by Jayne Castel
Adaira inhaled sharply. “Ye are lying. Something is bothering ye … and I wish to know what it is.”
His brow furrowed. “Adaira.” His voice lowered in warning. “Don’t—”
“Enough,” she cut him off. “Talk to me!”
Lachlann muttered a curse. “What do ye want to know, woman?”
“I want to know why ye helped me … have ye finally grown a conscience?”
He snorted.
“Do ye regret helping me … is that it?”
She watched him tense. “Of course not.”
“It seems that way to me.”
Lachlann stepped back and ran a hand over his face. “Satan’s cods,” he muttered, frustrated. “I crossed a line last night. I can never go back home.”
“It’s more than that though, isn’t it?” Adaira folded her arms across her chest. “Ye are disappointed because ye wanted to rule.”
“I did,” he admitted roughly.
Adaira’s mouth thinned. “How it must have chafed to see Morgan Fraser still alive when ye returned home.”
A muscle ticked in Lachlann’s jaw. “I didn’t wish him dead.”
“Didn’t ye?” She noted a faint color now tinged his high cheekbones. She’d succeeded in angering him, but Adaira didn’t care. Recklessly, she pressed on. “Ye were so desperate to get home and sieze power that ye didn’t care about anyone else. Ye didn’t care what happened to me.”
“I saved ye, didn’t I,” he growled back. “Ye could show some gratitude.”
“It was the least ye could do!” Adaira spat. His arrogance riled her. “All of this mess is yer fault!”
Drawing her cloak around her, Adaira stalked past him.
Lachlann raised an eyebrow as she went. “Where do ye think ye are going?”
“To Duntulm—alone.”
“Ye won’t get far on foot.”
Adaira came to an abrupt halt and spun on her heel, glaring at him. Lachlann had turned and was watching her with a patronizing look that made her want to kick him in the cods. “The Devil take ye, Lachlann Fraser. I couldn’t care less where I go, only that I never have to set eyes on ye ever again.”
Giving him her back, Adaira strode away, up the rocky incline toward the north-eastern edge of the valley.
“Adaira,” he called after her. “Come back here.”
Adaira ignored him. She was so angry that she felt like picking up stones and pelting him with them.
To think she’d actually thanked him for saving her.
“Adaira!”
He sounded angry now. Good. She hoped he choked on it.
Moments later she heard footfalls behind her. He was coming after her.
Adaira broke into a run. Her legs were still weak after her incarceration, but she pushed herself on nonetheless. Rage gave her feet wings.
She’d nearly reached the top of the hill when he caught up with her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up short.
Adaira swung round, her right fist balling, and punched him in the neck. However, the blow just seemed to glance off him.
“Let me go!” she shouted.
But Lachlann didn’t. He held her firm, fending off the blows and kicks she now aimed at his chest and shins.
“Stop it, Adaira,” he commanded, his voice tight. She ignored him, writhing in his grip like a landed pike.
“Filthy whoreson,” she shrieked. “Get yer hands off me!”
But he didn’t.
Instead, Lachlann pulled her roughly against him. His mouth slanted over hers, and he kissed her.
Adaira was so shocked that she momentarily went limp in his arms. She gasped, her lips parting. His tongue slid into her mouth. His kiss was savage, devouring, and hot. It turned the frosty morning into a steam bath. Adaira was helpless under the onslaught.
She’d almost forgotten what Lachlann Fraser’s kiss could do to her; that it could literally scatter her wits to the four winds and drain every ounce of will from her body.
The rage drained from her, replaced by a different kind of madness.
His kiss demanded, took, and gave all at the same time. And as it deepened, Adaira melted against him, her fingers splaying across his leather vest. She felt the hammer of his heart against her palm, and a thrill went through her.
When Lachlann ended the kiss and pulled back, he was breathing fast. His skin was pulled tight across his cheekbones. His gaze burned into her. Adaira stared up at him, the spell he’d cast over her slowly drawing back. She started to tremble.
Lord … no.
“Ye asked me why I did it, and I’ll tell ye,” he rasped. “I did it for ye, Aingeal.”
Chapter Twenty
Everything In My Power
LACHLANN CLOSED HIS eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He wasn’t even sure where the words had come from.
He opened his eyes and saw that Adaira was still staring up at him. She’d looked shocked at first, but now her face softened. His chest constricted. The lass had such a pure, good heart. She put him to shame.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Lachlann drew in a slow, steadying breath. Suddenly, he found it impossible to speak. He released his hold on her shoulder and, reaching up, stroked her face. To his surprise, he noted his hand trembled slightly.
God’s bones, what’s wrong with me?
Lachlann’s fingers trailed down Adaira’s cheek, and he felt her quiver under his touch. He watched her lips part, her pupils dilate. He’d wanted her before, on that evening during their journey to Talasgair, but the sensation paled in comparison to how he ached for her now.
He wanted to pull her to the ground, tear off her clothes, and lose himself in her soft, sweet body. The need was so strong it felt like a kind of insanity. But the heavy frost that sparkled around them, and the surety his father would have discovered both their disappearances by now, kept him in check. They couldn’t linger here.
Wanting her like this was selfish. She deserved better than the likes of him. Self-loathing welled within Lachlann then, filling his mouth with a bitter taste.
“I couldn’t stand by and watch ye wed my father,” he finally managed. “I couldn’t let him destroy ye.”
She gazed up at him, her hazel eyes as wide as moons. “Really?”
Lachlann managed a smile. “Aye,” he murmured. “I’m a selfish cur, but not completely without a heart.” He paused a moment, before he reluctantly released Adaira and stepped back. Frosty morning air filled the gulf between them. “I can’t let ye travel alone. It’s not safe. Will ye let me escort ye to yer sister’s as planned?”
Adaira swallowed, before she nodded.
Adaira craned her neck, peering up at the mountains that rose either side. They had become the heavens, with only a thin strip of blue sky between them. The morning sun gilded the peaks, turning some tawny and others red as if they were aflame. Their craggy, carven bulk made Adaira feel small and insignificant—even so, she loved to look upon them.
She would leave these shores soon, but this isle with its great mountains and wild landscape would always have a piece of her heart.
Adaira must have fallen asleep for a while, for she found herself jolted awake against Lachlann's back as the horse stumbled. The stallion had slowed its gait on the uneven footing. However, they had crested the highest point of the pass and were now making their way down the long slope north-east.
As they rode, Adaira found herself reliving their confrontation at dawn and the heated kiss that had followed. It was impossible not to think about it.
I should still be wary of him, she cautioned herself. He’d seemed sincere as he’d gazed into her eyes—but the past two months had taught her that trust had to be earned.
She wasn’t sure what to think, what to say, or how to react. Instead, she took refuge in silence.
Even so, Adaira was keenly aware of the heat of his strong back pressed against her breasts, the texture of his fiery hair that kept tickling her nose, and the ma
le musk of his skin that made her breathing quicken.
Desire. He’d given her a heady taste of it.
Adaira closed her eyes and breathed Lachlann in. She shouldn’t want him, yet she did.
That afternoon, when they lay deep within MacLeod lands, Lachlann drew the stallion up for a proper rest.
Leaning forward, he patted the horse’s slick neck. It had done well, but now the beast needed a breather. They’d stopped on the edge of a stand of pines, where a shallow creek bubbled over grey rocks. The landscape had changed during the day’s journey, gradually growing less barren and arid, and more wooded—a sign that they were approaching the north-eastern coast. Despite that the sun had shone on them all day, the air was cool.
Lachlann unsaddled his horse, while Adaira sat down on the ground upon a bed of pine needles a few feet away.
“Lachlann,” Adaira spoke up, breaking the lengthy silence between them. He could hear the nervousness in her voice. “About what ye said earlier …”
Lachlann tensed. Removing the saddle, he cast a glance over his shoulder. She was sitting, watching him, her brow furrowed.
“Do ye actually care what happens me?” Her cheeks pinkened as she said these words. It embarrassed her to bring this up, but he could see she was determined.
Lachlann set the saddle down on its pommel and turned back to the stallion, rubbing it down with a twist of grass. “Ye speak as if such a thing is impossible,” he replied. “Do ye think it strange that a man would want to protect ye?”
“No … but it shocks me that ye would.”
Lachlann huffed. “Ye must think me a cold bastard.”
Her answering silence made him grimace. Pausing in his work, he turned to Adaira. Around them the wind sighed through the pines, yet Lachlann paid it no mind. He couldn’t take his gaze off the young woman seated upon a bed of pine needles. She looked like a woodland fairy maid, caught resting in a glade by an unsuspecting traveler.
Lachlann grew still, his gaze feasting upon her.
He could see the signs of fatigue upon Adaira: her face was paler than usual, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. But even so, she was still lovely; her long brown hair spilling over the shoulders of her cloak.
“Have ye ever been completely ignorant of something … and then wondered how ye could have missed what was right before ye?” he asked softly.
Her head inclined. “No … I don’t think that’s ever happened to me.”
Lachlann dragged a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t brought up to be sentimental,” he admitted with a wince. “It took me too long to realize that I’d made a terrible mistake.”
To his surprise, Adaira’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “Is that the beginnings of an apology I hear?”
Lachlann snorted. “Aye … Frasers aren’t just known for our stubbornness. We also have difficulty admitting to our mistakes.”
He broke off there, realizing that he felt on edge, nervous. Pushing the sensation aside, he went to Adaira then and knelt down before her, reaching for her hand. Adaira’s gaze widened, and he felt her stiffen under his touch—yet she didn’t pull away.
“I did ye a great wrong Adaira MacLeod,” he said, his voice low and firm, “and I’m truly sorry for it. Now, I will do everything in my power to put things right.”
It seemed strange to see Kiltaraglen again.
So much had befallen Adaira since she was last here. She felt like a different person, as if years not months had passed.
Dusk was settling, the last of the sun gilding the world with a beauty that only autumn sun seemed to possess. The loch glittered, and the wind that had chased them north all day died away.
As they rode in, Adaira spied the mounds of unlit bonfires on the hills to the south and north of the village. After dark, those fires would be lit, and the folk of Kiltaraglen would venture outdoors to celebrate Samhuinn.
The road brought them into the port village, in-between twin hills where two more piles of twigs and branches rose against the darkening sky. Men were rolling up barrels for the apple-bobbing.
Adaira gave a wistful smile as she thought of Dunvegan. Would Rhona and Taran be getting ready to enjoy tonight’s festivities? She imagined them wandering amongst the crowd, arms linked. They made a striking couple, for despite their different looks, they were both tall and proud.
Adaira’s throat constricted. She missed Rhona. How she wished to see her. Soon though, she’d see Caitrin again. Warmth flowed through Adaira’s breast at the thought.
“We’ll need to be careful in Kiltaraglen,” Lachlann warned her as they rode in. His gaze scanned their surroundings with a warrior’s sharpness. “Yer father might have left men here to keep an eye out for us.”
Adaira tensed. She hadn’t thought of that. She imagined her father might have sent warriors to Argyle, to seek her and Lachlann there, but she hadn't thought he might still be patrolling his lands for them. The thought made a chill prickle her skin.
“We can’t stay in the village,” Lachlann continued. “News of us will spread fast if we make ourselves visible.”
Adaira digested this before sighing. She’d secretly been hoping they’d have a comfortable night in the inn this time at least. “Where do ye suggest we sleep then?”
“We’ll make camp in the woods north of the village,” Lachlann replied. He then glanced over his shoulder, casting her a smile. “Ye should be able to see the Samhuinn fires from there too.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Keeping Warm
THE RHYTHMIC THUD of drums echoed through the night, like the steady beat of a heart.
Adaira sat, back pressed up to the rough bark of a birch, nibbling at a slab of bread and cheese, as she watched the fires of Samhuinn burn.
They lit up the darkness like glowing embers, beacons to call the spirits home.
“A roast hazelnut, milady?”
She started as a tall figure stepped out from the shadow of the trees and knelt next to her.
The aroma of warm roasted nuts wafted over her, and Adaira’s mouth watered.
“Lachlann!” She peered down at the tiny basket of nuts he held. “Where did ye get those?”
His face, kissed by the glow of the distant fires, was so handsome it made her belly flutter. His nearness made it difficult to breathe calmly.
“Ye can’t have Samhuinn without hazelnuts.”
“But … I thought it wasn’t safe for us to wander amongst folk?”
“Together, aye. But a man alone buying a wee basket of nuts doesn’t intrigue folk much.” He held the basket out to her. “Go on … I bought them for ye.”
Adaira took the basket and helped herself to a handful. They were fresh off the brazier, still hot. Their aroma brought back so many memories that for a moment her throat constricted. Then, she popped the nuts into her mouth and sighed. She offered him the basket. “Here … have some too.”
Lachlann took a handful and sat down next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Although they weren’t touching, Adaira could feel his nearness. The fine hair on the back of her arms prickled in response.
On the hillside below, laughter rang out. Torches moved, glowing like fireflies in the darkness, traveling up and down from the village.
For a while Adaira and Lachlann merely watched, silence stretching between them. It wasn’t a companionable silence but a weighty one. Much had passed between them that day. Adaira felt odd, as if her skin was too tight, too sensitive. She was jittery around Lachlann. To distract herself, she focused on the bonfires in the distance and the showers of red sparks that erupted high into the sky
Finishing off the nuts, Adaira brushed the skins off her hands and met Lachlann’s eye briefly. “Thank ye for the hazelnuts. They were delicious.”
He smiled back but said nothing.
After a moment Adaira glanced away, her gaze fixing upon the bonfires once more. The tension between them was becoming unbearable. She was so aware of him that, although
she was tired from traveling, her body felt restless.
Did it bother him as much as it did her?
It dawned on her then that she ached for him to kiss her again. On a practical level she was wary of him, but her body told a different story. It obliterated all good sense and filled her with a heady carelessness.
Adaira looked up, to find Lachlann watching her. His face was serious, although his intense gaze ensnared her.
Heart racing, Adaira found herself leaning toward him.
“Adaira.” He said her name softly, a hoarse edge to his voice.
Wetting her lips, she swallowed, aware that his attention had shifted to her mouth. Heat rose within her, spreading out from her core.
Lachlann shifted closer to her and reached up, cupping her head with his hands. His fingers tangled in her hair, and then his lips brushed over hers. This kiss wasn’t like the one earlier in the day—that embrace had been a claiming. This one was gentler.
Adaira’s eyes fluttered closed. Without thinking upon her actions, she parted her lips and allowed her tongue to timidly slide into his mouth.
Lachlann’s answering groan emboldened her. She gently bit his lower lip, gasping when he hauled her against him. His kiss changed now, his mouth searing hers. Adaira’s head spun, and she clung to him, answering Lachlann’s passion with her own. Her tongue explored his mouth, tongue, and lips. His taste made molten heat pool in the cradle of her belly.
A moment later Lachlann ended the kiss and drew back, breathing hard. Disappointed, Adaira reached for him, but he held her at arm’s length. His face was strained, his gaze pleading.
“The Devil roast me alive … we need to stop … or I’ll forget myself.”
Adaira gazed at him, longing for him to do just that. She didn’t know what had come over her. The desire he’d sparked that morning had been kindling all day, and now it had burst into flame. She ached for his kiss and felt bereft that he’d deny her.
“Please, Aingeal,” he rasped. “Stop looking at me like that.”
