The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

by TERRI BRISBIN

  He knew also where she would go and that she was safe, so he remained there abed, trying to cool his blood. Some minutes passed and then longer and still she did not return. Part of him felt extraordinarily prideful in a masculine way for having been able to arouse her like that. But the randy part chastised him for not seeking satisfaction. There would be time enough for that between them.

  The room grew colder, the bed chilled and he no longer wished to be there alone, so he went to find her.

  * * *

  The cold stone floor felt good somehow on her stockinged feet. She needed the coolness on her skin. She would have peeled off the length of plaid wrapped over her chemise and rolled on the floor if she thought it would help her. Sitting before the loom, she tried over and over to find the rhythm needed.

  And could not.

  Knowing that no one was watching her now in the dark, she dropped the plaid and let the chill air of the hall permeate the thin linen of the chemise. Her nipples ached. Even the material of the undergarment teased them too much. Finally, minutes passed and her body relaxed.

  Passing the shuttle over and under the threads, over and again, she watched the pattern shape under her hands.

  This tension within her was the price of her lie.

  If he did not think he’d abused her, he would have continued to the conclusion of the act. But convinced he’d hurt her, he would not.

  And she knew not how to make him believe the truth before he discovered it for himself.

  Mayhap that needed to happen? But would he ever trust her when he discovered the truth and knew that their handfasting was not necessary? Too distracted to think this all through, she turned her thoughts to something that bothered her.

  When Athdar was drunk and grieving, he mentioned childhood friends that included Robbie. Yet no one knew the names when she’d mentioned them today. Childhood friends that no one knew? It made no sense, but she decided to speak to Athdar about it.

  She’d no sooner thought about him then she could feel him standing behind her.

  ‘It is cold down here, Bel,’ he said, draping the woollen plaid over her shoulders.

  ‘The cold felt good,’ she said, as she put the shuttle between the threads and wove another row. She liked that he shortened her name to Bel. The first time he’d said it almost on a moan. It was something no one else ever did, save for her father.

  ‘Are you staying here again? Did I drive you from the chamber?’

  For all his strength and bravery and self-assurance, a hint of doubt lay under his words. Fear, even. As though he would force her away.

  ‘I am not leaving, Dar,’ she said. Turning to face him, she told him what she’d thought most about. ‘I am staying, regardless of what my father has to say. If you will keep me, that is?’

  ‘In spite of how things began?’ He moved closer to her then, bringing his heat and his strength.

  ‘I worry more that you did not want marriage and now have one. You have been convinced you are a danger somehow. Will that always stand between us or can you reconcile yourself to this?’

  Mayhap because she’d watched him for so long it was possible for her to see the pattern in his actions. Before she knew she wanted to help him, she saw it.

  ‘We are joined now, Bel. There is no going back.’

  He did not know they had not consummated the public claiming that was part of handfasting. If he did, he might feel differently. That was her worry.

  He took her in his arms then, wrapping himself around her and just held her. They stood like that for a short time, until someone asleep near the front of the hall coughed, reminding them that there was no privacy here.

  ‘Come,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her back to their chamber.

  ‘There was something I wanted to ask you about, but forgot,’ she said as they reached their room and he closed the door. ‘You said something strange when you...when you were drunk. I asked Nessa and Jean, but they have never heard about the people you mentioned.’

  He lifted the bedcovers and she climbed under them. He remained on top as he had last night.

  ‘I cannot believe that neither Nessa nor Jean knew people who I knew. They are the same age I am.’ He shook his head and shrugged. ‘Whose names did I speak of?’

  If he could not remember what happened or did not between them, it should be no surprise he did not remember speaking of childhood friends.

  ‘You mentioned Robbie, of course. That is how it began,’ she explained. ‘Then Duff, Kennan and Jamie.’

  Though his body reacted, he shook his head, denying he remembered. ‘I do not remember.’

  ‘I understand that. But who are they? Who were they?’

  He shook his head again. ‘I do not know those names. I had no such friends.’

  ‘I must have been mistaken,’ she said. In the face of his denial, it was foolish to insist he knew boys or men he claimed not to know.

  She lay quietly for a while, waiting for sleep to take her. Athdar was quiet, too, then. Isobel had just fallen asleep when the screaming began.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Isobel stood in the corner of their chamber, staring in terror at him. Athdar had no idea of when she left their bed or what had happened. He tried to get out of bed to go to her, but his arms and legs would not move. Looking down, he realised he was completely tangled in the bedcovers.

  And covered in sweat.

  The door crashed open at that moment. Two guards came running in, followed by Broc. Weapons at the ready, it was clear they expected the worse here.

  ‘Halt!’ he yelled, finally freeing himself from the bed and going to Isobel. Her face was as grey as the ash in the hearth and she was shaking. He stumbled across the chamber and slowed before he reached her.

  ‘Isobel? Are you well, lass?’ he asked.

  She blinked several times as though finally seeing him and then shook her head. Broc approached after waving the guards out.

  ‘We could hear you below,’ he said. His expression was dark with concern. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Me? What do you mean?’ Athdar asked without taking his eyes off her. From the way it looked, she was the one who must have been yelling.

  ‘It sounded as though you were under attack. You were shouting. Loud enough to wake most everyone in the keep.’

  Athdar looked at Isobel and she nodded, still shaking.

  ‘I am awake now,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘You can go now.’

  Broc looked at Isobel and waited for her nod before bowing to both of them and leaving.

  ‘Here. Come. Sit.’ He held out his hand to her and she took it with one of her trembling hands. She walked to one of the chairs and sat down. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘You do not remember?’ she asked, narrowing her gaze as she searched his face. ‘None of it?’

  He glanced over at the bed, at the bedcovers twisted and pulled loose, and back at her. He poured a cup of ale from the pitcher and drank it down. Then he filled it again and pressed it into her hands and waited for her to drink of it.

  ‘None of it, truly. Tell me, please?’

  ‘You had just fallen asleep when you began thrashing. I moved aside and tried to wake you. You opened your eyes and looked at me, but Athdar, you did not see me.’ She shivered, then shook her head. ‘You looked right through me.’

  He did not remember any of this. Pushing the hair out of his face, he stared at the bed, willing himself to remember.

  ‘Then it seemed like you were running and falling and screaming all the while. No words. Sounds. Like...like the screams of a wounded animal.’

  ‘I...’ He could think of no explanation, nothing, to say to her. But the worst thought did come then. ‘Did I hurt you, Isobel?’

  ‘
Oh, nay, Athdar. You would never do that,’ she said as she put the cup down and came to his side where he sat. She stroked his hair and put her hand on his shoulder now. ‘It was difficult to watch and not be able to help you in some way.’

  He was at a loss for words, for an explanation, of any of this. One thing was clear—he had terrified Isobel. How could he not remember?

  ‘Here now, go back to bed,’ he said. He stood and guided her to the bed. ‘I want to go talk to Broc.’

  ‘Why not wait until morn?’ she asked. ‘Let it go for now.’

  He was going to ignore her suggestion, but the exhaustion struck him then. Waiting until morning would not hurt anything. Mayhap by then he would remember something about it?

  She moved over and he climbed on the bed next to her. Though he suspected she would not sleep, she did and did it quickly. The touching thing was that she slipped her hand into his before doing so.

  * * *

  The hours had passed slowly then. He watched as the first rays of the sun began to bring light back to the chamber. When the sound of the servants going about their duties trickled in, Athdar slid from the bed, leaving her there asleep and sought out Broc...and some answers, he hoped.

  He received some strange glances all through the morning, some bold and direct, others more surreptitiously given, as he carried out his duties. After having kept Isobel up most of the night, he gave orders to let her sleep this morn. He was sure there would be hell to pay, but she needed some rest. Instead of remaining in the hall to break his fast, he took some bread and cheese and a skin of ale and walked to the village to survey the work being done.

  While in the village, he sought out one of his father’s kin, an old cousin who had lived there all his life. Athdar had a strange feeling that what had happened last night, had happened before. Something about it seemed familiar and yet he could not draw it to his mind. Old Iain lived with his granddaughter and still had the biting sense of humour Athdar always remembered of him.

  ‘Iain, you lived in the keep when I was a child, did you not?’ he asked, once they were alone. Iain’s granddaughter seemed to know he wanted a private talk with her father, so she’d taken her bairn and gone to visit a friend.

  ‘Aye. I was in charge of the stables then.’ Iain laughed loudly then at some memory only he knew. ‘Taught ye to ride yer first horse, I did. Ye were a canny lad when it came to horses. Aye, ye were.’ The old man reached inside his tunic and pulled out a flask. After taking a swig, he offered it to Athdar. He took a mouthful and handed it back.

  ‘Do you remember any stories about...well, about me having night terrors?’ He was embarrassed to ask, but could think of no other way to bring up the subject.

  ‘Yer sister was a terror,’ he said. ‘Drove yer maither nigh to madness, but lasses can be like that, ye ken?’ He laughed again. ‘My own Jessie there—’ he nodded in the direction where his granddaughter had gone ‘—she gave me a fair run as weel.’

  ‘Do you remember stories about me?’ Athdar asked once more, hoping he could guide the man’s wandering mind back to the topic. ‘When I was a boy?’

  Iain closed his eyes and for a moment Athdar thought him sleeping. Then he opened them and stared right at him.

  ‘After that summer, ye did. Sometimes in the night. Sometimes in the day. Ye would lose yer way and wake someplace else wi’oot remembering how ye got there. Yer da would say the nights were the worst time. They sent ye to yer uncle’s until it passed.’

  ‘Which summer, Iain?’ he asked. The old man ignored him or forgot to answer, Athdar did not know which. ‘How many years did I have then, Iain?’

  ‘The sad summer,’ he finally said. ‘Sad days, those.’ Iain seemed to drift off into his thoughts then.

  Shocked, but at the same time not, he knew now that last night was not the first time something like that had happened. But in all these years, he did not remember it. ‘Since then, Iain? Do you know of any other times since then?’

  ‘Did ye ken I taught ye to ride yer first horse? Aye, I did indeed. A big, black one. Yer maither, God rest her soul, feared ye would be killed, but yer da was proud of ye.’

  Iain looked off in the distance and began telling his granddaughter, who had not yet returned, of Athdar’s skills on a horse. The man’s lucid moments gone, Athdar thanked him and left. Jessie waited a short distance from the cottage and passed him as he walked back to the main part of the village.

  Troubled and puzzled by the man’s words, he wondered if some illness he’d suffered as a child had returned now. But what was it and why now? Surely Jocelyn would have spoken to him about such a thing? She was older by a couple of years and would have remembered. It made no sense that she would keep such a thing from him.

  The only thing he could do was to see if it subsided or worsened over the coming days. With little more information than what he knew before, Athdar returned to the village and worked alongside the men to complete the repairs they’d begun the day before. They had been lucky and the clear skies held for them. As the month of November moved on, there would be fewer and fewer of these days in which to do this kind of work.

  They pushed on, later than they usually would have, claiming every moment they could before ending for the day. Satisfied with what they’d accomplished, Athdar, Broc and the others headed back for the keep.

  And once more water and clean clothing awaited him and the meal was served when he arrived at the table. But this night there was no sign of Isobel. He asked and was told she had eaten already. No one seemed alarmed by her absence, so he ate along with the others and waited until everyone was finished before letting his curiosity overwhelm him. Leaving the table first, he pulled Nessa aside and discovered that Isobel rested in her old chamber, feeling a bit ill.

  He climbed the stairs two at a time and went to her room. Knocking and saying her name softly, he lifted the latch and opened the door. But for a huddled pile in the middle of the bed, he could see nothing but the top of her head peeking out from under the massive pile of bedcovers. Laria sat by the bed and watched him as he entered.

  ‘Does she sleep?’ he whispered.

  ‘Nay, she does not’ came a muffled reply from the bed, instead of one from Laria. He tried not to laugh over the absolute misery in her voice. She pushed the covers down and began to sit up when Laria ordered her not to move. Even he knew not to disobey the healer’s words when given in that tone.

  ‘My thanks for tending to my wife,’ he said, glimpsing for a moment the strange expression on the woman’s face before it became a tolerant smile. ‘I will sit here until she sleeps.’

  He expected her to argue—she always did—but instead she rose and held out a small bottle to him.

  ‘Three drops in her ale and she will sleep.’

  With that, she turned and left the chamber without another word spoken. As soon as she had, Isobel pushed the covers back and sat up just as she had tried before. She did not look ill, but if she was abed...

  ‘Here now,’ he said. ‘You should be lying down.’ When she gave no sign of listening to him, he warned her, ‘Must I get Laria back in here to make you obey?’

  ‘I pray you, no, please.’ Isobel sat now, pushing herself back against the headboard of the bed. ‘I need to sit up for a bit.’ He held out the cup of ale to her. She shook her head and waved it off.

  ‘So what ails you?’ he asked. Her bright blush told him not to pursue it, but he did. ‘Are you ill? A fever?’

  ‘It will pass, Athdar. By morning I will be fine,’ she said, with a peevish tone in her voice. That irritable inflection told him exactly what malady had her abed and it was one most women did not wish to discuss with men. He should have known that.

  ‘Your courses, then?’ he asked. She nodded and would not meet his gaze. This was possibly the first time a man other than her father, and he would nev
er have done so, asked her about such a personal matter. No wonder she was peevish. ‘So, if you are not contagious, why did you come back here?’ Neither Mairi nor Seonag had ever moved out of their chamber for such a thing.

  She sighed loudly then and shrugged. For once, the bright, intelligent, fluent-in-several-languages Isobel seemed lost for words. Then she whispered her reply.

  ‘I did not wish to disturb you in your bed,’ she said.

  ‘After last night, you mean?’ At first he did not think she would answer, but then she nodded.

  ‘I was thinking about you and last night and wondered if I was the cause of the disturbance. After all, you did not want a wife and you were forced into marrying me. I thought mayhap the condition was brought about by that?’

  Although he had not thought Old Iain’s information very helpful, he decided to share it with her to make her understand that she was not the reason for his sleep disturbances.

  ‘Isobel, I have discovered that I experienced such a condition as a child. Though no one seems to remember how or when it occurred, I was told by an old friend of my father’s that it happened for a while in my childhood and then disappeared. Thinking about it, I wonder if Robbie’s passing and the grief over that brought it back?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘I believe it might be so. I cannot know until or unless it happens again, but I suspect that whether you sleep next to me or not will not make a difference in it.’ He walked around the chamber, putting out the candles and then motioned for her to slide under the bedcovers. ‘But, if it is up to me, I would rather have you in bed with me than to sleep alone...again.’

  ‘But I am...’ She could not say more.

  ‘Disobedient? Wilful?’ he asked, climbing in with her, this time under the covers. ‘Beautiful? Lovely? Warm?’ he continued describing her as he pulled her down next to him, turned her on her side and moved up against her. Even with his garments in place, he knew she would feel his hardness, but it mattered not. ‘Rest now. I will be here if you need me.’