Seduced by Her Highland Warrior (4 page)

Once they reached the clearing, she saw the small circle of standing stones. Ancient and worn, the stones held their own element of enchantment. It was their private place, one where reality faded away and she could forget that he was a chief's son, and she, a poor crofter's daughter.

Here, they could be together with no one to interfere. Never had Alex treated her as though she were beneath him. Right now, he was staring at her with a mixture of desire and regret.

‘I have to leave on the morrow,' he told her, his hands drawing her into an embrace. ‘My Uncle Donnell wants me to visit the Campbell clan.' There was a heaviness in his eyes, a sense of frustration. He'd been living with his uncle, who had become chief after the death of his father. There was little affection between them, for Donnell continually derided him, claiming that Alex lacked the skill to ever be a leader like his father.

‘When will you return?' she whispered.

‘I don't know.' His hands framed her face and he touched his forehead to hers. ‘He wants me to wed the daughter of their chief. But you needn't worry. I've made my choice of a bride already.'

His fingers moved through her long red hair and within his eyes she saw a rising hunger. A piece of her heart broke away, for if she could, she'd keep him with her. She loved Alex MacKinloch with every breath, with every part of herself.

But she feared they would have no future together, not as poor as she was. And there was a sinking dread that, once he saw this woman, he might forget what there was between them.

For now, she fully intended to savour every stolen moment. His mouth came down upon hers and she kissed him back with all the fervour in her heart. His lips and tongue merged with her own, conjuring up desperate feelings she didn't understand. Against her body, she felt the hard length of his desire. He drew her hips closer, his hungry mouth moving over her skin.

She couldn't catch her breath, her pulse racing. Tonight could be their last night together. Once he left Glen Arrin, she might lose him.

‘I love you,' she whispered, her arms twining around his neck.

He lowered her down to the soft grass and she saw the moment when he regained control of his thoughts. Though his breathing was as staggered as her own, he rolled to his side, studying her.

‘I want you to be my wife, Laren.'

She tried not to let her feelings overshadow what needed to be said. Closing her eyes, she tried to find the right words.

‘Not until you return.' She wanted to believe that he would love her enough, but she didn't want him to later hold regrets.

‘Say you will,' he urged again.

She leaned up to kiss him, distracting him with the physical desire that burned between them. It was easier not to think of losing him when his arms were around her.

‘You're the only man I've ever wanted,' she answered against his mouth. He took her mouth again, his hands moving over her shoulders, then he brought his palm over her breast.

He let it rest there, waiting to see what she would do. Her nipple rose with a fevered arousal and she felt an answering rush between her legs. She knew, if she allowed it, he would become her lover this night.

His thumb caressed the erect tip and she shifted her legs together at the aching sensation. Temptation warred with good sense and she captured his hand with hers.

‘When you return,' she whispered. She could not surrender her innocence to him, not when he might be forced to wed another.

He sat up, leaning her body back against him. ‘I've brought you a gift to remember me by.' In her palm, he pressed a small pouch.

Laren unwrapped the leather and poured out a handful of glass droplets. Vivid blue, green and red mingled with white, in a jewelled handful.

‘They're beautiful,' she breathed.

‘Father Nolan made them. They reminded me of the treasures I'd give to you, if I could.'

The cool glass warmed beneath her fingers and she held one up to examine it more closely. As she studied them, she wondered how they were made. She knew the priest used sand and fire, but no one dared to interrupt him while he was forging his magic.

Alex kissed her again, holding her close. Though she desired him, she was afraid of what the future might hold.

And, most of all, she feared losing him.

A
bone-deep exhaustion settled within him. Every muscle in his body ached and Alex wanted nothing more than to find a place to sleep for the next fortnight. But he couldn't.

Despite working since sunrise, they'd done little more than clear away the wreckage. The mood within Glen Arrin was unsettled, for they were exposed, their weaknesses bared to any enemy who happened to draw near.

He closed his eyes, knowing the violence would come. Robert Fitzroy, the Baron of Harkirk, had retreated after the last battle, but Alex had no doubt that the English baron was merely biding his time.

The silence unnerved him more than any direct attack. He sensed, within his blood, that Harkirk would strike again. It was a matter of when, not if.

The heaviness of the clan's fate rested upon his shoulders and he could feel their doubts. He'd heard more than a few whispers today, questioning his leadership. But this was
his
clan. He would do whatever was necessary to
keep them safe, even if they were reduced to ashes and sackcloth.

They were his people. His family.

His brother Bram approached, his expression dark, as though he didn't want to bear bad news. ‘I've heard talk of several men wanting to leave. They have family among the other clans.'

‘I won't let that happen.' Alex adjusted the bandage on his arm, knowing that if a few left, others would follow.

‘And how could you stop them?'

‘It won't come to that.' He walked alongside Bram through the remains of the keep. ‘Tonight I'll speak to them.'

When he passed several of his kinsmen, he didn't miss the despair and hopelessness on their faces as they worked to gather up what remained of their belongings. It wouldn't be easy to convince them, but as their chief it was his responsibility to care for them.

He passed Brodie, who was holding the hand of his three-year-old son. The child struggled to pick up a stone that was nearly as big as he was, his face pursed with effort. Brodie put his arms around his son and helped him to lift up the stone, before setting it down upon the wall.

The fist of grief caught Alex so hard that he blinked back the emotion. It had been almost three years now. Their son would have been the same age as this child. He could almost imagine it in his mind, and when Brodie stood, holding his son's hand, Alex felt the emptiness of his own palm.

It's in the past,
he told himself.
You have two daughters. Be thankful for what you have.

In the distance, Dougal was returning with Mairin and Adaira riding alongside him in the wagon. Nairna and
Laren approached a short distance behind. There was exhaustion in his wife's bearing and he didn't understand why she'd defied him again.

He increased his pace to meet her, when he reached her side, he saw the defensive expression rise up. From the way she clutched her side, she was in pain. He couldn't understand why she would exert herself, simply to get away from everyone else.

‘You took the girls for a walk?' he confirmed, nodding toward his daughters, who were tormenting poor Dougal with their chatter.

‘Aye. You wanted me to keep them away from the fortress.'

‘I meant for you to rest and keep them with you.' He suspected she'd known his wishes; she'd simply chosen to ignore them.

The more he thought of it, the more he realised that they'd been gone for several hours outside. It was freezing and a thin layer of ice coated the loch. Laren wouldn't expose the girls to that kind of cold. When he studied his daughters, he noted that they didn't appear in any sort of discomfort. Their cheeks were rosy, their smiles bright.

‘Where did you take the girls?'

She looked startled, as if she hadn't expected him to confront her. ‘Just on a walk. Nowhere, really.'

‘For several hours?' He moved closer, his gaze narrowed.

‘Well, I—'

‘Don't lie to me,' he demanded. He reached out to touch the back of her neck and, upon her skin, he felt warmth and a slight perspiration. The aroma of wood smoke clung to her hair. ‘You went inside somewhere, didn't you?'

Laren coloured, but didn't deny it. ‘Yes. We went to
Father Nolan's cavern.' She backed away from his touch and he let his hand fall to his side. From the fear in her eyes, he knew there was far more that she hadn't said.

‘Why?' The cavern had been abandoned for several years, ever since the old priest had died.

‘I—I'll tell you later,' she stammered. ‘But not here.'

He heard the tremor in her voice, and her blue eyes were downcast. It startled him to see her so uncertain, almost as if she were guilty about something. What was she hiding?

‘Send the girls to Vanora and Ross tonight,' he gritted out, releasing her from his grasp. ‘I want to talk to you alone.'

Her face flushed with uneasiness. ‘I have to prepare food for the girls. They need a meal before they go to sleep.'

It was a feeble excuse not to go. But then his gaze moved down to her hands and he caught the traces of blood upon them.

‘You're bleeding again.' It was a foolish observation and it infuriated him that she refused to stop and take care of herself.

‘It will stop,' she whispered. ‘I'll rest and it will be fine.'

He softened his tone. ‘Let Vanora take care of the girls. And let me take care of you.' Without waiting for the refusal he knew would come, he left Laren's side and went to the older matron. Ross's wife sent him a pointed look, but she agreed to look after their daughters.

The afternoon sky darkened, Alex gave orders for Dougal to bring him a horse and supplies for the night. Laren's gaze was focused upon the girls. When she understood that he wasn't giving her a choice, her displeasure was evident.

He didn't care. Right now, he needed to confront his wife, to understand what she was hiding from him.

The more he thought of it, the more he realised that she had never confided in him. Over the past two years, she'd hidden herself away, keeping her own secrets.

Tonight, he wanted to learn exactly what they were.

 

Alex helped Laren onto the horse, bringing a torch with him as he led the animal into the forest. The light dappled the edges of the leaves, filtering the golden sun amid the oaks and fir trees. Nothing was said throughout the half-hour journey, and when at last he brought the horse to a stop, Laren stared at the circle of stones, her face stricken.

‘Why did you bring me here?'

‘You know why.' He wanted her to remember the way things had once been between them. The circle was where they had first fallen in love. It seemed like the best place to begin again.

Laren walked forwards, resting her hand upon one of the stones. ‘It's been a long time since we were here.'

He'd brought her here every Beltaine, where they had celebrated the feast in each other's arms, in remembrance of their wedding night. But after the children were born, it had become more difficult to get away. Laren was reluctant to leave Mairin and, over time, their circle had been forgotten.

When he turned back to her, he saw that she'd sat down. Her gloved hands resting upon her skirts, as the dying sunlight sank below the horizon.

‘You don't have to wear those,' he offered, pointing to her gloves.

‘I'm more comfortable with them on.'

Alex didn't argue. He supposed her hands were cold,
now that winter was upon them. While he set up their tent, a thousand questions and demands poured through his mind. He struggled to keep his frustration within manageable boundaries. But the longer she held herself apart, the more he wondered how to begin.

They were alone now, with no one to stare at them or whisper. But Laren didn't even look at him. He supposed her injury was bothering her. His own arm ached, but he was more accustomed to working through discomfort.

Against the fading sunlight, her hair gleamed like reddened flames. Laren was as beautiful to him now as she'd been on the day he'd married her. Her skin was milky smooth, her body slender.

‘Do you remember the last time we were here?' he ventured at last.

She leaned against one of the standing stones, her hand pressed to her side. ‘It was before Mairin was born, I think.' A softness came over her, and she added, ‘We were so young then.'

He came to stand closer to her, and the sun began to dip lower. Abruptly, Laren released a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

‘What is it?'

‘You asked me if I found the stones inspiring.' Her mouth tipped into a smile at the sight of the phallic monoliths.

‘And did you?'

‘Sometimes.' Her face held the softness of the past, like the woman he'd first wed. She held her hand to her wounded side and rested against the standing stone. He reached out and moved a lock of her hair that had fallen against her cheek. When he kept his hand on her face, he saw the sudden confusion in her green eyes.

‘There was a time, before we married, when we came here just to be together. Now, you spend every possible moment far away from me.'

She didn't deny it and her silence made him break away.

‘I want to know why, Laren.'

 

‘I'm not avoiding you.' It hadn't started out that way, though she supposed it might seem so to him. She'd needed to bury herself in work, to shut out the rest of the world. And when she'd discovered her love of glasswork, she'd sought out every possible moment to work on it.

‘Aren't you?'

Laren shook her head. She closed her eyes, the sudden pain of her wound drawing her attention. Her hand felt wet against her side. When she leaned against the stone the earth swayed beneath her feet.

Alex didn't miss the sudden shift in her posture. When he touched her hand, she inhaled sharply at the gentle pressure against her side.

‘Show me your wound,' he demanded.

There was anger in his voice and she tried to placate him by offering, ‘Vanora gave me a poultice for it and it will heal.'

Her husband stepped in front of her, his dark eyes shadowed with an unnamed emotion while his hand rested upon a sheathed dirk. ‘Remove the gown, Laren. Unless you want me to cut it off.'

The sudden image of his blade slicing through the wool made her imagine the layers of clothing falling away until she was naked before him. The vision was strangely erotic. She knew Alex would never hurt her, but the man standing in front of her now was filled with anger and sexual frustration.

He wanted her. She could see it in the tension from his shoulders, in the way his eyes were watching. Laren considered whether or not to simply show him the wound through the torn seam. Yet a sudden sense of rebellion rose up within her. It was his idea to take her away from everyone else, to spend the night alone with her. All day, he'd issued commands and orders, treating her like a child.

But she wasn't at all a child. She was a woman with thoughts and feelings of her own. A woman he'd pushed aside, only sparing her a glance from time to time. And a part of her wanted him to know what he'd been missing these past months.

Instead of revealing the wound, she loosened the ties of the long gown. With her eyes locked upon his, she turned her back to him. ‘It hurts to lift my arms over my head. You'll have to remove the gown for me.'

He was silent and she didn't dare turn around. She withdrew her arms inside the sleeves, and Alex came up behind her to help lift the gown away. As he did, his hands grazed the side of her breasts, sending an unexpected jolt through her. He'd done that on purpose. A shiver rocked through her. Once he'd removed the outer gown, she stood in her shift.

The frigid air heightened her sensitivity and her nipples grew taut against the fabric. Alex didn't turn her around, but he pulled back the poultice and examined her wound. ‘You have torn the stitches.'

‘I'll fix the bandage. It will be all right.'

‘No. Let me.' He loosened her shift and slowly lowered the garment to her waist, baring the wound. In the cold night air, she shivered, feeling exposed, but she didn't bother to cover her naked breasts.

Alex removed the wet bandage and the poultice, but as his hands passed over her body she felt the fierce heat and a slight tremble in his palms.

He tore a length of cloth from his tunic and she eyed him ruefully. ‘I'll have to mend that later.'

‘I don't care.' Gently, he adjusted the poultice against her wound and bound the new bandage around her waist. He kept the pressure tight, but not enough to hurt her. As his hands moved over her flesh, she couldn't help but think of how long it had been since he'd last touched her.

Or since he'd kissed her.

His hands rested at the edges of the shift, when she realised he wasn't going to touch her any more, Laren fumbled with her undergarment. Alex raised it to cover her breasts and then let her go. ‘You should be all right until the morn.'

‘Thank you.' She hid her disappointment and, once more, felt his disapproval intruding upon the moment.

She crossed her arms over her body; when he stared at her, she didn't have to feign a shiver.

‘I'm not going to bother you,' he said, an edge in his tone. ‘I'm not so undisciplined that I would take you when you're hurt.'

‘I know it.' Even so, her face warmed with embarrassment, as if he'd read her thoughts. Then she realised that not once had she seen his own wound from the battle. ‘How is your arm?'

He pulled back the sleeve to bare a reddened gash. The edges were holding together, but when she examined his wound, she could feel the tension in his stance. ‘You shouldn't have been lifting stones all day.'

‘And what were you doing all day?' he parried back. She
took a step back, for she hadn't anticipated the question so soon.

She closed her eyes, seeking the right words to tell him about the glass. At last, she offered, ‘I have work of my own that I do. I—I make…things.' She waited for a heart-stopping moment, hoping he would ask what they were, that he would show interest in her.