Highland Captive

by Mary McCall

  She looked at him and smiled, unguarded happiness shone from her face. “Aye. ‘Tis a Highland game I heard of as a child and I have always wanted to play. Papa never would let me, though.” The lass leaned down, picked up a dead rabbit, and pulled out her arrow. She placed the arrow back in the quiver and the rabbit in his game pouch.

  He balled his hands into fists, so he wouldn't put them around her throat. “You are never to play this game again! And you are not to be in the forest unescorted."

  She raised her belligerent chin. Turning her back on him, she retrieved another rabbit. “That is your opinion."

  "'Tis not opinion, Alera. ‘Tis an order from your laird."

  "You are not my laird. You are my captor.” She walked another few feet and retrieved her stray arrow.

  He covered the distance between them, spun her about, and kept his grips on her upper arms. “Damn it, Alera—"

  She punched his chest. “My name is Alera not damn-it-Alera, and I am damned tired of being called damn-it.” She slapped at his hands, but he tightened his hold. “Do you not have anything to do besides bother me? ‘Tis enough that I must put up with you at night."

  Damn it all, she was provoking. “You will put up with me anytime I want you—night or day."

  She paled and backed down. “Is that why you are here?” she whispered. “I am not over...I am still not..."

  He sighed and released his hold. “I came to take you home."

  "To Arundrydge?” she asked in a tight voice.

  "Nay, to Laidirkin."

  Alera seemed to relax. She wiped a hand over her cheek, whisking back a strand of hair in a totally feminine gesture. “I was not escaping, Duncan. England is in the other direction. Am I to be confined to the keep and never leave?"

  Was she trying to throw him off? Duncan raised a brow. “Will you give me your word that you'll not return to England?"

  Alera nodded and raised a pained expression then glanced away as if afraid to meet his gaze. “I cannot go back. The English would not treat me well, and ‘twould cause a scandal for King Henry. I will be terribly unhappy if you keep me cooped up, though. I hoped we could be at peace and I could act like myself again."

  Duncan narrowed his eyes and settled his hands on his hips. “So have you come to your senses and decided to wed me?"

  She shook her head and a sad sigh expelled from her lips. “I cannot marry you. ‘Twould not be fair. I am not good enough for you. When you grow tired of—"

  "Damn it all!” He nudged up her chin and glowered. “What do you mean—you're not good enough for me?"

  She blushed. “I am a wanton woman. Surely you have noticed this flaw."

  "I have noticed you're a passionate woman."

  She nodded.

  "I did not say wanton."

  "'Tis the same thing.” Shame cracked her voice. “All you have to do is touch me and I fall apart. I...I...I like it, too. If I cannot resist you, then I will probably not resist other men, so you can never trust me.” Her eyes glistened, and she bowed her head. “I do not even trust me, or know who I am anymore."

  He nudged her chin back up. A lone tear trailed down her cheek. The sight wrenched his heart. “Alera, you are not a wanton. You get hot and fired up for me, because you were meant to be mine. Do you honestly believe you would like another man joining with you?"

  She turned scarlet and wrung her hands, refusing to meet his gaze. “I did not know I would like to with you, but I do. I cannot say about other men. I have not been with another yet."

  He tightened his grip on her chin. “You will never be with another man, because I'll never let you go."

  "Are you going to keep me cooped up?” She nervously coiled a curl around her finger.

  Duncan sighed and released her. “I do not want you to feel like a prisoner here—or a slave. I want you to feel like a wife. You can leave with an escort to see to your safety. You also need to wear my plaid, so men from other clans will not think you're available for the taking."

  She snapped her head up and frowned. “I am not lack-witted. I cannot wear your plaid. ‘Twould be almost as good as standing before a priest."

  Duncan cocked a brow at her abrupt belligerence.

  Her hands resettled on her hips. “Were I to wear your plaid, a priest from around here would swear I claimed you as my laird. He would marry us on your word alone no matter what I said."

  He flashed his roguish grin at her. “Who told you?"

  "I just know.” She wiped a hand across her brow. “Please do not push this matter of marriage. I truly wish us to be at peace before you tire of me."

  Duncan let out a long sigh. “For one who thinks she knows so much about Highlanders, you are making a foolish request.” He leaned down until his face was within an inch of hers. “Highlanders never give up. I have set my mind. You'll either marry me, or I'll pester you on the matter until you give in or we're both dead."

  She compressed her lips. “I will not change my mind."

  "Of course you will. You're a woman and an English one at that. ‘Tis what your kind does best.” He kissed her nose.

  "Why...why...you...you judgmental toad!"

  Damn, she was gorgeous when riled. He couldn't resist goading her. “Careful, Alera. Your temper is showing. And here I thought you wanted to be at peace."

  Her glare would have felled a lesser man. “In case no one has ever told you, you are not easy to be at peace with. Do you want to eat or not?"

  "Now how could any man resist such a warm invitation with those bonny blues skewering him?"

  The lass cast her gaze upward and raised imploring hands. “Henry, help! How can you desert me when I am with a daft man?"

  "Henry is a good Scot angel. He knows not to come atwixt a Highlander and his woman."

  Alera gasped. “How do you know about Henry?"

  So she didn't remember. He would enjoy this telling. “The first three days you were here you mistook me for him."

  "I what?” she bellowed.

  By Saint Andrew, he wanted to laugh. He hadn't felt this lighthearted in ages. “You changed his name to Duncan. You feared King Henry would get upset if he learned you had given a Scot angel his name."

  "No wonder he left me,” she lamented. “I betrayed him."

  "You enjoyed having your angel rub balm all over your body.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Especially your breasts and your lush bottom. You purred and begged him not to stop."

  Alera groaned and covered her red cheeks with her hands. “Please do not tell me more. I already know I am wanton. You do not need to rub it in."

  "Ah, but I'm wanting to rub it in, lassie, and out, and in..."

  She whirled and stomped away from him. “I will return to the keep. I will never leave it again. I will grow old whoring for you."

  Duncan chuckled. “Come back here. You promised me a meal."

  She turned and glared. “Only if you will talk about something other than mating and marriage."

  "All right,” he agreed in a cheerful tone. “We will talk about names."

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Whose names?"

  "Our bastard children."

  "Our what?” she yelled.

  He had dazed her with that one. “Do you always shout what questions?"

  "I will birth no bastards!"

  "Aye. You will.” Certainty rang through his happy words. Aye, and the more he thought about her mothering his bairns, the more he liked the notion. “'Twill be a result of one those subjects you do not wish to discuss."

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and she fisted her hands. “I hope you are happy, Duncan Ranald. You have ruined my day. I was almost happy until you came."

  She spun about and walked away from him. Duncan caught up with her and pulled her into his embrace. She hit his shoulder once then leaned against his chest and sobbed. He picked her up and carried her to a nearby tree where he sat with her in his lap. He rested his c
hin on the top of her head and inhaled her light scent while tenderly stroking her hair.

  She soaked his plaid. He didn't know a woman could have so many tears inside her. They weren't just tears, either, but agonized drops from an ocean of despair. They made him feel like the mean-hearted pig she had once called him.

  Just when he thought she would never stop, she sniffed and released a shuddering sigh.

  Duncan brushed his lips over the top of her head. “Alera, I know you're having a hard time settling. You realize you cannot go back, and you have said you will stay. But I think in your heart you have not accepted that, yet.” He tilted up her chin and dabbed at her cheeks with his plaid. “You're going to have to do more than your mother told you. Once you find the truth, you have to face it. You're running from it now."

  She sniffed, then gulped. “What truth?"

  He nudged her chin upward until she met his gaze. “You are mine. I'll not give you up now that I have you. Nor will I tire of you and cast you aside. Whether you wed me or not, I am your laird, and I truly wish you to be happy. You've not given me a good reason for not marrying me, and I want you to consider the consequences. The women of Clan Ranald do not take well to strangers, especially the English. Unless you take my name, they will always treat you as an outcast."

  He would damn well order their acceptance later, but Alera didn't need to know that. “If the Almighty blesses us with children, your decision will affect them as well. Your passion is a rare gift, not a shameful curse. Feeling it does not make you any less a lady. I want to wed you because ‘tis the right thing for both of us."

  Alera leaned her cheek against his chest. “Will you give me time to think on this?"

  How much more time could the lass possibly need? He settled his chin on her head, inhaling her sweet feminine scent. God help him, she was in his blood. She would understand soon what it meant to be his. “You can think on it forever, but I will give you only two weeks before I pester you again."

  "Two months,” she countered.

  He smiled over her head. She obviously felt out of control and sought to bargain. “Three weeks."

  "One month."

  "All right. One month."

  She sighed. Her right arm slipped around him, and she caressed tiny circles over his back. He didn't even think she was aware of the telling action.

  "Do you have a think place I can use, Duncan?"

  "A what?"

  "A think place. I always went to the beach cove where I met Henry at Arundrydge. With the waves crashing into the cliff and ocean spraying and the seagulls and eagles... ‘Twas rather stark but peaceful and wild at the same time. I could think about things there."

  She looked back up at him, her vulnerability blatant. “I was going to look for the beach today. A little Ranald boy told me ‘twould take a half day on horseback just to get there. I was afraid if I went, you would think I was running away again. I need a place closer to Laidirkin where I can be alone and you will not worry that I have fled."

  She wouldn't flee again. Aye, he would trust her. He brushed his lips over her forehead. “I'll take you to such a place on the morrow. Would you like to eat now or go back?"

  "I would rather eat. I do not know how you expect poor Edeen to cook decent food without stores,” she grumbled.

  Duncan smiled at her disgruntled tone. The lass was getting her grit back. “What are you talking about?"

  "Her stores depleted in the winter months. ‘Tis why her food tastes like ancient parchment.” Alera pushed back and glared. “She says she tried to speak with you, but you could not be troubled."

  "Who told her such a thing?” Duncan snapped his brows together. “I make time for my clan when they seek me out."

  "She says Geddes, but I doubt she tried too hard or told him what she needed. For all her surliness, I sense a shyness about her that she tries to hide.” Alera stood, unhitched her gown, then smoothed out the wrinkles. “I told her I would tend the herb garden, but she needs salts and spices. Is there a market township nearby?"

  "Aye,” he said gruffly as he lost the appealing view of her ankles. “I'll be seeing to the matter."

  "Do it soon.” She assumed her most regal stance, her chin raised high.

  "Did you just order me, lass?” he asked, astonished.

  "Aye. ‘Tis bad enough you have made me your slave. I will not

  tolerate being starved to death, too.” She crossed the glen and retrieved the game pouch.

  Duncan shook his head. Damn it all, the lass was exasperating. She just had to have the last word.

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  Nine

  Duncan sat on the edge of the bed, and gazed upon Alera. Dawn's light whispered into the chamber, casting a mellow glow upon her alabaster flesh. She lay on her side facing away from him, chestnut tresses tossed in a wild sunburst about her. His chest tightened with possessiveness at her serene beauty. A camouflage of sorts for her mood shifted like the winds. He pondered her entrance into his life. Surely some higher power had been at work to guide her to him.

  Wishing he had more time, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Alera, lass, wake up."

  She growled and jerked her shoulder away.

  He grinned. Morning wasn't the lass's best time of day. He pulled her onto her back and planted an arm on each side of her. Her brow gathered into a thunderous scowl before she even opened her eyes. He leaned down and kissed her mouth. “Come, lass. Wake up."

  A groan slid from her lips as a long sensuous stretch undulated through her body. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand then peered up at him through slitted lids. “Go away."

  "I am.” He caressed a stray curl from her cheek, enjoying the cool caress of the silken strands as they wrapped possessively around his finger. “'Tis why I woke you."

  Her eyes flew wide open. She rose on one elbow and clutched his arm. “What do you mean?"

  "The lairds are meeting at Inverness. We mean to band together and confront King Alexander."

  "You go to war?” She placed her palm against his cheek, and her brows tugged with fear.

  So the lass worried over him, did she? “Nay. We aim only to speak with him. Alexander follows Edgar's inclination for giving away chunks of Scotland to the English. We intend to make sure he knows to stop when he nears the Highlands.” He rubbed his jaw against her palm. “If you need anything while I am gone, ask Geddes. I'm taking Kevin with me. We'll stop at the market for Edeen's stores on the way back."

  She jerked her hand from his face and averted her gaze. An enchanting flush crept over her cheeks. “I am glad you remembered the stores."

  He chuckled at her shyness after her passion of the previous night. “Faith, how could I forget the stores when my slave ordered me?"

  "Humph! I am sure you hope you still have a slave when you return.” She lifted a haughty brow. “How long will you be gone?"

  "Not above a week.” He took hold of her jaw and put a measure of threat in his tone. “Mayhap I should lock you in our chamber or tell Geddes to confine you to the keep if there is a chance you'll not be here when I return."

  "Nay, Duncan.” She clutched his plaid. Her pulse visibly bounded in her neck, and her eyes clouded with anxiety. “Please do not confine me. I will not leave. I cannot stand being cooped up."

  "Cease your fretting. I'll not confine you.” He caressed the line of her jaw with a finger. Then his eyes dropped to her breast. Lust surged through him, and he met her gaze, letting her see the desire she roused. “I'll be missing you, though. Mayhap I should take you with me."

  She pulled a pelt over her nakedness and clasped his hand, intertwining her fingers through his. “Please leave me here. I visited Alexander's court with my parents. I would die of shame should we meet someone who knows me."

  "You would not feel such shame if you wed me."

  "I am thinking on it. You promised me a month before you would pester me again."

  He released a harried sigh. “True enou
gh. And you'll be without me for part of that time. Come, give me a kiss to keep me company through the lonely nights."

  Alera placed a hand on his cheek. Her eyes shimmered like sapphires under starlight as her face moved near. Her lips brushed against his then settled on his mouth. She opened to him. Fed his lust. Drank his passion. He embraced her. Pulled her body against his. Fathomed her every curve, her taste, her scent.

  She was his.

  As he broke the kiss, she clung to him. Her eyes revealed the truth. The lass knew who she belonged to, but she still hadn't come to terms with destiny.

  Alera pulled her arms from him, holding the pelt against her. A scarlet hue swept up to her hairline. “Godspeed. I shall...miss you."

  "I know.” He gloated.

  She glared and shoved at his shoulder. “I meant ‘tis your job to keep me warm at night. Nothing more."

  "Aye, lass. Nothing more.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I'll make you another promise. The first thing I do upon my return will be to

  warm you.” He kissed her nose and left the chamber.

  A hurled object shattered against the door behind him. That sounded like the flagon. Duncan shook his head and grinned. He would have to ride by the pottery on his way to Inverness and have Brogan fire up the kiln. His lassie had a knack for going through earthenware.

  A flash brightened the darkened chamber for an instant followed by a thunderous boom. The very foundation of the keep seemed to shake. Torrents flooded the earth with pelting force. Hailstones clattered against the outer stones. The awesome cracking of a splintered tree preceded another clap, which masked the thud of the timber's crash upon the ground.

  Alera hugged Duncan's pillow and rolled onto her side, facing away from the window. He'd been gone for four days. She missed more than just his warm body. She missed the sense of security she found in his arms. ‘Twas almost as if she belonged in his embrace.

  The day before Duncan left, Father Cunningham returned from making rounds of several clans. Duncan took the priest into his confidence concerning Struan, the poisoning, and Alera's plan to catch the villain. Father offered to find the body and suggested using a wolf attack as the cause of death. Thus no one would want to view the remains, and they could seal the burying box.