Desiring The Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  Ellenor chose the latter.

  Ignoring Cole, she looked Jaime straight in the eye and then said in flawless Gaelic, “You mentioned assumptions, earlier, Jaime Ruadh. I just thought you should be aware you have been making a few yourself.”

  With confidence she didn’t really possess, Ellenor marched over, picked up her bag, and sashayed past Cole, heading toward the river.

  Moments later, she arrived at the same place she had washed her hands and face earlier. The river was the exact opposite of last night’s trickling stream. It was wide as one of the taller trees and deep enough to fully immerse herself in. Plunging her hand into her bag, Ellenor pulled out one of three bars of soap she had been saving. She lifted the small mound to her nose and took a whiff. The fragrance filled her nostrils. The overgrown giant won’t be able to ever say I stink again, she thought to herself.

  All around her childhood home, flowered purple spikes of lavender grew wild. The art of making the carved scented soap mounds had been handed down in her family for years. Very few practiced the laborious craft of soap making and many had forgotten how, but her mother had taught her, just as her grandmother had taught her mother and so forth.

  Ellenor flipped the carved purple and gray item over and felt a tear fall down her cheek. The initials EF were inscribed on the bottom. Ellen Frances. These were the last three her mother had made. There once had been four.

  When she had been forced to move to her sister’s, she had been given no warning, still she had managed to throw a few of her most precious treasures in a small trunk her father had crafted for her when she had been a child. Spying the trunk upon her arrival, her sister had announced that a woman crazed with madness didn’t deserve such items as fancy dresses, gemstones, and a chest. Gilda had rummaged through the few things, angry Ellenor had not remembered to take a single Howell jewel. In a fit of rage, Gilda had thrown her a bag, two of her most worn gowns, a handful of chemises, a tarnished comb and brush, and a knotted ball of ribbons. Last, she had tossed the soap. One had broken into small pieces upon impact. At that moment, faking madness had gone from difficult to easy.

  “Elle, are you all right?”

  Ellenor jumped up, dropping the soap and the bag on the grassy bank. “Am I…” She paused midway through her question. She had been waiting for accusations, roars, bellows of deceit, not inquiries to her health. “What did you just say?”

  “I asked if you were all right,” Cole replied, pointing at her wet cheek. “Jaime can be thoughtless when he speaks, but he was not talking about you.”

  “Jaime?” she murmured, still puzzled. “Why aren’t you angry…” Then understanding dawned on her. “You…you did it on purpose, didn’t you? You knew I spoke Gaelic and was trying to trick me into revealing myself!”

  “Trick you?” Cole choked. “Elle, I would first have to understand the workings of your mind, and that I have determined is impossible. I just noticed Jaime had inadvertently reminded you of some ghosts so I riled you some. It always works for me.”

  “You intentionally picked a fight?”

  “Aye,” Cole answered with a touch of self-satisfaction. “You cannot deny it worked.”

  “And you’re not angry about my understanding your language?” Skepticism filled her voice and stance.

  Cole stepped past her and knelt down by the water’s edge. He cupped his hands and drank the cool water. “I’ve suspected you knew the Celtic tongue since last night. I watched you when my men were talking. Your face gives a lot away, babag.”

  Hearing his pet insult reminded her of why she was there. Ellenor pivoted, bent down, and grabbed the three pieces of soap. She stuffed two in the bag and stood back up, wagging the third back and forth. “You won’t be able to say that for much longer, sunndach.”

  Cole’s dark eyebrow arched mischievously, distracting her as he plucked the small item from her hand and began to unknot his leather belt. His mouth twitched with amusement seeing her stunned reaction.

  Ellenor watched in horror as his dark tartan pleats began to unravel. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

  “You should know,” Cole grinned. “I’m going to take a bath.”

  “You can’t! I’m here!”

  Cole grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Didn’t stop you last night. Turn around or watch, babag. Makes no difference to me,” he replied, just as his kilt dropped to the ground.

  Ellenor felt her jaw slacken in shock. He meant it. The man’s blue eyes were practically dancing with pleasure, and her protests were only fueling his enjoyment. The only thing between her and his nakedness was his thankfully long shirt. He was baiting her, daring her to watch—something she both wanted and feared to do.

  Suddenly, Ellenor was struck with inspiration. Without considering the ramifications, she grabbed the soap from his fingers and dove into the cold water. She held her breath and let her body adjust to the temperature before rising to the surface. Immediately her eyes sought Cole. The second she caught his sapphire glare, she knew she had succeeded.

  The man was furious, but the weight of anger boiling in his eyes could not outweigh her glee. She waved at him and smiled. “Looks like your bath will have to wait until I am done, Highlander!” Then, she dropped below the surface again before he could retort.

  Cole watched the wet copper locks disappear back under the dark swirling water. Terror had leapt through him a moment ago. She had plunged headfirst into the strong current and had not emerged until several seconds later. He was on the verge of diving in when she had finally broken the surface with a smile that could light up the night. There was no way she could have missed his fury at her reckless behavior. But did she care? The woman had actually waved at him. He should go ahead and jump in. Not to save her, but to throttle her neck.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and clung to his remaining patience. A second later, he heard a soft thud and felt a light splash of water on his leg. Cole looked down and saw the familiar white material of her chemise. He picked the sopping item up and glanced at the water. Ellenor was not in sight. Panic again invaded his thoughts. “Elle,” he called out.

  No answer. “Elle!” This time he shouted her name. Her head popped up from the water. Two green eyes were frowning at him.

  “Cole, don’t wad it up like that. I threw it to you so you could lay it out over one of those bushes over there.”

  Cole stared at her. He could not believe what he was witnessing and hearing. Ellenor was holding her bliaut in front of her as she pointed to a cluster of thick juniper. He had no idea what she was going to do next, but he was not going to wait and find out.

  He threw her chemise back into the water so that it landed practically in front of her. “Don’t disappear again.”

  Ellenor was about to explode when she caught the warning in Cole’s eyes. There was real fury in him and it stemmed from fear. The revelation made her own emotions shift between hesitant joy and sheer aggravation. Carefully choosing a response, she reached out, grabbed the sinking undergarment, and slid down in the water until she was submerged up to her chin. “I’m fine, Cole. I have swum in rivers all my life and never got a scratch.” Pausing, she tossed the item back to him and again pointed to the bushes.

  Instinctively, Cole caught the object. He was flummoxed. He could threaten her, but unless he really intended to jump in and physically force her to the shore, there was little he could do. He stepped over to the bush and splayed the flimsy material over the prickly branches. “You may be a good swimmer, but the water here is cold and the current is strong. Even a man can lose his footing and drown, especially at night. Now either put that thing on or throw it here.”

  “I plan to just as soon as you turn around.”

  Cole shook his head firmly. “No. I meant what I said. You’re not to disappear out of my sight.”

  “Well, I cannot finish bathing with you looking at me. What if you turn around and I promise to keep talking?”

  Cole let go a sigh and rubbed his
face. He knew he wouldn’t be able to watch her bathe, and her proposal was a solution to his predicament. He just wished he had come up with it. Resigning to her wishes, he gave a single nod, turned around, and prepared himself for a long speech about why he was so wrong and she was so right. Instead, a soft simple melody hit his ear. Ellenor was singing.

  The lilting timbre of her voice was just like the rest of her, gentle, yet with some dark edges luring him in, like a siren driving him mad. The song was just as haunting. The words were soft and full of sadness about a woman who had overcome great evil only to die alone. Was that how she felt? Alone? The thought she might feel that way bothered him. He was about to turn around and ask when her bliaut landed in the grass by his feet, followed by her slippers. Both smelled of her lavender soap.

  “Mmm, this feels wonderful. You should think about jumping in once I am done. It will do wonders for your bad mood, Scot.”

  Cole reached for the garment and threw it haphazardly next to her chemise. “My mood is not likely to change until I am home and you are no longer my responsibility, English. And if you recall, bathing was exactly what I had planned until you rushed in.”

  Ellenor’s laughter rippled through the air, sending a shiver down Cole’s spine. “Not true,” she argued. “We both know that I had arrived at the river and was preparing to bathe first. And as far as rushing in, I had no choice. You’re just annoyed that I surprised you.”

  “I’m not an—”

  “Hold on, I’m going to rinse my hair.”

  A soft splash followed by silence filled the air. Cole raked his hands over his scalp, hoping the pain would distract him. The random splashes and her soft moans of pleasure were playing havoc with his ability to concentrate. His loins had been tight since seeing her slick and wet, holding her bliaut to shield her nakedness. Now the dark heavy garment lay alongside the white chemise. The only thing between the two of them was his self-control. Something that was rapidly slipping.

  “Cole, are you listening to me?”

  “How could I not be?” he grumbled, refusing to admit that he hadn’t been.

  “I said I had a problem.”

  Cole looked back and swallowed. She was standing low in the water so only her bare shoulders were visible. Cursing the direction of his thoughts, he reminded himself that she was bossy, brash, and far from his definition of a perfect woman. “I have no experience in helping women bathe.”

  “I don’t need help bathing, Scot! And don’t turn around again.”

  The hint was all he needed to discern the nature of her anxiety. “Let me guess. Your well-thought-out desire to seize an opportunity to surprise me didn’t include dry clothes.”

  “My plan had been to undress on the shore, and whose fault why I didn’t is rather pointless as it does not change the facts.”

  She was right, but the last thing he was going to do was admit it. The woman was already impossible. He reached for her bliaut, pretending to pull it off the bush. “Shall I throw these wet ones back in?”

  The hard splash of hands hitting the water’s surface echoed throughout the air, indicating his barb had hit its mark. “If you are going to be insufferable, then yes, toss it back in. But when I become ill and am miserable company over the next few days, I don’t want to hear a word.”

  Damn, if she didn’t somehow win every argument. Even when she shouldn’t. “Woman, you could try the patience of a saint,” Cole mumbled in Gaelic. Louder, he asked, “Don’t you have another gown in your bag?”

  Ellenor clenched her jaw, betraying her deep frustrations. Her other chemise, dirty and foul-smelling, was dry, but now that she was clean, the last thing she wanted to do was don a soiled garment. Unfortunately, there was nothing else. She was just about to agree to the suggestion when Cole threw his hands up in the air and growled, “Women! I’ll get you a blanket.” Then just before he marched off, he turned and pointed. “Stay near the shore and don’t go under the water until I return. Understood?”

  Ellenor beamed him a grateful smile and nodded dutifully. Grunting one last time, Cole turned and headed for camp.

  When he arrived, he saw Jaime, alone, relaxing against a tree trunk, staring into the fire. His expression made it clear who was on his mind. The English minx was putting a spell on all of his men, not just him. If she returned wrapped in nothing but a blanket and Jaime was still here, there would be trouble. The mysterious feeling of possessiveness was growing exponentially.

  “Jaime.”

  Jaime stirred and responded, “Aye, Commander?”

  “Get your things. You’re sleeping with Donald on the perimeter.”

  Jaime furrowed his brow. He didn’t say anything. The commander’s business was his own, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy with the suggestion or hide his disapproval.

  Cole shook his head. Jaime had jumped to the wrong conclusions, but there was no way Ellenor was returning here, undressed, with any man present besides himself.

  Cole gathered the softer of the two blankets and returned. As she promised, Ellenor was staying near the shore, and while her shoulders were barely below the surface, she had not resubmerged her head.

  He tossed the blanket on the grass close to the river’s edge. “Wrap yourself up in that until we get back to camp. Then get dressed in the shift you had on yesterday, I don’t care if it does stink. And do it without argument.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Ellenor teased, imitating his authoritative bur, and began to head toward the bank.

  Cole was dumbfounded. The woman was completely unmoved by the seriousness of his tone and she should have been at least mildly terrified. His men certainly would have been. But then Ellenor Howell was as far from a man as one could get.

  Ellenor hurried out of the water and wrapped the tartan around her shivering body. It had been a reckless decision to jump in the water and then undress. Reckless and wild and carefree. And it felt wonderful. It felt like her. She was Ellenor Howell again. Fearing nothing and no one.

  The caution she had been exercising was not a genetic trait, it had been a learned one. She had been living in fear for so long, she had forgotten what she was like when unafraid. She had forgotten what it felt like to be happy. And it was all because of one large, scowling Highlander.

  “Cole? I think I’m about ready.”

  Cole turned around and was suddenly swamped once more with desire. He had not been prepared for what stood before him. Swaddled in his tartan, only her neck, ankles, and feet were visible. Pale auburn hair cascaded around her shoulders like a velvet cape of soft waves. Her slim neck revealed creamy skin. He could almost taste her on his tongue, soft and wet and woman-sweet. But it was her eyes, dark, green, and large with golden flecks, that made it difficult to breathe. She was watching him beneath lowered lashes, and with every second that passed, he felt the lower half of his body tighten only further.

  He had never been one to flirt and carry on with women. His brother Conor had teased him mercilessly about his inability to read a woman’s thoughts, and that it would get him in trouble one day. That day had finally arrived. More than anything, Cole wanted to know what she was thinking.

  “Can I have my slippers?”

  “They’re wet.”

  “I know, but I need them to walk.”

  Cole knew she was waiting, but there was no way he could come near her. Not right now. If she got even one step closer, she would be in his arms, finding out just how honorable he was. Suddenly, he needed the cool of the water and fast.

  “My turn,” was all he could grit out and began yanking off his shirt.

  Ellenor’s eyes shot wide open as his words registered. His leine began to ride up his thigh and she whipped around, causing the tartan to catch on a bush. Forced to turn back around to pull it free, she accidentally glanced up. What she saw, she would never forget.

  There were men, and then there were men whom God fashioned to be perfect. Cole was made of the latter. He had tossed his leine on the riverbank and
was slowly marching into the water, completely naked. Once he reached thigh level, he dove in.

  Ellenor stood transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away. As a curious child, she had once hidden in the stables to find out what men and women did when they met in secret. She had learned much that evening, and until now, had a very low opinion of the male body. Grace and beauty were not words she would have attributed to the masculine physique, especially one of Cole’s size, but then, she hadn’t seen him move through the water.

  There was a subtle power in the smooth, muscled contours of his shoulders as Cole stood against the strong current. His dark hair, now wet, gleamed in the moonlight, conforming to the firm, unyielding lines of his back. He looked like a sculpture brought to life.

  Her eyes couldn’t get enough of him, and then suddenly they had too much. He had unexpectedly twisted in the water and caught her staring at him.

  Ellenor knew she should have turned back around or at the very least closed her eyes, but she was mesmerized by the intensity of his blue gaze. She shivered with heat, unaware the tip of her tongue was moving along her lower lip. He was watching her. And then suddenly he was gone.

  The moment his head dipped beneath the cool dark waters, the spell had been broken. Ellenor sank against a dead log no thicker than her thigh. He hadn’t even touched her, but in those few seconds, Cole had awakened a sense of awareness within her she couldn’t explain. The blood was pounding in her temples. Her emotions were swirling out of control, and among them was a deep sense of shame.

  Of all the idiotic, brainless things to do, Ellenor muttered to herself. Why did you have to stare? Why did you have to look at him at all? But even as she asked, Ellenor knew that if she could reverse time and redo those few moments over again, she would not.

  Cole popped his head back out of the water and wished for the frigid temperatures of the winter Highland lochs. The tepid river water was doing nothing to relieve the masculine hunger in him. He had almost lost all control when he caught her looking at him. She had been captured, helpless to look away, just as he had been. A maelstrom was brewing in her bright hazel eyes, drawing him into the heart of its storm.