She forced herself back in his hold. “Ye believe Margot poisoned me? Morgann, this is just silly. Ye cannae be accusing—”
“Ye dinnae believe me?” He dropped his hands from around her and stepped back. Of all people, he was sure Alana would believe him. After all, she’d been the only one to defend him when he was accused of theft.
“I’m no’ saying that, it’s just… ye must see ‘tis a tall tale indeed. Poisoned, dead, brought back to life. I think I’d know if I’d been poisoned!”
Despair drenched him. Even the person who knew him the best didn’t believe him. Teeth gritted, he widened his stance in an attempt to wrestle back some control. He’d already proved himself weak around Alana. He dare not allow his need for her to cloud his judgement and put her at risk again. In his gut, he knew Margot wasn’t finished with them. Desperation clearly drove her now, or else she would never have stooped so low. Mayhap she’d hoped to pass it off as an illness and indeed, they’d found no proof of poisoning.But Margot’s disappearance only served to prove her guilt.
“Ye could just return me to my da. I’ll be in no danger there,” she tried tentatively.
He took a step back and raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll no’ return ye. Yer staying where I can be sure yer safe. And I cannae step foot on yer father’s lands.”
Alana crossed both arms over her chest as her eyes flared.“Yer overreacting, Morgann. Even if ‘twas poison, I’m in no danger now. Give me a mount and let me go and I’ll tell my da ‘twas all a mistake.”
Morgann gritted his teeth and stepped forward again, snatching an arm. “What part of ‘I’ll no’ let ye go’, do ye not understand? If yer on yer father’s lands, I cannae protect ye.”
She wiggled in his hold. “Morgann, yer as pig-headed as ever. When will ye learn ye cannae command me?”
He released her slowly. How had they gone from kissing to arguing again? Things were meant to be different now. The relief he’d felt as seeing her once more, at the miracle of having her back in his arms, had been replaced with pure frustration.
Aware his anger may get the better of him, he turned and stalked away, stepping into the stairwell. He paused briefly to view her through the arch. “I’m taking ye to the Old Castle. Ye have no choice in this, Alana. Ye may have little care for yer safety but I’ll no’ go through losing ye again.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, he stormed down the steps in search of Finn. Now he needed to make preparations. And have yet another messenger sent out. Morgann paused briefly on the stairs and cursed aloud, the harsh words echoing off the stone. Hadn’t he sworn to do things differently? To be honest and open with her? And all he’d succeeded in doing was angering her and frustrating himself.
He needed to get her to safety. That had to be his priority. Once he did that, then he would concentrate on being a better man. Mayhap if he proved himself to be honourable, she would trust his word. It was not as if he’d given her much reason to hold any trust in him. Kidnapping her, near ravishing her, tying her up. Aye, he’d done little to prove himself. From now on he would be the perfect gentleman. Morgann released a snort. Well, he would try his best at least.
***
Chin thrust out, Alana huffed as Morgann directed the mount through the valley. She struggled to cling on to her annoyance as Morgann's chest rubbed against her back, his hold strong around her as if she were a precious cargo. Yet again she was being treated as if she were some prize. Nay, not a prize, a tool.Something with which to win wars. She tried to summon more anger but it fizzled inside her. The way he looked at her after she fell ill...and held her so tightly. As if she truly were something precious. For a brief moment, everything changed. They were a man and a woman again and there was no war or plotting or secrets. But he closed over once more. She was beginning to doubt Morgann could ever let go of the past and be the lad she used to know.
His legs chafed hers and she fidgeted in the saddle. Not that the man was entirely unappealing. The determination and focus he displayed was something she never saw in him before. Potentially Morgann MacRae was the most amazing man she'd ever met. If only she could see but a bit of how he was before.
Alana stared at the horizon as she drew in deliberately long breaths. She looked forward to seeing the Old Castle again but knowing she'd be in such close quarters with Morgann for who knew how long made her skin prickle and her mind reel. Why hadn’t her father come for her yet? Even if he hadn't received the message, he surely must have figured out what had happened. With the tension between the two clans as strong as ever, his first assumption would be that the MacRaes took her.
And now Morgann was taking her away. Finn would negotiate with her father and send him onto them, as long as he brought no army. This much she'd at least managed to get Morgann to reveal. But the thought of the two men confronting one another made her stomach churn. She wanted neither of them harmed. For all his flaws, Morgann didn't deserve death and neither did her father. Though he was admittedly just as flawed, if not more. But the years mellowed his warring, greed-driven ways and he was still her father. Blood counted for everything. Her mother had always reminded her of that. Family was the only thing you could rely on in the Highlands.
Sore muscles and stiff thighs soured her mood further as they travelled on. Morgann remained taciturn, barely responding to her gibes. She longed to have some kind of response from him. A shout, an angry grunt, anything! Even a kiss, mayhap. The memory of his scalding kisses made her lips tingle. If only the man would open up to her.
She snorted. He had opened up to her. The memory was still muddled but he'd begged her not to leave him. What had she done to force him to close up again? It twisted at her heart. That man, the one that had sat at her bedside, believing she was dying, was the one she wanted. While her desire wanted the brooding warrior and her mind wanted the friend, her heart longed for the one that so briefly revealed himself to her. That man, she concluded, held her heart. As she lay in bed, listening to his words, she knew she had fallen for him. She loved that man. But if he never came back, then she was loving nothing more than a vague memory.
A strong hand brushed at her cheek, drawing her attention. "The keep is over that hill."
"I remember."
Aye, she remembered the times they used to play there. The Old Castle had been a place to play and, for the men, to train. Their fathers spent much time training their men there, the keep having been abandoned several years past. It was still looked after by the steward of the nearest village for the MacRaes but Alana hadn't returned since the fighting began.
The Old Castle's crenellations peeked over the hill, jagged against the smooth grass of the mountain behind it. Really it was an old manor house. The previous owners built upon it, turning a simple home into one of pretension. The keep had two wings, one jutting forward and one to the side, facing out over the loch. The surrounding walls had long since crumbled and greenery crawled up the side, slowly covering the shutters but the building itself remained strong and sturdy.
Morgann navigated the stone rubble surrounding it easily and brought them up beside the keep. Alana stared up at the building, happy memories mingling with apprehension. She glanced around at the barren scenery. They were truly alone.
And now she was well and truly ruined, she thought with an inward laugh. For what woman would spend time with Morgann MacRae alone and not give herself up to him?
Not that she intended to. Nay, the only man she'd even consider giving herself to was hidden under layers of anger and control.
She twisted around only to find Morgann directly behind her, less than a pace away. As if reading her thoughts, Morgann’s intense expression made her throat constrict.
His gaze never left her face as she stumbled back and peered around him at the loch that glimmered in front of the keep. She studied it with more interest than necessary, unwilling to glance at Morgann. She felt his gaze still on her and her pulse fluttered. Stealing a sideways peek at him, a shud
der caused her to wrap both arms about her waist. Windswept dark hair, the permanent stubble and that long nose stood out in profile as he too looked over at the loch. Sweet Mary but he was handsome. So rough and wild. She longed to skim her hands over that that bristled jaw, place a finger to his lips and bury her head into his neck to inhale the masculine scent of him. She burned to tame the Highland warrior. If only he would reveal himself to her once more.
"We used to swim in the loch," he said quietly.
"I remember," she replied again.
His head snapped round and that dark gaze fixed on her, narrowing as he studied her expression. Had he heard her wistful tone? Days when life was so much less complicated and a future for them seemed possible certainly held much appeal.
Grabbing the leather bag from his saddle, he tugged on the horse's reins, now tethered to an old wooden beam that once belonged to the stables.
Without another word, he pressed open the heavydoor and it groaned in protest as rust fell from the hinges. Motioning for her to enter, he waited for her to climb the steps and flattened a palm to her back, ushering her in. Heat seeped through her gown as the musty smell of stale air greeted her.
The hall hadn't changed. Morgann threw open one of the shutters and proceeded to release the rest. Dust swirled in the air but wood waited in the fire for them and the table was set up in the middle, ready for guests. She strolled about, fingering the carvingsof the large chair at the end of the table. The quiet emptiness made her chest feel hollow and then Morgann moved behind her and all at once, her heart felt too full.
"There should be some food supplies in the stores, though I'll have to put the fishing nets out later."
"Aye," she murmured, keeping her gaze on the chair.
Being unaccompanied in Morgann’s company was suddenly very intimidating. She felt vulnerable and unsure. It was easy enough to argue and fight against him at Glencolum but now they were alone hecould do anything.
And what scared her most was what she wanted him to do to her.
“I’ll check if the bed is ready and light the candles.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Do ye need anything?”
“Nay.”
“Alana?”
She swallowed and faced him. “Aye?”
“I dinnae know what to do with ye,” he admitted. “I dinnae wish to keep ye locked away but ye must see ‘tis the only way.”
His admission softened her but she didn’t want him to see as much so she strode past into the back chamber. It took up the entire left wing of the keep, facing out onto the loch. Though the furnishings were old, the bed looked recently made, ready for their visit. Morgann must have sent on word of their imminent arrival. The blue and red patterned canopy matched the tapestry that covered the rear wall.
Alana sniffed the stale air and opened the shutters in the chamber. The day had turned grim, rain pattering into the mud, creating ripples in the surface of the loch and bringing a fresh scent into the air.
"Where will ye sleep? In the servant’s quarters?"
The servant's quarters were accessible only by a door in the side of the keep. Alana shuddered, grateful she wouldn't have to brave the miserable weather to get to her bed.
"Nay, I'll be sleeping here."
Alana set her jaw. "Nay, I'll no' have it. 'Tis bad enough that I shared a chamber with ye at Glencolum but I willnae allow it here, not while we're alone."
He folded his arms across his chest, legs apart, expression determined. "Ye have little choice, lass, unless yer wanting to sleep in the kitchens."
She huffed. "Ye've all but ruined me ye know? No man will ever want me now."
Morgann chuckled as he pressed a hand to the bed, testing the mattress. "Any man that refuses ye must surely be mad."
Warmth seeped up her neck. Had he just complimented her? Oh,aye, he'd kissed her and looked at her with such carnality but never spoken of his attraction to her. Sometimes it seemed so one-sided. Like now, as he strolled around the bed and eyed her. All she could think of was how he’d look sprawled on the bed, hair mussed, the sheets around his hips.
She spun away, a hand to her cheek. Where did these thoughts come from? It was bad enough she was plagued by heated dreams but to be considering such things during the light of day...? He had ruined her. Mayhap her reputation would survive but she doubted those thoughts would ever leave.
"Ye need not worry, Alana." He was behind her now. He must have stepped softly as she hadn't heard him approach. "No one will question yer behaviour, only mine."
Chewing her lip, she turned to face him. He stood a mere pace away and his presence sucked the air from her lungs. She would never tire of tracing the line of his shoulders in his linen shirt or studying taut skin just visible at the collar. She sighed. "Ye speak as if ye regret what ye've done."
He curled his fist into a ball but said nothing.
“Yer a good man, Morgann.Send me back and make things right.”
“I willnae.”
“Morgann—”
“Ye mistake me, Alana. I am no’ a good man. I’m a thief.”
“Nay—”
He took a step forward and she shrank back as he glowered down at her. “I took that ring.”
She swallowed, mouth dry as she struggled to form a response. He took the ring? She shook her head slowly. “Nay…”
Morgann wrenched up his sleeve and thrust his scarred arm in her face. “Look at it, Alana. This is who I am. Look at it and remember. I am naught but a thief. I took that ring just as I took ye. And I’d do it again.”
Icy coldness filled her. All this time she’d been convinced her father had been wrong, that Morgann would never steal and now he was saying he had? How foolish she must have sounded. Dropping her gaze, she shoved away from him and strode into the hall.
Alana snatched the bag on the table and began unpacking the few supplies they’d brought. Bread, ale, dried fruit, a spare gown... She emptied them all out onto the surface and stared around the uninhabited hall. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she pretended to be absorbed in checking their provisions as Morgann stormed through the room.
“Going to put the fishing nets out,” he muttered as he swished past her.
As she took her gown into the bedroom and tucked it into a chest filled with extra bedding, she sighed. He’d lied. And thieved.But why? He had no need of riches and Morgann was never a dishonest man. Aye, she was probably too trusting, too willing to see the good in people when she was younger but she was never a fool and she knew Morgann, knew how much pride and honour meant to him. To be branded as a thief would have been the ultimate humiliation so why had he risked it?
She slammed the lid of the chest down. Ach, damn the man! There was so much more to this than he was telling her. If only he would allow himself to open up to her once more. She so longed for those days when they shared everything. Life was simpler then.
Her heart skipped as she glanced over at the bed, its sheets and blankets perfectly made. If only their relationship were simpler too. It would be easier to deal with him if this burning attraction didn’t plague her. She probably wouldn’t even care what secrets he held from her if she cared little for him. Unfortunately her attraction to him wasn’t simple. It seared at her, it tormented her. That little voice of doubt suggested that her childhood friend lay just beneath that beautifully raw exterior and if she let herself, both sides of him could lay claim to her heart for good.
Lip tucked between her teeth, she stared briefly out at the loch, catching sight of Morgann wading out into the water with two small fishing nets, before studying the bed.
And now she’d have to share a bed with him. She shook her head and released a mocking laugh. With the incessant heated dreams she was having, how would she control herself once she lay next to the real thing?
Chapter Eight
Arms folded, Tèile took up her position on the windowsill and studied the sleeping couple. This was becoming unbearable. She’d not called f
or help from the Pillywiggins only for them to end up arguing again. And now she was going to be in grave trouble for asking for aid when Alana was poisoned. But what else could she do? Let the lass die?
Thankfully the Pillywiggins were happy to have a green faery in their debt. She humphed aloud.The little flower faeries had great control over life and death and thankfully they liked Alana who always enjoyed nature. But who knew what they would ask of her in return for saving her life. Still at least they were on their own now. No more evil witches or attractive cousins getting in their way. Surely now was the time they would finally realise how strong the pull was between them. With each day, their souls grew closer. Each one slowly opened to the other. But there was not much time. She couldn’t keep Morgann’s messengers in limbo forever and the sleeping spell cast over the Campbells would wear off soon. Already there was too much magic floating around.
She flicked a weary hand toward the two of them. Another dream. Mayhap that would do the trick.
***
Soft, supple flesh gave way as he slipped a hand over her chemise. Alana whimpered in his ear as he teased a nipple, her delicate breast filling his hand perfectly. Hunger shot through him. So perfect, so special. He shifted closer on his side until her thigh pressed into him and switched his attention to her other breast. Morgann's hand shook as he fought to control himself, a savage need rolling through him.
Then he slipped his hands down, tracing the contours of her ribs and stomach through the linen. He inhaled as he met the flesh of her hips, her shift having slipped up to expose her to him. Pressing his hand beneath her, he cupped her bottom, the give of her tender flesh making him groan. She wriggled in invitation and he skimmed his fingers toward the apex of her thighs.
He paused as wet heat greeted him and he blinked.
Damnation, it wasn't a dream. He shot upward. Alana writhed against his hand. Her features were just visible and she clearly slept on, even as his fingers rested over her folds.
"Dinnae stop," she breathed. "Pray dinnae stop."
I Left My Heart in Scotland Page 10