Juliette Miller - [Clan MacKenzie 02]

by Highlander Taken

  Against the backdrop of my lingering thoughts of Caleb, and even amid the jaunty camaraderie of the Munros, the sudden looming countenance of Kade Mackenzie was even more daunting and dramatic than it had been from afar. His presence seemed to close in around me and cause an inexplicable tightening of my throat, as if he were somehow stealing light and air. Sequestered and restricted to the company of my sisters and cousins for most of my life, I was entirely out of my element in the company of men. I knew this was why I preferred the nonthreatening gentleness of Caleb to the overt masculinity of men like Kade Mackenzie. His swarthy charisma leaped into the space all around him, and provided a sharp juxtaposition to the shadow of Caleb’s mild, soothing memory. There was nothing soothing or mild about Kade Mackenzie. Which was precisely why I wanted to put as much distance between us as I could.

  But I was held in place by my younger sister Ann and my cousin Bonnie, who strung their arms through mine, as though sensing my thoughts and preempting any attempts I might make to leave.

  “Ladies,” Angus Munro was saying, “may I top up your drinks? ’Tis a night for frivolity, after all.”

  Ann, my sweetest of sisters, accepted her drink from Angus with a shy smile. Angus, all easy laughter and bright red-lit hair, was clearly enjoying himself as he served our ale. He topped up Kade’s cup, then replenished his own with a generous serving that threatened to overflow. Angus watched Ann take a tiny sip from her goblet, and, as much as I would have liked to retreat to the quiet of my chambers, I resolved then to stay and make sure she was well chaperoned. The combination of free-flowing ale, Angus’s overeager manner and his hawk-eyed attention of my vulnerable sister were enough to keep me in place, firmly at her side.

  And all the while, as colorful conversation filled the large yet still-cozy hall, as people drifted and mingled, Kade Mackenzie’s cool predatory stare seemed to fix itself on me all too often, making me feel uneasy and restless. The ale did nothing to calm my nerves and seemed to stretch the minutes into long, hazy hours.

  After drinking almost a full goblet of the sweet ale, in fact, I began to feel woozy and decided to avail myself of the inviting courtyard at the far end of the hall. Leaving Ann in Clementine’s care, I walked the long length of the hall, feeling heated and flushed, and reveling in the cool touch of the night air as soon as I reached it. I closed the door behind me to distance myself, just for a few minutes, from the noisy gathering.

  No one had followed me. I had, for once, escaped the notice of my father’s guards. At this realization, I followed a lit pathway that led beckoningly into a tiny rose garden, enclosed by small trees and trellises. Intrigued and invigorated by my momentary freedom, I wandered just a few steps farther—and a few more—to find a secluded bench. Delighted with my find, I sat. I knew I shouldn’t be alone in a dark, isolated place such as this, but my newfound despair—and anger—had undermined the forced habits of my upbringing. Just for a few minutes, I wanted to pretend I was free to make my own choices, to fantasize about being treated with respect, or even love. And to appreciate the very simple pleasure of being alone.

  The late-summer perfume of the roses filled the air with their heady scent, and I savored the peaceful moment. The past few weeks had been filled with turmoil and sadness, and I was grateful for the window of solace this little haven provided.

  But then, without warning, a brisk, high gust of wind blew all the candles out.

  The darkness was sudden and startling.

  Flickering stars overhead were shadowed by bulky black clouds, and the moon was hidden. I had only the distant torchlight of the manor to guide me back. I stood, feeling unsteady not only from the lingering effects of the ale but also the stark isolation.

  As my eyes adjusted infinitesimally to the darkness, I guessed at my return route along the meandering path back to the manor. I took a step, holding my hands out in front of me and feeling somewhat ridiculous. I laughed lightly at my predicament, wondering at my own impetuousness. The sound of my own laughter lingered with me briefly; it was a sound I hadn’t heard in some time. If I’d once been prone to bouts of adventurousness as a child, that tendency had been decisively eradicated from my nature by my father’s tyranny. If he could have seen me now, I had no doubt I’d be beaten yet again. So there was a small, defiant satisfaction to this seclusion.

  But some subtle intuition brought my laughter to an abrupt end. A chill raised the hairs on the back of my neck in a sudden realization: someone was here with me. My senses instantly sharpened.

  The fall of a heavy footstep.

  The dark outline of a tall figure.

  A man, certainly.

  A very large one, at that.

  My heart thumped edgily and I took a step in an unintentional direction, as though my legs meant to flee whether I wanted to or not. But the darkness, the uneven surface of the ground and my own layered imbalance caught me off guard and I almost stumbled but for the hand that reached out to steady me.

  The ironlike bonds of that grasp were dizzying in the promise of strength that lurked underneath the gentle, guiding touch. And the scent of him, like wood and leather and smoke, so foreign to me. So very, entirely masculine.

  “I’ll not hurt you,” he said softly, and in the tones of his voice I detected truth, a sense of honor, a genuine attempt to reassure. His words dampened my fear. I wasn’t at all sure why, but I believed them.

  He steadied me completely, and I was surprised to find that his protective hold felt more inviting than threatening, especially in this total darkness. An anchor, sure and steady, in the tumultuous night.

  I could acknowledge that a small part of me was enjoying this wild, illicit encounter. I was not afraid, reassured as I had been by his voice. And I was drawn, inexplicably, to that spiced, enticing scent of him.

  Still holding my arm, he drew me closer, until I was pressed up against the hard warmth of his body. He was so dark, this phantom, so utterly unseeable. Yet the solidity of him fed me an encouraging comfort. It was a mercurial comfort, the kind that might only be found in a hidden, clandestine garden, void of light and sound, save the faraway beacon of an untouchable reality. We were frozen in an unexpected and timeless moment.

  His other arm wrapped silently around me and I could feel the silky graze of his hair against my neck. I gasped at the intimacy of it, the caressing softness that stirred me in ways I had never known.

  Then, under the dark cover of a moonless sky, the stranger’s parted lips touched mine, brushing slowly before settling in with gentle, deliberate pressure. My mind went blank and my knees gave out, but his stronghold was such that it mattered not. The soft exploration of his tongue sent channels of warmth into my body, lingering and curling, reaching deep. The taste of his kiss, so unexpected, so sweet, invited me to open to his supple demands, to take more of him, to let him in.

  I had been kissed only once before by my shy and boyish Caleb: a very brief, barely-there touch. This was something else altogether. There was nothing shy or boyish about this kiss. This kiss pulled me in directions I, in a saner moment, would never have dared. Wild, relentless sensation spooled into me darkly as the stranger’s kiss deepened. His hand held my jaw with infinite care. A vague internal warning was swept away by the billowing, immediate urge my body had become. The effects of his tongue’s touch traveled lightly to the tips of my breasts and the softening secreted place between my legs, which piqued and moistened with an awakening want. I wanted his mouth on my skin, everywhere, and his hands to grip me and hold me down with all the promise of their brutal-gentle strength. I wanted to lose myself in this stranger completely, to drink him in, such was the intoxication of him.

  From somewhere outside our tumbling, succulent connection, a voice called.

  My name. And again.

  It was Ann’s voice, and it was enough to shock me back into a shadowed awareness.

  Slowly, reluctantly, the stranger pulled back.

  Into this small distance between us, my regrets spi
lled. Regrets, I was amazed to realize, that were not about what I had done with this phantom lover, but what I had not done. The potency of him had wholly captivated me, and even now I wanted more of him. I wanted him to kiss me again, to soothe and stoke the burning need he had lit within me.

  Here, under an overcast night and still in the dark stranger’s enveloping embrace, I had the disconcerting feeling that I had changed. That this place and this kiss would forever haunt me. That nothing would ever satisfy me until I could feel an approximation of this, of him. Again, and always, I would seek the beauty of this sudden and forbidden intimacy.

  If this was what rebellion felt like, then I wanted more of it.

  The distant calls continued.

  My conscious mind insisted I disengage from him, and make a hasty retreat toward the manor. Yet I couldn’t move. Who was he? Would I ever find him again, to be touched and tasted and held close to his elusive, sheltering heat?

  The stranger moved, and spoke. The roughened notes of his soft, deep voice sent quickening warmth to my secret places, which had become swollen with a sweet ache that caused me to gasp lightly. I would have done anything that voice asked me to do. Anything.

  “Hold on to me,” he said. “Let me take you.”

  For a tiny moment, a wicked excitement lurked in the cravings of my body that were new to me, but then I realized what he meant: he would take me back to the manor.

  His muscled arm was looped around me, encompassing me in his male-spiced scent. I grasped onto his clothing, and further, reaching my arms around his waist. I could feel the hardness and warmth of his body even through the layers of fabric, and I imagined what his skin might feel like under my fingertips. My fingers curled around the leather of his belt, and I could feel the bone handle of a large knife strung to it.

  He began to lead me, supporting my weight easily. He was surefooted, even in the darkness, and he navigated our path without difficulty. And then he stopped. We were still some distance from the lit outskirts of the courtyard, but the path was faintly visible now, straight and smooth. He withdrew his embrace carefully, as though to ensure that I wouldn’t topple over without his support. And the air felt cool and stark at the sudden removal of his body against mine.

  He stood against the darkness and I could see no more of him than I had until now, just his solid and very black silhouette. He leaned his mouth close to my ear and whispered, “I will taste more of you, Stella. I have not had nearly enough. I want you as my own.”

  And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHAKEN AS MUCH by the stranger’s sudden departure as I had been by all that had taken place before it, I walked unsteadily back to the courtyard. Ann, Agnes and Bonnie were there, and they rushed up to me as soon as I stepped into the light.

  “Stella!” Ann exclaimed. “What’s happened? We’ve been calling you. Where have you been?”

  I smoothed my hair with my hands, hoping I didn’t look as wild and wanton as I felt. “’Twas nothing,” I said lightly, laughing it off. “I went for a stroll in the gardens.”

  The three of them stared at me, knowing full well we weren’t allowed such larkish pursuits, especially alone and in the dark of night. I watched their eyes register my flushed cheeks, my curled and windblown hair, my wide eyes. I was fervently thankful they couldn’t detect the more profound changes in me, or at least I hoped it.

  “Whatever for?” asked Agnes.

  “I needed some air,” I said. “I wandered too far and the wind blew out the candles. It took me some time to find my way back, is all. I’m fine.”

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” commented Bonnie, leading me back inside, where the noise and light was very nearly overwhelming.

  Not a ghost, nay. A phantom.

  A phantom, I only now realized, who knew me. He’d called me by my name. This detail felt significant. Had he known who I was, even before my sisters called out to me? He’d said he wanted to see me, to find me—nay, to taste me—once again. I hoped desperately that he would succeed in his pursuit.

  But even now, in my sisters’ familiar company, surrounded by people’s chatter and full-on brightness, my encounter with the hidden stranger felt unreal. Had he merely been a figment of my ever-hopeful romantic mind? Maybe I’d dreamed him in response to the heartbreak of recent days. I could justify my revelation as such, even if I could still taste him on my tongue and feel the effects of his touch to my very core. I knew, too, that this memory—real or not—had nothing to do with Caleb. The phantom lover had been too different, in every way. Already, Caleb’s face had faded by the slightest degree. More forcefully, the phantom’s looming outline dominated all thoughts. His tamed strength, his intoxicating scent: these details alone were enough to inspire a lush craving deep within me that very nearly made me moan aloud.

  What was happening to me? Had I finally had enough of being put down and held back by my overbearing father, and was reacting with bold, bizarre belligerence? Already, I yearned for more of the stranger, as I had known I would. I felt like running back outside to the secluded garden and calling him back to me.

  Instead, I took a deep breath and attempted to calm myself. Passionate, temperamental behavior was punished in our family. The only exceptions to this rule were specific indiscretions that might succeed in landing one of us a wealthy and well-bred husband. Aside from that one allowance, obedience, compliance and reserve were the order of the day. And I had carried out my role with suitable deference, for the most part. My life was predictable and comfortable enough, as these things went. I acted as I was expected to act—as I was forced to act—even if my heart questioned the orders. Why I felt the urge to wander, to run, to shout and to kiss mysterious strangers now, I didn’t know. The steady ground of my world, of late, seemed to be taking on a new inconsistency that possessed all the solidity of quicksand.

  With effort, I took my place in my sisters’ circle as we reentered the grand hall. I sipped a cool drink of water and felt better for it. Still, I felt removed somehow. My eyes restlessly surveyed the crowd, measuring, hoping. Was he here in this room? Quite possibly. I studied one man, then the next. But none of them seemed the perfect fit. And, disappointingly, I noticed that almost every single man in attendance wore a belt with a knife strapped to it. These men were warriors. Knives and swords weren’t just their tools; they were their fashion accessories. They were their comfort, their necessity and their way of life. If I was to find my phantom, I would need more helpful clues than a belt with a knife, and a physique that was tall and broad-shouldered. So I was not to get off so lightly.

  Still, my eyes roved.

  I was distracted then by Maisie as she returned to our group, accompanied by Wilkie, her pale arm weaved decisively through his brown, brawny one. I had not met Wilkie before. And although I didn’t know much about him, I could detect that he seemed tense. His expression appeared agitated, as if his concentration was elsewhere. Maisie’s insistent attention did little to engage him, but Maisie was nothing if not persistent. Admirably so, I thought. She fawned and flirted, softly touching his hair and his face until he relented somewhat, an exhibition I found mildly fascinating. In fact, I was so immersed in watching the exchange that I didn’t immediately notice that someone was speaking to me. I very nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw who it was.

  “Are you enjoying your evening, Miss Morrison?” Kade Mackenzie’s voice was deep and inflected with raw, dark energy. Of course I couldn’t help considering the shape and height of him, to compare it against the fresh memory of my hidden stranger. But he was too tall, I thought. And something about his movements seemed too quick.

  He couldn’t be the one, I felt certain. The scent wasn’t quite right, mingled and subdued by the pressing crowd. And he hadn’t used my first name. He probably had no idea which Morrison I was.

  Instead of the enveloping calm I’d experienced in the stranger’s embrace, and despite the relaxed, festive mood of the scene, the air be
tween us felt charged, as though laced with a barely restrained warning. I could sense even more strongly at this close proximity that Kade was a man with an unpredictable nature. The glint in his eyes seemed to confirm my estimations while also suggesting he was having no difficulty reading every nuance of my tangled unease. Again I thought about fleeing somewhere, anywhere, as quickly as I could. But it was this almost-teasing edge to his manner that held me in place. I felt mildly irked by the nudging humor in him, as though the obvious fact that he was making me nervous was entertaining to him.

  He had asked me a question, and was waiting for my reply. I had to concentrate for a moment to recall it. A simple, meaningless pleasantry. Are you enjoying your evening, Miss Morrison? The polite thing to do would have been to lie, especially considering it was his family that was hosting the event. Instead, I heard myself saying, “Not particularly.”

  It was then that Kade Mackenzie smiled, just slightly, at my response. And it occurred to me at that moment that, while Wilkie was the famously good-looking brother, Kade was equally striking but somehow too complicated in expression to be conventionally handsome. His looks were dominated by reckless layers of the unknown. “She has a seraphic face,” he commented, “a body that could reduce a grown man to tears, a corralled feistiness that shines through nonetheless, lightning-quick reflexes—if what is heard is to be believed—yet her manners leave something to be desired. How very interesting. I’ll admit, you’re not quite what I was expecting.”