Highland Temptation

by Lori Ann Bailey

  Pulling at the unfamiliar gown, she undressed as quickly as her fingers could fumble with the confining ribbons. The coolness of the night air was a balm that reminded her of home, and although the room was small, she felt as if she could finally take in a full breath. After removing her shift, she put on the thinner of the two night rails she had brought. As she sat on the bed, visions of Kentillie floated in her mind, just as they had a thousand times before.

  Damn, I miss home. She thought of the river, the rolling hills, the snow-topped mountains, and the green and purple meadows as she waited on Blair to get to the room. Living the last couple years on the Macnab’s land had been bearable because she had a purpose and felt needed, but it wasn’t Kentillie.

  A quiet but firm knock jolted her from her memories. She jumped up and padded toward the door, the chilled stones refreshing on her bare feet. The latch creaked as she lifted it. The door swung in, and in an attempt to get out of its way, she tripped, falling back flat on her ass.

  A hulking silhouette stalked into the room, and Blair’s small shadow followed.

  “Kirstie?” The smooth burr she’d recognize anywhere washed over her.

  “Down here.”

  “What?”

  “Ye nearly pushed the door into me.”

  “Are ye hurt?” Alan sounded concerned.

  “’Tis only my pride that will be bruised.”

  He reached forward with both arms, but she stared at them, not sure if she should take his hands. Feeling vulnerable on the floor, she took them and he hefted her to her feet.

  “Ye should ask who’s at the door before ye open it.” His protective gaze met hers without letting her go.

  “I was expecting Blair.” She yanked her hands free and took a step back. “And look, there she is.” Kirstie pointed at her friend. Blair remained silent but looked as if she was stifling a laugh.

  “I told ye ’twas no’ safe here. Never unlatch that door without first being certain of who is on the other side.” Even though it sounded like a plea, he was acting like a brother again, and it brought back the rejection and anger he’d inspired in her youth.

  “I will be sure to do that in the future, because I will ken ’tis ye, and I willnae give ye entry.” She balled her fists at her side.

  He went still and audibly inhaled, staring at her as if he’d never seen her. Her grip slackened.

  “What are ye looking at?”

  Movement caught her eye. It was Blair, coming to stand beside him. She lifted her hands up to her shoulders and swept them down her body like she wanted Kirstie to see what she was wearing, then she pointed back to Kirstie.

  Och, her back was to the candle, and she had put on the thinnest piece of clothing she owned. It was a garment that over time had worn down to become almost transparent. It dawned on her that she was near naked in front of him.

  “Och, Alan, close yer eyes.” Rushing to the side of the bed, she grabbed a plaid, wrapping it around her before glancing back up to see him shift his gaze to the floor.

  “’Tis time for ye to go.” Her face burned with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

  “Aye, I’ve had a nice view. Tempts me to walk Blair back tomorrow.” His gray, teasing gaze returned to hers, and flames erupted in her cheeks. She bit her lip and looked away.

  “Ye shall no’ see it again,” she snapped back.

  He shook his head as if trying to dislodge the memory. “Good. Ye shouldnae have any men up here.”

  Why was she so calm and clear headed when other men flirted with her? She could match innuendos with them all, but something about Alan threw her completely off balance. Most likely it was because she was well aware he didn’t want her.

  And that’s why it stung so badly.

  “I think ’tis best if ye leave. Thank ye for the escort,” Blair said.

  “Aye. ’Tis time I’m on my way.”

  Kirstie turned toward the window, determined to not let those old feelings surface; they were both different people now. She couldn’t face him. If her gaze met his, he would see the tears stinging the back of her eyes. She had sworn to herself that he would never see her cry again, but she was dangerously close to letting that happen, so she said nothing.

  “Bolt the door behind me.”

  “Aye,” replied Blair.

  His boots clacked on the floor as he moved to the door. They stopped.

  “Kirstie.” The room was quiet until she looked his way. “Please be cautious and dinnae open this door again without knowing who is on the other side.”

  He sounded every bit like the overprotective “brother” he claimed to be, and that shouldn’t still hurt, but it did.

  Seconds ticked by, his gaze locked on hers, as he waited for a reply. She finally managed, “Aye, I will be certain ’tis bolted.” The words were soft, her throat aching at what felt like a concession, but he was correct to be worried about the people roaming these halls.

  “Good night, ladies.” Alan’s regard broke from her and traveled to Blair. He smiled then pivoted and strode toward the exit. Stopping with his hand on the knob, his back to them, he paused as if he’d say something else but shook his head then pulled on the handle. A whoosh of air sent a hint of sandlewood floating her way as his broad back and shoulder-length dark blond hair disappeared.

  Rushing over, she dropped the latch in place and fought to collect her calm.

  “’Twould seem ye were wrong about him.” Blair’s words brought Kirstie back from her silent contemplation of the back of the door.

  “What is it, then?”

  “He does have strong feelings for ye.”

  “I’ve told ye what he thinks of me. There is no reason to believe he has changed his mind.”

  “He may have told ye that, but ’twas a lie. He looked at ye as if he were starving and ye were one of yer cousin’s famous tarts laid out on a platter before him.”

  “Nae, he’s just playing some game with me. ’Tis best if I avoid him while we are here.” After moving to the bed, she eased down, not wanting to acknowledge that her knees had been trembling with his nearness. No, it was her anger; that was why her hands still shook.

  “Ye should tell him and yer brother what Isobel told ye. They will help. ’Tis too dangerous for ye to be spying on those men.”

  “Nae. If I tell them, they will tell Lachlan, and he will come to Edinburgh. His absence may be the only thing that keeps him and Malcolm safe.”

  “Ye must tell someone.” Blair slid onto the bed just to her side, picked up her hair to separate it into three sections, then started to braid. The ritual was comforting, and although her confusion over the appearance of Alan and her reaction to seeing him was abating, worry for her family was taking root again.

  “I will consider telling yer brother if things get dangerous. He will help,” Kirstie conceded with a noncommittal shrug.

  “I dinnae ken that he would be able to do anything about it.” Blair peeked over Kirstie’s shoulder and raised a brow, reminding her that Blair wasn’t sure which side John would come down on, but she was certain that despite their father’s changing allegiance, he remained steadfast in his belief the Covenant shouldn’t be forced on those unwilling to change their religion.

  “I dinnae want to tell anyone until I have proof.” She yawned.

  “If I didnae like Edinburgh so much, I would beg ye to leave. ’Tis madness to get mixed up in this.” Blair finished the braid, tied it off with a band, and turned. Kirstie shifted and took Blair’s long golden tresses in her hands.

  “What shall I wear tomorrow?”

  “Doesnae matter what ye wear. Ye are the bonniest lass in all of Edinburgh.” Finishing her work, she yawned. “Now, I wish to go to bed. I need sleep.”

  Blair climbed in next to her. And it wasn’t long until her world turned black, dreams of being caught spying on
the Earl of Argyll and heart-wrenching screams and shouts tearing through the air.

  …

  “Wake up.” Blair’s voice pierced through the fog as hands shook her shoulder.

  Stretching, Kirstie pulled back and was surprised to see daylight streaming through the window. “What time is it? I cannae believe ye are up before me.”

  “Ye missed everything. Did ye no’ hear the commotion last night?” Blair sat cross-legged on the bed, holding her pillow to her chest, rocking and hugging it. Her friend looked like a small, frightened child clinging to a doll.

  “Nae, ye ken how heavy I sleep.” Yawning, she rubbed at a little itch on her temple.

  “There was a man murdered. Just at the base of our stairs.” Blair’s voice shook.

  Bolting up to a sitting position, she felt her mouth fall open as she looked to Blair for more information. “Who?”

  “’Twas one of the Marquess of Montrose’s cousins. He was stabbed.”

  Och, nae, no’ the Royalist leader’s kin.

  Blair seemed to gulp before biting her lip and continuing, “Several times.”

  “Are ye certain? That would mean someone may already be attacking Royalists.”

  “Aye, I saw him.” Her friend’s gaze misted.

  “What were ye doing out there?”

  “When I heard the shouts last night, I dressed and went to see what was going on.” Closing hazy blue eyes, Blair shook her head as if trying to dislodge the image. “There was so much blood. I froze, but yer brother’s friend Finlay calmed me down and brought me back. He told me to lock the door. I couldnae sleep after.”

  She hadn’t seen Finlay yet; he must have come to Edinburgh with her brother.

  Kirstie said, “We have to get down there to see what’s being said. Do ye think it has something to do with the plot?”

  “I dinnae ken, but the dead man was a favorite of the Royalist leader. Do ye think the Earl of Argyll could have had him killed?”

  It was likely, with the tensions between those loyal to the king or to the Covenanters, but she could only guess. Shaking her head, she said, “I dinnae ken.”

  Only moments later, they were dressed and making their way down the stairs with Blair pointing out where the body had been and what the scene had looked like. Judging from the layout of the steps and the alcove just behind them, it appeared as if someone had been waiting for him or someone else to come along. She shuddered, and they moved toward the great hall.

  Dreading the crush of faces and sweaty, smelly bodies as she and Blair made their way into the large room for breakfast, relief flooded her to see the crowds had dissipated, apparently choosing to sleep late or were aware of the murder and sticking to their rooms for safety. Tables sat at the places where dancing couples had brushed against her the evening before. As they strolled toward a sideboard filled with meats, eggs, summer fruit, and fresh baked rolls, she let go of the apprehension over meeting the same crowds again.

  Now, it was fear that Isobel had been correct about the true purpose of this gathering that held her in its grip. Before they had a chance to enter the short line, she and Blair found themselves surrounded by Malcolm, Finlay, and another old friend from Kentillie. Dougal nearly knocked her over when he slung his arms around her in greeting, then Finlay embraced her fondly, but his eyes peeked through his lashes, seeming more interested in her friend. Another wave of relief claimed her as she realized Alan wasn’t with them.

  Finlay released his grip, and her gaze lit on her brother. “Ye didnae tell me Finlay and Dougal were here.” She tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, because it seemed focused on an entryway. She followed his stare but only caught sight of two men’s backs as they disappeared.

  “I barely saw ye last night. And ’twas so loud in here I coulnae tell ye anything.” He pushed back at her gently.

  Finlay’s head was tilted down as he covertly watched her oblivious friend. Always so serious and secretive, she’d never seen him take interest in anyone. Blair was always unaware of the effect she had on men, and a stab of pity for Finlay pinched her as she thought of Blair’s interest in another man. She would have to warn him that the blonde beauty’s affections were already claimed.

  “What happened last night?” She pierced Finlay with the question.

  Finlay’s gaze met Malcolm’s, and the two exchanged a pensive look before her brother turned to her. “Nothing. Seems the man had been drinking and angered someone.”

  She wanted to ask if it could have something to do with the threat Isobel had told her of, but if she revealed what she knew, Malcolm might send her away. Especially if he found out she’d been doing some investigating on her own.

  “Do they have the person who did it?”

  “Nae, so dinnae go about on yer own. Ye two should have either Finlay or Dougal with ye at all times.”

  Well, that was going to make her plan more difficult. It was already hard to find the evidence she was looking for; now she would have to find a way to dodge guards placed on her. Glancing toward Dougal and Finlay, she wondered how hard it was going to be to disappear; at least the crowds would work to her advantage in the evenings.

  Changing the subject, Kirstie turned her attention to Malcolm. “I want to go for a ride today, see more of Edinburgh. We’ll be trapped here in the castle again tonight. Will ye come with me?”

  “Aye. We shall all go.”

  As they made their way to the table and sat, she found herself thankful for Malcolm’s appearance, a chance to get out of the stifling castle, and the absence of the man who somehow still made her heart race faster.

  …

  Alan’s head pounded as he sat next to Hamish Menzies and listened to Robert Baillie’s oration on the virtues of Presbyterianism as rays of sun burst through the window and heated the church to a sickening level; maybe it wasn’t that hot, but he felt stifled all the same. Baillie was the newly made Professor of Divinity and had come to Edinburgh for the special meeting that had been called here with many clan leaders in an attempt to come to some peaceable conclusion regarding the dissent among the Catholics and Presbyterians.

  Overall, he respected the Presbyterian religion. His problem was with the overzealous and power-hungry leaders, the ones who would stop at nothing to prove their way was the only one.

  Wanting to jump in a loch and bathe, he’d felt cheap and sick after the evening spent with them, needing to cleanse himself of the venom spewed around the table as the men boasted of their superiority. Just to play the part, he’d choked out some of the foul words himself.

  The evening had been a success. Not only was he still alive, but he’d been able to get through the night without having to drink one ounce of that putrid brew. An involuntary shudder ran through him.

  When the sermon was over and they got up to walk out of Greyfriars Kirk, the conversation turned to a subject he didn’t want to discuss.

  “How long have you known Kirstie?” Hamish asked.

  “Since she was a wee thing.”

  “I attempted to talk her into coming to the service today. I have made it my mission to see to it that she finds the proper place in heaven.”

  Alan nodded.

  “Do you think she will listen to reason and convert when it is time?”

  “Aye, she is a sensible lass.” But, he was thinking, ’tis no way on God’s bountiful earth ye will ever get that stubborn lass to change her beliefs.

  “I would be so pleased to be able to save her. She has such a sweet soul.” Hamish’s eyes projected the sincerity and conviction born of not truly knowing Kirstie. The Covenanter actually believed she would forsake her religion in favor of his.

  Were they talking about the same lass?

  A vision of her sparring with him last night popped into his head. It was followed by the image of her curves and the near transparent shift sh
e’d worn, the one that had let him see how truly shapely she had become.

  His lips parted and words spilled out. “If only we could save them all.” A good response for someone pretending to be a zealot; he’d pat himself on the back if he could.

  “How was it you were able to keep your religious beliefs all these years while you lived with the Camerons?”

  “I did a lot a praying.”

  He had, but only that he wouldn’t turn out to be like his father, and thanked God every day that the Father had put the Camerons in his life. He would never be able to repay all the kindness they had shown him through the years. These Covenanters were fools to think he would betray the Camerons just because his given name was Mackenzie.

  They were almost back to the castle when a familiar figure with dark ringlets and flowing skirts riding through the city caught his eye. Hamish missed the glimpse of Kirstie as the man prattled on about the importance of Jenny Geddes’s actions in St. Giles Cathedral when she’d thrown a stool at the priest in objection to the use of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer.

  “Thank ye for allowing me to join ye for the service,” Alan said, cutting him short.

  Hamish beamed at him, and he continued before the man could start up again. “I need to check on my horse and see it is cared for.”

  “Yes, of course, you must care for all of God’s creatures.” Hamish ran his tongue back and forth over his teeth.

  “’Twill see ye tonight at the pub?” Alan tilted his head in the direction of the tavern.

  “Nae, I shall not be there this evening, but you can meet Niall there. I will tell him to save you a place at the table.” Niall, the Campbell who couldn’t keep his hands off of Kirstie. It would be a chore to drink with that Covenanter and not be tempted to drive a fist into the man’s face.

  “And why can ye no’ join us?” He made it sound as if he’d really miss Hamish’s company, although the man had bored him almost to tears.

  “I plan to spend the evening wooing Ms. Cameron.”