Seduced by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  The sheer force of his silence held her captive as his eyes burned into hers. Then suddenly he began to wrench up her skirts and wrestle with his kilt.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in horror, fighting to twist out of his hold.

  “We’ll do it your way then,” he growled. “If you won’t lift the curse, you’ll have to share it with me. Maybe then you’ll be more accommodating, when you’re the one who’s staring death in the eye.”

  He crowded up against her until the backs of her knees collided with the sofa and she landed with a gasp on the plush cushions. He stood over her, gazing down with raging eyes, and was about to push her legs apart and descend upon her when she held up her hands and cried, “All right! All right! I’ll lift it! I promise!”

  With one knee braced upon the sofa cushion, he halted. His chest heaved wildly.

  “Do it then,” he commanded. “Do it now.”

  Anxiety spurted through her. Part of her wanted to cry out for help, but who would hear her at this hour, in this deserted wing of the house? And if someone did come, her cousin would most assuredly kill this man, and she would never know the truth about her life.

  What if he was right? What if these people were using her to gain access to Catherine’s inheritance? What if they had done something to her, to make her forget her life and cause her to unwittingly play the part of their missing heiress?

  “Take me to Angus,” she demanded in a rush of desperation, needing to see the man who had allegedly been such an important part of her life. The man who was once her lover. “I promise that by seeing him again, I will be able to lift the curse. I just need to remember.…” She fought to consider the more detailed logistics of such an arrangement and quickly added, “I won’t do anything for you until you deliver me to him. Safely.”

  The corner of the Highlander’s mouth twitched.

  “I need to know who I am,” she continued to explain. “I cannot go on living like this. Only then will I be able to help you.”

  They glared at each other like two cats, each waiting for the other to pounce; then he pulled her swiftly to her feet.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” he asked.

  “How do I know I can trust you? Especially when you are always looking at me as if…” She paused and gestured toward his big, rampant body. “As if you want to eat me.”

  He gave her a threatening glare. “I do want to eat you, lass. And I can’t guarantee I won’t try to steal a taste of you along the way. It’s been a miserable three-year famine, you see, and I’m verra hungry.”

  She could see that quite clearly for herself.

  Nevertheless, she stood her ground. “No, that will not do. I’m going to need your word of honor that you will not touch me. If you give me that, I will leave this house with you quietly, without a fight. I promise.”

  But would she be able to lift the curse when she met her former lover again? She wasn’t sure, and she knew this was a dangerous game to play.

  The air sparked and crackled between them while the Highlander considered her proposition.

  At last he gave her the answer she wanted. “All right, lass. I’ll take you with me.”

  Catherine exhaled sharply with relief—a feeling that was quickly extinguished when he moved forward and spoke low in her ear.

  “But know this,” he whispered with sinister intent. “If you break your word to me and do not lift that curse when we reach Kinloch, I swear on my life that I will take great pleasure in killing you with it.”

  He took hold of her hand and led her out, while she prayed to God that she would get her memories back before then.

  Chapter Five

  Catherine settled into the saddle on the giant black warhorse, realizing with some frustration that she was still dressed for dinner. Her hair was curled and powdered, she wore formal silks and velvets, and the priceless Drumloch jewels were strung prettily around her neck.

  “I don’t suppose you’d permit me to go back inside and put on something more … appropriate.”

  The horse tossed his big black head, and his shiny mane flung about as he whinnied and grumbled.

  “Nay, lassie,” the Highlander replied as he checked his saddlebags to make sure nothing was missing. “No time for that. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to change your mind about not turning me in.”

  He swung up behind her and gathered the reins in his hands, then urged the monstrous snorting creature out of the stable to the meadow beyond. They galloped hard until they reached the forest; then the Highlander drew lightly on the reins.

  “Whoa.” His horse slowed to a walk.

  “It’s very dark in here,” Catherine said as they entered the pitch-black depths of the wood.

  Unable to see much of anything through the silent, murky gloom, she became more intensely aware of what she could feel—the firm wall of the Highlander’s chest at her back, rubbing up against her.

  “How will we see where we are going?” she asked, struggling to ignore the vital sensation of his big, hard body, so close to her own.

  “Leave that to me.” The creature’s hooves plodded heavily over the damp ground. “How long will it be before someone notices your absence?”

  “Not until morning. Though my maid will notice later tonight.”

  “Will she speak up?”

  Catherine considered it. “No, she’s quiet and discreet. I believe she will wait for someone to question her.”

  Catherine’s eyes adjusted eventually to the reduced light, and she was thankful at least for the full moon, which provided some illumination through the thick autumn foliage.

  The horse picked his way gallantly over the leaves and dry twigs, and they soon found a narrow bridle path that took them farther away from the manor house.

  “What is your name, Highlander?” she asked. “You have not yet revealed it.”

  “I am Lachlan MacDonald, former Laird of War at Kinloch Castle.”

  “Ah. A powerful and battle-seasoned warrior. I should have known.”

  He gave no reply, and she did not press him for one, for she had not accompanied him on this journey in order to become better acquainted. All she wanted was to meet the man who had allegedly been her lover. She had so many questions for him.

  But what if she found him hideous? What if he was cruel?

  What if she still loved him?

  “Tell me about Angus,” she blurted out, hoping to quench some of her curiosity and ease the nerve-racking fires of doubt in her belly.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Anything. Why do they call him the Lion?”

  “Because he is a fierce and ruthless warrior, famous for his killing exploits during the rebellion.”

  “The Jacobite Rebellion?” Her family had claimed she was a passionate supporter of the cause before she went missing.

  John, on the other hand, was a Hanoverian.

  “Aye. His father raised an army for the battle at Sherrifmuir.”

  “That is particularly interesting,” she said. “Catherine Montgomery’s father, the former earl, died in that battle.” She turned her head to the side. “Does the Lion’s father still live?”

  “Nay, he died for the cause, too, and now Angus just wants peace.”

  Catherine considered all that Lachlan had told her so far and strained to remember. She tried to imagine a ruthless, lionish warrior who fought bravely in Scottish battles, but alas, nothing seemed familiar.

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  He leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice that was snide and taunting. “He has a beautiful wife and child.”

  Catherine turned quickly in the saddle. “A wife and child? Since when?”

  Lachlan frowned at her, and his head drew back slightly. “You truly do not remember? Or are you just a gifted actress?”

  “How many times must I say it? I do not remember a thing. I cannot even imagine what Angus looks like.”

  Lachlan regarded
her with increasing frustration, and she wondered if he would ever believe her about her lost memories. Either way, he seemed disappointed that she was not throwing a tantrum about the mention of a wife and child.

  “Imagine this,” he answered harshly. “He looks like a lion, and has a mighty roar.”

  The horse lost his footing slightly over the uneven ground. Catherine slid sideways in the saddle, but Lachlan held her steady.

  Again, to her dismay, his touch sent a tingling flow of excitement through her body. It was a feeling she fought hard to crush.

  “You expected me to be jealous,” she said, referring back to Angus and his beautiful wife. “But how can I be, when I have no recollection whatsoever of the time we spent together?”

  Lachlan considered the question thoroughly. “I’ve never heard of anyone losing all their memories before, and I’m still not sure I believe it. So don’t get too comfortable, thinking I’m convinced.”

  She scoffed. “Trust me, I am not the least bit comfortable with you.” How could she be, when everything about him overwhelmed all her sensible thoughts? “Clearly I did not make a good impression on you,” she added, “when we knew each other before.”

  “Nay, you did some appalling things.”

  “Like what, besides the curse?” She realized in that moment that without the benefit of memory, there were no regrets. There was nothing to feel guilty about. It was like living in a constant state of innocence and purity.

  And it was so very empty.

  “Tell me the worst thing I’ve done,” she said, for she wanted to know the truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be. She wanted a real life. “Perhaps it will trigger a memory.”

  Though nothing her grandmother told her had ever triggered anything. Not even the return to her childhood home had brought back her past.

  But maybe that was because Lachlan was right: she was not Catherine and never had been.

  God, help me. She was so confused and desperate to learn the truth. Desperate enough to go off into the night with a dangerous, unpredictable Highlander who despised her …

  “Can you not answer the question?” she asked, growing almost frantic. “Or have you lost your memories, too?”

  “I apologize, lass, but I don’t know where to begin. The choices are endless.”

  She shook her head with derision. “You are a cad.”

  “All right, all right,” he said at last. “I’ll start with how you followed Angus back to Kinloch after he said good-bye to you in the Hebrides. But you better brace yourself for the whole story, because you were a villain like none I’ve ever known. You won’t like how the tale ends.”

  “Enough with the suspense,” she said, her heart pounding. “Please tell me what I did. I must know.”

  He inhaled deeply, and she found herself leaning into the warmth of his broad chest.

  “You followed him to Kinloch to tell him that he had less than a month to live, and that he’d die by the noose.”

  She frowned. “Was it true?”

  “Nay, he still lives. But you also told him that his wife—who you called a manipulative slut—would betray him, and it would be her fault that he would end up in the noose in the first place.”

  “Good Lord! Was that a lie as well?”

  He hesitated. “It was partly true, but it’s a long story. All you need to know is that you tried to lure him back to your bed when he was happily married and expecting a child, and you were the one who told his enemies that they should hang him. You were responsible for the near fall of Kinloch Castle, and another Scottish rebellion—when all Angus ever wanted was peace.”

  God in heaven … She swallowed hard, trying to manage her composure. It was a lot to take in, and if she truly was Raonaid, the oracle, she would not be proud of these things when she recovered her memories. How would she ever live with herself?

  “Did I do these dreadful things because Angus jilted me?” she asked. “It sounds like I was very jealous of his wife.”

  “Aye, you were, and you were bitter toward me for the loss of him. That’s why you cursed me.”

  She turned in the saddle. “What part did you play in it?”

  “First, I was the one who found him with you in the Hebrides, and encouraged him to return home and reclaim his castle. That’s when he left you. And when you followed, I helped convince him that you would wreak havoc on his marriage if he let you stay, and that he should banish you from the castle for good.”

  Evidently, she had been jealous and spiteful on more than one occasion, if she had further retaliated by placing a murderous curse on Lachlan.

  “You don’t suppose I have purged all my memories because of an overwhelming sense of guilt? Perhaps I could not bear what I had done, and therefore tried to erase it, or block it all out.”

  “That would make sense, I suppose, if you felt the least bit guilty, but I’m not sure you are capable of that.” The deep scorn in his voice left her shaken. “I never met anyone more vengeful than you.”

  She could not accept this. She simply could not.

  “And yet, your powerful clan chief lived with me for more than a year,” she argued, “and we were lovers. Surely, Raonaid—or rather I—must have had some redeemable qualities.”

  He considered that. “Your ability to predict the future, I suppose. And you’re a beautiful woman.” He spoke the words in a velvet murmur and rubbed his nose across her hair. “Not even I, who hate you most, can deny that, Raonaid.”

  Their tempestuous kiss in the stone circle came flashing back at her suddenly, and she experienced another persistent spark of arousal, deep and heavy in her belly.

  She should have been angry with herself for such a response, after he just admitted how much he hated her, but instead, she decided to accept these sensations, for at least they were proof that she was alive. She existed as a passionate being.

  A light breeze blew through the canopy of autumn leaves overhead, and the moon shadows rippled like waves across the ground.

  “Perhaps Raonaid is not all bad,” she suggested, grasping for some hope that she could somehow redeem herself. “Did you ever really talk to her, like we are doing now?”

  He laughed. “Nay! You and I despised each other with a passion. And stop calling yourself her. You are one-and-the-same, and when you say things like that, you sound a bit mad.”

  “Like a lunatic. Isn’t that what I am?”

  He paused. “I don’t know. But I don’t like it, lass, because it makes me forget who you really are.”

  She considered that. “I rather wish you would forget. Then perhaps you would be gentler with me.”

  “Gentler? Me? With you?”

  Just then, a light drizzle began, which quickly turned to a heavy downpour.

  Lachlan uttered an angry oath and steered them deeper into the forest. “This curse of yours knows no mercy,” he growled.

  “You can hardly blame the weather on me.”

  He grumbled something in Gaelic, then kicked in his heels and told her to hang on.

  Chapter Six

  Lachlan raised his tartan over his head, but nothing could keep the water out, nor could anything be done for Raonaid, who was seated in front of him, dressed in heavy silks and velvets that were quick to soak up the rain.

  Her hair—piled on top of her head in a great mountain of curls and powder—tumbled onto her neck and shoulders in a hopeless avalanche of chaos.

  Not unlike what was going on inside his body at the moment.

  Obviously, if he wanted the curse lifted, he’d had no choice but to bring her with him, but it was no easy task to ride behind her, with his legs straddled around her sweet, warm bottom while she swayed back and forth in the saddle, rubbing up against the insides of his thighs.

  He was in a constant state of arousal and was half-tempted to stop everything, dismount, and take her heartily up against some arbitrary tree, while the rain poured down all around them and drenched them both to the bone.

&
nbsp; It seemed his careful plan to bully and coerce her was now a crashing wreck. She had turned the tables on him, and was now partly in control, after having set the rules in the library.

  It was utter madness. He couldn’t imagine how it could be worse.

  And then the wind began.

  “I’m freezing!” Raonaid shouted.

  He wrapped his tartan around her and held her close in the saddle to stave off the chill, while he hissed a few unsophisticated oaths inside his throbbing head.

  “There’s a village not far from here,” he said in defeat. “We’ll go and dry out, and I’ll get us a second horse.”

  He couldn’t ride with her anymore. Not like this.

  She turned in the saddle to look at him through the driving rain. “Are you not worried the magistrate will catch us?”

  “We won’t stay long.” He urged Goliath into a gallop.

  By the time they rode into the village, splattering through puddles of muck in the street, they were both soaked and shivering.

  “Take the pins out of your hair,” he said as they trotted to the stable and paused under the dripping overhang. “Let it fall loose, and give me your jewels.”

  “But these belong to the Drumloch estate,” she replied, teeth chattering. “I am responsible for them, and they are worth a great deal.”

  “If you walk in there wearing them, lass, I promise you’ll leave without them. Hand them over. I won’t let anything happen to them.”

  She hesitated, then removed the pearl and emerald necklace and surrendered it. He dropped it into his sporran while she removed the earrings and handed them over as well.

  Lachlan swung out of the saddle and held out his arms. She accepted his assistance without complaint, and a moment later was standing before him, letting down her hair. It fell wetly onto her soft, ivory shoulders while rainwater glistened on her lips and forced her to blink away the silvery drops of moisture pooling on her eyelashes.

  Ah, fook, but she is lovely.

  It was too bloody much. He wanted to hit something.