Desiring The Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  But this one is untemptable, Ellenor whispered to the large crescent-shaped moon. Untemptable and honorable. Cole would keep his back turned, and it was not because she was English. A man intent on rape had no need to like his victim. No, Cole wouldn’t turn around because he had one thing most men of her acquaintance didn’t—integrity. Keeping his self-respect meant more to him than any quick romp ever would.

  “Are all Englishwomen so bold?”

  Ellenor mulled over his question, wondering if he had known other women from her homeland. “Only those who have no other choice,” she finally answered. “Or would you have me return to camp and fall asleep soaking wet? Not the most intelligent idea, even for a Scot.”

  “Well, this Highlander is leaving and I am not leaving alone.”

  Ellenor gulped and sat up. She had pushed Cole enough. He might not rape her, but he definitely wasn’t above walking over and pulling her out of the water—nude or not. “Wait. I’m getting out. If you could, just reach over and throw my shift back to me.”

  He did as she asked and she mumbled thanks. A minute later, she was back on the bank donning her chemise. Her bliaut, still damp from her earlier fall, was not so easy to put on and she mumbled her aggravation.

  Cole turned around to see what was causing her so much frustration and felt the wind rush out of him.

  The semibath had worked a miracle. Along her arms and the small of her back, the thin worn fabric hugged her damp skin, hinting at the shapely figure hidden beneath. And though both her garments were still soiled with multiple days of dirt and sweat, she now looked fresh and unspoiled.

  “Can you get them?”

  Cole blinked. “Get what?” he asked, realizing she had just asked him a question.

  Ellenor pointed on the ground beside him. “My slippers. Could you give them to me?”

  Cole bent down to retrieve the two items that had been used as projectiles less than a half hour ago. He tossed them to her and watched her easily snatch them out of the air with an appreciative smile.

  The woman was making him crazy. Earlier, she could not hurl enough objects at him, but now, her rich honey-and-cream sort of voice was letting him know just how completely at ease she was with him. Ellenor Howell was becoming a serious complication. One he didn’t want. One he immediately intended to rectify with a little distance.

  Ellenor quickly slipped on her shoes and dashed into the woods after Cole. He was moving so fast through the thick limbs Ellenor wondered if it was a deliberate attempt to lose her. Just as she was afraid that it would work, she saw firelight. They were back at camp. Jaime and Donald were asleep on one side and Cole was already across the clearing. He was holding a clean plaid and picking up another that had been used as a buffer between his saddle and the horse.

  He laid them both on the ground and pointed to one that came from his mount. “That should keep you warm enough.”

  Ellenor glanced at the dark blue plaid. She felt clean for the first time in weeks, and in moments, she was going to smell like horse. Worse, she had no choice but to accept what he was offering and the hulking giant knew it. The air was already quite cool and would be thoroughly cold by morning.

  Mustering an evil stare, she said with a thin-lipped smile, “Thank you, although I wonder if it isn’t your horse I should be sending my appreciation.”

  Cole lay down and tucked an arm underneath his head. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “Go ahead, but I doubt Steud will understand a word you’re saying.” He chuckled softly and closed his eyes.

  Ellenor fought the urge to throw her slippers at him again. Instead, she tiptoed over to where Donald was sleeping and pulled free the bag Ainsley had tossed at him earlier. With her back to Cole, she sat down on a log close to the fire and rummaged inside the tote hoping to find the hairbrush her mother had given her. Feeling the ivory teeth on her fingertips, she sighed in relief and pulled the item out.

  Cole watched in disbelief as Ellenor completed one long stroke after another. Earlier that evening, the woman had sat huddled, afraid to speak. Now, she was moving around the campsite comfortably, drying her hair as if she were in a great manor curled in front of a hearth. Could a bath truly cause such a transformation? Regardless, he doubted she would be at such ease if she knew Jaime and Donald were far from asleep.

  Cole watched as both of them stole appreciative glances. He almost called out to Donald, reminding him that he was supposed to be a happily married man. Jaime Ruadh, however, wasn’t encumbered with a wife, and that knowledge irked Cole. Calling himself a fool ten different ways, he got up when she wasn’t looking and switched the blankets.

  Ellenor plopped the comb back inside the sack and quietly replaced it with Donald’s things. Rallying herself, she maneuvered back to the other side of the campsite and lay down. It was surprisingly warm and soft and…clean.

  Cole had exchanged the blankets.

  Flipping over on her side, she stared in quiet disbelief at the sleeping Highlander just a few feet away. Why would he do such a thing? Then again, why did she care? Just this afternoon, she had been plotting her way to freedom.

  A freedom that no longer seemed so inviting.

  Chapter 3

  Cole felt the early morning sun on his face and stretched. Immediately a twinge of pain shot up from his elbow to the base of his skull, proving he had slept on his arm. Extending his fingers above his head, the spastic muscle seizing in his neck began to ease.

  He opened his eyes and grimaced. Bright sunlight was peeking through the trees. Daybreak had occurred nearly an hour ago. He had overslept. Cole bit back an expletive and told himself he shouldn’t be surprised based on the amount of sleep he had had. If it hadn’t been his nightmares keeping him awake, it had been the woman’s.

  He had watched her toss and turn for hours. She had an undeniable fierce streak of independence, and she certainly wasn’t intimidated by him, his height, or his purported fierce scowl. But copious amounts of determination and doggedness had not hidden the fact that something tormented her. In her sleep, she had relived it again and again. It had torn at a piece of his soul he had thought long vanished. Terrified and vulnerable, she had trembled with fear. Cole had wanted to reach out and hold her, whispering that whatever she had experienced, whoever had hurt her, would never be able to do so again.

  But he didn’t.

  Caring for Ellenor—on any level—would mean potentially opening himself to a pain he had vowed never to experience again. Fear had kept him closed off all these years, and his honor allowed him to justify it.

  Stretching once more, Cole sat up and carefully craned his head to the right while trying not to reaggravate the sensitive nerve in his neck. He expected to see the woman still curled up in a ball.

  Ellenor was not there.

  He glanced over to the other side of the campsite, where Jaime and Donald were gnawing on some dried meat patiently waiting. Seeing their complacent demeanor, he assumed she was taking care of personal needs.

  Sighing, Cole pushed himself to a standing position and grabbed both plaids. He walked over to his horse, and after fastening the rolled bundle to his saddle, he disappeared behind some trees.

  When he reemerged, Jaime called out to him. “Ho there! I see you have finally decided to end your dawdling and allow us to continue our journey.”

  Cole fought the instinct to issue a quick retort. Too many times he had chided his men about their lazy morning habits and not expecting some amount of jesting would be foolish. The only thing to do was ignore the barb. “Your mounts ready?”

  Both Jaime and Donald nodded and continued munching on their last bits of rawhide.

  Cole grabbed a piece and looked around. “How long does it take a person to do their morning business, anyway?” he asked absentmindedly.

  Jaime arched a single brow, grinned, and pointed to the woods. “If you need more time, Commander, we’ll wait.”

  “I’m talking about Ellenor,” Cole retorted sharply.
>
  Donald looked up at him, his brown eyes filled with incredulity. “You mean…the Englishwoman?”

  “Aye, don’t look at me like you have no idea who I’m talking about. Are we ready to go when she returns?”

  Donald continued to stare at him in hushed astonishment. Jaime stood up, looking somewhat peaked, and answered, “The, uh, woman…she’s gone.”

  Cole’s eyes leveled on Jaime. “What do you mean gone?”

  Recovering his voice, Donald rose and replied, “I caught her rummaging through my stuff around dawn and stopped her. The woman turned crazed, trying to scratch and kick at me. The wench even spit in my face.”

  White-hot fury surged through Cole’s veins. He could see it now. Ellenor was innocently looking for something in her bag when Donald came upon her and caught her off guard. Instead of asking her what she was doing, he grabbed her and demanded explanations. She then fought him, clawing and kicking as she had in her dreams.

  “You attacked her,” Cole stated in a voice low, even, and accentuated with such coldness any normal man within hearing distance would have been taken over by fear. “Anyone can see how even being close to a man terrifies her. No other reason would cause her to lash out at someone your size. You grabbed her and held her against her will, and then when she forced you to let go, she ran into the woods frightened, helpless, and unarmed.”

  The sudden surge of emotion flowing through Cole was so powerful and so unexpected he had exploded without thinking how his comrades would react. Cole only knew that sometime in the night he had promised himself Ellenor would never be frightened of a man again. A vow he had not been able to keep.

  “Wasn’t it you who told us not to follow her if she ran off?” Donald challenged, the pulsing vein on his neck evidence of his own rising anger.

  Jaime blinked. Cole was enraged and close to violence—a state Jaime could never recall his commander being in. He was suddenly referring to the Englishwoman as Ellenor and now he was accusing Donald of actually attacking her, scaring her. If the woman really was frightened of men, that fear did not extend to Cole.

  Yesterday, she had appeared quite relaxed sitting and talking with their commander. Likewise, Cole had seemed surprisingly comfortable with the woman. More than once, Jaime had caught a small hint of a smile as if Cole was enjoying her sassy remarks. A strange bond had erected between the two of them and Donald was failing to notice it. If he continued to provoke Cole—even unwittingly—there would be bloodshed. And any blood spilled over an Englishwoman was something both inconceivable and unacceptable.

  Pointing to the woods, Jaime said loud enough to catch Cole’s attention, “She grabbed her bag and ran in that direction. She’s been gone less than a half hour.”

  Cole immediately pivoted and disappeared into the dense forest. Jaime hoped his commander would be gone long enough for his anger to unwind and for Donald to realize that Ellenor Howell was no longer just any woman.

  English or not.

  Ellenor frowned at the small holes in the back of her bliaut. The thorns had caught at the hem during her mad dash from the campsite and now her already abused garment was one accident away from unwearable. Sighing, she started to loop the side of her gown and had just finished the first knot when she heard sounds of someone charging through the forest toward her. Alarm was just starting to pulse through her veins when she heard someone mutter something unintelligible and then curse all things English.

  It was Cole.

  Her heart began to thump wildly. Blaming a lack of sleep for her unwanted reaction, she ignored his call and concentrated on finishing interlacing the right side of her garment. She had just completed tying the last knot when Cole appeared before her.

  She looked up casually, smiled, and then turned her attention to lacing the left side. “I’m glad to see you, McTiernay. I just need a couple more minutes and then we can return to camp. I am sure you are anxious to be on our way.”

  Cole’s jaw dropped just slightly. His eyes were wide with astonishment. “I thought you…you were…”

  “Running away again?” Ellenor asked, stealing a quick glance to see Cole’s reaction. Satisfaction came in many forms, but seeing the dumbfounded look on his face would be a fond memory she would trudge up whenever she needed to smile.

  All Cole could muster was a nod, unaware his hand was outstretched and pointing at her.

  “I was,” Ellenor answered honestly and then tied the final knot. She smoothed her bliaut as if it were her best gown and not a filthy garment she had been wearing for two weeks. “I changed my mind.”

  “You changed your mind?” Cole bellowed.

  Ellenor smiled, knowing she had done it again. Shocking the massive Highlander was a small achievement, maybe even a petty one, but it did feel good. “You don’t need to shout, and you don’t need to look at me as if I have actually gone mad. Yes, I changed my mind. People do that, you know.”

  “Woman, you may not be crazy, but I must be for thinking you were in danger and needing help. God, help me, I actually was scared for you.”

  That made Ellenor pause. “Really?”

  “Aye, really. I was charged to bring you back to the Highlands and I am going to do just that.”

  His words were like the water from last night’s stream. Cold and awakening. Of course, he didn’t care about her. All he cared about was his damn promise.

  Ellenor swallowed and reminded herself that his honor was a good thing. Two days ago, she could barely stand being in the same room with a scrawny manservant. Now, she was traveling with three of the largest, most muscular men she had ever seen. And all because she knew she could trust him. “Yes, well, as you can see, I am just fine. You needn’t have bothered coming after me. So in the future, save yourself from the effort.”

  Cole raked his fingers through his hair, trying to remain calm. He was failing. “Is this going to be typical every time we stop? You run, get lost, and then wait until I find you only so that you can try my patience before you make another attempt?”

  “No,” Ellenor snapped. “As I said, I changed my mind. I have decided to go with you, Scot. Willingly.”

  “And I am to just believe you? After you disappear into the woods screaming this morning?”

  “I was not screaming,” Ellenor denied defensively.

  Cole cocked his head and outstretched one of his arms. “Well, you sure as hell were running,” he countered, holding up a couple of pieces of her torn gown.

  Ellenor stared at the evidence, proving her flight. “Wouldn’t you if you just spit in the face of some angry, towering giant accusing you of stealing? I may be English, Scot, but I am not an idiot. The smartest move was to leave. So that is just what I did.”

  “So you weren’t afraid of Donald—”

  “Afraid? Of your friend?” Ellenor asked with a snort as she bent down to gather up her bag and hairbrush off a nearby rock. She couldn’t look him in the eye. He read her too well. “Not really,” she lied and stuffed the item into the faded blue, mostly empty sack. Pulling out a ribbon of dark lace, she tossed the bag on the ground.

  She put the ribbon between her lips and began to braid her hair, happy to have something for her hands to do. Just talking about what had happened made her nervous. She had not been afraid. She had been terrified, but she didn’t want Cole to know. It had been an irrational fear. She knew that. She may not know his friends, but Ellenor held no doubt Cole would refuse to spend any time with anyone who could hurt another being just for enjoyment, especially a woman. Still, the instant Donald’s hands had closed over her arms, she had been thrown back to the last time she had been vulnerable and exposed.

  Cole studied her. Her denial was an obvious farce, but he decided not to pursue the line of inquiry. Instead, he returned to his original question. “No more running away. I find that hard to believe.”

  Taking the lace from her mouth, she let go a sharp grunt. “Believe it or don’t believe it, McTiernay. It matters little to me what you th
ink.” After tying the end of the loosely braided lock, she swung it over shoulders and felt a soft thump against the middle of her back. By the end of the day, several tendrils would be flying around her face, but it was better than the pulling sensation of a tight braid along her scalp.

  “Oh, but it does matter, babag. If I’m not convinced you won’t disappear on me again, I just might decide to tie you up once more for my own peace of mind.”

  Ellenor’s eyes narrowed at his continued Gaelic reference of her less than optimal state. The man was impossible. She didn’t stink anymore, or at least not nearly as much. The semibath had helped, but whiffs from her chemise still laden with her odor had forced her into donning one of the two clean shifts she had in her bag. Her one other bliaut, however, she had saved. “If you must know, Scot, I made it to that poor excuse for a river and could have been long gone. I came back because I realized my original plans of joining an Irish monastery might have been a little impulsive.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I most certainly am. I may have gotten lost last night, but I am—”

  “A convent?” he asked incredulously.

  Ellenor crinkled her brow, agitated that he found the idea so far-fetched. “Yes, well, I will admit I am not the ideal candidate for a nun—”

  “Ideal? Hardly. Nuns tend to prefer quiet around them, and you, preig, are no nun.”

  His newest insult was the last straw. Ellenor opened her mouth to bark a retort but shut it just in time. Her understanding of Gaelic was the last thing she needed him to know. Besides, she did not talk too much. She just talked too much to be a nun. The benefits of living in a convent were exactly what she had desired. However, the prospects of actually being a nun had been more than a little daunting. “The vow of silence would have been difficult, but…”

  “But what?” Cole asked with a huff. “Elle, your plan was doomed to fail with or without my interference. Spirited females, no matter how much bribery money they bring, ruin convent reputations.”