Highland Scandal

by Mageela Troche

  The mist evaporated. Lachlan stood beside his mount, tightening the cinch of his saddle. He hadn’t spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, twisting among her bed linens.

  This is wrong. He had pushed by her. She had lingered there, listening to the dog’s breathing and shivering from the cold and his words. Lachlan was right. Reasoning failed to convince her heart.

  Eacharn appeared at her side, leading his horse. “Ready for the hunt? It shall be a good one. MacLean said the deer have been plentiful this season.” He rubbed his thick hands together in glee.

  Maybe it was the mist or the lack of distractions, but beyond the bright blue of his eyes, she gleaned the sorrow in the depths. Did he know about her meeting with Lachlan?

  “Then it shall be a great hunt.” She mounted her horse. She smiled, hoping it soothed both their worries. That was all she was capable of this morn. Eacharn mounted and stayed at her side. The excited barks and whines of the dogs rumbled through the courtyard. Dozens of men shouted out orders, so their voices blended to gruff shouts and nothing seemed to be distinguishable. For that, she was grateful. What could she say? She had given into her desire with no care to others. She had risked too much.

  In the center of the party, she rode out of the safety of the castle. Thick mist blocked the dowie morning light. The morning dew smeared against Rowen’s face, leaving a wet sheen on her. The summer greenery changed into an autumn brown. The tall grass writhed to dry stalks that crunched under the horses’ hooves. The rich, earthy dankness filled her nostrils. The hounds ran along the riverbank, one of the many linking lochs and rivers branching through the land. A red squirrel scurried into the pinewoods. Its affronted screech added to the other forest’s inhabitants. Each of the horse’s steps stirred up the pine scent of fallen needles blanketing the loamy earth.

  The wind blew against her, in the opposite direction the deer fled. The stalkers had caught the tracks.

  A hunt, for Rowen, was never about the kill and the feast that happened thanks to the animal. Nay, something primal in her stirred to life. On the hunt she shed her womanhood and the men’s ideals of her weakness. A hunt was about survival, mutual existence, and a small space of time when she connected to another life.

  The battened down excitement erupted at the appearance of the stag on the mountain’s slope. The stag cocked its head. His antlers reached upward and branched across the sky.

  Rowen tapped her horse’s side and leaned low and joined the fray. Her heart raced, matching the thunder of their hooves. The earth trembled beneath her. From here, Rowen swore she smelled the muskiness of their skins. She could hear…feel the animal’s heart pounding alongside her own. Her gaze narrowed on the flanks of the stag. Her mouth dried.

  The stag charged into the woodland. She tightened her thighs, slowing Maiden. The rest slowed as the cacophony of the hunt echoed through the woods.

  Her mount halted with a jerk. Her painful whine dowsed Rowen in fear. Maiden reared up then stomped the ground. Rowen held on. Her neck whipped back and forth. Finally, Maiden stilled then backed up. Maiden huffed for air, sending snot and saliva flying. Her roan coat was damp from sweat. The party vanished in to the forest.

  She dismounted. “What has happened, Maiden?”

  A dead adder was curled among the undergrowth. Its long body cut into pieces.

  “Did she strike you?”

  Rowen ran her hands over Maiden’s broad chest and delicate legs. “Nay, you are well.” Birdsong rang about her and mixed with the buzz of the few insects that still survived. She was alone.

  Rowen gathered the reins. “Come let’s get you something to drink.” Maiden neighed and lifted her right front hoof. “Poor girl, you’re injured. You are in need of some tender care.” Rowen grabbed the bridle. “Do not worry. We shall go slow.”

  Birds took to the air as the drum of an approaching rider beat through the woods. Eacharn must have noticed her absence. It was not him.

  Lachlan.

  He swept down off his mount. “What is wrong?”

  “Maiden seems to have injured herself.”

  Lachlan laid a hand on the animal’s side and bent down.

  “I have inspected her.”

  Lachlan made a sound in the back of his throat. She knew it wasn’t an agreement. Nay, it was an appeasement.

  “You cannot ride her back. You may hurt her more.”

  “I know that. What about the others?” She peered over her shoulder. The woods stretched and darkened in the distance. “They may wonder where we went off to.”

  The left corner of his mouth raised and the rest of his mouth spread in that wicked smile. “Afraid they may think sinful thoughts?”

  “Lachlan,” she said in warning.

  He rested his arm on her saddle. “Do not fret. I have informed the men about our whereabouts and my plans to return you to Castle MacLean. Eacharn continued with the hunt since I assured him I would see to your safe return. He appeared as much in a rut as the stag.”

  She pursed her lips. “I would rather hunt as well.”

  “Afraid to be with me?” He waggled his brows.

  On another man, she would have been sickened by such a display. On Lachlan…she could only shake her head at his silliness. “Afraid—never. I assumed you were afraid of me since you fled last night.”

  He narrowed his eyes to mere slits. “Come.” He cupped her elbow and led her to his horse. “Up.” He tossed her into the saddle. She straightened to find her seat. He bumped against her as he swung up into the saddle.

  She expected a blithe reply. He remained silent, sending the animal to walk. Beneath her, his sinewy thighs shifted as he directed his horse. Proper behavior dictated that there exist some distance between his well-formed body and her own. Farewell to proper behavior—she leaned against his well-built chest.

  “I did not flee. I was doing the proper thing,” he said, sending her hair dancing across her cheek. “You make it hard for me to be an honorable man.”

  “Then why are you here now?”

  He groaned. The rumble shook through her. “I can’t stay away from you. I love you, and while I can still have you in my life, I plan to steal every bit of time. I shall deal with the heartbreak of losing you forever another time.”

  The blood roared through her head. Her vision blurred as she dizzied from his confession. She nuzzled her cheek against his chest. She had to touch him. She rested her hand on his bare thigh. His muscles tightened under her palm. His swirl of dark hairs brushed her palm. She twisted toward him as much she could without toppling off the horse. He clung to her waist and dragged her against him. She claimed his mouth.

  The raw, hungry kiss was not chaste. Their tongues melded. He tasted of water and of something that she loved. She buried her hands in his hair. Thankful for his hold, she melded against him. Her breast pressed flat against his firm chest. Any renitence vanished with his words, though it was easy for her to do. Lachlan was the man she loved and to be this close to him, to have her love returned only to reject it—nay, she lacked the willpower.

  Here in his arms…his hands gripping handfuls of her leine. How could she yearn for this man with every drop of her blood, yet fate denied him to her?

  He groaned. The vibrations matched her heartbeat—strong, all-compassing. One day, this would be a memory. One day, she would struggle to remember every detail, every taste and feel of him. But she knew her body would still respond with the same fervor crashing within her.

  Both needing air, the kiss broke. She dropped her head onto his heaving chest. She inhaled his manly scent of sweat and sweet, crisp Scottish air that had caught in the linen’s weave.

  “I love you too, Lachlan. If I could choose a man to spend my life with, I would choose you every time.”

  Rowen intertwined their fingers. Lachlan raised their hands to his mouth and placed a peck on the back of her hand.

  “That is all I need.”

  That was what he told himself. What he want
ed to believe. Her love had to be enough. Last night, he vowed to put aside his love for her. He couldn’t. She haunted him. He smelled her on his skin. He tasted her on his lips. He couldn’t fall asleep. His arms reached out to hold her. When sleep finally overtook him, she filled his dreams.

  Again in his life, he was denied something. He lacked the proper parentage. He had dealt with all the snide treatment. He had learned to brush off all sneering comments and scandalous looks. But this…it ripped his heart out. He tightened his hold. He had to hold onto her longer. Her supple body fit perfectly against him. He brushed his cheek against her hair. Her silken strands caught on his facial hair.

  A rush of curses screamed in his head. His lip curled. Rage shook through him. Men feared him, respected him. The bastard boy had become commander to a powerful laird. Many men wished to fight at his side. He earned the respect of men but not enough to wed their daughters or sisters.

  Instead of heading back, he sent his horse to the one place where they could be away from the world and their judgments. There it could be just Rowen and himself.

  He rode out of the ancient oak woodland, leaving behind the heady scent of moss, ferns, and lichens and onto heathland along the loch’s shores. The calm water lapped at the shore. He rested his chin on her shoulder and listened to her soft respirations. Rain clouds drifted near. Nothing could mar this day.

  He drew up by the shore. The low-lying vegetation mottled, blazing of browns, yellows, and darkened greens, and provided a bed from them. He set Rowen down then dismounted. He staked their mounts near enough to sip from the water.

  Rowen scanned the vista. “Lachlan, someone stole the castle. MacLean will be very upset.”

  “Very? That I doubt. We shall look for it later.” He snagged his arm around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. He meant for it to be a quick peck, a playful one to spark a smile from her. Instead, he lost himself in the supple feel of her mouth. He caught her bottom lip between his own and suckled. He deepened the kiss.

  Desire surged him. He had her heart, why shouldn’t he have her body? Because it was Rowen and more than lust existed between them.

  He pulled away. Rowen’s fingers gripped his leine. Her lashes rested against the thin skin under her eyes. A flushed pink, almost the color of heather, dotted her cheeks. Her mouth, her delicious mouth was swollen and wet. Och, he could kiss her again.

  She opened her eyes. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, tracing over the line of his lips.

  “Do not look at me like that. I may take you here on the ground.”

  “Will you lay down a plaid before then?” She laid her hand on his chest.

  His blood rushed to his cock. “Not with that look on your face.”

  Her near-white brows jumped. She pulled away her touch, giving him a chance to gather a semblance of control over himself. “And here I thought, you would promise me the softest of mattresses covered in the finest linens available in Scotland.”

  “You know what you deserve.” She plucked at his plaid. “You have nothing to say. I am surprised. You always have to have the last word.”

  She looked down her pert nose at him.

  “Do not look at me like that.” He aimed a finger at her.

  “How?”

  “That cold, disdainful look you wear with people. I am not afraid of you and will not shirk from it. There is no need for you to be defensive. Never use it again.”

  She smacked his stiff finger aside. “I am nervous.”

  “Why?”

  She shook her head as if unsure what she was feeling and what to say. “I—I—this moment, here, I feel as if this is the end and I have a choice to make.”

  “A choice?” he said, his volume barely above the whisper. He almost let her comment stand without explanation. Yet, he had to know how she felt. He felt as if the next beat of his heart depended upon her answer.

  “One I must make for myself. I must do it.” She spun away from him.

  He grasped her by the arm. “Do what?”

  She stared at his hand wrapped around her arm. Slowly, her gaze drifted up his arm and to his eyes. Her breast rose and fell once—twice. She said nothing. She faced him. He released her. She closed the distance between them. The wind picked up the hem of her leine and tangled around his leg. Her hair blew about, like a pale halo. He watched as she lifted her hand. His heart beat faster, thumping against his chest. His blood pumped and heated his skin. She ran the back of her fingers along his jaw. His throat closed, waiting for her next move.

  “I must have my life before giving it up to another.”

  “Does that include me?” His voice shook.

  She licked her lips. “You are my life forever, as long it is my own.”

  He slid his mouth across her own. Her breath breezed against his face. He wanted nothing more than to savor her, the feel of her, the taste of her. Her lips were pliant, cradling his own. With Rowen, he needed no more. He could kiss her forever and always be satisfied. There were a hundred ways to kiss and he wanted nothing more than to do that…to love her for his lifetime and proclaim to all of Scotland and beyond the seas that she was his.

  She mumbled something against his mouth. He pulled away. He blinked to flick away the mist of desire relaxing him. This wasn’t the time to think about other women, but with Rowen he never felt this loss of control over himself. But he liked it. It both weakened and strengthened him.

  “You spoke.” His voice was thick with his ever present lust for her.

  “Aye, do you plan to kiss me all day? Or will there be more?”

  He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Aye.” He took her hand. “I shall catch our meal and even cook it myself. Then there will be more.”

  “You don’t know what that more will be.”

  “Nay, I shall figure it out. Rowen, this is our time now.”

  She nodded. A smile graced her face and filled him with pure joy. Hell, he was drunk from it, ready to laugh aloud. He loved to please her. He led her over to the trunk of the tree.

  She spread her plaid on the ground. She settled in the middle, and then yanked him down beside her. Without wasting a moment, she put his arm around her shoulders and leaned against him. She snuggled closer. He laid back, resting on the autumn ground surrounded by dying undergrowth. If this was the heaven Father Murray preached, he couldn’t wait to go.

  Rowen absentmindedly ran her hands along the side of his waist. Between that and her soft weight, his eyes drifted closed. It was better to soak her in. He felt the coolness of the loch’s water, the smell of dying plants along with Rowen’s scent. No other woman smelled like her.

  Lachlan didn’t know how long he laid there, and he opened his eyes when he felt Rowen move. She sat up. Her pale locks hung straight. A leaf dangled at the end of her hair. He drew it out.

  “You spoke of food. Yet, there is nothing here.”

  He pushed up on his elbows. “What do you desire? Fish, a hare, or a boar?”

  “Fish shall do nicely.”

  He gathered his supplies. He strung the hook on the string and tossed it into the loch. He stood by the rocks, waiting for one to venture closer.

  Rowen sat down. She lifted up her skirts. Naturally, he stared. She untied her left stocking and rolled it down. He saw a leg. A nice, shapely one that stretched up. The skirt draped around her thigh of ivory flesh. If he tilted his head, he could see more of her. He closed his eyes and opened them in time to watch her point her toes and draw off the woolen garment. She tossed the thing aside. Then she did the other one. His mouth dried. That was when he realized he was gaping.

  Worse, Rowen knew it, too.

  “You tease.”

  “Nay, I entice, but this is for practical reasons.” She pulled on the ribbon tie, undoing the knot. She rolled it down, humming a little tune. She brought it over her heel. With her feet pointed, she drew off the thing.

  He stared, seeing the creamy inside of her thighs. Her skirts shadowed the apex of her legs. He almost
fell to his knees and crawled his way to her, not halting until his face was buried in her womanhood.

  Then the temptress stood, hiding her lengthy, slender legs. She tied the leine’s hem in a knot between her legs. He smiled.

  She cringed as she stepped into the water. “Cold.”

  “I’m surprised. After that lovely display, this water should be boiling.” Lachlan felt a slap across his ankle. “See, woman? I have missed catching our meal.”

  “But to tease you, I will starve a little while longer.”

  “If you continue speaking, it will be longer.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  Lachlan got to fishing. A fat trout swam by his legs and clamped on the hook. He lifted his catch in the air. Rowen kissed him.

  “Do I get a kiss for each fish I catch?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then I shall fish the loch bare.”

  “No need. I may give you more kisses. I shall gather wood.” She made a racket as she left the water. She disappeared in to the woods.

  He stomped out of the water. He spotted flashes of her clothing as she moved about. He had gutted the fish when she returned. She dropped branches and leaves on the ground. He built a fire and soon had the fish cooking.

  “Oh, that smell has my stomach roaring.”

  “You and Caelen smell food and are ready to eat every piece in sight.”

  “Since Brenna is with child again, Caelen has lost his appetite. He says he is affected just as much as Brenna. He cannot stand haddock.”

  “Would it be horrible of me if I had Ailsa make some for the evening meal?”

  “Aye, that would be. My poor brother, he turns green and Brenna has to comfort him.”

  “Comfort him, how?”

  “I should not tell you, but I will. She puts a wet cloth on his forehead and fans him. She even whispers sweet words to him. Sometimes, she takes him outside to get some air. Sadly, all Brenna wishes to eat is haddock. He has come close to swooning.”

  Lachlan laughed. “A fish can bring down the feared Viking Highlander. I cannot wait to see him. Our meal is ready.”

  He took it from the fire and laid it out. “’Tis hot; be careful not to burn yourself.” He blew on it, and then ripped off a chunk. He held it out to her.