The Highlander's Touch

by D. K. Combs

  "Laird Shaw," his squire said from beside him. Kane looked down at him. "You're looking in higher spirits."

  "Aye," he said, grinning, taking another swig of whiskey.

  "Are you excited to meet your betrothal?" No one except Connor knew that there were two lasses he had to choose from—well, none, now. His grin only widened.

  "Aye."

  His squire gave him an uneasy look. "Well, that is good. Might I ask what put you into higher spirits? The whole ride, you’ve been...brooding."

  Kane held up the skin. "The spirits put me in higher spirits, Connor. All of my problems have been solved—though I think I'll be needin' yer assistance in a matter."

  Connor eyed him suspiciously but nodded. The lad was only seven and ten, but he was showing promise as a knight. His father had been a good friend of Kane's, so even though the lad was English, Connor was training under his hand.

  "Whatever it is, laird."

  Kane knelt down, quietly telling his squire of his plans. When the lad stared up at him in shock, he nodded.

  "Are you not concerned with the king's opinion of your treatment of the girls?" Connor asked, stunned.

  "Nay. It will not be me calling off the engagement, but the girl. Then everything will be over."

  "Everything?" he asked dubiously.

  "Aye. Everything."

  "Even the feuds?"

  "Even the feuds. Lady Blaine's dowry will cure everything—and then her and her sister will return to the king, unharmed. After that, the fate of the lasses is not my concern."

  "That's quite a plan you have, my lord."

  "Aye. It is." This time, when the whiskey went down his throat, it stung with life. "Blaine will call it off as soon as she sees what a brute her laird is."

  "But you're not a—"

  "To you, aye. To these lasses...well, I canna wait to see their terrified hides running back to the Lowlands."

  "As you wish. Would you have me notify your clan?"

  Kane nodded. "I donna want them to hate me."

  "They would never—"

  "After the next couple of weeks, even knowing this is a farse, they verra well might."

  After the men were made aware of Kane's plans, and instructed to act as the barbarians they were known as, the ride to his territory was silent. He knew the men did not approve of his decision on the matter, but they did not know of the terms, or that one of the lasses would be sent to Grayham. Something about the whole situation, and the fact that King James had pulled him aside to speak of this, told him that he should keep some of the details to himself.

  His squire was the only one who knew of everything, and so would Brodrick, soon. The Sinclairs had been at his castle for a fortnight now, enough for Brodrick to come up with an in-depth analysis of them.

  Several hours later, they were going through the village. Men jumped off their horses to embrace their wives when they came running around, and his squire wandered off to do what Kane had instructed him to.

  Kane continued on towards the keep. Just when he was coming up the large hill, at the end of the creek, a sound carried through the air.

  He stayed his horse with a sharp movement, listening.

  It came again. From up river. He slid off the giant black beast and left him there. If Kane needed his warhorse, a sharp whistle would draw his attention.

  He drew his sword, following the sound. The closer he got to the source, the less he felt he needed the protection. Splashing water, contented sighs. A giggle.

  Kane frowned, walking up the creek.

  It was then that he saw it.

  Her.

  His mouth went dry and every ounce of blood shot straight to his hips. His claymore almost clattered to the ground.

  There, bathing in his creek, as nude as the day she was born, was a nymph. She was waist-deep in the water, arms above her head, face tilted toward the sun. She'd just emerged from the water, and droplets were sliding down her slender, hour-glass body.

  Kane stumbled backwards, grabbing a tree for support. Her skin was kissed by the sun, and the damp, golden locks falling to her shoulders were shimmering in the broad daylight. She was turned toward him just enough that he could see her neck, her elegant jaw, and pink, plump lips. He couldn't see the color of her eyes, but he imagined them to be as crystalline as the water she was playing in.

  Only when she ducked under the water again did Kane breathe. Who in all that was Holy was that? And why was she in his creek? Naked? For all to see?

  For all to...crave.

  Her golden head broke the surface of the water and she faced him for a second, giving him a view of her breasts and trimmed waist, the thick, pale lashes that fringed her pale blue eyes.

  She didn't notice him. With a sigh loud and content enough for him to hear, she spread her arms out and floated on the surface of the water, her breasts full and tipped with tight, pink nípples. The apex of her thighs was dipped in the water, but that didn't hide the curly mons peaking through the gentle current.

  His mouth watered. His fingers itched to touch the breasts that were heaving with her gentle breaths, and his mouth held the same desire. She'd taste of the sweetest honey. He knew it just by looking at her. Her skin was dewy and lightly tan, so odd from all of the women he had seen.

  She was used to bathing in the open, he realized. That's where her faint tan had come from. His hands balled into fists when all they wanted to do was touch her, to see if she was real.

  She didn't look real—he could easily blame this hallucination on the whiskey. A water nymph, playing in his creek? He had walked into a fairy tale, and he didn't want it to end.

  He bit back a groan.

  Aye, he'd love to see if she was as magical as she looked.

  Nay. What he wanted to do was stride into the creek, take her into his arms, and show her just how much he could pleasure a nymph.

  He started forward, mind overtaken by images of her body wrapped around his, fully intent on claiming the mythical creature he'd found. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, full two moons, and right now, his body was definitely feeling the pent-up need for release.

  As he started to make his descent to her, however, something stopped him. Her leg had kicked into the air, and he might not have thought anything of it, but he saw the wince of pain on her innocent features and the large, blood-red bruise.

  He froze.

  And stared.

  He stared until her leg lowered.

  His lips pressed...and then he turned away. He'd find out who the lass was, who her family was, and how she'd gotten the bruise. Aye, that's what he'd do.

  Kane did not allow violence of any sort on his lands. Animals, women, children. If anyone appeared with a mark on them, the abuser would have to face Kane.

  His sister had taught him a valuable lesson.

  With his hard-on ruined, he stormed to his horse and mounted, riding furiously to his castle. Brodrick would know who the lass was. He knew who everyone was.

  As he rode to the training grounds, where Brodrick normally was, his thoughts were a mess.

  They all centered around the same thing.

  The women, the water nymph who'd nearly brought him to his knees with one glance at her body. He knew it was unreasonable to be so attracted to a woman with just a look, but he didn't care. It was because he'd been away for so long and hadn't had a woman to warm his bed.

  He was positive that the second he saw his leman, Gwen, he'd have that same rush of hunger. Gwen was a bonny lass, and very eager in bed. He was willing to bet she had thrice more experience than the nymph swimming in his creek. She held the look of sensual innocence, despite her incomparable beauty.

  Kane had to turn his thoughts from the woman, focusing on Gwen's face. Aye, he'd take Gwen for a night, and by the morrow, the golden haired lass would be out of his thoughts completely.

  After he figured out who'd harmed the wench, that is.

  THT | 6

  "There you are!" B
laine hissed the second Saeran walked into the kitchen. She paused, looking at her sister uneasily.

  "I didn't take too long, did I?" she asked, adjusting her cap. In truth, she'd taken much less time than she would have preferred. Half-way through her bath, she'd felt the oddest sensation of eyes gazing upon her, and though she hadn't seen anyone who would have been watching, the thought had spurred her into getting out of the creek.

  The cool water had done it's job. Her aching muscles were soothed and it was easier to walk on her leg. She'd nearly cried when she saw how red and angry it looked, but she had held back the tears. No one would have to see it, and it would heal on it's own. The trews had created a barrier between the hoof and her body, so no skin had torn, meaning there wasn't a chance of infection, thank The Lord. It would only create more problems with Blaine if she suddenly took ill.

  "Yes," Blaine snapped, "you did! The laird has arrived and you were not here to greet him. Because of the embarrassment you caused, I could not make myself face him."

  Saeran grimaced. "I'm sorry, Blaine. I didn't plan on taking so long, I swear it. I was kicked by a horse today—"

  "I don't care about that!" her sister said incredulously. "I care that my own darling, little sister wasn't here to support me in my time of need! How would you feel if we switched places and I was not there for you, eh?"

  Saeran stared at her sister, silent.

  "Exactly. Now that I see you've cleaned yourself up, accompany me to the dining hall. We will have to make up for your lapse in responsibility—once again—and greet the laird. Do not act so selfish in the future," her sister chastised, waving a finger behind her as she bustled her way out of the kitchen. Saeran followed at a slower place, feeling like she'd just been slapped in the face.

  She'd gotten hurt, and her sister hadn't cared. The horse could have killed her had she been but a space forward. Luckily, it had only clipped her thigh, but the fact that her sister didn't care...

  Her throat tightened.

  No, she chided herself. My sister is under a lot of pressure. She is justified in feeling that way, and I shouldn't complain. She's taking a huge sacrifice to keep us together.

  Still, it didn't stop the hurt from assailing her as they came into the great hall. So unprepared for her sister's abrupt stop, she almost ran into her.

  "What has happened to my hall?" a thunderous voice shouted. Saeran flinched.

  She expected Blaine to simper, but she strode forward with a confidence that was purely Blaine. Her sister's thick body swayed with her movements, and fearful for her life, Saeran followed after her.

  "Laird Shaw!" Blaine greeted warmly. "I'm so glad to see you have returned." Saeran peered in front of her sister—or tried to. Men were filing into the hall, all wearing equal expressions of disgust.

  "What happened to my hall?" the dark voice demanded again, this time his voice deadly soft. It was so chilling that she shivered.

  "I would like to introduce myself, Blaine Sinclair," she said, curseying, only giving Saeran a fleeting glance at The Lion, "and my dear younger brother, Saeran Sinclair."

  "I demand an answer, Blaine Sinclair. What happened to my hall?" he roared. Saeran grabbed her sister by the arm, reacting purely on instinct, and pulled her behind her back.

  There was a silence deathly enough to make Saeran pale. She didn't want to look at the barbarian who was going to marry her sister, but respect commanded it, so she lifted terrified eyes to his—

  And stilled.

  Her breath stuck in her throat.

  The Lion was not a handsome man—but he had a raw, brutal presence that commanded all attention to be centered on him. He was the largest out of all the men, Brodrick's head reaching his neck, and she could imagine that being placed next to him, she would appear half as tall as he.

  His shoulders were bare and thick, wide enough to fill the doorway. The sun shone from behind him, and without the added light that poured in front the open windows of the hall, his features would have been blocked out.

  But they were not, and she was woman enough to notice it.

  His hair was dark and wavy, reaching just past his jaw and setting off the hard, rugged lines of his face. His eyes were a blazing green. Whether the blazing part was from the fury in them or the vibrancy of his eyes, she didn't know—and didn't care.

  He was the kind of man you would hear about in legends, whether he was the foe or the hero. He had the body that was built for strength and dominance, and the stance of his shoulders clearly showed that he knew who had the control.

  He was...masculine, not handsome—he didn't need to be handsome. The muscles and strength that exuded from him spoke for itself. Even though his face was brutal, there was a look in his eyes as he stared down at her.

  She didn't know how to describe it, how to describe him with worthy enough words. Danger and power oozed out of him in waves, yet the masculinity he possessed robbed her of breath.

  Passion.

  He also held...passion. As he stared down at her, his body vibrating with the strength of his anger, she felt the passion within him rise and lash out, like a strike of lightning to her gut.

  "Saeran," Blaine hissed from behind her. "What are you doing? Get out of my way!" Saeran was snapped out of her stupor as her sister pushed her out of the way, coming forward to graciously bow in front of the laird again.

  Saeran thought he'd lop her head off with his claymore, but he surprised her. All he did was sneer at the two of them.

  "We've opened the hall, aired it, replaced the rushes, and ordered new tables, my lord. Does it not look lovely?" she asked dreamily, holding her hands to her face.

  Her feminism didn't do anything to soften his furious features.

  "Who's paying for all of this?" he growled.

  His questions served in making Blaine stutter. "I...I had assumed that you would want to return to a clean home."

  "It was perfectly fine before hand. Brodrick," he snapped. "Find someone to get all of this back to the way it was. Now."

  "Aye, my laird." She watched her tormenter exit the room...just as Sabia came rushing out of the back, her two children close behind her. When they were standing in front of the laird, beside Saeran, she tensed.

  He didn't look happy to see that he had more guests.

  "Who are they?" he snapped, jerking his head toward them. The children began to tremble next to her and she frowned.

  "Your new cook and her children. They prepare, serve, and clean up the meals now," Saeran said before her sister could say anything. She didn't like the way this brute of a man was eyeing them, as if they were the lowest, most disgusting thing he'd ever seen in his life.

  The children subtly moved behind their terrified mother's skirts.

  "I don't need a cook," he said harshly. "Send them home."

  "Laird Shaw—" she started, hating the paleness in Sabia's face. She'd been through enough, and all of her problems were centered on the man in front of her.

  "I want them gone," he snarled, slashing a hand out in front of him. "I want everything that was changed in my absence to be returned to it's original state. Every speck of dust, every servant, every rush. All of it back."

  Saeran felt a burst of anger well inside of her. Sabia didn't have a home or a man to provide for her.

  "Sabia's husband died in your service and she has no home," Saeran snapped. She was too angry to care that she was acting completely out of character. She was supposed to be quite, unassuming, and the equivalent.

  Blaine stiffened beside her, and she knew she was going to catch hell for this, but Saeran couldn't let Sabia be thrown out with two children.

  When the laird didn't say anything, she continued, softer this time, but with just as much force.

  "She is an excellent cook, this castle is in need of one, and she has two growing children that do what is required of them. Throwing her out would be a travesty—"

  "Quiet, Saeran," Blaine finally snapped, rounding on her. Her eyes blazed.
"If the laird wants the woman gone, then she'll be gone. You," she said, pointing at Sabia. "Pack your belongings and—"

  "Nay," the laird said suddenly.

  Blaine paused. "No, my lord?"

  "Nay." That was all that needed to be said. Sabia gave her a tearfully grateful nod and then hurried from the room. She felt a moment of relief, then realized the laird was staring at her. She straightened her shoulders, meeting his eyes. "Who are ye?"

  She swallowed thickly. Mayhap stepping into this man's line of fire hadn't been a wise idea. She couldn't regret her outburst, though. She'd saved three lives by it.

  "Saeran Sinclair," she said, the pride in her voice clear. If only she were introducing herself as the woman she was.

  "And this is yer sister?" he asked, gesturing to Blaine with a nod of his head. Blaine started to open her mouth, but he gave her a quelling look.

  "Aye," Saeran said uncertainly. She wasn't supposed to be doing the talking. Blaine should be doing this—Saeran was a terrible liar, always had been.

  "Where is the other sister?" he asked, narrowing his eyes on the two of them. The look on his face made her blood turn to ice in her veins.

  "Other sister?" she echoed hollowly, heart starting to race. He was staring at them like he knew she wasn't who she said she was.

  "Aye, the other sister. I ken there were two lasses, no' one and a brother."

  Blaine once again tried to open her mouth, but he laird held up a hand. "I'm no' speaking to ye', lass. You'd do well to remember that."

  "I am the king's cousin!" she burst out, offended. Saeran wanted to wring her throat. Can't her sister, just this once, take the hint that she shouldn't speak? "A guest in your home! I can speak for myself, my lord."

  "In my home, a lady knows her place. Ye' clearly do not. Come, lad. We'll discuss this elsewhere." With one last look at Blaine, he walked from the room. Saeran gave her sister a pleading look, and the only thing she got in return was a face that said, "If you go, you're in big trouble."

  For some reason, she was more terrified of the laird than her sister.