Desiring The Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  Softly, Ellenor whispered, “I…I…cannot believe I just did that. It has been a long time since I have really and truly laughed, and I honestly never thought to do so again. It’s nice to know I still can.”

  Everything in Cole wanted to thank her in return. He wanted to shove his hands into her thick chestnut mass, pull her to him, and drink from her lips. He wanted to show her that laughter had never come easy to him, that conversation had always been forced and awkward. That she, for some mysterious reason, could make him feel things he thought were long dead. And that he was thankful.

  Only one thing stopped him. He knew the fear it would cause. Ellenor trusted him and hell would freeze before he broke that trust.

  Chapter 4

  Sparks flew as another leg bone landed in the middle of the campfire. Jaime licked his fingers and leaned back against the large elm circling the small clearing. “I don’t believe I have ever eaten as well while traveling.”

  Ellenor smiled, surprised at how the night had transpired. Cole had remained overtly silent on the edge of the campfire, choosing only to listen to their conversation. She had not made any headway where he was concerned, but both Jaime and Donald had succumbed to her cooking just as she had hoped. What she had not been prepared for was her own reaction. She had anticipated having to fake ease and comfort, but in reality, she felt both. “Just because you are away from home does not mean you cannot enjoy good food. Just wrap up the meat like I showed you.”

  Donald picked up the smooth stem topped by a rounded umbel of small, white, orb-shaped flowers. The woman was daft if she thought he was going to collect smelly bulbs just to improve how his meat tasted. “Yeah, well, I’ve never heard of using something that cures poison for cooking.”

  Ellenor chuckled under her breath, knowing he had been eating “poison cures” most of his life. Almost everything cooked in a kitchen had been enriched with some kind of medicinal herb. “I’ve never used it as a healing remedy before. Tell me, does it work?”

  Donald scowled. Truth was he had never known someone poisoned by an animal. He had just heard stories. “Yeah, well, I’m still not carrying the stuff on me,” he replied, ignoring her question. He tossed the bulb far away from his side of the camp and then leaned over to procure the last bit of meat.

  “Good Lord, Donald,” she clucked, “you don’t need to carry the flower with you. Just look for it when you are hunting that evening. They grow wild just about everywhere.”

  Jaime squeezed the leather mead pouch and swallowed some of its liquid contents. “Ah, now, Donald, I agree its smell is strong, but you cannot deny the flavor it has brought,” he said, pointing at Ellenor. “Just think. If we could learn to cook half as good as the lass here, our army would grow so large not a soul would raise swords against our commander.”

  Ellenor’s soft laughter caught the breeze and danced around the campfire. “Raise swords against Cole? Surely no one is so foolish. Cole can be extraordinarily patient…”

  Donald and Jaime both paused midbite.

  “…but if pushed, he will defend his honor and those in his care. Surely, his glares alone convey how seriously he takes his responsibilities,” she drawled, wondering what Cole’s expression was. Probably a scowl.

  Donald stared wide-eyed at Ellenor, trying to discern if she was being serious. Deciding that she was, he awarded her a genuine smile. “You know, lass, our commander has never had difficulties in developing and leading an army.”

  Ellenor cocked a single eyebrow and continued nibbling on the leg bone she had been savoring. “Not a revelation,” she mumbled, licking her lips. “Only hearing the opposite would be unbelievable.”

  Donald paid no attention and proceeded with his original thought. “But he has never been considered by the fairer sex as someone who was tolerant, let alone patient.”

  Jaime sat straight up. His brown eyes sparkled in the firelight. He looked at Ellenor and then Donald. An enormous smile overtook his wild features. “’Tis right you are! Come now.” He leaned closer to Ellenor. “You’re a lass. Despite the commander’s scowls and sometimes rough mannerisms, wouldn’t you want him?”

  Ellenor almost dropped the bone she was eating. “Wh…What?”

  “Our commander. Wouldn’t you want him for your laird? Some believe there is not a woman or child that wouldn’t be scared of him, but look at you! You like him and you’re English. I dare you to deny your feelings.”

  “You know,” Donald chimed in, “Jaime Ruadh’s right. You like him, so that should be good enough for anybody.”

  Ellenor’s eyes widened. Jaime had been drinking steadily since they had stopped for the evening and he had not been alone. Donald had joined him as soon as he returned with the night’s meal. She didn’t know if it was the wine talking or if they were being serious.

  She cocked her head to glance at Cole. As expected, his sullen expression gave no indication if he was interested in her answer. Well, I can be indifferent too, Scot, she mumbled to herself. She turned back toward Jaime and answered, “As hulking giants go, he is one of the more tolerable ones.”

  Jaime moved in even closer. “And what about me, lass? Do you favor redheaded giants as well?”

  Ellenor bit her bottom lip to keep from giggling. She couldn’t help it. The sappy grin on the man’s face would make any woman laugh. But before she could respond, Donald threw a plaid at him, catching Jaime full in the face. “Don’t mind him. No woman does.”

  Jaime tossed it back and then lowered his voice. “Now, tell me, lass. Are you looking forward to seeing our Highlands?”

  Ellenor looked up at the night sky and then the beauty surrounding her. Trees hugged the nearby river, cutting off the view behind her, but to the north, the large crescent moon created a silhouette effect of the sizable mountains facing the small group. “I thought we were in the Highlands,” Ellenor answered honestly. “Or at least at their edge.”

  Donald rolled his eyes with exaggeration. Grinning, Jaime hit his knee and shook his head. “Ah, pretty lass, those hills you are seeing are the Trossachs. They tell us that after tomorrow we will be in the midst of the grandest lands God has ever created.”

  Ellenor turned her attention toward the jagged rocky summit in the distance. Good lord, if that was a hill, just how big were the Highlands? Did she really want to go somewhere that made that towering object look small?

  She snuck a peek at Cole. He was now leaning against a far tree with his upper body obscured in shadow. Firelight played across his long legs, reminding her of the afternoon’s ride and how perfectly she had fit against him when he had held her. His eyes were focused on the hills they were discussing, but she knew he wasn’t thinking of them. He was thinking about what lay beyond them. His home.

  “And there is nothing to compare to McTiernay lands…well, with maybe the exception of Fàire Creachann,” Jaime continued.

  “Fàire Creachann?” Ellenor repeated. Named after the Highland summits and the emerging dawn, it sounded beautiful. A scuffle caught her attention. She turned and watched as Cole disappeared into the night.

  “Aye. If our commander is selected as laird, Fàire Creachann will be our new home.”

  Distracted by Cole’s leaving, Ellenor found it hard to focus on the conversation. “I…I thought chieftains inherited their role.”

  “They do typically. But there are other ways.”

  Ellenor felt her heart stop. “Marriage? Cole’s getting married?” she blurted without thinking.

  “Hardly,” came a quick reply from Donald. He stood up, brushed his hands on his leine, and grabbed his things. “I’m sleeping out on the perimeter,” he said, indicating he was not going to elaborate and began heading out in the opposite direction Cole took.

  Ellenor waited until Donald’s dark figure disappeared completely before whispering, “What did Donald mean when he said hardly?”

  Jaime shrugged. “Don’t you know? You’re a woman. Weren’t you afraid of him? At least in the beginning?�
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  Ellenor thought back. It was just two days ago, but it seemed like she had known Cole much longer. Had she been afraid of him? “Honestly, I don’t believe I ever was.”

  Jaime stared at her for a minute trying to assess if she was telling the truth. With a deep sigh, he said, “Well, you’re one of the few. Most women claim they are either afraid of our good commander or repelled by his glares. I wish they could have been riding with us today.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You made him smile, lass. Most believe his face isn’t able to do anything but scowl. If more of his people could see him like he was with you, there would be no argument of who should become laird.”

  Ellenor casually arched her back in an effort to mask the indescribable wave of cheer flowing over her. She should probably be embarrassed that Jaime and possibly Donald had witnessed her and Cole’s small deviation of decorum, but she wasn’t. She had enjoyed the tickle fight enormously and was glad Cole had initiated it. “So if Cole isn’t getting married and his elder brother is already laird of your clan, then how can he become a laird?”

  Jaime leaned back and reexamined the Englishwoman once again. The woman was perplexing at best. Yesterday, her demeanor and appearance had been far from desirable. Then, she had combed her hair, cleaned her face, and donned a new undergarment, which smelled of Highland blossoms. It had been hard to believe such beauty had been hidden. And seeing it had only made him more suspicious of her motives. Women that beautiful knew their power and used it, often in very manipulative ways. But whatever she was after, it had not brought their small group trouble.

  Just the opposite. It had created a miracle.

  Cole had actually laughed today. Something in his many years, Jaime had never seen the commander do. Smile perhaps, or even grin when his young nephew did something particularly amusing, but laugh? Never. At that moment, Jaime had been convinced. Ellenor Howell was not an omen, but an angel, who had come to rid his commander of the nameless burden he had been carrying all these years.

  Jaime coughed into his hand, hoping it masked the reason behind his delayed response. “Well, as I said, there are many ways to become laird, but in Cole’s case the circumstances are somewhat unusual. With over ten years of war, the Highlands have lost many lairds and armies fighting. On top of that, a couple of years ago, several clans were nearly wiped out from disease. Together, numerous families and returning soldiers have been living in a nomadic state, existing by pinching food, cows, and horses. The neighboring clans can no longer sustain their numbers as well their own. It took some time, but these proud Highlanders are ready to come together and establish themselves as a clan under the name of a new leader.”

  “And that would be Cole.”

  “Aye, or another Highlander.”

  “Another Highlander?” Ellenor asked, surprised why anyone would consider someone else. “Is he as good as Cole?”

  Jaime took a deep breath and exhaled. “Hmm. There are some men—like our commander—who are born to lead, and there are some men who could never lead a soul. Dugan, the other man being considered, is somewhere in between. He’s a fine and able warrior, but does not possess the gift of forethought or strategy.”

  “Then why would they select this other man over Cole?”

  “He’s likable, for one thing. You seem to get along with our commander, but I meant what I said about that being a rarity among him and women. Then there’s the fact that Dugan is one of them. He came back to a clan ravaged by illness and has been living amongst the nomads for almost two years, supporting them with food between hunts and raids. If he didn’t lack the army Cole has, I doubt there would be the hesitation in naming Dugan laird. But he doesn’t.”

  “But couldn’t he get one?”

  Jaime scoffed. “If he hasn’t already started building more men around him than the few disreputable lads he has now, then he isn’t going to without help.” Seeing the puzzled expression staring back at him, Jaime sighed and explained, “Most of us, including myself and Donald, are much like Dugan. Not bad men, just bad leaders. But under the right training, we could learn.”

  “Right training…you mean, Cole.”

  “Aye. Like all the McTiernays, he has the gift. I was surprised when you mentioned his patience earlier, for you’re right. The commander tolerates no laziness, and he is liable to give you a good slice for being careless, but for those who try, he has unparalleled patience. And that is why he has such a large army.”

  “Cole has an army? I mean, I thought you and Donald were his comrades.”

  Jaime’s eyes lit up with merriment. “Lass, I have never met anyone with so many wrong assumptions. The commander has over three hundred men he can call upon. Over a hundred are dedicated to him alone.”

  The air rushed out of Ellenor’s chest. That was over thrice what her father had maintained. “Good Lord! That’s…that’s…well, a lot. How can he afford to support such an army without being a laird?” she blurted out, as the question popped into her head.

  Jaime shrugged. “McTiernay lands are fairly vast. Cole oversees the western edge, living off the land mostly, but if he is named laird, that will all change. We will go to live at Fàire Creachann and support not only ourselves but the new clan.”

  Ellenor encircled her arms around her bent knees. “I can tell by the sound of your voice that you hope to live there someday.”

  “Aye, you are right. And who wouldn’t? It stands on a good-size portion of land stretching out into the blue waters of Loch Torridan, where you can glimpse the An Cuan Sgìth, the strait of sea separating our homeland from its islands. Just before nightfall, the views of the glittering water and mountains are truly incomparable. And because Fàire Creachann is protected by sea on almost all sides, it is nearly impenetrable. The castle was abandoned long ago and is now in disrepair, needing much work, but it is an ideal place to begin anew. Lots of room, great land for farming, plenty of game…they would be fools to select Dugan,” Jaime answered, his voice almost a whisper at the end.

  “I take it Dugan has another place selected?”

  Jaime nodded once. “The damn spot practically invites someone to come attack him. Only a fool believes himself to invulnerable, disregarding good advice and experience, ignoring the stirring hints and warnings of impending violence.”

  Ellenor froze. The skin on her arms became mottled as her grip tightened to a painful level. Only a fool believes himself to be invulnerable, Jaime had said. She had been such a fool. A fool who had been told and disregarded such a warning.

  And she had killed someone as a result.

  Cole returned just in time to see the blood drain out of Ellenor’s face. Suddenly, his firm resolve fled. He had spent the past twenty minutes reminding himself on how all things English were abhorrent—even if they were incredibly beautiful. It hadn’t worked very well.

  Memories of Ellenor’s laughter, her ability to see right through him, know what he was thinking, refused to be suppressed. The woman seemed to understand him at levels no one else did. Maybe that was the reason why she wasn’t scared of him.

  She had called him intolerable, but her eyes had raked over him with a feminine desire that made his heart sing. He could recall not another woman ever looking at him with such incredible longing. Her eyes had roamed over every morsel of his body, lingering on his face in the shadows. It had been hard not to stare back. Then Fàire Creachann was mentioned.

  He could see her standing on one of the battlements, tawny curls of her long hair swirling about, her chin proudly thrust into the wind. And though everything about her was English, the image in his mind said that was where she belonged. He forced himself to dismiss such fantasies and returned back to camp, thinking he had himself back in control.

  Then he heard Jaime’s assessment of Dugan and saw Ellenor’s face go ashen. Whatever his friend had said, it had transported her back into another time. A time he suspected that was at the heart of her so-called madness. Terror filled her e
yes and he could see she was about to flee, not from him, but from whatever haunted her. He knew what he had to do.

  Make her mad. Boiling mad.

  Odd though it would sound to others, anger was the best way to yank her back to the present. She needed someone safe to focus all those emotions onto, and a safe manner to do so. He was that safe place…at least for the next few days.

  He braced himself as best he could for her snapping emerald eyes. Intense emotion brightened them, and their rich swirling color fed his inability to concentrate.

  Stepping through the brush, Cole looked at Jaime and asked with unmistakable disgust, “Is the babag bothering you?”

  Ellenor jumped, startled. “Stop referring to me as babag!”

  “Or what?” Cole challenged, squeezing his palms into fists, wishing she would look away, even if just for a second.

  “Or I might just start calling you sunndach, Scot,” Ellenor quipped proudly, refusing to budge her gaze.

  Jaime raked his fingers through his red hair and said with unhidden mirth, “I’ve never thought of you as the cheerful type before, Commander, but aye, lass, it is a nice sarcastic accounting of his character.”

  A second later, she became fully aware of her mistake. Cole’s face had hardened by several degrees. Jaime’s mouth had dropped wide open as realization dawned on him. “Did you…Was that…Did I just hear you correctly?”

  Ellenor wished she could disappear. In her anger, she had called Cole joyful and good-humored.

  But she had said it in Gaelic.

  Now they knew. Now Cole knew she understood everything he had been saying.

  Her lids slipped down over her eyes. She had two choices. Be apologetic, deposing of herself of any remaining pride, or take advantage of her folly.