Highland Heart

by Heather McCollum

  Alec’s arms remained strong and unmoving around her waist. He neither pulled her closer, nor let her go. Rachel sat in the dark listening to their shallow breaths. She rested her cheek on his chest and filtered her senses through his body. She glowed softly, piercing the shadows with her magic.

  “Your blood is flowing so fast,” she whispered, her lips brushing the skin over his scar as she spoke. “Your heart is racing like you’re in battle. Your muscles hold so much excess energy you could probably lift a horse right now.” She pulled back enough to look into his eyes—and forgot to breathe.

  Alec’s eyes were black in the deep shadows of the cave; only the light from her body illuminated them. His eyes were piercing, smoldering as he stared at her. Rachel swallowed hard, her heart fluttering like a bird. She couldn’t be sure which one of them moved, but Alec’s face was now before her own.

  And then he kissed her.

  Rachel let her light fade, giving in to the rush of sensation flooding her body. Heat, a giddy churning, a burning pool of yearning poured through her blood, her muscles. Alec tilted her face to slant against his lips. When she felt the tip of his tongue touch her lip, she groaned and opened her mouth to taste him fully. Alec shifted her in his lap and her legs hiked up around his waist.

  He pushed intimately against the scrap of material separating them. Rachel’s flush burned across her skin. She should be shocked, repelled at the carnal position, but instead her thrumming body gripped him tighter, her blood begging for more. He shifted her against him and a deep growl came up through his chest. He pulled back.

  The cool air pressed against Rachel’s scorching cheeks. She took deep breaths to clear her head. Alec’s body was thrumming as fast and hot as her own.

  He cleared his voice. “Ye’re welcome.”

  “What?” Rachel gasped as Alec cupped her backside and rose, her legs still around his waist. He walked to the front of the cave.

  “If that indeed was ye thanking me.”

  Rachel’s blush intensified to the point of near pain. Did he think this was how she thanked a man? As they stepped into the firelight, she struggled to get down. He lowered her slowly, letting her slide down his nude body. She kept her eyes centered on the small scar near his ear.

  “Do you usually kiss your prisoners? Because there is a word for accosting young maids,” she snapped.

  His grin hardened as his eyes turned to ice. “It seemed a mutual response.”

  She glanced down, careful to keep her gaze away from Alec’s body. He didn’t seem to mind being totally naked in front of her. Was he used to parading around women naked? The thought twisted her stomach. Alec snatched up the wool blanket and tossed it to her as he strode to the mouth of the cave. He came back, tucking the kilt into place around his narrow hips.

  Rachel draped the blanket around her shoulders, pulling it together in front of her barely concealed breasts. She collapsed to sit before the fire. Her body still trembled from the near fatal fall.

  And the kiss.

  She kept her eyes on the fire. Alec removed the hare from the spit, cut off some of the warm, delicious-smelling meat, and handed it to her. She barely stifled the natural “thank you” as she took it. Anger and embarrassment made the meal tasteless, but it stopped her stomach from growling.

  “I have no sweets to finish the meal,” he said with a half grin. Was he trying to dispel the thick unease permeating the cave?

  “Sugared raspberries,” Rachel said. She’d eaten them at the festival, and had loved them ever since.

  “Raspberries?”

  “’Tis my favorite,” she mumbled but her mortification wouldn’t allow her to look him in the eye. He walked around her to lay another blanket out on the ground, farthest from the rain misting into the cave. She stiffened as he neared.

  Alec squatted, his eyes level with hers. “I doona rape, Rachel. So ye can sleep soundly knowing that I willna kiss ye again.” A small grin played at the corners of his mouth. “At least not until ye ask me to.”

  …

  Munro Keep seemed to spring out of the cliffs as Alec’s horse loped through the tall pines. Relief relaxed his face. He inhaled, craving the fresh heather-scented air off the moor that stretched before the village encircling his home.

  But the sweet scent that flowed into him, tangling his thoughts, was not of the field before him, but from the silky, dark tresses feathering against his face.

  Alec frowned and purposely opened his mouth to breathe without sucking in the lass’s sweet scent. He’d been riding since dawn with her lovely, barely concealed backside pressed into his groin. Her warmth melted into him each time his mount surged forward. And her damnable curls teased him ceaselessly. He’d stopped counting the times he almost buried his face in her hair. What the hell had he been thinking, telling her he wouldn’t kiss her again? Every inch of his body rebelled against his oath.

  His captain of the guard, Phillip, saw him coming and signaled the raising of the thick iron-toothed gate. Alec clopped into the bailey, dismounting before the horse completely stopped. He lifted Rachel from her seat, and she followed him inside with a frown, like a dutiful prisoner.

  “Phillip.”

  His long time friend and second-in-command leapt from the table in the great hall. “Bloody hell, am I glad to see ye,” he said, and grabbed Alec in a hug. “We found Macbain bodies and ye were gone.”

  “Someone was praying for me,” Alec quipped, his glance catching Rachel’s wide eyes.

  Phillip’s gaze turned to her, his smile becoming predatory.

  Alec frowned. “I take it William Brindle and his other daughter made it here?”

  Phillip nodded without taking his eyes off Rachel.

  Alec walked over to stand in front of Rachel, blocking her.

  Phillip’s eyebrow rose. “Aye. They are in the dungeon.”

  Rachel gasped.

  “Ye placed a woman in the dungeon?” Alec asked.

  Phillip shrugged. “I meant to put her in Dugger’s room, but she wouldn’t leave her father and he deserves the dungeon.”

  Alec rolled his eyes.

  “What?” Phillip asked, gaze innocent. “I made sure the lass had plenty of blankets, food, and water.”

  Alec caught Rachel’s wrist and towed her behind him. He grabbed a torch from the wall as they descended to the cells. The smell of rotting food and animal waste permeated the air. He shook his head. This wasn’t endearing Rachel to him.

  “Isabelle! Father!” Rachel called when she spotted them in the dim cell.

  Alec released her and unlocked the bars. Rachel flew inside and ran her hands along them, her blue light glowing faintly. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he’d barely notice.

  “Good God,” William Brindle rebuked. “Where are your clothes? Your mark! Cover yourself.” He yanked the blanket over the birthmark Alec had noticed on Rachel’s wrist.

  Alec’s fist clenched against his leg.

  “And stop that…” William swatted at her hand and Rachel let her light go out. She hugged her sister.

  Alec stared at the bloody idiot. How could a man so cold have spawned a lass so warm?

  “We’re fine, really,” Isabelle said. “What happened to you?”

  “I got lost.”

  “And ended up nearly naked, out in the night with…” He indicated Alec.

  Alec crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Alec Munro, the chief of Clan Munro and yer captor.” He glanced at Rachel. Her eyes seemed large in the darkness. Was she surprised at his title?

  William’s lips pressed tight. “You cannot hold an English subject,” he said, the force deflating from his voice.

  “Ye are charged with thievery and trickery for deceiving my father over the last decade.” Alec watched guilt flash in the man’s watery, weak eyes before they sank to the filthy straw floor. “We will discuss this matter after ye’ve had a chance to think.” He motioned to Rachel where she clung to her sister. “Come, we’ll give ye a room abo
ve stairs.”

  Rachel shook her head. “We stay with our father.”

  Alec waited for Brindle to insist they go above, but the coward kept his mouth clamped. The man gave no comfort to his daughter, who could have died or been attacked during the night, yet he let her protect him. He stalked past Phillip.

  “Place William Brindle in Dugger’s old room. See that his daughters are given my sister’s quarters. Have Maddie bring them some of Catherine’s dresses.”

  Phillip nodded.

  “Warm baths for the ladies, and Phillip…” Alec paused without turning.

  “Aye?”

  “Doona touch her,” he said in Gaelic. He switched to English. “She is mine.”

  “Which one?” Phillip asked, but Alec just stalked away.

  Chapter Five

  She was his? What did that mean? Rachel mulled over the three simple words that seemed more binding than the iron bars of Alec’s dungeon. Now bathed and dressed in a blue gown, Rachel waited with Isabelle for an escort to the evening meal. She and her sister were now guests. Their father was housed in one of the cramped servants’ quarters, but he probably deserved worse. Rachel sighed. Her father’s morals had turned dark ever since their mother had died. His whole life now revolved around material wealth and finding a higher placement in the hierarchical ladder at court.

  “So he’s the chief,” Isabelle commented, her raised eyebrows adding unspoken questions. The edges of her mouth turned up subtly.

  Rachel nodded with a meek shrug.

  “And he captured you outside the Macbain’s castle.” Since Isabelle had already interrogated her earlier, Rachel didn’t feel the need to respond. “And you spent…a whole night together in a cave wearing only your shift.”

  Rachel ran her fingertip along the beaded pattern embellishing her snug velvet bodice. A long pause stretched.

  “Did you kiss him?” Isabelle whispered.

  Rachel’s gaze snapped to her sister.

  Isabelle laid her hand on Rachel’s wrist, where the bruise remained from her rescue. A faint light gave Rachel’s skin a bluish tint as Isabelle dissolved the pools of blood beneath her skin.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as Isabelle smoothed the now healthy-looking skin. Rachel was certain her sister could also detect her deep blush and the way her heart raced.

  Isabelle smiled broadly. “He’s quite handsome in a robust, wild type of way.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Isabelle,” Rachel defended.

  “How was it?”

  “He’d just pulled me up out of the hole. I was panicky, grateful, overwhelmed.”

  “Hmm…overwhelmed,” Isabelle said as if understanding, even though Rachel knew her sister had never been overwhelmed in that way before.

  A sharp rapping on the door made them both jump off the bed. A smiling face peeked around the door. “Time to sup.” A little gray-haired lady with more wrinkles than last year’s apples beckoned them.

  Rachel and Isabelle grasped hands as they followed the maid down the winding steps. They walked on silent slippers under an archway into the great hall. A churning tide of deep, guttural voices ebbed, slowly fading to silence as all eyes turned toward them. Isabelle nearly squeezed the blood from Rachel’s hand. The only women in the room whisked around with platters of meat and baskets of bread. Two long tables with short benches held tankards and bread trenchers along their polished surfaces. Their father was absent.

  Rachel spotted Alec easily by the hearth—his height and breadth set him apart. Even with the loose linen shirt covering his chest, the broad strength of his form could not be concealed. She swallowed, recalling the smooth, hot skin of his stomach, the soft sprinkling of hair across his chest, the thin lines of scars giving evidence of his continued survival in this harsh land. Her inhalation cut off when she met his smoldering gaze. She couldn’t look away. It was as if an invisible tether tied her. Isabelle tugged her toward a table and Rachel broke the stare, lest she trip over her own skirts.

  Dinner dragged as Rachel endeavored to make pleasant talk in broken Gaelic. Only a few of the Munros spoke English. Rachel had expected hostility, from the facts that she and her sister were English and that their father was imprisoned above stairs. But the Munros smiled and patiently corrected her pronunciation.

  Alec remained on the far side of the room throughout the meal. Toward the end, he walked over.

  “Chief Munro,” Rachel began formally, and lowered her eyes.

  “Alec,” he corrected with the hint of a grin in his voice. He waited until she looked up. “Aye?”

  “We would know what you have planned for our father,” she said.

  His grin turned to a wry frown. “He’s admitted his guilt.” He looked only at Rachel. “He’s willing to trade one of ye for his freedom.”

  She swallowed hard and felt Isabelle grasp at her arm, but she nodded, not surprised. She was certain which one he’d likely give up.

  Alec looked away as he spoke. “I told him that I doona take slaves as payment, and a person given away without their consent is a slave.”

  Rachel wet her dry lips. Her heart beat hard, the edge of alarm making it difficult to speak. “If,” she squeaked, “you have my consent, will you release my sister and father?”

  Alec’s gaze swung back. Anger muted the shock cut into his features. “Ye would surrender yerself to save that man?”

  “And my sister,” Rachel added.

  “No, Rachel,” Isabelle whispered.

  “Yer sister is not in jeopardy,” Alec said.

  “She will be if you send her back to England without a protector, a father to see her supported and married well.” Determination straightened Rachel’s spine. “And regardless of his crimes, I am loyal to my family.”

  Alec’s silence was uncomfortable. Surely he must understand clan loyalty.

  Her gaze trailed one woman carrying two tankards to the far table. “I could stay on as a servant.”

  “Ye are no servant, slave, or prisoner. Ye are free to do as would make ye happy,” Alec said. “This I promise.”

  Rachel’s pulse fluttered and her stomach tightened. Before she could respond with more than wide-eyed surprise, the door banged open and a man strode across the rushes toward Alec.

  “A message from The Macbain.” He handed over a sealed missive. Phillip flanked Alec as he broke the seal. The room hushed, waiting. Alec thumped his fist down on the table, making the wooden bowls wobble and Rachel and Isabelle jump.

  Alec looked up with a mischievous grin. “It seems that the great Macbain has misplaced the daughter of a wool merchant visiting our Highlands.”

  Rachel felt the room turn from Alec to her. She straightened, her shoulders as rigid as the castle walls she’d escaped.

  “Seems he’s willing to give over quite a reward for her safe return to Druim.” Phillip translated in Gaelic and soon the whole room was laughing.

  Rachel and Isabelle looked at one another. Rachel turned to Alec as he read the rest of the missive.

  His smile turned stony. He eyed the messenger. “Tell The Macbain and this Angus Riley that Rachel Brindle is a guest of Munro Keep and will soon be a permanent member of Clan Munro. I doona trade women for cattle.” He snorted as if offended.

  Rachel’s fingers curled in her lap at the word “permanent.” Hadn’t Alec just sworn that she could do anything that made her happy?

  Happy as long as she remained with the Munros.

  Isabelle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She leaned her head against Rachel’s neck. “I will stay with you,” she whispered.

  Rachel just shook her head. She rose from her bench, and Isabelle rose with her. Linked arm-in-arm, they turned to the steps.

  “Where are ye going?” Alec’s question boomed across the murmurs.

  The room quieted.

  Rachel paused but didn’t turn around. “It would make me happy to retire to my corral.” She glanced back at Alec, her eyes piercing. “It’s on Munro land s
o I assume it’s within my allowed territory.”

  He looked confused for a moment, but then his face hardened. Rachel didn’t wait for a nod but walked out of the room with Isabelle.

  …

  Rachel curled on her side next to a soundly slumbering Isabelle. Sleep. Sleep. She had to dam the swirl of thoughts flooding her mind. But they tumbled over. It was even difficult to close her eyes, because every time she did she felt his hard, warm chest under her cheek, his hips clenched between her thighs, his strong hands holding her face as he kissed her in the black cave. Sleep! She squeezed her eyes shut, replacing the carnal picture with one of the fluffy sheep roaming the green fields before Munro Castle.

  Rachel caught the thud of footsteps up the narrow stairway. The tread slowed, grew softer as it neared her door. It stopped. She pushed up in the bedcovers, glaring. “He posts a guard on us,” she whispered. So she wasn’t a slave, wasn’t a prisoner anymore? Ha! Anger, fueled by irritation at her own rampant musings, propelled her from bed. She yanked a blanket around her shoulders and threw the door open. Her lips parted to insist that she wasn’t going anywhere in the middle of the night. She froze.

  Alec stood in the low light of the oil sconce along the stone wall. His gaze slid from her bare toes, and up her form to her bewildered expression.

  “Alec?”

  “Ye left before the final course.” His finger strayed to the scar by his ear. “I’m also partial to sweets.”

  Rachel realized he held a wooden bowl.

  He placed it in her hand. “Raspberries? Sugared.” His voice was soft in the dark. “I saved ye some.” He indicated the door. “I thought to bring ye some if ye were still awake.”

  “I…I…” She tripped over her words. “Thank you.” Rachel tipped her head to the side and studied the tall, brawny warrior. Did he remember her? He’d been demanding, booming, boastful down in the great hall, but then he brought her sugared raspberries. “Alec Munro,” she said softly in the small space between them as she met his eyes. “You are by far the most thoughtful barbarian I’ve ever met.” She allowed the grin she felt growing to relax along her face and popped one of the delectable berries between her lips.