Highland Temptations: Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Adams, Aileen

“Very well, very well.” She blew out a frustrated sigh. “That is all I know. He attempted to question me. I told him nothing. He was angry. He threatened me.”

  “Ye told him nothing?”

  “I would never betray my family. Perhaps he thought it would be a simple matter. That he could frighten me or break me. He was wrong.”

  The stranger—who she supposed she should be grateful toward but could not bring herself to be—snickered. “It was a good thing ye escaped when ye did, then.”

  “I believe so.”

  “What’s your name?”

  She shook her head. “I will not tell you that. Nor will I tell you the names of my kinsmen, nor where I believe them to be now. Do not bother yourself or waste your time asking.”

  “I deserve to know.”

  “You deserve to know no such thing.”

  “After what I did for ye?”

  “You hardly did much.” She sneered. “And you might as well let me off here if you believe I’m wrong. I won’t tell you any more. Not even where they found me.”

  “I have no plans to do ill to ye or your kin.”

  “How can I believe that? Besides,” she added, “if you want nothing to do with them, there is no need to know their names. Or mine.”

  He hesitated, looking over his shoulder, to the sides. Wondering how much time they had wasted, how many were after them. How close they were.

  “You can leave me,” she reminded him, now knowing he wouldn’t. If he had such devilry in him, he would’ve done it by now. Once he knew she was running from a Stuart, a clan even she with her limited understanding knew was powerful.

  “Hush.”

  “Truly,” she pressed. “He doesn’t know you took me, and I don’t know your name. You might still get away and never be the worse for having freed me. I’ll always remember you in my prayers.”

  “My, but you’re one for driving a point home.” He did not order her off the horse or make any further threats. Instead, he pressed his legs and heels into the horse’s sides and continued across the road with Shana still firmly between his arms.

  “You won’t desert me?”

  “I will not. We’ve already come too far.”

  “But he doesn’t know you.”

  “Are ye trying to talk me into deserting ye, then?”

  “I am not.”

  “Then for the love of all that’s holy, would ye please let me think a thought without always talking so? I’m trying to make a plan, and all ye can do is talk.”

  “Forgive me, then,” she muttered. She had no place to be upset with him or to even show him the sharp side of her tongue, but he struck her as a rather snide man, full of his own glory and heroism, and she had always had a deep distaste for such men.

  It wasn’t even as though he’d fought anyone for her.

  “I can take ye back to Richard’s,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “He wouldn’t turn ye away.”

  “Who is Richard?”

  “I seem to recall asking ye to keep your thoughts to yourself while I think.”

  “You cannot think while another person is talking?”

  “Not while they’re asking questions, ye devil woman. Silence!”

  She obeyed, though unwillingly, eyes searching the moonlit woods for signs of danger. It was the least she could do while he thought out his plan. Only the occasional sound of an owl calling out in the darkness caught her attention, or the occasional flapping of bats’ wings.

  She’d always hated bats. One had entered her tent as a child and tangled itself in her hair while she’d screamed and thrashed. Now, years later, she understood that it was just as terrified as she’d been.

  Though that hardly endeared the nasty little creatures to her.

  The horse they rode was a beauty. She hadn’t lied to the old man in the dungeon when she’d told the story of sleeping with the horses as a child. She’d always felt a deep fondness for the beasts. A connection she sometimes did not feel toward other people.

  Yet she could not agree with the old man, who’d seemed to hate people and thus turned to horses for companionship. She did not hate people. She’d only felt as a child, and sometimes as a grown woman, that people did not understand her.

  Animals had never judged her.

  The man behind her fell silent, no longer muttering to himself. “Might I speak now?” she whispered.

  “For the love of all that’s holy.”

  She waited. “Does that mean aye or nay?” she asked when he offered no further response.

  “What do ye want to say?”

  “I merely wished to know who Richard is. You would not tell me.”

  “Ye refuse to tell me who ye are. Why should I tell ye who Richard is?”

  “There is a very good reason for me to not tell you who I am, and you know it. The two are hardly the same.”

  “There is a very good reason for me not to tell ye who Richard is—in fact, I ought not have spoken his name aloud. If we’re caught, and someone asks ye where we were going, ye might reveal the name to them. That would endanger him when he has not the first idea we’re on our way.”

  “I spoke nothing of my kinsmen when Jacob Stuart threatened me with torture.”

  “They are your kinsmen. He is not. Nor am I. I canna trust ye to keep silent, and it would be a great burden for ye as well, which I would not wish to place upon ye. Leave it be,” he grunted when she drew a breath, prepared to further argue the point.

  There was no use in fighting. And she was too tired. Now that she’d covered a good deal of ground and was no longer in the clutches of sheer panic, her muscles were sore and weak. Her head ached. She began having difficulty keeping her eyes open.

  “Tired,” she murmured, blinking hard.

  “We had best make camp for a few hours. It will be morning soon, and they’ll be looking for us.”

  For us. One small word, yet it meant a great many things.

  She allowed herself to rest against him, and he permitted her to do it. While she wasn’t completely certain she could trust him—men had never been trustworthy in her experience—she could at least rest her weary body against his and let him hold her up as his beautiful horse carried them further from the Stuarts with every step.

  It was something, at least.

  7

  “I could keep the horse moving if you wish,” the lass suggested when he decided to stop for a while. “I know how to ride. So long as we keep moving north, correct?”

  “Aye, that’s correct. But ye need sleep more than I do, which I didna think possible until now.” The fact was, neither of them was in good shape. If he wasn’t careful they might both spill from the saddle and be worse off than they already were. “Sleeping for a few hours will not put us in harm’s way. Everyone has to sleep. No one can ride without stopping.”

  This was as much a reminder for his sake as it was for hers, for it did not please him that they needed to stop. The sooner they were home, behind the walls of Richard’s castle, the better off they’d be.

  What Richard would say when they arrived was another matter entirely, but William simply had to have faith in his friend. He would do the right thing. He always had.

  They stopped near a thin stream whose progress was quiet enough that it would not drown out the approach of hooves. “I do not need the help,” she protested in a weak voice, but he persisted until she allowed him to lift her from the saddle.

  “The less ye walk, the better,” he advised, leaving her behind a tree that she might have privacy before tending to the horse. By the time she joined him again, limping badly, he had begun to build a small fire.

  “I shall find a way to repay you for this,” she whispered, watching him. “That, I vow.”

  “I’m certain ye mean what ye say, but I dinna ask for repayment.”

  “Why are you going to this trouble, then?”

  He shrugged, avoiding her gaze instead of finding a way to explain himself. What way was there? She wo
uld think him daft, undoubtedly, as he would think of her, were he in her place.

  If she’d told him a seer sent her after weeks of nightmares, he’d turn around and never look back.

  “I dinna much like the notion of a woman being held against her will, for one,” he muttered, withdrawing a flint from his sporran to light to bundle of twigs. “Anyone with eyes could tell ye were in a bad situation out there on the road. I would be the worst sort of devil to leave ye, more concerned with myself than with ye.”

  “But you know nothing about me.” She sat on the fallen log before which he’d built the fire.

  He placed one of his packs beneath her ankles. “Keep them off the ground as much as ye can.”

  “Why are you so concerned with my welfare? What is it to you if you do not intend to hand me over for ransom?”

  “For the last time, I have no intention of playin’ ye falsely, so put the thought out of your head.”

  It came out as a snarl, yet she did not cringe or jerk back. She merely studied him as her fingers took up the task of working the snarls out of her hair.

  “It’s only that I’ve never met anyone willing to help someone like myself when there was nothing in it for them.”

  “Now ye have.” He crouched opposite her, feeding more wood to the flames until they crackled and danced.

  She untangled her hair with her fingers, taking her time, acting with gentle care. The image brought to mind a woman at a loom, only she was undoing what had already been woven together.

  “What shall I call ye?” he asked.

  “Call me?”

  “Ye won’t tell me your name, but I can’t keep grunting at ye or pointing or calling ye ‘lass’ as though ye were a dog.”

  “You very well could.”

  “Verra well, then, I don’t wish to do it. There. Does that suit ye better?” Honestly, it was akin to talking to a wall.

  Her face took on a thoughtful expression. “You might call me Tara.”

  “Tara. Is that your name?”

  “No. I said you might call me that, but that doesn’t make it my name.”

  “What difference does it make whether I know your name? Or that of your kinsmen? If I haven’t taken pains to turn you in yet, what makes ye think I have such an intention in mind? Wouldn’t I do it by now?”

  “I prefer to be safe.”

  “Fine, then. Tara.” He grunted to himself as he stirred the fire. “Is that not some sort of Gaelic legend? Tara, I mean? A goddess of the pagans?”

  “What do you know of it?”

  “Nothing, which was why I asked. I meant no harm.”

  She huffed. “Tara is the mother. I pray to her most often. Hers was the first name that came to mind.”

  So she kept the faith. She was an endless source of interest to him. “Do ye ever feel that she answers ye?”

  Dark eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. He knew this expression all too well. “Is this a way of tricking me?” she hissed.

  “Nay, not at all. What gave ye the notion?”

  She studied him, her head tipping to one side as her eyes went narrower than ever. This brought to mind a snake studying its prey and set the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. “I dinna much like the way you’re looking at me now,” he warned.

  “Hmm.” This did not stop her. “I ask myself if you mean what you say. If you only ask because you’re curious.”

  “Why would I not mean it?”

  “You have never been… different. Have you?”

  “Different? I suppose not.”

  “Nay, for if you were, you would not have to wonder why I look at you this way.” She turned her gaze away from his, her fingers working the snarls in her hair all the while.

  “I dinna understand.” He sat, eyes on her. “What do ye mean?”

  “Are you truly an innocent? Or do you simply not care? Has it not occurred to you that someone such as myself would spend her life being questioned? Stared at? Mocked? Cursed? Do you not know who I am? What I am?”

  “I know who ye are—or who your people are.”

  “And you still have to question why I would not like your questions?”

  “Can there ever be a simple conversation with ye, lass? Tara?” he was quick to add, emphasizing the name which was not hers. She did not trust him enough to use her true name, which he supposed was what truly dug under his skin.

  And after all he’d done for her thus far. What would it take for her to trust him?

  She scowled. “Forgive me if I’m not accustomed to holding a simple conversation with one whose blood I do not share. I cannot remember a single time when I’ve talked with one of your kind. No snarls or threats or the like. Simple talking, back and forth, like two people. I cannot easily trust.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do not.”

  “I want to.”

  “You want to?” She turned to him, leaning in, and it was not the light from the fire that caused her eyes to burn as they did. “My people have been slaves for centuries. We’re good enough to do the work for you, are we not? We work like dogs and are treated worse than. Or we entertain, aye, we do that well. ‘Tis in our blood, is it not? Or so you tell yourselves. You watch us dance and listen to our songs, and you rest your head at night with a pleased smile. For not only have we pleased you with our music, but we’ve reminded you that you’re at least better than somebody, no matter how low your lot in life.”

  She spoke with such venom, William had no choice but to stare at her in awe.

  And she wasn’t finished. Not even close. “My people are plagued by the lawmen who call us vagrants, and they tell us to move to our place of settlement and stay there rather than dirtying up the towns and villages with our presence. But we have no place of settlement, and do you know why? Do you?”

  He shook his head, genuinely interested now.

  “Because no one wants us! They spit upon us for being who we are, for always moving from one place to another. We’re filthy wanderers, thieves, cutthroats. Yet should we try to put down roots and make a home, we’re cast out. How dare the likes of us even consider living among the likes of you? Who as I said might be the lowest of the low, but you still consider us lower. You still think you’re better than us. We may just as well not be people.”

  Her chest heaved by the time she finished, color on her cheeks. There was so much hatred. So much hurt. He could hardly take in the size of it, or how much had been done to her to make her feel so strongly.

  “I am not that way, so I would thank ye kindly not to include me with the rest of those ye speak of.”

  She rewarded him for this with a heavy, pained roll of her eyes. “Spare me your talk. Simply because you’ve never thrown us in jail or dragged us from your village, our bairns screaming, our women wailing, does not mean you’re innocent. I’d wager you’ve never stopped such a thing from happening.”

  “I’ve never seen such a thing happen.”

  “And if you did? If you saw the law coming for us, threatening our men with blades and pistols, you would stand up for us? Or would you tell yourself there was no use in fighting back, as they’re well-armed and a group while you’re nothing but a single man?”

  “There are times when a man needs to admit he’s outmatched, no matter how it pains him to give in.”

  She snorted, looking him up and down with what he recognized as contempt. “You even manage to make yourself sound heroic when you admit your cowardice. I must admit, you seem a good sort. You rescued me without stopping to ask from whom I was running or why. You might have taken me straight back and demanded a reward, but you did not do that, either.”

  “I’m not the sort.”

  “I can see that. It makes me wonder how one who seems brave could sound so cowardly.”

  He growled. “It isn’t cowardice to know when a man is outmatched. It’s smarts. A fool runs headlong into a battle he knows he cannot win. Aye, his reasons for doing so might be strong. Even ad
mirable. I wonder, though, if all that is any consolation to those he leaves behind. I saw many a man fight just such battles against the loyalists. I even fought beside them. I watched them die. Men who had only just spoken with such love for their country, for their people. They’d only just reminded each other of the value in what they found for. And in the end, they all died just the same, and the battle was lost. Nothing changed.”

  “So why did you rescue me, then?”

  Why? All her question brought to mind was the memory of a woman running into his path, eyes wide and wild, pleading for help. “Who wouldn’t? I hardly had time to stop and consider my options.”

  “You knew of me. You said it yourself, that someone spoke of a lass held captive by Jacob Stuart. You must have known you were on Stuart land.”

  “I’m afraid my mind doesna work that fast. Dinna give me too much credit.”

  She snorted. “I would never.”

  “I know it.”

  They shared a long look.

  What would she think if she knew he’d been searching for her? That her running out into the road was a gift? He could finally be free of whatever hold she had on him?

  He stirred the fire one last time before stretching out on one of the blankets. He would rather have not slept while it burned, but it was not large, and they needed the warmth. He didn’t trust himself to sleep with her in his arms, no matter how exhausted they both were.

  And he didn’t think she would allow it, at any rate.

  “I asked ye before whether ye thought your Tara answered your prayers,” he reminded her as he rested his head on one of his packs. Lumpy, but it would have to do, as he’d given her the saddle against which to rest. “I was only asking myself whether she did, and that was what brought me to ye.”

  Her eyes flew open wide in surprise, and his slid shut as he smiled to himself.

  Let her give that some thought, then. Perhaps she would stop being so distrustful.

  8

  Shana did not trust the man.

  Not when he wouldn’t tell her what was in this for him.

  There had to be something. No one did something for nothing, especially not something so dangerous.