by Nicole Locke
His eyes narrowed and he straightened a little unsteadily. ‘You’re nae going away…now, are you, lass?’
‘There’s been a mistake,’ she stated, her voice unsteady, just like her thoughts. ‘I’m…in the wrong room.’
Though he didn’t move any closer to her, his caress on her neck was light. She wasn’t free of him, but at least he wasn’t grabbing her and dragging her to his bed.
‘I doona think there was any mistake just a moment ago. You came to my room. Let me kiss you.’
His fingers made gentle circles, trailing down her neck to her shoulders and back up.
‘And before I was so clumsy you wanted me to kiss you…more.’
So true. All so confusingly true. But she needed the dagger—not this man, who caused her to want to go and stay at the same time.
AUTHOR NOTE
I want to say the inspiration for Mairead and Caird’s story came from a fateful trip to Wales. But it didn’t. Not really. Caird is brother to Gaira, who is wife to Robert, who I saw grieving under a tree in Wales (long story). But that doesn’t explain much. Except that there are people in my head, and those people want their stories told. Now and all at once. So, although I intended to write about Robert’s friend Hugh, from The Knight’s Broken Promise (stay with me on the people!), I couldn’t ignore Mairead, who was about to do something mad.
Well, mad for the rest of us. Not for Mairead. She’s impulsive, she makes mistakes and she’s reckless. When her brother was killed she chased after the murderer. Since she was by herself, I rushed to tell her story in case she got hurt. When Caird showed up I thought, Oh, good, he’ll rescue her.
Unfortunately he hates Mairead, he is controlling and he only plays by the rules. When Mairead realises that Caird is just as insufferable and arrogant as the rest of his clan I knew Caird needed rescuing from Mairead.
Then they kissed. They kissed! At that point I gave up and told them to write their own story. I think they did. I don’t know; I’m afraid to look.
Her Enemy
Highlander
Nicole Locke
www.millsandboon.co.uk
NICOLE LOCKE discovered her first romance novels in her grandmother’s closet, where they were secretly hidden. Convinced that books hidden must be better than those that weren’t, Nicole greedily read them. It was only natural for her to start writing them (but now not so secretly). She lives in London with her two children and her husband—her happily-ever-after.
To my husband—
you know what you did.
To my children—
who seriously should have known better.
Contents
Cover
Introduction
AUTHOR NOTE
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Extract
Copyright
Chapter One
Scotland—September 1296
Mairead Buchanan tried to calm her heart and failed. She didn’t even know why she tried. She knew it wasn’t possible. It had been pounding like this for over a fortnight and now it was only worse. Inside her thumping heart, grief clawed sharp.
But she didn’t have time for grief, didn’t have time to be reasonable, or to think. She was about to break; she just needed to do.
This nightmare had to end. And here, tonight, where she stood observing the shadows of a disreputable inn and freezing in the night’s damp cold, it would.
The candles on the inn’s ground floor were finally extinguished. The windows were black; the main shutters were closed. Not even a woman laughing in the distance marred the soft rustling of the night breeze. It was late; it was time.
Yet even now she fought what she had to do. Even now, she wanted to shake herself, to run in circles like a madwoman trying to escape what she had seen, what she had done. What she could not ever repair. Her brother, Ailbert, collapsing to the ground. His eyes going vacant, losing their sight. She clenched her eyes shut. Grief clawed. She clawed back.
It wouldn’t do to think of Ailbert now. Her anger or her pain. She must still her heart and retrieve what was stolen from him. It was the only way to save her family from Ailbert’s recklessness. If she didn’t retrieve the priceless dagger, the laird would certainly punish her family.
Scotland was being ravaged by war and conflict. Her mother and sisters would never survive the humiliation or the certain banishment from the clan. Without the clan, there was nothing to protect them from the English. They had nowhere else to go. No other family to turn to.
For her family’s sake, she followed Ailbert’s murderer to the inn. The man had actually paid for a room. Had probably eaten his fill and was now sleeping soundly. Ordinary actions her brother would never do again. Fury swamped Mairead’s grief and she welcomed it. Grief and desperation consumed her, but only anger would get her through this night.
Looking over her shoulder and into the gloom of the evening, she took a big breath. There was no one behind her and she had had enough of waiting.
Silencing her breath, she opened the door and let herself in. It was darker than she imagined; the shadows blanketed furniture and walls. It was unnaturally quiet and she concentrated on the sounds she could hear. The hammering of her heart, the air as it left her body, the creak of the boards as the night wind buffeted the old building.
Nothing else.
Swiftly and nimbly, she weaved through the benches and trestles on her way to the stairs. She wasn’t certain which room the murderer occupied, but she’d give herself no more than an hour to search the rooms for the stolen dagger. Any more time and travellers would be likely to stir.
She had to have—no, needed that dagger. She’d lie and steal if she had to. She’d even go into strangers’ rooms and risk her life. The dagger’s large handle was made of finely decorated polished silver and was inset with two rubies. If she could sell it, like Ailbert had intended, the debt he’d incurred could be repaid. Everything would not be lost by his reckless gambling and then, only then, could she grieve.
Walking down the small hallway, she stopped at the first door and eased the heavy iron latch open, only to find the room empty. Gently closing the door, she peered over her shoulder. She was alone.
Mairead crept to the next room and winced as the door clicked loudly. A narrow window on the opposite wall provided the light needed to illuminate an occupied bed.
From the size and shape of the lump, it looked to be a man. Her brother’s murderer was large and this man looked large, but she couldn’t tell whether the bed linens gave him the breadth or if it was the man himself.
Reminding herself she needed the bed occupied, she released her breath and entered the room. Clothes were strewn over a stool at the foot of the bed. A pair of boots sat nearby. Perhaps the dagger was here. Grateful that the f
loorboards did not squeak, she knelt on the floor.
The dim embers in the fireplace provided little light, but the unshuttered window gave plenty. His clothing consisted of a cloak, braies, dark leggings, a whitish tunic, boots and a pouch.
The man in the bed was naked.
The bed creaked as the man shifted and gave out a heavy breath. Mairead tensed, ready to run, until he stilled.
Her heart wasn’t so accommodating and continued to hammer in her chest. Trying to steady her nerves, she continued her search, but her fingers trembled as she felt along his boots. There was no dagger placed deep in the feet. Careful of the attached belt, she pulled the pouch off the stool and on to her lap. A slight jangle of coins made her jump, but the man remained still. The bed linens continued to rise and fall with each steady breath.
Not bothering to open the pouch, she felt along the fine leather. No dagger. She felt the tunic, the braies and the thin leather leggings. Nothing. That left the cloak.
Gathering it in both hands, she was instantly aware of the fine soft wool. Never having felt such a cloth before she reveled in its feel as she pulled on the immense amount of fabric. The stool upended, and she made a grab for it. Too late. It fell with a dull thud to the floor. The man’s deep breathing stopped abruptly.
She froze.
‘Who’s there?’
His rough voice commanded the little room. She didn’t answer. Maybe it was too dark for him to see. Maybe if she didn’t make a noise he’d go back to sleep.
The man rose in a half incline. Though she willed her body to remain still, slight tremors began in her legs and arms. If possible, her breathing grew louder.
The bed linens did not make him look large. He was large. His chest was bare of any ornament. She could not see the texture of his skin, but could see the ripples and curves of deeply embedded muscles coursing from his wide shoulders down his arms. His long loose hair gave his dark face a wild and untamed look. The rest of him was partially concealed by the bed linens, but not the glint of steel he held in his hand. This was a man who slept with weapons.
‘If you...think I cannot see you, you forget you sit within the light of the window.’
This was not the murderer. His voice was too calmly masculine, too reverberating, too...slurred. He was drunk!
Relief skittered through her. Thinking only of slow responses from a drunken man, she leapt for the door.
Her eyes did not register the blade flying past her arm. But she heard the sharp slice it made in the oak door, mere inches from her outstretched hand.
Chapter Two
Mairead’s hand froze along with the rest of her body. But her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to focus and comprehend.
Had he thrown a dagger towards her? She peered closer. It was only a small boot blade, and not the dagger she wanted.
What kind of man slept with a small blade and a sword in his bed? Her hand could have been cut, or worse, sliced in two!
She whirled around. ‘How could you throw a dagger at me?’
‘You’re a woman?’
‘Ach, of course I’m a woman. Even in this dim light you must see I’m wearing a gown!’
He made a noise, somewhere between a huff and a groan, as he shoved the linens away and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He was not just a large man, he was huge. He carried his sword loosely at his side. She didn’t care about his sword. She cared about his nakedness walking towards her.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
The dim light wasn’t going to hide him much longer. She could not only see the size and shape of him, but also—
He was magnificent. Just stunning. It was as if he reinterpreted everything she’d ever known about the opposite sex. There wasn’t a Buchanan man built like him. She didn’t even know men were made like this.
She couldn’t tell the colour of his hair or eyes, but the light did not hide the hard slant of sharp cheekbones, the bold line of a straight nose. And lips beautifully curved, shaped full underneath.
Her eyes didn’t want to blink. Her chest felt light and constricted at the same time. Her breath came in short gasps. Was she going to actually giggle?
He walked nearer. He was naked. Utterly naked.
Revealed to her were the defined curves of powerful shoulders and arms, the very masculine breadth of his chest, the fluid movement of muscles tapering slightly to a rippled stomach.
She should have turned away, but she couldn’t. Maybe it was the darkness making her bold. Maybe it was her impulsiveness, a trait her mother lamented, stopping any maidenly blushing. Or maybe she looked because she couldn’t help herself. Aye, that was it.
Her eyes dropped lower.
Her mouth became dry, her lips parched. Fearing her mouth hung open, she licked her lips, only to feel the moisture evaporate like all the thoughts in her head. Her legs suddenly felt like tall reeds of grass swaying in the wind. Try as she might, she could not lock her knees.
He growled, low, almost a purr except for the fact it was so masculine. So predatory. She didn’t know how to interpret the sound and couldn’t seem to look to his eyes for any help.
‘Do you like what you see?’ He set the sword against the bed. Her eyes thankfully followed the movement. But averting her eyes did not give her balance and she looked back up.
‘I like what I see.’ His eyes were too intense, too penetrating and held her immobile. ‘I like what I see very much.’
Where was her anger and fury? Gone. Just like her ability to move. He was so close to her, she felt the heat from his skin. Despite his nakedness, he smelled like warm leather, cold steel and a scent she had never encountered before. Something so tempting she inhaled it greedily.
His eyes continued to hold hers and she did not break that hold. So she felt rather than saw the caress of his fingers stroking from her temple, along her jawline to the cusp of her lower lip.
‘So-oo bonny even though you’re not talking,’ he purred. ‘Did my brother send you to me? Was that why you were by my bed?’ He cupped her chin, tilted her face up to his. ‘I didn’t think I’d have the strength for any lass this eve, but I’m glad to be proven wrong.’
Reeling, Mairead felt the heat of his hands as he seized the sides of her face. She tasted the ale warmth of his breath, the restrained caress of his fingertips as he brought her lips to his.
When he coaxed hers to part, when his tongue teased along their seam, she knew this was more than a kiss. It was something altogether different—just like the man.
He cradled her face, but it was neither his lips nor hands holding her captive. Instead, she was bound by the potency and response of her body against his.
He released their lips, only to draw her more fiercely against him. His arms wrapped low around her, his hands cupped and lifted. No longer on her feet, she was kept in balance by the breadth of his body and the strength of his hands and arms.
Then he tilted her head, exposing her neck to his lips, to his kisses.
Suddenly, she spiralled as desperation and anger returned to her, but now the emotions changed, turned darker, more volatile, wanting something else, something she didn’t understand even as her hands went to his shoulders. Her fingers tugged, kneaded, trying to draw the great bulk of his body closer to her.
He groaned, shifted. Not enough. Not nearly close enough. Mairead pulled harder and the next step he took made him stumble and bump her against the fireplace behind her.
The sharp jab of pain in her back and his gentle oath broke their contact, pulling her back to reality. And the reality was more painful than the fireplace, mortifying even.
She was kissing a man. A naked drunk man she didn’t know! Her eyes flitted from the door to the open shutters and back again. She looked anywhere but towards him. He had regai
ned his balance, but his oath made her tingle and reel almost more than his kisses.
The room was dark. That fact was important, but she couldn’t remember why. The dagger!
He crooked a finger under her chin. ‘There now, where did you go?’ he teased.
His head was tilted down to catch her gaze. His eyes were still dark with desire, but amusement made them sparkle. He was pure masculine temptation and completely focused on her. What was she doing?
She had to make a run for it, but it wouldn’t be easy. He was a large man with a sword. There would be no reasoning with him. The only advantage she had was surprise and his nakedness. Her eyes shifted to the door again.
His eyes narrowed and he straightened cautiously. ‘You’re not going away...now are you, lass?’
‘There’s been a mistake,’ she said, her voice unsteady, just like her thoughts. ‘I’m...in the wrong room.’
Though he didn’t move any closer to her, and his caress on her neck was light, she wasn’t free of him.
‘There’s been nae mistake. You came to my room. You let me kiss you.’ His fingers made gentle circles, skimming down her neck to her shoulders and back up. ‘And before I was clumsy, you wanted me to kiss you...more.’
So true. All so confusingly true, but she needed the dagger, not this man who caused her to want to go and stay at the same time. How was this possible? How could she be here like this?
‘I mean nae harm,’ she said, willing her heart to stop fluttering inside her chest so she could concentrate. She was Buchanan, lying was her greatest skill. But she’d never be convincing if she was trembling with this need.
‘I have to go,’ she continued, pleased her voice was growing steady. ‘My friend will be looking for me.’
‘A friend?’ He snatched his hand away and his brows drew together. ‘A male friend?’ The tempting mouth turned fierce. The change was so sudden it would have been comical, if not for the fact he looked a bit frightening.
‘You’re here with a friend?’ he said, the last word a growl. ‘My brother did not send you to me?’
