To Steal a Highlander's Heart

by Samantha Holt

  "I wasnae undressing her. But I can see there's no arguing with ye, Morgann." Finn dipped his head briefly to Alana. "Good day to ye, lass."

  Finn closed the door carefully behind him and Alana watched Morgann warily. Strange how the daggered look he sent her caused a tumult of sensations, stretching from fear to excitement. Dark hair grazed his eyes as he narrowed them, lips pulled into a grim smile. Part of her longed to reach out to him, pull him down and remove that expression. And the only way she could think of doing that was by kissing him. The need burned through her as she studied his mouth.

  But her hands were bound. A blessing, mayhap, for she could ill afford to fall foul of these ridiculous thoughts. The steady throb of desire seemed to hum between them, barely disguised by the anger simmering off his being. What had she done wrong?

  “H-have ye sent word to my da?” she forced out.

  “Aye. No doubt we’ll be hearing from him soon.”

  “When he’s at yer walls, threatening war, ye mean?”

  Morgann gave a decisive shake of his head. “He’ll no’ be threatening war, ye just wait and see, lass.”

  “I dinnae know how ye can be so confident. Ye will have angered him and my da has a temper.”

  He distractedly curled a hand around his forearm, covering the spot where the scar was. “Aye, I know.”

  “So what do ye intend to do with me in the meantime?” The pressure around her wrist was slowly turning her hands tingly and she really needed to relieve herself.

  His expression changed. The anger making his body stiff slowly gave way. She noted the softening of his shoulders but it was the change in his eyes that captured her attention. Once dark with annoyance, a carnality resounded in them as he let his gaze settle on her lips.

  She opened them, trying to suck in enough heated air to clear her confused mind. It was as if he knew what she’d been dreaming. And her own gaze did the same, lingering on his firm lips as they pulled into the faintest hint of a smile. Was he considering what other things he may do with her just as she was with him? The fire behind her thoughts should have frightened her but there was something instinctual and primitive behind them, as if it was always intended for her to feel this way about Morgann.

  The discomfort in her body nagged at her once more and she wriggled and coughed, effectively breaking the moment. Morgann raised his gaze to her eyes and crossed his arms, the warrior slipping back into place.

  “I havenae decided what to do with ye, yet,” he told her coolly. “I doubt very much I can trust ye to behave.”

  “Well ye need to at least release me. There’s little I can do now.”

  He studied her silently for a moment and Alana fought the need to squirm under his frank appraisal. “I think mayhap I should keep ye here until yer da comes for ye. ‘Tis nae often I have my enemy’s daughter tied up in my chambers.”

  “Ye cannae keep me tied up! How will I… relieve myself?”

  Morgann laughed. “I’ll no’ fall for that one again!”

  “I’ve been tied up all night! Ye must at least let me use the garderobes. Yer enemy’s daughter I may be, but I am still a lady. Ye cannae expect me to remain like this.” His countenance remained taciturn and unyielding and Alana’s hope dwindled away. How did one argue with a man so callous? “Ye never used to be so cold hearted, Morgann,” she added softly. The man she once knew still existed, surely? Mayhap she could appeal to him.

  “All right,” he muttered. “I’ll take ye to the garderobes but yer hands will stay bound. I’ll no’ have ye making a fool of me again.”

  “But how shall I change?” Or relieve myself? Her cheeks warmed. She wasn’t sure how to handle her skirts with hands still tied.

  He shrugged as he strolled over to the bedpost and began to untie the sheets. “I care not.”

  “Ach, ye’ll care when ye hand me over still caked in filth and Da calls ye out.”

  “Mayhap I should help dress ye then.” A wicked glint illuminated his gaze as he fisted the sheets in his hand and came to stand before her. With a slight tug, he had her on her feet, using the bedding tied around her wrist like a leash.

  Alana frowned, chest tight. The endless sides to Morgann MacRae baffled her. The faintest hint of the playful lad she’d known lay under that deadly gleam but it was smothered by more intense emotions.

  “Ye tease me?”

  “Mayhap.” He gave a little yank and she stumbled forward, smacking into his chest.

  Before she could react, rough fingers pressed under her hair, teasing across the skin of her neck, down to the top of the lacing on her gown. He gave the ribbon the lightest of tugs, making her breath hitch.

  “Morgann, pray cease,” she managed to whisper.

  He froze, cursing quietly as he took a step back. With a wry laugh, he tapped a finger under her chin—the gesture returning her to a time when they had nothing to worry about. He always used to do that to her. Whenever she took life too seriously, whenever she got over-emotional. It was his way of drawing her out of it. Was she taking him too seriously? Was it some twisted game?

  “Will ye promise not to get yerself into any more trouble if I release ye?”

  “Aye, I promise.” An easy promise to make. She had little intention of getting into trouble. Next time she tried to escape, she’d do it properly and make no mistakes.

  “Ye’ll no’ get anywhere if ye try anything. The walls are well guarded.”

  Alana nodded. That she well knew. If she’d even made it down the side of the keep, she hadn’t figured out how to get past the watchmen. She’d have to bide her time and hope an opportunity presented itself though she had little time. War was almost certainly imminent.

  ***

  Tèile watched Alana through narrowed eyes from her spot on the windowsill. She swung her slender legs playfully, long skirts swishing. The girl was planning something again. If only there was more she could do. Unfortunately Alana seemed to have a nose for trouble and if she wanted to put herself in dangerous situations, there was little to be done.

  If only they would act upon their attraction. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed as Alana offered up her wrists to Morgann to be untied. Like Finn, Morgann struggled to undo them and had to use his teeth. Alana’s face blossomed with colour. The pull between them was so strong Tèile could smell it. She simply didn’t understand. What was so hard about giving into one another?

  Still she’d bought them a little more time. Morgann’s messenger, Kieran, was right now having a wonderful time with the nymphs. Having lured him in, they were no doubt helping him to indulge in all kinds of carnal delights. No man could resist the tree folk. She propped her chin on a hand and blew out a long breath. At least he was having fun. If these two didn’t hurry up, she was likely to die of boredom.

  ***

  A hand clasped around her wrist, Morgann led Alana to the garderobes.

  “Ye need not hold onto me, Morgann,” she protested from behind. “I already said I’d not get into trouble.”

  Aye, she had. But he still wasn’t sure he could trust her. Something about the look in her eyes, that faint glimmer of hope, told him she wasn’t finished creating turmoil.

  Never mind that she caused such turmoil in him. Her smooth skin against his palm made his gut clench. He tried to wipe the way she stared at him when he’d taken the knots of her bindings in between his teeth from his mind. Those wide eyes and short breaths lingered in his memory.

  Had he scared her or was it something else that caused such a reaction? He had frightened her with his anger but she seemed to bounce back from it, ready to lash out with her tongue once more. The thought that, maybe, just maybe, she felt the same burning temptation as he did both terrified and thrilled him. The need to act on their attraction increased.

  Releasing her wrist, he remained silent as she brushed past him and closed the door to the garderobes, flicking the briefest of glances his way. He flattened his forehead against the wood and groaned. Just a
few days more, he reminded himself. A few days and she’d be back with her father and he would finally be able to relax. With Margot banished or in irons, Glencolum would no longer be at risk. And nor would Alana.

  At the moment it seemed the biggest risk to her was him.

  The door swung open abruptly and he jolted upright. Hands clasped in front of her, Alana perfected a meek, submissive pose, eyes pleading and bright.

  Ach, but it worked. He, the great warrior, felt his knees weaken. It took all his willpower not to drop to the floor and beg to do anything for her. A MacRae bought to his knees by a woman. Well, he wouldn’t be the first. Margot had already done the same to his father.

  “Morgann,” She smiled sweetly, “I thank ye for releasing me. Is there any chance of having a bath sent up? I have need of a wash.”

  He tensed his jaw. As if he needed the image of Alana bathing in his head. Unable to stop himself, he studied the sweep of her neck, imagined water dripping down it. The thought forced a lump into his throat.

  Realising she awaited an answer, he cursed inwardly. “Ye had yer chance yester eve. I cannae spare anyone to tend to ye now. And readying a bath takes too long.”

  Alana scowled and took a step past him. Morgann wrapped a hand around her arm, holding her in place. “Where do ye go to, lass?”

  “If ye’ll not send for a bath, then I’ll go do it myself. In case ye hadnae noticed, I’m filthy.”

  Her words forced him to skim his gaze over her gown. Her adventures had left mud smears on her clothing and face. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and skimmed a thumb across the grimy mark on her forehead.

  “Aye, I can see that,” he said gruffly, watching the slight flutter of her throat as she swallowed. The memory of the gentle warmth of her skin under his thumb remained and he clenched his fist. “Ye’ll have to content yerself with a quick wash. Finn already brought ye some clean garments.”

  “He always was thoughtful,” she said softly.

  A faint bubble of anger burst inside him and he struggled to tamp it down. Would he ever forget the image of Alana with her hands on Finn’s lap or Finn’s mouth practically touching her skin? He loved Finn as a brother but, by God, the thought of him being in Alana’s affections tore at his gut.

  “But I cannae do my hair myself.” Hands going to her hips, she dragged him out of his thoughts. “Ye must have a maid to spare.”

  Morgann pinched the bridge of his nose and spun on his heel, forcing Alana to scurry along behind him.

  “Well?” she persisted as he pushed open the door to his chamber and ushered her in.

  “I’ve no maid to spare. The keep takes time enough to manage.” Thanks to Margot’s negligence, he thought bitterly, the castle was barely running properly. He spent half his days making up for her idleness, ensuring the servants and soldiers knew their duties.

  Alana released a grin, a spark of amusement reaching her eyes and his insides near crumpled. What in God’s name had her so amused?

  “Ye’ll just have to do it then,” she announced as she sauntered over to the washbowl propped on a tall oak side table and snatched the linen towel that rested beside it.

  Eyeing him, she loosened the ribbon barely holding her braid in place. Hair spilled over her shoulders, thick and luxurious in spite of the streaks of stone dust that still marred it. His fingers twitched as his stomach roiled and he blinked.

  He let out a light laugh. “Ye cannae want me to do it.”

  “I do.”

  Throat clogged, he shook his head. Was she attempting to seduce him once more? She had little idea how close she’d been to succeeding when she’d all but offered herself to him the previous night. It would have been so easy to strip her gown from her, to stroke every womanly fragment of her until she begged him to take her. And she would. If she felt as he did, there would be no denying him. But Alana, sweet Alana, deserved so much more than that. He could never treat her like that. Bad enough that he had to take her prisoner.

  She flung the towel at him and he fumbled to grab it, brow creasing as she leaned over the bowl, the ends of her hair dangled into the cool water.

  “Ach, ye cannae expect me to do women’s work,” he tried in desperation.

  Alana tilted her head sideways, gaze latching onto his as streams of hair fell across her face. One eyebrow rose. "I didnae take ye for a coward, Morgann."

  Damnation. He sucked a long breath in through his nostrils and stepped sharply forward. He saw the faint flicker of triumph on her face before she turned her head over the bowl. He snatched at the jug resting near the washbowl and pressed his free hand against the exposed skin at the back of her neck. Pale. Fragile. His hand looked too strong, too rough next to her flesh. A sharp awareness of the power he had over her rushed through him, the primal need to conquer and command fresh in his mind. What was it about Alana that made him feel more a warrior than when he spilled blood on the battlefield? And yet, she was the one conquering him. She already had him doing maid's work. It was an odd balance of power they had. While he commanded the physical side, she commanded the emotional one, toying with him with great skill. Grudgingly, he admired it. He wondered if women did not have the upper hand sometimes. Strength only got you so far.

  Water trickled over her as he tipped the jug and Alana gasped. The water was cool and it made her shudder. It reminded him of the last time he’d seen her wet and cold, when she'd been tucked against him in the middle of the mountains. Hot, scalding lust assailed him. With a smirk he debated throwing the chilly contents of the jug over his head instead, though he doubted it would have much effect.

  Angry with himself for letting lust get the better of him yet again, he thrust his fingers into her hair, massaging the water roughly through her tresses and she yelped.

  "Morgann, gentle!"

  He shook his head. Was he really doing this? He allowed his touch to soften, scrubbing as he imagined a woman would. Ach, if anyone caught him doing this...

  The texture of silky hair under his fingers soon erased his discomfort. Alana's hands clutched the edge of the table, knuckles white. Did she enjoy his hands upon her? Oh, he'd rather have them elsewhere, but he had to admit, there was something soothing about doing such a menial task for a woman. Nay, for Alana. To know he was looking after her provided an odd sort of comfort. Morgann sighed. If anyone deserved looking after, it was Alana. A shame it would never be him, not after the truth was revealed. Her father would never let him near her again.

  "T-there's some tonic, I think. A-a maid brought it up yesterday."

  Her voice sounded thick and strained, echoing the tension in his throat. Throwing a glance around, he spied the bottle on the bedside table and took both hands from her hair to reach for it. Alana remained bent over the bowl, bottom thrust out, the curve of it clear against her skirts. He took just a moment to enjoy the sight, even as he cursed his lack of willpower before pulling the stopper from the bottle and giving it a sniff. It smelled of flowers, soft and feminine like Alana and another, undesirable scent lingered beneath it. He shrugged and tipped some of the oil-like substance into his hand.

  "How much—?"

  "Just a little."

  Ach. He eyed the pool of tonic in his palm and tried to tip some back into the bottle. When he thought he had enough, he pressed his fingers to either side of her head and raised it away from the bowl, allowing him to smooth the oil into her hair. Alana sighed as he worked at her scalp. What he would not give to do the same to the rest of her.

  Alana. Naked. Covered in oil. Sighing as he trailed his fingers over her slippery skin.

  Hell fire.

  One restorative breath later, he'd finished and almost had control of his senses. Offering the towel, he forced himself to turn away as she used it to dab at her wet hair. The chambers were too small, the air too stifling. He had to get out. A glance over his shoulder held him in place as she eyed him.

  Water dripped down her face and lips, her hair a tangled mess over one shoulder as
she continued to rub the towel over it. The years disappeared and he remembered the girl who had once been his best friend. And yet that girl wasn't nearly as enticing as the one stood before him. Both of them combined were a potent mixture.

  "Thank ye," she said with a gentle smile.

  Mayhap just one moment wouldn't hurt. Just enough to remove her from his thoughts. A strange weakening sensation invaded his muscles and he turned to take the towel from her unresisting hands. Throwing it over her shoulders, he used it to draw her toward him

  "What are ye doing, Morgann?" she asked breathily, cheeks darkening.

  A heavy pulse resounded through his head as he patted at her hair. "Taking care of ye."

  Lips parting, she dropped her gaze from him, golden lashes fanning against her skin. "Ye dinnae need to do that."

  "I like taking care of ye." Inwardly he groaned. Where had that come from?

  "Ye take care of many people." That green gaze latched back onto his, making his chest tight. "I see that, ye know? I remember the pride ye took in yer clan, in being the future laird."

  "Aye, well..." Hell, she read him far too easily. It should have terrified him but it didn't.

  “I like ye taking care of me.” The colour in her face spread and her pulse fluttered beneath his thumb.

  He groaned as he moved closer still. “Ye create a weakness in me, Alana. It makes me wish—nay long—for things to be different. A highlander should never be weak.” His voice came out raw and ragged.

  She moved up onto her tiptoes, closing the gap between them. Her lips were temptingly close and he watched them carefully as she spoke. “There’s no weakness in knowing what ye want.”

  “I dinnae think ye know what ye want. Unless ye are hoping to seduce me into letting ye go again.”

  Alana pressed her lips together, supressing a grin. “Ye’ve already said I cannae seduce ye. Did ye lie?”

  “Mayhap.”

  Warm breath skimmed his lips. Was she seducing him or was he the one playing the game of seduction? She lured him in yet made no further moves. The final decision was his.