Highland Deception (Highland Pride)

by Lori Ann Bailey

  Her hands flew unbidden to her throat. It was the same look he had given her when he had held her up against that tree.

  …

  Lachlan stalked back into the hall shaking his head. Arabella had had the audacity to try to kiss him. Too many times he had told her they were through, but she was hardheaded. The last thing he needed was Maggie seeing the wench behaving like she owned him. He was done with Arabella’s antics.

  The hall was crowded tonight, but he didn’t feel like celebrating. He was determined to collect Maggie and take her to his bed. Elbowing through the crowd, he made his way toward the table. She wasn’t there. He caught a glimpse of her dancing and laughing with Brodie, of all people, and he cursed under his breath.

  Brodie was an insatiable rogue, able to woo any lass; there was something about him they couldn’t resist. He had a silver tongue skilled in the art of persuading wenches into his bed and he was well-known in the Highlands as a heartbreaker. But Maggie wouldn’t know of his reputation.

  Flushed and smiling, Maggie looked up at his cousin with those deep blue eyes he wanted focused on him alone. His knuckles whitened as his hands clenched the back of his seat. The couple shifted, and Brodie pulled her into his body, which was when Lachlan saw red. In one leap, he bounded over the table and stalked toward them, intent to kill. He was out of control, but his only concern was getting his woman out of the worm’s lecherous hands.

  Lachlan reached them, latched onto his cousin’s shoulder, and swung him around. Someone grabbed Lachlan’s arm just as his fist flew toward Brodie’s face.

  Brodie had been slightly off balance from being spun, so when Lachlan hit his cheek, the blow slid off without causing much damage. As he tried to go for him again, a set of arms coiled around him and Malcolm jumped between the two, yelling, “Calm down.”

  “What have I done, cousin?” the rogue asked as he rubbed his cheek.

  “Ye had yer hands all over my woman.” His breath was ragged as he fumed through clenched teeth. Maggie’s head was quirked to the side, and she blinked as if she was trying to bring him into focus, and her hand went to her throat. Hell, he’d not meant to scare her.

  “Maggie tripped. I caught her. Would ye rather I let her fall?” Brodie clipped back.

  Lachlan looked to her for confirmation. She nodded, and he saw the truth in her eyes, which calmed him some.

  “Ye got yer senses back, Lachlan?” He recognized Alan’s voice from behind. He was one of the men holding him back. “Maggie may need some fresh air. She looks flushed.”

  Once Brodie backed farther away from Maggie, Lachlan’s tension loosened and his fists unclenched. Alan, and whoever else held him, slowly let him go. Taking Maggie’s hand, he pulled her toward the door. He could use some space to cool his temper as well, and he wanted an explanation as to why she had been gazing up at his cousin with flirtatious, welcoming eyes.

  She stumbled as he pulled her through the door and out into the crisp night air. He wasn’t sure if it was because he dragged her along or because she could not handle her ale, but when he realized her small frame couldn’t keep up with his much longer legs, he slowed. An invigorating breeze cleared his senses and eased the muscles that had tightened like a bowstring, but he was still far from calm. Because she followed him without protest, he slackened his pace.

  Unfamiliar emotions swirling in his head drove him mad. In that motherent, he could have killed his favorite cousin. Had she wanted Brodie to hold her like that? The thought reignited his fury, and he tightened his grip on her again.

  “Och, ye brute. That hurts.” Her delicate fingers squirmed to be freed. He grunted in return and loosened his hold slightly.

  Finally, when they had come to the base of the old oak where he’d found Maggie earlier, he stopped. Even through his fevered haze he was struck by how beautiful she was in the moonlight and how her pale skin contrasted with her dark hair.

  It was a dark night, but the moon and stars played a game of peekaboo through the clouds and teased him with their reflections in her sapphire eyes. Up close, he could see a pink flush on her cheeks. He wanted to stay angry, but as he studied her bewildered gaze and took in how her fingers trembled in his, he lost his resolve.

  “What was that with Brodie?” His jaw ticked.

  She pursed her lips and didn’t reply right away. Now he wished he had taken her somewhere better lit—he could usually tell if she was lying, but in this light, could he trust his senses? Thankfully, the clouds rolled away and he had a clear view into her eyes, her soul.

  She blinked. “We were dancing. Ye were off with Arabella.” She had the audacity to roll her eyes and tug her hand free from his. Was that jealousy in her bitter reply? “Why do ye even care?” she finally bit out, then turned back toward the keep.

  Catching her wrist, he twirled her to face him and said tersely, “Ye are mine. Ye willnae let another touch ye.”

  “I belong to no one. I amnae wed,” she retorted as she pulled out of his grasp and crossed her arms. She stamped her foot. It was strangely amusing until the words registered.

  Aye, her view had merit, but he wouldn’t accept it. “Ye are on my land.” It was weak, but she couldn’t argue with it.

  “I will leave if ye wish,” she countered as her eyes narrowed into slits and her lips tightened.

  How could she consider leaving him after last night? Could he make her stay? “Nae, ye willnae.”

  “Why? Ye have Arabella.” Her lip quavered.

  He saw it for certain now—she was jealous. His chest swelled, and a primal pride eclipsed his anger. He had left the hall with Arabella to tell the woman to leave him be, and she had gotten the wrong impression. His heart leaped. Maggie was jealous, just as he had been, and he couldn’t help when one side of his mouth curved up in satisfaction.

  “Nae,” he said softly, and he reached up to touch her cheek then push back a stray curl. “I dinnae want her. I want ye.” His fingers traced her lips. She shivered and closed her eyes, then swayed. He snaked his other hand around her waist to catch her. “How much ale did ye have, lass?”

  Opening her eyes, she gazed directly into his. Hidden just below the surface were her secrets, there for the asking. Would she let them out? Maybe the drink would get her to open up to him. “Just the one cup with dinner, but someone put whisky on the table.”

  She smiled an impish grin that lifted her flushed cheeks as if she were a child who had gotten away with something she shouldn’t have done.

  “’Twasnae so bad after it stopped burning.” Then she hiccuped, and it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

  “What made ye drink that, lass? ’Tis potent stuff.” He laughed at her innocence.

  As sincere as she could be, she peeked up at him through lowered lids. With a sadness that had crept into their depths, her bonny eyes cut to his bones like a cold night on Ben Nevis. “Ye were dancing with her.” She pouted.

  Oh, heaven help him, she was even beautiful when she was sulking.

  He lowered his head and kissed the rosy lips he’d been craving all day. They were soft like French silk, but when she opened to him and her tongue met his, he was reminded that her heart was as free and wild as Scotland herself. Lachlan deepened the kiss, and his length began to waken and strain beneath his plaid. She tasted of whisky, warm and bold and full of life.

  He wanted to continue, wanted to forget about the world and get lost in her, but he pulled back. This was not the place; his Maggie deserved better than this. Swaying into him, she giggled. Dipping his head, he lightly kissed her forehead then coiled his arm around her and slowly started back toward the keep.

  As she leaned into him for support, another hiccup escaped. If she would open up to him, she just might be the one lass in all of Scotland that he could fall for. He didn’t like the thought of plying her with drink for answers, but since she had done this to herself, he wouldn’t let the opportunity slip through his fingers.

  It was better to leave any ang
ry feelings outside—he didn’t want to invite them back to the bedchamber—so he guided her to a bench and pulled her down beside him.

  A cool breeze blew the rebellious ringlets of her dark hair back into her face. He took it between his fingers and brought it up to his nose to sniff. She smelled of smoke and whisky mingled with the fresh night air.

  “Maggie, why will ye no tell me where yer home is, and what it is ye are running from?” His other men would be back soon, and he didn’t want to hear the truth from someone else.

  “I cannae.” She sighed. But she didn’t immediately jump up and run; she shook her head and maintained eye contact. A glimmer of tears misted her eyes and swirled around her fear-laced pupils, but he couldn’t be sure, as the moon went back behind a cloud. “I cannae go back.”

  “Trust me. Ye belong here with the Camerons.”

  “That is what ye say now, but ye are a man of power and position. I ken what is truly important in yer world. Yer clan, yer people, and I amnae one of them. Ye would have no choice.” She looked away. “Please, let’s enjoy the time we have together while we can.”

  His talk had not gone as planned, and a new worry niggled at the back of his mind and took root. Had Dougal been wrong? Her words didn’t indicate she was the mere orphaned niece of a priest, but that she had ties to a family of some consequence in the Highlands.

  She took his face in her hands and pleaded, “Take me to bed, Lachlan. I want to ken ye are real. I want to feel ye inside me again. I dinnae want to dwell on what we cannae control.”

  He wanted that, too, had wanted it from the motherent he had woken with her in his arms. She did things to him no woman ever had. He stood and looped his arm around her waist to lift her to his chest. His feet returned them to the hall and toward his chamber as his head told him, ’Tis too late to give her back what ye have taken.

  She truly believed him capable of tossing her aside for political gain, but she was wrong, so wrong. He would not be sending her anywhere.

  Chapter Twelve

  Several nights had passed, and with each one, Maggie and Lachlan had slept wrapped in each other’s arms. But he had started spending more time behind closed doors with his men on some secret clan business he didn’t speak of, and he came to bed later each night. Although he continued to lavish her with attention during the night, he seemed more distracted with each day, which fed a creeping apprehension that warned her all was not well.

  Even this morning as she’d been on her way to meet Lorna at the stables, she’d been walking through the great hall and had overheard Conall’s name and then Glenn’s. Her complacency had shattered and her insides had trembled as the false sense of security she’d erected came tumbling down. Lachlan was a strong leader, but if Conall came for her, there would be nothing he could do to save her.

  She climbed onto the steed she’d chosen from the stable and moved her horse over to Lorna’s, the thrill she felt at having a companion again bubbling inside her chest. She loved having friends and Lachlan’s affections, but as her time at Kentillie passed, her conviction that Conall might find her had become stronger.

  Throat tightening, she looked to her new friend. What had she done? The clan could all be in danger because of her. First thing tomorrow morning, she would find a map and be on her way before it was too late.

  “Lorna, this is a wonderful idea. I havenae ridden with a friend in ages.” She forced a smile, determined to enjoy her last day here as she attempted to let thoughts of the danger and what she’d be leaving slip away.

  Wallace, the stable master, had tried to steer her toward Freedom, but she had wanted to feel the wind rush across her face, and she needed a horse bred for speed. Mayhap some distance from her growing fondness for Lachlan would force her to make the right decision.

  As they rode through the gatehouse and the purpled heather and majestic mountains came into view, Maggie couldn’t contain her smile. The scenery and the company seemed surreal and magical, like a dream to have friends again, to wake and have hope for the future, and to be free to ride as she pleased. But her pleasure had been ripped away with just the mention of the snake’s name.

  Lorna had become important to her in such a short time, and while the days here had gone by fast, the seeds of friendship had taken root. Lachlan had been busy during the days, and if Lorna and Elspeth hadn’t been there, she would have gone insane with boredom. She had formed an unbreakable connection with these ladies and dreaded the thought of going to the convent, where she would spend her days poring over books and living a life of silent solitude.

  “Oh, I have lots to show ye. Since Donella is with child, her husband willnae let her go and I have missed riding.” Lorna’s infectious smile cut into her thoughts.

  Maggie hadn’t ridden since the day Lachlan had taken her to the loch.

  She gladly let Lorna lead the way. It was sunny, a welcome break from the seemingly endless drizzle and being stuck inside with sick and unhappy people. The days had not been so bad—she’d helped deliver a child, her first. Maggie had met many people, and Coira, the midwife, had knowledge of herbs and remedies she had not known. Coira had listened with real interest to Maggie, valuing her advice and skills, which felt good. No one had ever appreciated that part of her life. Her training had almost been a secret she was never allowed to use back home. Putting it into practical experience was rewarding.

  The fresh air and sun lightened her spirits, and despite the lingering concerns over being discovered, she had not been this carefree since she had been a child. Mayhap if she told him the truth, Lachlan would let her remain at Kentillie. Och, she wanted to stay—she would be useful and would not have to spend the rest of her life locked away in a stuffy convent. But with the way his men spoke in hushed tones about Glenn and Conall, she feared Lachlan would never endanger his family for her. Her father concerned himself only with the greater good for his clan, and Lachlan would be compelled to do the same.

  As they trotted through an empty field, she imagined this could be her new home, her new people. They were all accepting of her despite not knowing where she came from. Maggie could forget the person she had been and be whom she wanted without the daily fear of her father’s condemnation or of being sold to that monster. Her thoughts continued to meander back and forth as she struggled with what she should do.

  Confiding in a friend for the first time in years, she asked, “Do ye think Lachlan would protect me from danger if it meant putting the clan at risk?”

  Lorna drew her horse to a stop, and she was forced to come to a halt alongside her friend. “Aye, can ye no’ see how he feels about ye? And ’twould be the whole clan defending ye if need be.”

  “I have been told he will be done with me before the month is out,” she said, hoping to squash the silly ray of hope that had blossomed somewhere deep in her belly. She didn’t want to acknowledge the emotion.

  “Who would tell ye something like that?”

  “Arabella.” Just saying the woman’s name grated on her nerves.

  “Och, she is jealous. Our laird is smitten with ye.” Lorna waved her hand in the air dismissively.

  The confidence of her friend was reassuring, but doubts remained. Despite all the blissful nights she had shared his bed, Lachlan hadn’t promised her a future, and he still didn’t know she might bring war to his clan if she stayed. But mayhap, if Lachlan wanted her, she could convince her father the match was good and he would break the contract with Conall. Even so, how could she attach herself to a man who didn’t love her? She was left with a poor choice—leave or tell Lachlan the truth and hope he would let her stay on Cameron lands with her tortured heart.

  “My mother killed herself because she gave her heart to a man who didnae return her love. I couldnae abide that situation.” It was odd how easily the words flew out and how they relieved the burden that had pressed on her chest since her mother’s passing. If she’d known how it would free her, she would have spoken of it earlier, but then she hadn’t
had people she could confide in until now.

  “Ye arenae her.”

  “Nae, I would never leave my children.”

  They continued to ride and talk until, around noon, Lorna suggested they get back for a meal. Not quite ready to return, Maggie allowed her horse a burst of speed as they entered the meadow closest to the keep. Riding hard and fast, she relished the thrill of the ride, jumping a few obstacles and flying like she was part wind. It was exhilarating as the pace pushed the fears from her head.

  Lost in the motherent and the beautiful land with its deep greens and mountains in the distance, she reveled in having a true friend, a man she cared for, and the possibility of freedom. Lorna had remained at the edge of the field and she pulled up next to her, out of breath and energized.

  “Where did ye learn to ride like that, Maggie?” Her mouth was ajar.

  “I have three brothers. My mother never cared what I was doing, so I ran wild with them.” The words came in gasps as she fought to control her breathing. Her eyes still watered from the sting of the wind.

  “Ye arenae afraid? I dinnae think I could ever ride like that.” Lorna sounded both astonished and admonishing at the same time.

  “Nae, it makes me feel free.” She laughed.

  The beat of horse’s hooves coming toward them diverted their attention. Lachlan. Maggie was reminded of the first time she had seen him on his horse by her home and how he had looked like a god. He still did.

  Knowing him now only drew her closer to him. So far he showed no signs of tiring of her, but she was out of time and had decisions to make—tell him the truth, or gather her few things and leave before first morning’s light.

  Lachlan had saved her, and she would always be grateful, but ’twas time she left to ensure the clan’s safety. She could no longer put the Camerons in danger, and she couldn’t risk him acting as a noble laird and sending her home.

  Today would have been her wedding day.