Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8)

by Vonda Sinclair

  "Why did you leave the castle?" he demanded.

  Looking perturbed, she brushed off her skirts, picked up her satchel and crammed the apples back inside. "'Tis a long story. How did you ken where to find me?" She avoided his gaze. What was she trying to hide from him?

  "I questioned a few people who saw you leave."

  "Blast!" she hissed beneath her breath.

  "Why are you out here? Especially after what happened in the shed? You know 'tis dangerous."

  Her gaze darting to him and then away, she pressed her lips tight and clamped them between her teeth. Why was she being so stubborn?

  "Regardless, I must get you back to the castle where you'll be safe," he said. "There are outlaws and highwaymen about."

  "Nay!" She covered her mouth, then slowly lowered her hands. "Pray pardon, but I cannot go back there now."

  "Why not?"

  She glanced north, in the general direction of the castle. Tension emanated from her and worry lowered her brows. She appeared to be squirming in her slippers.

  "Did someone mistreat you? Insult you? Attack you?" If they did he would see them punished or banished.

  "Nay. 'Tis for personal reasons," she said.

  "What about your band of traveling minstrels? Surely they cannot play without your beautiful song."

  "Of course they can. Harriet has a wonderful voice."

  "Aye. But you're the main attraction."

  A hint of a smile ghosted over her face along with a blush. "I thank you, but I'm sure they can get on without me." Dunn nosed at her hand and she petted him.

  Much as Neacal hated to admit it, he did not want to get on without her. He'd missed her and not just because of her singing. Though he wished her to look into his eyes, she stared down at the dog. Again, he found himself jealous of the attention she bestowed upon the beast, not to mention the physical contact and affection… which he craved for himself.

  "Everyone speaks of how much they love your singing. And I do, too, of course."

  "You are too kind," Anna said, hoping the faint light of gloaming hid the blush of pleasure that covered her. Chief MacDonald certainly was a charming flatterer when he wanted to be.

  She couldn't believe he had chased after her. Although his interference annoyed her, it also gave her an unexpected thrill. He'd obviously noticed her absence at the castle. This was a new sensation for her. Since she'd begun her life on the road, she'd tried to blend in as much as she could, so no one would take special notice of her. She had no choice but to earn a living singing, but she didn't enjoy the attention. Once she was finished performing each night, she wanted to retreat to the shadows and disappear.

  Wanting to stare at Neacal in the twilight and delve into every detail of his captivating appearance, she forced herself not to. Instead, she glanced up the hill at the cliffs she'd intended to hide in earlier when she'd heard him approaching through the rocks. But she now saw 'twas not cliffs but massive upright stones. "What is that?"

  "Clachan nan Sìtheach," he said. "I would show it to you but I need to get you back to the castle before dark."

  "I'm not going back," she blurted, staring him eye to eye.

  "Why not?" he demanded, his expression turning annoyed.

  She dropped her gaze and stared at the ground. "I… would rather not say."

  "What happened that is worse than the risk of being taken hostage by a band of outlaws?"

  Word getting back to Blackburn. She would rather die than be captured by him.

  "Do you ken what they would do to you, lass?" Neacal growled low. "'Tis too horrible to think about."

  She nodded, knowing he was right. Still, she was not going back to wait as a lamb to slaughter. She had not survived this long by being afraid to strike out on her own.

  After a long moment, he must have reached some decision, for he said, "Come. I'll show you the standing stones. Hold onto my arm."

  Was this some trick? Anna eyed him critically. Would he toss her over his shoulder and force her back to the castle?

  "You don't trust me?" he asked, still waiting, his elbow extended toward her.

  "Of course, I do." He'd saved her life, after all. But that didn't mean she wanted to tell him her every secret. She laced her arm through his brawny one. Even though he wore a doublet over his shirt, the defined muscles beneath the layers of fabric were obvious. Clinging to him, she found it easier to move among the rocks and low-growing bushes of gorse and heather.

  "Are you not chilled?" she asked. "A cool wind has been blowing this eve and I'm glad for my thick cloak."

  "You call this cool?" He shook his head. "Dunn and I often swim in the icy loch."

  She shivered at the thought. "How on earth do you tolerate that?"

  "I've grown used to it. The cold water improves the constitution and strength. I've done it since I was a lad."

  "I admire your fortitude," she said dryly, though she did indeed admire everything about him, especially his strength, resilience and bravery, his gentleness and good heart. "Tavia said you also like to run and climb mountains."

  "Aye, it increases endurance during battle."

  She had seen the men dashing back and forth across the bailey and along the loch's shore as part of their training, at his behest, no doubt. He was a stern taskmaster when it came to readying his soldiers for battle.

  Most clans had a runner or two, a man who carried messages, sprinting through glens and over hills and mountains. Such men trained every day to build up their stamina to quickly deliver missives for their chiefs, traveling over perilous terrain too dangerous for horses. Though she had never heard of a laird who had trained like a messenger, she could believe it, given his tall, lean and muscular frame. He obviously demanded more of himself than he did his men.

  As they reached the crest of the hill, she could not believe the height of the monoliths before her. "They're stunning," she whispered, the wind carrying the sounds away.

  "Have you seen a standing stone circle before?" he asked.

  "A very small one with short stones. Naught like this. 'Tis impressive." She glanced around, counting thirteen stones. The tallest must have been at least twelve feet.

  Neacal led her inside the ring. "My sister loves it here. Years ago, when no one could find her at the castle, I knew she would be here."

  "Did your clan build this?"

  "Nay," he said. "One legend says the fairies built it. Another says 'twas the ancient ones—a race of people who lived here before our own—who built it thousands of years ago."

  A sense of wonder and mystery suffused her as she tried to imagine what had happened on this site in the past and how people could have erected such large stones.

  "Does it possess magic?" she asked.

  Neacal shrugged one broad shoulder. "The elders claim it does, and most of our clan members steer clear of it for fear of being cursed. But when Maili and I were children, we'd often slip off and visit this place to see if we could see fairies. I've never noticed anything unusual hereabouts."

  Anna walked toward the middle of the ancient monument. "Why did they build it?"

  "No one knows, but we believe this is a sacred site."

  "'Tis lovely," Anna breathed, shivering at the sharp prickle that raced over her body. Was this merely because she was standing beside a most handsome and tantalizing Highlander? Or did these rocks contain a spell?

  Something compelled her to touch the central stone, which was more than twice her height. When she did, an even more intense tingle shook her.

  "Saints," she breathed.

  "'Tis an ancient stone." Neacal brushed his fingers over the surface.

  "Aye," she whispered. Beneath her hand, the stone felt polished by the wind, rain, ice and snow, but part of it was covered in rough lichens. "I wonder what the world was like when these were erected."

  "Probably far different from now." He lowered his gaze to hers and held it there. What was he thinking? Although she knew she should look away, something wo
uldn't allow her to take her gaze from his. His eyes had turned the color of a midnight sky. She could not fathom his expression but 'twas captivating and forceful.

  After a long, tense moment, he slipped a hand around her neck, leaned forward and brushed his warm lips across hers. Her breath fled and she was instantly lost to sensation. Wondering what he would taste like, she flicked out her tongue. He tasted of potent, luscious male and she wanted to savor him for eternity.

  He growled deep in his throat, bent and lifted her against him. Oh, heavens! Her head spun from the movement and his disorienting kiss. She threw her arms around his neck and desperately held on. He consumed her mouth with a compelling hunger she had never before experienced. What on earth caused such sharp passion? Something about him heightened her senses, made her profoundly aware of him. His bewitching scent, his delicious taste, and the hardness of his muscles melted her inside.

  He overwhelmed her with devouring kisses and she craved a deeper connection to him. His hands beneath her derriere, her legs encircling his waist, he leaned her back against the smooth hard surface of the stone and took the kiss to new heights. She could no longer think; she could only feel all the wondrous sensations he was raining down upon her, body and soul.

  "Anna, you drive me mad," he breathed against her mouth.

  What could she say to that? She had no response, except to seek out more mind-stealing kisses. And he indulged her, moaning against her mouth.

  After a blissful moment, he rasped, "Saints." He lowered her to her feet. "I must stop this."

  Nay! She wanted to yell, fisting her hand on his sleeve to steady herself, lest she topple to the ground.

  What was wrong with her? She was neither a loose woman nor a tavern wench.

  He affected her so strongly, her knees were weak. Why did she allow this to happen?

  Mortified at her own overly enthusiastic response to his affections, she crossed her arms and stared at the ground… but she sensed his attention focused on her. Her rational thoughts returning by slow degrees, she felt almost as if she'd been tipsy.

  "Where were you headed at gloaming, alone?" he asked.

  He would not leave that question alone, would he? Since she had no ready answer, her lips remained sealed.

  "You must tell me," he persisted. "I'll tell no one." His voice was huskier than it had been before the kiss. "Do you trust me?"

  "Aye, I told you I do." She glanced up at him, realizing how profound her trust was for him. He'd saved her life, twice. Still, she didn't know what he would do when he learned of her secret past. She had never told anyone about it. The only people who knew were the ones who'd been with her when it happened.

  She could tell him where she was headed, at least. He'd likely already figured that out anyway. "I was going to Acharacle."

  "Why?"

  She blew out an exasperated breath and decided to lie. "I had a disagreement with the other minstrels." She could think of no better excuse… except for the truth, which he could never find out.

  "Disagreement about what?" he asked.

  "'Tis a long story."

  "What would you do in Acharacle? 'Tis but a wee village."

  "Hopefully sing for my supper. 'Tis all I ken how to do."

  Oh, blast! She shouldn't have said that, for it might reveal that she was not from the working class peasants who generally possessed a great many labor skills. A lady was trained in needlework, music, singing, running a household, and a few other things. Most of which were useless outside of a castle.

  "You wish to sing in a tavern?" he asked, his tone disbelieving, his brows quirked.

  "Not in truth, but if I have to…"

  "Do you not know what sort of men you would run into in a tavern? Men seeking more than ale and fine music."

  Heat rushed into her face because she knew from experience he was right. She and the other minstrels had sung in taverns several times. They’d had a few run-ins with disagreeable men. "I would've asked the proprietor to protect me from his customers as part of the employment," Anna said.

  "And who would protect you from the proprietor should he take advantage?"

  She hunched her shoulders, for she had not considered the possibility. In the past, the three male minstrels in their group had kept bad men at bay. But she hadn't thought this whole thing through before she'd left. She simply knew she had to get away from Chief Hamilton. She did have the knife she'd lifted from the kitchen. She could defend herself with it, but if she should kill a man in the process, she might be tossed into the tolbooth prison or even executed. She well knew a woman traveling alone was vulnerable, but she'd had little choice.

  "You could've stayed at the castle, regardless of an argument with the other musicians," Neacal said.

  She could not hide in the castle forever. It was filled to overflowing and a servant would find her no matter where she went.

  "I didn't wish to cause trouble," she said.

  "You wouldn't."

  He was wrong there, for trouble followed her wherever she went. She had to change the subject and remove the focus from her. "Have you chosen any of the young ladies as your bride?"

  "Nay," he said sharply. "Nor will I. The elders are wasting everyone's time."

  She observed him in the gradually deepening dusk. His dark brows lowered over his midnight blue eyes. So serious… she couldn't resist teasing him.

  "Most chiefs want a pretty young wife." She kept a straight face, for 'twas true.

  He glared at her for a long moment, then glanced away. "Aye, well. I'm not most chiefs. I plan to wait until next year, at least. Why should I become chief and get married all within a month's time? I see no need to rush."

  "I agree." An odd thrill spiraled through her. Why should she care if the chief married? She certainly couldn't marry him. She cared because of those bonfire hot kisses he'd bestowed upon her. What did they mean? She had no inkling and never should've let them happen. But how could she stop him? When he had leaned toward her, as if seeking sensual sustenance, everything in her sang with delight and anticipation. He gave her joy such as she had not experienced in years.

  "Anna?"

  "Aye?" Had he been speaking to her while she was woolgathering about him? Her face burned.

  "Where are you from, lass?" he asked, his voice sincere.

  "The east," she blurted.

  "Who is your clan or family?"

  "Douglas." At least her grandmother had been a Douglas. She supposed that made her a distant part of the clan.

  "Are you a widow?"

  "Aye." She was being honest. The one man who had been her true husband was dead. She didn’t consider Blackburn her husband.

  "What was your husband's name?"

  "Richard Douglas." She almost choked on the made-up name, even though this was the same lie she'd been telling everyone for the past couple of years. She couldn't tell anyone her husband's real name, John MacCromar, for then they might ken her identity and where she was from. Blackburn had put the word out that he was searching for his missing wife. She had even seen his men searching for her in Edinburgh at one time. Regardless of the necessity of making up these stories and false names, guilt bored through her at lying to Neacal. He'd been naught but helpful to her… and caring.

  "Which clan were you born into?"

  "My father was a merchant in Aberdeen. He was a Forbes but we were not exactly part of a clan like you have here." She bit her lip… punishment for more lies? If only he would stop asking the hard questions, she could stop telling him these falsehoods.

  "I wish you would tell me the whole story of why you left Bearach," Neacal said.

  She shook her head. "I cannot involve you in my problems." Finally, the truth. He had been so horribly injured in the past she would never wish to draw him into the danger and violence that followed her.

  "'Tis part of my duties to solve problems," he muttered. "I'm not so bad at it once people let me know what the problem actually is."

  She gave
a small, sad smile, wishing she could tell him all.

  "Determined to be stubborn, aye?" He lifted a brow, his gaze searching, trying to delve into her thoughts.

  She shrugged.

  His gaze sharpened upon her, as if he'd gained a sudden insight. "The reason you left… has it something to do with the visitors?"

  Alarm spiked through her. "Nay." Saints, how had he figured it out? He was too brilliant for her peace of mind. 'Haps her hated lies were all for naught anyway. What if he saw right through them? Feeling doubly guilty, she shook her head. He had treated her better than anyone, and it flayed her to keep lying to him. But she couldn't tell him part of the truth without revealing all.

  "You still want to go to Acharacle?" he asked.

  "Aye." What choice did she have?

  "Very well. I'll escort you there." He glanced up at the slate gray sky. "We may be able to reach the village before full dark. I know the tavern's owner. I'll speak to him about hiring you."

  "Is he a good man?" she asked, remembering what he'd said earlier.

  Neacal shrugged. "As far as I know. I've only talked to him a few times. We're not close friends."

  "Why did you suggest the proprietor might take advantage of me?"

  "You never know, do you? A lovely woman can make a man do insane things." His gaze darkened upon her.

  A rush of heat consumed her face, for his comment was indeed flattering, and he was having some silver-tongued-devil moments, which she hadn't expected from him. But at the same time, he implied that her looks would cause men to behave in dishonorable ways. "I don't know whether to thank you or stomp your toe."

  He snorted, only a hint of amusement showing in the easing of his expression. "I'm trying to be serious, lass. You cannot trust everyone. Simply because a man owns a business does not make him a good person."

  "I'm well aware, but you were trying to scare me."

  "Nay, only warn you to be cautious, especially when traveling alone like this."

  "Well, I thank you for agreeing to take me to the village. 'Tis very generous of you."