She wanted to leave, but then she remembered why she couldn’t.
The day she had first arrived at Edinburgh with Blair and John, she had lingered in the stables to brush down Poseidon. It had become a ritual for both of them after a long ride.
Deep male whispers carried from just a few steps away. The men nearby hadn’t known she was there.
“The Cameron laird is not traveling with them.”
She cocked her head to better hear. Were they speaking about Lachlan?
“He sent his brother in his stead.”
“We cannae take the Cameron clan with either alive.” The voice sounded familiar, but with the hushed tones, she couldn’t make it out. Heart racing, she shifted to make sure Poseidon’s body kept her hidden.
“Ye will have to be the one to tell Argyll. Mayhap he will have someone send for the Lochiel.”
Kirstie bit her lip and ducked down as they mentioned her oldest brother’s title. These were the men plotting the death of her brothers.
…
Alan adjusted his painfully hard cock as he bounded down the steps. He groaned and shook his head to dislodge his treacherous thoughts. It didn’t work. She tasted just as he’d remembered, honey and spice, and she’d melted into him with those curves and long legs.
He could still feel where her breasts had been crushed to his chest. Ugh, he wanted to scream in frustration. Hell. If she were any other lass, if she had another name, if she wasn’t Lachlan’s sister, he would have claimed her.
It all came down to honor and betrayal and things you just did not do. If Lachlan were here now, maybe he would find the courage to beg for her. But the only thing he had ever learned worth any value from his father was that you did not betray your brother.
He wanted Kirstie so badly he could taste her, but two things stood in the way. He couldn’t be a husband to her. What if his father’s brand of madness affected him? It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take, and she deserved so much better. Her love and devotion were worth more than what he could offer. Not only that, he couldn’t betray the one man whose loyalty and approval he valued over everything or the one woman who made him want to forget he wasn’t worth her affections.
As he snuck down the hall to avoid being seen near Malcolm’s room, he reminded himself that the safety of his brother and sister came first, aye—Kirstie was like a sister, sister, sister, he repeated to himself. As he entered the stairwell, he told himself the impulse to kiss her had been to protect her from the man coming toward them, but he was having trouble believing that had been his only reason.
It had been necessary; no one needed to know she had been there. And it had worked. The man had no idea who they were, but touching her had reawakened that longing he’d pushed away after the first time she’d kissed him. The timing had been so wrong on that night, too.
The events of that long ago evening were still etched in his head like the initials of scorned lovers on an old oak.
It had seemed as if the entire Cameron clan had been crowded into Kentillie to celebrate. That didn’t bother him. What did was the inebriated state of several of the clan and the pressure to join them in drinking the whisky and ale.
Having the urge to escape, he fled the crowded hall in favor of the cool night air. A squeak caught his attention, and he glanced over to the side of the building to see a large Cameron man had pinned Arabella to a wall and she was screaming at him. Arabella was a manipulative wench, but no man should lay a hand on a woman when she didn’t wish it.
Rushing to her defense, he put a hand on the beefy man’s shoulder. “Leave her be, Angus.”
The red-faced, sweaty lout turned, and a wave of liquor-soaked breath spewed on him. “Go away,” the man slurred. “’Tis none of yer concern.”
“Aye, ’tis if the lady does no’ seek yer attentions.”
Angus’s arms fell, and the lass stole from behind him to run into the castle. The lout grabbed Alan’s arm and then swung with the other. Alan ducked to the side, and the blow just skimmed his chin.
Memories of the beatings he’d endured by his father’s hand assailed him, but unlike in his youth, he fought back. Everything blurred, and before he knew what was happening, Angus lay whimpering on the ground with a battered face. Disgusted with what spirits did to a man, and that he’d lost his temper and resorted to violence, his legs carried him toward the stables.
His hands shook with rage at his family’s curse and that he’d let the anger consume him. He’d had no control, and the correlation between his father and he had never been so prominent. He was a monster.
Kirstie was there, and she kissed him. He liked it. But when he opened his eyes, he saw blood covering his bruised knuckles and remembered who she was and what he was. He would never be good enough for her, and Lachlan would kill him if he touched her and didn’t wed her.
Releasing Kirstie, he swung away and walked out to the loch to be alone. Within the next week, she was gone. He’d always known it was for the best, but every time he walked by the stables, he still caught his gaze drifting through the windows to look for her.
Trusting Malcolm would watch out for her, Alan continued out through a side door instead of waiting for the pair to appear in the great hall. She must know something of the plot against the Royalist lairds or she wouldn’t have been snooping in Argyll’s rooms. He’d tried to retrieve her as soon as he’d seen her slip into the earl’s room, but people kept appearing, and he couldn’t be seen going in, either. He’d gotten to her, probably saved her life, but it had taken longer than he’d wanted.
If he weren’t trying to avoid being seen with Malcolm, he’d talk to him about sending Kirstie to Kentillie now. But he had to keep up the ruse that he and the Camerons were no longer friends. It was the only way the Covenanters would let him into their inner circle.
For now, he was off to The Full Cask to pretend to be someone he wasn’t while that silly Hamish Menzies put his hands on Kirstie. He might have to start a brawl with someone. More points for him if the man was a known Royalist so he could impress the Covenanters. John Macnab had better stay away from him tonight.
Several hours later, he walked back into the hall to find Kirstie dancing with Hamish and Malcolm nowhere in sight. He had thought she was safe with her brother around, but maybe he didn’t grasp the importance of the situation. He couldn’t blame Malcolm since he’d lived without a sister to watch over for years. This was Lachlan’s fault for letting her have too much freedom.
Kirstie’s cheeks were red with exertion. How long had she been dancing? Then he noticed how slow she was moving and how carefully she watched her steps. Hell, she’d been drinking.
Debating whether or not he should grab her and escort her out of the room to scold her for being so careless, he opted for rubbing his head and eyes to tame his temper. She was going to drive him mad. He knew when someone was drinking, their nature was amplified. Another lesson from his father.
She was a sensual woman. Hamish was watching her like a hawk closing in on a mouse. Niall Campbell’s eyes were on her as well; so were several other men he didn’t know. He had to get her out of here.
Song ending, he prowled over to them and bowed politely. What he really wanted to do was drive his fist into the man’s gut, but he needed to remain in his good graces for now. Straightening, he took Kirstie’s hand. “May I?” Hoping he didn’t come across as uncivil, he gave neither of them the chance to answer as he drew her in and whisked her away.
Kirstie’s eye’s widened, but she’d had too much to drink to react in time or protest with her usual fervor. He had gathered her close, and they were twirling around to some music he’d never heard and could have done without, but she was safe and she was in his arms. Now that he could breathe again, the anger returned.
“Ye look like ye drank a whole barrel by yerself tonight.” He tried to keep the bite he felt out of the comment.
Mornings of waking to find his mother battered and passed out on the floor a
te at him. He might not have been big enough to help his mother, but he would never let it happen to Kirstie.
Kirstie’s eyes were weary, showing none of the fury he’d expected her to turn his way. “I couldnae handle the crowds.” Shrugging as she offered the explanation, he let the words play over in his head.
She’d always stuck to the corners of a room. It was one of the things he had loved about her. She was a solitary soul like he and avoided the celebrations where anyone was drinking. He’d never thought about why and assumed it was because she didn’t want to be around the vile liquid. Now, he realized she had her own reasons.
Biting her lip, she looked down, and he’d swear her cheeks were blushing if they weren’t already flushed from the dancing and drink.
“Does the close quarters bother ye?” Guilt stabbed at him when he remembered his rush through the crowd last night as he’d dragged her along and then the paler color of her skin as they’d made it outside.
“Aye. I’ve always felt sick when there are too many people about.”
She leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. She was just tall enough for him; their bodies fit. Och, the touch was light and innocent, but it sent a wave of longing coursing through him. She was vulnerable, and some part of him that wanted to be her rock reveled in the soft weight, wanted to pull her closer and say “mine.”
He yearned to stay like this, but people were watching as they swished by with the music he could no longer hear. Somehow, he and Kirstie had stopped moving, and the moment had apparently become too intimate for the bustling dance floor. Reluctantly, he drew back, but not wanting to lose the connection completely, he snaked his arm through hers.
“Let’s get ye back to yer room. Where’s Blair?”
“John was escorting her and Henry on a walk.” She leaned into his side, and her free hand reached over her midsection to clasp onto his arm. The embrace was warm like a hug, and she inhaled deeply then closed her eyes as if she’d been smelling him.
“Who’s Henry?”
“Henry Graham. He’s the cousin to the Marquess of Montrose.”
He knew Henry, and although the man was a staunch Royalist, he was rumored to be quite violent. Another of their kin had been found murdered in the castle this morning, and with the intrigue about, he lamented that Kirstie and her friend seemed to be involved on all political sides.
“And what would they be doing with the Royalist leader’s kin? I thought their father supported the Covenanters.”
“Aye, but John is different, and I think he’s trying to arrange a match between Henry and Blair.”
“And she agrees to the plan?” He doubted any of them knew of Henry’s reputation.
“Aye. She’s infatuated with Henry’s good looks.” They’d reached the edge of the hall.
“They should be back soon. I can wait here for them.”
He didn’t trust anyone but a Cameron with Kirstie. “I’ll take ye. Do ye have any idea what happened to yer brother?” Scanning the crowd, he spied Malcolm, who had reappeared, his gaze resting on them. He nodded so only Malcolm could see and kept walking them toward the door as he carefully took the least crowded route.
“Aye, ’tis stomach problems. He keeps running in and out.”
That explained why he’d not seen Malcolm on the way in.
A figure almost bumped into her, and Alan pulled Kirstie closer to narrowly avoid the man’s body colliding into hers. Hell, she felt so good snuggled up close to him. He cursed himself for allowing such a pleasure.
As they cleared the hall and stepped out into the night air, he voiced what had been bothering him all evening.
“What were ye doing in the earl’s rooms?”
“I’m so tired. Can we no’ talk about this later?”
Her words were starting to slur together. She pulled from his arm and picked up her pace. Deciding not to push, he followed.
Starting up the steps, Kirstie stumbled, and he wrapped both arms around her before she hit the unforgiving stone. Excessive spirits apparently magnified her awkward movements, but the real problem was his body’s reaction to holding her in his arms. Everything in him stilled, and a desire to press his lips to hers once more welled from some deep hidden part of him.
“Thank ye.” Tilting toward him, she smiled with sleepy eyes, making him envision lazy days falling into bed with her. His heart thudded. She was too close, but he couldn’t find the strength to remove his hands from her sides.
Anytime, he burred in his mind but knew he couldn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t give her hope when there was none. Not that she wanted him now, anyway. Managing to peel his hands from her delicious curves, he set her straight, watching her carefully as she held up her skirts to ascend the rest of the way. “Yer welcome.”
When they reached her room, she retrieved her key from a hidden pocket on her gown. It slipped through her fingers, and she swayed as she dipped to retrieve it from the floor.
“How much did ye drink tonight?”
“Nae much. I’m just no’ used to strong drink, and it helped me cope with the crush of people.”
“But ’tis also no’ safe. There are many dangerous men here.”
“Well, I’m lucky then to have ye here with me.” She giggled.
“And what if I’m one of those dangerous men?”
Something akin to admiration lit in her gaze, and he wanted to be whatever she saw in those sapphire eyes. “Nae, that’s no’ who ye are.” She placed her hand on his chest, and he wanted to take it in his until he realized she might have done it to steady herself.
“Alan Cameron, ye are a hero and ye’ll save me like ye did the lad today.” She beamed up at him before dropping her hand and twirling around to insert the key in her door.
When Kirstie pushed it in, he was overcome by the moonlight that shown into the room, causing her brunette hair to shimmer like the dark waters of Loch Arkaig. Pulling his gaze away from her, he noticed the chamber was sparse and lacked a fireplace. He hadn’t observed that the previous evening, but his gaze had been on something much more interesting. “It must get cool in here at night.”
“Aye, it does. Blair and I huddle under the blankets. We warm up nicely when she isnae stealing the covers.”
She’s one lucky lass. We would make enough heat we wouldnae even need the blankets. Shaking his head of the stray thought, he turned to close the door as Kirstie walked over to a small table and lit a candle.
He had opted to stay at an inn down the hill from the castle. Finding a room at a tavern close to The Full Cask had given him easy access to the Covenanter’s meeting spot. The room was smaller than this one, but it had a fireplace, and the innkeeper kept a nice supply of small peat blocks that burned for just long enough to last through the night.
Hoping his accommodations gave credence to the story that he, Malcolm, and the other Camerons weren’t on friendly terms, he now wondered if he should have stayed closer to keep a better eye on Kirstie. He’d been following her this evening, or he wouldn’t have seen her enter Argyll’s room. A chill ran down his spine even now as he thought of what could have happened to her.
Ambling over to the table, he enjoyed the silhouette of her figure. She had wide hips that gently arched into a small waist. His hands itched to feel those curves, but instead, he reached down to pick up a stack of bound papers.
“What’s this?”
Her eyes lit. “’Tis a copy of a play Donna brought me from London.”
“Ye still read, then?” He flipped up the binding and read aloud, “A Chaste Maid in Cheapside.” Puzzling over the strange title, he lifted his gaze to meet her sparkling stare as she took the bundle from him and hugged it to her chest. He’d never been jealous of a book before, but hell, he wished to again be worthy of the affection she’d held for him when she was younger.
“’Tis by Thomas Middleton. His plays are supposed to be wonderful.”
“Sounds as if ’tis ’bout some boring wench. I am quest
ioning yer tastes. What happened to the more exciting books I used to catch ye reading up on the turret?” Fond memories of her hair blowing in the wind as her sweet voice carried to his ears came rushing back with nostalgia.
“If I remember correctly, ye found me every time I went to read.” Her gaze became glassy, and he couldn’t tell if she was reminiscing affectionately or if it was sadness reflected in the blue depths.
Smiling inside, he recalled that she would sneak up to the turrets at the west end of Kentillie. He followed her every time. He’d been enthralled by the stories she read, and her voice had always been comforting. On occasion, he’d even fallen asleep with his head in her lap as she sat on the stones propped against the wall.
“I will admit that I liked yer stories, but this one?”
Her gaze returned to his, eyes alight as she straightened her shoulders at the challenge. “I havenae read it yet, but ’tis supposed to be good. Shall I read the first scene to prove it?”
“Aye.”
He’d always felt at ease with her and taken comfort in her routines. She was predictable—at least she had been before she started cavorting with the enemy. He’d never thought about why her habits had meant so much to him growing up in the Cameron house, but then he remembered the days and years before he’d come to live with them and knew exactly why.
He should leave, but the strength to turn around and walk out the door eluded him.
“Aye, prove to me this story is fit for my ears.” Easing down onto the edge of the bed, he patted the thick blankets for her to join him.
Sitting, Kirstie unfolded the first page and started to read. He was taken back in time. He didn’t realize how much he had missed this and how soothing it had been. He could listen to her all night. Wanting to do just that, he let his mind stray to stretching out on her bed and falling asleep with her voice filling his ears, knowing she would be there when he woke. Shaking the image free, he grudgingly admitted that as much as he enjoyed this, she deserved better.
Highland Temptation (Highland Pride) Page 6