Seduced by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  “We shouldn’t ride together,” Lachlan said. “The others will be watching us, and they will soon suspect something. They will see what is obvious and know that I have taken certain liberties with you, which I had no right to take. We must guard your reputation from this moment on.”

  Catherine’s mood dipped sharply at his sudden penchant for propriety. “I told you last night that my reputation is already in ruins. I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

  “But I have no right to your affections, lass. Nothing can happen between us, and you know that.”

  Her temper flared unexpectedly, for she had been waiting so long just to be with him. She had hoped to secretly flirt during the journey, perhaps sneak off and be alone. She’d dreamed of being kissed in the moonlight, like she was kissed in the stable the night before. She had thought of little else since the moment he left her in the feasting hall, but now his words wounded her. She wanted to shout at him but somehow managed to keep her voice steady.

  “Why would you say such a thing? You have every right to my affections, if I wish to bestow them upon you.”

  “But you should not wish to. That is the point. It’s not wise.” He lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder again. “I will not lie to you, Catherine. You know I desire you, but Angus was right to send the others with us. They will keep me in my place.”

  “Is it because of the curse?” she asked. “Because soon we will reach Raonaid, and I will do whatever it takes to convince her to set you free.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not just that. It’s everything. I shouldn’t have kissed you last night. I shouldn’t have come to your bed yesterday. All of that was wrong. It will only make things more difficult.”

  A frosty chill hung on the edge of his words, and she reacted with anger at the rejection. “What things? You talk about it as if it is all about you, and your choices. Do I not have any say in this?”

  His dark eyes bored into hers. “You can say whatever you like, lass, but it will not change the fact that we cannot be…” He stopped. “I cannot be anything to you, other than your escort to Edinburgh, and eventually back to Drumloch.”

  “What if I don’t want to go back?” she blurted out in a sudden flash of anger.

  Something wild blazed in his expression, as if he was tempted in that instant to steal her away forever, to throw her over the back of his warhorse and gallop off into parts unknown.

  But then his eyes turned cold again and he kicked in his heels. “Then I’d think you were very foolish.”

  He took off in a quick gallop, then slowed to a walk just ahead, leaving her behind to ride alone.

  Catherine sucked in a breath and fought to crush the heavy aching sensation inside her heart. This was not fair. None of it. She didn’t care that she was a nobleman’s daughter with a sizable inheritance. She didn’t want the money or the jewels or the gowns or anything else that came with her privileged social position. All she wanted was to be a normal person, to remember her life, to perhaps know the sister who had been torn from her at birth. She wanted to love whomever she wished to love. And she wanted to help Lachlan rid himself of that wretched curse that was keeping him from her.

  Perhaps her twin would be able to help her with a few of those things.

  She wondered uneasily how Raonaid would react to seeing her own mirror image for the first time.

  Did she even know she had a sister? And would she be welcoming?

  * * *

  “Would you like to stop for the night, Lady Catherine?”

  Catherine started at the appearance of Alexander MacEwen, the young scout, who trotted up beside her when she had been, quite frankly, in danger of drifting off to sleep and toppling off her horse onto the grassy moor. They had been riding for many hours, and her muscles were aching. She felt clammy all over.

  Shaking herself awake, she strove to smile. “I beg your pardon, Alex. I did not hear you approach. I suppose that means I am in need of a respite. Perhaps it would be prudent to stop. I’m sure the horses could use the rest as well.”

  “I’ll ride ahead and speak to Lachlan,” he replied.

  Catherine shifted uncomfortably in the saddle while he galloped off. He spoke to Lachlan briefly, then wheeled his horse around and galloped back.

  “I know a cave not far from here,” he explained as he slowed his horse to walk beside her again. “Lachlan is familiar with it. We’ll stop there for the night, and Gawyn will cook us a hot meal.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” She was eager to stretch her legs and feed her groaning belly.

  She and the young Highlander rode in silence for a few minutes across the wide moor, flanked on both sides by grassy mountains. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance.

  “How is it that you know this country so well?” she asked Alexander.

  “I used to hunt a fair bit with my father, and I did some scouting during the uprising. I learned quickly how to avoid the redcoats and get from one place to another without being seen. I found all the best places to hide away for a night or two.”

  She studied his profile in the dusky light. He was a handsome young man, slender, with a clean face and strong-looking hands. His hair was shiny and brown and cropped short, unlike most of the other clansmen, who wore bushy beards and unkempt hair.

  “I see why Angus sent you along with us,” she said. “You seem very capable.”

  He surveyed the moor judiciously. “I’d do anything for the great Scottish Lion. He’s a good husband to my cousin, and he’s a fair chief to the MacEwens.”

  “And what about Lachlan?” she boldly asked. “What do you know of him?”

  Alexander glanced the other way when he spoke. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about him, my lady, other than the gossip I’ve heard.”

  Her heart thudded against her ribs. “And what, exactly, have you heard?”

  “That he’s a highly skilled warrior and very brave,” Alex quickly replied. “But he also has a reputation with the lassies. I’m told they all swoon when he walks into a room. I’ve also heard there’s some sort of curse that keeps him from taking a wife.” He awkwardly cleared his throat and shrugged. “But what do I know of it? I only met him for the first time this morning. He seems like a decent enough fellow. Angus is loyal to him, and that’s good enough for me.” He glanced at her curiously. “What about you, Lady Catherine? I understand you have no memory of your life. That cannot be easy. It’s no wonder you are out here, searching.”

  “Searching.” She inhaled deeply and looked up at the dusky sky. “Yes, that is exactly what I am doing. I continue to hope that something will happen that will spark a memory. Without any recollection of the things I have seen and done, my life seems rather meaningless.”

  He spoke with a kindness that touched her heart. “I am sure your memories will come back to you, my lady. I often forget things,” he added, “and then one day, somehow as if by magic, I remember. You just have to relax, and try not to force it.”

  He turned in the saddle and whistled to the other Highlanders who were following at a short distance. They urged their horses into a canter.

  “I’m going to ride ahead with Gawyn,” he told her, “and set up camp. The others will see you there safely.”

  “Thank you, Alex.”

  He galloped off, but she did not watch him ride. Instead, she squinted through the pink twilight, wondering if Lachlan would share a private moment with her later, as Alex just had.

  * * *

  They ate supper in a small cave beneath a rocky outcropping, all sitting around the fire on beds of fur that covered the cold, earthen floor, and would later provide a soft place to sleep for Lady Catherine.

  Lachlan announced that the clansmen would sleep just outside, guarding the entrance, but when he spoke the words, he experienced an ache of discomfort at the thought of Catherine sleeping alone in this cold hole in the mountain while he was outside, also sleeping alone.

  Well, not alone exactly. With th
e others. But they were invisible to him. Everyone and everything was invisible when Catherine was near.

  He hated the fact that they had argued that day. Hated that she was so lovely in the firelight and was glancing at him frequently, but looking away whenever their eyes met.

  She was punishing him, he knew, for how he had pushed her away after the river crossing. But what else could he do? Treat her the way he treated other women? Smile and flirt, and flatter her?

  God help him, he couldn’t even look at her without wanting to hold her.

  Everyone sat down to eat, and he was pleased at least that Gawyn MacLean had put together such a tasty meat stew, which he’d boiled in an iron pot over the fire and served with crusty rye bread and a full-bodied wine in fine pewter goblets. Lachlan would have to thank Angus for sending such a functional fellow.

  He would not thank him, however, for sending Alexander, for the lad had pushed his way into the circle to sit beside Catherine on the fur, and now they were eating their suppers together, laughing and engaging in light conversation while the others looked on and listened.

  Alexander told her, in painful detail, about his schooling in Glasgow, and now he was asking her questions about her own upbringing, trying to help her remember things.

  He was too polite. And helpful. And wholesome looking.

  Lachlan didn’t like him.

  Catherine, on the other hand, seemed to have taken a fancy to him. They had ridden together across the moor for near a quarter of an hour that evening.

  Ach! Lachlan tossed his plate aside, for he had suddenly lost his appetite. He had made a noble effort that afternoon to do the right thing and put some distance between them, and the very next minute this boyish upstart was slinking up beside her, working a little too hard to charm and impress.

  The lad reminded Lachlan of himself in his younger days, and that did not sit well in his stomach.

  Downing the last of his wine in a single gulp, he tossed the goblet into a bucket and stood. “Alex! I need you outside to help groom the horses before it gets too dark.”

  The young Highlander looked up in surprise, leaped to his feet, and tripped over the corner of the fur as he dropped his plate into the water bucket.

  “Aye, sir.” He strode purposefully out of the cave.

  Catherine frowned up at Lachlan. “It could not wait?” she said. “Poor Alex wasn’t finished his supper.”

  “He looked done to me.”

  They stared at each other for a tense moment while the others shoveled stew faster into their mouths. A starving bunch they were, apparently.

  Catherine shook her head at him in a somewhat scolding manner, and he wanted very much to ask her what was so special about Alex MacEwen that she couldn’t bear to see him go. But that would reveal to everyone that he was jealous and that this woman was getting under his skin, so he simply walked out.

  * * *

  After supper, Catherine lounged back on the soft fur with a second goblet of wine and looked toward the mouth of the cave. Alex and Lachlan had not returned since they went outside to tend to the horses, and she was beginning to worry that Lachlan had sent the young clansman on a fool’s errand in the dark—to scale and scout the mountaintops on the other side of the moor or to measure the depth of the next raging river they might need to cross.

  She stood and excused herself from the others. Outside, away from the warmth of the fire, the air was cold and damp on her cheeks. It smelled of winter.

  The chill penetrated the fabric of her gown. Gathering her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, she peered through the darkness but could see nothing through the shifting mist, which hovered in brooding silence over the moor. If not for the sound of the horses nearby, munching on grass, she might have thought she was alone and that the rest of the world—mountains and all—had been swallowed up by the fog.

  “You should go back inside,” a voice said, husky and low and oh, so familiar.

  She spun around and spotted Lachlan. He was a shadowy figure leaning against the outside wall of the cave. His tartan was pulled up over his head and wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.

  “Where is Alexander?” she asked, feeling some concern for the young clansman, who had been very kind to her and was only trying to help pass the time by striking up conversations.

  “I’m up here, my lady,” he keenly replied from an overhanging rock above.

  Catherine lifted her gaze. The lad’s legs were swinging back and forth over the edge.

  “Oh, there you are.” She felt rather foolish all of a sudden.

  Lachlan lowered his hood. “Do you need something, Lady Catherine?”

  Even through the darkness, she could feel the heat of their shared awareness of each other. The silky cadence of his voice sent a tremor of longing through her veins. It also revealed the desire he could not hide. At least not from her.

  He wanted to keep her at bay, of course. He had made that abundantly clear. He wanted to behave properly in front of the others, but she could sense, deep in the workings of her body, that he was not pleased about it.

  “Yes, I do need something,” she replied. “I wish to speak with you privately, Lachlan. Alex, would you excuse us?”

  It was a bold request. Lachlan was probably gritting his teeth at her blatant disregard for his earlier command—to hide what existed between them—but she didn’t care if the others knew. She felt no need to hide the truth. Why should she?

  She realized suddenly that her memory loss had erased any inhibitions she might have felt if she’d had a real life and a reputation worth caring about. But she did not. As far as she was concerned, anything before six months ago simply did not exist; therefore, her persona had no genuine value to her. In that way, she was perhaps a bit reckless.

  Alex hopped down from the ledge. “I’ll join the others by the fire.”

  As soon as he was gone, Catherine spoke in an angry whisper. “You didn’t have to treat him like that.”

  “Like what? I didn’t say a word just now.”

  “He’s intimidated by you.”

  Lachlan merely shrugged. “He’s just young, that’s all.”

  “And how old are you? You’ve never told me.”

  His eyes lifted briefly, as if he was surprised by the question. “Three-and-thirty.”

  In her mind, she worked out the details of his life. If he had been cursed for three years and the curse had begun on the tenth anniversary of his wife’s death, he would have been less than twenty when he married.

  “Will you walk with me?” she asked. “I want to speak with you, and I don’t want the others to hear.”

  “It’s dark,” he replied. “The moor is rocky. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

  “Or you will.”

  Lachlan let out a breath of annoyance and pushed away from the wall. “You don’t give up, do you, lass? Pick up your skirts. We’ll stay close to the hillside, and we’ll just go far enough away that we won’t be heard. Will that suffice?”

  “I suppose it will have to.”

  He took her by the hand and led her away from the cave entrance, past the horses. He sat down on a big boulder and raked his fingers through his hair.

  “Is it that much of a chore just to talk to me?” she asked, wishing she did not feel so hurt by his frosty demeanor, but there it was.

  He looked up. “Aye. It’s the worst chore imaginable. You know how I feel, Catherine. You know all the things I want to do to you, but this curse prevents me from doing anything, so I just wish you would let me be and let me get through this trip to Edinburgh without making things harder than they already are.”

  Oh.

  Her breath sailed out of her lungs. She had been so absorbed in her own need to be close to him—to feel the way she had felt the night before, when he kissed her up against the stable wall—that she had ignored the fact that he was not actually rejecting her. It was quite the opposite, in fact. She understood it logically, she supposed, but her hea
rt only felt one thing: the agony of being apart.

  She sat down. “This is difficult,” she said. “To be honest, I wish the others hadn’t come. We would have been fine on our own, just as we were before, and I would have been happier, not having to hide how I truly feel.”

  “Do not say it,” he growled. “I’ve been in hell all day. I want to touch you and hold you—but I can’t. And tonight that young MacEwen…” He flung a hand through the air. “All I wanted to do was drag him out of the cave by the ear, toss him up onto his horse, smack the animal’s rear flank, and send him galloping back to Kinloch—just for talking to you.”

  It was not quite a vow of everlasting love, but it was enough to make Catherine smile, for he had just confessed that he was jealous.

  “Do not shut me out,” she implored, trying to move past all of that. “You are the only person with whom I feel I can be myself. Even if we do not kiss or touch each other like lovers, I still need you. Please ride with me tomorrow. That is all I ask. I am alone, and lonely, and you were hurtful today.”

  She wished she could see his expression, but his face was shrouded in the murky gloom of the night.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, lass,” he softly said, and all at once he was back inside her heart, as a hazy sensuous heat flared between them. “That’s the last thing I wanted to do. But we both need to forget about certain things we’ve done. There’s no future in it.”

  “I have no regrets,” she told him. “I never will.”

  He bowed his head and said nothing for a long while, and when he finally spoke his voice was firm with resolve. “I must say something to you, lass, and I hope you will take it to heart.” He gazed at her directly. “I believe the only reason I fire your passions is because you cannot remember anyone else in your life that you might have cared for in the past. You said it yourself. You’re alone, and you’re lonely. So don’t make too much of what happened between us.”

  “I could say the same thing to you,” she replied. “That you only want me because you haven’t had a woman in three years, and you are perpetually … aroused.”