by Tanya Wilde
“How are you feeling?” Honoria asked.
He inched a step closer to her and dared to reach out and tuck a wayward curled behind her ear. “I cannot say.”
Suddenly he was close, so close her skin tingled with delightful anticipation. Droplets of moisture glistened on his skin, displaying his exertion, but still he smiled down at her. The moment seemed suspended in time.
Honoria fought the urge to blink. This man with his foreign brogue and piercing green eyes truly dazzled her.
“Did I pass your test?”
“Test?” she breathed. Mere inches separated them now. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, slow breath.
“For my health.”
Oh. That.
Her lashes fluttered, their eyes meeting once more, and she found herself holding her breath. The corner of his mouth quirked, and he lifted one finger to skim over her cheek.
“Not yet,” she murmured.
“Are you sure?”
Then he uttered words Honoria did not understand. Mysterious, foreign, dangerous. Words that almost sounded like a wild oath before his lips crashed down on hers and all else was forgotten.
He was kissing her. Kissing a gadji. Lash did not know what the hell possessed him or what he was doing—only that it had been imperative that he crushed his lips against hers.
Never had he been overcome by such a profound urge to possess anyone. It wasn’t natural. Not for him. They had no hope for a future together. He could not get tangled up in her life. She belonged with her kind. Not a full-blooded Roma. So why was he kissing her?
Even knowing how wrong this was, it still did not stop him from molding his mouth against hers, tasting her lips with his tongue. She did not hold back either, as he’d thought she might. Had not slapped him or called him a filthy bastard. Not her. Not this gadji. Instead, she wove her hands around his neck and returned his kiss as though he were her lifeline.
Lash knew, long after he left here, he would remember the auburn-haired beauty with the angelic voice, even after she had forgotten him. One day, he’d be nothing more than a vague recollection of a brief moment in her life. But she, she would stay imprinted on him.
He pulled her up against him, his tongue coaxing her lips to part.
There was no urgency to the kiss. It was the slow melding of two people falling into each other, and it felt so wretchedly good knowing it was so utterly wrong.
Time became irrelevant. The world tilted. His breathing became a series of ragged inhales. His knees buckled.
Mierda! His angelic creature had been right after all.
The ground hit him with teeth grinding force before all went black.
Chapter 7
One moment Honoria was encircled in the warmth of Lash’s arms, discovering the sweetness of his wild kiss, the next he was gone. Her lashes fluttered open, expecting to find him as dazed and stunned as she, rejecting any other outcome, only to blink. Her gaze lowered to the floor.
“Lash!” she cried, falling to her knees beside him where he lay crumpled in a heap of unmovable mass.
She pressed her hand against his damp forehead. Lord above! He was burning up again. How had she not felt the heat when he kissed her? His body radiated sweltering temperature.
Stubborn beastie!
“Honoria, there you are, I’ve been searching—” Her sister’s words died on a gasp.
Honoria met Isla’s worried gaze. “Quick, we must get him back to his chamber at once!”
“I’ll fetch help,” Isla said, disappearing in a whirlwind of skirts.
Worry and fear churned in Honoria’s belly. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Lash in her care. “Stubborn, stubborn man.”
“What the hell?” Hugh snapped as he rushed into the gallery two minutes later, Isla and four footmen at his heels. “Why the devil did no one tell me he’s awake?”
“He wanted to leave,” Honoria answered. “I suggested a stroll to the gallery to determine whether he regained enough strength.”
“Clearly, he did not,” Hugh muttered, motioning for the footmen who hovered to assist.
“I told him as much.”
“And still you allowed something this foolhardy to happen,” Hugh chastised. “We want the man to heal, not decay under our roof.”
“I am touched you believe I can ‘allow’ a man to do anything,” Honoria snapped.
“You are not Honoria MacCallan?” Hugh said, lifting a brow.
“Hush, Hugh,” Isla admonished, her voice lashing like a whip. “Stop being such an idiot.”
He shot them both a glare, stepping aside for the footmen to carry Lash back to his chamber.
Honoria watched with concern as they lifted Lash with undisguised effort. The first time they had knocked his head more than once—she didn’t want that to happen again.
“Do not drop him,” she snapped and hurried after them when one footman in particular became red-faced.
“Honoria,” Hugh warned, and she backed away reluctantly.
“He will be all right, dear,” Isla murmured, placing a comforting hand on her arm.
“You were right . . . We should have called for a healer.”
“The wound is not infected. I doubt a healer would have done anything different except advised strict bed rest.”
Honoria turned to her sister. “I insisted we prove his strength with a stroll to the gallery.”
“He would have collapsed if he left on his own, too, ’tis not your fault. Clearly, the man is as stubborn as a mule.”
“He is a traveler,” Honoria confessed in a small whisper.
Her sister’s eyes whipped to hers. “A traveler?”
“Aye,” Honoria said a nod. “A Gypsy, or Romany, as they prefer to be called.”
“He told you that?”
Honoria nodded. “I think he meant to shock me. Do you think Hugh suspects?”
“Nay,” Isla said slowly. “Not even I suspected a Gypsy. But our brother hasn’t been the most perceptive these days.”
Right. The dairymaid, Mary.
The journey back to Callum’s chamber felt like seven lifetimes. Honoria wasted no time to inspect his wound, Isla hovering close.
“See, it is as I told you,” Isla said when the wound showed no sign of infection. “A man his size needs substance, not broth, to regain his full strength, that is all.”
“He is burning up,” Honoria said, her hand on his forehead.
“He overexerted himself,” Isla insisted. “The gallery is quite a way for a stroll in his condition.”
Guilt swamped her. “’Tis my fault, I should not have provoked him.”
“There is nothing to be done about it now,” Hugh drawled, clearing his throat. “Speaking of questionable decisions, I’ve sent word to Adair.”
Honoria gasped and whirled on her brother.
By all that lived and breathed!
Her face flushed with anger. She was long used to her brothers intervening in her life, but never Hugh. Her twin always had her back.
“When?” Honoria demanded.
He held up his hands. “It had to be done.”
“When, Hugh?” she insisted.
He let out a heavy sigh. “After he regained consciousness for the first time. I assured Adair all is well.”
“And you believe that will matter?”
Honoria balled her hands into small fists. They’d all descend upon the castle and drag her away from Lash’s side, claiming it was “too dangerous” for her to be near a stranger—even a weakened one. They’d lock her away if they felt they had no choice.
At times such as this, Honoria was tempted to set the castle ablaze and shout “Now what will you do?”
Most young girls dreamed of living in a castle. All Honoria wanted to do was escape hers.
“Och, lass, I couldn’t leave the matter be. Adair would have my hide if I did not send word that a man was found injured on our lands.”
Honoria stared into her
brother’s eyes, the same golden as her own. His held a note of contrition. She knew hers must be flashing with anger and disappointment.
“You tell yourself that, Hugh MacCallan,” Honoria snapped. She tried to imagine Hugh in a silk taffeta gown and powdered wig, which unusually helped to improve her mood in times of deep frustration. But no matter how she dressed Hugh up in her mind, or colored his eyes with coal, and brightened his lips with strawberries, her temper did not cool.
“Lash is no threat to us,” Honoria insisted.
Hugh’s face darkened in displeasure. “You cannot be so foolish as to believe him innocent. The man was attacked for a reason!”
“And how would you know? Have you spent any time with him?”
“No one told me he was awake!”
“Honestly, when did you become such a stick-in-the-mud?” Honoria said. “You give most people the benefit of the doubt.”
“That was before Adair left me in charge of you and Isla. They are counting on me to keep you safe.”
Isla scoffed.
“And how will they appreciate your safekeeping if you run to them whenever a problem occurs?” Honoria demanded.
Unable to look at her brother anymore, she turned her back on him. His betrayal stung sharper than the time she happened upon a swarm of bees and was stung by seven of them. Her gaze flicked to the bed. She thought she had more time. Now she had no choice but to convince Lash to escort her and Isla to Edinburgh before Hugh’s missive reached Adair.
And that was if he even regained enough strength in time.
Botheration!
It all seemed hopeless. Between her brothers’ imminent return and the brigand roaming the country roads, it seemed Honoria’s adventure was doomed to fail. A bitter taste coated her mouth. “You could have removed us from here and allowed the stranger to heal in peace.”
“And where would we have gone?” Hugh asked.
“Why, to Edinburgh, where the rest of the brood could keep us safe from this poor injured man.”
“I have a purpose here.”
Aye, she wagered he did. And it was not to look after his two sisters.
“Do not sulk, Honoria,” Hugh murmured. “I should have insisted on sending him to the village.”
“Why did you concede?” Honoria taunted.
Hugh shrugged. “It seemed to take your mind off Adair refusing to take you along.”
Honoria shot him a blistering look. “How thoughtful of you, Hugh. Be sure to tell that to Adair when he returns.”
Hugh grimaced. “I never told Adair the man has taken up residence here. Whoever hurt him must still be brought to justice.”
Honoria did not dispute her brother’s assertion, but neither did she agree with his methods. Unfortunately, in focusing her attention on Lash, she had forgotten to keep an eye on Hugh. And with word on its way to her older brothers, urgency gripped her belly. The time had come to launch herself from the nest and spread her wings.
“There is no telling what Adair will do,” Hugh said on a grand sigh. “After what happened with the gardener and now this, he may send you both to a nunnery.”
Isla snorted. “What happened with Patrick was he and I fell in love, and our brothers sent him away because they did not approve.”
“You are a lady, the sister and daughter of a duke. You always knew Adair would not approve of that match. You cannot be angry with him forever.”
Isla snorted again. “Of course I can.”
“And this is not the same,” Honoria pointed out. “Patrick was in our employ. I found this man outside, wounded. And we are not in love.”
“And yet both of them occupied a bed in our home and caused havoc with our womenfolk.”
“Oh, stop being such a bairn,” Isla retorted. “I cannot believe you sent word to Adair. He will never leave you in charge again.”
“It matters little. Adair will return home and then you can have the pick of the mill.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Honoria demanded.
Hugh’s face flamed.
Isla stepped forward. “You tell us this instant, Hugh MacCallan or I vow I will pack my things and move into the stables!”
Honoria did not know who looked more surprised by Isla’s outburst, she or Hugh.
Isla marched up to Hugh, who lifted his hands in a placating manner. “Tell us now!”
“Adair is hosting a ball upon their return from the city. All the surrounding families have been invited.”
“To what end?” Honoria demanded. But then her back snapped to attention. Pick of the mill. “He means to marry us off?”
“That is unconscionable!” Isla exclaimed. “He is throwing a husband-hunting ball?”
“Nothing to that extent,” Hugh murmured and leaped away when Isla slammed her foot into his.
“How dare you, Hugh MacCallan!”
“It’s not me!” he cried out. “’Twas Gregor’s idea!”
“But you knew all this time and did not think to warn us,” Honoria accused, her hands settling on her hips.
“Duncan thought it best not to, said you might run off.”
“And he would have been right in his assumption,” Isla snapped. “You think I’d agree to choose a husband from a ballroom of men after you sent away the man I favored? I shall not stand for it!”
“I did not send Patrick away.”
“You did not stop them either,” Honoria muttered. And then another matter suddenly became clear—the reason Hugh had sent word to Adair. “That is why you send word to them. You are afraid I might become too attached to Lash.”
“We want you to be happy,” Hugh murmured. “But we want you close. If you married a man within the surrounding families, you’d never be far.”
“You are all horrible,” Isla said, casting Hugh a disapproving look. “Patrick was close.”
Hugh sent them a long-suffering look.
“And what about us?” Honoria demanded. “Do we not get a choice in the matter?”
“Of course you do,” Hugh said. “If none of the gentlemen appeal to you, then we will not force the matter. Adair merely wished to provide an opportunity for you to mingle with gentlemen of your stature.”
“And when are these prospects due to arrive?” Isla queried.
“At month’s end,” Hugh confirmed.
That gave them just over a fortnight.
“And we will not be forced to make a choice?” Isla prompted.
Hugh shook his head.
“You best not be lying to us, Hugh,” Isla echoed. “Or there will be hell to pay.”
“Aye,” Honoria snapped, marching from the chamber. “Or there will be hell to pay.”
Chapter 8
He kissed her.
That was his first thought upon waking. The second thought . . . The softness of her touch still burned his lips. Her taste had nearly undone him. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could feel them pressing into his, the fresh scent of her skin enveloping him like a field of daisies. But it was the little sound of pleasure that brought a slight leap to his pulse. She had enjoyed his kiss. That knowledge was more dangerous than anything else.
Lash groaned.
His mind exploded every time he called her sweetness to mind. She had done something to him, stolen his wits. Bewitched him.
This woman, Honoria MacCallan, tempted him to want things he could never have. Never had he felt such a strong pull toward a gadji. Nothing had ever enticed him into their world as Honoria did. The urge to leave burned in his belly. And what remained of his logic insisted that he do so fast.
She was not a woman of his world. She lived in luxury, laid her head down on soft pillows—had never known any other way of life. But confined on this bed, soft pillows and plush rugs, trapped as if an invisible vise had already shackled over his feet and clamped shut, felt fraught.
There were so many things he wished he could take back in his life. Decisions made differently. His biggest regret leaving his sister be
hind after his father had banished him. That must be the heaviest burden he carried on his shoulders. Remorse, however, always arrived too late. Syeira was missing.
His search for her had led him to Scotland, and he would not rest until he found her. But Danior had followed him. And that was a problem. A big problem. The kind of problem that left wounds in your chest. The question remained. Did Danior’s anger extend to their sister?
Lash would die before he allowed anything to happen to her. Syeira was the only constant light in his life. After he’d taken care of Danior, his priority was finding her. Which meant there was no room in his life for an auburn-haired beauty with big, innocent eyes.
But damnit, whenever she entered the chamber, the room lit up like a thousand fallen stars shooting across the sky. She was unlike any gadji he had ever met, saw the world through bursts of color, from a view most people lacked.
But she was a distraction.
And he had made a grave mistake in kissing her.
Lash knew, with certainty, if he stayed much longer it would happen again. He would be no more able to stop himself than he could stop the world from spinning. But such fantasies were dangerous. For him. For her. For everyone.
“You are awake,” a deep voice broke into his musing, drawing his attention to the door.
A tall man pinned Lash with piercing eyes, arms casually slung across his chest as he reclined with one shoulder against the archway.
Ah, this must be Honoria’s twin.
She had been right. They did resemble one another—as much as a man could resemble a woman. The Highlander sported the same auburn hair and freckles dominating the bridge of his nose. His face was more angular, though, and reddish stubble covered his jaw. Fire crackled and clawed behind the good-natured depth of his gaze.
This was not a friendly visit.
“You must be the brother.”
The Highlander laughed. “I am one of the brothers. Hugh MacCallan, at your service.”
The way he said one of the brothers gave Lash pause. Honoria hadn’t told him much about her family, only that her brothers, all except for this one, were traveling.
“How many are you?” Lash found himself asking.