Highlander's Lost Daughter (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Alisa Adams

  Tavia shrugged, smiling. “I have no idea,” she replied. “It is a face that I sometimes see in my dreams, and I have been seeing it for as long as I can remember, but I always feel compelled to draw it. It’s strange, is it not?”

  “She looks as if I had seen her before,” he mused. “I will think on it. Now, about our French lessons. Have you thought any more about them? I will pay you well.”

  She hesitated, then said, “My mother is worried.”

  “Why?” he asked, although of course he knew the answer already.

  “She is afraid,” she replied, avoiding his eyes. “That you will...take advantage of me.” She looked up to see him staring fixedly at her. A strange delicious tingle went through her. What was he doing to her?

  “I would never do such a thing,” he said earnestly. “But we can leave the door of the parlor open if you like. We will not be in my bedroom.”

  She looked down at her hands that were twisting nervously in her lap, and then, to her surprise, he covered them with his right hand.

  “Please,” he said softly, and that was her undoing. She raised her eyes and saw his soft, sensual mouth curving upward in a little smile, and she could not help but smile back. What she really wanted was to be drawn into his arms and kissed, but she was poor and he was rich, and it would never happen.

  Blair was absolutely bewitched by her. He had never met a woman like her before—educated, intelligent, and so kind. He watched her little hands moving restlessly in her lap and desperately wanted to grab her and kiss her.

  “I will do it,” she answered. “As long as the parlor door is open.”

  “Name your price, Mistress Tavia,” he said, smiling triumphantly.

  She did, nervously, and he doubled it without hesitation.

  “But that is too much!” she protested. She knew he was a rich man, but she felt as if she was robbing him.

  “I thought you might say that,” he laughed. “But it would not be very easy to find someone else to give me those lessons. And there is one other thing I would like from you.”

  Tavia raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Yes, M’Laird?”

  “I want you to draw my portrait,” he said, smiling.

  For a moment Tavia could think of nothing to say, then she ventured, “M’Laird, portraiture is not an area in which I do well.” She knew she would love to draw him, but she was certainly not an artist. How could she make a portraiture for a laird? But even so, if it were anybody else, she would accept the challenge...

  “What are you thinking, Mistress Tavia?” he asked at last.

  “Do you know what an intimate experience portraiture is, M’Laird?” she asked, her voice hard. She did not really want to spend hours gazing into Blair Patterson’s eyes, no matter how beautiful they were. She was not sure if she had the willpower not to jump into his arms!

  “No,” he replied. “Tell me.”

  “If I am going to draw or paint a frontal portrait of you,” she began, “there comes a point when I will have to look into your eyes, for minutes at a time, and a few moments can seem like a very long time in those circumstances.”

  “What about a profile?” he suggested. “Or a three-quarter view?”

  She thought for a minute. When she spoke, it was very reluctantly. “Yes, that could be done.”

  “But you don’t want to do it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Am I too ugly?” He smiled, because he knew he was not.

  Tavia looked at him and laughed. “Of course not, M’Laird,” she replied.

  “Do you have your chalks with you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I was going to do some drawing while you were asleep.”

  “Good. Then why not draw me now?” His eyes were looking directly into hers, challenging her.

  Will he never give up? she thought wearily. Then she had an idea. I will make a really poor mess of it and he will not ask me again.

  “If it makes you feel better, M’Laird,” she sighed, “I will do it, but you will have to sit very still.”

  Blair sat up and Tavia made him assume a pose where he was almost but not quite looking at her, though she found that after a few moments she could not stick to her resolution. She could not, for the life of her, do a poor drawing on purpose.

  Drawing Blair was more difficult than she had expected. He had firm, regular features that were well defined and should have been easy to draw, but somehow they were not. He was sitting as still as a rock, and yet there was something about his face that she could not pin down.

  Blair was aware that her eyes were on him the whole time, almost as if she were physically touching him. He began to let his mind drift into a daydream.

  * * *

  They were walking along the edge of one of the highest turrets, and his big hand was holding one of her small ones, almost enveloping it. It was an unusually bright day, although there was no sun, just a white haze over the sky against which the gulls were silhouetted as they wheeled and swooped over the sea. Tavia put her head on his shoulder and he looped his arm around her waist, thinking how small she was, but how she molded herself into him in such a deliciously sensual way. She turned to face him and looked up, her hazel eyes shining. “You are so lovely,” he said in a whisper. “So small. I want to wrap you in my arms and never let you go.”

  She smiled, and her small pearly teeth shone, but in a moment he had covered his mouth with hers and was thrusting his tongue between her soft lips, and she strained her tender body against him. She gave a little moan but made no resistance as he pulled her tighter and tighter against him. He felt the pressure of her breasts against his chest and realized that he was becoming more and more aroused. She tried to pull away but his hand was on the back of her head, and after a moment, with a little sigh, she gave herself back to him.

  He felt as though he never wanted to let go, but he knew he had to, so reluctantly he pulled back. She smiled again, slightly breathless, and he began to caress her, skimming his fingers down her breasts before moving them to her back to cup her buttocks in his big hands.

  She made a little moan of pleasure and he took it as an invitation. He swept her into his arms and looked down at her, a question in his eyes. She gave him a small nod and leaned her head against his shoulder. As he carried her downstairs he realized that she weighed very little, and he began to run along the corridor to his bedroom. The door was becoming closer, and still closer—

  * * *

  “M’Laird!” He was jerked out of his reverie by Tavia, who was shaking his shoulder. “I am done. You can move now.”

  Blair’s body had almost seized up; he had not realized how strenuous it was to sit immobile for an hour. He stretched his good arm as well as he could, but there was nothing he could do about the other one. He had been sitting with one leg tucked underneath him and it had gone into a cramp, so Tavia straightened it out and began to massage it, but it was difficult because the muscles were so tight and well-toned.

  “Thank you,” he said, yawning and rubbing his sore arm.

  “How do you feel now?” she asked. “Do you want some willow bark tea?”

  He screwed up his face in disgust. “Not unless I am in extremis!” he growled. “Now where is my portrait?”

  She handed him the drawing, which was still not done to her satisfaction, but he looked at it and gasped. “That is just like me!” he exclaimed, then stared at her in amazement. “How did you do that?”

  She shrugged. “I looked at you.”

  “But—” He kept on studying the drawing. “Who taught you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You could always do it?”

  “Always.” She nodded, picking up her crayons.

  He laughed. “Is there anything you cannot do?” he asked incredulously. “You sew, you draw, you heal people and mix medication, you speak French and read Latin...what can you not do?”

  “I cannot sing,” she answered promptly. “Now, M’Laird, you
look tired. Do you need anything?”

  Yes, you, he thought sadly.

  “I need you to tell me that you will teach me French,” he replied in a stern voice. “Because my housekeeper in Toulouse can hardly speak English, so we have to communicate in sign language!”

  She sighed. “I suppose I must or I will never hear the last of it!”

  “Good!” He clapped his hands and dropped a pound coin into her hand.

  “For the drawing,” he told her.

  It was more than most common people earned in a month. “Thank you!” she breathed.

  He felt a warm glow inside, and realized that he loved giving her joy, because she gave him so much back. She took out her Latin book and he watched her

  read as he drifted off to sleep.

  6

  French Lessons

  French proved to be much harder than Blair had thought it would be. It was not like English at all. In English there were so many different words to describe one word, and one word could mean so many different things; French seemed to have an extremely limited vocabulary compared to his mother tongue. Blair found it extremely confusing, but he persevered. Tavia was endlessly patient, not only because it was her nature to be so, but because she remembered how frustrating learning another language could be.

  “Why is French so different from English?” he grumbled. “And why doesn’t the whole world speak English anyway?”

  “I expect people like their own way of speaking,” Tavia remarked mildly. “And our two languages are different because French is descended from Latin, whereas English has German roots.”

  “German?” Blair was outraged. “How did that happen?”

  “M’Laird,” Tavia sighed, “are we having a history lesson or a French lesson?”

  “French,” he replied with a mischievous grin.

  “Good!” Her tone was one of deep relief. She set him a task of writing down all the basic words she had taught him, then sat down. They had been working for over an hour together, and she had put in a full day at the apothecary’s shop. She stifled a yawn as she leaned back in her chair. She noticed that Blair’s arm was much better now; it had been ten days since the accident and he was beginning to regain some flexibility in his arm and shoulder.

  Blair was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She looked tired and pale, and he hoped that she was not taking on too much at once. He had discontinued his round-the-clock nursing, since he did not need it anymore, but even so, Tavia looked a little wan.

  “There is something here I am having trouble with,” he announced, frowning. “I cannot read your handwriting, I’m afraid.” This was a lie. Tavia had beautiful handwriting. She sat on the bed beside him and read out the words for him.

  For a moment, as she bent down over his shoulder to show him the writing on the page, she was very close to him, so close that her hair was brushing against him. He watched her small finger as she moved it across the page, reading out the strange words with little accents above and below that affected the pronunciation. The r sound was strange and made him laugh as he tried to say it, but he persevered, and after a few moments he managed it, even though it made him cough.

  He was acutely aware of her warmth and her scent as she bent over him, and the soft brush of her hair against the skin of his neck. She began to stand up, but he caught her wrists and held onto them. She immediately tried to tug them back, but his grip was too tight.

  “M’Laird!” she cried, her tone fearful. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing that will hurt you,” he replied gently. “Sit down.” He let go of one of her hands and she sat on the bed. He turned to face her, and looked into her eyes deeply, and for a long time, before he picked up her hands and kissed the knuckles gently. “I have been enchanted by you since the first time I saw you,” he said, his voice husky. “I have hardly thought of anything else. I have never fallen off a horse before and I can only say that it was divine providence when I fell this time, because otherwise I would never have come to know you.”

  Her look was one of withering scorn as she regarded him frankly. She wanted to look away but was determined not to let him win by averting her gaze first. Eventually he solved the problem by looking at her lips.

  “Are you trying to seduce me, M’Laird?” she asked sharply. Her tone was harsher than she meant it to be, partly because she was scared, and partly because of the powerful effect he was having on her. She had never felt anything so strange before, a sudden delightful sensation that went straight to her core, leaving her feeling weak and shaken.

  “No, I am not,” he replied softly. “But I am trying to show you what can happen when a man and woman admit their mutual attraction. Do you feel nothing for me, Tavia?”

  “Yes, M’Laird,” she replied. “I respect and like you. You are a good man.”

  “And you are adorable,” he whispered. “Absolutely irresistible.”

  He did not try to kiss her; he put no pressure of any kind on her, but suddenly she found herself in his arms, lying on the bed gazing up at him. She knew it was dangerous; she really knew nothing about Blair’s character, but at this moment she did not care—all she wanted was to be close to him so that she could give him a gift of her first ever proper kiss. She closed her eyes and he whispered her name just once.

  Then she felt the sweetest sensation she had ever known; the warm, firm pressure of a man’s lips on her own. She had experienced the fumbling of boys before, but this was totally different; now she was in the hands of an expert, a mature man who was skilled at giving women pleasure.

  She had thought that kissing was merely the pressing of lips on lips, but it was more than that—much more. His mouth was moving on hers, caressing, biting gently, gliding over the soft moistness of her lips with an assurance born of experience. She gave a little moan that was half fear and half pleasure when his tongue invaded her mouth, gently teasing her own and then withdrawing. He did it again and again until he could feel her whole body trembling, and he tightened his arms around her. She felt his arousal pressing against her stomach, and it had a strange effect on her; she felt a sweet ache and a dampness between her legs.

  Then he gently drew back from her and she gave an involuntary whimper of protest. She almost begged him to kiss her again, but suddenly she found it impossible to speak.

  Blair’s broken arm was aching but he barely noticed it. “Did you like it?” he asked, and his voice was soft but hoarse. She nodded; there were no words to describe how much she had liked it.

  “Speak to me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you liked.”

  She swallowed. “Everything,” she murmured. “I have never been...properly kissed before.”

  “And now you have?” He smiled. “So I have been kissing virgin lips? But you don’t seem so inexperienced. Would you like to do it again?”

  “Did you say you were not seducing me, M’Laird?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I said so and I meant it. You may walk away.” He sat back and let her go, and she sat up. She still looked dazed. “But you may stay if you wish.”

  “I don’t,” she replied sharply, then stood up and walked back to her chair. “Can we get on with the lesson, please?” She couldn’t believe what she had just allowed herself to do!

  He looked at her thunderous face, and bent to his task again.

  The lesson from then on was conducted in almost total silence apart from the words that absolutely had to be said. They were both glad when it was over, but when Tavia made to take her leave he spoke.

  “I am sorry about tonight,” he said awkwardly. “You will come back, will you not?” He looked worried, and she took pity on him.

  “I will,” she replied, turning her back on him. “ As long as there is no more kissing. Goodnight, M’Laird.”

  “Call me Blair, please,” he asked.

  “Goodnight, M’Laird,” she replied firmly, then the door closed behind her.

  As she walked home
, she realized that she had put herself in the kind of danger her mother had been worried about. Blair had not pressed his advantage, but if he had been a different kind of man the situation might have turned out quite differently, and no one would believe her word over his.

  The next week she sent him a message saying she would not be able to give him his lesson since she had work to do for her mother, which was true, but it was unimportant and could have been done at any time.

  Bridget was worried about her. Tavia seemed distracted and absent most of the time these days, and she could not fathom the reason why. Nothing in her life had changed—apart from French lessons with the Laird. She decided to broach the subject with Bridget, but it was something that needed careful handling.

  “Have ye seen yon new lad at the bakers?” Bridget asked, eyes twinkling. “Davie, his name is. Looks like ane o’ thae big Norsemen! Fair hair, eyes as blue as the sky on a summer’s day…” She sighed dreamily.

  “Bridget, is there ever anything else on your mind but boys?” Tavia laughed. She was grinding caraway seeds for a medicine to soothe coughs, and was glad for Bridget’s visit, for it was a tedious job.

  “Aye, men!” Bridget answered, grinning. “Speakin’ o’ men, how’s the lesson goin’ wi’ the high heid yin at the castle?”

  Tavia’s heart skipped a beat. “He learns very quickly,” she replied, trying to keep her tone as casual as possible. “But I had to cancel this week’s lesson because I have an enormous amount of work to do.”

  The excuse did not sound very convincing to Bridget, but she let it pass. She went into the kitchen to get some ale from Maureen, and asked her about the matter that had been bothering her.