Highland Hunger

by Hannah Howell

  “Such as?” she asked, taking a step closer to him, clearly not intimidated by the difference in their sizes.

  “Your limp for one.”

  A tremor touched her soft, pink lips, and he wanted so badly to kiss her he stopped thinking of anything else. With lightning speed, Moirae spun around, and in a single smooth movement, she seized one of the swords and sliced it through the air with incredible speed. Instinctively, Dorian twisted on his left foot and arched his back to avoid her attack. By the shocked look in her eye, he knew that while Moirae had exceptional agility, she lacked the control attained through training and practice. Her intent had not been to harm him, but to prove she had potential.

  After the blade passed over him, Dorian pivoted to grasp the remaining katana. Yanking it free of its frame, he clashed the blade against hers, believing the force of the impact would easily disarm her. Her size and gender belied her strength, reminding him once again that Moirae Deincourt was significantly more than she appeared. Deciding to use skill, not strength, he rotated the tip of the katana for distraction, before flicking her sword upward, forcing Moirae to release her grip and give him control over both weapons.

  “How did you do that?” she exclaimed with a twinge of envy.

  His gray eyes fastened on her green ones, and Dorian could feel himself being drawn deeper and deeper into a place he desired to explore. Grimacing, he cut the connection and deftly twirled the instruments in his palms before placing them back safely where they belonged. “It was a simple maneuver anyone with even limited knowledge of a sword could perform.”

  “If anyone could do it, then teach me,” she responded sharply, abandoning all pretense.

  Her sincerity amused him. “Why?”

  “My aim is lethal at a distance, but to be the Guardian, I need to be able to better protect myself in a fight. I cannot ask anyone else to train me without questions.”

  Dorian frowned. “That’s not what I meant. Why do you need to be the Guardian? Why unnecessarily put yourself in danger?”

  Moirae crossed her arms and overtly studied him. She considered telling him a partial truth—that she wanted to protect people—but suspected half answers would not persuade him to her cause. “Because I seek the man who killed my family, and when I meet him, I intend to kill him, and a well-placed arrow may or may not be the weapon I need to achieve that goal.”

  “Just whom do you seek?” Dorian asked, his voice drifting into a hushed whisper.

  “Does it matter?”

  He blinked. She was right. It really mattered not why she wanted to be taught, whom she wanted to avenge, or even why she sought revenge. He wasn’t going to teach her. “My answer is still no,” Dorian repeated, but the resolve his voice had previously evoked was missing.

  “Then I will let it be known who the Guardian is, spread the word about Kilnhurst’s new tenant, and I may even let it slip about these lovely unique weapons of yours. People may not believe me, but many will come to this place just to prove me wrong, making it much harder for you to achieve your goals.”

  Dorian almost laughed aloud. So that was her strategy. He knew Moirae had come with one. She had been acting too confident since his arrival. But if he agreed to her demand now, she would believe she had won. Then again, training Moirae had several distinct advantages. Distraction was one, and discovery of just whom she was after was another. But mostly, it gave him the perfect opportunity to seduce her . . . and he hoped it would not be easy.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I will teach you, but only on my terms.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We meet only at night.” Again, Moirae bobbed her head.

  Dorian caught the relief in her expression and he wondered if the reason she had agreed to come when it was dark was a fear of being caught. If so, by whom? Deciding that he could answer those particular questions another time, he continued. “You follow my instructions without argument.” Her eyes narrowed, and before she could refuse, he stated his final condition. “And last, you must promise to end any attempts to be the Guardian until I say you are ready.”

  Alarm flashed in her eyes, but immediately she suppressed it. He had expected some resistance on that point, but with pursed lips, Moirae gave a single nod.

  Dorian crossed the distance between them, wondering if she would step away. When she didn’t, he had to shift his stance as he felt himself begin to harden. Moirae had the power to inspire his lust, and he no longer was pretending that he didn’t intend to discover if she could satisfy it as well.

  “And one more thing—” he whispered, his voice deep and husky with desire. He reached up and lightly fingered a loose tendril of hair on her cheek. Moirae swallowed and he could feel her heartbeat quicken, but her eyes never left his. She was daring him to continue, so he did, tracing his index finger down her throat, over her shoulder, then along her partially exposed bust line. “Know this, Lady Destiny, I agreed to train you because I intend to seduce you.”

  Moirae gazed into his turbulent, storm-colored eyes. Every nerve ending in her body was responding to the unspoken message in the dark look, and only through sheer will was she able to force herself to glance down. With her right hand, she plucked his finger from her chest and then flicked it away as if she were removing an insect from her personage. “Seduction implies a willingness on my part, does it not?”

  Dorian quirked a single eyebrow questioningly. “Indeed it does.”

  She was doing an excellent job of appearing to be unmoved by the unmistakable sexual tension between them, but he could smell her body’s response. She absolutely wanted him just as much as he desired her.

  Stepping back, Moirae flashed him a brilliant smile and reached down to gather her things lying on the settee. Donning her mantle, she said, “Excellent. Then you shall have a long wait, for I have no intention of being seduced. By you or any other man.”

  Then she was gone. And it was several seconds before Dorian realized he was still grinning. Intrigued no longer sufficed what he felt for her. Fascination filled his every pore, and he felt more alive than he had in centuries.

  He was embarking on a simple game of pursuit. But for the first time in a very long while, he was eager to play.

  Moirae shifted uncomfortably, checked her stance to ensure her feet were shoulder width apart, and then looked out over the battlements to the target below. Lifting the bow, she nocked the arrow, and then curled her fingers around the bowstring so that all her joints were aligned and began to pull.

  “Thumb,” came the soft reminder from behind.

  Moirae fought the instinct to ram her elbow into his rib cage. “I know!” she grumbled and tucked her wayward thumb into her palm.

  “You must use a consistent hand position.”

  Moirae squeezed her eyes shut. Relearning a skill she had thought she had mastered was not the type of lesson she had been seeking. But Dorian had been insistent. And after that first humiliating night of training, she had no choice but to agree to his terms and improve her archery abilities before training on the sword. Her only source of solace was that her skill really was improving, and thankfully rapidly. She now could shoot long distances, even when the target was moving—neither of which she could have hoped to do beforehand.

  “My grip was exceptionally reliable until you forced me to change it,” she muttered as she struggled to draw the arrow back.

  He lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Do not allow your shoulder to rotate up or it will shorten the draw length—”

  “—and, therefore, the distance and power of my shot,” Moirae gritted out, mimicking him as she released her grip.

  Dorian watched the arrow slice through the night sky, piercing a distant small rabbit that had been munching on some food it had found. He grimaced. Moirae had hit the target and she shouldn’t have. He had given her his bow, which was strung significantly tighter than the average aerial weapon, enabling the force of his bolts to travel much faster and much farther. A bow’s draw l
ength depended on the strength of the archer, and few men could exert the force she had just demonstrated. Somehow the taut strings of his bow must have slackened.

  Taking his weapon from her, he returned her own. “Practice,” he ordered, examining the strings on his longbow. They seemed unyielding, but they were obviously not firm enough.

  “For how long?” Moirae asked.

  “Until you no longer have to think about shooting it correctly,” Dorian answered, ignoring her exaggerated sigh meant for him. But he knew that if Moirae were really as riled as she pretended, she wouldn’t be there night after night, following his counsel.

  Dorian went to his bedchambers and took apart the bow and began to reconstruct the weapon. He was not a skilled artillator but he had learned the art of stringing a longbow years ago. He examined the glue-soaked hemp and decided it still seemed strong, then slowly began twisting the fiber one way and then back again until the weapon was restrung. He plucked it and the inflexible string barely moved under the semi-light pressure. Satisfied, Dorian sat back and decided to check on Moirae’s status.

  Upon exiting his chambers, he realized that restringing the bow had taken him much longer than he had realized. Sunrise was imminent, and yet he could still smell her presence. Believing her to still be practicing, he headed down the hallway toward the tower staircase and almost missed seeing her asleep on the settee in his study.

  He retrieved a blanket from his room and gently placed it over her, studying her as she slept. Moirae had been coming to his home for nearly a week and he had not once touched her. Surprisingly, the effort to keep from doing so had been quite difficult. Moirae was a remarkable beauty for one so young, but it was not just her appearance that appealed to him. Her irreverent wit coupled with unexpected remarks about life kept him curious. Too many times had he needed to fight the urge to kiss her, and seeing her asleep on his couch the feeling was even stronger.

  Pivoting, Dorian headed to his room to go to bed. He knew, however, that sleep would not find him quickly, and by the time he did awake, she would be gone . . . or at least he hoped she would be.

  Moirae kicked off her slippers, leaned back against the settee’s padded cushions, and contemplated her not-so-perfect plan. It was unusual to find so many comfortable furnishings in a single castle. The cost and upkeep of such items made it prohibitive. And yet Dorian—who lived alone, with the exception of his two servants, a husband and wife who rarely came into view—had nearly three times the furniture as the typical Highland laird of a sizeable clan. This she had confirmed earlier that evening when she had sneaked off to explore the castle when Dorian had vanished once again to play her role as the Guardian. She had hoped to discover a hint about the man, who he was and from where he came, but unfortunately, she found only more questions.

  For the past two weeks, she had come to Kilnhurst soon after sunset to receive instruction. After a few hours, Dorian would leave the grounds to go out on patrol while she continued training until exhaustion took over. Then, she would retire to the study, intending to stay conscious until his return, only to fall asleep before he did so. She would awaken to find a blanket draped over her or a pillow under her head, proving he had been there. But tonight, she had stopped practicing soon after his departure.

  Though she had initially resisted training on a weapon she thought she could already effectively use, Moirae knew her skills as an archer had dramatically improved in the past fortnight. She could always hit a target reliably at a distance, but now she could aim and draw faster and, most importantly, do so even if the target was small, in the shadows, or moving. But while the improvement would no doubt be an advantage to achieving her goals, mastering archery was not the reason she was there or the reason she had agreed to temporarily stop playing the role of the Guardian.

  Learning the sword was her goal.

  Moirae drew a deep breath and released it in a long sigh as she flipped onto her side. Once again, she pondered the question that had been plaguing her for nearly a week. Both she and Dorian had been up front in what they hoped to achieve during these training sessions. She wanted to become skilled in close combat; he sought to seduce her. And yet, not once had Dorian tried to kiss her. He even avoided touching her, doing so only when absolutely necessarily, and even then, briefly. Moirae hated to admit it, but she was disappointed.

  Though positive she could fend off an advance, she had been looking forward to getting the chance to do so. The kiss they had shared was far from the first kiss she had ever had . . . but in an odd way, it was. Never had an embrace affected her or plagued her thoughts like the single kiss she and Dorian had shared. In mere moments, desire had spiraled out of control, sending tendrils of fire into every nerve of her body.

  During their lessons, she caught herself wanting to lean back into him until his lips were touching the skin of her throat. She imagined her mouth kissing his rough-hewn cheek and how it would feel to nestle her head on his shoulder. What she really wanted, she thought wryly, was to feel Dorian’s arms around her and rediscover the smoldering passion that had lain dormant within her.

  And if a first kiss could cause such stirrings and create lasting memories, Moirae suspected Dorian could make her feel much more. The idea was both very appealing and carried low risk. A kiss, even a very passionate one, was something from which she could easily walk away. Physical pleasure only. For no matter what transpired between them, she was not going to become emotionally entangled.

  Dorian would never understand her need to be the Guardian. No man would.

  She accepted long ago that her life was to be one lived in solitude. But that kiss . . . until then she had not realized her life also was one without passion.

  Dorian crossed the threshold of the study and eyed the sleeping figure on the settee just as he did every night. Her right palm faced upward, allowing her relaxed fingers to curl and expose the red, inflamed calluses that were forming. The woman was an enigma. Humans just did not endure pain voluntarily. So why was she?

  If he were to ask her while conscious, Dorian knew her answer would be—to become the Guardian. But just why Moirae felt it necessary to protect the local lands remained a mystery—one that had stalled his plans for seduction.

  When he had made her that promise, he had planned to conduct the lessons with indifference, with absolutely no hint of interest in her physically. Knowing the idea he had planted and the way she had responded in his arms, Dorian had expected her to become anxious and possibly even try to tempt him. What he had not expected was to enjoy her stubbornness, feisty personality, and most of all, her sheer company. Moirae saw the world as no human did. As a result, he was not tiring of her as quickly as he would have expected. And several millennia of experience had proven that after the seduction, whatever thrill he was experiencing now would quickly turn to boredom. And he wasn’t ready to end things with Moirae.

  He had met, been with, and enjoyed many women over the years, of all types and personalities. As a result, he could go nowhere, meet no one, that he could not understand and, therefore, predict rather quickly . . . until Moirae. She, he could not read. Her unusual perspective was like a drug beckoning him. A trait he suspected repelled the males of her kind. Humans feared anyone unique. But for someone who had lived for centuries, meeting someone atypical had great appeal.

  Moirae alleviated his boredom. She gave him something to look forward to and helped speed the monotony of time, but her charm had become something more than sheer stimulation. None of those reasons explained his desire to see her smile and be the reason behind it, to hear her laugh, and most of all, to touch her skin. Something, he had forced himself to avoid.

  Her pale skin was the tone of Greek Parian marble, giving her delicate features a refined beauty. Slender and tall, she appeared to the casual observer a gentle creature, but one only had to glimpse into her green eyes to see the fires of passion flash within. And though she tried to hide her feelings, he knew she desired him. Her longing mixed with
his own, Dorian knew that when he did succumb to his need to touch her, it would not be the slow seduction he had promised, but an explosion that would either consume them or leave them panting for more. And based on what he had learned earlier that night, they would soon know which.

  Once Moirae heard the attacks had resumed, she would be eager to place herself in danger once again. For her to survive, she would have to know how to fight not just from afar, but up close.

  Tomorrow evening her lessons would begin in earnest. No longer would he be instructing dispassionately at a distance. Combat was physical and close. Whether Moirae was ready or not, she was going to learn not just how to wield a blade, but what it was like to be truly and uncontrollably seduced.

  Chapter Five

  Moirae slipped off her mount and wrapped the reins loosely around one of the stable posts. She never saw Holland in the vicinity of the stables, yet whenever she was ready to leave, her horse had been brushed and fed. The couple that supported Dorian was quiet, unobtrusive, and eerily intuitive, but where they came from and why they were there was a mystery. And like many other puzzles connected to Kilnhurst, Moirae suspected this one would remain unsolved when she and Dorian parted ways.

  Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and headed toward the tower entrance. Moirae wished she could march indomitably down the hall and into the study to make her demands. The reminder that she couldn’t made her pause for a brief moment and reconsider her plan. The broken bones in her right leg had mended in such a way that quick movements were impossible. As a result, the most difficult part of learning to wield a sword would not be figuring out how and when to defend or attack, but compensating for the lack of quick footwork. But just as she found a way to walk, ride, and even climb steps, Moirae vowed she would grasp the basics on how to wield a blade.

  Shoving open the doors, Moirae stepped through the study entrance with more grandeur than she had intended, but it did get Dorian’s attention. She watched his piercing gray eyes sweep over her, taking her in from head to toe in one swift, heated glance, and she suddenly doubted her choice of attire.