Highland Temptations: Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Adams, Aileen

  “Ye just agreed he is a good man!” William hissed when he took note of the color rising in her cheeks. “Ye only just agreed!”

  “That does not mean I will betray my people! What is wrong with you?” She pushed him out of her way—it was not the same as throwing him down the stairs, but there was still satisfaction in moving his large, solid body, and stormed down the corridor to where her bedchamber awaited.

  “What is wrong with me?” he whispered as he came up behind. “Ye are the one making this an impossible situation. All ye need do is give him what he wants.”

  Her laughter was sharp, knowing. “All my life, that is what I’ve done. Given men such as Laird Richard and yourself what you want. Nay, I dinna mean what ye think I mean,” she spat when he made a choking noise, “but I have been smiling when I wanted to claw their eyes out. I’ve pretended not to care when they laughed at me, when they taunted me and held gold coins out to me with promises of how easy it would be to have those coins for myself. I wanted to push them into our campfire and dance around them as they flailed and screamed in agony, yet I could not. I had to pretend.”

  They arrived at her room, where she stopped before going inside. “Now, you ask me to do the same thing. Because I want the comfort and safety of this place, I have to give in.”

  “’Tis called compromise in this case. And ‘tis what people do. No one is holding a gold coin out to ye. No one is taunting ye. All anyone is striving to do now is make things right for both sides. Richard does not wish to take back his pledge of protection.”

  “Ah. But he will if I force him to do so. Is that what you mean to say?” She glared at him, daring him to look away and prove her correct. “Well? Is it?”

  “I know him,” was all William would reply.

  “And yet you brought me here, knowing I could never betray—”

  “It would not be a betrayal!” he spat, then, his eyes widened. “Do ye recall how ye flew off in a wild tirade in the woods that day?”

  “A wild tirade.” She did not appreciate his choice of words, nor did she understand why he would bring up any such incident.

  “Aye. When ye thought I was holding back from ye because I intended to do ye wrong. Do ye recall? Ye thought I was keeping ye to myself that I might collect the ransom on your head.”

  Understanding dawned. “I do remember that.”

  “It was because I would not simply speak the truth that ye believed the worst about me. And now, the same is true. Richard believes the worst of ye because ye will not tell him your name or anything of your people. Ye could end this right now by going to him and telling him the truth.”

  She hated him for being right. She hated Richard more. Damn them both for cornering her as they had with their false promises of security. Nothing was free—had she not learned that as a wee lass? If a person wished for security, they had to sacrifice their freedom in one way or another.

  “How do I know he will not report their names to your lawmen?” she challenged. “How can I trust him?”

  “I will vouch for him.”

  “That isn’t good enough.” When he winced as though she’d stung him, she willed herself not to soften. Good. Let him sting for a bit. He needed to learn how it felt.

  He might have exploded on her then, might have unleashed the full extent of his frustrated fury. He might have thrown her into her room and locked the door and ordered her to think hard on her decision while starving.

  In short, he might have behaved as Jacob Stuart had.

  Instead, he shrugged. “It will have to be good enough, for it is all I can offer. Tell him what he wishes to know. Meet him halfway. Compromise. Or else I canna promise he will continue to offer his protection. I canna force him any more than I can force ye. I can only hope ye are both smart enough not to do something incredibly stupid.”

  “And what of you, then?” she challenged. It wasn’t right to do it. She knew she ought to leave him alone—he was suffering enough, and it showed on his face. Every worried line had been etched by disappointment.

  “What of me?”

  “What would you do if he ordered me off his land?”

  “He will not.”

  “He might.”

  “Ye have the power to keep that from happening. Och, ye stubborn, willful fool!” He slammed his palm against the wall, then touched his forehead to the cool stone. “Why do ye insist on making everything more difficult than it need be?” he whispered, closing his eyes.

  She reached for him, but pulled back before her fingers brushed his tunic. “I must do what I believe is right, just as your Laird Richard must do the same. It pains me that this pains you so.”

  “Och, I’m certain.”

  “It does. William, look at me.”

  He took his time about opening his eyes, looking at her from beneath lowered brows. His too-long hair fell in front of his face, concealing the distress there, and she brushed it back from his forehead with a trembling hand. She deserved to see what she’d done to him.

  And she wished to look upon him.

  “It does pain me,” she whispered, brushing more of his hair away from his face. Oh, but he had a lovely face. Handsome, a pleasure to look upon. “You have done so much for me, and all I’ve managed to do is bring you distress. Forgive me for that. I cannot help being who I am, how I am. I dinna wish to make you miserable. But I cannot turn my back on my kin, knowing what the risk of revealing them could be, for you. Not even for myself, or else I would have spared myself quite a lot when Stuart kidnapped me. If I did not reveal what he wished to know then, what makes you think I would do it now?”

  “Because all we want is to help ye.”

  “Perhaps… perhaps you’ve done all you can, and it is time for me to go forth on my own.”

  “I canna believe that. I dinna think ye believe it, either.”

  She did not believe it. She had no desire to do any such thing. Being alone meant being vulnerable. Open to attack. A woman traveling alone, especially one with her dark coloring, all but hung an invitation around her neck for all manner of low, licentious creatures to take advantage.

  Yet it would make his life easier, and perhaps she owed that to him. This was not her world. This was not her life. She had no business living within castle walls.

  “Do you recall telling me of times when a man must admit he’s outmatched?” she murmured with a gentle smile. “It isn’t bravery to run into a fight one knows they cannot win. It is foolishness. Now, I would go so far as to call it stubbornness. You cannot win this fight. Richard will win, for this is Richard’s castle. You have the rest of your life to consider. You’ve worked hard. You ought to keep your men in mind, your responsibilities here. I am not your responsibility.”

  He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Why does it seem as though ye are?” His eyes searched hers as though she held the answer to a mystery.

  “Perhaps because of what you suffered for my sake,” she whispered over the racing of her heart.

  He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Och, it wasn’t all suffering.”

  She held back from leaning in, from resting her head against the inviting solidness of his chest and taking comfort in him. There were so many things she wished she could say, but there was no way to do so without giving away what had been growing in the darkest corners of her heart for some time.

  To tell him how much he’d come to mean to her would be the greatest selfishness, for it would mean making his life more difficult. Never would he turn his back on her if he knew she cared for him. He would only feel a greater sense of responsibility.

  In spite of the ache in her chest and the tightness in her throat, she backed away. “We both ought to sleep. I believe we’ve earned it.”

  “Aye. That we have.”

  She cast one last look over her shoulder before stepping into the bedchamber. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened again. “Will ye at least give some thought to what I said?”

  “Of
course.” She would. She would not be able to stop herself from thinking about it, again and again.

  But this did not mean she would do as he asked.

  22

  He’d been so looking forward to the first night in his bed. His beloved bed. The bed in which he’d spent far too many sleepless nights before following the seer’s advice.

  Yet there he was, once again, after having found the lass. After killing that she might live. Crossing the Highlands. Delivering her to safety.

  He still could not sleep.

  Now, because there was nothing he could do. He’d come to the end of what was possible and had nothing more to do but wait and have faith that everything would work out. That she would have the good sense to do what was needed. That Richard would ignore his bruised pride and accept her at her word. She meant them no harm, and had no intention of inviting her kinsmen to have their fill of the Munro coffers.

  He was not a man of faith, and he did not take well to sitting back and allowing things to happen on their own. He’d never believed in divine providence, in the notion of some unseen hand guiding his way.

  Which made the fact that he’d acted on faith by searching for an unnamed lass all the more amusing, in a bitter sort of way.

  He gave up just before dawn, washing up and shaving before donning the uniform of the Munro guard. He felt more himself than he had in a simple tunic and trews, the sash across his chest signifying his rank in the guard.

  This was his place. This was his home. He’d been foolish to have his head turned by a life that would never be his. Better to put his energy into maintaining a solid guard worthy of Laird Richard. Better to make his mark that way.

  “Captain?” A faint knock at the door.

  “Aye.” He turned to greet his visitor, one of the youngest of the guard and thus one of the most eager to please. He appeared downright awed at having been sent to the captain’s chambers.

  “The laird wishes to see ye, Captain. And the visitor. I shall fetch her next.”

  “Never mind that,” William was quick to command. “I shall have that honor for myself.” He made a show of rolling his eyes for the lad’s benefit, but really was anxious to see whether she’d tried to escape during the night and didn’t wish for the guard or anyone else to find out before he did.

  While he wanted to give her credit for having at least a bit of sense, he knew too how stubborn she was. How she might ruin herself in a vain attempt at freedom. All to show them she didn’t need them.

  To show him she didn’t need him.

  He made a point of walking with an even, measured stride as traveled the corridors. The men he passed, and some of the lasses, he noticed—appeared pleased to have him back. It was good to feel appreciated.

  This was where he belonged. These were his people.

  No matter how the memory of Rufus’s face, glowing with pride at the notion of being a father, tugged at his thoughts and caused a strange pressure in his chest whenever it came to mind.

  He pushed that aside in favor of knocking at her door. If only she had stayed inside…

  The door opened, and there she was. His heart clenched at the sight of her in a clean dress, her curls neatly washed and combed.

  “Two of the lasses—I forgot their names, they giggled quite a lot—gave me a dress and tended to me.” She lifted a hand to touch her hair. “Does it… not look well?”

  It took some searching, but he found his voice. “Aye. It looks well.” It looked much better than that. It shone in an ebony cloud around her shining face, the eyes bright and wide as always, and made him wish more than ever that he might touch her just for the sheer joy of doing so.

  She smiled, now confident. “What brings you here?”

  The question popped his good mood as easily as though it were a soap bubble. “Richard wishes to see us both.”

  “Oh. I see.” Her mood darkened as well. “I suppose we had better be on with it. I would not wish to keep the laird waiting.”

  “Lass.”

  She gave him a cross look.

  “Tara. Dinna provoke him. Please. Meet him halfway at least.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you’re a damned fool, woman, and I took ye for having a bit more intelligence than that.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I’ll do as I please, and I’ll thank you to stop telling me how to behave as though I were nothing but a bairn. I can take care of myself. I’ve been all but doing so for much of my life.”

  This was one of the few times in which she’d ever made mention of her life, aside from blaming outsiders for their contemptible ways. Would that they might continue speaking of it—he hungered to know more about her, in spite of or perhaps because of her unwillingness to share anything worthwhile.

  Instead of asking her to continue, he merely led the way down the corridor and downstairs to where Richard would be awaiting their arrival. He did not like to be kept waiting.

  Richard apparently also did not like to find two people whom he’d wished to see separately appear in his study at the same time. “I only wished to see ye apart,” he explained, pointing to the lass. “Her first.”

  William cleared his throat, hoping what he was about to do would not lead to embarrassment—or worse. “I would wish to be here while ye speak with her, if ‘tis all the same to ye.”

  Richard’s mouth twitched as though he longed to say something but did not dare speak as freely as he wished. “It is not all the same to me. If it were, I would not ask ye to wait your turn.”

  William looked down at the lass, who it was clear, found this very interesting. She at least had the sense to hold her tongue. He went to Richard then, keeping his back to her that she might not overhear. “I won’t leave her. I mean no offense, and I dinna wish to contradict ye in front of an outsider, but ye must know how important it is to me.”

  “It is? Or she is?” Richard’s brows lifted as his dark eyes searched William’s face for answers. “You’ve never shied away from telling me the absolute truth before now. What makes her so special that ye change who ye are?”

  “Nothing has changed.”

  “Ye say ye dinna wish to contradict, yet here ye are. In front of an outsider, yet.” Richard sighed, his shoulders falling as he took on a resigned stance. “Verra well. Remember later that this is how ye wished things to be.”

  William had no chance to ask what his friend meant by this before Richard summoned her to him. “Sit, please.” He gestured to a stool which he’d pulled up opposite his chair, the two of them facing each other from opposite sides of his work table.

  William retreated to the side of the room, leaning against the wall just off the fireplace. From here he could watch the two of them observing each other, and could not help but wonder idly just which one would be the victor in this battle of wills.

  Richard folded his hands atop the table and forced a tight smile. “Ye look well. I trust ye rested well. I see the lasses I sent up to ye did their work as I asked.”

  She was guarded in her response. “They did. Thank you.”

  “Have ye given any thought to what we discussed last night?”

  She nodded.

  “And?”

  “And…” She glanced at William, her face unreadable. “And I have not changed my mind. Not a bit. Forgive me, but that is how it must be.”

  William wanted to strangle her. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He was not alone. Richard’s upper lip quivered as he barely held back a snarl. “I thought that is how ye would end this.”

  “End it?” William couldn’t help but ask. “What does that mean?”

  “As I said.” Richard’s steely stare never moved from the lass seated before him. “This will end. I will not have ye under my roof or on my lands if ye will not pay the respect I’m owed as laird.”

  William waited, all but biting his tongue to keep from roaring at her and ordering her to answer Richard’s questions. The room felt tight, closed in, t
he fire too hot, the smoke too thick. There was nothing he could do for her if she refused to help herself.

  And it was all but killing him to stand by and watch this unfold. As though a terrible accident was about to take place and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  “Tara.” William cast a pleading look at his friend before pointing his gaze to her. “Why is it ye will not tell us who ye are? Is it fear? Do ye fear your kinsmen finding out? I can assure ye, there’s no chance of them knowing ye were honest with us.”

  She rewarded him with a withering look. “I am not afraid of my blood.”

  “Dinna take that tone with him,” Richard warned.

  This was getting them nowhere. William scowled at Richard—would he ever learn when to keep his mouth shut and stop pushing to have his way?—and turned back to her. “Is it we who frighten ye then? Have I not done enough to earn your trust?”

  She was not so quick with an answer this time. In fact, the way her teeth sank into her lower lip spoke of the indecision with which she struggled. “It… nay. It is not that.”

  “What is it, then?” Richard slammed his hands onto the table, making both her and William flinch. He bolted upright, his body tensed and prepared to strike. “What do I have to do to get through to ye? I’m not a difficult man. Anyone who knows me would tell ye the same. And I am not a cruel man. I dinna wish to put ye out in the cold, with winter on its way, and ye with nowhere to go. But I canna have ye beneath my roof or on my lands if I dinna know why ye will not be forthcoming!”

  She folded her arms, as obstinate as ever, and now William saw red. He’d never known what it meant to really and truly hate another person until just then, when she made him hate her. He’d only thought he hated—hated the loyalists, hated the mercenaries and the cruel excuses for men who’d broken up and destroyed the gypsy camp.

  This was so much worse.

  After all he’d been through for her sake. After all he’d done. Three men, dead by his hand. Riding day and night, pushing himself to the limits of exhaustion and beyond. Taking the chance of bringing Jacob Stuart and his forces across the Highlands in pursuit, every minute one minute closer to death.