Highland Temptations Box Set: Books 1-3

by Aileen Adams

  The idea of a gag shoved into her mouth by dirty fingers did not overmuch appeal to her. Just the thought turned her stomach. Better to keep her thoughts to herself and avoid worsening her situation.

  Drew looked over his shoulder, his cold gaze grazing her before landing over her shoulder. “We ought to make camp.”

  “Aye,” Rufus agreed, to her relief.

  She’d been afraid he might insist they keep riding. The thought of being out of the saddle and on the ground—cold, hard, it mattered not at the moment—gave her strength. She straightened her spine and finished the ride with her head held high.

  This attitude did not last long, as she realized moments after being rudely and roughly pulled to the ground that she would need to attend to nature’s needs with her wrists bound.

  “I need privacy,” she murmured, hoping her captor would find it in his heart to at least grant her a moment’s civility.

  He barely spared her a glance as he worked to remove the saddle from his horse. “That is one thing ye shall not receive, lass.”

  “Ye know what I mean,” she whispered. “I need to… find a tree.”

  He sighed, his head bowing briefly. “Fine. Come with me.”

  “Ye intend to accompany me?”

  “Ye dinna think I shall allow ye to go off on your own, do ye? I was born at night, lass, but it wasna last night.” He exchanged a brief look with Tyrone, who nodded his understanding, before taking her arm. “Come.”

  “I shall need my wrists unbound.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Unless ye intend to handle matters for me, ye shall untie my wrists.”

  He cursed under his breath—but, when they were a respectful distance from the others, behind a cluster of bushes, he gritted his teeth and took her wrists in one hand. “Dinna make me regret this,” he muttered as his nimble fingers worked the linen strips.

  She gasped in agony when the blood rushed back into her hands, and to her surprise, his eyes widened. “What is it?”

  “My hands,” she groaned. “They went numb.”

  “Och, lass.” He sounded as though this put him out tremendously, but took her hands in his and rubbed them briskly nonetheless.

  She gritted her teeth, tears trickling down her cheeks as the feeling began to return.

  “Ye dinna have to cry.”

  “Do not tell me,” she grunted, wishing she had the strength to knock the nasty smirk from his face.

  “Are ye better?” he asked, dropping her hands.

  “Aye. I can manage now.” To his credit, he turned away and took a few steps to give her some appearance of privacy.

  “Dinna even think of running,” he warned.

  She could have died of misery and embarrassment, and all he could think about was whether she would run away. It ought not to have come as a surprise—a man such as he would only think of himself, his needs, his concerns. Nothing of her.

  “Do ye think I could run?” Och, but she was thirsty. Speaking was a struggle, as was balancing herself when there was still a great deal of pain in her ankle, but this was the only chance she’d have to be alone with him for likely the entire evening. Best to make it count.

  “Tis true,” he admitted with a snort. “Ye could not run earlier today, could ye?”

  “I was not trying to run. I’m not daft.”

  “And I suppose the dirk ye pressed to my throat was a mere accident, was it?”

  She winced. That had been a mistake, and was likely the reason she’d not been granted the chance to explain herself. Of course. Why would they listen to a word she had to say when she’d already threatened the life of their leader?

  What else had there been to do? Instinct had taken over in the face of panic, the certainty that they would hurt her—or worse—after learning her name. She had acted before thinking, and look where it got her.

  “I was not trying to hurt ye,” she explained, knowing how pitiful she sounded but also knowing she told the truth.

  He did not believe her, which came as no surprise. “What were ye trying to do, then?”

  “I cannot say,” she admitted. “What would ye have done, in my place?”

  “I would not be in your place, for I would not have lied.”

  “Of course.”

  “Come,” he grunted, taking her arm in an unforgivingly tight grip. “A stream. Ye can drink before I bind ye again.”

  She bit back a retort, the fear of Rufus changing his mind before she could drink the only thing strong enough to keep her silent. “What do ye intend to do with me?” The question came out as a weak croak, her dry throat protesting even the mere act of speaking.

  “What do ye think?” he replied without looking at her. “Much the same as I’ve already done. As I warned ye, I will not be letting ye out of my sight. Tis best that ye accustom yourself to the idea now. It will make the rest of our journey easier for ye. Not that I care whether ye have an easy time of it.”

  “I’m certain ye do not,” she whispered. As if rewarding her for this, he shoved her to the ground when they reached the edge of the stream. She caught herself before she could fall and bit back an even sharper retort in favor of drinking.

  “Tis fortunate I’m not the sort to deny a prisoner the right to drink,” Rufus observed from above her as she bent over the trickling water.

  She managed to stifle a sigh. “Did ye want me to beg? Would that make ye feel better? What if I throw myself to the ground and weep?”

  “Ye can help yourself up off the ground once you’ve finished, for I will not be the one to do it for ye. I have other things on my mind, as if ye didna know.”

  “I’m well aware.” She looked up at him, his profile visible in the dim, early evening light.

  “I know ye are.” He glared at her, snarling. The depth of his rage was clear, and she suddenly was keenly aware of their being alone. The others were far off, setting up camp, and might not make it to her in time if she even managed to cry out for help.

  They might not want to make it to her, either. They might have fully expected Rufus to hurt her while their backs were turned and there was nothing they could do. They would tell themselves there was nothing they could do.

  She swallowed back the rising panic filling her chest, flooding her throat. Panic which would have sounded a great deal like a scream if she could not get herself under control.

  He dropped into a crouch, reminding her of nothing so much as a cat about to pounce on its prey, and leaned in until they were mere inches from each other’s face. “Ye listened as I told ye of what your brother did to my family. Ye stood and looked me in the eye and listened and pretended ye had no knowing of it.”

  “I did not.”

  “Liar!” he snarled, spittle hitting her cheeks when he did. “Ye lie to me even now, now when ye have nothing to gain by lying!”

  She couldn’t let him see how he frightened her. And she would not. She raised her head, then, staring him down for a moment without speaking. A chill ran through her, gooseflesh rising on her arms. Yet she would not look away. “I am not lying. I did not know. It was ye who told me of it. Do ye believe my brother would brag about such a thing?”

  “I would believe him to be capable of any manner of evil.”

  “He might brag to a man. He would never brag to me. He would not allow our brothers or cousins to speak of it to me. I asked,” she admitted, grudging. “I heard rumors. But no one would tell me whether they were true.”

  “Protecting ye?” he sneered.

  “Ignoring me,” she spat. “When ye manage to calm yourself and think clearly, ask yourself a question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why, if my brother gave a damn about me, would he leave me to die in the woods?”

  This had the effect she’d supposed it would. He blinked, his face going blank for a moment.

  She continued, “Ye might think this will help ye somehow, that you’ll use me as a way to somehow hurt him, but I do
not believe he will care when he hears ye have me.”

  “Leave that to me.”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “None, and that’s the truth of it.”

  She rose, suddenly tired again. It was not just the riding that had done it, either. It was him. He exhausted her.

  “Come,” he grunted, taking her arm.

  She allowed him to lead her to where the men had made camp rather than demanding he not touch her.

  If they were going to be together for any length of time, it would be necessary to start choosing her battles wisely.

  8

  The sound of rain hitting the pine needles strewn over the ground woke Rufus in the early morning hours. What had begun as a clear, dry night turned into what seemed close to turning into a downpour.

  “Wonderful,” he snarled, drawing the blanket over his shoulders, grateful to be under a multitude of low-hanging pine branches. They kept much of the rain away from the men sleeping around what had been their cooking fire.

  It was now nothing more than a smoking pile of wet wood, thanks to the rain which now fell in earnest.

  He looked around without lifting his head, noting that the rest of them slept—even Alec, who was supposed to be awake and watching the fire. Good thing the rain had put it out, as Alec’s limp form leaned against the base of a tree, his eyes closed. If it weren’t for the heavy snoring coming from his half-open mouth, the man might well have been dead.

  They might all have been dead if anyone had managed to sneak up on their camp.

  Movement on the far side of the smoking mound. The lass. She turned from one side to the other, now facing in his direction, fingers clutching her cloak around her.

  For one bitter moment, he was glad for her discomfort. He even wished it might be worse.

  It was not a moment or a sentiment of which he was proud. Only a small, bitter, petty man would think such a thing about a woman, enemy or no.

  A lying woman. He reminded himself of this just as he had reminded Drew of it before bedding down for the night.

  “She canna be trusted,” he’d warned, knowing Drew would take first watch before Alec did. “Dinna listen to a word she says.”

  “Ye make it sound as though she’s some sort of threat to us,” Drew had noted in a tight whisper, eyes moving from Rufus to where Davina had stretched out on her side, her back to them.

  “Ye dinna believe she is?” Rufus had challenged. “Has she gotten into your head with her lies?”

  “I would not be concerned with my head if I were ye,” Drew had observed. For once, there was not a trace of humor in his voice or manner. He did not take pains to lessen what he must have known Rufus would take as a grave insult. “I would be concerned with my own.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means she insulted ye. I know she did. She insulted all of us, taking advantage of our kindness when she ought to have come out and admitted the truth of her name when we first met.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true.”

  “However,” Drew had continued, holding up a hand, “what would ye have done in her place? Hungry, hurting, alone? Would ye have announced your name if ye knew your brother was nothing but a blackguard who seems to take pleasure in the misery he spreads? Knowing he must have a great number of enemies? She didna know us. She could not know how we would treat her once we’d heard the truth.”

  “She had more than one chance,” Rufus had muttered, but refused to explain himself, even under Drew’s questioning gaze.

  She’d listened to his story, all the while knowing the part her brother had played in it. She could lie all she wished about whether she knew what he’d done. That did not change the fact that she’d had the chance to admit all to Rufus, and she had not.

  He had revealed part of himself to her, and she had likely laughed at him for his efforts.

  She could drown in the rain as far as he was concerned.

  He gathered the blanket even tighter about himself, slamming his eyes shut in an attempt to forget she existed. Would that it were so easy to do.

  Especially when she moved loudly enough to attract his attention.

  He peered at her with half-lidded eyes, watching as she sat up and arranged the cloak over her shoulders, raising the hood. When she turned her back, crawling on hand and knee further from the camp, he rose carefully. Silently.

  “What do ye believe you’re doing?” he whispered when he reached her, still crawling.

  Her sigh was louder than the pounding rain. “Finding drier ground.”

  “A likely story.”

  She rolled onto her backside and dropped the hood to reveal her dripping hair. “I was not as protected as ye,” she hissed. Even the hood and cloak were heavy with rain, he noted.

  “Ye are certain ye did not intend to keep going?”

  “Och, you’ve found me out. I was going to crawl all the way back to Crieff on hands and knees.” She positioned herself with her back to a pine, its boughs providing far better shelter than she’d had before. “If ye do not mind, I would like to go back to sleep. If I can manage it in a sodden cloak.”

  He watched her take a fistful of long, dripping curls and squeeze the water from them. Something about that simple gesture made his chest ache. If only she would behave as he expected her to, this would all go much easier.

  Yet thus far, she had not even taken advantage of Alec having fallen asleep on watch, and the pounding, driving rain would have provided the perfect cover to any noise she might have made.

  The lass was clever. Surely, she would have thought of this. Yet she had only been trying to get out of the rain.

  He sat beside her with enough room to ensure they did not touch, but near enough that he might stop her from making a sudden attempt to escape. Perhaps leaving her hands untied overnight was folly, but he’d been overruled when Alec, Drew and Clyde had all voted against binding her.

  Of course, he could not imagine sleeping without being able to move his hands, but it was unwise to place oneself in the position of the enemy during battle.

  When had this become a battle?

  “Ye intend to sit up with me?” she whispered, arranging her legs before her, wincing when she lowered her swollen ankle.

  “Someone has to. Alec fell asleep.”

  “I noticed.”

  He saw her from the corner of his eye, turning her head his way.

  “Perhaps if ye did not press everyone into riding for so many hours at a time, he would not have succumbed to fatigue as he did.”

  “It is not for ye to say.”

  “Nay, ‘tis not,” she agreed, “but that is the truth of it. I saw every one of them yawning, rubbing their eyes, the backs of their necks, stretching. Slumping in the saddle. They were tired.”

  “These are all men accustomed to war. Well, perhaps Clyde and Drew are not, but they are strong men. A day’s ride should not be too much for them to manage.”

  “It was,” she insisted.

  “I suppose ye know much of it, then,” he sneered. “Your brother must have taught ye quite a bit of such matters.”

  “Do not speak of my brother.”

  “I shall speak of whoever it is I wish to speak of. Dinna dare tell me of whom or of what I ought to speak, when ye know what he did to my family.”

  Och, but she had a wicked mouth to go along with her wicked nature, and she set it in a hard line at this. “I did not defend him. I merely warned ye against speaking of him. Nothing more.”

  “Why? Does it bother ye to hear of his wicked doings?”

  “I am warning ye.”

  “Warning me? Who are ye to warn me of anything?” He leaned in, as one friend would lean nearer another before revealing a secret. She was not his friend, but he needed for her to hear him clearly. “First, ye tell me how to manage my men. Then, ye tell me I’m not to speak of the man who murdered my parents and robbed my brother of his birthright. That land has belonged to the MacIntoshes since lon
g before Ian MacFarland cursed the world with his presence. I shall speak as I please and do as I please, and unless ye wish to spend every night from now until I kill your brother with your hands bound and no shelter whatsoever, ye had better start keeping your worthless opinions to yourself. Do ye understand?”

  She pressed her lips in a line so thin, they almost disappeared.

  But she remained silent.

  Before long, she might even have fallen asleep.

  He would not look at her to check.

  9

  “Davina.” A hand shook her. Hard.

  She woke with a start, heart in her throat, unable to breathe. A sick feeling. Sick and terrible. She looked around, panicked, cold sweat beading on her forehead and the back of her neck.

  Where was she? There was nothing she recognized. No one.

  “Davina.” A face swam before hers, dark and blurred at first, before she brought it into clearer focus. Rufus. She was with Rufus and the others, and oh, yes, she was their captive. And it was all Ian’s fault. Were it not for him, they would not hate her.

  Were it not for him, she would not have spent the night sleeping with her back against a tree.

  Were it not for him insisting she not stay behind while he ran—yes, ran—from the justice he deserved, she would be at home. She would sleep in her bed and do the chores she did every day and live in blessed peace for the first time in her wretched life.

  No. It was not to be. She was there, in the woods, at the mercy of strangers who hated her, thanks to the misfortune of having been born who she was.

  Rufus’s hand lingered on her shoulder, where he had shaken her awake. She jerked back as though his touch burned.

  “Aye. All is well,” she lied, her cheeks flushing with the embarrassment of having made a fool of herself. So long as she hadn’t screamed, as she sometimes woke herself with her own screams.

  He did not look as though she screamed, and he did not ask about it. “Ye did not wake when I called your name,” he muttered, as though he was accusing her of something dreadful. As though sleeping deeply was a crime. She wondered if there was anything she could do that would not draw his ire.