-of-fact statement. Still, her face warmed. “And then . . . aye. I w
as thinking of her. I wondered if she was worried about me; if she kent that I was missing, and I felt regret over our estrangement. Ye’re saying that time—fate—wanted us tae be here?”
“I think so,” Diana said.
“Then ’tis settled. I donnae care what my stubborn sister says—as soon as I get ye back to Tairseach, I’m returning with my best men tae fight those bastards.”
As soon as I get ye back tae Tairseach. Diana forced a smile and gave him a nod. That was what she wanted—she didn’t belong in this time. And Artair was perfectly capable of protecting his sister—his family—which she wasn’t a part of.
“Are ye all right, lass?” he asked. “Donnae worry, I’ll help get ye back—"
“Everything’s fine,” she said with another forced smile. “I’m glad you’re going to help your sister. I want you to. I—I should get back.”
She hurried out of the room before he could see the storm of conflicting emotions on her face, the same emotions that tore at her heart.
Chapter 12
The snowstorm continued, with each day seeming to bring more snow. As the days passed, Artair decided not to tell his proud sister and brother-in-law that he had every intention of defending them from the border men, no matter what they said. Instead, as he spent his time helping out with tasks that needed tending to around the manor, he focused on getting to know his brother-in-law more and spending time with his sister—all the while trying to subdue his growing need for Diana.
“My wife is starting tae like yer mistress,” Keagan said one morning, as Artair helped him gather chopped wood from the cellar to carry upstairs.
“Diana’s not my mistress,” Artair corrected.
Keagan gave him a look of skepticism, but said nothing, hefting a stack of wood into his arms and heading toward the stairs. Artair followed, hoping he wouldn’t continue to question him about Diana.
Keagan led him into the parlor where the fire burning in the fireplace had started to die out. They tossed several pieces of wood inside, and Keagan leaned over to restart the fire with flint and steel, using thistledown to help it roar back to life.
Artair's Temptress: Highlander Fate Book Five Page 7