Highland Surrender

by Dawn Halliday

“Truly, it is all right,” she murmured. “Please don’t blame Miss MacNab. I . . . I wanted to come. I asked her to bring me along.”

  There. She’d said it. The truth. She held her breath.

  He frowned down at her. “Why?”

  “I like Ceana. She is . . . my friend.”

  He frowned harder. But he looked away without comment, leaving an unsettled feeling fluttering in her stomach. She’d half expected him to forbid her to associate with Ceana, as her uncle had.

  “I . . .” Cam’s voice faltered. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Gràinne . . . She is an old acquaintance of mine.”

  Looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes, she nodded.

  “I just wanted to let you know.” His voice sounded strangled as he spoke. “You must know that she is no threat to you, Elizabeth.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth murmured. “I didn’t—”

  “Of course you did not,” Cam interrupted. His stance was so taut, she thought if she pushed him, he might break into a thousand pieces. “I merely didn’t want you to succumb to any notion that she could threaten you or your status. In any way.”

  As always, their communications were formal, even awkward. Would it always be this way? She took a breath. “Yes, my lord. Of course. I understand. As the earl, you are concerned about all of your neighbors.”

  Cam glanced heavenward as if in thankfulness; then he relaxed a little and smiled at her. “Yes, that’s right. That’s exactly it.”

  Rob and Cam flanked her as they walked toward two horses. Elizabeth’s breath caught. “Ceana said you weren’t to ride, my lord.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Cam said grimly. “I had to make . . .” He glanced at her, looked away, then continued. “I had to be certain Gràinne was all right.”

  “How is your shoulder?” she asked quietly.

  “Ceana bound it tightly this morning, and the scab held.”

  Elizabeth released a breath of relief. “She’ll throttle you if she hears you rode.”

  “Yes.” He glanced at Rob. “We’ll keep this between the three of us, I think.”

  Focused on the horses, Rob nodded but didn’t speak.

  Cam mounted and then reached down with his good hand to pull her up. Elizabeth paused. She didn’t hesitate because she’d rather ride with Rob. Truly, she didn’t. She hesitated out of concern for her betrothed’s injured shoulder.

  “My lord.” She twisted her hands. “Please. I don’t wish to risk your wound.”

  Rob, already mounted, turned his horse until it stood behind her. “She ought to ride with me, milord. So as not to cause you further injury.”

  Cam ground his teeth and muttered under his breath, but he relinquished her to Rob. Just the thought of riding with Robert MacLean—a joy she’d thought to never experience again—sent shivers of delight coursing through her.

  Under Cam’s watchful eye, Rob dismounted and, in a fluid motion, lifted her onto the saddle and then remounted behind her.

  Cam motioned them ahead, for the path was too narrow for two horses side by side. They began the slow climb down the mountain in utter quiet.

  As they descended, Elizabeth studied the details of her surroundings. Baby leaves had begun to sprout on the trees, speckling the dull brown branches with vivid green. She’d always loved spring best of all the seasons, and surely there had to be some significance to her leaving Purefoy Abbey to be married at this time of year.

  Heather grew everywhere, covering the ground in long, stretching clumps. They rode past tall pines, clumps of thin-trunked trees, and bushes budding with violet flowers. She wondered what they’d look like when they opened. Whether they’d smell sweet or bitter, or have no smell at all.

  Rob’s knee pressed against her thigh and his arm was clamped around her waist so she wouldn’t fall if the horse sidestepped or fumbled. Yet he held himself as stiff as a pike, no doubt aware of the earl’s eyes boring into them from behind.

  “You were easier with me that night at the loch,” she murmured.

  “Aye.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “And you responded to me. With more than one word.”

  His lips twitched. “Aye, so I did.”

  “But you don’t now.”

  “It wouldn’t be wise.”

  She sighed. “Well, that’s likely true.” She let her fingertip trail over the top of the hand clamped over her middle. Quietly, she traced every long finger up to the edge of his sleeve cuff. He had beautiful hands.

  “Elizabeth,” he said on a soft groan. “You shouldn’t touch me.”

  She dropped her hand, fighting a smile. “You called me Elizabeth.”

  “You’d prefer ‘milady’?”

  “No,” she said instantly. “Not from you.” She liked the sound of her name rolling off his tongue in his brogue.

  She looked back over her shoulder to see him smiling at her. It was beautiful, natural, and she realized she’d never seen him smile before. It stole her breath away.

  “Tell me . . .” She paused. She wanted to know more about him. About his childhood, about his life, about his dreams and desires. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Nay.”

  “What about your mother? Do you know anything about her?”

  “Very little.”

  “Do you know why she . . . ?”

  His hand tightened around her waist. “She was seduced,” he murmured after a long pause. “By power. By silver. That is what my da told me.” He sighed. “I believe him.”

  “Did she love the man she . . . strayed with? Your real father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She was silent for a long moment. She touched his hand again, pressing her palm against it. Every inch of her body burned for him. Yet she could never have him. He would remain an unfulfilled dream, because even when Uncle Walter was long gone, she could not risk her marriage to Cam.

  She wished it were different. She willed it to be different. But the truth remained. Rob MacLean with his burnt-sugar eyes and his thick coffee hair was an untouchable dream. A fantasy.

  Life consisted of sacrifices; she knew that well. She wanted Rob MacLean, but she wouldn’t die for lack of having him. In her lifetime, she’d suffered far worse. She would enjoy their stolen moments—she would enjoy the present—and try not to crave more.

  Stiffening her resolve, Elizabeth returned her attention to their surroundings. Ahead, through the scrubby trees and brush, the sun cast a metallic gleam over the rippling waters of the loch. The tower of the main keep at Camdonn Castle peeked above the rocky terrain and foliage.

  Soon they traversed the winding path across the narrowest part of the spit leading to the castle gates, and with each step closer, Elizabeth’s chest grew tighter. She couldn’t call back to Cam now. The realization that she should have ridden with him, somehow convinced him not to tell Uncle Walter of this afternoon’s excursion, came too late.

  She closed her eyes against the welling panic. Rob’s hand tightened over her belly. “Are you well?”

  Of course Rob sensed her distress. He understood her like no one else. She nodded numbly. Nothing Rob could do would stop Uncle Walter if Cam told him where he’d found her.

  As soon as they opened the gates and rode into the courtyard, she saw the familiar white-wigged head bobbing toward them.

  “What’s wrong, Elizabeth?”

  She scarcely heard Rob’s concerned voice. All she could see was her uncle coming into view. All she could hear was the blood roaring in her ears.

  The horse came to a halt, and Rob dismounted and lifted her down. Cam stopped just behind them.

  Her uncle, concern creasing his face, hurried up to them. Ignoring the men, he asked, “Where have you been, Lizzy?”

  “She was up the mountain with Ceana MacNab,” Cam supplied before Elizabeth could say a word.

  Elizabeth held herself rigid as her uncle’s cold gaze skimmed over her.

  “Is that so?” />
  “I thought it would be best if I brought her home.”

  “Of course.” Rage—rage she knew well—flared in her uncle’s pale blue eyes, but it disappeared before anyone else could identify it.

  It was all she could do to stay upright. She considered falling at Cam’s and Rob’s feet, sobbing, revealing everything, and begging for them to protect her . . . to protect Bitsy.

  But Uncle Walter had a way about him that made him appear sane in the face of everyone else’s insanity. She would lose the battle. She always did.

  She blinked hard. She felt Rob’s eyes on her, but she didn’t dare glance in his direction.

  “Well,” her uncle said pleasantly. “We’ve half an hour before dinner, Lizzy. You should go ready yourself.”

  She made a small curtsy. “Yes, Uncle.”

  Woodenly, she strode toward the keep, feeling the weight of all three men’s stares as she disappeared inside.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The duke shook his head as they watched Elizabeth disappear into the living quarters. “My poor niece looks exhausted. She is truly a delicate creature. A precious gem. I shall have her maid make her a posset.”

  “That sounds like a very good idea.” Cam had studied Elizabeth’s relationship with her uncle for the past several weeks. Irvington was protective of his niece to a fault, and it was clear that she deeply respected him in turn. “I am sorry we were forced to call our outing short, Irvington.”

  The duke waved his hand. “No matter. It is likely for the best that we came back early.” He pressed his fingers to his chest. “Sometimes Elizabeth can be impetuous, and she forgets her place. I do worry for her safety in these circumstances. Cavorting with a commoner—”

  “Everyone in the Glen knows Ceana MacNab. A friend of hers is a friend to all. She is safe with Ceana.”

  The duke took a deep breath. “And yet the woman is a pagan healer of dubious reputation. Should a duke’s niece be seen with such a woman?”

  Cam remained very still, battling the rage that swelled in him at the man’s disparaging remarks toward Ceana. Finally, he said tightly, “The Highlands are different from England.”

  The duke nodded gravely. “Yes, of course. In this, as in all things, I trust your judgment, Camdonn.”

  Adjusting his wig, the duke hurried after his niece, and Cam turned to the stables. He’d needed to do right by Elizabeth and make sure she arrived home safely, but now he must return to the mountain and see to Gràinne. He needed to speak with her, glean more information about her attacker and where the man had gone. The bastard would be caught.

  Cam chose a fresh mount and began to saddle it himself. Sensing movement, he glanced up to see the figure of Robert MacLean blocking the stall door.

  “I can do that for you, milord.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “You’re returning to the mountain?”

  “Yes.”

  MacLean nodded. As Cam cinched the buckle around the horse’s girth, he glanced up at the other man. “Any news on the highwaymen?”

  “Nay. I believe people have information, but they’ve seen me with you. Might be they no longer feel I am to be trusted.”

  Cam nodded. He trusted MacLean as much as he could trust any man, save Alan, whom Cam had scarcely seen since his return to the Glen. He knew it was for the best. Alan had become his crutch, but he no longer required a crutch. This was a problem he must manage by himself. Hell, if he couldn’t get to the bottom of the attack without Alan’s help, he deserved whatever fate befell him.

  As he rode up the mountain, Cam thought of Gràinne and the man who’d abused her. Could there be some connection between the attack on her and the one on himself?

  His shoulder throbbed with every step of the horse, and his thoughts turned to Ceana MacNab. When he’d grown angry with her for bringing poor Elizabeth to the mountain—hell, what had the woman been thinking?—she’d stood up for her choices, despite the folly of them.

  Cam knew Englishwomen. He’d lived among that particular breed of woman most of his life. He knew exactly what was required to keep an English female content. It was simple: Protect her from harm, coddle her, keep her clothed in the highest fashion, loosen the purse strings, and shower her with compliments and attention when she was near. They were simple creatures—easy to please, easy to keep. Elizabeth had never hinted that she was any different.

  He hoped Ceana hadn’t upset her too greatly by bringing her up to the mountain. What thoughts had run through her mind when she’d seen the abuse inflicted on poor Gràinne? He shuddered at the thought. Hopefully the girl would soon be able to push the experience from her memory.

  Meanwhile, he rode back toward Gràinne, the woman who’d served as his on-and-off lover for years, and Ceana, the woman he’d never touched carnally but whose body he craved every second of the day.

  This morning when Ceana had said she was leaving Camdonn Castle, the beast within him had reared its head and roared for her, bringing to life thoughts similar to those he’d had in the month before he’d abducted Sorcha from her marriage bed. Need. Desire. Obsession .

  The urge to force her to stay at Camdonn Castle had surged through him. Before he could stop the thoughts, he’d considered locking her in his room, tying her to the bed, holding her down and kissing her, touching her body, taking her until she was insensible to anything other than his body, his need.

  He banished those debauched thoughts. Nevertheless, they shimmered on the edge of his consciousness, thrilling him, tempting him.

  Ceana had best go. Before temptation overruled reason. He’d quell the beast until his marriage a few weeks hence, and then his future would be set in stone.

  There was more at stake now than there had been with Sorcha. He was about to be married, with the endorsement of the king and the Duke of Argyll, to the lovely niece of an English duke. He couldn’t botch this, for this time the repercussions would extend far beyond the borders of his own lands. He’d embarrass the man who’d suggested the match—the Duke of Argyll. He’d disappoint the king. He’d lose the respect of the powerful lords of England and Scotland that he’d struggled so hard to attain.

  The way Ceana made him feel made no sense. His feelings for her conflicted with all his carefully laid-out plans.

  After all that had happened, he hadn’t learned, hadn’t changed. He was no better than he’d been more than a year ago, when he’d taken Sorcha from her marriage bed. He was debauched to his soul. He was a man incapable of learning from his mistakes, unworthy of leadership. He was not an honorable man.

  He’d tried so hard to change his goals, to follow the right and proper path. He’d chosen the perfect woman to take to wife. He’d realigned his goals for the betterment of the people who surrounded him.

  But it was not honorable to feel this burning, raging need for Ceana when he had pledged himself to someone else. It was not honorable to allow himself to be diverted from his aim.

  Once again, he was dreaming about something that could never be. He’d thought he could be a true gentleman and make wise choices that befitted his rank, but when he began to feel desire, the line between what he should do and what he must do faded away, leaving him with nothing to grasp onto but his own base needs.

  This time, he could not let the obsession overwhelm him. This time, he risked so much more. He must not allow the fire to consume him.

  As much as it tried to slither away from him, he must . . . he must keep a firm hold on his honor.

  Reaching Gràinne’s cottage, he tied his horse to the post beside the door and let himself in. Ceana rose from the bedside and hurried toward him, raising her hand to stop him from speaking. “She’s asleep,” she whispered. “I gave her a calming draft.”

  Cam jerked his head to the door and Ceana nodded, then followed him outside. He closed the door behind them and walked to the side of the cottage, where they would be hidden from the curious eyes of the other women.

  “Did she give you a
ny more details?” he asked.

  “No.” Tiredly, Ceana tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Just that he was an acquaintance from Inverness.”

  Clenching his fists, Cam stared at the spindly pine trees that lined the path leading down the mountain.

  “You care for her,” Ceana murmured.

  “Yes.”

  “You and she—”

  “Yes.” Cam swallowed. “She was my first.”

  Ceana’s eyes widened with interest. “Is that so? I thought you spent your childhood in England.”

  “I did, but I returned home on occasion. On one of those visits, I came with the goal to be relieved of my virginity.”

  “So you went to the mountain.”

  Cam nodded. The tip of Ceana’s tongue swiped over her lips, and Cam’s cock jumped to life. He glanced away. “I hate that she’s hurt.”

  “So do I.” After a pause, Ceana looked up at him. “Is she still your lover?”

  “No.”

  She pursed her lips. “Good.”

  He reached out and slid his fingers over hers. They stood for several minutes in silence, their hands clasped as they looked down the heather-covered slope of the mountain.

  Elizabeth didn’t eat a bite of her dinner, for she was certain that if she did force something down, it would travel straight back up. She managed a taste of claret, but even that made her stomach rumble and complain. Her uncle watched her throughout the meal with eyes narrowed into slits, but he didn’t comment beyond the banal dinner conversation they had spent endless nights perfecting.

  The fact that Cam and Ceana hadn’t appeared made it even more unbearable. A sickening fear stormed incessantly through her, leaving her adrift on a violent ocean, unable to combat the seasickness.

  Afterward, she and Uncle Walter retired to the drawing room, where Cam eventually joined them. She and Cam continued the game of chess they’d been playing, but it couldn’t hold her attention.

  “You look fatigued this evening, Elizabeth,” Cam said stiffly. “I hope you are sufficiently recovered from this afternoon’s adventure.”

  She flicked a glance at Uncle Walter, who sat in one of the silk-covered armchairs reading a religious treatise. “Everything is very well, thank you, my lord. Perhaps I am a little tired.”