The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

by TERRI BRISBIN

  She moved around him and knelt across his leg, trying to ignore the aroused flesh that made her own body ache in anticipation. She took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth. Over and over, as he usually did to her, she kissed his face, his lips, his chin, his cheeks and then she opened and possessed his mouth. As she slid her tongue in his mouth, she felt his hands encircle her waist. When he finally gave her his tongue, he guided her forwards and up until she could take him inside her body.

  Sliding down his length, taking him in inch by inch, she kept her mouth on his. Her breasts tingled as the curly hair on his chest teased her nipples. She lifted her mouth from his and exhaled a sigh of pleasure. Their bodies joined as one, now she wanted his heart.

  ‘I love you, Athdar,’ she whispered against his mouth.

  He stopped then, tugging her hair and gently pulling her face back. He searched her face as though seeking the truth.

  ‘I love you,’ she repeated.

  He turned her face, staring into her eyes. He knew she’d given herself to him, but now she gifted him with her heart when he most needed it.

  ‘Ah, lass,’ he whispered. ‘Say it again.’

  ‘I love you,’ she repeated. Then she pulled herself against his chest and began to ride him. ‘I love you,’ she chanted in a whisper against his face. ‘I love you, Athdar MacCallum. Always.’

  He took control then, turning their bodies as one until she lay beneath him. She reached up and touched his face with a breathtakingly tender caress. His body urged him to move, to take her, to claim her and mark her, but his own heart wanted to savour this special moment between them. He moved in her in a slow pace, so slow that it made his control scream, but he wanted her to feel the love he could not give voice to...not yet.

  Every time he filled her, she gasped. The sigh she made as he withdrew was music to his heart. He wanted this to go on for ever and never have to face the rest of it—the questions, the doubt.

  ‘Athdar,’ she moaned. ‘I can take no more of this. Hurry!’

  He laughed then—her soft voice had turned demanding and her hips thrust up to meet his. He loved hearing her demand more of him. He wanted to give her everything.

  He loved her.

  Athdar took her, then he thrust faster and deeper, feeling the walls of her channel tighten around his flesh. His release was close, oh so close, and he felt the spasms beginning deep within her body that foretold of hers. Then, just before he thrust for what he knew would the last time before they reached satisfaction, he lifted his head and met her gaze.

  ‘Never leave me, Bel,’ he whispered. ‘Never.’

  She smiled then.

  ‘Never.’

  Then, canting her hips, she wrapped her legs around him, drawing him into her fully. Her body exploded and melted around his as she screamed out her release. His seed burst forth as he filled her, plunging his flesh deeper and deeper still as her muscles convulsed around his cock.

  He could not breathe then. He could only feel...her body and his flesh as one...her heart pounding in her chest...her love accepting and claiming him.

  If only he could remain here for ever.

  But he could not. He needed to find out what was happening to him and why.

  Turning to his side, he pulled Isobel close, not sure of even what to say. They lay in the heavy silence for a short time before she faced him.

  ‘Tell me how I can help you, Athdar. Tell me what to do.’

  Her soft plea hurt because he could not answer her.

  ‘Give me time, Bel. Just give me time.’

  She said nothing then, just nodded and rolled to her side once more. Athdar moved in close and held her, unwilling to break the bond between them.

  After watching her plan her changes and handle problems, he would love to have her help. But until he knew the problem himself, he could not even ask the questions.

  * * *

  His breathing grew deep and regular and Isobel hoped that their joining had helped him. Speaking the words of love to him had been terrifying and, though he’d not said them back to her, she doubted not that he loved her. It was in his gaze every time he looked at her. It was in his words every time he spoke of her or praised her before his—their—people. It was in every touch and every caress. If he could not say the words, she did not worry over it.

  She listened to him breathe and marvelled over how far they had come together. Sliding her hand over his hip, she just left it there so she could keep some connection to him as they slept. A few minutes passed as she drifted in and out of sleep and then she noticed something was not right.

  Reaching for him, she felt only emptiness next to her. The bed was cool to her touch, which told her he’d left some time ago. Both of them seemed to use the night to sort out their thoughts and just as she sought out the loom, she had known him to walk when he was bothered. So, she waited a little while for his return.

  * * *

  When she estimated it had been more than an hour, and how much before that she knew not, she left the bed and dressed quickly. With his plaid wrapped around her, she began her search for him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She crept through the hall, finding no sign of him.

  Had he left the keep?

  Isobel went through the kitchens, again without seeing him, to the back door where a guard always stood...and thankfully did now.

  ‘The laird?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

  ‘He headed for the stables, lady,’ the man said. ‘Should I go tell him you wish to speak to him?’

  ‘Nay,’ she said, walking past him. ‘I will seek him out there.’

  It took a few minutes to find her way there. With little moonlight to brighten the yard, it was difficult, but soon she approached the fenced yard behind the main building. Again, no one was there so she followed around to the door...the open door. Tugging it wider, she stepped inside and looked around. Though there appeared to be about eight stalls, only three were being used. A torch placed high on the wall showed Athdar standing in front of one of them.

  She walked to him, stopping not far from him. The horses neighed softly, hoping she brought a treat, but she had none. Athdar did not seem to hear her or them. He just stood shifting something in his hands back and forth. As she got closer she could see it was a length of rope that was looping around one hand. When he reached the end, he dropped it and began again.

  ‘Athdar?’ she said. Remaining where she was, she said his name once more.

  ‘Rope. I need the rope.’

  He did not precisely say it to her, more at her, and then he looked around the open room and along the floor as though searching for rope. Seeing none, she did not know whether to go and get some or not. He spoke again.

  ‘Dear God, where is the rope?’ There was such pain in his voice that it hurt her to hear it. It made her move.

  ‘Here, Athdar. Here it is,’ she said, picking up the length he’d dropped once more and holding it out to him.

  As he turned to look at the floor, she saw that empty gaze and knew his mind, his thoughts, were not here.

  ‘Where is it? Where is the rope?’ he asked again, falling to his knees and searching through the hay for something that was right before his eyes.

  ‘It is there, Athdar,’ she said.

  ‘No matter telling him, lady.’ She jumped at the sound of another voice. Turning, she discovered Broc standing behind her.

  ‘What is he doing?’ Athdar continued feeling through the hay and did not react to their voices.

  ‘He walks while asleep,’ Broc said. ‘There are stories he did this as a child, but then it disappeared before he married...Mairi.’

  ‘It is back, then,’ she said. She had heard about people who did this—they could have conversations, even e
at and drink, and all the time were sound asleep. But she’d never seen it before Athdar began it.

  ‘I think ’tis what happened in your chamber that night,’ Broc explained.

  She started to say that it did not explain the several times when he had not been sleeping, but decided it was something best kept private for now.

  ‘Has it happened at other times?’ he asked, moving closer as they watch Athdar repeat the task over and over.

  ‘In the hall. This day.’ Everyone there had seen it and many had told the tale of it, so it was not a secret. The other times, she would keep to herself.

  Athdar got to his feet then and walked past them as though they were not there, the rope left forgotten on the floor.

  ‘I should go,’ she said, not willing to let him out of her sight. ‘Broc, I would speak to you on the morrow about this.’

  Isobel also wanted to know why Broc was watching him this night, but there would be time to ask that after she made certain Athdar was safe.

  Isobel followed Athdar back through the yard and inside the keep before she realised he wore no shoes. And he seemed not to notice as he walked over the cold stone floor and steps. He went directly to his chamber and lay down on his bed. She sat on the chair and watched him sleep until she fell asleep herself.

  Only when he had roused her in the morning and asked why she slept on the chair did she decide it was time for some plain talk between them.

  * * *

  Isobel sat in the chair, slumped over and sleeping with her head leaning on the table. Athdar slid from the bed and went to her, only then noticing the mud on his feet. Confused, for not only were his feet filthy but also he was dressed, as well, he touched her shoulder and she startled.

  ‘Isobel, why are you sleeping there?’

  She rubbed her eyes and he noticed the circles when her hands dropped away. She gathered the plaid around her shoulders and shivered before answering him at all.

  ‘I wanted to know if you left again,’ she whispered as she stood. ‘So, you do not have any memory of the stables?’

  At first he thought she must have had some nightmare until she glanced down at his feet—his bare and filthy feet which were not in that condition when he settled to sleep wrapped around her. A sick feeling in his gut told him he would not like what she would tell him, so he turned the chair and sat down.

  ‘After you fell asleep, you left our bed and the keep. I found you in the stables,’ she explained. She sighed and shrugged, clearly exhausted. ‘You were searching for a rope. And then more rope. You were frantic.’

  Then he noticed the tears and—damn it!—Isobel never cried. He tried to take her in his arms and she pushed him away.

  ‘Tell me about Robbie and the other boys,’ she said, dashing her hand across her face to wipe away the tears. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Robbie? Robbie died. You know that,’ he spat out. ‘What boys do you mean?’ Did she mean Robbie’s son?

  ‘Jamie, Kennan, Duff and Robbie?’ she asked. ‘Those were the names you cried out in your drunken sleep that night.’

  He shook his head and tried to think about the names she’d said. He did not remember saying them then and could not bring them to mind now. Although he knew Robbie more recently, he could not place him as a child. He shrugged. ‘I cannot remember any by those names.’

  ‘Try to remember, Athdar,’ she urged. ‘You had about seven years. They were your friends. Something happened to them.’

  Her words were like blows to him—his mind reeled and a dizzying blackness began to rise within him. He tried to think of himself as seven again, a child, a boy the same age as Robbie’s son. Something stirred in the blackness of his memories then. Horrible. Nauseating. A wall he could not, he dared not, approach.

  His stomach clenched and he bent over from the pain of it.

  ‘Athdar, let me help you,’ she said. But the pain and the blackness welled up in waves, threatening to claim him.

  He thought about something else, not boys, not him, not friends, and it all subsided. He took in deep breaths, trying to regain control and he felt better until she mentioned them again.

  ‘You are not helping me, Isobel,’ he yelled at her. He had to make it stop. The blackness. The swirling. ‘Leave it be!’ She jumped back away from him. Clearly he had to be forceful about this or, like his sister, she would meddle and make it worse...again. ‘Leave it be and leave me be! Now!’

  At first she seemed cowed by his order, but then her lip, her God-be-damned lower lip, edged up, showing her defiance.

  ‘I cannot help you if you do not try, Dar,’ she said. Her voice echoed in his mind and the blackness that waited there.

  ‘I do not want your help. You overstep yourself in this. I did not ask for your help. Leave. It. Be,’ he shouted.

  Did she cry then? Nay, not her. She gathered the plaid around her shoulders and left the chamber without another word. And, thanks be to God, without asking more questions.

  Athdar looked around for something to drink then—both to ease the pain in his stomach and to make him forget all the names she kept saying. It was important that he forget and never remember them.

  Finding nothing, he went to the kitchen to get some from the barrel kept there. From the looks he received along the way, he knew others had heard the exchange. Well, good and fine, that now they remembered that he was their laird and the one who gave orders here.

  * * *

  Isobel was stunned. She watched as Athdar battled something within himself, his expression changing moment by moment, once she spoke the names. She could see him arm himself with anger to push her away. She’d seen others do that when the cost of accepting or admitting something would be too much and now saw him doing the same thing. Usually it was caused by pride, but this time? She had no idea of what could cause such a reaction in him.

  Husbandly orders or not, she had learned how to accomplish things without a husband’s knowledge and in the face of a husband’s resistance from the best women at doing such things—her mother and his sister. She would need more information if she wanted to help him. Thinking about who would know such things, Muireall’s name came to mind.

  After washing in her old chambers, Isobel decided to seek out Muireall before she came to the keep for the day’s work. The older woman had not yet moved all of her belongings out of her daughter’s cottage, so Isobel waved off Jean’s offer of food as she left to find some answers to her questions.

  Thinking about all the things spoken about the MacCallums’ past, she thought of Laria who had been here through all of it. Who had grown bitter as Muireall had said.

  And she needed to speak to Broc about last night. Why was he in the stables when Athdar was there?

  No matter who she had to seek out, she was going to find out what held Athdar in its grasp.

  Muireall met her at the door and they walked back to the keep. Isobel did not wait long to begin her search.

  * * *

  By the time they reached the keep, Isobel knew about the terrible accident: a bridge collapsed, killing three boys and injuring one more. Only Athdar had survived unscathed.

  And, the most surprising thing she learned was that the mother of two of the dead boys—Duff and Kennan—was Laria. Muireall’s comment about Laria being bitter made more sense now, though she could not imagine how the woman could remain here and serve the man who was the only boy uninjured when her sons died. It made no sense that Laria and the boys’ father remained here after such a loss.

  The image of that green glass bottle flashed through her thoughts again. Laria’s sleep elixir. Iain dead.

  Was this all connected? Isobel knew she was missing something about this, something very important. She really wanted to talk to Athdar, which was out of the question.

  Jamie and Robbie’s paren
ts had moved away right after the accident—something the old laird arranged. So Athdar’s statement about knowing Robbie only as an adult made sense—if he had somehow forgotten about Robbie being part of the accident.

  But could someone do that? Put something so far and firmly behind him that he did not and could not recall it?

  Her head hurt by the time they arrived back at the keep, both from the lack of sleep and from trying to figure this out. She realised one thing: she could not barge into the workroom and ask about Laria’s dead sons. Even if there was a connection somehow between what caused Athdar’s suffering and the woman, it would be a cruel thing to do to a woman who’d lost bairns.

  Isobel remembered one of the MacLerie villagers—Margaret—whose husband and only child had been killed in a terrible accident, leaving her alone. Connor and Jocelyn had made all kinds of provisions for her since the deaths had occurred in their work in the harvest. Margaret had seemed well enough, bearing up under her grief until one day she simply cleaned and shuttered her cottage and walked off a cliff.

  God rest her soul. Isobel crossed herself and offered up a momentary prayer for the poor woman. No one, not the woman’s neighbours or closest friend, had had any idea of the terrible grief she had kept inside or the plans she’d made. Inconsolable people saw no way through and suffered terribly.

  Walking through the kitchen, Isobel knew she must rest. She could speak to Laria later. So she told Nessa, who had now agreed to serve as a housekeeper for them, overseeing the needs of the families there, that she would be in her chamber. No one questioned it as she walked through the hall.

  * * *

  Athdar knew the moment he poured the whisky that it was the wrong thing to do. Last time—well, last time had turned out disastrously and led him down a path that saw his avoidance of marriage be thrown by the wayside. All things considered, he had got more in this bargain than Isobel had. He had got a woman and wife who only wanted to see to his needs and she had got a cantankerous old man who was too set in his ways to accept her help.