The Highlander's Sin (15 page)

She turned her back on him and stalked toward the opening of the cave.

A pain centered in his chest, spreading outward, making him feel like someone had stabbed a sword straight through his heart. What was that feeling? Guilt? Not entirely. ’Twas more like heartbreak.

How could his heart break when it had never been in one piece? He gazed at her backside, her long hair curling and waving down to the tops of her buttocks. Locks that were a mixture of damp and dry, tickling the spot he’d just clutched. Her buttocks formed a perfect heart shape. She hooked a foot behind her ankle and leaned against the opening.

Did she contemplate running naked in the rain in her haste to escape him?

He was worse than a cad. Worse than the most vile of men. Teasing her. Taunting her. Mocking her. She’d never know how much he truly wished he could have seen their fates changed. But wishes were merely that, and not truths. He’d barely been able to piece his own life together, still r
unning without having gone to accept his own true destiny. Hiding beneath the shroud of his priest’s robes.

Duncan picked up her blanket and walked slowly toward her. He slid the warm wool over her shoulders
, and she accepted it without a word.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he murmured. “I’m a broken man, forcing the shards of my darkness on
to ye.”

Heather di
dn’t turn around, but spoke to the howling winds. “We are all broken in our own way. Ye can only find yourself if ye’re willing to pick up the shards.”

He’d never heard wiser words. Not even the
prior or priests at Pluscarden had been able to give him better advice. They’d only advised that he pray, that he attempt to move on. Not until he’d met this wisp of a woman had anyone ever told him he ought to deal with his destruction. To face it head-on.

“Ye’re right.”

Heather turned around, her eyes pleading. “Take me to Wallace. I will never tell anyone that ye stole me. Please, just let me fulfill my destiny, and ye can go about fulfilling yours.”

Duncan gazed down at the woman he’d
abducted, the woman who’d made him question everything in his own life, and yet he’d barely known her for more than a couple of days.

He shook his head. “I canna.”

Anger stabbed from her eyes. “I see. Then ye are not willing to make a change. Ye will always be an evil coward. Ye’re not fit to wear those black robes.” She bumped past him and went to sit before the fire.

Her words sliced through him easier than any blade. He’d not realized how much she’d come to mean to him, how much her opinion mattered. He didn’t want her to think he was evil. Nor a coward. He was willing to do what it took to protect her. But one man wasn’t strong enough to save her from an entire brooding clan.
“’Tis not like that, lass. If I dinna deliver ye, they will only go after your family.”

“An empty threat meant to force me to your will,” she muttered.

“I speak the truth,” Duncan said. “Those who’ve paid me want your family dead. All of them. This is just the beginning. A call to war.”

“Tell me who they are.”

What could it hurt now? By this time tomorrow, storm willing, they’d be at the inn where he would say goodbye to her. “Lady Ina Ross.”

All the color drained from Heather’s face as though she’d seen a ghost and kn
ew her life was over. “God save me.”

Chapter Fourteen

H
eather knew that it’d be a miracle if the good Lord reached down from the sky and altered the events that were playing out before her. The slim chances of that happening meant she had to rely on three alternatives.

One, she could pray mightily hard that her brothers were able to track them through the storm and f
ind this cave. But, in that case, they would most likely kill Duncan. His death was not something she prayed for. If anything, she wished to give him a hard slap of sense. To help him set his path straight, whatever it might be, and oh, how she wished that future might have had something to do with her—another impossibility.

The second alternative was even more unlikely than the first, and that was that she’d somehow persuade Duncan to forget this harebrained plan and let her go. The Rosses were a force to be reckoned with. She didn’t doubt that. Ina Ross, daughter to the late laird, had been no doubt planning the demise of the Sutherland clan ever since they’d killed her father. And her husband—ironically an English noble, Sir
Marmaduke Stewart—had also been biding his time. He’d been betrothed to Magnus’ wife, Arbella. But Magnus had swept in and stolen her away. That hadn’t sat well with the prideful lout. He’d married Ina because in her there had been a kindred spirit, but not the healthy kind. The two of them had been stewing for the past several years, causing little disturbances here and there, but Duncan had been right when he’d said they were planning a war.

Her fate with them would be death. There was no doubt in her mind. She might as well give her confession now and pray it was quick.

That left only the third option, which seemed her best shot—herself.

“Ye know of Lady Ross
and her English husband, then?”

Heather gave him a questioning glance. “Where have
ye been, Duncan?”

He seemed startled by her question, but he didn’t reply.

“They are our clan’s worst enemy. All of the Highlands knows it, even the Bruce. The late Laird Ross ran Wallace and his men ragged with his schemes alongside the English king. We killed him three years or so ago, and then his idiotic daughter and stupid Sassenach husband became our problem.”

“I do seem to remember some issue with the Ross clan a few years back.”

Heather rolled her eyes and asked again, “Where have ye been?”

“Busy.”

“So busy that ye didna notice what was going on in the world around ye? Did ye nay have to bless any warriors or give last rites to the dead?”

“I bless few.”

“And I’m sure many thank ye for that.”

“What do ye mean by that?”

“How good is the blessing of a sinner?”

Duncan’s face fell
for an instant before he recovered himself, and she felt instantly sorry for her harsh words.

“I’m sorry
,” she said.

“When I was a boy, my family was massacred by an enemy clan, my priest cut down right before my eyes. My home burned, and the only refuge I had from our enemies was within the church. And my only solace was accepting mercenary missions with the intent of gaining strength for the time I met with my enemies. I dinna need your pity, nor do I care to hear more of your offending words.”

Heather swallowed. The way he glared daggers at her made her wish she could sink into the stone. It was sinister, angry, and yet the edges were rimmed with something that didn’t quite match such emotions—regret. “What is the name of the enemy clan?”

She almost h
ated to hear the answer. Though she must know, he’d nearly said it before. He’d been so adamant on taking her and it not being for coin—there was only one other reason it could be.

“Sutherland.”

Heather’s heart skipped a beat. Her vision wavered. Before he’d answered, she’d thought he might say it. But there’d been just a small amount of hope that he would say someone else’s name, that he’d not blame her family for the destruction of his, even if the facts were clear. No matter how much she felt a strong pull toward him, it could not be reciprocated. Even his kisses… What had they meant?

She pulled her knees in tight to her chest, as if they could be a shield to the damaging information he’d just relayed. “Ye must be mistaken,” she answered.

Duncan glared at her and slowly shook his head. “Ye would deny me the truth?”

“What truth?” She raised her shoulders in a partial shrug and met his gaze. “What should I know? What should I be telling ye?”

He studied her, and she could practically see him mulling his answer over his tongue before he spoke. Duncan had a good straight face—one that hid every thought—but the emotions that must have been rolling through him at that moment were not allowing him to hide from her.

“Duncan, I’m sorry for whatever was done to your family. But I,” she shook her head, “I wasn’t a part of that. Please dinna hold it against me.”

“There are casualties in every war.”

His response chilled her.
“Am I to be a causality?” Images of him choking the life from her, slitting her throat with his threatening blade—all of it came to mind.

As if in answer, the blade she’d shoved into her boot came to mind. If only she could reach it. She could pull it out, put it to good use. At least she’d be able to put up some fight against him. If she could get to it. He’d no doubt win whether she had a blade or nay. Not that she wouldn’t try her damnedest to send him to the devil if it came to it. The thing was…she studied his muscles, the way they clenched and bunched. Pure strength. She wasn’t built to fight against a power like his. Her mind had always been her first defense.

“Answer me.” She was proud when her voice came out strong, fortified. Letting him get to her was out of the question.

“I canna.”

“Ye’re a coward.”

Duncan shifted suddenly closer, his arm so close to the flames she was sure his flesh would ignite. “One thing I’m not is a
coward.
”

But she could see the doubt flicker in his eyes. He wasn’t as confident as he would have her believe.

“Do ye have a soul in the world?” She hadn’t meant to ask it, to remind him that he was all alone. The thought had spun in her mind and shot out of her mouth before she had had a chance to temper it.

Duncan sat back heavily. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Is there anyone ye can count on, truly?”

“I have the monks at
Pluscarden. The prior.”

Heather shook her head. “But ye’re an outcast. Not truly one of them.”

The muscle of his jaw flexed, and he ran a hand over his face, tracing the outline of his chin. “Ye’ve a sassy mouth, wench, and I’ve a likely need to stuff it.”

Heather gasped, recalling how real his threat to gag her had been. She was lucky not to have been bound and silenced already. A small jab of pain centered in her gut. She supposed a part of her had thought he was starting to take a liking to her… Their kisses had been so passionate, so genuine and had made her start to question things she’d long since thought to have laid to rest. The idea that Duncan was only mocking her, never truly wanting anything more than to exact revenge on her family, cut her to the core. “Ye’re a barbarian.”

Duncan laughed bitterly. “And ye’re a spoiled child.”

She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at him, knowing that would only strengthen his observation of her, however false it was. Spoiled… Hardly. Heather had always made certain she was an active part of her family. She earned her keep and never sat up in her chamber whiling the day away with talk of gowns and the latest hairstyle.

“Ye know nothing about me, other than what ye heard from Ina Ross, and she’s as reliable a source as the squirrels rummaging around in the trees.”

“Tell me, then, lass, what makes ye think ye’re not spoiled? Do ye have a nice hot meal every morning to break your fast, at the nooning and again afore ye go to bed between your soft sheets with a fire built up to keep ye warm?”

“Having food to eat and a warm bed does not make me spoiled.”

“It does when I grew up
with a crust of bread and water and a bed so cold I woke up with an icicle on my nose every morn in winter.”

Heather shuddered. “Ye lie.”

Duncan bared his teeth. “I never lie.”

“Lying is a sin.”

“Aye.”

“And ye’re no sinner?”

“Not in that way.”

Heather grunted, wanting nothing more to do with this conversation. She couldn’t help it that her brother was a powerful laird, willing to keep her basic needs met in a way that was superior to Duncan’s upbringing. But what more could she say? She couldn’t change his mind. And she wasn’t really willing to try.

The rain still fell in horrid droves outside, and the wind howled. Lucky for them, the trees and shrubs kept the wind from tunneling inside their warm cave. But as soon as it was over, Duncan would likely make them leave.

Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. She wasn’t going to ask him for mercy on her belly. Her sopping wet gown and chemises still lay crumpled where she’d left them. Darn. If she didn’t lay them out now, they’d still be wet by the time he chose for them to leave, and she didn’t want to risk the chance of him making her leave naked. Lord knew, he might do just that. Escaping naked was most definitely not part of the plan.

Heather managed to sit up on her knees. Her back to Duncan, she tucked the ends of the blanket beneath her arms to hold it in place, and then gingerly went about laying her clothes flat to dry.

When she finished the last chemise, the side of the cave looked like it had a carpet of tarnished white linen and ribbons. The white pattern was marred only by the dirtiness of her once-lavender gown, now more of a dingy-looking gray.

She turned back to the fire, her fingers cold from having handled the wet fabric. Duncan seemed to be waiting for her.

“Sit,” he ordered.

As soon as she’d plopped down, he handed her a strip of jerky and an oatcake. She eyed the offering with disdain, remembering the last meal consisting of these same items—extremely unpleasant.

“Eat.”

Heather rolled her eyes, ignoring the way he spoke to her in one-syllable words. If he wanted to act like a brute, she need not get her goad up about it. She was already well aware the man had a rough side. Staying away from it was how she’d survive the short time they had left with each other.

But thinking about being separated from Duncan, even though she despised him, made her stomach plummet. She didn’t really want to be away from him. If anything, she wished he’d shake off that brooding exterior and kiss her again. When he kissed her, she felt like she was soaring, as though she could do anything in the world. It was powerful, intoxicating, and she hated to admit that she wanted more.
As much as he made fire rage through her blood, he tempted other, deeper emotions, too. Emotions she wasn’t sure she could ignore much longer.

Across the fire, Duncan attacked his jerky with vigor. He fairly gnashed his teeth, but all the while he kept flicking his gaze at her. What in all of the world was he thinking?

Stubborn herself, Heather refused to ask. Instead, she, too, bit down on the jerky as though she’d perish without it. When she finished her piece, another was flung into her hands. By the end of the second piece, when Duncan tossed her a third, she simply flung it back.

“I wouldn’t eat another piece of jerky if my life depended on it,” she snapped.

“Well, then, suppose ’tis a good thing ye’re not going off to find Wallace. Men in a war camp live for days off jerky and nothing else.”

“’Tis vile.”

“Like your attitude,” he ground out.

“Hateful man
.”

“Spiteful wench.”

Heather stifled a cry of outrage, leapt to her feet and whirled in a circle, searching for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. She wanted to hit him, to club him over the head with a thick piece of wood. But there was no spare wood to be had, and if she trekked to the back of the cave to find his stash, he would know what she was doing. With a huff, she sat back down.

“As I said. Spoiled.”