Return of the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  He walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving her feeling weak and powerless and completely at his mercy.

  * * *

  “I can ride,” she swore an hour later as she fastened the ties on her bodice. “I feel much better now. Honestly.”

  “I don’t think you’re well enough,” Darach replied from where he stood on the small braided carpet by the door. “You’re still weak and you hardly ate a thing.”

  “My appetite will return soon enough, and I’m not suggesting we gallop at a breakneck pace. If we walk the horses, I’ll be fine. But I cannot stay here another day, Darach. Not when my father’s life is at stake.”

  He stared at her reluctantly, then bowed his head, shook it, and let out a breath of defeat. “Fine.” He reached for his weapons and donned his sword belt. “I’ll prepare the horses and gather some provisions. I’ll be back to fetch you in a bit. Sit down and rest until I return. Do not leave this room.”

  On his way out, he stopped in front of her—so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheeks. Her pulse fluttered alarmingly in her veins and she felt utterly overcome.

  He remained there, looming over her like a mountain, his gaze raking over her body with scrutiny. Then he strode to the door. “Only one more day of this, lass. Then tomorrow we’ll be free of each other.”

  As soon as he was gone, she sank, boneless, onto the bed, wondering uneasily about the meaning behind his words. Did he loath her that much? Or did he feel the same forbidden desire she did?

  She supposed it would be best if she never learned the answer to those questions. What mattered was finding a way to survive one more day in his company without losing total control of her heart.

  * * *

  Larena made it as far as the staircase before she had to pause to gather enough strength to descend, for all she wanted to do was lie down again, right there on the landing.

  She felt Darach’s hand on the small of her back and turned to find him peering down at her with concern.

  “If I had my druthers,” he said, “you’d still be in bed. But since we have places to go and people to see…” He moved to stand before her. “Put your hands around my neck.”

  Without waiting for her to protest, he swept her up into his big strong, capable arms and she felt a flurry of excitement in her blood.

  She held tight to his massive shoulders as he descended the stairs. His face was so close, she was half-tempted to brush her nose and lips across his unshaven jaw, to breathe in the scent of his wavy hair, to run her fingers down his muscular chest. None of this was sensible, of course, but she couldn’t help any of it.

  Just get me home, she pleaded surreptitiously to the heavens. And the sooner the better.

  When they reached the ground floor, Darach continued through the taproom without setting her down. A raucous group of Highlanders cheered for him and broke into an enthusiastic round of applause.

  “I’m sure I can walk now,” she suggested as they arrived at the front door, for she knew she was at risk—at risk of enjoying the feel of his body far more than she should.

  He paused on the stoop to consider it. “No point in stopping now. The mud’s slicker than butter. Wouldn’t want you to land on your bum and soil your skirts.”

  “I won’t fall,” she argued. “Besides, my skirts are already soiled beyond repair.” She worked hard to sound casual when her heart was beating raggedly in her chest and she was short of breath.

  “Still,” he said, “I must get my jollies where I can.”

  Fighting to ignore the fact that she was secretly thrilled by his remark, she held tighter still as he hopped over a puddle. They entered the stable yard and Darach paused to study the geography of the terrain, his eyes searching for a clear route to the horses on the other side.

  “I think I was wrong about you,” Larena said, watching his profile in the morning light.

  “In what way, lass?” he asked, distracted.

  “I thought you were a bully that first day, but now I see that you are very chivalrous.”

  He stepped over a puddle onto a wide wooden plank that had been laid across the boggy yard. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just because.”

  That was the moment she knew that he was aware of the attraction between them—at least on her part. Whether or not he felt a similar desire, she knew not.

  At last he reached the dry floor of the stable and set her down. “It’s time to get on the road, lass. If we do well today, we’ll make it to Leathan by sunset tomorrow. Up you go now.”

  He led her to Rupert and encouraged no more conversation as he helped her mount—and though she was eager to see her father again and tell him the good news about the King’s pardon, she was growing increasingly unsettled by her feelings toward Darach. She dreaded saying good-bye to him, and she was further troubled by thoughts of meeting her betrothed.

  What would she and Gregory say to each other after all these years? Would he be chivalrous as well? Would she find him as handsome and physically appealing as Darach?

  She had to admit, she hadn’t given much thought to the reality of her forthcoming marriage until this very moment when she watched Darach mount his horse. Once he was in the saddle, her gazed dipped to his muscular thigh and long leg, then upward to his thick forearms and big hands as he gathered up the reins. Something about the way he turned his body and shoulders and thrust his hips to steer his horse out of the stable struck her as virile and raw. A powerful sexual yearning coursed through her blood, and all she wanted was more. More of that scorching hot feeling.

  More of him. And that was, undoubtedly, a dangerous thing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Though the weather improved considerably over the previous day’s rainstorm, and the noonday sun was blessedly warm on Larena’s shoulders, by nightfall a thick fog had descended from the mountain peaks. With it came a shockingly damp chill, like a ghostly vapor, floating onto the moors.

  Recognizing Larena’s fatigue—which she rebuffed and denied at every turn—Darach insisted they stop near a cluster of granite boulders among the rolling hills, which would provide some shelter from the mist.

  After a few unsuccessful attempts at lighting a fire, Darach finally managed to get a robust blaze going, and they settled in for a meal of salt beef and hearty bread with cheese and wine.

  “Did we fall behind today?” Larena asked as she finished and set her pewter plate aside. She gathered her woolen shawl more tightly about her shoulders. “There were times I wished we could gallop, but I honestly couldn’t muster the strength. If I continue to slow us down tomorrow, I must insist that you ride on without me.”

  “I won’t leave you, lass.”

  “I certainly don’t want you to,” she said with a pang of regret, “but my father’s execution is set for the day after tomorrow. We cannot take any chances.”

  Darach nodded and raised his leather flask to his lips. His dark eyes were sensually hooded, his long booted legs stretched out lazily before him. Heaven help her, this sexual longing she felt was growing stronger with every hour she spent in his company. It was compounding at an alarming rate that was beginning to frighten her for all that it implied and how it might affect her future.

  “I must confess,” she said uneasily, “that when we first set out on this journey, I didn’t think I needed protection, but I don’t know where I would be right now if it weren’t for you. I owe you my life, Darach, and my father will owe you his as well.”

  She shivered in the evening chill and again gathered her shawl more snugly about her shoulders.

  “Are you cold, lass?” Darach asked, setting his flask aside, not waiting for her to answer before he rose to his feet and circled around the fire.

  His relaxed approach filled her with unbidden heat. As he squatted beside her and cupped the top of her head in both his big hands, pressed his palm to her forehead, her eyes fell closed and she m
elted under his touch. There must be some sort of magic in his hands, she thought, for they lulled her into a state of pure rapture.

  “There’s no fever,” he said in that soft, husky voice. “It’s this northern fog. Makes the air feel cold as a tomb, even by the fire.” He moved to fetch his bedroll, brought it closer and stood over her. “Lie down,” he said commandingly. “You’ve been ill, lass. You need to stay warm.”

  A flock of excited butterflies took flight in her belly. “Do you mean to lie with me?”

  “Aye, with your permission.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes.

  “If you’re worried I’ll be hankering to take advantage of you,” he added, “I can’t promise I won’t be tempted, because you’re a bonnie lass and Lord knows it’s been a long journey. But if I wanted to have you against your will, I would have done that back at the inn where the bed was soft and you were mumbling nonsense.”

  “But you didn’t take advantage,” she replied, needing further clarification because she remembered nothing.

  Though she wished she did. She wished she could relive every moment in that room with him—while conscious, of course.

  “I slept on the floor, lass, and in the chair. Now push over so we can get some rest.”

  Sidling toward her bedroll, she watched Darach spread his on the ground beside hers and lie down on it.

  “Come closer, lass,” he said. “You need to stop shivering before you set the whole world to quaking.”

  As she lay down on her side, he inched closer and tucked his knees into the backs of hers. The heat of his body pressing cozily against hers took her breath away.

  Draping his arm over her hip, Darach covered both her hands with his to warm them. “Is that better?”

  “Much better,” she replied. “Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure, lass,” he cheerfully said. “Truly.”

  Maybe it was her nerves that got the better of her, for she couldn’t help but laugh quietly to herself.

  Darach lifted his head. “Is something funny?”

  She tried to stop herself, but couldn’t. “Is it really your pleasure, Darach? Or are you being facetious?”

  He chuckled as well. “If you must know, it’s more torture than pleasure, because I promised I’d behave myself, so as much as I’d love to tempt you into a lively shag this evening, I’ll do my best to keep my hands to myself.”

  She laughed a little longer and hugged his hands close to her belly. When the moment passed, they continued to lay quietly, motionless in the darkness. The mist rolled like a phantom across the moor and Larena tried with all her might to fall asleep, but with Darach’s muscular form pressed so tightly against hers, and with the thrill of his lips at the back of her neck, her insides ignited with excitement. All her senses purred and hummed, and eventually a slow ache began between her thighs.

  She could do nothing to control it. Quite involuntarily, she wiggled in the smallest degree, but it was enough to arouse a matched response in Darach, who swiveled his pelvis as if he were moving to achieve a more comfortable position, but she knew that was a ruse. Their mutual arousal was undeniable. He was rubbing up against her, and it sent a flood of erotic heat into the pit of her belly.

  Intellectually, she knew she should put a stop to this immediately and think of her pledge to another—a man she would meet the next day—but nothing outside of this moment seemed to exist. All that mattered was the delicious allure of Darach’s touch, her awareness of his arousal pressing against her backside, and the rising tide of her own pulsing, aching desires.

  And the fact that this was their last night together.

  “Are you trying to start trouble, lass?” he whispered in her ear, then nuzzled her hair and sent tantalizing ripples of delight across her flesh.

  “I can’t help it,” she breathlessly replied.

  He gently thrust his hips in tiny, irresistible circles that made it difficult to remember her own name.

  “But I just promised I’d keep my hands to myself,” he said.

  “What if I didn’t want you to? What if I asked you to kiss me?”

  This was dangerous territory and she knew it, but wicked, enticing sensations were quickly overtaking reason.

  Darach spoke softly in her ear. “Then you’d be putting me in a difficult position, because it’s my duty to deliver you to your betrothed tomorrow. When the sun rises, I must take you home, whether I want to or not.”

  Her betrothed. She didn’t want to think about that. Maybe it was simply cold feet because of the unknown—the sort of fear every future bride must feel. Maybe that’s why she was fighting such a powerful attraction to Darach. It was a way to escape her fate for a brief moment in time. One last chance to be free, to choose what her heart and body wanted before committing to a lifetime of duty and fidelity to the unknown.

  “I must save my father,” she whispered defensively, still wiggling her hips, arching her back, and pressing her behind up against Darach’s rock hard arousal. “I cannot change my future, but I do not know Colonel Chatham. We were children the last time we saw each other. I don’t love him, Darach. All I know now is what I feel for you.”

  “And what is that, lass?”

  Heart thumping wildly, she paused to consider the question, but she wasn’t sure of the answer. “All I know is that I want to touch you and feel your hands on me. But of course that’s wrong, and I don’t understand why this is happening. It wasn’t part of the plan.”

  He eased her onto her back and slid on top of her. Her legs instinctively parted for him.

  “I’ve been wanting you since the first moment I laid eyes on you in the woods.” He looked into her eyes and stroked his hand down her hip and under her bottom.

  “But you despised me that day.”

  “Aye. I despised you for being Fitzroy’s daughter, and for making me remember where I come from and what I’d done. I also despised you for making me want you. Maybe part of me still does, but I’m still going to kiss you.”

  At last, his lips found hers in the darkness. All her shivering ceased as her body melted into his…sizzling beneath the sweltering glide of his open mouth and probing tongue. It all felt terribly sinful, but she wanted to drown herself in it, to open herself fully to the pressures of his driving hips.

  His silky hair fell across her face. Take me, she wanted to say, but she resisted the urge to speak those words, for she knew, deep down, that it was wrong.

  But she wanted it, regardless.

  The kissing went on for many moments, lifting her up into a divine world of pleasure and sensation. Darach’s mouth was hungry, possessive, and sexual. When he came away, she felt stunned and branded, desperate for more.

  He rose up to brace himself on both arms above her while his hips continued to thrust in exotic circles. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Now?” She wasn’t sure her brain could make sense of any sort of verbal enquiry. She felt rather thickheaded.

  “Are you a virgin, lass?”

  She blinked up at him for several heart-stopping seconds. On some level she knew why he needed to know, but her answer was the simple honest truth, without strategy or consideration for the future. “Yes.”

  He bowed his head and looked down to where they were intimately connected, with only his kilt and her skirt as barriers to lovemaking.

  He seemed to be working hard to control his movements down below.

  “Why do you want to know that?” she asked.

  His eyes lifted. They were on fire with lust. “If you were not a virgin, it wouldn’t matter so much what we did tonight. No one would be able to prove anything, but seeing as you are innocent, I must be careful.”

  “You mean that if I had been with a man before, you would be willing to make love to me tonight, even though I was pledged to another?”

  “If you asked me to… Aye. How is that for honor, lass? Clearly I have none.”

  She shook her head frantically. “That
’s not true. If you had no honor, you would deflower me now, without ever asking. I am under your spell, Darach, but Gregory Chatham will expect me to be untouched on our wedding night. I must remain so, for I cannot take chances with my father’s life.”

  Darach squeezed his eyes shut. “It kills me to hear you speak of your wedding night.”

  He thrust his hips more firmly in angry circles.

  “Please, Darach…. Maybe we should stop.”

  His movements stilled. Then he opened his eyes and gazed down at her. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

  “But won’t this make it more difficult? Especially when we arrive at the castle?” She took a breath and swallowed uncomfortably. “I don’t know what’s happening here. I’ve never done anything like this before. We barely know each other.”

  “I know everything I need to know about you, lass.”

  “But after tonight, we must forget each other. You mustn’t tell anyone about this.”

  A blinding fury in his eyes reflected the dancing flames of the fire.

  “I won’t forget you,” he firmly said. “I will remember every last detail of your face and every word you’ve ever spoken to me. I’ll remember the flavor of your lips and the scent of your skin. I want you to remember me, too, lass.”

  Her passions rose up suddenly and she lifted her head off the bedroll to kiss him deeply on the mouth. He crushed his full weight upon her, his lips hot and silky, his big hand roving down over the curve of her hip to the top of her thigh.

  Wanting him urgently, she dug her fingers into the rippling muscles of his back, clutched at the fabric of his shirt, tugged at his tartan.

  He gathered her skirt in his fist and drew it up until he could cup her bare knee and slide his hand up the inside of her thigh.

  “Oh, Darach,” she whispered, “it feels so good when you touch me.”

  “I want to make love to you,” he said. “Drive myself into you, take you as my own.”

  Oh, how she wanted to give herself over to this incredible passion, this wanton desire that was quickly taking possession of her body. His hands, his mouth…. Heaven help her, she wanted all of him.