Never Kiss a Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  In the past few hours, she had revealed more about herself than she had intended. Nothing secret. Nothing important, but altogether Hamish knew her in a way few did. But he had known her even before they had played. Determination and persistence. Fantastic qualities rarely found in a woman. Hamish had meant what he said. He actually admired her stubbornness.

  Mairead waited until Hamish disappeared out the door before collapsing in the chair. She had been a fool. She had spent all afternoon, dinner, and most of this evening convinced that whatever strange attraction she had for Hamish was under control. If anything, his unexplainable lure was only growing, drawing her to him.

  If the man could read her before, now after their little “game” he could probably predict her own thoughts and actions. That alone was enough to terrify her, and it would, if it were anyone else. With Hamish, rather than feeling judged, she felt accepted. She had been surprisingly comfortable telling him about herself. But what was more profound was what she had learned about him. He, too, had given her a peek of who he really was. An intelligent, complex man who was far more introspective than he let others—even those close to him—believe. A man who was deeply affected by the circumstances of those around him and despite his words and actions, he was still extremely loyal and connected to this clan and his brother.

  The more she learned, the more she wanted to know despite the risk it posed. For she was on the verge of losing her heart to a man who knew her like no other would. A man who made her feel strong and feminine at the same time. A man whose pull she could not deny.

  A man who, in the end, would break her heart with his inevitable departure.

  Chapter Six

  Mairead gave up the pretense of finding something to do around the keep’s entrance and began to pace in front of Hamish’s door. The sun had risen almost an hour ago and based on what Hellie had told her, he was still in his chambers and had yet to join the world. The old cook was usually the first person he visited and he had yet to make an appearance at her door.

  Mairead wondered if Hamish was sitting in his room intentionally, knowing the agitation it would cause. Only a deaf man could be sleeping right now. On the bottom floor, the noise from the courtyard would make slumber impossible. As the center point for nine clans, Foinaven was always active, especially during the few daylight hours available in the winter months.

  What could he be doing? Mairead wanted to shout out loud. An image sprang to mind and a frisson of jealousy flashed through her. On impulse, she went to the door and whispered, “If you are really doing what every other man does in his chambers, it means you are not alone.”

  Hearing no answer, she let out a frustrated groan and resumed her pacing.

  Last night, she had lain awake for what felt like hours. Her mind had hopelessly sought a stratagem that would get her the answers she sought without overtly being in his company. But before she could crystalize an idea, her thoughts would drift back to the last few moments she had spent with Hamish.

  The man was perplexing to the point of insanity. Each time she was near him, he jumbled her emotions. Last night, Mairead had even thought she might be losing her heart to him. Thank goodness she had awoken more clearheaded. The man was not at all attractive. He enjoyed aggravating her. He was impossible. Arrogant. And even if he was not all of that, he was family. She just wished she could remember that last fact whenever she was in his presence.

  Truth was, she could not think of Hamish as a brother. He brought out all kinds of instincts in her and none of them were that of a sibling. Moreover, it was clear that he did not view her as a sister either. So what had she been thinking when she had whispered in his ear? Because her actions were practically a dare and he had not backed away from the challenge.

  Mairead stopped her pacing.

  His kiss had been his second reaction to her overture. His first had been something more akin to panic. The more she thought about it, Hamish always became flirtatious when uncomfortable. Such knowledge could be very advantageous if used appropriately. With careful probing and a few coquettish comments of her own, Hamish might accidentally reveal the nature of his plans—maybe without even knowing it. She would ask various questions and gauge his response. When her inquiries came close to the truth, Hamish’s flirtatious means of misdirection would almost certainly become more overt and more outrageous.

  She had only to look at his recent behavior for verification of her theory. Each touch, comment, and kiss had all been in an effort to discombobulate her. They had not been real or meant anything to him. They had just been a distraction. The knowledge hurt a little, but Mairead vowed to use that pain to help shield her from his future attempts to manipulate her in such a manner. In fact, today such tactics would not work in his favor—but hers.

  “Hamish MacBrieve,” she whispered to herself, “you are about to meet your match.”

  * * *

  Hamish grimaced at his unintended handiwork as he stared at his reflection in the piece of glass. He had found it in the myriad of things stored in the corner of the room and decided to really look at himself and see if all the remarks women had been saying about his beard were true. The second he had seen his face staring back at him he had realized Laurel and Mairead had been kind with their comments. Since Epiphany, his beard had gone from merely overgrown to a misshaped mass that looked laughable. Foul he could deal with, even dreadful or menacing, but ridiculous? No.

  Thankfully, when he spotted the glass, he had also seen a broken pair of spring scissors. It had taken little effort to sharpen the edges and reconnect the thin, flexible piece of curved metal that held the blades in alignment, but eventually his efforts paid off and the scissors worked . . . too well. When he had tested them on himself, he had accidentally sliced a large chunk of his beard.

  And he knew whom to blame. Mairead.

  This morning he had risen nearly three hours before dawn to ensure he returned in time to keep from rousing hers and anyone else’s suspicions. But his success of the past few mornings meant there was much to do. More than the three hours he had allowed. Plus, once finished, he had been in serious need of another bath. If he had returned with mud and dirt caked on the majority of his body, the laundress would have notified Mairead. Her curiosity would have been sparked and he would have had to endure a litany of questions he was not going to answer. It had left little choice but to take another time-consuming detour for a freezing dunk in the river.

  By the time he had snuck back into his chambers, he had grown exceedingly chilled. He had started a fire, stretched out his wet clothes to dry, and thrown on his newest leine. It was when he had reached for his tartan that he had spied the broken piece of glass and scissors. He was just about to make the first snip to trim his beard, when he heard her whisper, “If you are really doing what every other man does in his chambers, it means you are not alone.”

  The insinuation was as unmistakable as the distinct ring of jealousy in her tone. The knowledge that Mairead might feel something deeper for him caused an unexpected shiver to ripple through him just as he had closed the now very sharp blades. He was fortunate he had only sliced off a large swath of facial hair and not part of his actual cheek.

  However, the error had forced him to make a choice. He had meant to give himself a trim. Whereas shaving removed a protective barrier he had hoped to keep in place. Without his despised beard, his ability to stay away from Mairead was going to be much more difficult. His only other option was to leave the hole. Hamish envisioned Mairead’s face morphing into hysterics the moment he stepped out the door.

  Without further thought, he began to snip off the rest of his beard and shaved. When finished, he sat back to study his handiwork in the glass. His skin was understandably slightly pink and tender, but he did look far more presentable. Inspired, Hamish pulled his pony tail to the side and cut off the ragged ends so that his hair no longer hung past his shoulders in various lengths. When done, he felt a lot more like his old self. Next time he enco
untered Mairead, it would be she who would need to fight to remain in control for Hamish was back.

  He was once again a charmer of women and the man every female, young or old, loved to be around. So none of them ever came close to falling in love with him, they were still charmed by his attentions. Even Laurel was susceptible to a well-placed smile. And Mairead MacMhathain would be no different. Next time he saw her, he would flash her his most devastating grin. Then after she swooned at the sight of his dimples, she would turn into just another ordinary female. Her appeal would disappear and he would finally have control of his body once again.

  Whistling, Hamish tucked in his shirt and adjusted his pleats so they fit securely under his leather belt. His stomach growled. Before he met with Robert, he definitely needed to grab something from the kitchens. He hoped Hellie had saved one of the tastier morsels for him. Stepping outside, he turned toward the direction of the buttery but had barely taken three steps before his path was blocked. The scent of fresh meadows and flowers hit him and he could not help but inhale.

  * * *

  The moment Hamish emerged from his chambers Mairead had quickly spun around and moved to intercept him. For the last hour, she had been rehearsing what she was going to say, but the moment her eyes fell on Hamish’s clean-shaven face not a single word of it came to mind.

  Power and strength radiated from him in waves. He was a massive, self-confident presence with a unique blend of authority and relaxation. The combination was incredibly compelling and she was far from immune.

  His height and strength had always been obvious, but his new leine, unmarred with stains, fit him perfectly, molding his chest and making the muscles of his shoulders and arms even more apparent. The ripples visible beneath the fabric made her fingers yearn to know just what they felt like. Though still pulled back in a ponytail, his shorter auburn locks looked thick and healthy and beckoned to be played with. But what held her completely transfixed was his face. Without the bushy beard hiding his features, Hamish was, simply put, beautiful. She could never remember using the term before regarding the opposite sex, but seeing Hamish MacBrieve well dressed and shaven was like seeing her secret fantasy of what an ideal Highlander should be come to life. He was so intensely and overwhelmingly male. And she was not the only one to notice.

  “You’re staring, m’aingeal.”

  Mairead clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. The arrogant chuckle had been unmistakable. She had been staring. She had not been able to help it. She was just lucky her mouth had not dropped wide open as well.

  With a deep breath, she forced herself to gather her wits and focus. Her own plan depended on her being immune to his charms. She was in serious trouble if she could not even look at Hamish without fear of drooling all over herself and him! Besides, the damn man had ruined every idea she had had so far and he was not going to wreck this one as well just because he decided to shave and reveal his dimples. If anything, it should make her sweet-filled words easier to deliver. Besides, she, too, had taken great care with her own appearance this morning and Hamish’s current expression made it obvious that he was not unappreciative of her effort.

  Mairead reopened her eyes and slightly arched her right brow. “Of course I was staring. I was shocked to finally be able to see your face. It’s such a drastic departure from what you have been looking like that I think I’m entitled to gape a little. But that doesn’t explain why you are staring at me.”

  Hamish blinked at the unexpected retort and at the fact that she was right! Mairead was supposed to be susceptible to him—not the other way around. But did the woman have to smell so good? And her dark gold hair, the way it was pinned on top of her head with little ringlets falling free, could tempt even the most honorable men. Not to mention the gown she wore; while simple, it had a low bodice that showed off her figure and toyed with a man’s ability to think. Her beauty was no longer supposed to affect him this way!

  Hamish went on the offensive and gave her his most dazzling smile. “I stare because not another woman compares to you.” He could see it bothered her that she had run from the truth whereas he openly admitted it. “Don’t fret. Your pretty eyes can feast on me for as long as they like, aingeal.”

  Mairead bit her bottom lip. Hard. She needed the pain to keep her mind clear, but Hamish was making it hard. Angel. It was not just the endearment, it was how he said it. Soft and warm. Like he meant it. If she was not careful, she was going to be susceptible to his means of flirtatious persuasion and not the other way around. It was time for Hamish to be on the defensive.

  Releasing her bottom lip, she intentionally and slowly licked it. Simultaneously she let her gaze drift down his entire body and then back up to linger on his mouth. “You must really want another kiss to be willing to shave and don a new outfit just for me.”

  Hamish could not stop the tremor of desire coursing through him as her eyes devoured him. Any second he was going to have to turn around and go back into his chambers to keep the world from knowing the effect she had on him. Mairead was obviously employing a new tactic. That she would do so was expected, but this particular tactic was not. Worse, her flirting was working . . . at least in part.

  After his parting taunt last night, he should have foreseen that she would have changed her approach to discovering his plans to deal with Ulrick with something less direct. However, he wondered if she knew just how much danger she was putting herself in. For her flirting, if she continued it, would eventually work. However, it was going to achieve a far different goal than she had in mind. He could only withstand Mairead’s carnal looks and sensual words for so long before he kissed her again and in such a way that she would never be satisfied by any other man.

  Her new approach was dangerous on one level but not in the least on another. Did she really think that being charming would make him susceptible to divulging just anything? If so, she was going to be disappointed. He was a master at the art of flirting. He usually did not use it as a ploy to achieve his own agenda, but this was an exception. He could not remember being so eager to flirt with a woman.

  Leaning down so their faces were only inches apart, he purred, “You like playing with fire.”

  She smiled up at him, pretending to be completely unfazed. “I do. In fact, I love to play with it. And if I ever found the right man, imagine the hours of fun we would have.”

  Hamish forced his jaw to unclench. Ó mo chreach, she was good. Lucky for him he was better. “You forget. I don’t have to imagine. And if you are craving one of my kisses, all you need to do is ask. I’m more than willing to comply, m’aingeal seòlta beag.”

  Mairead swallowed at his newest endearment. His breathy tone made “cunning little angel” sound like a compliment, but it was also a hint that he had already figured out her plan and was keen to see it fail. His green eyes had grown dark, daring her to continue the game she had started. Mairead needed no more convincing to know she was not going to be able to use flirtation to trick Hamish into giving away any tidbits about his plan. However, she also knew that the man was not completely unaffected by her actions. She might eventually have to admit defeat, but it did not have to be now.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said softly, both surprised and elated that her voice was smooth and steady. “I think it was me who inspired you to shave.” Her lips curled upward, with just a hint of challenge.

  Hamish returned her smile with one of his own. “Perhaps you are right, aingeal. But then who could blame me? God made a mouth like yours for a man to kiss.”

  Mairead fought the compulsion to prove him right and instead slightly shrugged her shoulders. “It is unfortunate for you men then, as the Lord gave this mouth to me to do with as I will. And after kissing half the men around here, I can say with confidence, my lips prefer to be left alone.”

  Without warning, sparks of jealousy ignited in Hamish. She had to be exaggerating and he wanted to demand to know exactly how many men she had kissed, but he knew the answer would not mat
ter. For it riled him that even one other man knew what she tasted like. “If you really feel that way, then that only means you have never been properly kissed.”

  “Hmm,” Mairead said with a sigh. Then she tapped her finger against her chin and asked, “Are you also including the one you gave me?”

  She was goading him and he was seconds away from reminding her of just how good it felt to be held in his arms. “I think you were more rattled by it than you let yourself admit.”

  Mairead’s hazel eyes widened. “Oh, but I was rattled. Robert is married to my sister, which practically makes me your sister.” The reminder was less aimed at him and more at herself for she was close to doing something incredibly foolish—like throwing herself into his arms—despite the people mulling about and the inevitable consequences.

  “I may be many things,” Hamish growled, “but I am not your brother.”

  Mairead swallowed. His tone was intimidating . . . which meant her words had actually hit a nerve. It was only fair, she told herself. He had hit several of hers. “But we are family.”

  “By marriage only.” Hamish snatched her hand and pulled her close. “Your pulse is racing, proving you are not as disinterested as you sound. But do not worry, m’aingeal anamúil, I will not kiss you again . . . at least not until you ask.”

  Hamish then took a step back and let her wrist go. Mairead rubbed it, hoping it would hush the unwelcome, impractical, and very inappropriate inner voice begging her to ask him for just one kiss. Forcing the crazed thought away, Mairead produced the most stunning smile she could muster. “I expect you to keep that promise despite the torment it is going to cause you. Just imagine what my lips would feel like now that you could actually kiss them.”

  Hamish’s green eyes grew brighter and he felt his own heart stammer for a second. Mairead was playing with fire and she knew it. She knew there was no way he would yield to their desires, at least not in their current public forum. The clever minx was getting back at him for recognizing her latest ploy and, in a way, he admired her all the more for it. She truly was every bit the feisty angel he just named her to be. Worse, she was correct that his vow to stay away was undoubtedly going to be torture.