The Forbidden Highlands

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Ye trusted them that much with the alliance?” Lilias tried not to be too offended that he seemed so careless.

  Dirk shrugged, bringing her attention to his wide shoulders. The laces at his neck had come undone, his shirt fluttering open slightly, baring tanned skin and a sprinkling of dark hair. Casual, but, oh, so sensual. Lilias licked her lips and tore her gaze away from his exposed flesh.

  “They knew what the terms were. And I gave them a few suggestions as to what I would consider the perfect bride,” Dirk said.

  Heat flamed her cheeks as he gazed at her and winked. She wanted to ask what those terms were and see how many she had met.

  “Ye think Olafsson will find me pleasing?” What she really wanted to ask was: Do ye find me pleasing?

  Without a pause, Dirk nodded. “He would be a idiot if he did not. Pardon my frankness.”

  “I appreciate your frankness, ye must know.” Lilias pressed her finger to the rim of her glass and edged it around the lip in a slow circle. “’Tis not often someone is so honest with me.”

  “I thought ye might appreciate honesty. ’Tis one reason why ye were chosen. No other could compare,” he said softly, staring at her with longing for half a breath. Then he shook his head, seeming to come to his senses. “However, I am certain Olafsson wants a bride who is not half so… verbose.”

  Lilias laughed and took a sip of her wine, eyeing him, her gaze once more drawn to that bit of tanned skin. “But ye wouldna have minded?”

  Dirk grunted, a smile tugging at his lips. “I have not met a woman as verbose as ye. Though I suspect my grandmother likely was with my grandfather.”

  Lilias cocked her shoulder and perfected a most coy tone. “I do admit to being on my best behavior during the interviews. Lady Elle is most charming.”

  Dirk chuckled, then grew serious. “Were the interviews overly troublesome?”

  “Nay, more uncomfortable for being put on the spot and praying not to be found lacking. Everything had to be perfect. My hair, my gown, my skin. I had to be poised. Educated, yet not a braggart. Witty but not obnoxious. And I certainly could not voice any of my own opinions.” She chuckled at that, reminding them both of her penchant for sharing.

  Dirk winked. “Ye might well wish they had found ye lacking now. Ye’d not be on your way to Bute.”

  “Aye.” Unspoken words hung loose between them, each likely thinking of that kiss in the woods. At least Lilias was. She drained the contents of her wine cup, feeling marginally less nervous than she had before. And more bold. “But had I been, I might never have made your acquaintance, my laird. And that would be a shame, for like your grandmother, I find ye to be quite charming as well.” Saints, but the wine must have been getting to her. She should not have voiced that particular opinion.

  Dirk’s eyes grew darker, heated. He shifted forward in his chair, and she had the brief thought that he might rise up and come kiss her. But he settled back down, and instead changed the subject, sobering them both. “I am sorry for the loss of your mother.”

  Lilias swallowed hard, sobered by the reminder. “Aye. She was verra ill.” She chewed her lip, still recalling her mother’s long silver hair, the light in her eyes slowly fading, as had the color from her locks. She’d been a strong woman of both mind and body before her illness had leached the very life from her. “I am sorry for the loss of your father.”

  Dirk’s frown returned. “Seems we are both in mourning.”

  “Aye, my laird. I hope ye will gain comfort from those in your household.”

  “Is that a reminder to me that ye will not?” His face darkened as he observed her.

  Lilias laughed, though the sound came out more scratchy than jovial. “’Twas not my intention, I assure ye. I but thought of your mother who seems particularly distraught.”

  “My mother and father’s marriage was arranged,” he said. “But they grew to love one another.”

  Was he trying to offer her comfort? “My laird, I couldna bear it if ye were to try and make me feel better about my future groom. Or to remind me that there may yet be a love match between Olafsson and I. I am resigned to my fate.” She glanced at her cup. “And I am out of wine.”

  Chapter Five

  “An empty glass I can remedy.” Dirk stood and approached Lilias with the decanter.

  He poured her a cup and the refilled himself, before sitting back down. Ballocks, but this was hard, sitting here drinking wine with her in the middle of the night and knowing that she would be wed to some other man in a few days’ time. They were so comfortable together—well, besides the discomfort of wanting to scoop her up and lay her out on the saggy mattress. See all that glorious, raven hair spread out on the pillow.

  If Dirk hadn’t been fully ready to admit after that treacherous kiss in the woods that he was enamored with her, he was now. Ballocks, but he was in trouble. He should leave. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

  Lilias took a sip and stared at him over the rim of her cup, her piercing blue eyes delving deep into his soul. How was he to survive the next few minutes, let alone the next several days?

  Coyly, she quirked her shoulder. “So, tell me, my laird—”

  “There is no one here, lass. Call me Dirk.” Asking her to do so was a mistake, and perhaps he’d had one too many nips of whisky below stairs, but he couldn’t abide her calling him my laird. That kiss, this conversation now, meant that they’d tossed formalities aside. There was no use in keeping it up for pretenses.

  She winged a dark brow at him, her rosebud lips forming an alluring smile. “All right, Dirk, tell me, when ye’re not busy with lairdly duties, what do ye do to amuse yourself?”

  “Amuse?”

  “Aye. Some play music, others games, perhaps read or sketch. What is it that ye enjoy?”

  Her question caught him off guard. No one had ever asked, nor had he ever had the time since he was a wee lad to sit down and enjoy anything. Well… except perhaps find a bedmate for the night, but that was not an answer he could give a lady. Besides, talking about that kind of fun would be wholly inappropriate. And would lead to his mind wondering back to the bed.

  “I’m a warrior, my lady—”

  She clucked her tongue and wagged her finger at him. “There is no one here, Dirk, call me Lilias. Or Lili for short.” The grin she flashed him was adorable, enticing, and her voice had taken on a girlish quality. The wine—it was seeping into her senses. Knocking down that stone wall she’d entered Dunstaffnage with.

  Leave, a small voice inside him said. He should leave, but he found her sudden interest in him, her joy and happiness, to be contagious.

  “Lili,” he started again, letting her name roll pleasurably off his tongue. “I am a warrior.” Somehow, he knew this answer would not be satisfactory for her.

  “And?” Just as he thought, she winged a skeptical brow at him, expectant. “Warriors are not allowed to have fun?”

  Dirk couldn’t help grinning at her temerity. “Not often. When we are not training to fight, we are fighting.”

  “Hmm… Ye mean to tell me ye dinna play cards or bones with the other lads? Even before your father passed?”

  Dirk frowned, taking a long sip of his wine. “Nay. Not since I was out of leading strings. The men did not feel they could play games with me, given who my father was. And my father made it clear I shouldna be engaging in any sort of activity that was not in pursuit of my position.”

  She tucked her legs beneath her, looking entirely too innocent and flirtatious at the same time. “What do ye do to unwind? Ye canna tell me ye go from sleeping and eating straight to battling and back again.”

  Dirk stroked his chin, watching her as she sipped her wine, and thinking hard. An answer came to him, an easy one that he’d not thought of before. “After a long day of training, I enjoy a good swim.”

  Lili rolled her eyes and waggled her finger at him so more. “More training.”

  Dirk chuckled, and stretched out his legs. “I suppose in a
way. But there is something about being in the water. Especially in summer, when the murkiness dissolves and I can see clearly to the bottom.”

  Lili sat forward a little, a dainty elbow resting on one knee. There was color in her cheeks and her blue eyes locked on his. She seemed almost transfixed. “Fascinating. What do ye see?”

  “All manner of things. Fish, turtles, plants, rocks. In the sea, seals, and more than once, dolphins.”

  Her mouth formed and enticing O, drawing his gaze and causing him to imagine just what he could do with that mouth. Dirk had the sudden urge to leap up and gather her in his arms. To kiss her senseless—or at least until sense returned to himself. He gripped the arms of the chair and shifted to keep himself from doing just that.

  “I’ve never seen such,” she mused.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to show her, but there would never be the time or the place to do such. Unless he dragged her down to the loch at dawn, but even that would be considered inappropriate. He could picture her now, chemise wet and transparent, clinging to her curves and revealing inch after inch of supple, pinkened skin. Ballocks, but his thoughts were traveling down a carnal path he should not even contemplate. But knowing what he should and shouldn’t think didn’t stop him.

  “It is like another world beneath the water,” he said, trying to focus himself on the topic. “Where we canna breathe, they thrive. In the sea there are amazing rock formations of vibrant color, with living creatures that look like sponges, and there are clams, and mussels, that scuttle along the sand at the bottom.”

  “Sounds amazing.” She let out a long sigh, twirled a tendril of her hair and looked off dreamily out the window.

  “’Tis quite that. Magical.”

  “Magic…” she murmured. Perking up, she sat back up, her legs swinging out in front of her, a conspiratorial grin on her lips. “I know something of magic.”

  Now it was his turn to raise a brow. “Is that so?” He pictured her as a young lass traipsing in the wood, gathering herbs and making magical potions.

  She giggled and sipped her wine, waving her hand in the air. “Well, my mother believed in magic. She oft sought the advice of a local taibhsear. I freely admit the woman terrified me.”

  “Did ye ever go see her? My father was not a fan of seers, although my grandmother adamantly believes in them and the supernatural.”

  Lili grinned and nodded. “I could see that in Lady Elle. She and my mother spoke at length when she came to visit. I wish I’d been there to hear what they said, but alas, my father bade me leave the chamber.” Lilias tapped her cup with her nail, making a clinking sound. “I did go see the seer once when I was seven. My mother brought me to her to find out if the awful night terrors she was having were about me.”

  “Were they?”

  Lili smiled faintly, and shook her head. “Nay.”

  “Did ye ever find out who they were about?”

  The joy left her face, filled with a solemnness that tugged at his heart. “Her, sadly.”

  They were silent a moment, and he felt he urge to comfort her, put his arm around her, feel her sink into his side. Smell her hair. Wrap a tendril around his finger. These were feelings he never had. They were foreign to him. Unnerving.

  What was it about Lili that made him desire such things? ’Twas as though she were changing him in some way. Seemed dangerous and distracting to his mission.

  Besides kissing her, there was only way he could think to pull her out of the grimness and himself from darkening thoughts—change the subject. “I have told ye what I do for joy, now ye tell me.”

  Lili slowly sipped at her wine and regarded him over the rim, a mischievous smile on her face. “I shall tell ye something I’ve never told another soul.”

  Dirk found himself amused and utterly charmed by her. “Do ye trust me so much with your secrets?”

  “What’s not to trust?” She gave a dainty shrug that made him want to laugh.

  Dirk chuckled, unable to help the grin that formed on his lips. “Ye said it, not me, lass.”

  She giggled. “Is that a warning, Dirk?”

  Saints but he loved the way she said his name. “Nay, sweets. Your secrets are safe with me.”

  “Then I shall tell ye.” She pointed at him, a graceful wave of her arm. “I enjoyed sneaking into my father’s study to correct his books. My father and my brother both do not possess a strong skill for calculation. I learned at a young age when one of our tutors thought I must have switched my work with my brother’s, because how could I have possible gotten the answers correct and my brother get them wrong?”

  “Impossible,” he teased.

  “From then on, Rauld took my work, and I let him have it.” She looked off at the wall, her mind wandering. “Better that I were thought to be incompetent than he.”

  Dirk felt that was such a shame. There were so many women that lost credit for hard work done. But more so, how could they not have noticed all these years. “And ye’ve never been caught?”

  She shook her head, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “’Twill all become obvious soon, for Rauld and my father will not be able to keep up. They will likely blame each other, and as the only one who will have known the truth, I’ll be too far away to separate them. And ye dare willna tell, will ye?”

  Dirk chuckled. “Nay, sweet Lili. If the men had not figured out soon enough who the clever one was, or your brother was willing to steal the answers rather than learn the skill, who am I to intervene? Besides, I may have to bring my books all the way to the Isle of Mann to have ye take a look. Our little secret.”

  Lili gave a slow wink. “We share some secrets then, ye and I.”

  Be still his heart. Dirk liked the sound of that. He was going to hell for coveting another man’s woman.

  The only friends he had were out of obligation, even Gunnar his Master of the Gate was under his command. It felt good to have someone to talk to, someone to share the wonders of the sea, someone that could confide their secrets in him.

  Lili let out a loud, long yawn, and then drained the rest of her wine cup.

  “I fear ye’re growing tired. I shall leave ye to sleep,” he said.

  “I am not tired,” she pouted.

  Dirk laughed at how she sounded like a petulant child.

  “More wine.” She wiggled her brows, grinned like an imp who’d stolen Cook’s sticky buns and held out her cup.

  Dirk dutifully gave her a refill, but only filled the cup a quarter way. Her fingers darted out, grasping his wrist, and she gazed up at him, all seriousness.

  “Thank ye, Dirk.”

  “Ye need not thank me. ’Tis only wine.”

  She closed her eyes a moment and shook her head. “But I must, and not about the wine. Ye promised to make the journey easy for me, and I feel quite comfortable at the moment.”

  “Then I shall not remind ye that ye were abducted some hours ago.”

  This time when she laughed, it was full, vibrant, and stroked over him, leaving warmth and joy in its wake. The woman was contagious all right.

  “I will endeavor not to remember at all, Dirk, Laird of MacDougall.”

  Lili let go of his wrist, leaving the place where she’d touched him feeling scorched. What he wouldn’t do to wrap her up in his arms again and kiss her. But not now, not when she’d had more than enough wine, and he was heady on her touch, her laughter, and too much whisky. He wouldn’t take advantage of her, even if the pull to press his lips to hers was overwhelming.

  They talked for at least another hour, her voice growing softer and softer, and her empty cup dangling from her fingertips, until she finally fell asleep on the small bench. Dirk lifted her up, holding her a moment against him, watching her sleeping face, breathing in her scent. Before he made a mistake by kissing her, he brought her to bed. For a brief moment, he imagined that he was in another life, and this was his wife he carried to their marriage bed.

  With a great sigh, he settled her on the
mattress, plucked off her shoes, and tucked the blankets around her. He wished things could be different. Hell, but what a great disappointment that his grandmother and mother had chosen this particular lass to be the bride of his enemy.

  Dirk was fairly certain a life with Lili would have been filled with extreme bliss. A sentiment he was certain never to feel again.

  And with that, he determined it was time to put some distance between them.

  Chapter Six

  “Lilias…” A whisper called to her in the dark.

  Lilias blinked open her eyes, no longer in bed, but in the woods and standing outside that same dark, haunted croft that she’d visited as a child.

  The taibhsear.

  “Come inside, Lilias…” The whisper could have been the wind. An indistinguishable voice, neither threatening nor comforting.

  She floated forward, reaching for the door handle, but the door opened up all on its own, disturbing the air around the hem of her skirt.

  “Mama?” Lilias called, hoping it was her mother she was going to see and not the old crone with more damning visions of her future.

  Once inside, the door shut behind her, filling her senses with that same herbal-must. A flint was struck, the candle lit, and the taibhsear sat by the hearth. This was her past all over again.

  “Ye have met the laird of twilight,” the crone said, sounding pleased that her vision had come to pass.

  Lilias’s eyes widened. Was she right all along? Was it he? “Laird MacDougall?”

  Her mouth, black and fathomless opened as she spoke, her lips barely moving. “Aye, child. He is the one.”

  Pain clutched her heart. She lowered her gaze and shook her head. “But I am betrothed to another.” Everything seemed so impossible. Happiness. A life with Dirk. Olafsson would bring war to the MacDougalls, killing anyone in his path.

  “Nonsense. Dinna despair all of that.” The crone waved away those details. “He is the one. Dark of hair. Stormy of eye. Fiercer than the most wicked of gale storms. The laird of twilight. The man ye were meant to marry.”