Artair's Temptress: Highlander Fate Book Five

by Knight, Stella

  “I take it ye and my brother enjoyed each other’s company last night,” Liosa said calmly, dropping a batch of onions into a boiling pot.

  Diana nearly chopped off her finger with the knife she was using to dice carrots.

  “I—ah—" she stammered, uncertain of how to respond.

  “’Tis all right,” Liosa said, chuckling. “But I will say this—my brother cares for ye deeply. I can tell. And for that, I'm glad. I've never seen him so taken with a lass as he is with ye.”

  Diana swallowed, uncertain of what to say. She couldn’t tell Liosa that nothing could ever truly happen between them because she was leaving soon. A jolt of pain struck her as she realized just how difficult it would be to leave him behind.

  She was relieved when Liosa changed the subject, asking her to fetch some spices from the cellar that Keagan and Artair had forgotten to bring up to the kitchens.

  Diana didn’t see Artair until evening supper, as she divided her time between her room, where she mentally reviewed and practiced spells, and the kitchens where she helped Liosa. But her mind kept returning to thoughts of Artair’s masculine beauty, the feel of his body entwined with hers, and by the time evening fell, she ached to see him.

  “My brother and Keagan have been working on clearing a path outside—the snow is finally starting to clear,” Liosa said, her eyes twinkling as they entered the dining room.

  Diana flushed; was her need to see Artair so apparent?

  “Here,” Liosa continued, smiling warmly as she handed her a platter of freshly baked bread. She seemed to know that Diana needed to do something to occupy herself. “Ye can set the table for supper.”

  As Diana and Liosa set down plates of bread and stew for supper, Artair and Keagan entered. Keagan greeted his wife with a kiss; Diana’s eyes met Artair’s, and a firestorm erupted inside her. He offered her a warm smile, one she tried to return with casual politeness. How could she behave normally around him after what they’d shared the night before?

  “We saw other men clearing away paths in the distance—it’ll likely be safe for ye both tae travel tomorrow or the day after,” Keagan said, as they sat down to eat.

  “After I escort Diana tae the Highlands, I’m returning tae help ye with the border men,” Artair said, focusing on his sister.

  Diana lowered her gaze to hide the disappointment that settled over her. The past week had seemed like a haven the snowstorm had forced them into, and now it was back to reality. The journey north to Tairseach, and her eventual departure from Artair.

  “Artair—" Liosa began.

  “I willnae hear any discord about it, sister. I’m returning with men tae defend yer lands, whether ye want me tae or not,” Artair said firmly. “Ye told me ye never turn yer back on family. I’ll not turn my back on ye. Were those just words or did ye mean them?”

  Surprise—and a flicker of love—flared in Liosa’s eyes. She turned to look at Keagan; some agreement seemed to pass between them. Finally, Liosa turned to Artair with a sigh.

  “It looks like ye’re going tae get yer way, brother,” she replied, but offered him a small smile. “I’m not the only stubborn Dalaigh.”

  Artair returned it, and the tension at the table evaporated.

  “Well, since we got through this snowstorm, why donnae we use this meal tae celebrate—considering ye both are soon tae depart? We can have some sweet wine from France—we have it stored in the cellar. We were saving it for Yule, but I think we should enjoy it now.”

  Artair’s smile widened, his face lighting up, and Diana’s heart clenched at the sight. His joy was infectious; it struck her then how much she enjoyed seeing him happy.

  “That has been the best idea ye’ve had all week,” he said.

  "Tell me of yer family, Diana," Liosa said, after Keagan had brought up the wine and poured it for them. "I ken yer parents are gone, but do ye have other family?"

  Diana stiffened. There was no suspicion in Liosa's tone, only genuine warmth and curiosity. During their time working together in the kitchens, Diana had only given her brief, vague answers whenever Liosa questioned her about her life and redirected such questions to inquire about Liosa, Keagan and Artair instead.

  "My aunt," Diana said, opting to remain as close to the truth as possible. "She lives in England. I have other family in the Highlands—near Tairseach. That's where I was headed when Artair and I met."

  "And yer uncle?" Keagan asked, sipping his wine.

  "She's a widow," Diana lied. Her aunt Maggie was indeed widowed before Diana had gone to live with her, but Kensa had never been married. For all her interest in guiding people through time to their soul mates, Kensa never seemed concerned with her own love life.

  "And yer other kin? The kin ye're meeting in the Highlands?" Liosa asked.

  "Cousins I haven't seen for a long time," Diana said, improvising now. "I'm visiting them for Yule."

  Keagan seemed satisfied with her response, though she noticed that Liosa's gaze lingered on her for some time. When she looked at Artair, his expression was neutral, though he gave her a subtle nod to indicate she'd improvised well.

  Diana had to shove away the guilt she felt over lying to Liosa and Keagan. Even though she'd not spent much time with them, they already felt like close friends—friends she liked very much. They had shattered her preconceived notions about people who lived in the fourteenth century; they were in a warm, loving marriage, and they behaved as each other's equals.

  She had to admit to herself that the past wasn't as terrifying as she'd thought. Yes, there had been the scary encounter with Tamhas and his men, but on the whole her time here hadn't been an awful experience.

  And, she realized, she had not once yearned for or missed the conveniences of her time—not even when she'd slept in those cold, empty stables with Artair the night they'd shared their first kiss. She’d gotten used to bathing in the basin of fresh rosewater in the mornings before dressing in a comfortable underdress and gown. She enjoyed helping Liosa prepare meals in the kitchens. She looked forward to sitting before the crackling fire with a cup of ale—she’d gotten used to the bitter taste—or sweet wine. It was the type of life she’d envisioned for herself in the manor she was restoring. Only this manor included a gorgeous Highlander and his family whom she genuinely liked.

  For the rest of the evening, Diana allowed herself to relax, laughing as Liosa and Artair engaged in telling embarrassing childhood stories about each other. At one point, Liosa got up to demonstrate a dance Artair had performed with two of his friends to impress young women at a castle gathering; Artair corrected her by getting up to pull Diana into his arms.

  “No, this is how I danced, sister,” he said, twirling Diana around.

  Diana laughed as he swung her around in his arms to an invisible tune. He suddenly stopped, his blue eyes roaming her face. For several long moments, Diana forgot that Keagan and Liosa were in the room, and it was just the two of them. Artair tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her close, and Diana’s lips parted, desire roaring to life inside her.

  “I think we’ll leave ye both alone.”

  It was Keagan’s wry voice that interrupted them, and Diana started to pull back, her face flaming, but Liosa and Keagan were already heading out of the room, chuckling as they left.

  “I think they had the right idea, lass,” Artair murmured, and just as he had the night before, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to his chamber.

  There, he made love to her until she came with a cry, his name on her lips, and she allowed herself to fantasize—briefly—that she wasn’t a time-traveling witch, that she was right where she belonged.

  But that fantasy was woefully brief.

  She awoke the next morning to the sound of angry shouts outside the manor. She sat up; Artair was already getting dressed, his face white with panic.

  “Artair, what’s happening?” she asked, panic of her own searing her veins. “Who is that outside?”

  “It’s Ta
mhas and his men,” he said grimly. “They’re here.”

  Chapter 15

  Artair tried to keep his breathing steady as he yanked on his clothing.

  “Diana, I need ye tae stay here,” he said sharply.

  “Artair, no. Let me—" she began.

  “Diana,” he repeated, leveling her with a hard stare and ignoring the look of hurt in her eyes. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe. “Stay. Here.”

  He hurried out of the chamber, tearing down the stairs, his heartbeat a furious cacophony in his ears. He needed to make certain his sister also stayed out of sight.

  He found Keagan in the entry hall, striding toward the door, clutching a sword.

  “My sister?” Artair asked.

  “I told her tae remain upstairs in our chamber. I’ll handle this,” Keagan said, moving past him.

  “No. We’ll handle this,” Artair said, trailing him to the door.

  They opened the door to find Tamhas, Iomhar and several other men outside, seated astride their horses.

  Tamhas’s eyes widened in surprised recognition at the sight of Artair, before his lips curled in a cruel smile.

  “This is a surprise,” he said. “We came here tae pay our friends a visit and we find the mysterious Highlander. Where’s yer Sassenach?”

  “What do ye want?” Artair demanded, ignoring his question as he moved to stand in front of Keagan.

  “Laird Padarsan and his lady owe us more of their food stores,” Tamhas said, his eyes darting to Keagan. “We’re running low after the storm, as are the surrounding farms. But now that ye’re here, we’ll also take ye and yer bonnie wife—is she here?”

  “His whore wife did something tae me,” Iomhar sneered, tightening his grip on the reins of his horse, his face turning red with fury. “Bring the bitch tae me.”

  Rage like Artair had never known before tore through him, and he gripped his dagger, starting toward Iomhar, but the sound of a familiar voice stopped him.

  “Artair!”

  He froze at the sound of Diana’s voice. No. He turned, dread coiling around his heart. Both Diana and Liosa now flanked Keagan, who was fruitlessly trying to usher them both back inside.

  But Diana stepped past Keagan, glaring at Tamhas and his men.

  “Ilsa, get back inside. Ye as well, Liosa,” Artair hissed.

  “Not until these men leave my property,” his stubborn sister said, stepping out to stand next to him, ignoring Keagan’s protests.

  “Ah. ’Tis heartwarming that ye all ken each other,” Tamhas said, looking genuinely delighted by this turn of events. “Since we’re all friends, our demands are simple. Domnall and Ilsa—if those are yer names—ye’ll come with us. Laird Padarsan and bonnie Liosa, bring us the food we’re owed.”

  “They’ll not give ye anything, and we’re not coming with ye. Leave these lands at once,” Artair snarled.

  “I’ll make a proposal for ye,” Tamhas said, unfazed by Artair’s visible rage. “We can leave the food behind—for now. But ye and yer wife will leave with us now, or we come back with five times as many men. When we come back, I willnae be as polite, and we’ll take Laird Padarsan and his wife as well.”

  Artair swallowed, fury and frustration battling within him. He couldn’t let them take the others and return with more men. He would die first.

  “I’ll come with ye—me alone. The women and Laird Padarsan stay behind.”

  “No.” It was Iomhar who spoke up now, his hungry eyes on Diana. “Ye and yer wife come, or all of ye come.”

  “No,” Artair hissed. “I told ye—”

  “Fine,” Diana interrupted, stepping forward. “I’ll come with you as well.”

  “Diana, ye’ll stay here,” Artair ordered, his fear for her making him forget to call her by her false name of Ilsa.

  But Diana ignored him, stepping forward with a defiant jut of her chin.

  “We’ll go with you, but you leave Laird Padarsan and his wife out of this.”

  “Artair—Diana, no!" Liosa protested from behind them.

  “All right,” Tamhas said, after exchanging a brief glance with his brother. “Artair and Diana—such lovely names. I wish ye had told me yer true names when we first met. But I’m sure we’ll learn much more about ye both.”

  The smile that curved Tamhas’s lips filled Artair with icy dread.

  * * *

  Artair landed on his arse as Iomhar tossed him inside an empty storeroom. Iomhar stepped forward, giving him a mocking grin.

  “I’m going tae enjoy yer wife—and make her pay for what she did tae me,” Iomhar snarled.

  Artair scrambled to his feet and charged at him, but Iomhar slammed the door behind him, and Artair heard the lock turn.

  He closed his eyes, sinking against the door, a wave of helplessness washing over him. Tamhas and his men had ridden with them back to Lockerbie and taken them to the same inn they’d stayed in before. But unlike before, it was mostly empty, and the innkeeper seemed terrified of Tamhas and his men—Artair suspected they’d threatened him.

  Artair pummeled his fist against the door, frustration tearing through him. He should have locked Diana in his chamber, he should have fought Tamhas and his men—anything to keep her and his family out of harm’s way. But he’d done nothing, and now he and Diana were completely at their mercy.

  He stepped back from the door, clenching his fists at his sides. As they’d ridden here, Diana had seemed eerily calm, but her face had been pale. Fury seized him; if Iomhar touched Diana, he would kill him. He’d never killed a man, but he could do it easily if it came to protecting Diana.

  But he needed to get out of this room first. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to think. He needed a plan. These men were thieves at their core—they wanted coin and lands. That had to be the only reason they were so interested in him and Diana. He needed to appeal to Tamhas’s greed, to make him think he would get what he wanted from them.

  By the time Tamhas entered moments later, Artair had put together a hasty plan. He straightened, glowering at him.

  “I want tae see my wife,” Artair demanded.

  “We have much tae discuss first, Artair,” Tamhas said, putting an emphasis on his real name. “Tell me, if ye had nothing tae hide, why give us false names?”

  “We’d just been robbed by bandits. We didnae trust strangers,” Artair said.

  “I think ye’re still lying tae me,” Tamhas said with a sigh. “I’ll be honest with ye—I donnae care how ye came tae arrive in an area with no clear roads, with no horses or belongings. Here’s what I do care about: I can tell by looking at yer hands and yer clothing that ye’re not a poor man. I think ye have lands and coin—and plenty of it tae spare for me and my men. Perhaps ye need motivation tae confirm this for me. I can have Iomhar take yer sweet bonnie Sassenach while ye watch—"

  At those words, Artair’s carefully constructed plan fell apart. He reacted on instinct, charging toward Tamhas with a roar, his fist colliding with the other man’s jaw. Tamhas wasn’t prepared for the attack, stumbling back, and Artair leapt onto him, tackling him to the ground. He lifted up Tamhas’s head with his hands and slammed it to the ground. Tamhas’s eyes rolled back, and he stilled.

  Artair stumbled to his feet, his breathing ragged. Never had he used such force on anyone. He clenched his fists at his sides as he glared down at Tamhas, tempted to keep slamming his head to the floor—but Tamhas was unconscious, though Artair noted that he still breathed. He needed to focus on getting Diana.

  He took Tamhas’s sword off of his still body and moved to the door, which was now unlocked, peering out. There was no one in the main room except for the innkeeper, who kept his gaze trained on the counter before him, though Artair noticed he was shaking.

  He hurried out and approached the innkeeper, who looked up, holding up his hands.

  “Please—I donnae want any trouble—" he began.

  “I’m not here tae hurt ye. Where are the rest of the men? And the l
ass who came in with us?”

  “They’re in front, guarding the door,” the innkeeper replied. “The lass is upstairs with the large red-haired man.”

  Artair turned and crossed the room, darting up the stairs, clutching Tamhas’s sword in his hand. He was going to kill Iomhar for even being in the same room as Diana. And if he’d touched her—

  He heard a panicked cry at the end of the hall, and terror ripped through him as he rushed toward the sound—to the door at the end of the hall.

  He threw it open, stumbling inside.

  Diana stood backed up against the far wall, her eyes wild with fear as Iomhar moved toward her, his eyes roaming eagerly over her body.

  Artair let out a roar of pure fury and charged forward, his sword outstretched. Iomhar whirled, his eyes going wide with anger of his own as he moved toward Artair.

  Artair noticed—too late—that Iomhar clutched a dagger in his hand, raising it to strike as he lunged toward him. Iomhar’s dagger was seconds away from piercing him when Iomhar suddenly flew back, striking the wall with such force that his head made a sickening crack, blood pooling from the base of his skull. Iomhar sank to the ground, his eyes wide—and lifeless.

  He turned to Diana, who was looking down at her hands, trembling. She’d used her witchcraft, he realized. She’d saved his life.

  Artair rushed forward to examine Iomhar, confirming that he was dead before turning to Diana. She was still looking down at her hands, her face pale, her body trembling.

  “I—I did that,” she whispered. “I killed him.”

  “Ye had no choice,” he assured her. “He would have killed me and raped ye. Tamhas is unconscious downstairs. We have tae leave before the other men return and discover them.”

  But Diana didn’t move.

  “Diana, look at me,” he murmured. “I ken this was all a great shock tae ye, but we have tae leave before the other men come.”

  She gave him a dazed nod and allowed him to pull her from the room. Taking her hand, he kept her behind him as they made their way back down to the empty main room. The innkeeper was nowhere to be seen. Artair hoped that he'd fled to safety.