Artair's Temptress: Highlander Fate Book Five

by Knight, Stella

  “I kent I wanted Liosa the moment I laid eyes on her,” Keagan said after a long pause. “There was no need tae deny my desire for her.”

  Artair tensed; his implication was clear.

  “I’ll say it again—Diana isnae my mistress. And I ken my sister is a grown woman now, but I donnae wish tae hear how ye—"

  “That’s all I’ll say,” Keagan said, holding up his hands. “And I feel more than desire for yer sister. She's my life. I love her with every breath in my body."

  “I ken ye do,” Artair said, his expression softening.

  He'd observed his sister and Keagan together. The smiles they shared, their gentle exchange of touches and kisses when they thought no one was looking. It caused an odd flare of envy to ignite in his belly, one which he had to temper every time he thought of Diana. Keagan and Liosa were in a different situation—they were wed, and they both were born in the same century.

  “May I ask why ye have no bairns?” he asked now, pushing aside his thoughts of Diana.

  Keagan stiffened, pain flaring in his eyes.

  “I donnae mean tae pry—" Artair began.

  “We’ve tried,” Keagan said, his mouth twisting in a bitter smile. “God hasnae seen fit tae bless us with a bairn.”

  Keagan shifted his focus to picking up the unused wood and heading out of the parlor, but Artair could see the lingering pain in his eyes. He may not have known Keagan for long, but he could tell he was a good man. He'd learned that Keagan had grown up here, but moved to Dumfries to work as a merchant, as his older brother had inherited the manor. He'd only become laird of the manor after his brother's sudden death from illness, and like Artair, he'd suddenly had to take on the responsibility of managing a household and lands. But Keagan had told him that with Liosa's help, it had been an easy task.

  At Keagan’s request, he didn’t bring up the couple’s lack of bairns to Liosa—nor did he want to. Tension lingered between them, but Artair was determined to make peace with her. Liosa spent much of her time in the kitchens with Diana, preparing all the meals while the servants were away. So, he volunteered to bring up sacks of barley and other stores of food from the cellar and into the kitchens, taking pains to linger and converse with his sister while trying not to focus on how lovely Diana looked, how she seemed to fit right in with his sister, his family.

  During one of his stops in the kitchen, Liosa told him how she'd met Keagan. She’d briefly lived with a distant relative of theirs in the southern Highlands. That was where she’d met Keagan, who was visiting his own relatives in the area.

  “I kent as soon as I saw him that I would marry him,” she said, a nostalgic smile lighting up her face. “He asked for my hand a fortnight after we met.”

  “And ye’ve been the lady of his manor since?” he asked.

  “Aye. ’Tis wasnae much of a home when I first came here—it belonged tae an older brother of Keagan’s who passed from illness some years ago. Together we made it into a home. It was what I tried tae tell ye years ago, brother,” Liosa said, her eyes filling with emotion. “A home is more than just stones and bricks and servants. ’Tis where love is."

  He stiffened, suddenly feeling exposed in front of Diana. He wanted to tell Liosa that if he chose to live his life in solitude, it was his choice to make, but the words wouldn’t come—not with Diana standing there. And the walls his sister had put up were coming down; she hadn’t spoken to him with such emotion in days. There was no use in starting an argument, so he gave his sister a nod.

  “Ye’re right,” he said. “I—I should get back tae helping Keagan tend tae the fires.”

  Diana found him later in one of the upstairs chambers, stacking more wood into the fireplace.

  “She’s right, you know,” she said with a small smile. “A home is more than just stones and bricks. Is that the reason for your estrangement? She wanted you to find someone to love?”

  He wanted to tell Diana that his relationship with his sister was none of her concern, but gritted his teeth instead. He straightened and faced her.

  “She was concerned with my growing solitude, aye,” he muttered. “I told her I didnae need her or anyone. I’ve regretted those words ever since.”

  “I'm sure she knows that.” She hesitated, stepping forward. “I need to take a break from kitchen work. Since it’s snowing like mad outside, would you like to take a walk with me around the manor?”

  “Aye,” he said without hesitation.

  In his more prideful days, he would have refused, reminding her of her rejection when he'd confessed his desire for her. But he ached to spend time with Diana—his need to be around her went beyond his physical desire for her.

  After that day’s walk, they began to take daily walks around the manor, during which he shared stories of his childhood relationship with Liosa.

  “What was your father like?” Diana asked, as they paused from their walk to gaze out the large windows at the end of the second-floor hallway.

  “He was taciturn. Strict. He didnae spend much time with us, but I kent he loved us. As we loved him. I think my mother’s death broke him. He chose to spend much of his time alone.”

  Diana arched an eyebrow. “That sounds familiar.”

  He tensed, considering. He’d never before drawn the parallels between himself and his father, Laird Canron Dalaigh. Or perhaps he’d never allowed himself to, though Liosa had once accused him of becoming like his father.

  Did he want to share his father’s fate, dying alone, after a lifetime of emotional distance from his children?

  “Tell me more about yer time,” he said, not wanting to dwell on the disturbing thought. “What is London of the future like?”

  “Large," she replied, after a long pause, and he was relieved that she didn’t press him further about his father. "Larger than you could imagine—overflowing with people. It’s why I often came to the Scottish Highlands to relax. I was looking forward to this particular holiday—until my aunt begged me to escort a certain Highlander back through time.”

  He grinned, his mood lightening.

  “But he's a pleasure tae be around, isnae he? This Highlander?"

  “I haven't decided yet," she replied, playfully narrowing her eyes, and he laughed.

  He found out more about Diana during their walks—and meals together. She told him about the aspects of her job as a solicitor, her home in London which she called a “flat.” He noticed there was no eagerness in her tone about her life in the future—there was a distance, as if she were speaking of someone else's life.

  One evening after supper, and Liosa and Keagan had retired for the night, he decided to ask her about something she seemed to have passion for, even if she doubted her abilities. Her witchcraft.

  “What is it like? Tae be able tae perform spells?”

  His instincts were right; her face lit up at the question. She cocked her head to the side, nibbling on her bottom lip. For a brief, heated moment, he imagined suckling on that lovely lip, but forced himself to look at her eyes.

  “I don’t know how to describe it,” she said.

  He stood, crossing over to her and pulling her to her feet; it was just an excuse to touch her.

  “Well,” he said. “Why donnae ye show me?”

  He was standing so close to her that her natural honeyed scent wafted into his nostrils. His breath hitched in his throat; he had to concentrate on her words.

  “It feels like . . . electricity. Coiling around inside you.”

  He frowned. Kensa had tried to explain the concept of “electricity,” but he still found it hard to understand.

  “I donnae understand, lass.”

  Diana bit her lip, glancing down at the fire.

  “Like . . . fire. A crackling beneath the skin. A sense of power flowing throughout your body,” she said.

  She reached out to touch his arm, running her hand along it, and every sense in his body roared to life.

  “That must be quite the feeling,” he murmured,
trying to keep his voice steady.

  “It is,” she whispered.

  Silence stretched between them, a silence fraught with desire. As their eyes locked, Artair succumbed to his need for her, reaching up to grab her by the nape and claiming her mouth with his own.

  She wrapped her arms around him, returning his kiss with a wild ferocity, and he maneuvered her backward until he had her pressed flush against the wall. He pulled her body even closer to his so that she could feel the full force of his arousal.

  Diana gasped into his mouth, and he reluctantly released her mouth, though he kept her within the circle of his arms.

  “Lass, if ye donnae want this, I need ye tae tell me now,” he rasped. “I ken ye told me that ye need tae focus on getting back tae yer own time, on yer magic, but—”

  She interrupted him with a kiss, and when she pulled back, her own eyes were pools of desire.

  “It was foolish of me to tell you that," she whispered. "Artair Dalaigh . . . don’t you dare stop.”

  Chapter 13

  Artair let out a low, sexy growl at her words and crushed his mouth to hers. Diana reveled in the heat that swept over her body, the moisture that seeped between her thighs, her thundering heartbeat. She let out a yelp of surprise as he swung her up into his arms, carrying her out of the dining room.

  “Liosa and Keagan—" she whispered.

  “Already asleep in their chamber,” he murmured. “And ’tis a good thing, witch. I intend tae make ye scream.”

  Delight rippled through her, and she wound her arms around his neck as he marched with her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing and into his chamber.

  He once again seized her mouth as he strode with her to the bed. She moaned into his mouth, aching for him.

  He released her mouth to lower her to the bed, and she let out a whimper of disappointment.

  “Patience, my Diana,” he murmured, stripping himself of his tunic and kilt. She took in his nude form and swallowed. He was as beautiful as she’d imagined—a broad muscular torso that led down to tapered thighs, and—

  He grinned as her eyes widened when she took in the size of him.

  “Not tae worry, witch,” he murmured. “I’ll be gentle with ye.”

  “No,” Diana said, and he froze, looking down at her with surprise. She gave him a teasing smile. “Don’t be gentle.”

  “Temptress,” he growled, reaching out to strip her of her gown, his gaze tracking over every inch of her naked body. “Ye’re beautiful, lass. My golden witch. My Diana.”

  Her heart leapt at his words. He leaned forward with a moan and seized one of her aching nipples into his mouth, laving it with his tongue as she gasped and arched beneath him, spirals of pleasure winding throughout her body. He turned his focus to her other breast, eliciting more fervent whimpers from Diana.

  While he suckled upon her, his finger drifted down to dip into her center, and she let out a cry. He continued to stroke her center, and her pleasure gradually increased until it became difficult to breathe. She threw her head back, and just when she was on the verge of climax, he removed his finger.

  “Artair—" She let out on a gasp of disappointment, but he lifted his mouth from her breasts to silence her protest with a kiss.

  “Not yet, my Diana,” he murmured. “I want ye tae come while I taste ye—I want tae taste yer sweetness in my mouth.”

  To demonstrate, he put his finger into his mouth, suckling, and the very sight caused a fiery need to corkscrew within her belly.

  Keeping his blue eyes trained on hers, he peppered kisses down her abdomen until he reached the juncture of her thighs. He spread her legs wide, giving her a wicked grin as he clamped his mouth onto her center.

  Diana let out a strangled moan as he feasted upon her. The sweet ache that had tormented her dissolved into pure pleasure, and she cried out as he moaned into her, gripping her buttocks to pull her even closer to his mouth. Diana had to place her hand over her mouth to stifle her screams, but Artair reached up to yank her hand away, his eyes hungry and demanding.

  “I want tae hear every cry, every scream,” he whispered, before returning to her mound to feast.

  Diana obliged. Her whimpers and cries formed a litany as he continued to feast on her, and when her pleasure built to a climax she screamed, her body trembling wildly as he continued to lap away at her center.

  “Artair,” she whimpered. “Artair . . . “

  He continued to lick her as her trembling subsided; only when she'd stilled did he rise up above her. She took in every inch of him—the tousled chestnut hair, the blue eyes filled with desire, his glorious nakedness—and she couldn’t wait anymore, not one second more. She reached out to grip him by the buttocks, and he groaned as she guided him inside her.

  The feel of him inside her almost made her come instantly; he stilled, as if sensing how close she was. And then, with a low growl, he began to move inside her, winding his hands through her hair and arching her head back to suckle at her neck as he thrusted.

  “Artair,” Diana whispered. “Oh God . . . “

  “Ye’re so tight, lass,” he said with a groan, pulling her naked body even closer to his.

  She relished in the feel of him against her as their bodies moved together in a steady rhythm, their heartbeats thundering in tandem. The pleasure that wound from her center to her entire body soon became too much to bear, and she let out a cry as another orgasm tore through her. Artair began to quake above her, and he shuddered, burying his lips into her hair, crying out his pleasure and release.

  It took Diana several moments to catch her breath after Artair pulled out of her, still holding her within the circle of his arms. She was twenty-nine years old, and she’d never experienced lovemaking like that. The man knew how to work every inch of her body like a fine-tuned instrument, and in one session, he’d single-handedly ruined any sex she’d have in the future, though she pushed that troubling thought away.

  When she opened her eyes, Artair was gazing down at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “What thoughts are in that lovely head of yers?” he murmured.

  “That you’re terrible at lovemaking,” she teased, and he laughed.

  “Is that so, witch? Those two climaxes of yers would say otherwise.”

  She gave him a playful shove, her eyes roaming over his handsome face and his amazing body, which the firelight highlighted every inch of. Unable to stop herself, she reached out to touch the broad expanse of his chest and he let out a low rumble of pleasure. He reached out to take her hand, stopping its movement.

  “Yer hand on my skin will bring my cock roaring tae life, witch,” he murmured. “And I donnae think we can handle more lovemaking—not yet.”

  She just smiled, resting her head against his broad chest, struck by how right it felt to be in his arms. I doubt this is what Kensa had in mind, she thought with a grin.

  “What amuses ye so?” he asked.

  “My aunt probably didn’t have this in mind,” she said teasingly.

  "No," he said with a wicked grin. "But I'm glad. I've wanted ye since I saw ye in those tight breeches ye wore when yer aunt first introduced us."

  "You mean when you said I looked like a whore?" Diana asked, arching her brow, and Artair looked chastened.

  "Ye'll have tae forgive me for that, lass. I was trying tae quell my desire for ye," he said, reaching out to run his hand through her hair. "I'm happy ye changed yer mind and agreed tae help me. I have tae ask—why is it ye're so reluctant tae use yer witchcraft? Most people would love tae have such a power."

  Diana fell silent for a long moment. A part of her wanted to shut down, to not speak of the tragedy in her past, but a stronger part wanted to confide in him.

  "My parents," she said finally. "I don't know how much Kensa told you, but after they died, I determined I would never travel through time. My parents died because of their magic. They traveled back to the past and ended up farther back in time than they intended—it's rare, but it
can happen sometimes with Time-weaving spells. Members of a Pictish tribe happened to see them appear out of nowhere—and killed them on the spot."

  Remnant grief flowed through her as she spoke, and Artair pulled her closer.

  "The nightmare I had back at the inn—it was about their deaths. I've had many nightmares about it in the past, but I haven't had one in years. After they died, I begged another stiuireadh to travel back in time, to warn my parents not to go—or to save their lives. I even tried to do it myself, but Kensa warned me it was too dangerous, and it was a lost cause. My parents didn't belong in the time they ended up in, and because they didn't belong there, we could do nothing to prevent their deaths. I was furious with Kensa, with the other stiuireadh—and turned my back on time travel, magic—all of it. I figured—what was the point of having magic if I couldn't save the people I loved the most in the world?"

  Tears pricked at her eyes, and Artair sat up, looking down at her.

  "There is nothing ye could have done, lass," he murmured. "But I think they would be proud of ye now. Ye've grown into a woman with a kind heart—and magic ye use only tae help others." He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes trained on hers. "I understand how the loss of a parent can hurt. But donnae let it define ye, Diana."

  She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Traveling to the past had begun to unravel her resistance toward magic and time travel. Hadn't it brought Artair into her life? She tried not to think of the fact that his presence in her life was temporary, that she would return to her life and he to his. Instead, she decided to focus on the time they did have together.

  So, she curled into him, winding her arms around his neck.

  "Make love to me again, Artair," she whispered, and he thoroughly obliged.

  Chapter 14

  Diana found it difficult to look Liosa in the eye the next morning as she helped prepare morning supper, wondering if she’d heard her and Artair last night. Her face warmed as she recalled how she’d arched and writhed and moaned beneath Artair, the feel of his hard, muscled body against hers, the torturous pleasure of his lips against her skin.