Under a Highlander's Spell: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Maddie MacKenna

  “You smell like a man. A woman does not ride on a horseback, it is not—”

  “Ladylike,” Theodora completed her mother’s words. “I shall go and have a bath.” She knew the words that would follow. Her mother wanted to speak but Theodora was already headed for the house. Mrs. Kent could sense a difference in her daughter but Theodora didn’t stay long.

  “Hurry up and come down to join your father and I for supper,” Mrs. Kent called after her daughter. Theodora waved her hands to indicate that her mother’s instruction had been received as she entered the house and headed up to her room.

  Theodora slipped out of her clothes. It was still evening. She had been at the church longer than she had intended. It was refreshing listening to Naomhan talk. He was totally different from Colt. She knew his patience was probably the reason they were friends. Colt enjoyed talking so much that he hardly ever let her speak. Her voice never toppled his.

  Standing up and expressing herself to Naomhan had scared her, as women hardly ever did such before men. But he wasn’t like other men. Something about him seemed rebellious. Perhaps it was his rugged exterior, she thought to herself, as she let her clothes slip off her body onto the floor. The fabric of the clothes rubbed conspicuously off her skin, making her aware of her nudity.

  There was awareness of her skin that made her thighs tingle. His stare, though meek and held only polite admiration for her, she could see his restraint. He did not want to lose himself before her eyes or show so much to her.

  “I love you,” she wished to have heard him say. She wanted to risk all for what he felt for her also. But she understood he was Colt’s friend. Worse even, she was engaged to Colt. The first time he was away, she was drowning in doubt. What would happen when they were married and he had to journey? She wondered, did she want to marry him?

  The very thought of not wanting to marry Colt scared her. Her mother would have overreacted to her statement and would have gone on to make a fuss about it, asking her questions she would rather not answer. Her father would had given her the silent treatment until she confronted him and then ended up feeling worse than when he had simply pretended to not judge her. Theodora did not know who to turn to, anyone who would understand her, none like Naomhan.

  It was at the thought of his name, the echo of his name in her head, that she realized her hand had been teasing her nipples unconsciously. Her nipples throbbed with a lust that threatened to overwhelm her. Theodora slapped her cheeks a little as she tried to shake him out of her head. Though it had been easier to keep the image of him shirtless out of her head in the chapel, it wasn’t so easy when she was alone and naked in her room.

  She headed into the garderobe and had the maids fetch some water for her into the tub. She didn’t want to have anyone else in her room. Her slim frame dipped into the tub of water slowly until she feared the chill no more. Taking a sponge in hand, she rinsed her body of sweat and dust from riding for so long. It was evident that she needed a warm meal and a lot of sleep.

  She put the sponge away when she rinsed her body. She just sat inside the water and let her mind wander to a place that she could not take out of her mind; Naomhan.

  What if he had known the words on her mind when she had arrived at the church? She wondered as her hands brushed over her nipples again and groped her breasts harder. She could see Naomhan walk up to her and tower above her, making her uneasy in her own skin, but she knew she would stand there in front of him and dare him to do more.

  He would cup her face in his large hard hands and pull her gently to his lips. His sensual mouth would claim hers and she would let him. Her slimmer frame would lean into the strong broad body with a confidence that he would hold her and never let her fall.

  “I love you,” he would whisper in her ears, before his hands would dip into the neck of her gown and grope her breast. She squeezed her breast harder and she moaned as his hands closed over her breasts, milking them of all her resistance until all that was left of her was pleasure.

  Theodora felt her insides warm up and get wet as she thought of his hands all over her, and his mouth kissing her mouth, his body pressed against hers. Her free hand slid into the water and teased her throbbing groin and found more pleasure, a crackle of energy coursed through all her body leaving goose bumps in its wake.

  She dared to slip her finger into herself and it stretched her in a way that caused her to arch her back as she felt herself losing control, as her finger, Naomhan’s, stroked her insides. Naomhan, she moaned his name as her fingers moved faster and faster, driving her to the edge of her very sanity. There was no reason and there was no need for any.

  Theodora moaned louder and louder as she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper in her ecstasy. Her hand squeezed her breast so hard that her nipple hurt but she could not stop. His eyes dared her to go on, to drive herself to the edge for him, to the very thought of him.

  She gasped for breath as she could feel herself coming. The light seemed to grow brighter until she saw nothing and was trapped in the abyss. Tears stung her eyes as the flood came a long way before—

  She suddenly heard a knock on the door.

  “Theodora, are you all right? You have been in for too long. I hope you have not fallen asleep,” her mother called from the door.

  Theodora jumped out of the bath, spilling water onto the floor. She grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her body quickly. Her whole body felt sour from the interruption and punished her for it. Most of all, was the embarrassment she felt. What had she been doing to herself, she wondered? Naomhan was never going to be with her. He was a deacon and her parents would never accept him.

  “I am coming in,” Mrs. Kent announced as she opened the door. Though Theodora was covered in her towel, she still had her hand over her breasts and her groin as though she was naked because she felt so. The sight was strange to Mrs. Kent.

  “What is wrong?” she asked her daughter, who looked pale with guilt.

  “Nothing, Mother,” Theodora answered sharply. She could see her mother’s eyes narrow in suspicion. She could see through her lie, Theodora feared.

  “What is it, Theodora?” Theodora shook her head, trying to seem clueless. Mrs. Kent walked further into the room but saw no one. The rebellious Emily was not in the room, so she wondered what else her daughter could be hiding from her.

  She walked around the room for a while, looking around for evidences of a crime but everything seemed in order. Though, Theodora’s silence meant there was indeed something to see, only she could not spot it. She turned back to Theodora who still had her hands over herself.

  “Why are your hands over your body? What are you hiding, Theodora Kent?” Theodora removed her hands from her body.

  “I need to dress, Mother. Would you mind excusing me for a few minutes?” Theodora held her towel as she waited on her mother. Mrs. Kent narrowed her eyes again before she left the room.

  When her mother was out of the room, Theodora cleaned up the sticky wetness in her thighs before sinking onto her bed. What is wrong with you? She asked herself but there was no one else present to answer her. Naomhan—his name rang in her head.

  What is it about you? She asked herself before she heard another knock on the door. It was one of the maids. She knew instantly what message the maid had brought her. It was from her mother, who was getting impatient.

  She got off the bed and put on a gown to go down and join her parents for supper.

  “Where did you go off to today? I feared you might have gone to join up with Colt for his trip,” Mr. Kent said, after he had finished his meal. He was the fastest eater in the house and no one else vied for his title. He and his wife shared a knowing smile after his words. They did that often; tease her about Colt and watch to get her reaction.

  Oftentimes, she would blush, embarrassed, by not that evening. A pang of guilt hit her every time her parents made a reference to Colt. He had been nothing but funny and accommodating around her, but was that enough? She t
hought to draw her mother away after supper to tell her what she felt but she knew after the betrothal, her mother had been compromised. She was no longer neutral but fully supportive of her and Colt.

  Colt was handsome, much more than most noble men in the country, even more than Naomhan, if she was being objective. There was something about Naomhan that set him apart from the son of the Duke. There was a danger in his eyes that teased her whenever he looked at her. His mouth teased to say more whenever he was with her, to tell her things that could well doom them both to damnation if he spoke. His hands and body told tales of a man that was much more than just a wise deacon.

  Theodora bit down on her lower lip as she remembered what had happened in the bath. She had never touched herself like that. There had never been any reason to. Though she felt ashamed about it, there was a part of the memory that made her thighs warm still. It was a lust she was unfamiliar with and one that lit up as soon as Naomhan appeared in her mind.

  “Is the meal that good? You want another plate?” Her father asked her, pulling her back to reality. He had caught her biting her lip in an ecstasy he thought was caused by the meal.

  “No, you’ll spoil her,” Mrs. Kent said, before turning to her daughter. “You should write to Colt. He must be expecting a letter from you.”

  “His parents plan on sending him a letter. I know they would not mind passing yours across also,” her father suggested.

  “So, what do you say? I could help you with your letter,” her mother offered.

  “No, she should write it herself. It should be her own words, lest he would be able to tell that you helped her. If you sent me a letter and had help, I would feel bad about it...”

  Theodora watched blandly as her parents spoke between themselves about the letter she was going to write, as though she had no decision to make. They were sure of her pairing with Colt, unlike herself.

  “So, when would you be done with the letter?” Mr. Kent shifted the conversation back to his daughter.

  “She has to do so tonight,” Mrs. Kent answered. Theodora hid a weary sigh. There would have been hell to pay that night had her mother caught it, but it had become an instant secret between her father and her.

  “Would you write it tonight?” he asked her again. Theodora nodded before rising from the table.

  “Please, might I be excused? I am exhausted from the ride and would like to turn in early tonight,” she excused herself. Her father nodded his permission. Her mother had not been so lenient but she could not overturn her husband’s stamp of authority, so she allowed Theodora to escape. She had hoped to have her daughter open up about what worried her during supper but Theodora had been quiet.

  Getting back to her room, Theodora sat in a wooden chair behind her little desk and held a quill in hand above a piece of paper. What should I write? She asked herself. She started with the obvious, asking about his trip and telling him about the weather where she was, though he had not left so long ago. Soon, she had enough words to pacify even her mother.

  Her hand stopped at the base of the letter. There were words that should be included from a lover to another; the words I LOVE YOU. It should not have been difficult for her but Theodora wasn’t one to lie. It wasn’t her nature to be deceitful.

  But that fateful night, Theodora deceived a man.

  I love you.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Theodora.

  Theodora lay on her bed watching the candle on her desk slowly burn to its end. She thought to herself at that moment the singular thing she knew for sure. She had become someone else.

  13

  “That should have taken you at least a week. You did all that overnight. Can you stand?” Father Damian asked Naomhan as he tapped him to wake.

  Naomhan nodded that he could rise but his body denied him the satisfaction, as he hurt all over from his exertions from the previous night. Father Damian offered to help him up but Naomhan refused the offer, struggling to pull himself up. When he finally did, he had to lean against the tree for support as his thighs yelled at him for daring.

  Father Damian helped him into his home. There was a room set aside for Naomhan. The house used to be the old chapel but was abandoned because of the many repairs to be made after a whirlwind that had hit the town. Only the rooms in the ground floor were in the right condition for habitation.

  Naomhan embraced the bed that he often neglected and Father Damian stood by the door watching the younger man struggle with a fatigue greater than his body—his mind.

  “Is it Theodora?” he asked Naomhan. Naomhan gave no answer. He hoped that with his back turned to the priest, he could pretend to sleep but the priest could never be fooled so easily. His silence did not connote a lack of knowledge or perception.

  Naomhan heard the footsteps of the priest on the floor as he drew closer to the bed. Father Damian sat on the bed next to Naomhan and the room fell into silence for a while before the priest spoke.

  “You cannot run from the desires of the heart. You cannot work yourself to the bone and hope that it will simply disappear. And you cannot ignore it. The only thing you can do is to confront it. You face it head-on lest it would consume you,” the priest said.

  Naomhan groaned as he turned himself onto his back. His first instinct was to lie, to tell Father Damian that he felt nothing for Theodora but the Father could see it. And if he could see it, he wondered if Theodora could see it as easily also. And Colt—the very thought shook Naomhan to his aching bones. He doubted he could look his friend in the eye.

  “What would you have me do?” Naomhan asked the question that made the Father proud of him. A man wasn’t strong because he warded off evil alone. He was strong because he also knew when to ask for help.

  “You pray and face your problem. If she comes again, you talk to her and begin to see her as she is, the betrothed of your best friend and a young woman who is new to love and attraction. You are to help her and in that, you will find contentment and joy.”

  Naomhan wasn’t contented with the Father’s words. His whole body told him to run the other way, as far away from Theodora Kent as he could. He could not face her. His resolve would crumble; this he knew for himself but the Father was hardly ever wrong. So Naomhan steeled himself. Perhaps he could finally be rid of his guilt and his life could be as it had once been, with his only worry being of home and his father.

  He realized at that moment that he had not mourned his father properly. He had grieved but not enough. His mind had thought more of the recently met Theodora than the death of his father. Naomhan despised himself instantly for being selfish. Naomhan wore his guilt, hoping it would save him.

  Naomhan and Father Damian went into the town later that day to provide for a family who had just recently lost a child.

  “The bloody Scots took him from us,” the mother of the deceased man cried and grieved in her chair.

  Naomhan did not know how to react to the hostile atmosphere inside the house. No one knew he was of a noble Scottish bloodline. They all looked up to him for help, as they did Father Damian, and that brought him great discomfort. He was in mourning as they were, but he was their enemy. If he had been back in the Highlands and had crossed paths with the widow’s son, his might have been the hand that had struck him down.

  “He was a brave man, your son, and an unfortunate one also to have been drawn into a man-made war. But if people like him do not take up the mantle to stand guard, then there might be no peace for the rest of us who cannot protect ourselves. He was a man of God and I pray—I am certain that he is gone to a better place,” Father Damian told the mother, who calmed a little.

  She gave her hands to the priest and looked to Naomhan also who bowed to her his sympathy. The priest nodded for Naomhan to step outside if he wanted to. His gratitude was unspoken but acknowledged as he stepped out. He rested against the wall of the house as he stared at the place he had come to call home. It wasn’t.

  England was far more different than Scotland
for many reasons. Even the air never felt familiar in the two years he had been there. He realized that it could never become his home. He hurt for his home where he felt no guilt.

  He had been a different man in Scotland. A man free to fight and a man free to love as he pleased. Naomhan let himself dream a dream where he had not been wrongly accused and he had not been chased out of his very own domain. He would have been the first-in-line to become the Laird. Theodora would have been within his reach and he would have crossed swords with Colt, besting his rival for her hand—

  Get out of my head. He snapped at the image of the beautiful Theodora in his head. He snapped out of his dream to the bland reality that had become his. His life was better, full of peace, and a sense of selflessness—

  No, a duty of selflessness; an obligation even. But it was never his destiny; he knew that and his father did. Staring up at the sky, he wondered if his father could see him. Did he smile when he looked at him or did he frown in displeasure?