The Highlander

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  S torm clouds obscured what little light managed to filter through the thick foliage. With the clouds came a strange calm, as though the very air was holding its breath, awaiting the release of the storm’s fury.

  As an eerie darkness settled over the forest, the crisis came without warning. Flame called out in a loud voice, sending chills along the spines of the man and woman who knelt beside her.

  “Mother!” she cried, grasping Leonora’s hand in a death grip. Though her eyes were wide open, they seemed to stare without seeing. “You have come for me.”

  Leonora saw the pain in Dillon’s eyes as he muttered, “Sweet heaven, she is preparing to pass into that other world.” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of helplessness. “Is there nothing more we can do to stop her?”

  For long moments, Leonora studied the lass who, though staring directly at her, was seeing someone long-dead. Squaring her shoulders, she said suddenly, “Aye, we have to. We have come so far, Dillon. I will not give up now.”

  “Take me with you, Mother,” Flame whispered. “I cannot bear the pain.”

  “Nay.” Leonora brushed the damp hair from the lass’s temple. After her long exposure to the women at Kinloch House, it was not difficult to shed her cultivated English accent and affect their soft Scottish burr. Had she not done it before, with only young Rupert as her witness?

  After talking a deep breath, she began. “I have not come to take ye wi’ me, Flame, but to tell ye that ye must live.”

  When the feverish girl began to protest, Leonora whispered fiercely, “There is so much of life ye have not yet tasted, lass. The love of a man. The birth of a babe.”

  “Such things are not for me, Mother. The sisters said I do not behave as a lady.”

  “Hush, lass. Some day ye will meet a man as fine as ye’r father, as fine as your beloved brothers, and he will win ye’r heart. He will see the goodness in ye, and love ye as ye are. Ye will lie with him, and the two of ye will become one in mind and heart and soul. And ye will bring forth bairns, Flame. For ’tis through ye’r bairns that ye can live forever as I do.”

  With a look that could have been surprise or disbelief, Dillon turned to stare at this woman who spoke so eloquently of things as yet unknown to her.

  Unaware of his scrutiny, Leonora continued in that same tone of loving command. “Do ye see now why ye must live, Flame?”

  The girl nodded. “If you say I must, Mother, then I shall.”

  “Aye, lass. Ye must fight to live. And someday, years from now, when ye have tasted all that life has to offer, I promise that ye will join me in that other world. And we will walk together forever in paradise.” Her voice lowered, “Ye have my word, Flame.”

  As the storm clouds gathered and roiled above them, and the air became oppressive, Flame’s agitation seemed to dissipate. Her breathing slowed.

  Dillon pressed a hand to her forehead. “Had I not witnessed this myself, I would ne’er have believed it,” he murmured. “You performed a miracle.”

  “It was no miracle,” Leonora said softly. “Flame is strong. She would have fought to live.”

  “But you gave her the will to fight.”

  “I merely said what your mother would have said, had she been here.”

  “And how would you know what a mother would say to her bairn?”

  Leonora lifted her head and met his look. “I was one of the fortunate ones, Dillon. I had my mother until I was ten and three. Even though there are many things I wish I could ask her now, at least I had her for those important early years.”

  He touched a hand to Flame’s cheek. “This poor lass was but a bairn when our parents were killed.”

  “But she had you, Dillon.”

  He shook his head. “A lot of good that did her. Sutton and Shaw and I were in a monastery, while she was in the abbey.”

  “But she was surrounded by good women who cared for her and taught her what she needed to know.” She smiled. “Though, I must admit, it is hard to imagine a high-spirited girl like Flame locked away in an abbey.”

  “Aye. When I brought her to Kinloch House, she was like some wild creature just set free of its cage.” The smile returned to his lips. He stood and helped Leonora to her feet. “From the day I sent for her, she has filled my life with such delight. And now,” he whispered, touching a rough palm to Leonora’s cheek, “you may have given her yet another chance to fill my life.”

  “How many times must I deny it?” Instead of drawing away, she lifted a hand to cover his. “The fight is not mine, but Flame’s. And now she must fight it well.”

  “Like another I know.” He drew her closer, and lifted his other hand, so that both big hands were framing her face. Staring down into her eyes, he murmured, “You continually surprise me, my lady.”

  “Surprise you? How?”

  Her lips were so close, he could almost taste them.

  “You flee when I least expect it.” His breath was warm against her cheek. “And then, when you are free to escape, you refuse to budge, but choose instead to remain and care for a lass who has made no secret of her animosity toward you.”

  It was impossible to stand so near and not feel the temptation. Her voice became a low whisper of seduction. “Perhaps, in her eyes, I deserved such treatment. I am, after all, one of the dreaded English.”

  “Aye, my beautiful, bewitching English prisoner.” His thumbs brushed her lips and he saw the look of surprise in her eyes. Combing his hands through her hair, he drew her head back, his gaze burning over her mouth until she could feel the heat of passion rising between them. “But now I wonder, who is captive and who is captor?”

  Before she could think of a reply, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers in the merest whisper of a kiss.

  “I think I am the one who is bound,” he murmured against her mouth. “And I cannot break free, no matter how much I struggle.”

  “I do not hold you, my lord.”

  “Ah, but you do, Leonora. Do you not see? I am hostage to your lips…” He brushed his lips over hers again, this time lingering until she sighed and lifted herself on tiptoe to better reach him. “And to your throat…” He brushed feather-light kisses down her neck to the sensitive little hollow of her throat. The sight of the bruises he had inflicted there caused him to linger, as if to kiss away all pain. “And your shoulder…” He drew the cloak from her shoulder and pressed a line of kisses until she shivered.

  “Dillon.” His name trembled on her lips.

  The first fine raindrops fell. With them, Dillon struggled to make sense of the jumble of emotions that had him tied in knots. He wanted her. God knew he wanted her. And had, since first he had seen her. But now she could no longer remain his prisoner. The debt he owed her could only be paid by setting her free. And if he were to truly set her free, there must be no bonds between them.

  “You need to rest, Leonora.” He saw the stab of disappointment as he drew her cloak firmly around her, hiding from view the flesh that so tempted him.

  When he lowered his hand, the heavy fabric slid open, revealing one creamy shoulder. Instantly he took a step back, but not before she saw the look of hunger in his eyes. The knowledge that he desired her made her bold. “I am not tired, my lord. In fact, now that Flame has passed through the crisis, and will sleep for hours, I feel wonderfully refreshed.”

  Struggling with temptation, he turned away and busied himself by tossing a log on the fire. Overhead, lightning cut a jagged path through the night sky. Moments later, thunder split the heavens with such force the earth trembled.

  Not even the force of the storm could dampen Leonora’s happiness at the knowledge that he was not as immune to her charms as he pretended. But for some unexplained reason, he was turning away. Why?

  She felt a wave of desperation. Oh, Mother, she thought, I know so little about love.

  Love. She went very still. Was this what she was feeling? Love? Aye. How long she had denied it. But all the tales of noble deeds she had
heard about Dillon Campbell, painting him the hero she had always yearned for in her heart of hearts, had long ago convinced her. She loved this Highlander. Loved him as she would never love another. And now she must find a way to tell him, to show him.

  “Are you afraid, Dillon?”

  He turned to her with a look of surprise. “Of a storm?”

  “Nay, not of the storm.” She took a tentative step closer. “Of me.”

  His eyes narrowed. He suddenly seemed aware of the haughty way she lifted her head as she moved nearer. Of the way her hips swayed. Of the slope of bare shoulder beneath the heavy cloak. The cloak. His throat went dry. He knew that she wore nothing beneath it. That thought had his heart hammering in his chest. He needed only to undo the clasp…

  She placed a hand on his arm. “Since you do not reply, my lord, I have my answer.”

  He stared at her hand, then into her eyes. “Aye, my lady. Though I have never known a moment’s fear as a warrior on the field of battle, I fear you.” She felt the muscles of his forearm bunch and tighten as he clenched his fist. His voice lowered to a whisper. “In fact, I am terrified of you. As you should be of me. Of this,” he growled as he crushed her in his arms and covered her mouth with his.

  The kiss was hot, hungry, filled with so much longing, it threatened to consume them. It spoke of passion, of need, of deep, desperate desire.

  “How long,” he muttered against her lips, “I have wanted this.”

  “No more than I.”

  He held her a little away, as though unable to believe what she had just admitted. He’d wanted to spare her, to return her to her father as he’d found her. But there was no strength in him to resist. How could he refuse what she offered?

  “Think, Leonora,” he murmured, struggling to hold off the storm that threatened. “Think what it is you do here. On the morrow, you will not be what you are tonight. On the morrow, there will be no going back.”

  In answer, she brought her arms around his waist and pressed her lips to his throat. She was rewarded by his quick intake of breath.

  He brought his hands to her shoulders. His eyes were mere slits; his face as grim as though he were poised for battle. “Then God help you. God help us both,” he breathed.

  His hands slid along her arms. His gaze was steady on hers. Lightning flashed across the sky and he could see that there was no fear in her, only invitation.

  His mouth was greedy, avid, as his lips moved over hers. He feasted on her lips, filling himself with the sweet taste of her.

  Never, he realized, as he took the kiss higher, then higher still, had he been so mesmerized by a pair of lips. He continued kissing her while his hands roamed her back. Beneath the coarse texture of the cloak, he could feel the smooth contours of her tiny waist, the flare of her hips. Bringing his hands to her shoulders, he found himself fascinated by her skin, as pale as alabaster, as smooth as the underside of a rose petal. He bent his lips to her shoulder and was rewarded with a sigh that broke from her lips. He continued pressing soft moist kisses to her shoulder, her arm, the bend of her elbow, before lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the palm. In an achingly sweet gesture, he lifted her palm to his cheek.

  With infinite patience he kissed her temple, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. He followed the curve of her cheek, then suddenly took her earlobe between his teeth, tugging lightly before plunging his tongue into her ear until she writhed with pleasure.

  “There is still time to change your mind,” he whispered, though he knew that, for himself, the line had already been crossed.

  She shivered. She understood now his hesitation at his thing they intended. It was not a rejection of her; it was his strict code of honor. The choice must be hers alone.

  “Nay, Dillon. I want this. I want you.”

  She felt the way his hands tightened at her shoulders before he lifted his hands to the clasp at her throat. With a quick twist, the heavy garment dropped to the ground.

  His gaze moved slowly over her. She was even more perfect than the image he had carried in his mind. His voice was little more than a whisper. “Oh, my lady, you are bonny. Aye, indeed bonny.”

  That word. That wonderful, passionate word. Never had she felt more beautiful, more cherished.

  His lips burned a trail of kisses down her throat, then lower, to the swell of her breast. When she reached for his tunic, he nearly tore it in his haste to help her remove it. His clothes soon joined her cloak in a heap at their feet. Together they dropped to their knees, and their sighs, like the sighing wind, filled the night.

  His fingers tangled in her hair as he drew her head back for an almost brutal kiss. For a moment she stiffened, startled by the abrupt change in him. Then her fear was forgotten and she became caught up in her own savage needs.

  Hesitantly, awkwardly, she brought her arms around his waist and felt his muscles contract at her touch. With a low moan of pleasure he took the kiss deeper while his hands began a slow, lazy exploration of her body.

  As their passion intensified, she suddenly understood why he had held her at arm’s length for so long. This was why he had slept in the sitting chamber, isolated from her. This was why he had walked in the gardens late at night, avoiding contact with her. This dark, brooding beast had been locked inside him for so long. Now free, it would consume them both.

  This dark side of Dillon would have frightened her, had her own dark desires not been aroused. But now, intoxicated by her own powers, she moved her lips across his chest and felt him tremble. Growing bolder, she began exploring him as he was exploring her. With lips and teeth and fingertips she thrilled to the tremors that rocked him.

  Dillon’s body was alive with need. It had been his intention to go slowly, and allow her to set the pace. But with her passion swirling as angrily as the storm that raged around them, there was no longer any need to hold back. There was so much he wanted to share with her. Not just lovemaking, though he knew this was her first taste. It was the trust that allowed her to follow wherever he led. It was more than passion without limits; it was knowing that she was his and his alone.

  He thought of how little time they had. Perhaps this night was all they would have for a lifetime. This, then, would be his gift to her. A banquet of delights. A night of unbridled pleasure.

  With great tenderness he laid her down and brought his lips to her breast, moving his tongue until the nipple hardened. He moved to the other, tasting, feasting, until she writhed and moaned softly, arching her body and clutching the rough cloak beneath her.

  Her breathing grew more labored as, with lips and fingertips, he moved over her, exploring her body, drawing out each exquisite pleasure.

  Above them the storm drew nearer. Black clouds obscured the moon, the wind grew colder. Despite the chill wind, the heat rose between them as he took her higher and higher, keeping release just out of reach.

  Leonora had slipped into a world of unbelievable delight. A world of touch and taste and feel, where thought no longer existed. Here there was only Dillon. He tasted of cool Highland streams and smelled faintly of evergreen and horses. The feel of his work-roughened palms against her flesh was more pleasurable than the finest silk.

  She trembled as he moved along her body, moist flesh to moist flesh, and brought his lips to hers.

  Never had Dillon wanted as he wanted her. It took all his considerable willpower to keep from taking her, wildly, savagely. But he was determined to draw out the moment, until they were both mad with need.

  He felt her go rigid when he brought his mouth down her body. But at the first tremors of pleasure bordering on pain, she forgot all her fears. And then she gasped as she reached the first crest. He gave her no time to catch her breath as he moved over her, allowing his lips to trail upward until they captured hers.

  Her eyes focused on his. He saw the pupils, round and dark with passion. It didn’t seem possible that she could want more, but she did. His name was torn from her lips as he finally entered her. She wrapped herself a
round him, wanting to hold him like this forever.

  He was filled with her. The sweet fragrance of crushed roses filled his mind, his heart, his soul. In the years to come in his lonely Highland castle, the memory of this would remain with him, warming him.

  “Leonora. My bonny, bonny Leonora.” He lapsed into words she couldn’t understand as his mouth closed over hers and he felt the last vestiges of sanity slip away.

  She moved with him, soaring, flying free, on a path toward the stars. And as they lifted higher, then higher still, their bodies shuddered, then seemed to break into millions of tiny, fiery fragments.

  Chapter Nineteen

  T hey lay, still joined, their breathing erratic, their bodies slick. Neither of them seemed inclined to move.

  The cloak, cushioned by damp moss, was as soft as any bed. The air about them was redolent of the fragrance of sweet clover.

  Another jagged flash of lightning stabbed the sky, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder. The storm was directly overhead. Already the first drops of rain had begun. Even that wasn’t enough to cool their heated flesh.

  And then he tasted the salt of her tears. Alarmed, he touched his thumbs to the corners of her eyes.

  “Tears, lass? Have I hurt you, then? God in heaven, I am such a brute. Am I too heavy for you?”

  “Nay.” Ashamed, she tried to blink away the tears, but they only fell faster.

  He rolled to one side and drew her into the snug circle of his arms. “What is it, love? Why do you weep?”

  Love. She hugged the endearment to her heart. “It was so…wonderful. More wonderful than I had ever dreamed.”

  “Ah.” He breathed a sigh of relief. A woman’s tears were a terrible thing for a man to deal with. But tears of joy were at least understandable. His own heart was filled with a rare kind of peace.

  “It is wonderful,” he whispered against her temple, “when it is shared by two people who love.”

  “And do you love me, Dillon Campbell?” She held her breath, amazed at her own boldness.

  “Aye, lass.”

  “How long have you known?”