Highlander's Haunted Past (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 1)

by Adamina Young

  “Poor Florence, perhaps ye’ll still grow.”

  “I say my prayers to God every morning.” Florence gave a dramatic sigh. “In the meantime, we simply must go spend some money to soothe my wounded pride.”

  “Again?” Ellen asked, looking a bit disconcerted.

  “Aye, or Kenna will be coming to ye whenever she needs to change.”

  “Apologies. I am afraid that would be the case,” Kenna said, wincing as Ellen’s smile faltered once more.

  Florence seemed to know every shop in Aberdeen, and half of the shopkeepers called her by name as the trio of women went strolling past. At last, Florence pulled them into a building at the very edge of the town, and Kenna’s eyes widened in amazement. Stacked all the way up to the ceiling were massive bolts of fabric in every pattern and color. Long streamers of ribbon hung from the ceiling, the various pieces twisting about each other until they became one multi-colored swirl. In opposition to the storm of color was a mountain of lace, as perfectly white and delicate as a snowflake caught on glass.

  A group of women sat at the center of it all, a large bit of fabric stretched between them. Their fingers were so quick and nimble, the gentle flash of a needle barely seen before it disappeared back into the fabric situated between them. Finally, one of them glanced up and beamed a welcoming smile at Florence. Whether it was a smile of friendship or of seeing your next few months of coin standing in the doorway, Kenna could not be sure.

  “Lady Fraser, what might we do fer ye?”

  “We need a bit of everything,” Florence replied before pushing Kenna forward into their eager fingertips.

  * * *

  After hours of measurements, pinning, and a furry of cloth, lace, and ribbons, Florence finally had become content and allowed them to bid the shopkeepers goodnight.

  Kenna mentally counted all of their purchases as she rubbed the soreness along her side from a few pins gone astray. Between the three of them, there had been a fair bit of damage done to the gold stores of Clan Fraser.

  “Florence, are ye sure this is all right?” Kenna asked as the final coin count grew ridiculously high.

  Florence had demanded Kenna to pick out design after design, and before she knew it, her entire wardrobe had essentially been replaced when the goal had only been to create a few pieces to hold her over until her trunks arrived. Silk gowns and fine petticoats, cotton shifts and linen dresses, simple riding dresses to replace the ones stained or burned—no garment had been forgotten. The cheeky lass had even ordered both Kenna and Ellen some rather unseemly nightgowns, batting her eyes at them while saying that she wished for nothing more than to become an aunt.

  “Kenna, Kenna, of course ‘tis all right. The Laird Fraser and the great Laird Lovat would never wish to be scandalized by daughters so terribly out of fashion while in the company of the Queen’s court. Nor would it be so proper fer such noblewomen of such noble houses to be caught sharing clothes out of necessity rather than desire,” Florence replied with mock frivolity.

  As Florence strode down the street, her arms waving beside her as she continued her argument of support for their spending, Ellen leaned over to Kenna and murmured, “Take the spoiling while ‘tis offered. Laird Lovat becomes quite the miser when he returns to Fraser lands.”

  Ellen had slowly started to warm to Kenna as the hours of holding up fabric and tassels had carried on. Kenna appreciated Ellen’s cool collectiveness when faced with the constant force that was Florence Fraser.

  The sun was dropping low in the sky, and the few revelers that had held on to the celebrations far longer than the rest were finally starting to retreat into the warm comfort of inns and friendly houses. The small tavern on the first floor of their inn was full to the brim with Highlanders, some Fraser and some just there to share in the ale and good company. The Frasers in the room cheered when the three women entered, though, Kenna noted, none of them were Rob.

  “Innkeeper! Might ye bring us a bit of wine?” Florence called as she led the trio up the stairs to their rooms, eliciting more raucous cheer from the crowd, which Florence returned with a fluttering of eyelashes and a coy curtsey.

  They all settled into Florence’s room. Somehow, though Kenna’s room only had one chair, Florence had managed to acquire four, arranged perfectly around the hearth with its slow crackling fire.

  “Kenna, how is it being married? Satisfying?” Ellen asked between slow, steady sips of wine.

  “Ach, Ellen. I hardly wish to hear of my brother’s ability to satisfy his wife!” Florence said with alarm, yet her wide eyes turned to Kenna for an answer.

  Kenna shrugged, not entirely sure what to say.

  “Rob hasn’t bedded me because he thinks that he’ll get me to beg him, though he did kiss me rather well after he rescued me from the Queen’s torturers,” she could have said.

  “‘Tis not quite what I had imagined, but nothing in life ever is,” Kenna finally replied, tipping back a sip of the exceptionally dry vintage, relishing at how fine it was compared to the roughness of the whiskey that the men had shared with her on the road.

  “Cheers to that,” Florence said, raising her goblet.

  “So, things are going well?” Ellen pressed. “‘Tis so fortunate. I am afraid that the stories I heard painted such a bleak picture.”

  Kenna tapped her finger against her goblet as she felt an unbidden smirk cross her lips. Ellen’s kindness to her earlier, the subtle hints toward friendship, had apparently just been a whim of the moment. A change in attitude fueled by the commissioning of new gowns.

  Wicked women; there always has to be one, she thought as several nasty retorts came to mind.

  “Ellen!” Florence reprimanded before Kenna had settled on the perfect reply. “‘Tis not a kind thing to say.”

  Ellen raised a false facade of confusion. Kenna knew it well. Big, doe-like eyes, slightly parted lips shaped into an ever so slight ‘O’, leaning back in her seat and shrinking a bit as if hurt—‘Twas a facade Kenna used to perform regularly when trying to escape punishment after releasing a particularly delicious insult upon her brothers when her father was in earshot.

  “I—I only meant… Hugh made it seem like the marriage was arranged so that poor Kenna would be a hostage and that she was still in mourning over her father when the wedding took place.”

  “Aye. But I am afraid that the mourning must only reside in my heart. Though he died before his time, ‘twas still a traitor’s death,” Kenna said with her own smooth smile, as false as any Ellen had given her.

  It wasn’t the response Kenna wished to throw down upon Ellen. She wished to scream tributes to her father, whose only crime was remaining loyal to the laird of his clan to the end, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Ellen somehow returned those words to the Queen. If Ellen were going to play games with words, Kenna would play right along like two cats circling each other, waiting for the chance to pounce.

  “Oh, dear Kenna. I knew ye were a Gordon, but I hadn’t understood” Florence reached over with a small, earnest smile to take Kenna’s hand. “Losing a parent is a terrible thing, especially when it is well before their time. Our mother was killed by a few cattle rustlers when we were quite young.”

  “Florence,” Ellen piped in, “ye must be careful how ye word it.”

  “I will word it how I like, Ellen. She was out in the fields one day when they came. They hurt her in ways only a woman could ever be hurt. She was never the same after that. I mean, how could she be?” Florence’s voice grew vague as her eyes became glassy and distant. “Anyway, she grew sick soon after, and she was in the ground before the next change of season.”

  “Florence, I am so sorry,” Kenna replied, squeezing Florence’s hand, which still firmly held hers.

  “Rob took it the hardest, ye ken,” Florence went on, her green eyes catching on Kenna’s blue. “He is the one who found her, so he always thought he could have prevented it. There was nothing he could have done, he was just a lad at the time, but try telli
ng him that. When she grew sick, he would sit by her bedside from dawn ‘til dusk, asking our father why she had lost the joy in her eyes.”

  Kenna fumbled at the sudden memories Florence’s words inspired: the look of shock and pain on Rob’s face when she told him that she didn’t wish to be bedded, and then his refusal thereafter; the things he had told her after he rescued her from Queen Mary’s tortures; and the anger on his face when she told him that all wounds healed.

  “Well, ladies, I am afraid I must retire,” Ellen said, gently setting her cup on the small side table.

  Kenna considered telling the lass that she hardly cared if she was there or not but thought better of it.

  “Aye, a fair idea. I should do the same,” Kenna said, allowing Ellen a tick of a smile. “Thank ye fer today, Florence. I had a wonderful time.”

  * * *

  Kenna was granted escape after a few hugs and a few gentle ruffles of her hair. She slipped down the hall and into her room, the worn floorboards creaking under her feet, and she scanned the room hopefully.

  Empty.

  At least, with Rob still absent, she had a bit of time to collect her thoughts. The story of what had happened to his mother was awful, well and truly, and the wreckage of it had clearly left scars on Rob’s soul that would never fade, but somehow, she was happy. For the first time, Kenna felt like she had an edge over him. She felt like she not only understood him, truly understood him, but that there was a line of a bond between them, tying their two broken souls together.

  Where are ye now? Kenna wondered, a nasty piece of her mind sure that he would return home smelling of drink and cheap perfume. That would have been the case if her brothers had returned to such a party after a long journey.

  With a huff, Kenna began to undress, taking particular care to lay Ellen’s dress neatly across the chair, smoothing it with both hands, so there was no chance for it to wrinkle. She wouldn’t give that witch the pleasure of dissatisfaction. The dressmakers had promised to rush a few things for her, with perhaps a gown of her own arriving as soon as dawn. How good it would feel not to have to wear something of Ellen’s again, not to allow the strength of her favor to Kenna to grow any larger.

  The innkeeper must have been a very wise man, for Kenna noticed a pair of clay pitchers sitting on the small table next to a collection of mismatched cups. One was water, but the other, Kenna comprehended with a smile, was wine. Settled back into the chair, comfortable, even though it had more lumps than a cushion after years of wear, Kenna allowed herself to exhale for the first time in weeks.

  Things between her and Rob were certainly not ideal, but Kenna at least was starting to hope for something good. She was finally starting to believe that there could be some happiness in the marriage she had not wanted.

  Though, at the same time, the past few days had raised more questions than answers. When he had kissed her, coming on so suddenly and then retreating without a word to say for it, she felt every one of her defenses against him slip away. Stones of anger, prejudice, and assumption had been ground into dust and scattered to the wind, with no hope of return. Now she felt her eyes wandering to him whenever they were given a chance and the steady heat of him while they pressed together on the saddle had filled her stomach with butterflies.

  Kenna knew he still desired her; it had become impressed upon her while they shared the saddle, his firmness rising and settling against her backside. Yet, as Kenna felt herself growing closer to him, he had not shown any desire to use the advantage. Whenever their faces came close, Kenna felt her breath catch, her lips preparing themselves for another delicious attack. But there had been nothing.

  Kenna frowned as she considered the possible reasons, quickly draining the cup and reaching for the pitcher.

  He never told ye that ye would have to beg fer those, she mused.

  Since he had already stolen one kiss, not including the chaste peck on the altar, Kenna thought that any challenge that may have wordlessly existed between them for kisses would have been through, a win set beneath her name with any future kisses coming free and frequent.

  I’ll not beg ye, ye fool, she thought stubbornly.

  As if he had known she was thinking of him, the door opened, and Rob walked into the room, looking genuinely shocked to see her sitting beside the fire. His red hair was disheveled and his eyes a bit tired, but he otherwise looked of sound mind.

  “What have ye been up to?” Kenna asked, but then wondered if she really wanted the answer.

  “Everything and nothing,” he replied, giving her that smile of his that made her heart skip. “The lairds insist on war planning. Though, as far as we know, the Earl of Huntly is still sitting in his castle biding his time. What of yerself?”

  “Everything and nothing,” Kenna returned. “Though yer father will likely disagree when Florence gives him the bill.”

  Rob laughed as he tugged off his shirt. “So, ‘twas a usual day fer Florence.”

  Kenna nodded, too busy taking in the sight of him to form a full reply. How had she never noticed his build before? The muscles were so easy to see, each ripple so defined from the rest. They had been sharing a tent for some time, and he had taken off his shirt every night, so how had she not noticed the sculpted masses all across his tanned chest?

  Because, ye fool, ye didn’t want to notice.

  Since she had first set eyes upon Rob Fraser in the courtyard at Inverness, she had known that he was handsome. The Lord had blessed him with the sort of chiseled face that belonged to heroes of legend and, she now understood, the body to match. Kenna had simply ignored it. It was easier for her to despise him if she wasn’t admiring the way the muscles of his shoulders curved into his upper arms...

  “Kenna?”

  Kenna jumped as he pulled her from her stupor.

  He stared at her, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Are ye all right?”

  “Why haven’t ye kissed me again?”

  Rob stiffened, both eyes widening at the sudden question before they broke from her own, casting about the room for anything else to look at. He picked up his shirt and set it back again, took a step toward her, then turned and went back. Kenna watched his responsive collapse in annoyance; it wasn’t that hard of a question.

  “Never mind,” Kenna said forcefully, standing and slamming her goblet on the table, not sure why she was so angry. “‘Twas a long day. I had better get some sleep.”

  Kenna stomped across the room to the bed, passing by Rob with a huff. But just as she thought she had put him behind her, he took her by the elbow and spun her back.

  “Do ye want me to?”

  “No!” Kenna pulled herself from his grip.

  “Would be fine if ye did.”

  Rob was getting far too much pleasure out of this. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds in the sunlight and his smirk, as lopsided as always, bated her to step into his web, where she would get tangled and lost and say something she would regret.

  “Well, I do not.”

  “Then why are ye so angry about it, lass?”

  “Because ye made me want—” Kenna froze, catching herself from saying anything more as Rob’s eyes darkened.

  Why did she even bother speaking? When would she learn that opening her mouth was the equivalent of jumping into deep water with stones in her pockets?

  “Made ye want what?” He advanced upon her with the grace of a cat.

  “Mint—so that I could have done something fer yer breath.”

  Kenna retreated back a step, bumping into the bed. She sat, acting nonchalant as she reached up to pull the pins from her hair.

  Rob’s arm snapped out to catch her hand. Kenna went to slap it him away with her other hand, but he caught that one too. He pushed her back, so she was laying on the mattress, her hands pinned above her head with him crouched over her, his knees on either side of her legs.

  “Ye ken that was not what ye were going to say.”

  “How would ye ken? Are ye some sort of—” />
  “Ye want me.”

  “I don’t—”

  His lips pressed against hers and she let them part for him, welcoming him in as his tongue twisted around hers.

  He pulled back, grinning. “Don’t ye?”

  “I’ll not beg ye, that is a promise, Robert Fraser.”

  “Shall we test yer theory?”

  With one hand still pinning hers to the mattress, his second hand descended. It was as if sparks of lightning were on his fingertips, electrifying her skin wherever they passed in their slow journey down her face and neck until he reached her breasts, circling and squeezing the sensitive flesh before flicking his thumb across her nipples through the thin fabric of her shift. His hand did not linger; instead, it moved down to her belly, kneading her sides before allowing his thumb to press into the seam where her legs met with her body, moving along until he finally reached her center.

  Kenna’s breathing was ragged, and a low moan escaped her lips. It was a carnal sound, one she hadn’t comprehended she was capable of making.

  “So, will ye beg me?” he whispered into her curls as his hand moved away from the place that called for him, slipping down her legs and catching the hem of her shift before slipping beneath. “Or do ye want me to stop?”

  “Rob—” Kenna sighed as his fingers traced gentle trails along her thighs.

  His mouth dropped to her neck, and he sucked her slightly, eliciting another small gasp. His second hand finally released her and chased after the first.

  Kenna pressed her hands to his shoulders, fully intending to push him away, but instead found herself holding him there, pressing her nails into him as her body arched up toward his.

  With a quick tug, Rob pulled her shift nearly all the way up, exposing her breasts, exposing nearly all of herself to him. He took one of her breasts in his hand, fondling it with capable fingers before dropping his lips against the other. A sensation that she had never known crashed through her. It was as if he had broken her, shattered her under his touch, but she never wanted to be put back together. She couldn’t take anymore, but she needed it. Her body was no longer under her control as her head threw itself back, and her hips bucked up toward his, still hovering above her.