by Nicole Locke
So Caird took her home. Home to a brother who was no longer there. With his continual arrogance and superiority, she knew Caird didn’t deserve to know of her brother’s death. A part of her thrilled at the fact the journey would be wasted for him. That she now used him to get her safely and quickly to her family.
But that still didn’t change the fact something else was going on.
‘I want to get off this horse,’ she said. Her limbs were beginning to numb.
He ignored her just as he had dismissed her requests before. She could do nothing. So as not to backtrack, they were travelling towards Buchanan lands, not near the inn, but directly south.
Travelling this way meant crossing the streams and river that riddled this entire length of land. There had been much rain this summer making the river full and causing dangerous flood plains.
‘I can see from here that the stream up ahead is full,’ she said instead. ‘How are we to cross?’
Silence as wide as the loch separating their clans.
Anger stung her eyes. She hated to feel helpless. She hated to be trapped and not understand why.
For his abduction wasn’t about arrogance, or pride or any Colquhoun trait she could fight against. The brothers held a secret. An important secret. That was why the Colquhouns had separated. They might not know everything about the dagger and gem, but they knew more than she did.
All she knew was the dagger was dangerous. Her brother had died trying to sell it and Caird had kidnapped her because she said it was her brother’s.
‘It’s the gem and dagger, isn’t it? It’s why you won’t let me go,’ she said.
She felt him become alert, but he did not respond. ‘Since you’ve kidnapped me, you should tell me what is happening.’
She knew she was but a mere pawn in whatever game was being played. Her only regret was that her brother had found out too late. ‘You think the dagger doesn’t belong to me, but you think you know who it does belong to.’
Nothing from the silent Colquhoun and it frustrated her that she couldn’t see his reaction. But she heard the light tapping of his teeth as if he wanted to say something, yet kept his jaw tight to prevent any sound.
‘Even if you won’t tell me, I know the gem is costly, that men fight over it, that it has some great importance.’
‘We’ll need shelter after the streams,’ he answered.
The hornets began to sting. ‘You talk of weather?’ she said, barely understanding her own words through her clenched teeth.
‘There are dark clouds on our left,’ he replied.
‘I want to get off this horse. Now. Or I’ll jump.’
He flexed his left thumb, letting her know exactly how he felt, but he slowed the horse. It wasn’t fast enough for her.
Frustration like she’d never known flashed through her at the delay and at the tiny movements he made until they fully stopped. Anger flared when he waited for her to dismount first. A reminder of when she’d kicked him and run free.
She loathed his control, his arrogance, his secrets, and she hated her body for not caring. Her desiring him made her angrier still.
Untangling herself, she jumped to the ground and waited.
When he dismounted, she reared back and hit him for all she was worth.
Chapter Thirteen
Caird grabbed her fist, realising she aimed much lower than his stomach. But by securing her fist, he put his face directly in the aim of her second swing. The blow to his jaw was swift, with just enough force to make him angry.
Very angry.
Holding both her fists in his hands, he pinned them to his side to stop her struggling. He was quick with his leg, wrapping it around her own just as she tried to kick.
She pulled against his two holds, her body precariously bowed. If he let go, she’d fall to the ground. With the sharp rocks and sodden ground at their feet, he was tempted.
‘Let me go!’ Her dark eyes glared at him with a malevolence that only mimicked his own anger.
‘Elbows, now fists?’ he scorned. ‘Did you think that through, or were you just improvising again?’
She pulled at her legs, trying to free them from his own. ‘Ach, I thought much worse, Colquhoun.’ Suddenly pivoting towards him, she rammed her elbow into his stomach.
The reverberations in his ribs seared through him.
‘Impulsive female!’ Tightening and adjusting his hold, he straightened to his full height. She fell against him with a sound. ‘Doona you know how to think first?’
He wrapped her fully in his embrace. She moved still, but she couldn’t gain any purchase. When she stopped struggling, he just checked his smile at her defeat. Some of his anger dimmed. Some, but not all.
His ribs ached with her against him. They were already paining him because the horse seemed keen on finding every bit of uneven ground. Her elbow’s jab had almost forced him to release her.
‘Let me go!’ she demanded.
When he didn’t reply, Mairead looked at him. Her dark eyes were wild, but there was something else there now. It was swift, fleeting, but he saw her fear. Good. She should fear him. Something flitted through his chest, but he ignored it.
‘You cannot keep me here for ever,’ she said.
He quirked one eyebrow. True, but he could do it just long enough until she realised the error of her actions.
‘Ach!’ She tried to pull away, but he only wrapped his arms tighter around her, and forced her even closer. ‘You are the most stubborn, arrogant, overbearing man I’ve ever met.’
‘Aye.’
‘Aye?’ she said. ‘That’s all you can say?’
He shrugged. Out of all his brothers, he was the most in control. His need for answers and adherence to rules almost an obsession. As a result, he was respected and he intended to keep it that way.
Mairead exhaled. It was a breath too full of wrath and frustration to be one of defeat, but that slight release relaxed her more fully against him. Her head now rested against his torso, her cheek on his sore ribs.
He knew this wasn’t a reprieve; there would be no reprieve. Neither from her, nor from his body.
He held her again and his need for her was torture.
She was small and yet generous of frame. His hold prevented her from doing him any more damage, but it also pressed her to him just as she had been at the inn. He was fully, painfully, aware that he wasn’t drunk now and there would be no stumbling to break their hold.
He could hold her firm now. He burned to hold her firm.
Especially since the soft strands of her taunting hair wrapped so sweetly around his arms and hands, her full breasts flattened against his torso and her lithe legs were pinned against his own. But he was acutely aware of holding her hands at his hip. He could so easily move them lower and just stopped himself from doing so.
They fought, she was a traitorous liar and he was almost shaking with need. He shifted just enough to avoid her obvious effect on him.
He had the Jewel of Kings and was committing treason. Yet this one woman pressed against him was enough that he forgot all else.
This woman, this Buchanan upended everything. He couldn’t allow it while the jewel was exposed.
There had to be a reason it surfaced now and he meant to find that reason. Whether he could believe her brother or not, he was yet another link to this mystery. As long as they travelled, they could still find the thief.
But he was aching and wanting. Mairead leaned against him and he longed to pull her to him until his ribs killed him.
‘Why are you taking me home?’ she asked, her voice almost tentative.
Instantly suspicious of her soft voice, he replied, ‘You didn’t want to go to the games.’
‘That’s not the reason you’re taking me home.�
��
‘To talk to your brother.’
‘But that’s not the reason you’re taking me to my family,’ she repeated.
‘It’s the reason,’ he growled, his tone indicating it was the end of the conversation.
Ignoring this, she turned her head to look up at him. ‘Maybe, but not the reason you gave up on the celebrations. Not the reason you sent Malcolm there instead.’
‘The thief is free. It isn’t safe.’
‘You care not for my safety. It’s the dagger and gem.’
‘Doesn’t matter what you think. It’s not yours,’ he said.
‘Because I’m Buchanan?’ she said. It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Aye, because you’re Buchanan.’ He couldn’t carry on holding her like this. She could swing all she wanted, but he had to let her go. Releasing her hands and legs, he stepped away. He would be prepared for her now. ‘Because your kind lies. You’re nothing but deceit and dishonour.’
She stumbled in her gown before straightening to her full height.
‘Ach, and it’s because you’ve met every one of us? Or maybe you doona need to because you’re an all-knowing Colquhoun!’
‘History and meeting you have been enough to know your kind.’
‘Meeting me?’ She stepped away from him, her foot landing in a puddle, her body vibrating with annoyance. ‘How have I shown dishonour? When did I deceive?’
‘What haven’t you done?’ He felt like roaring; his mind tried and failed to keep rational. To keep quiet as he had always done to maintain control. ‘Stealing into my room like a thief, lying about the reason, lying about ownership. Deceiving my cousins the next morning.’
If she looked confused before, she looked dumbfounded at his confession.
‘Deceiving?’ Her free hand clenched in a fist.
He eyed her fist, but knew it was the second swing he’d have to watch more closely.
‘What has been wrong with my deceit? You used my deceit when it was convenient for you. So I would say it’s our deceit.’
‘Nae mine,’ he replied, wanting this conversation done.
‘Ach! So that’s how all Colquhouns are. Pious in their belief they are above a few tall tales.’
‘We are above tales,’ he said. ‘Unlike Buchanans.’
‘What have I ever done to you?’
‘Nothing,’ he repeated. ‘And I’ll not give you a chance to.’
She waved her arm in front of her. ‘I doona ken any of this...this...madness,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘Our clans fight, aye, but why this hatred?’ She pointed at him. ‘You’re not going to explain, are you?’ She spun around. ‘Not. Going. To. Even. React!’
Something began to seethe within him. He’d trained himself to not express emotions, he’d become skilled in listening and not speaking, but this? This was rage and every hair on his body bristled with it. Not react? He was about to explode.
Facing him, Mairead stood almost on her toes. If he felt rage, barely checked, her emotion was right there along with his.
With fingers taut, she pointed to him. ‘You continued to use my deceit on the stairs, which I fully admit I created, to distract our audience from—’
‘The dagger,’ he interrupted, the words just tumbling out of him. His rage wouldn’t let him hold the words back. ‘Which you also lied about and continue to lie about. You cannot be trusted.’
‘Who’s deceitful now?’ she replied. ‘When words flow out of your mouth with ease. I doona think you’re the quiet one, but the cunning one.’
‘Enough,’ he growled, when he realised she was right. He was saying too much. To a Buchanan. Now, when lust assailed and anger lashed him with every breath he took. He needed control and was relinquishing it all to her.
‘Enough!’ She smiled as if he’d just given her a bow and arrow to point at him. ‘Enough! What a convenient word for you, but not for me. A Buchanan, who begged to be done with this. You have nae right to enough, when it was you who continued it. Now you’re stuck with this, as you are with me.’
‘I return you and we end this.’
She pulled herself up, her eyes narrowing, her anger reining in and becoming more powerful. He could see it. Feel it. ‘This won’t end when we reach my home. I doona believe you. I, a duplicitous Buchanan, can tell an arrogant Colquhoun lie. Again! You believe yourself so high and mighty, but you know what you have? False honour!’
His rage flared and he stepped towards her. ‘I could kill you for those words,’ he said low, steady, so she would understand every word.
She smirked. ‘Nae, you wouldn’t. Not when you need your precious answers.’ She shook her head. ‘I doona ken you. We travel a great distance, soon we will risk our lives to cross turbulent waters, all to find answers.’ She raised her hand to stop him from interrupting. ‘If you’re so wise, so bent on obtaining knowledge, why haven’t you asked for facts from me? What could I say to make you believe me?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then set me free.’
‘Not until I see your brother.’
Her eyes widened again. Her mouth opened, then shut. Trembling, she spun around so he couldn’t see her face. When she turned around, he was unprepared for the look on her face, unprepared for the emotions in her eyes. He recognised that tortured look.
He looked away. His lust he could barely control, but he didn’t want to feel other emotions for her as well. He took the few steps to his wandering horse and grabbed its bridle.
‘Understand me, Buchanan,’ he said, looking at her again and seeing nothing in her dark eyes. ‘I will have answers whether you, your brother or the devil give them to me. We’ll cross these waters and until then, I’ll talk nae more about this.’
She pointed to the wide stream before them. It was breaking its banks and now flowing almost to their feet. ‘How are we to cross?’
‘Straight through,’ he replied through gritted teeth. This journey couldn’t end soon enough.
Chapter Fourteen
‘You sit too close to the fire,’ Caird said. Mairead jumped, her hand fluttering closer to the flames before she pulled it back, but she didn’t scramble to a safer distance.
‘Not close enough,’ she retorted, her teeth chattering. ‘And the sun is going down.’
‘Aye,’ he said, walking to the fire to balance their food there. The few hares he’d found were meagre, but it was better than nothing. He was starving and he knew she must be as well.
It had taken longer than expected to cross the swollen streams. Fortunately, they had not been deep, barely reaching the horse’s knees, but the splashing water had soaked her gown.
He had remained mostly dry and searched for food. Now he could see he shouldn’t have left her here.
‘You need to be out of that gown,’ he said.
She snorted, thrusting her hands towards the flames again.
Her movements pressed her breasts even more tightly against the strained fabric.
Suddenly fumbling with the hares, he forced his hands to steady the rope over the flames. So easily she affected him. He had been long without a woman, but this went beyond anything in his experience. He felt like an untried lad.
Especially now. Whilst he’d been gone, she had loosely plaited the front of her hair, enough to take its length out of her face, but it framed her, like an unruly halo. He could so easily gaze at the arch of her eyebrows, or the way her lashes cast shadows over her cheeks.
But it was her skin glowing warmly that captivated him. Her pale skin beckoned to be touched. Like the finest of cloth, just as soft, just as smooth.
Flexing his thumb that felt suddenly taut, he knew he couldn’t stand here any more. One more moment and he’d be spouting poetry to her beauty. He forced his hands to work faster
until he was free to leave the meat cooking.
‘I’ll need to wash,’ he said after he was done.
She looked beyond him, at the streams they had just crossed. ‘Wasn’t it wet enough?’
‘I didn’t get wet,’ he said.
She frowned, no doubt irritated by his smug comment. ‘And the horse?’
The animal had seemed out of sorts. Since there was no harm he could see, it was probably suffering from something it had eaten. It might be serious and he had to keep watch on it.
‘I’ll see to it,’ he replied.
‘Like you do everything else?’
He crossed his arms. She was angry. Still. ‘I’m returning you home,’ he replied.
‘That’s not all you’re doing, Colquhoun.’
She sat before him, her lips trembling from the cold, but her eyes glittered. Their depths flashed a fire more bright than the flames she sat next to. He didn’t feel like an untried lad before her now. His desire for her changed and became more dangerous.
At his continued silence, her frown deepened as her ire increased. It was almost his undoing. Lust’s talons that had been whispering across his skin sunk deep. He was instantly hard and wanting.
Turning abruptly, he hoped the water was as cold as Mairead said it was.
* * *
Caird hadn’t returned. It wasn’t dark yet, not at this time of year, but the fading light cast everything around them in orange and yellow. It was getting late.
Mairead had eventually undressed and hung her gown nearby. The spare blanket covered her enough, even though it pained her hand to clasp it to her.
Hours had elapsed since she’d struck Caird and her left hand still hurt. She had never hit another person; there never had been a need to. At the time, it had felt...necessary.
Of course, she hadn’t thought of the consequences, or how he would retaliate.
Holding her against him until she couldn’t move. She had struck him, he was an enemy and yet he had only captured her hands.
