The Highlander's Sin (8 page)

“’Tis all right, lass. The thing is dead.”

“But there…there might be others.” She shuddered.

“None that we canna handle.”

“Dinna leave me alone again.” Heather pressed her forehead to his shoulder and drew in a few quaking breaths.

“I
will not.” It wasn’t a promise he was certain he could keep—in fact, it was one he knew he would ultimately break. “Come, now, let us get some rest. There’s a storm brewing, which will likely make our journey tomorrow all the more difficult. We’ll need our energy.”

Heather nodded her agreement and allowed Duncan to put her on her feet. He took hold of her hands, tugging them from around his neck
, and led her over to their makeshift bed, now a jumble of woolen plaids, a gown and a robe. The looks of a love nest if he’d been a stranger observing. But there were no nude bodies here, nor any lovers. And he wasn’t a stranger observing, but the man actually living through this odd sequence of events.

“Can ye please light a fire? Or a torch or something? I d
inna think I’ll be able to sleep in the dark.”

Duncan straightened out the plaids and rolled her gown back up into a plump pillow. “Lass, if I light a fire, the smoke and light will draw in every predator on two legs within viewing distance. A torch may do the same.”

“A candle?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

Even now the room was becoming gr
ay. The only reason it wasn’t completely black was the full moon shining through the gaping hole in the roof above them.

“I will light a candle.” That much he could do for her. As soon as she was asleep, he’d blow it out to save the precious wax.

Seeming satisfied, Heather knelt on the plaid before rolling onto her side and curling up into a ball, facing away from him.

Duncan rummaged through his sack for a candle and flint. He lit the wick and set it in a makeshift holder he fashioned with a piece of wood.

“Thank ye,” she said meekly.

“Ye’re welcome.”
He studied the way she lay so vulnerable, shoulders sunken in. All the fight had gone out of the poor lass.

Poor lass
. Here he was, the one who’d stolen her away, and he was feeling sorry for her, empathizing with her plight. But it wasn’t just that he felt sorry for her. She’d hit something deep inside him. He’d never reacted the way he did to her with any other captive. Heather was not the first beautiful, feisty woman he’d been paid to abduct.

There was something different about her
, though. The quirk of her brow or the way her lips curled mischievously when she smiled. The spark of fire in her unusually colored eyes. How she was willing to fight with him, despite his threats, and even how she seemed to take his abducting her as a bit of adventure.

Odd, truly, that she would interpret it that way. But it only made him admire her more.

Duncan shook himself out of staring at her and lay down on top of the plaid, elbows bent and his hands behind his head. He stared up into the rafters, watching the way the small amount of flame from the candle made large slow-moving shadows on the old wood. Within a year’s time, what was left of the roof would likely fall.

There were char marks on the walls, and he guessed it was from a fire, though he could never be certain whether it was from the siege laid to this place or a campfire gone wild. He’d been drawn here since he was an adolescent.
He’d been on a week-long hunt-and-gather with the other monks of Pluscarden when he’d happened upon it. They’d often gone on these journeys, looking for new plant life and animals that didn’t live in the vicinity of their abbey.

The
prior had been inquisitive, scientific even, although he believed wholeheartedly in God being the almighty healer in all things—he’d also believed the Lord had given them everything within their reach to see his potential grow and will be done.

But the prior had not adventured with them that time. A younger, more adventurous monk had taken them out, and his excitement at finding these ruins had been addictive. From that moment on, whenever they’d left the abbey, Duncan had tried to make his way back here. When others had found it foreboding, he’d found comfort in its walls.

Almost like it were home. But that was impossible. His home was far north of here.

Beside him, Heather’s breathing slowed and grew even. Falling asleep had not taken her long. He was surprised. Most of his captives stayed up all night worrying themselves sick over what would happen when the morning came.

Heather must have been extremely exhausted—or she trusted him to keep her safe. A jest if there ever was one. How could she trust him when he was her enemy?

Duncan leaned up on his elbow and blew out the c
andle. The scent of the snuffed-out wick surrounding them. He yanked off his shirt, leaving his plaid in place. When he lay back down, Heather murmured something in her sleep and rolled toward him, flinging a warm leg over his thighs and an arm across his chest, her fingers stroking lightly across his nipple.

He jerked with her touch, but she only murmured something else unintelligible, then sighed. This wasn’t a jest
. She was well and truly asleep.

Ballocks. It was going to be a long,
long
night.

Chapter Seven

H
eather woke with a start, trembling from a nightmare—a rat jumping like a crazed loon straight for her throat. Sweat dripped over her temples, soaking the tresses that framed her face.

But what she
actually woke to was even scarier than a heathen rat. She was cocooned in warmth and hard, male flesh. She was lying on her side, her legs entangled with Duncan’s muscled thighs—crisp hairs tickling her calf and the bottom of her foot. And her arm was draped so casually over his bare chest, as though it belonged there, palm flat over his steadily beating heart.

Pushing up on her elbow, she saw that Duncan was wide awake, gazing at her with an odd expression she couldn’t decipher.
Watching her. How long had he known they lay like this, and why hadn’t he attempted to remove her?

“Ye’re finally awake,” he muttered, his voice tight.

“Aye,” Heather breathed, carefully removing herself from his amazing form. She gazed at him, nude from the waist up and only the plaid blanket covering his lower half. “Ye were dressed before.” Her heart kicked up a notch.

“I’m still dressed.” He tugged down the
blanket, showing he wore his own tartan wrapped around his waist.

Thank goodness for at least being partially clothed. She cleared her throat.
“Where is your shirt?”

He raised a brow and picked it up from beside him. “Right here. I was hot. Have ye never seen a man’s chest?”

None that had ever made her stare, nor feel such tingly heat… Broad shoulders. Thick, corded muscles. Dark, swirling chest hair.

“Of course I have,” she retorted. “I do have three brothers.”

Duncan rolled up, displaying a wicked crunch of abdominal muscles. If she’d had a fan, the accoutrement would have been put to full use. Heather found her mouth suddenly dry, her heart pounding as though she’d faced the rat again. But this was no rat by far, but something infinitely more sinister—she was starting to
like
her captor.

To anticipate…
What? A kiss?

Heather leapt up from her makeshift bed and planted her hands on her hips. “Why were ye touching me?” She didn’t
bother to curb the accusation.

Duncan shook his head and grinned at her like she was a silly child. “Och, lass, did ye not see that ye were the one touching me? I but lay there
enjoying your attention.”

“And
allowed
it.” She narrowed her eyes until they were little slits and she could barely see, hoping he would finally take heed of the seriousness of the situation.

Duncan laughed. “Ye look like a fool when ye try to glare too hard.”

Heather gasped and removed her hands from her hips, crossing them instead over her chest, as though to protect herself from his assault on her pride. The man was full of rubbish and an imbecile to boot. She sniffed. “I am not a fool.”

“Then admit it.”
His lopsided grin was starting to irritate her immensely.

“Admit what? I just told ye I’m no fool.”

Duncan stood up, his muscles unfolding in such a display of raw male power, Heather was stunned speechless. Arms fell from their crossed position. It seemed like every breath she took hinged on watching the display of masculinity. Her eyes roved over the breadth of his chest, the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms. She dared not look lower, because there was a tempting line of hair and muscle that seemed to arrow just beneath his plaid. Instinctively, she knew if she looked
there
, it would only lead to something more. The details of what
something
was, she wasn’t sure, but it most likely involved kissing, and that, they’d both decided, was not a good idea to repeat.

“Admit ye were touching me.”

Heather looked up toward the rafters, in part because she was praying for patience, but also because she had to take her eyes off of his chest. “Put a shirt on,” she snapped.

“Admit it first.”

She flung her arms out in exasperation. “Fine! I was the one touching ye. But I will not admit that I did it on purpose. I must have rolled over in my sleep and touched ye by accident.”

“If ye say so. I say ye cuddled next to me and purred all the night through.”
He winked. Slowly.

Just that little blip of eyelid movement sent a tremor of excitement through her, followed whiplash fast by a sweeping anger.
“Ye’re a cad!”

“Ah, ah, ah!”
he warned, advancing toward her with two predatory steps. “Do ye recall what I said would happen if ye called me such things?”

Heather growled out her frustration and leapt backward, careful not to fall on any of the mess that surrounded them. “I dinna like ye very much, Priest.”

He only chuckled, but he did stop coming toward her. “Well, princess, that makes two of us.”

Pain squeezed inside her chest. Why did she care what he thought
, and why did it hurt to hear he didn’t like her? Heather gritted her teeth. It shouldn’t matter. They seemed to be at a standoff, both of them glaring each other down as if in the next second or two they might attack each other.

“Let us pack up then, so y
e can be sure to quickly dispose of me. I’ve a need to get away from ye just as much as ye appear to need to get away from me.” She snatched her makeshift pillow and unraveled it, tugging it over her head and instantly feeling the temperature rise in the room. Taking his advice about reducing her layers would have meant defeat. “Besides, are ye nay just chomping to get your hands on a bit more silver?”

Duncan picked up his shirt from w
here it lay crumpled near his feet. “’Tis not the silver I’m looking forward to. Truth of the matter is, I have plenty to get by on. But the look on your brother’s face when he realizes I’ve got ye, now that will be priceless.”

“But ye
will not have me. The person who hired ye will,” she pointed out.

He smiled cruelly
, sending a shiver of dread racing along her limbs. “Trust me, ye’ll wish it was me that had taken ye.”

“Trust
me,
that will be the last thought that crosses my mind.”

Duncan growled and yanked on his shirt, stuffing it roughly into his plaid and then slamming his arms into his billowing black robes. Hardly the vision one had of a priest
, and she was sad to see all his skin once more covered. She’d rather liked the view.

Heather chewed her lip as she bent to roll up their bedding. She tried to ignore her hurt feelings, but they just kept nagging at her. ’Twas ridiculous that she’d let a man like Duncan get to her
, that every harsh word stung and every kind word made her heart flutter.

She hated him at the same time
that she did not. A confusing mix of emotions swirled inside her mind with him in the dead center of it. How was she supposed to cope with that? Was coping possible?

Having the bedding rolled, she turned to find Duncan readying
his horse for departure. With nimble steps, mostly in hopes of avoiding another rat, but also because her brothers had taught her not to rush a bear, she approached and handed him the blankets.

“Thank ye,” he grumbled.

Heather was a little taken aback that he’d thanked her. She’d half expected him to grab the cloth from her hands and shove it onto the horse before tossing her up on the animal’s back. Beneath his hard exterior, there was definitely a man with heart. If they hadn’t been in the situation they found themselves in, she might have thought she was the woman to help him expose that beating organ.

As it was, she was most definitely, absolutely, positively
not
the woman for him, nor he the man for her.

“Ye’re welcome,” Heather said begrudgingly, hating that her aunt had drilled manners into her
and that she felt the need to impart them on this devil.

How funny that such a mundane exchange of words meant so much more. They were both giving in
, both being cordial when in their situation niceties were the last thing she’d expect.

Niceties would be coming to
an end soon, though, for Heather was certain of one thing—she’d not be present for the exchange of her person to whatever vile villain had paid for her. Though she was loath to admit it, there were a multitude of demons worse than a seductive warrior. She was mostly sure she’d be able to escape, but there was the remote possibility that she wouldn’t. Ending up in the hands of people who would be cruel to her…was frightening. No matter. She just wouldn’t let it happen.

“Is there going to be a need for me to tie ye up?”

Heather swallowed, feeling exposed, as though Duncan had read her mind. Keeping her eyes trained on him, she shook her head. She was half telling the truth. There would be no need for him to tie her up, for that would only delay her ability to run away, the sooner the better.

“Good. Wait here, while I check that the courtyard is clear.” Duncan took a step toward the doors of the great hall that led to the main entryway.

Heather hurried forward, walking beside him. “I’m coming, too. Ye did say ye’d not leave me alone here. And besides…I’ve a need for privacy.” She wasn’t going to try to find an old chamber pot that no one would empty. Nature was her best resource at this point. As a woman of a war camp, she’d have to get used to it.

Duncan grunted, but at least he was giving in. He sped forward, as though trying to shake her, but Heather wasn’t going to be left behind. It may have taken her two steps for
every one of his, and he may have only been walking while she practically ran, but she stayed beside him, or mostly beside him, anyway.

“Stubborn chit,” he grumbled.

The comment only made Heather smile, and a little homesick. How many times had she heard the same thing from her older brothers?

Whenever she
’d become too much of a handful for Magnus, he’d shipped her off to Aunt Fiona and had begged her to learn a thing or two from their stoic relation. He’d lamented that she’d needed a woman to ground her, not just her older brothers. Things had changed slightly, though, when he’d married beautiful Arbella. The English noblewoman had welcomed Heather with open arms—despite her heritage. Heather surmised Arbella must have been Scottish at heart, for how else could her brother have fallen for her? Having Arbella’s approval had also helped Heather get over the fact that she was of the enemy’s blood. Arbella was sweet-natured, kind, intelligent and had a humorous side that Heather found infectious.

She
’d quickly become a mother figure, and the only times Heather’d been sent to Aunt Fiona after that had been when Arbella was too sick from being with child to intervene. But those visits had never been long, because as soon as Arbella had realized Magnus sent her away, she’d made him bring her back—and buy her something pretty, like a new pair of embroidered hose or a hair comb.

Family belonged together. At home. That was what
Arbella said. That Heather shouldn’t be sent away when she got the better of him, but that she should learn to behave better—in the company of her family. Aunt Fiona was family, but she wasn’t responsible for rearing Heather like Magnus was.

But talk had started to change in the recent months since she’d turned nineteen. Talk of marriage. Talk of building Heather’s future as mistress of her own home.

Talk that had made her nauseated.

The very idea of it had spurred her into action. She’d been looking for an excuse to leave home, and learning about the marriage talks and Wallace’s return to Scotland
had been all the push she’d needed to plan her destiny.

And then in
had stepped Father Duncan, or whatever his real name was. Too good to be true, her plans to use him as an escort were backfiring.

They crept through the entryway of the castle, still and quiet, their breath seem
ing to echo in the massive ruins. Duncan peered through the gaping hole where a door used to be attached, then turned back to her and nodded. She was struck by how his nearness, his attention to her, made her shiver.

“All is clear
, go about your business.”