Highland Temptations Box Set: Books 1-3

by Aileen Adams

  “I only meant that ye ought to join us,” he explained, holding both hands out as if to show he meant no harm. “We have more than enough to eat and drink, and are celebrating Samhain.”

  “Samhain?” she asked. “Is it truly so late in the year?”

  “Aye, come, ye ought to join us. Ye both look as though ye could use the warmth of a fire, at the least.” He was not wrong about that, as the night had become quite cold once the sun set.

  They exchanged a look. He lifted a shoulder, wondering if any harm could come of this. She did not appear to know this man, though it seemed as though he had at least heard of her. So many had. Perhaps the people around the fire might tell them of any rumors they’d heard regarding her travels.

  The three of them found the horse together—she was unwilling to let William go on his own, and their new friend would not allow either of them out of his sight, and brought it to the camp.

  All eyes turned their way. Even those of a handful of bairns no older than three or four winters.

  “Good Samhain to you,” she smiled. “My name is Tara. We were…”

  “Riding,” William finished. She was overwhelmed at the presence of so many like herself, while he thought this might have been the most foolish thing they’d done so far.

  Yet if they had refused, he might have been reduced to killing the man who’d found them in order to keep him silent, and she would never have stood for that.

  “We were riding through, and the scent of your fire caught our attention,” he continued as the skin on the back of his neck crawled. He had never been so out of place in his life.

  Nor had he ever borne the weight of so many angry, distrustful, hate-filled gazes. Yes, hate, they hated him. He was a symbol of everything they’d suffered at the hands of men such as himself.

  She placed a hand over one of his, as though she’d read both their thoughts and his own. “He is a friend,” she assured them. “He is a friend to all of us.”

  He would not have gone as far as that had the matter been left up to him, but the matter was not left up to him, and anyway, it was better for them to believe her. Otherwise, all of the men and some of the women appeared to be armed with dirks, at least, though one or two had pistols at their waists.

  These were people accustomed to defending themselves.

  Against men such as him.

  “Come.” The one who’d found them, who appeared even younger now that the firelight lit his face, gestured to a great pile of roast meat which William guessed had once been a boar. “There is more than enough, as I said, and we have a great deal to drink.”

  One of the older men, the side of whose face bore a scar from temple to jaw, pulled the young man aside and muttered a great deal in a language which William did not understand.

  She, on the other hand, understood every word. She stiffened, nostrils flaring, the hand which still covered his tightening little by little. When William moved as if to approach them, however, her eyes met his, and her head shook just enough for him to see.

  He could only wait for these strangers to decide their fate, then. And hope they had not just walked into their deaths.

  16

  “Why would you bring them to us? This devil could be the death of us all. He is not welcome here, nor is she. You should have ended them, or called for us to come and assist you.”

  Shana’s heart nearly drowned out the sound of the man’s voice, and she willed herself to stay as calm as she could, if only that she might hear him better.

  The younger man, who might have been his grandson, stood with head bowed. He swayed a bit, telling her he’d had more than his share to drink. That explained his open, generous nature. His insistence that they join the celebration. “She is one of us.”

  “She is not one of us,” the old man hissed. “She is not of our clan. She is an Other, and we have no room for Others here.”

  “It is Samhain,” the young man insisted. “We have so much. Why not share with them?”

  “They did not come to us in search of help or food. They came to be certain they were not in the presence of foes. Fools. They should have been on their way.”

  She could agree with the old man on that point, at least. She ought to have demanded William ride away from the smell of smoke. It mattered not whether those who’d built the fire were friend or foe, so long as they were in one place and she was in another.

  No, she had deferred to him, and now there was no telling what might come of them.

  So long as he remained still and did not pose a threat. She squeezed his hand hard, willing him to simply stand there and not say a word until the elder—who this old man clearly was—had decided what would be done with them.

  She gave herself a decent chance of surviving. While she was not of their clan, she was one of their kind—half their kind, but they did not need to know she was not full-blooded. They would not kill one of their own.

  William, on the other hand…

  She could not allow it.

  The old man heaved a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the youth before him. “The next time you decide to make water, you will take someone with you. I cannot have you bringing strangers to our camp whenever you walk off alone.”

  Then, he turned to her and William. “You are welcome here,” he announced, no longer using his own ancient language. “Please, be comfortable, and join us in celebration.”

  The music started again, the children danced, and Shana did not know whether she wished to laugh or weep for all she missed.

  She did miss this, so terribly. Not until now, as the music she’d listened to all her life played on a fiddle and young women danced in a circle around the musicians had she realized the deep well of longing in her heart.

  Never had she expected to see or hear anything of the sort again.

  William appeared entirely beside himself, accepting meat and ale with wide eyes and a grateful—if slightly sheepish—smile. He was the one person who stood out, who did not belong. And he knew it, and it left him overwhelmed.

  She chuckled, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his hear. “How does it feel?”

  His eyes met hers, and understanding flickered in them. “Are ye enjoying yourself, then? At my expense?”

  “Perhaps,” she laughed, clapping her hands along with the fast tune. It was so like something Manfri would have played.

  Perhaps he was playing it now, somewhere far away. They would be celebrating the festival, he and Devon and Vano and Llewellyn and all the others. Sabina and Kezia would be dancing, and they would invite her to join them, and they would laugh and drink too much and eat even more than that, all in the name of celebrating the coming winter. The death of the new life brought about by spring.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she wiped them away with an impatient hand. There was no room for tears. That part of her life was over now, and it as like as not that none of them were enjoying the festival because they were in hiding.

  All because her brother had been too bold.

  The tune changed, and this was one she recognized. One of her favorites. The men playing the instruments shouted to each other, urging the others to play faster, better, with more enthusiasm.

  She could not keep still, and soon she was swaying and clapping harder than before. She would not join the dancing, as she had not been invited, but she did long to.

  “Why do ye not join them?” William asked, and she turned to find him watching her with great interest. His mouth curved in a smile. “Go on, then.”

  “I cannot. I have not been invited to join the circle. It would be quite rude.”

  “I would like to see ye dance,” he admitted, his eyes shining. She told herself it was merely the firelight and nothing more.

  “Aye, I’ll just wager you would.” She smirked, rolling her eyes.

  “Come, come!” One of the wee lads, no more than four or five years, tugged at her tunic. “Come, dance!” He smiled up at her, the rogue, and the dimples which appear
ed in both cheeks all but melted her heart.

  “Yes, come!” one of the girls beckoned, waving to her from across the fire.

  William gave her a gentle, but firm, shove in their direction. “Are ye frightened?” he teased as she hurried away.

  She removed her tam and tossed it back to him, shaking out her hair as she went. Frightened? No, she was not in the least, and her feet felt nearly as good as new. No, she was concerned. Fretful, perhaps. She knew this would only make her miss the old ways more, and she did not wish to miss them. Not if she could never be part of this again.

  Two of the girls took her hands, one each, and raised their arms above their heads. She had no choice but to join them in this, nor did she have a choice but to twist her hips from one side to the other as they circled the musicians.

  She did not stomp as hard as they did, but she did toss her head and swing her hair, crying out in pure joy and the sheer thrill of feeling as though she was one with the music. With the people. Yes, she was once again with her own kind, and they understood her better than the man watching from beyond the fire ever could.

  Yet she kept looking to him, did she not? Her gaze kept finding his again and again, and his eyes never left her as she moved.

  How she longed to dance with him.

  Breaking free from the girls, she dashed over to him. “Come. Let me show you how it’s done.”

  “Och, nay!” he protested, shaking his head, waving his hands.

  “Are ye frightened?” she teased, laughing to see his cheeks flush at being caught in his own taunts. “It is the simplest thing you’ll ever do, I’d wager.”

  She took his hands, then bent at the waist and leaned to her right. He followed her, leaning left. She leaned left, he leaned right. “Now, move your feet.” She hopped to the right, hopped to the left. “One-two-three and one-two-three…”

  He was roughly as graceful as an ox, and she laughed until tears streamed down her face. To her surprise, he laughed at himself.

  “Ye thought I was frightened? I was merely trying to spare both of us a great deal of embarrassment!” he shouted over the music, and they both laughed again.

  She noticed they were still holding hands, and he noticed at roughly the same time. Their laughter faded until it went silent and there was nothing but the two of them, standing by a fire, staring at one another with their hands clasped and their cheeks flushed and—at least in her case, she was unaware of him—a strange, buzzing sensation moving through her head.

  A flutter in the chest.

  Then, a scream.

  William’s hands tightened, his head snapping about in the direction of the scream. Shana looked as well, but she had no time to see for he was already pulling her away from the fire and away from the camp altogether.

  “What?” she asked before he released one of her hands and clamped his over her mouth, wrapping his other arm around her waist. She struggled to be free, to look behind her as more screams rose up, and the shouts of men, and the sound of crashing and burning and rough, demanding voices hurling insults and curses.

  “Come, come!” he whispered, leading her to where the horses waited. They were frantic, struggling, pulling at their reins, desperate to run away as William and Shana were running away. She wanted to free them all, but there was no time for that.

  No time to help them.

  “What’d ye think yer doin’?” A shadowy figure emerged from behind one of the animals and lunged for them.

  William shoved the man away with his right hand, still holding her against him in his left arm. She screamed when another man wrenched her from William’s grasp, kicking and striking anything she could before landing a solid blow between the wretch’s legs.

  He dropped to the ground with a howl, rolling onto his side with his hands cupping the area she’d just smashed. Rather than leave him there, she raised her foot and slammed her heel against his face once, twice, until bones crunched and his groans bubbled around the blood in his mouth.

  A fight went on behind her, William and the man who’d stopped them, with her turning in time to see the burly man throw William against a tree. He groaned but rolled away in time, avoiding a blow to his face.

  He grabbed the man by the back of his neck and threw him to the ground, kicking him solidly in the stomach before looking around for Shana. “Get the horse!” he commanded just as the man on the ground tripped him up.

  “William!” she gasped, looking both to him and behind her to where the camp was now nothing more than flames and fading screams.

  “The horse!” he barked, shoving his attacked away from him and leaping to his feet again.

  She looked around, frantically searching for their horse in particular. She found him slightly away from the others, just as panicked as they. “There, there,” she whispered, hands trembling too hard to untie the reins at first. Only when she smelled smoke and heard running footsteps coming their way did she steady up and free the beast.

  William joined her, his dirk dripping blood, and she did not need to ask how the fight had ended.

  “We must help them!” She sobbed as the screams rang out again, filling her ears, splitting her head. But William’s arm was around her, and he was throwing her over the saddle and leading both her and the sable horse away at a run.

  “Get up! Sit up!” he barked, looking back at her over his shoulder. “Hurry!”

  She did the best she could as the horse bounced her with each uneven step as they raced out of the woods. It was so dark. She gripped the pommel with her left hand and swung her right leg around, the horse bouncing her again and causing her to bite her tongue. The pain and surprise were so great she nearly slipped off.

  But she tried again, this time managing to get one leg on either side of the horse. He looked back in time to see her sit up, and when she had adjusted herself, he tossed her the reins and mounted behind her.

  “Go!” he ordered once his weight settled in at her back, and she did not have time to spare one last look toward what they were leaving behind.

  There was simply no choice but to run hard and fast, breaking out onto the road and turning the horse northward.

  We left them. We left them. We left them. It repeated in her head with each strike of hoof against the ground, on and on as they rode through the darkness lit only by the sliver of a moon.

  17

  Every part of William’s body ached.

  Blood ran down the side of his head.

  The blood of two men was still fresh on his dirk.

  And the lass who’d almost been taken from him expertly rode his horse at breakneck speed, carrying them both far from the scene of horror.

  Only when the poor beast’s breathing became labored did William close his hands around her arms. “All right, then,” he called out into her ear. “All right. We must stop for a while.”

  It was as if she could not hear him. Or chose not to.

  “Lass!” he shouted, perhaps louder than he wished to, but there had to be something that could get through to her. Gentleness certainly wouldn’t. “Tara. We must stop!” He took her hands in his, then moved them forward until it was he who gripped the reins, and he drew them in until they’d slowed to a trot.

  She was in shock, sitting completely still, eyes wide. She’d never seen anything like what they’d just left.

  Neither had he, and until then he thought he’d seen everything.

  He directed the panting beast into the woods and between towering spruce trees, their scent mixing with that of blood to create a strange new odor he feared he would never be rid of. Just as he would never be rid of the horror he’d just witnessed.

  They were not soldiers. That much was clear. The men had not worn uniforms and were not trained fighters. They were nothing more than mercenaries, just like the man he’d killed days ago, only they were the worst sort.

  He had seen what two of them were doing to one of those poor, defenseless women at the edge of the camp. He would never be able
to forget it.

  And he had left her. He’d left all of them. The knowing of it settled in his heart and turned it to stone. He had left them, all of them. Yes, their men had been armed, but what had become of them? They’d either been fighting or been killed in the fight, or in the fire which had spread as tents were knocked into the flames in the center of the camp.

  They were mercenaries, those men, which told William one thing, they’d been looking for her.

  She likely knew it.

  And knowing her as he did, she was blaming herself. As if she had any control over what a passel of gold-hungry men were capable of.

  They reached a river. He did not know which. He might have been in a small amount of shock himself, or else he’d taken a harder blow to the head than he’d thought. Regardless, it wasn’t easy to think straight. He stopped the horse and dismounted quickly as the poor, exhausted thing lowered its nuzzle to the water and drank deeply.

  “Come,” he murmured, handling her as gently as he could, his already sore muscles straining as he lowered her from the saddle. She knelt at the riverbank and splashed water onto her face, where tears had already streaked through the dirt.

  He knelt beside her, careful to watch her from the corner of his eye while he washed his hands, his face, his dirk. The bleeding had slowed to nothing more than a slow trickle, it seemed, and a gentle examination with his fingertips told him he had a gash just above his ear.

  “Allow me.” The first words she’d spoken since they left the camp.

  He turned his head, allowing her to look at the damage done to him.

  “It isn’t deep. The salve ought to help, if there is any left.”

  “There is.” He found the correct pack and pulled it out, and she dabbed it over his ear. As she worked, he dared ask, “Were ye injured?”

  “I am well.” Her voice was flat, toneless.

  “Lass…”

  “I asked you to call me Tara,” she snapped.