Desiring The Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  “Oh, no. As I said before, I don’t have a clue about most weapons, and never really had the desire to learn. Besides, my father never would have allowed it. It was hard enough convincing him to let me ride.”

  “And you ride exceptionally well at that,” Jaime complimented.

  Ellenor licked her lips. “You earlier hinted the woman Cole’s brother married was English,” she began hesitantly, knowing she shouldn’t care if it was possible. “I didn’t think Scottish chieftains married Englishwomen.”

  Jaime shrugged. “It does not happen often, but there is no law preventing the union. Anyway, Lady Laurel is only half-English. Her mother’s people were Scottish, and well, ever since she met the laird, her heart belongs to the Highlands.”

  Ellenor had almost fallen off the horse when Jaime said the name. Laurel. It couldn’t be the same person as her friend, but deep down, she knew it was. Laurel Cordell wasn’t dead. Somehow, she had escaped and married a Highlander. Rumors of her supposed death had been false…and Ainsley had known. The man had let everyone think his sister was dead and had fed on the outpouring of sympathy. Then came the day he needed her to take his crazed sister-in-law off his hands, and Laurel, being the kind person she was, had agreed, sending Cole as a guardian and escort.

  Now, everything began to make sense. Why Cole could so easily promise she wouldn’t be forced into marriage if she didn’t want to be. Why he would drag an unwilling Englishwoman into his beloved country and into his family home. Why on a dozen other mystifying things—including the reason he had kept the truth to himself.

  Cole McTiernay wanted her to be dependent on him, all to keep her under control.

  For a long time, Ellenor stayed warm on seething anger as they trudged farther north and higher into the mountains. Eventually, though, it became harder to ignore the cooler temperatures. The afternoon sun began to fade behind dark clouds and with its disappearance came a chilled wind that seemed to seep through her gown and nip at her skin.

  She hadn’t realized her shivering had caught Cole’s attention until he rode up beside Jaime and with one deft movement lifted her from Jaime’s mount onto his. Without asking, he tucked her against his chest—something she had been unable to make herself do with Jaime.

  Ellenor tried to pull away but caved into her need for warmth and settled back against Cole. The resentment boiling in her had not simmered, but she was cold, and after yesterday’s ride and being ignored this morning, she knew Cole wouldn’t care. She was only punishing herself by keeping her distance.

  Ellenor considered letting him know about her discovery and her outrage, but decided that was too easy. He had intended the truth to be revealed at their arrival, and it still would be. Only now, Cole would be the one who was surprised—not she. Envisioning the look on his face when he realized she had bested him once again did a great deal to temper her anger.

  Ellenor cuddled against his large frame and sighed. The knowledge her future was secure had not provided the feeling of euphoria she had expected. Safety was important, and when one didn’t have it, it was hard to consider other things. Less than a week ago, she would have believed security alone could have made her happy, but that was before Cole. Now, she wanted more. Security wrapped in a lifetime of loneliness was far from an attractive future.

  “Still cold?” Cole inquired. The wind had continued to increase, and up ahead, the dark rain clouds were releasing their mass. The temperature had dropped significantly. It wasn’t quite cold enough to snow, but it would be a miserable, wet night.

  “I’m all right,” Ellenor mumbled, blowing into her cupped hands to keep them warm.

  “We’ll be through this pass soon and the mountain should block the majority of the wind. Once the horses are better protected, I’ll stop and pull out the plaid for you to use as a cover.”

  It was the closest thing to a real conversation he had engaged her in for over a day. She didn’t know why he had now decided to resume a dialogue with her, and fearing he might retreat into silence once again, she decided not to ask. Instead, she snuggled closer to him, marveling at how he could be so warm and unaffected by the elements. “I don’t understand how you aren’t cold.”

  Cole gave a halfhearted shrug and then, with an arrogant grin, said, “As you have pointed out several times, I am a Highlander.”

  “You are many things I am not, Scot,” she responded righteously just before adding, “including being an exceptional ass.” She hadn’t meant to reference his behavior for the past few days, but her irritation had slipped out. Ellenor held her breath, waiting for his response.

  Cole surprised her and laughed out loud. Ellenor joined him and began to truly relax. She had feared admitting her past had changed their relationship and it was a relief he still welcomed her candor.

  Ellenor nudged her chin toward the rocky peak in front of them. “Your mountains touch the sky. One can get drunk on such beauty.” A large russet-colored animal with curved horns, shaggy pelts of thick hair, and forelocks so long it covered its eyes snorted as they rode by. “Even your cattle are suited to the weather. Think I, too, will be able to adapt?”

  “You’ll conform. Some things you’ll find difficult and others easy, but aye, Elle, the one thing I have no doubts about is you flourishing in my world or any other. You are a survivor.”

  Ellenor squirmed. Cole’s compliments were almost harder to take than his insults. “Easy. I doubt anything up here is easy.”

  “Perhaps, but then you have already conquered the hardest obstacle.”

  “And that is?” Ellenor prompted, wondering if he was serious or being sarcastic.

  “Gàidhlig.”

  The language of the Gaels.

  Ellenor blinked. Cole was right. She hadn’t spoken a word of English all day. While Jaime understood her tongue, he was far from comfortable speaking it. It had been natural to converse in Gaelic and she had just continued to do it. The language was rich with unusual sounds, and though far from the easiest dialect she had ever learned, she had always loved how the syllables rolled off her tongue.

  “I was curious. Why do you call me Elle and not Ellenor?”

  “Do you mind?”

  Ellenor considered his question carefully. Surprisingly, she didn’t mind. She had never been given a nickname, nor had she ever wanted one. “No. It’s certainly better than babag. Just no one has ever shortened it before.”

  Cole cracked a smile. He liked the idea that Elle was his name for her and not commonplace among her people. “Elle suits you better.”

  “Only you, though,” she whispered, burying her face into his chest. “Everyone else still has to call me by my proper name.” Then she remembered what his friends had called her. “Or lass. That works, too.”

  The relaxed expression on Cole’s face instantly turned into a scowl. Yesterday’s exercise in silence had done little to quell his memories of her nude in the moonlight, her soft lips pressed against his, or how she held him and trusted him with her fears. She was stirring emotions he didn’t want to feel, so he had retreated, but Ellenor hadn’t. Her willingness to comply with his unstated request for quiet during their ride had not extended to his comrades.

  Donald and especially Jaime had become quite friendly with Ellenor in a very short amount of time, and last night all three had been infuriatingly friendly over dinner. Each time they called her lass, he had wanted to intervene. Yet if he had done so, it would have been the same as announcing Ellenor belonged to him. Something that could never be. She had to be just another woman.

  Except…she wasn’t. Not to him nor any other warm-blooded man. And after watching Jaime wallow in the pleasure of her company, Cole could no longer pretend otherwise.

  Ellenor was exactly the type of woman that appealed to most men. Intelligent, witty, and surprisingly charming. She was gentle and nurturing and pulled at every male instinct to protect her from harm. That combination in itself was dangerous, but she was also beautiful. And seeing her unclothed,
fighting a bush for her chemise, he had learned just how beautiful. If any of his men ever made the same discovery, he would most likely kill them. For not only did he feel compelled to protect Ellenor, he constantly battled his need to possess her.

  Midafternoon the foul weather turned ugly and the damp mist in the air changed to raindrops soaking anything exposed. Cole and his men seemed oblivious. They had slowed only a fraction in their pursuit of the night’s destination. Ellenor huddled within the blanket Cole had given her, which helped enormously, but she suspected only dry air and a campfire would be able to warm her bones. Neither of which were in the near future unless Cole planned to sleep in a cave.

  A couple of hours later, Ellenor was thankful Cole had pushed the small group. The site he had chosen to make camp was probably the single natural dry spot in fifty miles. Two jagged cliffs of rock seemed to defy gravity as they created a semiroof and protection against the elements. Instead of tapering, both grew significantly wider until they met several feet over their heads, creating a patch of dry ground. The small footprint required the four of them to be fairly close together when sleeping, not sprawled apart as they had been, but they would be moderately dry and protected against the rain’s accompanying cold wind.

  Ellenor kept Cole’s plaid wrapped around her, but began making dinner, the nightly duty she had assumed. She collected several small branches that had been piled against one of the rock walls from a previous traveler, keeping them dry. After bundling them together, she asked Jaime to light the fire. He obliged before disappearing into the darkness in search of food. By the time he returned with two rabbits and a grouse, the fire was growing and Ellenor was beginning to feel the blood once again flow in her veins. How the Highlanders seemed to move about with only a shirt and a kilt for protection was a mystery to her.

  Jaime once again braved the elements and fetched some wild onion and garlic before joining Donald and Cole to take care of the horses. Building a makeshift spit, Ellenor found an odd, bowl-shaped rock a little smaller than the size of her fist. It wasn’t big enough to bake anything in, but she used it to capture the drippings and baste the meat while it cooked. By the time the men returned, the meal was done and, despite the weather, one of the finest all of them had enjoyed in some time.

  Conversation had been light, as the storm grew in ferocity. The rain poured down and lightning lit up the night sky every few minutes. Pounding thunder followed. Normally, Ellenor could never have slept through such noise, but emotionally drained and physically exhausted from being cold, she could no longer hold herself upright. Leaning against Cole for support, she fell fast asleep unaware she was still holding the last leg of rabbit in her hands.

  Carefully, Cole took the bone and threw it into the fire. He laid her down, but when he tried to withdraw, her clutch on his arm instinctively tightened. Worried he might awaken her, he caved in to his own desire and lay down beside her. Donald and Jaime didn’t say a word but quickly followed suit. The party of four was soon asleep, oblivious to the storm as it finally passed over them.

  Cole inhaled deeply. Ellenor’s scent lingered in the air. The combination of flowers and woman was driving him crazy. The feel of her pressed up against him, innocent and vulnerable, was a bizarre mixture of bliss and pain. She had burrowed into his side in her sleep, seeking his heat against the chill of the night air. At first, it had been her head on his shoulder, then an arm across his stomach and a leg over his thigh. Finally, her whole body had melded to his side. He had welcomed it all.

  She was delicate and soft, and memories of their kiss flared in his mind, sending waves of heat through his loins. Never had he experienced such an overwhelming desire to know a woman. He longed to touch, taste, and enjoy every inch of her body. He wanted to know what she liked, what excited her, and then drive her insane with need. If she had been someone else—anyone else—he might have indulged himself the pleasure.

  But she wasn’t.

  She was an Englishwoman with a wounded soul, who was just beginning to learn how to trust and be herself again. He would fight armies to ensure she remained free from the hell in which she had been living. But that was only half the reason he kept his distance. One night with her and he would never be able to let her go.

  Ellenor sighed and snuggled closer. Cole didn’t move. He couldn’t. All he could do was lie quietly and listen to his blood pound in his veins, thanking God his men had left.

  The storm had been intense, but quick. In its wake came warmer air, proving once again that winter was over and spring had begun. Unused to being confined, Jaime and Donald had left to sleep in the open, where they had tied the horses. Cole had been tempted to go with them, but just as he was about to rise, Ellenor nuzzled her cheek against his chest and murmured his name in her sleep. All ideas of leaving immediately ended.

  A few minutes later, she shifted again and Cole wondered whether he was in heaven or hell. With a small moan of pleasure, she had just resettled herself so that one of her legs was tucked between his and her hand rested on his torso, just underneath the opening of his leine. The steady rise and fall of her chest pressed her breasts against him, and he could feel the pulse in her neck pounding against his shoulder. His whole body tightened to painful levels with unfulfilled desire, but at the same time, he had never experienced such contentment.

  It had been some time since he had tried to suppress his demons through sex and he couldn’t recall ever wanting simply to lie with a woman afterward. Donald had told him once that he enjoyed the mornings best, because when he woke up, his wife was wrapped around him. Cole had thought his friend daft and stated unequivocally he would never feel the same. His bed was his own and he could not imagine ever wanting to share it.

  And yet here he was, troubled that tomorrow they would be home and Ellenor would never lie next to him again. His future loomed in front of him and it was darker than ever.

  Cole’s arm stole protectively around her. He thought about what lay ahead. Had Conor returned with a decision? Had he been named laird? Did he care? What would he do if Dugan were chosen in his stead? His men needed a home, something long-term. Something Cole had not really considered before Ellenor.

  She was so focused on her future, what would happen, the control she would have over her destiny, it had made him begin to think about his.

  Like all his brothers, he had a gift for strategy, an ability he applied liberally on the battlefield, but very little anywhere else. The reason had been simple. Life, beyond that of war and fighting, had provided only undesirable choices, and so he had avoided making one. And yet, being laird provided him an opportunity to make improvements not just in his men’s lives, but also in those Highlanders who lived and loved this land as much as he did.

  He had treated the decision-making council with indifference and Dugan with disdain. As a result, it might cost him something he didn’t realize until now just how much he wanted. To be a leader. To make a difference.

  Ellenor stirred once again. Cole moved his arm to let her move, but instead of turning to her other side as he expected her to, Ellenor sat up and immediately reached down to scratch her leg. With a look of immense contentment, she satisfied the itch. Then she arched her shoulders and threw her head back, causing dark golden waves to cascade in soft knots down to her waist. Yawning, she glanced around the campsite and spied that he was awake, too. A thoughtful smile flickered over her lips before she scooted over a couple of inches and tucked her blanket around her. Cole knew without asking that Ellenor was completely clueless about how she had been draped over him for the past few hours. She no doubt believed their close proximity due to the small area.

  “Where are Jaime and Donald?” Ellenor asked sleepily, stretching once again before curling up to hug her legs.

  Cole watched Ellenor teeter her chin on her knees and wished for an ice-cold loch in which to dive. “They left as soon as it stopped raining.”

  Surprise touched her pale face. “They’re sleeping somewhere out t
here?”

  “Aye.”

  “But they’ll get wet!”

  “Better than being cramped.”

  Ellenor shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Your men are far more unbalanced than I ever pretended to be. I’m glad you decided being warm and confined is much better than cold and damp.”

  Cole closed his eyes. If he had any sense at all, he would gather his things, leave right now, and join his men, but the little sense he had possessed fled days ago. Ignoring his inner voice, Cole asked, “What woke you? Another bad dream?”

  “Uh-uh,” Ellenor answered, shaking her head. “In fact, I don’t think I have ever slept better. I only woke because my leg started itching.” Reaching down to scratch her calf again, she saw the thorn-bush scrapes and wished for some water to clean them. “I need another bath.”

  Cole’s eyes popped open. “Another bath?”

  “Mm-hmmm. I hate being dirty, and after enduring filth for weeks, I could enjoy a bath every day.”

  Cole stared at her to see if she was teasing. His face slackened in open shock when he realized she wasn’t. “Good luck with that.”

  Ignoring him, Ellenor pointed out into the darkness. “Is there somewhere nearby where I can at least wash my face and hands?”

  “Now?” Cole spit out.

  Ellenor nudged his leg playfully with her foot. “No, of course not. In the morning. I want to arrive at our destination looking my best.”

  Cole’s scowl deepened. He hadn’t really considered people’s reaction to their arrival. However, if she looked any better than she did already, Ellenor would have more than one open admirer, despite her being English. The last thing she—or he—needed was for her to make any more improvements to her appearance. “You look fine,” he growled.

  “Hmm, you woke up grumpy. Aren’t you sleeping well?”

  “Well, enough,” he lied.

  “Then why are you awake? Bad dreams?” she asked, parroting his own question back to him.