Hemlock and Honey: Highlander Romance

by Elizabeth Preston

  As she contemplated the thought, Gus stirred and stretched, thrusting his leg deeper betwixt her thighs. Mother in Heaven. Now his manhood, swollen and huge, was wedged against her leg.

  She tried to quell her thumping heart, fearful that the thuds would wake him. His shaft was as taut as a spear. The warmth in her face deepened, then overran, spreading heat down her neck and over her body.

  She should bolt from here and get her body as far from this wild Scot as she could. What if sleep befuddled his brain, making his instincts rise to the fore? At any moment, he might slide across her body, and whilst still half-asleep, plunge his shaft deep inside her. She must move.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she had the strangest need to inch even closer. Yes, admit it, Sybilla, you want to kiss this brute. She did want to, very much, although Lord knew why. But she mustn’t because she was hand fasted to someone else. And to give in to her wants would be wicked and wrong.

  Even more mystifying was the tingling betwixt her thighs. Instead of moving away, she wanted to rub up against him and use his hard muscles to quell the ache deep in her core. When did it happen? Just like that, she’d turned into a hussy. Only she was even worse than those tavern women out there.

  The wenches were open about what they wanted. Whereas she kept her wicked desires a secret. That made her a coward. Anyway, no matter what she wanted, it looked as if nothing was going to happen. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit that he was unlikely to sheath his sword inside her because he didn’t want to.

  Gus had not touched her thus far, not even once. Yet he’d not hesitated to pull a number of the tavern wenches onto his knee. Clear as day, Gus liked his woman to be bold and brazen, and undressed. She was not his type. It was a good thing. She should rejoice, realising now just how safe she was.

  But instead of rejoicing, why did she feel like stamping her feet and throwing things?

  Chapter 10

  Eoin strode out of his father’s chamber and pounded his way down the hall till he reached the stairwell.

  “Eoin, hold up a minute, if you please,” Aunt Heather cried out.

  He rolled his eyes; his patience was at an end. Thanks to his aunt’s meddling, he was now forced to go search for Sybilla. And that was particularly vexing considering he didn’t want her found. He spun on his heels to face Heather, showing her the contempt he felt.

  Adeliza hurried after her mother, her light-slippered feet making music on the stone floor.

  “Where will you look first?”

  Eoin raised his arms and shrugged. “How should I know? My future wife could have run off in any direction. She’s a royal pain in the arse. Sybilla is inconsiderate by nature. She dashes off at a whim and never tells where she intends to wander to.”

  Heather butted in, speaking over his grumbling. “I’d question the stable boys and her maid first. You’d be astounded if you heard what ladies say to their maid servants.”

  “Hhmm,” he said, not being able to keep cynicism out of his voice. “I do believe I’ve thought of that already. Any other gems of wisdom or blatantly obvious pieces of advice you feel compelled to share?”

  Heather folded her arms. “Actually yes, there is, and this is important, so you’d do well to listen and less of your sneering.”

  Adeliza caught them up. Heather turned to address her daughter as well.

  “This concerns both of you. With Sybilla now missing, it is of the utmost importance that you two stay well away from each other. The castle folk must see a distraught, mayhap even desperate, young laird looking for his future bride . . .”

  Eoin broke in. “Surely a man’s close female cousin should be there to comfort him in times of trouble and strife?”

  Heather’s eyes slid from one to the other. “Stay apart. If folk see you sniffing after Adeliza, what will they think? I’ll tell you what. They’ll think that you, Eoin, are personally responsible for Sybilla’s disappearance. They will see evil and misdeeds in every expression you pull and in every movement you make. And Adeliza, you must not get tarnished by this scandal.”

  Eoin could barely speak. Had he heard right? Did Aunt Heather really cast those ugly dispersions on his character? She thinks he had a hand in Sybilla’s disappearance, if she was indeed missing at all and hadn’t simply run away in fright.

  Eoin raised his arms. “Are we not getting carried away here? She’ll likely waltz into the castle with a hawk tucked under her arm and wonder what all this fuss is about. Even I’m wondering.”

  “Now Eoin,” Heather said, shaking her head, “you know the girl would not have stayed away for a night unless there was a storm, and there was none last eventide.”

  He gritted his teeth. “She is lost then. That is all.”

  “If she is lost, you best go find her, and do not tarry.”

  Adeliza pulled a sad face, and it melted Eoin’s heart.

  “Never fear, my dear, sweet Adeliza. I shan’t be gone long. I shall drag Sybilla back by the hair and demand she apologise to us all.”

  Adeliza giggled behind her palm. “Isn’t Sybilla a silly thing for getting lost, Mama?”

  Aunt Heather’s frown was enough to melt butter.

  “You are the silly one, child. Do you not see that the castle, and mayhap even the king himself, will blame Eoin if the Sassenach is truly missing? But I’ll wager that she’s nay lost. Sybilla is a practical girl. Despite what Eoin claims, she’s smart and watchful. I fear she’s run from her nuptials.”

  Eoin felt hope rise within him. “Why would she do that?”

  “Come now. Are you really so blind? All the folk in Scrabbly have seen the eyes you two make at each other. Mayhap she thinks she can find a better, more attentive husband elsewhere—one that doesn’t wish her dead.”

  Adeliza tried to hide her smile.

  But Eoin felt too indigent to speak. Almost. “How I feel about her is immaterial. She should marry me regardless.”

  “And what will happen when her father, an English lord no less, hears of this business?” Aunt Heather asked. “What then? Who shall he blame? We, in Scrabbly Castle, have lost his eldest daughter.

  “Eoin, make sure you find her and bring her back safely before her family gets the slightest whiff of this scandal, for they will surely burn Scrabbly to the ground.”

  Eoin felt a storm brewing inside him. “I’ll find her, Aunt Heather, and when I do, she shall feel the back of my hand.”

  “Eoin, my love, is there anything I can do to help?”

  Aunt Heather turned to face her daughter and snapped, “Of course there is. Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him till this is sorted. Understand?”

  Adeliza let her eyes fall. Delicately so as not to bruise herself, she bit her lip.

  It tore at Eoin’s heart to see his dearest so sad. “If I find her, even if she be in the presence of another man, then I shall slash her Sassenach cheeks with my sword. When I’m done, no man will look on her again, not willingly at least.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The morning light had begun its first wash over the nugget sky. Sybilla was barely awake when Gus yanked her upright and thrust an oatcake into her hands.

  “Hurry lass,” he whispered, trying not to disturb the few travellers that remained asleep. “We must get away. We’ve no time to tarry. There is much distance to cover this day.” She, Morgann, and Gus trod a path through tangled bodies towards the door.

  Barely awake, Sybilla found herself back on his horse, her arms slung around his waist, holding on in her groggy, sleep-deprived state. Fortunately, her shoulder was beginning to feel better, much better, and that was something to be grateful for. She could use that arm with a little more ease now.

  The air about them was crisp enough to snap in two, but the sky held the promise of a fine day. Already, the la
rks and finches were making merry. The jostling movement of the horse, coupled with the warmth seeping from Gus’s back, was enough to lull her back into slumber. She rested her head against the solidness of his back and closed her lids.

  “Lassie, I’ll clutch on to you good and tight. You nod off.”

  For once, she decided to obey. She told herself that she was not enjoying the feel of his embrace, nor did she enjoy the sensation of his thumb as it grazed back and forth across her palm. But she didn’t pull away either.

  A while later, the three of them pulled up in a copse of trees. After dismounting, Gus stretched a plaid over the grass and laid out their noonday meal of salted meat and biscuits. Morgann took their waterskins, carrying them to the nearby brook for refilling.

  “Will we reach your castle tonight?” she asked, retying her messy braids.

  “Och, lass, you’ve the hair of an angel. You should leave your hair. Do not braid it up so. Let it flow freely down your back. Tis a shame to hide such glory.”

  Sybilla rolled her eyes, although secretly revelling in his compliment. “I’m a mess. I need to wash my hands and face before we reach your homeland. I do not wish to meet your kin looking like this.”

  “Ach,” he scoffed. “As if such a bonnie lass as yourself could e’er look unsightly. The Almighty was feeling bountiful indeed when he created you.”

  “Such a silver tongue, Laird Gunn. What are you after?”

  She thought he might laugh, but instead he gazed at her, his eyes not leaving her face.

  “You, Sybilla. I need your help. Badly. I’m desperate, Sybie. Have I not made myself clear?”

  She nibbled on a stale bun. “Of course I will do what I can, but I fear it is almost nothing. For pity’s sake, be reasonable. What you expect of me is nothing short of ludicrous. I know you are tired of hearing it, and I, too, am tired of saying it, but I speak the truth when I insist I have no special gift. You have kidnapped the wrong girl. All I can say is that I’ll do what I am able, and I’m afraid that is little.”

  His face twisted in pain as if she’d struck him. When he next spoke, it was as if he was talking to the earth itself. “I pray that I have captured the right woman. Because if I have not, every remaining person in my clan will die.”

  Sybilla dropped the bun, and her hands flew to her hips.

  “Right. I refuse to travel on any further unless you tell me the full story. I’ve asked before, and you’ve fobbed me off. But I mean to hear the full story this time. What is wrong with your people?”

  He rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw. “Aye, fair enough.” He jumped up, snatched her by the hand, and led her to a fallen trunk, pulling her down beside him. They sat together, their thighs touching. Just the pressure of his skin against hers was enough to make her blood bolt. This was not the time to feel attraction. Yet here she was, feeling it. No man had ever made her heart start before, and now with him, she was all a-jumble.

  “I’ve been told by a mystic, an old pagan soothsayer woman, that I have displeased the Almighty.”

  Sybilla waved her hand dismissively. “I do not believe in the old pagan ways, nor in soothsayers. I am a Christian, and my god is merciful.”

  Gus tilted his head. “Aye, I’m a Christian too, but Sybilla, I have tried everything else. I have brought clerics to my castle. I’ve brought surgeons and healers and all kinds of cunning folk. No one can cure my people. Now, my last hope rests with the soothsayer’s words. Those words are all I have.”

  He gripped both of her hands, bringing her round so that she stared into his eyes.

  “I need you to help me, Sybilla. My people need your help. You have magical ways, even if you don’t realise it yet.”

  “I do not.”

  “Aye, ye do.”

  It was a while before she spoke again, her words taking on a new tone. “What did that old soothsayer say? Repeat her instructions, exactly.”

  His face flared with hope, the darkness in his eyes shining like a watered stone. “She was quite specific, ye see. She told me to go find a girl, a Sassenach no less. The lassie must have natural gifts. She must have a way with creatures. The lassie must be capable of charming the birds from the trees. The soothsayer said that the bonnie Sassenach girl is the only one who can break God’s curse. Moreover, she said that without you, and none other, almost all of us would die. Sybie, there are over four hundred folk in my clan. That is a weighty burden for you to carry, I know, but . . .”

  Sybilla sighed. She was worn down. How many times had she already explained?

  “Truly, I know nothing of lifting hexes. I don’t even believe in curses or evil spells of any form. And I don’t believe our Lord in Heaven would ever hex anyone, let alone a whole clan. He doesn’t cast evil. That is the work of the devil.”

  Gus dropped her hand. Turning his back, he stretched.

  “Aye, I’ve been hexed alright. No point in denying it. I know what I did to offend the Almighty, too. My people’s illness, tis my punishment for a wrong deed.”

  Sybilla stood, glaring down on him. “What did you do that offended Our Lord so much?”

  They both watched Morgann stroll into the clearing bringing freshly filled water skins.

  Gus shifted back to Sybilla. “I didnae kill the cleric on purpose. He was robbing our church, ye see, and stealing our treasure. We had much silver stored in those stone walls. I thought him a normal robber, and when I confronted him, he pulled a knife. Twas not till after that I learned of his identity. He was a visiting cleric from France.”

  Sybilla raised her hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “But that was an accident. And anyway, clerics can be thieves too. He should not have helped himself to your silver, certainly not without asking first. He is at fault, not you.”

  Morgann dropped the water skins on the rug. “Caithness Castle, and all the people in her surrounding lands, have been cursed. Seen it with my own eyes. The reason for the hex matters not. How to lift it, now that’s what counts.”

  “What sort of illness?” She asked out of curiosity, but Gus smiled as if the question signalled that she was prepared to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

  “They are ill, and they die. Remember, I havenae been home for almost a year. We will see the state of things when we arrive.”

  He handed Sybilla a drinking skin, his tone softening.

  “Try your best lassie, that’s all I ask. And then, once you’ve done all you can, I’ll rush you back to Scrabbly Castle and into that cur’s arms, if that be what you want. Tah, such a waste.”

  Sybilla gave him a weak smile. Why did the whole idea of rushing back to Eoin sound so much less appealing today than it had a few days hence?

  Chapter 11

  They rode for six more hours before Gus called it a night.

  “Lass, have you e’er slept outside afore?”

  “No, but no matter. I’m doing lots of things with you that are a first for me.” Looking up, she gazed at the dusky-pink sky.

  “As long as we’ve got a raging fire to keep us warm, I’ll not complain. And, I have two strong Scots to keep me safe, do I not?”

  He noted the pinking of her cheeks and her wide smile. What a plucky little thing she was. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was looking forward to her first night under the stars.

  Gus could not keep the pleasure from showing on his face. It warmed his heart to hear her say such things—that she felt safe in his company. She was a grand lassie, even if she was English. She didn’t deserve what he’d done to her. If he was to be totally honest, he’d admit that her chances of marrying Eoin now that she’d been kidnapped by a Highlander and held captive overnight, grew slimmer by the day.

  He looked over at Morgann, but his mind, as was oft the case these days, was firmly on her. The simple fact was he�
�d likely ruined any chance Sybilla had of becoming mistress of Scrabbly. But, if marrying Eoin was what she truly wanted, he’d do what he could to make it happen. Once she’d worked her magic for him, of course.

  “This be a fine spot to camp. All those trees offer shelter. A mighty fire will keep the beasties away too,” he said with a wink.

  Morgann tied his horse to a birch tree. Sliding his bow from his saddle, he called out, “I’m tired of oatcakes. My throat closes over at the thought of the things. I’m off to catch supper.”

  He was barely listening. His mind was again on Sybilla. Why was the lass so keen to marry that loathsome little sot? He was naught but a smear on the good name of all Scotsmen. Gus clenched a fist. Crazy how much the girl had gotten under his skin. Damn it all. Why was it that his eyes followed her wherever she went?

  He watched Sybilla wander by the tree line. Graceful in her movements, she weaved in and out of the grove, gathering kindling. If he was the one collecting firewood, he’d be stomping about making as much noise and mess as a batting ram. He studied her neck, so long and graceful; it was a swan’s neck. How much did he hanker to kiss that creamy skin?

  He tore at a fallen branch, pulling it clean away from the tree. Arg, this dreaming had to stop. But he couldn’t stop from seeking her out. He noticed the narrowness of her waist, too, and the gentle swell of her hips.

  Carrying armfuls of kindling, she moved away from the forest, towards their makeshift hearth. The sticks and bracken fell from her arms like water cascading over rocks. Was everything she did so mesmerising and poetic? She was about to turn away when he reached out and grabbed her arm.

  She swung around and met his gaze. He found it hard to breathe when she looked at him full on. Her eyes, a rich tawny brown, were oh-so-bonnie. He hankered to kiss her sultry eyelids. Devil be damned, he dreamed of kissing her all over.