Taming the Highlander

by May McGoldrick

  Descending to the tunnels, Innes struggled to hold Thunder until they passed through the heavy door onto the stony beach. She then removed the rope and let the wolf go free.

  The animal went wild, running in circles, jumping on her, running into the waves and back.

  “At least you aren’t afraid of being with me. Are you, pup?”

  “Where’s Thunder?” Conall demanded, stomping into Duff’s work area. “If he’s gotten away from you again, I swear, I’ll—”

  “The mistress has him.” Duff raised his head from the leather collar he was making for the wolf. “Didn’t think you’d mind her taking him down along the strand.”

  Conall glowered at him. He didn’t mind. And he did. Bloody hell. She missed the wolf enough to come get him. Did she miss him?

  “Did she come here for him herself?”

  “Aye.” The man put aside the leatherwork. “I’ll go get him now if that’s what you want. Just say so.”

  He knew he should let him go. Damn. “Nay. Not yet. Keep on with your work.”

  Conall stalked upstairs to his bedchamber and opened the window overlooking the bluffs. He couldn’t see much of the rocky beach below from here.

  Today at Wick, everything reminded him of Innes. The wool warehouse. The village urchins. The market cross and the smattering of vendors.

  Thunder ran into his view across a stretch of the beach. A few steps behind him, Conall saw Innes run after the wolf. She was barefoot, with her hair flying loose behind her. He wanted to thread his fingers through those silky strands, take a handful in his fist, and draw her face to his. He wanted to taste her lips, devour them.

  The two ran off and disappeared where he could no longer see them.

  “She’s determined to torment me,” he muttered, heading back down the stairs. Duff lifted his head but said nothing as Conall passed through the room.

  As he moved quickly through the tunnels, he continued to argue with himself about whether he should go out and confront her. He had every right to take his wolf back from her.

  He’d planned to speak to her when the time was right. He’d even practiced a few of the lies that he would deliver. He needed to convince her that their marriage would not be a good idea. She deserved that. She needed a way to move on from their conversation in her room.

  But he couldn’t do it. He didn’t trust himself to be alone with her. It was cowardly, but he just wanted to get through these next few days until she left.

  When he reached the turn that led to the beach, he instead climbed to the ramparts that looked out over the sea.

  Beneath him, she was throwing a piece of driftwood over the incoming whitecaps. Thunder dove out to retrieve it. A dozen seals watched with interest from deeper water.

  Innes stood in the water with the waves breaking around her. The tide was coming in, and he wondered if she knew how dangerous the currents could be there.

  As she picked up the branch Thunder dropped in the water, she seemed to sense his presence, for she turned and looked directly up at him. Before Conall could back away from the edge of the wall, she raised her hand and waved.

  His throat knotted. The urge to hold her in his arms threatened to overwhelm every shred of common sense in him.

  A wave crashed at her feet at the exact moment Thunder jumped on her to take the stick out of her hand. She fell in the water, and the next wave was on top of her. He waited a heartbeat but her head didn’t surface.

  He rushed back down through the passageway. He had to get to her. The currents would pull her out to sea. The waves would dash her against the rocks. This shoreline was treacherous. A few fishermen died every so often, one last year just pulling in his boat.

  Conall broke out onto the strand. He could see her. She was struggling to get to her feet, only to be knocked down by the next wave.

  Thunder saw him but he wouldn’t leave her side. The wolf tugged at her clothes, pulling at her but only managing to keep her from getting her feet under her.

  “Out. Away, Thunder,” he shouted as he rushed into the water.

  Thunder backed away, and Conall wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her into his arms as another wave crashed around them.

  She clutched at his neck, holding him tightly, coughing up seawater as he staggered toward the shore.

  “That was the most insane thing you just did,” he lectured. “You could have drowned there. You could have been pulled right out to sea.”

  Worry had his heart pounding in his chest. The thought that he could have lost her made him want to shout at her. What the devil was she doing stepping into these waters with no one watching? If he hadn’t come, who would have saved her? He felt sick.

  She tucked her face into the crook of his neck.

  He wanted to take her straight up to the West Tower where he could lecture her some more. That was after he stripped her naked and dried every inch of her and tucked her into his bed. The image of Innes at her window rushed through his mind. All night he’d dreamt of tearing that white shift off her body and kissing the skin beneath it.

  By ’sblood, the woman was driving him mad.

  He stood her on her feet once they reached the stony beach, but she continued to hold on to his neck for few moments longer as she tried to catch her breath.

  He held her, justifying it in his head that it would only be for a few more seconds.

  Meanwhile, an array of erotic fantasies paraded through his mind. His dream of Innes naked. The day at the loch and how close he’d come to throwing caution to the wind and making love to her. He ached for her. He was growing hard, and he knew he needed to stop this. He needed to step away from her before she noticed his body’s reaction.

  “You should go in. Change right away. The water was cold. You don’t want to catch your death.”

  She nodded and released him. She was shivering, but he saw the blush in her cheeks.

  Those magical gray eyes lifted for a moment and looked into his. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me . . . again.”

  Conall watched her as she hurried toward the sea door. Before she reached it, she paused and picked up her stockings and shoes. And her gloves.

  Her gloves. Bloody hell.

  Chapter 22

  “My hand begins to shake from the poison. I know they have killed me. Someone in the castle. This relic, this fragment of the Wheel, is no gift but a curse, to be sure. We thought I would be safe . . . still not safe. My beloved child, my dear, sweet Catherine sits weeping at my bedside. She is promised to the son of the clan chief, but I fear for her safety . . . his honor . . . but I must . . . my vow . . . no choice . . .”

  From the Chronicle of Lugh

  The sharp ring of metal on metal filled the air, punctuated by grunts and shouts and laughter from both fighters and onlookers. Watching the men train from the safety of Ailein’s window was so different from being right here, so close.

  “Are you certain I’ll be safe walking through there?” Innes asked her sister.

  Ailein backed up onto the steps to the Great Hall. “Bryce vowed that he’d watch for you. This will be a test of Conall’s affection.”

  Innes thought her sister was insane, and she was insane to go along with it. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Her days at Girnigoe were coming to an end. She had to make him act. All she needed to do was walk through the yard, concentrating on the sketch in her hand as she headed toward the East Tower.

  Innes’s eyes were drawn to the flashing arcs of the swords as the pairs of Sinclair warriors fought. She saw no sign of Conall in the crowd of shirtless, sweaty bodies. She hoped he was here. She prayed he’d notice her and come to her rescue.

  Madness was quickly becoming the best description for her behavior. She dressed scantily in her bedchamber at night, parading before the window. She nearly got herself drowned in the sea. And today she would walk through a fierce company of warriors, hoping she wouldn’t be punched in the face or lose a limb to a slicing sword blade.


  What wasn’t she willing to do in the name of love?

  Focusing on the paper in her hand, she took the first step.

  Bloody hell. What now?

  Conall fended off the slashing blows of the two warriors fighting him and looked again at the small figure in black wandering into the tumultuous chaos of the training yard.

  What did she think she was doing?

  The fighters came at him again. Beating back their ferocious onslaught, he realized Innes was paying no attention to what went on around her. Swords clanged and flashed in the sun, but as the men realized with alarm that she was there, they moved aside, contorting their bodies and parting like the Red Sea as she moved through them.

  Conall’s own sparring partners, unaware of the action behind them, continued to attack him. As he fought them off, he suddenly realized that Innes was heading for trouble.

  Bryce and one of the men were fighting with short swords, and neither of them was aware of her presence. Bryce lunged with the point of the weapon toward his fighter’s chest, and the man spun away from the attack, driving at him with a frenzy of strokes.

  Conall couldn’t watch any more.

  She was about to step right into the sword’s path.

  His intention was to push her out of the line of danger. But as he passed, Bryce stepped back, catching his hip and sending him stumbling toward her. Going down, he caught Innes by the waist. Before they hit the ground, he rolled and she ended up sprawled on top of him. Her silky hair blanketed his face. Her breasts pressed against his naked chest. His arm remained around her waist, holding her where she landed.

  Her eyes rounded with shock. Boots quickly gathered around them.

  “Here we are again,” he said. “How many times must I save you?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this would . . .”

  She tried to push herself up, but the devil in him made him hold her tighter. She smelled so good, her lips were so close, and her breasts were crushed against his chest.

  “What are you thinking? Let me go.”

  “If you weren’t wearing those gloves, you’d know what I’m thinking.” His gaze was fixed on her mouth.

  Before she could respond, a dozen of his cursed warriors helped her to her feet.

  Conall sat up. She glared at him, snatched up her fallen paper, and then turned away. The spirals of dark hair reached the tops of her buttocks. She’d stopped braiding and putting her hair up just to drive him mad. He was certain of it. He looked up and frowned at the line of Sinclair warriors, standing stock-still, their training forgotten. Every one of them grinned from ear to ear, watching Innes walk away.

  He wanted to pound every dog-faced one of them. He jumped to his feet and Bryce was there.

  “You and I are done for today,” said Bryce.

  “I’m not. There are a few brains out here that I need to rattle.”

  “Brains? You certainly won’t find any in this bunch.” Bryce put an arm out, stopping him. “Besides, I have more important business with you. Clan business. One of the merchants is waiting for us, some complaint about our wool. I have no idea what he wants. Why don’t you clean up and come to my receiving room, so we can straighten this out?”

  Conall would have liked to put his brother off, but he understood the validity of Bryce’s concern. No one wanted any setbacks after the gains they’d begun to make.

  Back in the West Tower, he climbed the stairs to his chambers and cleaned up. All the while, his thoughts kept going back to Innes. She was doing this intentionally; he knew it. She made sure he saw her, touched her, smelled her, felt her soft curves against his body. She wanted him to suffer and know what he’d given up.

  He pulled on a clean shirt. If only she knew that he was doing this for her own good.

  Blasted woman. He should tie her to a horse and send her back to Folais Castle now, before he lost his mind.

  The storm brewing in him must have shown in the blackness of his frown, for everyone scurried out of his way as he strode to the North Tower.

  In the Great Hall, Wynda took a step toward him but then veered off, choosing to talk to Fingal. Lachlan limped away and disappeared through the door to the kitchens before Conall reached him. At the door to Bryce’s room, he didn’t bother to knock.

  Bryce was dragging a chair across the floor. There was no one else there.

  “Where is he?” asked Conall.

  “Where is who?”

  “The bloody merchant.”

  “Oh, he left. It was nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”

  The grin on his brother’s face didn’t sit well with Conall. He slammed the door shut behind him. “You knew this before you asked me to come here.”

  “Aye. That I did.”

  “What the devil for? So I wouldn’t crack a few empty skulls?”

  “In part,” Bryce replied, leaning against his desk. “You have one fist left, and I’d prefer not to have it bloody and useless all the time.”

  Conall cursed and began to turn to the door. As he did, his gaze lit on the chessboard and he stopped.

  “That’s the other reason,” said Bryce.

  The chess set he’d given to Innes—his gift to her—sat there with two chairs arranged on either side.

  Conall’s eyes narrowed, his muscles tensed. “What’s this doing here?”

  “Innes sent it to me. She said she wasn’t about to take it back to Folais Castle. Said such a valuable set should remain with the Sinclairs. Quite a remarkable woman, that one. She also offered to give me few lessons before she left. Ailein tells me her sister is quite proficient at the game. Among the Munros, no one can defeat her, apparently. Weren’t you just saying I should hire a tutor?”

  Blood was pumping so hard in Conall’s head that he could barely hear his brother’s words.

  She returned his gift.

  “Have that taken back to her chambers,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “She won’t take it back. She told me—”

  “She will take it back,” Conall barked, storming out. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Chapter 23

  The chess set had done the trick.

  Innes had no doubt who was pounding on her chamber door.

  Fighting the nervousness and excitement shaking her to the core, she took her time, glancing in the mirror at her reflection. Keeping her hair loose made her look younger, despite the blaze of white hair. But her face was flushed, her breathing uneven. She needed to be calm.

  The black dress she’d worn this morning was dusty from the tumble in the training yard. There was no time for her to change into another one.

  The knock became even louder, almost violent.

  She wiped away the worst of the dust. He probably wouldn’t notice.

  “Innes, I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

  She glanced at the high neckline of her dress and wished she’d taken her sister’s advice and worn something more revealing. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, not while she paraded herself among those half-naked men.

  “You open this door, or I will take it down.”

  She pulled on her gloves, slowly, methodically, taking her time, and finally unlatched and opened the door.

  Conall Sinclair, wild-eyed and disheveled, looked like some creature of the darkness ready to tear her to pieces. She bit her lip, remembering how slow he’d been in letting her go in the training yard.

  “Why, m’lord, what a surprise!”

  He charged past her. “We need to talk.”

  She looked down the hall outside.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I was hoping you had Thunder with you.” Innes shrugged, trying to look disappointed.

  She closed the door and turned to him. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him looking angrier.

  He stalked to the open window overlooking the bluffs, obviously trying to cool his temper. She waited patiently. When he finally turned around, his gaze immediate
ly went to the white shift draped across the foot of the bed. The same one that she’d worn at night to tease him.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked casually, drawing his eyes back to her.

  “That bloody . . .” He stopped and took a breath. “The chess set. My gift to you. You returned it. To my brother.”

  “Aye. It seemed to be the right thing to do. And I offered to give him some lessons, too. He was quite happy about it, I think.”

  “That is my gift to you. It is yours to keep.”

  “That set is too precious. It belongs to the Sinclairs.”

  “Blast the Sinclairs!” he exploded. “It’s yours.”

  “As I understand it, that chess set was a gift from the earl of Caithness to the woman he was proposing marriage to,” she said, fighting back emotions that suddenly threatened to burst loose. She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Not after everything she did to bring him back to this room. “Since that offer no longer stands, I have no desire to keep it.”

  He stared into her eyes, and she recognized the struggle. What she saw there was no longer anger but torment.

  “About my offer—” he began.

  “You don’t . . . you don’t have to explain anything.” Her voice broke slightly. “I understand. This curse that is part of me is too much to ask you to bear. You said everything that needed to be said when you walked out that door.”

  The emotions packed in the blue depths of his eyes told her how hard it was for him to stand back, how hard he was fighting the urge to come and take her into his arms. Yesterday along the shore, as he’d carried her out of the water, she’d seen much more into his soul than he could have ever imagined. He loved her. Right now, she didn’t have to touch him, but she understood his thoughts. If I go to her, he was thinking, I fail her. Not just now, but for the rest of her life.

  “My proposal . . . the reason why I did not repeat it is not about you,” he said. “It’s about me, about my past. About the privacy I need. You might call it selfish, but it’s my right to keep hidden what’s mine. I cannot allow anyone to intrude.”