Highland Temptation

by Lori Ann Bailey

  “He is completely civil to me.” She dug in her heels, but he still managed to inch her forward.

  Thankfully, the courtyard was nearly empty, and no one was close enough to see or hear what was truly going on between them.

  “’Twould appear he wants to be more than civil with ye.”

  “’Tis none of yer business.” She stuck her chin up in the air and did her best to look defiant and out of reach.

  His eyes darkened. “Yer safety is my concern.”

  “Get yer hands off my sister, Mackenzie.” A voice boomed from halfway across the courtyard.

  Alan froze, panic flashing in his eyes at the voice of her older brother, their laird. She wanted to ease the worry, but Lachlan was upon them. Alan was spun around and lost his grip on her. She stumbled then turned to see her brother stood behind Alan with his fists clenched, looking as if he were about to rip Alan to shreds.

  “Do ye ken what she’s doing?” Alan asked. Kirstie barely heard his muffled words.

  “Nae, but I do ken ye are acting as if she belongs to ye, and ye have never once asked what I think of the match.” Despite Alan’s hushed tone, her older brother’s voice reverberated through the air, and every eye turned their way.

  Her brows knit together. Lachlan loved Alan and would be thrilled if they were to marry. It had been she who urged Lachlan to not let Alan visit her, while he had tried to convince her to come home and talk things out, but she’d refused. Why would he have a change of heart?

  Kirstie jumped between them. “What are ye doing, Lachlan?”

  “Back up, Kirstie,” Lachlan clipped out, but before she could respond, arms were around her waist, dragging her back. She looked over her shoulder to see Malcolm. Shaking his head at her, he held on while she watched helplessly. Lachlan attacked.

  He swung at Alan, hitting him square in the jaw.

  Kirstie started to struggled. “Malcolm, stop him.”

  “It has to be done,” Malcolm whispered in her ear.

  “Nae.” Desperate to stop the carnage as Lachlan lunged again, she fought to free herself.

  “It has to appear as if he isnnae one of us.”

  “Does he ken what ye are doing?” Balling her fists and ignoring the pain in her wrist, she wanted to beat her brothers for what they were doing to Alan.

  “Nae, but we’ll send word when he leaves. Argyll is watching, and ’twill keep Alan safe if they believe his story.”

  She stopped struggling and wondered what the hell he was talking about. She’d known something wasn’t right, but she’d been too busy avoiding Alan to ask questions about their strange behavior.

  Alan’s face and shoulders had dropped. She had never seen him look so dejected. His hands were clenched, but he didn’t strike back. Lachlan started in again but threw no more punches. “Stay away from Kirstie. She’ll never be yers. Ye arenae good enough for her.”

  All color left Alan’s face. He glanced at her, and she thought she saw her heartbreak mirrored in his eyes. His gaze left hers, and he nodded to Lachlan.

  “I never want to see ye again, Mackenzie. If ye ever step foot on Cameron lands, ye will have to pray for mercy.”

  Kirstie noticed the silence for the first time. The courtyard had filled with curious onlookers, and every eye was focused on them. Niall and Argyll were on one side studying the scene as Hamish and some other men were farther away, intent on the altercation.

  “Ye should have warned him, Malcolm,” her voice cracked. She was shaking, she was so angry at her brothers. How could they have done this without letting Alan know what they were up to? Why did they need the earl to believe Alan’s story? What was Alan trying to do?

  Turning, he walked toward the stables.

  “Let me go,” she pleaded with Malcolm as a tear ran down her cheek.

  “I cannae let ye go after him.”

  Lachlan strode up and growled at her, “Dinnae follow him, Kirstie. That is an order.”

  As Malcolm eased his grip, she flew at Lachlan, beating at his chest, ignoring the sharp needles in her injured arm. “Did ye see how yer words hurt him?” Alan wasn’t acting. Something had broken inside of him.

  Lachlan’s arms circled around her and hugged her tight, pinning her in a secure embrace as he twisted, shielding her from view of the others and walking her to a more secluded area. “It has to be this way.”

  It felt as if she’d had the air knocked out of her; she could barely breathe, could barely talk, barely stand. “Ye just destroyed him. Ye are his whole world.”

  Out of the view of the others in the courtyard, Eslpeth and Blair hurried up. “Come Kirstie, let’s get ye inside. The rain will be here soon.”

  Lachlan eased his grip as Blair took her hand, and they walked toward the door.

  “Mother, I canne let him think Lachlan hates him because of me.”

  “I ken that, but first we have to talk.” Meeting her mother’s gaze, she realized Elspeth was holding back the tears of a woman who had just seen one of her children injured. She grieved for Alan as well.

  The walk through the castle back to her chamber was a short distance, but each step felt like a long journey. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, her mother turned to Dougal and Blair, the only people who still followed them. Lachlan, Malcolm, and Finlay had disappeared without an explanation. “Can ye two go to the kitchens and find some wine and cheese to bring up, please?”

  Her heart ached, and she shook uncontrollably. Once back in her room, she eased into a chair and waited.

  Her mother said, “I ken Blair is yer friend, but ye cannae say a word of this to her, and I think they didnae tell ye because of yer ties to the Macnab family. Because of yer association with Blair’s family, ye have been accepted by the Covenanters.”

  “What?” She straightened; she never kept secrets from Blair.

  “Alan is trying to infiltrate a group of Covenanters who are set on killing the lairds who dinnae sign the League and Covenant.”

  “Why would Lachlan let him do something so dangerous?”

  “Alan came up with the plan. And it seems to be working. He’s been meeting with them at a tavern in the evenings.”

  “If they found out, they would kill him.” A tremor rent through her body, causing the hair on her arms to rise.

  “’Tis why Lachlan acted as he did. ’Twas to protect Alan.”

  She could see why they had to truly appear estranged, but what she had seen in Alan’s stance and eyes was a man who truly thought himself unworthy. If Alan had just been putting on a show, he would have thrown a punch of his own.

  She may very well be the only friend he had right now. There was no reason Alan had to think he was completely deserted—she could converse with him without it looking suspicious. Damn, she was so mad at her family, she could pretend there was a wedge between them.

  A knock sounded, and her mother whispered, “Ye cannae tell her a thing.”

  “Aye. I’ll keep quiet.” She would do anything to keep Alan safe, but he had to know he wasn’t alone.

  A short while later, she’d convinced the group to leave her in the room to sulk as they made their way to the great hall for the mid-day meal. After they left, she quickly donned an inconspicuous traveling gown then draped a plaid over her face and shoulders to hide her identity.

  Sneaking through the bustling kitchens, she made her way outside into the storm, which was pummeling the grounds, then through the gate to walk down into the city. Taking Poseidon was too risky. She couldn’t be recognized, so she made her way in the deluge to a bakery across the street from Alan’s inn and waited inside to make sure she wasn’t followed and no one was watching the inn. Very few people moved about in the storm, and those who did were only watching where they were going and not the world around them.

  When she felt it was safe, she snuck across the
street and found the innkeeper cleaning tables in the empty dining area. The man raised an eyebrow, so despite knowing the way to Alan’s room she had to say something or risk looking suspicious. “I’m looking for a Mackenzie,” she said as she kept her face hidden beneath the plaid. Pressure invaded her chest as she used the name of his birth clan, but the last thing she would do was risk calling him a Cameron.

  “Second door on the right.” The man pointed up the stairs, and she nodded.

  Knocking, she buried her face deeper in the plaid, scanning the empty hall, and then held her breath as she waited for a reply that didn’t come. She wondered if he was out.

  She knocked once more.

  The door swung in, and Alan peeked out into the hall, his sword by his side. “What do ye want?”

  She showed him her face.

  “What are ye doing here?” Clasping onto her arm, he pulled her into the room as he stuck his head out farther, likely checking to either see if the inn’s usual inhabitants were outside or if she’d been followed by Lachlan.

  Satisfied the hall was empty and no immediate threat loomed around the corner, he retreated back into the room and bolted the door.

  Before he could say anything, she blurted out, “He didnae mean it.”

  Alan’s gaze was sad. She reached out to touch him. He backed as if he’d been burned. Shaking his head, he moved farther away from her. “Ye shouldnae be here.”

  “’Twas a show. Lachlan didnae mean it.”

  He shook his head at her. “Go back to the castle.”

  “Nae, I willnae.”

  He scanned the room as if he were looking for a way out or looking for something to strangle her with.

  “He did it because Argyll was there. He did it to convince them ye were enemies.”

  “Even so, he was right.”

  “Right about what?” She prayed he wouldn’t call her a mistake again.

  “I amnae good for ye.”

  Blinking, she tried to make sense of what he was saying.

  “’Tis no’ true.” She moved toward him and reached out to touch his arm.

  He groaned. “What are ye trying to do to me?”

  “Make ye see the truth.”

  “Kirstie”—he caught her hand—“we shouldnae be alone.” His tone was pleading. It didn’t sound like anger; it reverberated of restraint and conflicted emotions. She wanted him to know he wasn’t alone, that no matter what she would always be here for him. He had put his very being in jeopardy for her family, his honor and loyalty beckoned her to open one more time. To lay herself bare before him. Deep down, she knew her heart had always belonged to him.

  Luckily, she’d worn one of her simpler dresses; it was more like a jacket that fastened in the front over skirts. Before he’d had time to object, she was peeling it off. “I’m so cold. Can ye start a fire?”

  She shivered, and Alan’s gaze softened, his regard angling toward the window as the rain pelted it with steady thumps and the whoosh of a strong wind breezed by, rocking the tree branches outside the panes.

  “Ye will leave when it eases.” Apparently mollified, he gave her his back and went to work at the hearth.

  While he was occupied, she slipped the shift over her head and pulled off her stockings to hang with the rest of her clothes, drying on a small chair. Alan had an extra plaid folded neatly on a table. She wrapped it around herself then went to sit next to him on the floor as the flames roared to life.

  As he saw her undergarments spread out over the chair, shock registered. Looking to her huddled on the floor, next to him in only a woolen blanket, he finally spoke. “Are ye trying to get me killed?”

  …

  Alan couldn’t believe Kirstie would be so bold. “Lachlan willnae be pleased to find ye naked in my room.”

  Staring at the dancing flames, he kept his eyes averted, thankful the storm outside had intensified, drowning out the sound of his beating heart and darkening the chamber.

  He rested his elbows on his knees and planted his head in his hands. He’d never felt so defeated.

  Her gentle voice broke into his misery. “Ye are wrong. He would be happy for us. Do ye really no’ feel anything for me?”

  “Doesnae matter what I feel.” He risked a glance in her direction. The ongoing war between his head and his heart was splitting him apart inside. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel that soft skin and slide the plaid down her shoulder.

  “It does to me.” When his gaze did meet hers, the sadness in her eyes called to him. His heart ached at the pleading in her voice. She shivered.

  “We cannae be together.” He had to tear his gaze away from her or he would move closer. He rose and gathered another piece of peat to put on the fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her pull the plaid tighter around her chest as she made herself smaller.

  “Why?” she persisted.

  He stared at the flames a moment before turning toward her. “Because I cannae marry ye.” A familiar crushing ache in his chest rose up as he finally voiced what he’d held back for years.

  She stood and inched toward him. “I deserve an explanation.”

  He couldn’t hide it any longer. She was right; he owed her the truth.

  They were just a breath away from each other. She reached up and took his cheek to gently turn his face to hers. “What’s wrong with me?” Her voice quavered as her hand fell from his face.

  Gulping, he met her gaze directly. “Oh, kitten, ’tis no’ ye. I didnae tell ye why my father became a drunk.”

  She shook her head.

  “He betrayed his brother and was forced to leave the clan.”

  “What did he do?” Her blue gaze remained on him, listening intently as they stood, face-to-face in front of the fire.

  “He stole my mother from his brother.” Closing his eyes, his mind conjured up an image not of his father, but his friend, Lachlan. The man and the symbol of the family that meant more to him than anything else in all of Scotland.

  “What yer father did nae longer matters. Ye are a Cameron now. What Lachlan said today was a lie to make others believe ye were at odds.”

  “It doesnae matter. He will hate me if I take ye to my bed and then dinnae marry ye.”

  “Why can ye no’ marry me?”

  “Because I cannae risk hurting ye.”

  “I still dinnae understand.” She tilted her head as confusion danced in the blue depths of her eyes before understanding took hold, and then what looked like anger rose up.

  Disgust churned in his gut, but he continued. “I told ye what my father did. I have the same rage in me. What if I hit ye? I could never live with myself.”

  Her mouth fell open, disbelief etched on her features before they turned fierce and determined. “’Tis no’ ye.”

  “My uncle had beat her. That’s why she left with my father. My grandfather beat his wife, too. So ye see, I cannae marry ye. I wouldnae be able to live with myself if I ever hurt ye.”

  “As many times as we have fought, have ye ever wanted to raise a hand to me?”

  “Nae, but that doesnae—”

  Placing her hand over his lips, she cut him off. Piercing his eyes with blinding trust as she removed her hand, she spoke as if she had complete faith in him. “I ken who ye are. Ye are a good man.”

  Could she be right? He had never had the urge to strike a lass, but doubts lingered. He couldn’t risk it, so he closed his eyes and turned away.

  “Look at me, Alan Cameron,” she ordered. His gaze returned to hers. “’Twas a cycle with yer family. Ye arenae longer one of them. Ye were raised in a loving home by the Camerons.”

  In her eyes shone a conviction and innocent trust he longed to believe. She held more faith in his nature than he had ever dared to accept as truth.

  He thought back to growing up with the Ca
merons and the loving relationship Elspeth and Robert had. He’d never seen the man raise a hand to her. And when Lachlan’s betrothed had betrayed his brother, although he’d claimed to want to kill her, he had not harmed the wench.

  “It may be, but I cannae risk hurting ye.”

  Slipping her arm once again from beneath the plaid she held around her, she took his hand. “I ken ye better than ye ken yerself. ’Tis no’ who ye are.”

  “I want to believe it, but what of my family?”

  “The Camerons are yer family.” She stepped so close he could feel the warmth of her through the blanket and his clothes. The scent of fresh rain clung to her dark curls, and she smelled of new beginnings and hope. Maybe she was right. He had been able to stop before he’d killed that man last night, and as angry as he’d been with her over her attempt to pry in the Earl of Argyll’s room, he’d never once thought of raising a hand to her.

  His heart pounded. Her eyes dilated, and his breath caught at the need he saw in them, calling for him to take what he’d always wanted.

  “’Tis my risk as much as yers.”

  She released his hand, stepped back, and dropped the plaid to the ground. Kirstie stood before him naked, and every part of his body froze, well, except the part that started growing painfully hard.

  Her lilting voice and tempting body reminded him of the story she’d read him of Sirens and the destruction they left in their path, luring him into troubled waters with promises of what could be. It was too late to turn back; he was already ensnared. Truthfully, he had been since the moment she kissed him that long ago evening in the stable. He wanted to believe.

  “Alan.” She stood bare before him with the firelight glowing on her skin. The nipples of her full breasts were erect and called to him. “I want ye. Please.”

  Those words were his downfall. He took a step toward her and felt his breath become shallow as his body tightened all over. She reached out and took his belt. He couldn’t move as she unfastened it and dropped it to the ground. Her hands rose up to his chest and seared him even through his shirt as she pushed the plaid from his shoulders, and it fell with a soft whoosh to the floor.

  “Kiss me.” She pleaded in a throaty purr that sent shivers of need racing through him. His body thrummed as his blood heated and desire pumped through his veins.