The Highlander's Lady (Highlands Forever Book 1)

by Aileen Adams

  Ann shrugged. “Who is to say whether he loved the wicked thing? But I have heard tales of his riding out to escape his disappointment. Being among his clan, in his home, was too difficult for him. He left the care of the clan to his cousin Elliott while he rode about, gathering the concerns and thoughts of other lairds as to the coming fight. A man needs to do that, I suppose, when he has been spurned for another.”

  One of the cooks asked Ann a question, leading her to leave the table and hurry to the kitchen. Leaving Olivia on her own to wonder just what this other man had that Boyd did not.

  What a foolish girl, the one who had spurned him. Terribly foolish indeed.

  She managed to eat a bit of food before Donnan raised his hands over his head. “Now, I believe there are matters to be handled beyond the keep,” he announced, and with that, there was a great exodus from the hall as all present hurried out of doors for the games which would now be played.

  “I have never seen anything like this,” she confessed to Ann, who linked arms with her and led her behind the rest.

  “Ye will enjoy it,” Ann winked, glancing Boyd’s way.

  “You must cease with that,” Olivia blushed, covering her face with one hand. Just as she suspected, her cheeks were flushed. “You know I am promised to another.”

  “There is no crime in enjoying the sight of a man, my dear,” Ann laughed merrily. “Especially when he is showing off his strength.”

  She certainly hoped not, for there were a great many men rolling up their tunic sleeves in preparation for what was to come. Their women cheered them on, shouting and calling their names as they hurled great boulders across the open field.

  There was no doubt who threw his the furthest, she noted with pleasure and no small bit of pride while nearby men congratulated him.

  Yet she was not the only young, unmarried woman to look favorably on him. The sight of so many other girls—all comely, all nearly swooning over him, all of them giggling and whispering among themselves—set her teeth on edge.

  He did not appear to notice, choosing instead to lift a giggling little girl into his arms and accept the sprig of heather which she presented him. He took it from her tiny fist it with a genuine smile, the late day sun painting his brown hair amber and gold and making him perhaps the most wondrous thing Olivia had ever seen. She could hardly breathe when she looked upon him.

  “Let us see who can pull the cart the furthest!” Donnan called out, gesturing to a cart filled with hay and little else. “Come, lassies, have a seat inside!”

  A dozen young women scurried about, climbing into the cart with squeals of laughter and promises to kiss the man who could pull it the farthest. Ah, this was what Bridget had spoken of.

  It filled Olivia’s heart with no small bit of jealousy. She chewed her bottom lip, arms crossed, watching and pretending not to watch all at once.

  “Go on!” Ann urged, pushing her in the direction of the already loaded cart.

  Olivia shook her head, determined. “No, no, I cannot. There is no place for me there.” No place for her anywhere in this festive occasion, it seemed. That was the way of it. Perhaps she ought to have remained in her chambers, after all.

  They might have been her mother’s people, but they were not hers. They never would be so long as her married life was to be lived in England.

  No, there was more to it than that. She could not imagine being so free and easy, so instantly warm and jovial. It was not the way she was brought up. Ladies did not behave so. The very notion of her father holding such contests in the clearing beside their home all but choked her. No doubt the village vicar would be sent for that he might pray for the earl’s troubled soul.

  It was no surprise when Boyd pulled the cart last that he managed to move it twice as far as even the second-strongest man. By the time he finished, his face was aglow with exertion, his tunic sticking to his chest and setting off any number of inappropriate thoughts in Olivia’s overwrought mind.

  “I dinna think there is any decision to be made!” Donnan called out, taking Boyd’s wrist in one hand and raising it over his head to the joy of everyone gathered around. Even Olivia cheered him, though she took pains to appear detached.

  “Ye know what that means!” one of the men called out, causing a ripple of knowing laughter to move over the crowd.

  She had never seen so many young women hold their breath at once in her life. To her surprise, she found she held her own, watching Boyd as his gaze swept over the girls who pressed in on all sides.

  To her greater surprise, he frowned—just for a moment, so briefly she might have imagined it—before looking up, beyond the circle of girls.

  To her.

  Her eyes widened when they locked with his. Oh, for him to choose her. She would forget everything she’d ever be taught for just a single moment if only he would push his way through the crowd and come to her. She might live on his kiss for the rest of her life, a life spent in marriage to a man she did not know and could never possibly yearn for the way she yearned for the man who now stared at her.

  It was not to be.

  He looked away, choosing a girl and putting an arm about her waist before lowering his head for a brief, hard kiss that caused the other young women to pout and cross their arms and toss their heads in disagreement.

  Olivia did no such thing.

  Olivia turned on her heel and fled to the keep, where she ought to have remained all along.

  8

  There were times when a man could not find his way out of a difficulty.

  Such as having to choose a lass to kiss when the lass he wished to kiss might as well have been as far from him as the moon or the stars surrounding it.

  There was no getting around it, however, and he’d chosen the one nearest him simply to have it over with. When it was over, he searched the crowd for Olivia once again.

  Only to find her missing.

  “Take care, man.” Donnan joined him, handing him a cup of ale that he might refresh himself. “I ken what is on your mind, and ye might think twice.”

  “What are ye on about?” Boyd snorted, even as his chest clenched at the thought of being found out.

  “I saw where ye looked,” Donnan winked. “And I saw her watching ye. But ye know as well as I what folly t’would be, do ye not?”

  Had he been that indiscreet? Had anyone else paid them mind? He did not believe so, as the others were not aware of Boyd escorting Olivia to the keep. They did not know her as anyone other than a cousin to the MacNairs. So he hoped.

  “Aye,” he grunted with a sigh. “I ken too well.”

  “Fine, then.” Donnan moved on to speak to other members of the clan, leaving him on his own.

  It was not fine, and it mattered not that he understood why he ought to leave the lass alone. She was pained, which meant he had likely led her to believe something existed between them which ought not. He owed her an apology.

  At least, this was what he told himself as he made his way through the crowd and into the keep. It was dark and cool inside, leaving his sweat-dampened tunic uncomfortably cool against his overheated skin. Where was she?

  To his astonishment, she emerged from the great hall carrying a wooden platter covered by a piece of linen. Was she now one of the kitchen maids?

  No, he realized upon watching her flee up the stone stairs to the upper floor. She was taking it to her chambers. Little surprise there, as she had eaten hardly a bite during the feasting.

  And he understood then how Donnan had known. He’d been watching her throughout the festivities. Any man with eyes and enough sense could see plain enough that he favored the lass.

  Which was why he ought to remain in place, or better yet return to the festivities out of doors. There would be singing and dancing and blazing fires late into the evening, he knew.

  Yet his feet carried him up the stairs just the same.

  “Lass!” he hissed, following her. “Lass, wait a moment, I beg ye.”

  If a
nything, this made her fly more swiftly than before down the corridor. As if she ran from him. He had half a mind to let her run, for there was only so much begging a man could do before he decided it was not worthwhile.

  She came to a stop at her door, and he caught her there.

  “Why do ye run from me?” he demanded, now angry both with himself and with her.

  Though there was no telling who angered him more.

  “Why did you follow when I did not stop?” she demanded, staring down at the linen-covered platter. “Please. I would like to be alone.”

  “Why did ye leave?”

  “Because I wish to be alone,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “As I said. My head aches, and—”

  “I dinna believe ye.”

  “I do not care whether or not you believe me. It is none of your concern. Now, if you please, I do wish to be alone.” She raised her foot and kicked the door open, causing him no small amount of surprise.

  He watched her enter the room, knowing he ought not enter behind her. That would be too much; men did not enter the private chambers of a woman, no matter who she was or why.

  Unless they were carrying the woman in question because she had swooned in his arms, but that was not the case now.

  Yet he could not leave her. Not like this. Not when he knew he would leave her on the morrow and say goodbye forever.

  It would have to be forever, for he could not return so long as she was present. He could not risk seeing her again. He had already trodden dangerously close to the lass, and there were limits to a man’s resolve.

  Such as his resolve to never, for any reason, fall in love again. Not after what he had already suffered. Wounded pride, dashed hopes. The bairns he would never see thanks to a faithless woman.

  Yet his wounded pride seemed to fall away when he caught sight of the curve of a certain throat. The way the lass before him carried her head, with such pride. The way she laughed at herself, as he would never expect a lass of her station to laugh. The brief flashes of spirit which she did so labor to suppress.

  If he had his way, she would be free to reveal that spirited side. How he would have loved to know her better.

  Yes, it was for the best that he leave and never breathe her name again.

  For now, though, he stood outside her chamber door. “I canna leave ye this way,” he murmured, careful to look up and down the corridor for fear of being seen. The chances of it were slim, as even the maids had left the keep to enjoy themselves.

  “Why? Why can you not?” She slammed the platter on a small table beside the fireplace before whirling on him. “Why? I want you to. I need you to. Please, go.”

  “Need? Why need, lass?”

  “I-it does not matter,” she spat. “Go. Go back out there to those who would adore you and beg for your kisses. You will not find that here.”

  “Ye are angry with me, then, for not having kissed ye?”

  All of the color left her face at once, so quickly that he feared she might swoon again.

  Swoon she did not. Instead, she flew to him, fists clenched, and pounded on his chest with both of them at once. “How dare you?” she demanded, and for a moment he feared her scream might bring someone on the run.

  “Hush, lass,” he implored, holding her fists still. He’d hardly felt the blow from them. She was not very strong, nor were her fists large. In fact, he thought he might be able to hold both of them in one of his own. “Ye will bring Donnan.”

  “Good! I hope he does come on the run so he can know, so they all can know, what a beast you are. How very fond of yourself you must be, Boyd MacPherson, even thinking I would care that you kissed another woman. What does it matter to me? Why would you even say such a thing? I am—”

  Anything else she’d been about to say was lost forever when his restraint broke, and he took her in his arms, her fists caught between them, and covered her mouth with his. For, while he had not learned a great many lessons in his life worth remembering, he knew the look and sound of a woman simply yearning to be kissed.

  Never had he so longed to kiss the woman in question, however. That was entirely new.

  There was a moment when she froze solid, as if so caught by surprise she knew not what to do. He thought in a panic that she might fight him, that he had made the worst mistake of his manhood by kissing her this way.

  But it was not a mistake, for a moment later she melted against him. He held her tighter, indulging himself in her full, firm figure, so small and helpless against his much larger body. Her lips, sweet and yielding, parting for him. Her soft sigh, the sigh of a woman lost. Sinking deeper and deeper into a kiss he wished might never end.

  “Olivia,” he breathed, barely removing his mouth from hers before plunging down for another kiss, and another, taking all he dared. Drinking her in like a man dying of thirst would gulp down the precious water afforded him. And she gave so willingly, even joyfully.

  He groaned, barely restraining himself, barely holding back. His body had other ideas, however, causing him to tremble from the effort it took to control his desire.

  This was what forced him to release her and take a backward step before he regretted what happened next. What was worse, she would regret it, and he could never forgive himself.

  She had the look of a woman who had just been thoroughly kissed—skin flushed, lips red and a bit swollen, her chest rising and falling with each sharp gasp for air. She swayed a bit, as if finding her balance.

  “I wished to kiss ye out there in front of them all,” he admitted, his own breathing ragged and uneven. “Why do ye think I found ye, lass? Why I looked for ye at all? But ye must know that I could not do any such thing in front of them, for they know nothing of ye. And they would wish to if I had chosen ye.”

  She blinked, eyes wide. “I see,” she breathed.

  There was much more he wished to say, but could not, for he could make little sense of it for himself. There was no hope of making sense once it began to pour from his mouth.

  Besides, there was no time.

  “Olivia! Olivia!” Ann, voice tinged with panic. “Olivia, where are ye, lassie?”

  There was little hope of making their situation appear as anything but what it was, though that hardly seemed the time to pay much mind to appearances. Not when Ann flew down the corridor as if the devil himself were after her.

  Olivia stepped foot outside her chambers, taking hold of herself before asking, “What is it?”

  Ann came to a halt, one hand over her breast as she fought to catch her breath. If she thought there was anything odd about him being outside Olivia’s chamber door, she concealed it well. Or perhaps she simply did not care when in such a panic. “At… the border… stopped him…”

  “Who?” Boyd demanded.

  Her face screwed up in an expression of—what was it? Pain? Dread? Disappointment?

  “The man says he is yer betrothed,” she explained to Olivia. “George Ainsworth. He’s come for ye, he says.”

  The words landed like arrows in his chest, driving themselves deep.

  Her betrothed.

  9

  “No,” she whispered, stunned into deep shock. No, it could not be. How did he know? Why would he do this?

  What did Boyd think?

  Heartsick, she looked to him first. Her lips still ached from the strength of his kiss, the taste of him still burned into her mind. He had turned her upside down, inside out.

  Only for this to occur.

  It was he who managed to think clearly. “Where is he? Who stopped him?” There was no telling from his voice, nor from his hard expression, just what he thought of her being promised to another.

  “Just on the southern border, outside our land,” Ann explained. The poor woman could scarcely breathe, her eyes wide and wild. Of course, they would be. An Englishman had come calling. “I dinna know who stopped him, but they are holding him there. They dinna believe him, ye ken, for they dinna know—”

  Boyd stormed of
f before she had the chance to finish. Olivia called out, “What are you doing?”

  “Goin’ out there before someone gets himself killed.” He did not say who he meant, but it mattered not.

  “Young Angus can take ye!” Ann informed him. He gave no sign of having heard.

  Olivia leaned against the wall for support, her head in a whirl. George. He had come for her. It wasn’t possible.

  And Boyd hated her for it. She had played him falsely, just as his betrothed had, only she had not intended to. How was she to know he would kiss her?

  Or that she would have enjoyed it so much and wish he would never have stopped?

  “Och, lass,” Ann groaned, mournful. She patted Olivia’s shoulder.

  Why should she feel sorry? Why should anyone take pity on her? This was the way of it. Her betrothed had come to take her home.

  Why did she burst into tears?

  “Forgive me,” she wept behind her hands. “I do not know why…”

  “Ye are terribly surprised by this,” Ann reasoned, wrapping her in a motherly hug. “There, there, lamb.”

  “I knew the time would come,” Olivia gasped between gusts of tears. “This is so sudden.”

  “Aye, and foolish,” Ann spat, her arms tightening around Olivia’s back. “Foolish man, being so brazen as to come all this way to take ye. As if ye were nothing but a mare or a cart he had bought at market. What is he thinking? He might have gotten his daft head cut off.”

  For one wicked moment, Olivia wished he had.

  It was a dreadful thing to think, even in such a state of emotion, but there was no denying a moment of grim satisfaction when she imagined George Ainsworth dying for his foolishness. No doubt it was pride that had brought him all this way.

  It certainly had not been love.

  Ann withdrew a square of linen from the girdle about her waist and used it to dry Olivia’s cheeks. “I wish I could tell ye Donnan could fight to keep ye here, with us, if ye dinna wish to go with him. She understood, it was clear. She knew Olivia had no desire to return to England with a stranger.