The excuse he finally had used was an honest one, just incomplete. He had told Cole, Donald, and Jaime that he had missed visiting a couple of homesteads and felt it important that he make sure they were well. Cole had not cared, trusting Dugan to handle his responsibilities. Donald oversaw Cole’s personal elite guard, so he had barely shrugged as Dugan’s absence really did not impact him. Jaime had merely raised an eyebrow and wiggled it, guessing there was more to visiting the homesteads than Dugan was stating.
Extricating himself this week, however, had not been as easy. He had made the mistake of using the same excuse. And if Cole and Donald did not tell their wives everything, he might have been able to continue to use that excuse for the entire summer. But nothing got by Ellenor or Brighid. They both knew that while Dugan did not overly mind going out to the border farms, it was something he did only as necessary as most lived that far out for a reason—they wanted to be left alone. So, when the two women learned he had suddenly changed a routine that he had followed for the past three years for a second time in a two-week period, they were all over him, demanding answers.
Dugan had given them nothing, partly because he knew it would drive them insane and partly because for years they had been needling him to settle down and find a wife. They claimed it was because of their love for him, but Dugan suspected they just wanted to increase their female numbers. He had been to enough McTiernay gatherings to see that the McTiernay wives worked in numbers. The more, the scarier.
Last fall, when he broke off his last relationship and did not immediately kindle another, Ellenor had been practically gleeful when she announced that he was finally realizing how empty his way of life was. She had been utterly wrong. The reason why he was alone was the complete opposite of her supposition. His life was full. Full of women and their drama and their incessant desire for promises he had no intention of making. He had simply wanted a break. But knowing there would be no convincing Ellenor otherwise, Dugan had let her think what she wanted. But if she and Brighid had even a clue about his current state of mind about this redhead, they would never relent until he was standing at the altar just for a little peace.
In order to help prevent any pangs of guilt about his reasons for leaving again this week, Dugan had been seeking out homesteads he had not visited. One in particular—the home of his mystery woman. He had not expected it to be so hard to find. Adanel was easy to describe and one would remember seeing her, even if some time ago. And yet despite a very concerted effort, Dugan could not find a soul who knew anything about a redhead, daughter, or wife. No one had red hair. There was only one unwed female past the normal marrying age, and he had known about her for years.
“Does your entire family have hair this color?” he asked, fingering it once again.
She smiled up at him. “On my mother’s side. I inherited it from her, but she died when I was young.”
Last week, Dugan had tried multiple ways—most of which were mutually delightful—to persuade his aithinne into revealing her name. She had been surprisingly resistant, insisting that she had no desire in sharing hers or learning his. She claimed it would ruin the mystery, which could affect the pleasure they found in each other’s arms. At first, Dugan thought it was her way of remaining a challenge in order to keep his interest, but he now wondered if there was another reason she wanted her identity to remain a secret—one that he intended to discover. And when he did, he would prove to her that it changed nothing. He had even tried to follow her as she left the little loch, for she did not use the same path he did. He had learned very little, but he was not giving up. For it was not as if he planned to expose her secrets; he just wanted to learn them. Somehow this woman had slipped under his defenses, and as a result, he felt compelled to learn everything about her. Until he did, his aithinne would plague not just his dreams, but his every waking thought.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, letting go of the lock to lightly caress her cheek with the tip of his finger. “It sounds like you miss her a great deal.”
“Every day,” she replied, staring at a low, but fast-moving cloud in the sky. Then, with a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her face. “Do you enjoy being a soldier?”
Dugan bit back a grin at the sudden change of not only topic, but the person of focus. “I do. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
Her brows furrowed in disbelief. Then, with a mocking chuckle, she said, “I think there is a lot more to you than being able to effectively wield a blade. And deep down, I think you agree.”
“Wouldn’t matter if I did or did not, because a soldier is all I’ll ever be.”
“But you lead men.”
Dugan studied her fathomless brown eyes and saw that she had spoken in earnest. He wondered just how she came up with that conclusion because he knew that he had never said anything about being a commander. It was clear by now that she enjoyed being with him, but a little piece of him feared that things might change if she found out he was in a position of power. Would she make demands? Suddenly seek a commitment? It was a slightly paranoid reaction, but after years of having that happen repeatedly, it was a justified paranoia. But based on her comment, she already knew. “And just why do you believe that?”
She blinked. “Well, I guess I don’t know it to be certain,” she stated readily with a shrug. “It’s just . . . I don’t know. I just knew from the first time I saw you. Soldiers act differently from other clansmen. Soldiers who have fought in battles and faced death act very differently than those who have not, and men who lead other soldiers also have distinct qualities that stand out.”
“How so?” Dugan demanded, making it clear he wanted to know and was not going to let the subject drop.
His aithinne gave him a withering look. “First of all, men who lead are far more arrogant,” she said, and sat up, pushing her hair back. “You know exactly of what I speak as you can distinguish the difference as well as I. As for how I know? Well, I’m not a young lass. This part of Scotland has changed much over the years, and I have witnessed it. People change when they see death. They change more when they cause it, and change even more when they order others into situations that could result in the loss of their lives.”
Dugan blew out a breath and urged her to lie down. “Arrogant? I’m not arrogant.”
With a swat on his arm, she let herself be pulled back down. “Aye, you are and on just about everything.”
“Everything?”
She laughed, feeling the momentary tension slip away. “Aye, everything. And if you are half as good at leading your men as you are at making love, then you should be a laird.”
Dugan almost blurted that he nearly had been one, but bit it back. If his aithinne was not going to reveal key pieces of her identity to him, he would not to her. Besides, she saw too much of him as it was.
His thumb caressed the inside of her palm and the small calluses that revealed she worked. “You get these on the farm?”
She scoffed. “I wish as I enjoy gardening, but my father would never allow it.”
Dugan felt her tense as if she realized she had just said too much. He could feel her about to flee and rubbed the palm again. The calluses were not thick or hard, but they were there, so she definitely worked and consistently. “Are you close with your father?”
She bit her bottom lip in thought, and it made him want to lean down and pull the plump flesh into his own mouth and suckle. But before he could act, she stated, “My father and I have little in common, and we actively avoid each other’s company whenever possible.”
Dugan stared down into her deep brown eyes. A raw, honest emotion had flashed their dark depths for a moment. Fear? Regret? He was not sure, but it might explain why no one admitted to knowing her. “You don’t like your father?”
She shifted as if uncomfortable. “I despise him, so can we talk of something else?”
Dugan did not want to as he was finally learning something that might tell him more about her, but it was clear
that he was going to learn nothing more of her family today. “So how do you know widow Nell?”
This time the emotion that flashed in her eyes was unmistakable. Anger. “If you follow me again, I will stop coming here.”
He was a little shocked by her reaction, but that did not make him repentant. “I only wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“No, you wanted to know where I lived,” she stated crisply.
Dugan’s jaw tightened at the accusation. She was right. He had followed her and stared at the small cottage she had entered for nearly half an hour before turning around and returning back home. All knew Nell lived alone. Finley and Finlay often brought her meat and would have let him know if she needed anything even though she was not a McTiernay. The Highlanders in these hills were good about taking care of their own, and he thought that might have been what was going on with his redhead. “I do want to know you are safe.”
“I am. When I am visiting you, my uncle visits Nell. Neither of us asks questions about what the other is doing during our outings. We respect each other’s privacy.”
Dugan raised his brows and blinked, taking in all that she said. “You have an uncle,” he repeated under his breath.
“You seemed surprised.”
Dugan shifted his weight so that he was on his side. He was surprised. For some reason, he thought their afternoon encounters to be completely unknown to anyone but her and him. That she had an uncle who was not only aware, but indirectly involved in supporting their clandestine meetings was somewhat disconcerting. If her uncle could know about him, why could he not know about her uncle?
“You can trust me, aithinne.”
“It is not about trust,” she whispered as she closed her eyes. They remained shut for a long moment before she reopened them. And he saw no coyness, no playfulness, no goading in their dark depths. Only an urgency for him to understand that she was not playing a game. The woman was being earnest. She really wanted to keep her identity a secret.
“Aye, it is about trust,” Dugan stated, his deep voice soft but serious. “And I’m beginning to think that only if I learn and keep your secrets will you finally believe that you can trust me.”
Her hand reached up and cupped his cheek. Sadness enveloped her features. “Each time we leave here, you return to your world and I return to mine. If anyone in mine were to ever learn about you . . . and me, I would be forbidden to ever come near this place again. And I’m not sure I could handle that. I want you. I desire you, but I need my freedom.”
Dugan finally understood. His pursuit was putting something at risk that was far beyond just him and her. Who would take away her freedom? She avoided her father . . . and did she say forbid? The word reminded him of a priest from his youth. A priest . . . Dugan almost said aloud as understanding dawned on him.
Could this beautiful woman be a nun . . . or something very close?
There was a small priory of Culdees somewhere near here. The Culdees were a strange lot compared to most religious communities. They never took monastic vows so technically none of them were nuns or monks, but they did live in a monastic fashion, devoting their lives to religion and supporting those sick or in need. He had only visited the priory once, and it had been several years ago. The community kept to themselves and made it clear that while they accepted Cole’s authority, they wished to be left alone and would reach out should they ever need assistance. Out of respect, Dugan had not been back.
His firebrand had to be a Culdee. It was the only thing that made sense. None of the homesteaders probably had any interaction with them, which explained why no one had seen her. And it was not like she was the first nun to seek physical comfort in the arms of a man. However, it seemed that tight-knit community was far stricter than his first impression. It was possible they would evict her should they discover just why her weekly outings had become far more pleasurable.
If that happened, she would be cast out and then become his responsibility—something he was not remotely ready to consider. He had enjoyed the last two weeks immensely, but that did not mean he wanted anything more. His desire to learn her identity was out of curiosity. He simply wanted to know who she was, and now that he knew, their relationship could continue to be just what it was—a deeply satisfying encounter between two adults.
Dugan rested his forehead against hers. “I understand as I need my freedom. So no more following, no more schemes to get you to reveal more. It is as you said. We have no need for names and calling you aithinne will suffice.” For now, he added to himself.
Visible relief flooded her every pore and once again a smile took over her mouth. “Then stop wasting time and kiss me.”
Dugan grinned. “You know, I won’t be able to stop with just a kiss.”
Her whole face lit up. “I’m counting on that.”
His lips met hers. Nothing felt or tasted as good as this woman. And somewhere inside him the embers of possibly wanting something more began to burn.
* * *
Adanel waited until just after his head emerged to take a deep breath and slammed her hand against the surface of the water, creating an excellently placed splash. Dugan sputtered at the unexpected assault but recovered fast. Adanel yelped seeing his expression and immediately dove under the water as he wiped his eyes in preparation for revenge. She did not get far before a firm hand circled her ankle and yanked her toward him. She fought as best she could but her body, like it did every time she was in her soldier’s arms for the past four months, betrayed her. Maybe it was his sensual warmth that called to her femininity. Maybe it was his strength and the feeling that no one would ever be able to hurt her while she was in his arms, but whatever it was, she always succumbed quickly.
“I got you,” he murmured, and pulled her back closer to his chest. “You can’t get away. I won’t let you. Not now. Not ever.”
Adanel did not argue, loving the way his arms felt around her middle. Whether his meaning was literal or figurative, he did indeed have her. Heart, body, and soul. Still, his audacious claim had to be countered. “Only because I let you have me.”
“Nay. I’m stronger.”
“Yet to be proven, and we both know that I’m faster,” she said proudly. Two weeks ago, they had a swimming contest, and she had won handily.
“Hmmm,” he hummed, and she could feel him smiling as he trailed kisses along her shoulder. “Then you must have wanted me to catch you. But why, I wonder?”
Adanel twisted around in his embrace so that she faced him. “Use your imagination,” she purred, and leaned back so that she floated in the water.
As he twirled her about, Adanel closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the water through her hair and the warm sun on her face. Adanel could not remember feeling as happy as she had these past few months.
She felt warm lips at the hollow of her throat. Despite having recently satiated their passions, Adanel felt her body stir and she lifted her head. His blue eyes studied her for a second, and then without a word, he devoured her lips in a desperate claiming to which she submitted willingly, eagerly.
When he finally ended the kiss, he said, “I think I’m becoming addicted to you. You’re worse for me than ale.”
“You don’t like ale?” she giggled. She did not know of a single man who did not enjoy a large mug of ale.
“Aye, but it doesn’t like me in large quantities. I tend to do and say things I regret,” Dugan admitted.
Drunk men were not something she was unfamiliar with, but just what kind of drunk was her soldier? Angry? Violent? Ridiculous? “Hmmm,” she said, running her fingers up and down his bicep. “Ale can make a man fight a friend.”
He chuckled and Adanel could see from his expression that he knew exactly what she was asking. “Nay, I wish it were fighting. Far less embarrassing than announcing every thought and emotion I have.”
Adanel’s fingers stopped, and she knew her mouth was ajar. Then she broke out into peals of laughter. “How I wish I could see that!”<
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“Nay, you would take advantage of my defenseless state and leave me with no secrets of my own.”
“How else am I to know how you truly think or feel?”
Suddenly the lower half of her body was pressed against his own, and despite the loch’s cold waters, his desire was unmistakable. “No need for ale. I think only about you, and when I am not with you I feel miserable and am in constant pain.”
“That is not what I meant,” she said with a playful huff, and pushed against his chest.
He loosened his grip but did not let her go. “And just what would you like to know?”
If I am special, Adanel thought. And though she desperately wanted to know what he would say, she could not bring herself to ask. “How I compare,” she finally answered. “For I know you have had many women.”
“None since I met you,” he replied honestly. Then leaning down, he whispered into her ear, “And aye, I’ve had women, but you, too, were no maiden when we met.”
“True, but it was only one time and long ago.”
“One time,” he repeated, realizing what that meant. She may not have been a virgin, but his aithinne had been close to it. “I must admit that I have wondered how it is you are not married.”
Adanel stiffened. “I could ask the same of you.”
“The reason is simple. I never asked anyone, but I cannot believe you’ve never had a proposal. Just how old are you?”
Adanel gave him a firm push, and he let her go. She knew he was not trying to be cruel, but his words were angering her nonetheless. She moved back a couple of feet so that she could stand on the pebbly lake bed and not tread water. She leveled him with an icy look and answered, “In a month, I shall be six and twenty, and you are right. Years ago, I was engaged to be married.”
His gaze did not falter under her stare. “Daniel,” he whispered under his breath. She was surprised that he had remembered the one time she had mentioned her first love’s name. “What happened?”
How to Marry a Highlander Page 6
