The Highland Laird

by Amy Jarecki

  And now the beauty had asked him to kiss her?

  His eyes widened as he raked his fingers through his hair. When had he last blinked? “Are you certain?” he croaked like an adolescent lad.

  She took his palm and brushed her fingers over his knuckles, her caress as gentle as a downy feather. “I’m two and twenty years of age, and before the eve when I wandered into your chamber at Achnacarry I had never been kissed—at least not really kissed. I have been isolated and sheltered all of my life. Most men fear me as if I am cursed, but you have never been afraid. Moreover for once, I, Emma Grant, am on a great adventure.” She grinned, wickedly waggling her brows. “I am even a fugitive of the crown.”

  Holy hellfire, Ciar felt terrible about that. “I will make it right. I give you my word.”

  “Mayhap you will, but this is my adventure! I want to be reckless and daring. I—”

  Unable to control his actions for one more second, he wrapped her in his arms and captured those tempting lips in the rawest, most unapologetic kiss he’d ever given. God’s stones, a man could only resist temptation so much. As the lass melted in his arms, he plunged his tongue into her mouth and took his plunder.

  And, bless it, she plundered him back. Never in his life had a woman imparted so much emotion with a kiss. What she lacked in experience, she made up for with pure, unadulterated passion.

  She moved into him, pressing her body flush to his, matching his fervor and urging them higher. His heart hammered as she rubbed against him like a hellcat bent on seduction.

  Och aye, Ciar wanted this woman with his entire being. As hard as an iron rod, his cock pulsed. There was a stone shelf right behind them. All he needed to do was lift her up, raise her skirts, and expose those creamy thighs that had tantalized him. Oh, how she’d tempted him when he’d found her nude. In seconds he could be inside her. He could take her to heights of which she’d never dreamed.

  But Emma hadn’t asked to be ravished. She’d asked for a wee kiss. And then his mind had instantly plunged into the gutter.

  I’m a rogue of the worst sort.

  He forced himself to pull back and wipe a hand across his mouth. “Forgive me.”

  Hurt contorted her features before she whipped around and hid her face in her palms. “I’m sorry. I-I-I thought you liked kissing.” A peal of tortured anguish ripped from her throat.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. “’Tis not that. I pushed you too far.”

  She batted his fingers away. “No, you did not! I asked you.”

  “I did. Too much. You released my wicked beast within. I wanted to—” He cut himself off before he proved exactly how barbaric his thoughts had been.

  “Wanted to what?”

  “Don’t ask,” he growled, scowling as if his hard and dark features would make her stand down.

  “I’m so confused. Why is my entire body trembling, yet you are angry?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “Do not try to tell me you are anything but. I hear the ire in your voice.”

  “I may be cross, though it is not you with whom I am irritated.”

  She threw out her hands and started away, right for a break in the wall, leading to a sheer drop to jagged rocks. “There are only the two of us here.”

  He hastened forward. “Stop!”

  Albert barked, clamping her skirts in his teeth as Ciar wrapped a hand around her wrist.

  Emma shrieked as he yanked her back and swept her into his arms. His heart nearly exploded in his chest. “Good God, woman, you were about to fall to your death.”

  And judging by the dog’s hellacious barking, Albert agreed.

  She jabbed the heel of her hand into his chest. “Then why did you stop me?”

  “Because I—” Damn, every time he opened his mouth he dug himself deeper. “Because I cannot bear to see anything bad happen to you.”

  “Put me down.”

  Ciar obeyed.

  Wrapping her fingers around Albert’s collar, she walked in a circle, took a few steps, then stopped. “It appears I am entirely at your mercy.” A tear slid down her cheek. There she stood, the bravest woman Ciar had ever met, and she was devastated.

  Because of him.

  She wanted an adventure. She wanted to be reckless, as she’d put it, be free of the shackles of her disability. And now he’d smashed her dreams and made her feel undesirable.

  I should be strung up by my thumbs.

  He took her hand, trying not to squeeze it too hard—not to let his emotion show in his touch. “It is myself with whom I am angry. You stirred a fire deep within me, and it would be wrong of me to take advantage…of you.”

  * * *

  “These oatcakes will fill our bellies,” said Ciar, his spatula tapping the iron hob over the fire.

  Emma picked up two wooden plates from a basket by the hearth. “I wish I were able to help with that.”

  “You have. You mixed the oats.”

  She pursed her lips as she set the table. Any other woman ought to be able to manage the cooking, but she’d been involved with only meal planning at Glenmoriston. “Where did you learn to prepare meals?”

  “A man must eat when he’s driving cattle to market. If he doesn’t learn a few tricks, he’ll starve.”

  “But do your men not tend to the cooking when you’re droving?”

  “Aye, mostly. Though when I was a lad my da ensured I prepared most of the meals whenever we were away from home’s hearth.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  He chuckled. His deep, resonate laugh always made her feel warm inside…even if he didn’t like her as much as she adored him. “Few would see it that way.”

  As soon as Emma sat, Albert put his head in her lap. Petting him made a wee flicker of warmth spread through her insides. The dog had a way of lifting her spirits, bless him.

  “You’re managing to find your way around the chamber well,” said Ciar.

  “As I mentioned before, Albert and I counted paces after you left this morn.” She should have opted to bathe first; then she would have been finished before Ciar returned.

  Good heavens, it had been a day of mortifying humiliation. As least she ought to be mortified with herself. Truly, Emma had been embarrassed half to death when he’d found her stark naked. But he didn’t seem to notice her awkwardness. His actions were so incredibly gentle, his voice soothing. She couldn’t recall a maid being so meticulous, so careful or tender with the donning of hose. Rolling stockings up one’s leg was an everyday occurrence done with efficiency if not haste.

  But when Ciar helped her, it was as if someone opened a window on a spring day to the beautiful songs of birds, and scents of fresh flowers and rain. If she allowed herself to believe it, she would say Ciar applied himself to the task with affection. But perhaps she had imagined it.

  Yet it seemed so genuine, did it not?

  Bubbles floated in Emma’s stomach. Her breasts tingled along with a yearning deep inside her body, one she couldn’t describe. The same yen had been overwhelmingly intense when they’d kissed in the corridor at Achnacarry. Goodness, that fleeting, stolen moment seemed so long ago.

  She tapped her fingers against her mouth. Why were her lips still buzzing from the delight of it?

  Emma mustn’t allow herself to dream. What promised to be wonderful had ended badly.

  I’m so confused!

  Why had Ciar grown so angry after she’d asked him to kiss her? Yes, he said he was upset with himself, but was he truly? Emma knew she’d broken every etiquette rule imaginable in being so forward. And she must never, ever do so again or risk infuriating him all the more. Oh, dear, what if he thought her an insufferable trollop?

  She pondered the idea while she shifted her fingers from her lips to her neck. If he was not attracted to her, then why had he kissed her in the first place? Also, his words had directly conflicted with his actions. Something greater than a frivolous kiss had passed between them. She knew it. You stirred a fire deep within me
. Those words affected Emma more potently than anything he’d ever said to her.

  Did Ciar have any idea of the enormity of the bonfire he stirred within her breast?

  “Here we are.” He set the food on the table. It smelled nutty, and the heat of it warmed her face. “We’ll have to live with this simple fare until Livingstone arrives. Two oatcakes or three?”

  “Two should suffice, thank you.”

  “Would you like a slice of apple as well?”

  “Please.”

  Her mouth watered as he cut into the aromatic fruit and put it on her plate.

  The oatcake was bland and rather tasteless, but a bite of apple helped to make it more palatable. “This is delicious.”

  His knife tapped the plate as he snorted. “And here I thought you weren’t one to tell tall tales.”

  She slipped a morsel of food down for Albert. “’Tis better than going hungry.”

  “Aye.”

  “Hello inside!” bellowed a deep voice.

  Albert launched into a maelstrom of barking.

  Emma snapped her fingers. “Come behind.”

  As the dog obeyed, Ciar’s chair scraped the floor. “Livingstone, ’tis so late I didn’t think you’d come until the morrow.”

  “Had to wait until dark, and then I made like I was sailing to Mull and tacked around behind Kerrera. The mainland is crawling with redcoated bastards. Uh…pardon me, Miss Emma.”

  She held out her fingers. “No apology necessary. They are bastards.”

  The gentleman gave the back of her hand a rough peck. “Beg your pardon, but how the blazes did a wee lassie end up rescuing this enormous bull of a man from a fortress like Fort William?”

  Heat rushed to her face while she considered the utter incredulity in his tone. “It seems Robert’s lessons in lock picking finally came of some use.”

  “Truth?” asked Livingstone as if he still had difficulty believing it. “Leave it to Grant to teach his sister to pick locks.”

  “She risked a great deal,” said Ciar. “More than I would expect of any man.”

  “Well, I’m glad of it. Needless to say, somehow or other we would have found a way to slip inside, mark me.”

  “Pull up a wine cask and join us.” Ciar’s chair creaked. “And what news aside from the redcoats infesting my lands?”

  “Nothing new, I suppose.” A barrel made a hollow echo through the vault. “The kingdom is up in arms about the succession of the Hanoverian king.”

  “And are there murmurs of civil war?”

  “Clans from Glasgow to Skye are ready to take up arms.”

  “’Tis as I thought.” Ciar heaved an enormous sigh. “Will you join me in a dram of whisky?”

  The cork popped from the bottle. “Don’t mind if I do. Would you like a spot, Miss Emma?”

  “Of whisky?”

  “Why not?” asked Ciar. “You’re a fugitive as am I and on your greatest adventure. A dollop in your water might do the trick.”

  Before she uttered an objection, the spirit plopped into her glass. Robert enjoyed the drink, why not give it a try? She raised the cup and sniffed and then took a timid taste. “Mm. It has a rich, peaty essence.”

  “Exactly how I like it,” said Braemar. “Though it burns like hellfire when ye drink it straight.”

  She sipped and swirled it in her mouth. “If it burns, then why not always mix it with water?”

  “Once one grows accustomed to the fire, diluting such a delicacy seems like a sacrilege,” said Ciar. “Livingstone, did Archie tell you to bring my weapons?”

  “Aye, and food as well. A dirk and sword are wrapped in the leather parcel, and food stores are still in the boat.”

  Emma leaned forward on her elbow. “You didn’t happen to bring along a skein of wool and some knitting needles…or a harp perchance?” Of course she didn’t expect a positive response, but it would be nice to have some things to occupy her thoughts. Especially after today.

  “Are you weary from the tedium already?” asked Ciar.

  “Nay, but I like having something to occupy my hands.”

  “Ye could practice picking the locks on the cellar doors,” said Livingstone. “It seems it is an indispensable skill—one which may come in handy should we need to march on Kensington palace.”

  Laughter resounded through the cellar accompanied by a raucous yip from Albert. But the joviality gradually faded until the chamber was filled with slight hisses from the coal fire. A chill coursed down the outsides of Emma’s arms. It was as if the three of them suddenly realized the gravity of their situation.

  The whisky cork popped again on Ciar’s side of the table this time. He poured thrice—even adding another dollop to her cup. “Three red-coated dragoons ambushed Tommy MacIntyre on the Inverlochy-Spean Bridge Road. The poor man hadn’t a chance—dirked in the back he was.”

  Livingstone’s cup thudded on the table. “The murdering asps.”

  “I couldn’t ride around and let it pass.”

  “No bloody chance. I wouldn’t have been able to, either.”

  “Hellfire and damnation,” Ciar cursed. “When I confronted them, a third struck me from behind. I never saw him.”

  “How convenient for the backbiters.”

  Ciar heaved a long sigh. “Wilcox would have already put a noose around my neck if it weren’t for the unrest.”

  The man-at-arms scoffed. “Thought hanging ye would cause a riot?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, the governor was bloody right—for a host of reasons. But they’re looking for you everywhere. Both of you. And they’ll be here next, mark me.”

  Emma clutched her arms across her midriff. “Nonetheless, they won’t find us, will they?”

  “Not if we remain hidden.” Ciar gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Livingstone, I need you to locate the Irishman, Kelly. Wilcox and the others will not ken he’s my man. Have him strike up a friendship with the sentinels named Riley and Manfred—a close friendship.”

  Ciar sipped his whisky before slamming the cup onto the table. “And the third—I want to sever that bastard’s balls.”

  Covering her mouth, Emma snorted. “I daresay, that is what he deserves.”

  “Forgive my vulgar tongue, lass.”

  In truth, she liked that he felt comfortable speaking so freely in her presence. It made her feel more a part of the solution. Besides, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard such things from her brother’s lips.

  Ciar stood and began to pace. “Once Kelly kens their comings and goings, we’ll nab them all at once.”

  “We, sir?” asked Livingstone. “But you mustn’t be seen.”

  “Did you reckon I’d hide away whilst you and the men have all the fun?”

  “Aye, and I recommend it as well.”

  “I agree,” said Emma, breaking off a bit of oatcake and swirling it in her mouth.

  Ciar hit the table, making everything rattle. “Enough. Send word to Archie once Kelly wheedles his way into their confidence. I want to personally flay those bastards.”

  Livingstone stood as well. “Before or after they’ve confessed?”

  “Wheesht. Keep the supplies coming, and if you can manage it bring some knitting needles and wool—keep mum and tell no one who they’re for.”

  “My word is my oath.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said, offering her hand. “But do not risk bringing anything here for me if there is any danger that doing so might reveal our whereabouts.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  With powerful strokes, Ciar pulled himself through the water, willing the iciness to cool the flame burning just beneath his skin. Back and forth he swam, each lap stronger than the last.

  Three days had passed, and he was already restless beyond all imagination. He hated waiting for anything. Worse, biding his time while the bonniest lass in the Highlands pattered about trying to keep amused was all but killing him.

  Emma’s intoxicating scent wafting through the cell
ars tormented him with his every breath. The lass need only walk past and she turned his head with her floral bouquet. She was happy and affable and everything he’d ever dreamed of in a woman. She hummed with the most alluring alto voice he’d ever heard. And she grew more and more irresistible by the moment.

  By his blood, he would exhaust the lust coursing through his body. He was close friends with the lass’s brother. They’d marched into more brawls and battles together than he could remember. In no way could he ruin their alliance—handed down from their forefathers.

  Ciar’s jaw twitched.

  Bless it, he would not ravish Grant’s sister. Not ever.

  Then his eyebrow arched.

  Not unless she agreed to be his wife.

  Ciar stopped kicking, treaded water, and looked to the shore.

  Emma sat on a log of driftwood rubbing a clamshell between her fingertips and ignoring Albert, who was splashing through the water, chasing fish and yipping as if he was pleased to remain on Kerrera for the rest of his days.

  God’s bones, she was a vision.

  A wave crashed over his head, and he kicked his feet against the pull of the undertow.

  Emma had good breeding for certain. The Grants and the MacDougalls were both powerful clans. But could Emma bear him an heir? She’d been born without sight because she had come too early. Hadn’t Robert said so?

  Mayhap she can.

  It was Ciar’s duty to continue the Dunollie line. He had no siblings to step into the role. And he’d be obstinate enough to defy death if his cousin were still in line to inherit. Truth be told, Ciar needed an heir posthaste with all this business of being falsely accused on top of impending war.

  But then again, he mustn’t give the idea a second thought. Not until he cleared his name.

  A mammoth wave smacked him in the back of the head and dragged him under, sending his body tumbling downward to the chilly depths. Pushing off the sandy sea floor, he fought for the surface, coughing like a seal as he let the surf carry him to the shore.

  Worry stretched Emma’s features as she stood and clutched her fists to her chest. “Are you all right?”

  Completely naked, he trudged onto the beach, his cock just as hard as it had been when he’d started. “Aye.” He coughed. “Swallowed a bit of seawater is all.”