Never Kiss a Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  Mairead furrowed her brow and then reached up to play with the loose curl, wrapping and unwrapping the strand around her index finger. “Hellie is a good cook, but she could never be a tyrant. She is too sweet natured to run the kitchen and its staff.”

  “True, Hellie is nothing like Fiona,” Hamish said, trying to think about anything other than what Mairead was doing with her hair. “I remember her as a child. My father could bark and yell and she would just paste on a smile and tell him that all would be better soon.”

  Mairead tucked her feet underneath her and then absentmindedly began to play with the end of her braid. “Aye. She is still the same way. No matter how poorly anyone performs in the kitchens, she offers only words of encouragement.” She paused and her face shifted to a frown. “Hellie would be able to prepare better food if she had better help. And for that Selah is to blame. Not one person in this castle fears what will happen if they do their job poorly—therefore most do.”

  Hamish winced. “People don’t usually respond well to threats.”

  Mairead narrowed her eyes and issued him an “I know that” look. “Maybe not, but they don’t respond at all to my sister’s empty, softhearted pleas.”

  “True,” Hamish agreed, sliding the bones into his hand.

  “But it’s more than just low expectations. Many are given responsibilities in things that they just despise doing. I’ve spoken to Selah about the situation, but she refuses to listen.”

  Hamish handed the bones to Mairead. “Your sister will never be a taskmaster, but perhaps if she were to learn that her efforts to keep the people in their positions were not felt as a kindness but something more akin to punishment, she might be a lot more open to changes in staff.”

  Mairead took the bones and watched Hamish as he sat back and stroked his mangy beard. His suggestion was straightforward and highly likely to work with Selah, and yet it had never occurred to her that an emotional plea would be far more effective than a logical one. Hamish surprised her and once again she found herself drawn to him in a way that she could not explain.

  She tried to imagine him clean-shaven like he had been twelve years ago, but the young man she envisioned did not correspond to the one before her. The years had changed him and Mairead imagined that his face was now like that of his body, hard and chiseled. The mental sight of him shirtless formed and Mairead bit her bottom lip, wondering if it was close to reality.

  “I’m waiting on you.”

  Mairead glanced down at the knucklebones in her hand and realized what he meant. She let them fall. “I was just thinking about what you said.”

  Hamish picked up the pieces and rolled them. He was not sure how much longer he would have lasted if she had kept staring at him so attentively. She had been studying him, almost as if she was trying to see him. And then, without warning, her eyes had darkened with desire.

  He glanced down, hoping that he won. The combination value was just slightly less than Mairead’s. He grimaced and decided that if he could not ask, he would prompt an answer another way. “I suspect you were thinking about me.”

  Mairead refused to acknowledge or deny the statement and pointed down at the winning set on the table. “Just why do you flirt with women?”

  The question had not been the one she had intended to ask next, but she needed to end the current conversation and at the same time turn the tables and make him feel uncomfortable for once. Plus, she was actually extremely interested in the answer. The man never stopped flirting and Mairead found herself constantly battling her emotions because of it.

  Hamish shifted in his seat at the unexpected inquiry. They both knew the purpose behind her request to play this game and her question should have been about Ulrick and his plan. As far as his flirting, it was just something he did, especially in situations like now, where he needed to regain control of the situation and his body. But in general, he did it merely because he enjoyed making women smile and seeing them blush. Nothing more.

  He might not be a saint, but his reputation of being a ladies’ man was highly exaggerated. His fellow soldiers thought he was just as friendly with women privately as he was publicly. Rather than correct them, Hamish used their mistaken impression to his advantage. It kept them from prying into his personal business and allowed him to be alone at night without being taunted. And when he wanted company, he was quite selective in whom he sought out. There were a handful of widows who were lonely too but only wanted some periodic company, not marriage. Hamish doubted he was the only one they saw, but the arrangement worked. At least until several months ago when he foolishly thought he was in love with Wyenda. Afterward, his desire for women had vanished and even now the prospect of going back to the widows held little appeal.

  “Is it a complicated question?” Mairead prompted, her large hazel eyes blinking periodically as she stared at him.

  Hamish returned her gaze, refusing to be rattled. “On the contrary.” He collected the bones and then rolled them. “My answer is simple and therefore I’m not sure you will believe me. The truth is, I enjoy it.”

  Mairead gave him a pointed look. She thought about arguing for a better, more complete answer, but what she saw in the dark green depths made her realize there was not one. With an exasperated sigh, she rolled the bones.

  Seeing he had the better hand, Hamish grinned. “My turn. Why should I stop flirting?”

  Mairead snorted and rolled. “I doubt you could even if the King of Scotland himself demanded it of you.”

  Hamish picked up the pieces and clucked his tongue. “That was not an answer.”

  Mairead narrowed her eyes and remembered the young girl’s comments from that morning. “Why flirt with women you have no feelings for? It is akin to lying, giving them hopes of something more when the only thing you are interested in is amusing yourself.”

  Hamish leaned forward. “First, it is not simply to amuse myself. Second, I have never been inclined to refrain from flattering a woman when it was deserved. Third, offering a few kind words is not a proposal of marriage. If anything, flirting helps when dealing with those of your frustrating sex. A playful comment can eliminate tension. And last, I have never known simple, well-intentioned words to ever hurt anyone.” He dropped the bones.

  “Kind words,” Mairead mumbled to herself before counting the bones and gathering them in her hand. “Flattery never hurt anyone. Flirtation, however, is insincere. It’s dishonest from one who never plans to marry.”

  Hamish quirked a brow.

  Mairead began to repeat what she had heard that morning. “Ah, lass, you are much too pretty to want attention from an old man like myself. I have no doubt that there are many young suitors eagerly seeking your hand.” Mairead rose a brow. “Was that not what you said to one of the girls at the well?”

  Hamish felt his face redden, realizing Mairead had been following him even longer than he had suspected. His blush must have been noticeable because Mairead bit her bottom lip and began to giggle. He swallowed as he fought the compulsion to taste that lip himself. He had been doing well so far, enjoying her presence and how open and easy they were in each other’s company. Friendship was something he had only briefly experienced with one other woman, but this was becoming deeper, far more compelling, which meant far more dangerous. A practical, cautioning voice began whispering to him to focus on the game, not on her.

  Ignoring her muffled mirth, he cupped the four sheep knuckles in both his hands and shook them vigorously. His violent action caused Mairead’s laughter to break free. Rather than being miffed that she was enjoying his discomfiture—though she was egregiously mistaken as to its cause—he fought from joining her. Her laughter had not the melodic quality some women possessed, which he admittedly had found quite alluring on certain occasions. Instead, hers was honest and the sincerity of it had an appeal all of its own.

  “I doubt shaking them harder makes a difference,” Mairead said, showing no guilt over her amusement.

  Hamish continued sha
king, but he spared her a single, highly arched eyebrow. “That is not exactly what I said.” He dropped the bones, pointed at the winning result and then her. “Just why do you think I don’t want to marry?”

  As soon as he asked the question, he wished he could take it back. He had been thinking of Mairead when he had been pummeled with questions from all those women. She was so unlike them, which was why he suspected her string of suitors was quite long. And the thought had not set well with him this morning and it still didn’t. But he did not want her thinking that he could become one of them.

  Mairead looked down contemplatively at her losing combination of knucklebones before picking them up and rolling them. “The other night—you spoke of that woman Wyenda. It sounded like you had given up on ever marrying.”

  Her accurate assessment caused Hamish to be motionless for a second. He was glad the game gave him something to do. Thankfully he lost the round for he still was at a loss for words at how easily she seemed to read him.

  Mairead smiled when she saw four convex shapes appear. The topics of marriage and flirting were interesting, but it was not the purpose of the game. She needed to bring it back to his plans for Ulrick; problem was he was well aware of her ultimate goal. But what he did not know was that tonight all she wanted was enough information to confirm her assumptions. For that, an indirect question would be far more successful.

  “Why must you control everything?” she finally asked.

  Hamish had leaned forward to pick up the bones but stopped and instead sat back. “Quite a peculiar thing for you to ask.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Hamish shrugged. “I don’t need to control everything. Not in the least. And my actions here at Foinaven prove that point exceedingly well. I did not control Selah, my brother, or my coming back here. And of all the people to say that I have a need to control everything, I find it incredibly odd coming from you. I have never met any female who desires control more. And trust me, I’ve met a few crazy women. Crevan McTiernay married one.”

  Mairead felt her jaw tighten as a frisson of anger raced through her. “And is he unhappy?”

  Hamish pursed his lips and returned her stare. When it was clear that she would continue to wait for a reply, he said honestly, “Quite the contrary. Then again, Raelynd trusts Crevan.”

  “You say that as if I do not trust you.”

  “You don’t.”

  Mairead scooted forward, but when she did, her hair tie got caught in one of the tacks used to upholster the chair. Frustrated, she pulled the tie, freeing her hair, and then looked up pleadingly. “Hamish, I do trust you. I do believe that you have a plan and that it will work. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be using a game to learn more about what you have in mind, but every method and means I could devise to thwart your efforts.”

  Hamish could see she spoke honestly, and knowing that she really did trust him rattled him almost as much as seeing her hair fall all around her. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath. He had always wanted a woman to believe in him, but Mairead obviously did not, otherwise she would not be pressing to find out just what his plans were.

  “Why follow me then?” he asked, remembering the very first time he saw her and how upset she had been that he had come north alone. Before she could answer, he waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t answer that.” He reopened his eyes, caught her gaze, and held it. “What is this ‘need to know’ really about? Because I’m thinking this is less about my plans and more about yours and how I ruined them, unless you still are going to deny you were hoping to meet a potential husband the day I arrived.”

  Mairead stared at him for almost a minute, barely breathing. “Perhaps I am just ready to settle down.”

  Hamish continued to hold her gaze for another minute. He did not for a moment believe that her motivation was simply a yearning to be a wife and mother. Over the years, he had met plenty of women who fit that description and Mairead was not eagerly looking for a husband . . . and yet she had been seeking one when he had arrived. So if Mairead did not want to marry, why had she been compelled to find a husband? It did not make sense, for no one compelled Mairead to do anything. But something was inducing her inordinately strong desire to learn about his plans with Ulrick and he wanted to know what it was. For the level of her angst was certainly not due to a simple lack of knowing.

  They continued bantering back and forth for a while, each carefully scripting questions and cleverly avoiding answering those they didn’t want to. They found themselves not only to be enjoying the game, but also each other’s company. Hamish learned as much about her by the questions she refused to answer as the ones she did and wondered if Mairead was similar in her discoveries about him. Her questions were incredibly clever and he consistently was trying to outmaneuver her with his answers. While each answer he provided seemed nondescript by itself, he suspected that his efforts were about as successful as hers.

  When he thought about it, he now knew more about Mairead than any other woman—including those he had spent a few hours with for countless days. Granted most of those hours had been spent focused on more physical needs, but the talking they had done had been more about the clan or the weather. Not about themselves. And more terrifying was that in some ways Mairead now knew him better than anyone. I mean his friends and fellow soldiers knew the basic things—important things—like how he fought, enjoyed looking at a pretty face, and how much ale he could enjoy and still be functional in the morning. But personal things? Like his favorite color, time of day and year. Not just what his favorite foods were, but why it was his favorite and many other things that went far deeper—like what he thought about when he was by himself and where he liked to go when he wanted to be alone. And though he never outright stated his feelings on what had happened twelve years ago, an astute person could construe his feelings and Mairead was very, very astute.

  Hamish may have been able to keep her in the dark about his plans, but he was in dangerous territory about himself. The game needed to end.

  He picked up the knucklebones and began to shake them. “Last roll. If you win, ask the question you really want to know. If I win, then be prepared to tell me why you were husband hunting if you have no desire to marry.”

  Mairead gulped as Hamish let go. She had hoped she had escaped that subject as he had not brought it up again. In the hours they had been playing, she had told him much about herself. A few times she had wondered if she had told him too much.

  Mairead looked down at the table. Her heart stuttered. Not a single convex shape landed and his roll would be difficult to beat. He gave the bones a nudge so Mairead could reach them. She rolled, held her breath, and then sighed in relief seeing the coveted shapes appear. She got to choose the topic. And it would not be about why or whom she intended to marry.

  Mairead knew what she wanted it to be, but asking what his plans were would be a wasted question. There were so many ways to answer that question honestly without divulging a thing. But maybe a more pointed inquiry might be best. Something that not only plagued her curiosity but if she was right, its answer might just give her the insight she needed. “Just what do you do in your bedchambers in the morning?”

  Hamish inhaled, immediately regretting it as her scent filled him. The woman was eating through all of his defenses. He rose to his feet and moved to pick up his things.

  Realizing that Hamish was not just standing to stretch his legs, Mairead jerked to her feet and closed the distance between them. “You’re leaving? But you didn’t answer my question.”

  Hamish made the mistake of looking down into her hazel eyes. They had grown large and liquid and her honey-colored hair gleamed in the firelight, swinging around her waist with every movement she made. He had to get out of the hall. Immediately. The desire he had worked so hard to suppress was about to take control and if their last kiss was an indicator, Mairead might not stop him if it did. “I’m tired and someone I know believes I rise late enough as
it is.”

  Mairead stared into his eyes. Their deep green color had grown so dark it was like looking into fathomless pools, swirling with emotion. Every nerve ending had awakened to their unspoken message of want and desire, causing an unfamiliar feeling to build deep inside her. Disregarding the voice in her head telling her to be careful, she listened to the one that was jumping up and down, reminding her that he did not answer her question. So instead of taking a step back, she did the opposite and moved even closer.

  Moving to her tippy toes, she lightly clutched his arm for support and closed the remaining distance. “Your refusal means that I am right. You rise early, probably earlier than everyone.” Then leaning in close, she murmured into his ear, “I believe you are secretly plotting something in your chambers, no doubt related to your plans. Someday I will learn what they are.”

  Hamish stood completely still as her heels returned to the floor. It took everything he had to fight for some modicum of control. But he refused to let her know how much she affected him and reached out to caress her cheek. “No need to wait. I’ll tell you right now exactly what I am doing in my chambers.”

  Mairead’s eyes closed, reveling in his touch.

  Hamish knew he was playing with fire, but he could not stop himself. “I am only doing what everyone else does in their chambers,” Hamish replied. A second later, her eyes flew open and her jaw dropped as his implied meaning was understood. Before she could say a word, he leaned down and she could feel his soft beard against her skin. He whispered in her ear, “I sleep. Nothing else. Until tomorrow, m’aingeal.” Then he gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

  With the feel of his warm lips still on her skin, Mairead’s heart began to pound so furiously against the walls of her chest she felt lightheaded. She reached out to clutch the back of the chair Hamish had been sitting in for balance. Between his tender kiss and the invitation to try again tomorrow, her mind was racing.