The Forbidden Highlands

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “K-Kings?” she asked, moving closer.

  Darach lowered the brooch so she could inspect it. “Kenneth MacAlpin, the first king of the Picts and Scots used many symbols to represent his right to rule and clan—I believe he is yer kinsman.”

  “I never knew.”

  “Now ye do, lass.” He offered her the treasure, and she took it with a sad smile. He opened the second bundle, revealing four, finely carved oval stones. Smooth on both sides and along the edges, strange shapes carved into their faces. “I cannot decipher the runic symbols, but I recognize the scrawl for what it is.”

  “Scrawl?” She scrunched her face.

  Damn his tongue—he’d insulted her. Darach wanted to forget about her Norse lineage. “Even I know how to use the quill and ink, lass. For everything yer father’s people have accomplished, I don’t understand why yer chieftains don’t write things down properly.”

  She snatched the stones. “But we do,” she said. “These are name stones, proof of my noble birth and home. Meant to show to the lords of Orkeneyjar.”

  “There will be no need.” He plucked them out of her hand, gripping them angrily in his fist. To Hades with the lords of Orkeneyjar, even though the bloody bastards had attempted to establish trading rights with his clan many times, he still wished them dead. “Ye won’t be going anywhere, Elle. Not without me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Had she heard him correctly? Was there a note of possessiveness in his voice, or was he simply agitated by the whole situation? He’d risked much bringing her home. “I am not a helpless child,” she reminded him. “I am capable of looking after myself.”

  She felt Darach watching her—knew he was attracted to her. Surprisingly, she felt the same. But why? They’d known each other but a day. Her mother’s wise warning came to her then, telling her to guard herself against any man she felt a sudden attachment to. Especially if it’s mutual, her mother had said. Tis the most dangerous and lasting sort of affection a man and woman can share.

  Aye . . . She was frozen, staring at Darach. Dangerous was only one of the ways to describe the man. He was handsome and so big and strong, not unlike a Norseman. Untamed and thirsty for battle and adventure, like most warriors. And passionate. She took a slow, deep breath.

  “What is it, Elle? Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”

  She retreated a step, out of reach. “Tis nothing. Only a fleeting memory.”

  “Will ye share it with me?”

  “Will you steal my private thoughts, too?”

  He snorted. “Never ye mind,” he said dismissively. “Twas an attempt at being friendly. Nothing more.”

  “Wait,” she said more sweetly. “I am sorry, Darach. So much has happened. And no matter how much I try to think of the happy future I might have, I cannot seem to forget my dire circumstances. I am without my family and friends, and now I do not have a place to call home.” Ashamed of the tears that started to blur her vision, she turned away. “Perhaps it would be best if you left me alone.” She’d not planned on confessing her deepest fears to him. Much the opposite, she’d hoped to keep careful control over her emotions. Her sire had raised her to reject pity—to stand strong whenever she faced a challenge.

  But her mother . . .

  Elle blamed this sudden show of weakness on her mother’s tender heart. Where her father had failed to make her tough, Elle’s mother had made her loving and caring. There was a hollow place in her chest now, and she desperately wanted to fill it. “Please, leave me.”

  Darach’s warm breath tickled the back of her neck as he hugged her from behind, locking his large hands over her stomach. He buried his face in her long hair, inhaling loudly.

  “There’s no shame in crying, lass,” he whispered. “My arms are open wide for ye. Count me as a friend, not an enemy.”

  When had his feelings changed? “Friend?” She turned around, looking up at him. “Only yesterday—”

  “I spoke too soon.” He cupped her cheek, offering her solace. “Mourn for yer family and friends, lass.”

  She blinked at him, unsure what to say.

  “Ye’ve suffered enough loss for three lifetimes.”

  Strength completely failed her now. She silently laid her head upon his shoulder, tears falling freely down her cheeks.

  Darach wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight to his body, stroking her hair and making comforting noises. “Time will help,” he said.

  Elle couldn’t disagree more. Time would only deepen her sorrow. For the longer she was left with her memories, the more it pained her to think at all.

  Darach’s body screamed for relief as Elle clung to him for comfort. He raised his head, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the Almighty had placed this beautiful woman in his care. He might not be the same man once Elle was done with him. And though he knew the lass couldn’t stay in his house forever, he was determined to make whatever time they had together meaningful. Let her first experiences in Scotia be as happy as possible, so when she did find her way elsewhere, she’d look back on these new memories fondly.

  I want ye . . . All of ye. To make love to ye all day and night. To hold ye close and hear ye laugh. To make ye smile. To make ye forget. Words he wanted to speak, but never would. She was forbidden fruit—Norse. Ripe for the plucking. He pulled back then, tipping her chin up so he could search her blue eyes.

  He saw the same fire in them he knew shined in his own whenever he gazed at her. The lass felt something for him—an undeniable connection. “Ye are beautiful.”

  “Please . . . don’t.”

  “Elle.” He liked everything about her, yet really didn’t know her. Unless . . . He groaned.

  “Darach?”

  “I’m sorry, lass. I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He released her and made his way to the door. “I will keep watch outside while ye bathe and dress.”

  “Did I say something to offend you?”

  “Nay.”

  “I have no fresh clothes to wear.”

  “A maid will bring yer trunk. And when ye’re ready, I will escort ye to the great hall to break yer fast.”

  He didn’t give Elle a chance to say anything. He needed to get away before he made promises he couldn’t keep, and before she crawled into his arms again and shed those bittersweet tears that made him want to destroy anyone or anything that dared break her bloody Norse heart.

  Chapter Ten

  Over the next week, Darach kept his distance from Elle. She didn’t see him keeping watch over her chamber late at night when he gave her regular guard a much-deserved break. Or how he’d spent more time in the kitchens recently than he had his whole life, overseeing the preparation of her trays to keep Nola or any of the other maids from tampering with her food. Bitterness and resentment ran deep in the veins of his kinsmen over her presence. So much so, his sire had arranged a meeting this morn to speak with his captains regarding the lass’s future.

  Darach sat to his father’s right at the high table, facing the six men who were considered his clan’s most fierce protectors and closest advisors.

  “I am disappointed in all of ye,” his father said. “I might be old, but I’m not deaf. I hear the words ye speak behind the lass’s back—behind my back—against my strict orders to treat the girl with decency. What say ye, Cameron?”

  Darach eyed his closest friend with suspicion. Their relationship had suffered since the day Elle was rescued. And the longer she stayed, the further apart they drifted.

  Cameron stood. “I mean no disrespect to ye, laird.” He bowed. “I cannot lie about how I feel. Keeping the Norse bitch within these walls endangers every man, woman, and child under yer care.”

  Darach curled his hand into a fist, released it, then did the same over and over again—his heart racing with rage. “What are ye saying, man? That my decision to give the lass sanctuary was a selfish one?”

  Cameron showed his teeth. “Your words, not mine.”

  Darach gazed at his father, seeking hi
s approval to continue questioning the captain. The laird nodded, and Darach stood, then stepped down from the dais. “Explain how one helpless girl can send the lot of ye running like scared little whelps.”

  The other men looked none too pleased with his words.

  “I’m not running, Darach,” Cameron denied. “I’m standing here with Divine purpose, determined to rid Am Parph of the red witch that threatens to bring the scourge of Orkeneyjar upon us if we don’t return her to her rightful lords.”

  Darach took another step toward his friend. No one knew about the evidence of Elle’s birthright, not that it truly existed. She’d made claims well enough, but words didn’t prove anything. Darach had planned on speaking with his father alone, but now, with the captains challenging their laird, he knew he must make the information public. Though he doubted it would silence them completely, it would give Elle more of a right to be here.

  “Our women are afraid to walk the grounds at night,” Cavan complained.

  Darach frowned at him. “If yer wife wanderers about at night, Cavan, ye aren’t fulfilling yer martial duties.”

  The other captains laughed, and Cavan grew quiet—justifiably humiliated. The time for ignorance was over.

  “Surely ye do not believe the girl a witch,” Darach said. “Ye are accomplished warriors—battle-hardened and fearless. How can one wee lass wield such power over ye, as if she held a dirk to yer throats?”

  “Did ye forget what we saw that day on the longship, Darach? Over a dozen dead men? Norse or not, they breathe the same as us.”

  The laird grunted. “Tis the first time I’ve ever heard ye refer to the Norse as anything close to us, Cameron, especially human.”

  Again, the men laughed, but Darach still saw the resentment in their eyes. They wanted vengeance—very likely Elle’s blood to be spilled. “And what would ye do if the girl was yer responsibility, Cameron?”

  A long moment of silence passed before the captain cleared his throat. “I’d give her a good length of Scot pride,” he answered with a lewd smile, pumping his hips.

  “Fook.” Darach came at him, landing a solid blow to his chin, knocking his friend back a couple feet. “Ye speak of rape, yet condemn the Norse for that very thing.”

  Cameron rubbed his chin, but didn’t retaliate. “Tis time to deliver a strong message to the lords of Orkeneyjar. For too long we’ve been perceived as their bloody subordinates—let them see with their own eyes what a Scot is capable of—the same violence, the same hatred, the same power.”

  “We’re not rapists,” Darach growled, the idea of anyone touching Elle without her consent made him crazy and hungry for violence. “That’s what sets us apart from the heathens—from the beasts of the earth. And ye bloody well better remember it.”

  “As ye should remember not to think with yer pikk,” Cameron countered.

  “Enough!” The laird slammed his fist on the tabletop. “Cameron is right about one thing, Darach. Tis true we’ve kept the Norse from invading our lands, but they do not respect and fear us. We’re seen as more of an inconvenience than a threat. Our wool is what they want. And until now, I’ve refused.”

  Darach spun around, not understanding what his father meant by until now. “What are ye saying, Father?”

  The laird scrubbed his bearded chin and sighed. “I sent a missive to Orkeneyjar three days ago.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To open negotiations.”

  Darach’s body went rigid. Negotiations? For what? Anything of value attached to the Norse was stained with Scot blood. Darach would rather starve then barter with the Godforsaken lords of Orkeneyjar. “What have ye done, Father?”

  “Try to understand . . . Darach . . .”

  Whenever his sire started a thought with those words it could only mean one thing. “Ye gave in to their baseless fears, didn’t ye?” More rage wrapped around Darach’s heart.

  “The lass belongs with her own kind,” the laird said.

  “Aye,” Darach growled, then reached inside his tunic and produced the leather bundle that contained Elle’s great grandmother’s brooch. He ripped the bundle open and held up the precious piece of silver. “Proof of Lady Elle’s Scot lineage. The lass’s mother is a MacAlpin—kidnapped and carried across the North Sea. She might be half Norse, but she’s a bloody Scot, too.” He concentrated on each captain, making sure they had a clear view of the brooch. “Ye pass judgment prematurely.”

  A loud, feminine cry sounded from across the great hall, and Darach turned just in time to see a flash of fire-red hair and a pale blue skirt flee the chamber. By Christ’s holy name, how long had the lass been eavesdropping on the conversation? Did she overhear Cameron’s damnable words? His sire’s shocking news?

  He turned to his father and offered the brooch. “Have whatever scholar or craftsman ye wish confirm the authenticity of this piece. I recognize the mark of a king when I see it. Tis all the proof I need to guarantee the lass’s safety—at least until she’s united with her kin.” Caring little for what anyone thought, he rushed out of the hall, determined to catch and comfort the beauty that had prevailed upon his world.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elle didn’t know where to go, she just knew she wanted to get as far away from this place as possible. Aye, she’d been a fool to trust that these strangers would protect her. Not that she blamed Darach. The man had proven himself true to his word. But how could she expect him to defy his own sire? The laird had admitted to sending a missive to Orkeneyjar. Though the purpose remained unclear, she could easily guess why.

  To be rid of her.

  No one tried to stop Elle as she passed through the gates. Her personal guard wasn’t at his post outside her door, that’s how she’d made it to the great hall without being stopped. When she’d arrived in the middle of what appeared to be a very official meeting, she’d decided to take her leave—until she overheard her name spoken. In her mind, that gave her every right to stay and listen.

  Her future depended on what these men of power decided. The threat of rape by Captain Cameron, followed by the fact that the laird obviously didn’t want her here, had been all she could take. Fear and anger unleashed inside her, causing her to cry out.

  She followed a well-worn footpath to the nearby loch. It stretched wide and long, the water glistening under the sunlight. Recent thoughts rushed back—better to die with pride and honor than grovel and slowly waste away from a broken heart and inconsolable spirit. A watery grave would be a fitting end for a Norse-born woman. Tempted by the cold, dark depths, she kicked off her leather boots, then began to unlace the front of her gown.

  If anyone bothered to recover her body, would she be given a Christian burial or burned upon a pyre? Then she remembered that anyone who took their own life was unfit to be buried on consecrated ground. She stopped undressing and sucked in a ragged breath, her chest tight with sorrow.

  “Give me peace,” she whispered to God. “A reason to take another breath.”

  “Am I reason enough?” Darach’s rich, deep voice made her forget everything. She spun about, relieved to see him, but unwilling to admit it. “What are ye doing, lass?”

  She shrugged and looked away, focusing on the loch again—silently answering his question.

  “Tell me it isn’t true,” he pleaded, gripping her by the shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. “Look at me, Elle. After everything ye’ve been through—ye’d consider taking yer own life?”

  She gazed at him. “I did not say it.”

  “Yer eyes betray ye, lass.”

  “Twas only a fleeting thought,” she confessed.

  “A damnable offense in the eyes of the Almighty. No man can enter the kingdom of Heaven that has ended his own life. Tis a coward’s way.”

  She shook her head. “I am not a man, Darach. And if ye wish to call me a coward, I will not deny it. I am weak.”

  Darach released her and waved his arms. “How much of our conversation did ye hear?”

>   “Enough to know that I’d rather die than be sent to Orkeneyjar. Or be given as a sacrificial lamb to your captains.”

  “Is that what ye really think of me? Or my sire? That we’d stand by and let anyone violate ye?”

  Tears filled her eyes as she tried to keep his fierce face in focus. “I—I do not know what to think. How can ye feel anything for me? I am nothing but a stranger, a nameless girl you rescued from a longship. There is no reason for you to protect me, to risk your future on whether or not I am safe.”

  “Damn ye, woman.” He came at her, but stopped short, a mix of intense emotions darkening his features. “Born half Scot but ye know nothing of our honor. A Scot would die before he broke a vow. Whether it be of the holy sort or made to a woman he just set eyes upon a week ago. My word is my word, Elle.”

  “And what am I to you, Darach?”

  She needed to know. Let him finally confirm what she could only guess at. Darach wanted her in ways she couldn’t understand. Elle knew what men and women did together in the dark—though she’d never seen it before—or felt it.

  “Make sure ye are ready for my words, lass. Yer innocence is a sacred gift. And I’m not the kind of man who toys with a virgin’s heart. If ye come to me willingly, I will not turn ye away, for I thirst for ye, Elle. Endlessly. Night and day.”

  She swallowed hard, studying his form. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his shoulders tense, and he stood with his feet wide apart, looking like a man ready to burst.

  She raised her chin and looked him directly in the eyes. “I, too, thirst.”

  The second she felt his hot hands on her arms, she knew what she had done—given him permission to take her. And she didn’t regret it. His lips came down hard over hers, claiming her mouth with a ferocity that excited her. She clawed at his back, digging her fingernails into his flesh, intentionally marking him, calling the beast she knew was locked up inside him.

  “Elle,” he groaned between breaths, his hands circling up her back as he hugged her close. “My forbidden fruit.” He cupped her breasts then, throwing his head back, sucking a breath in through clenched teeth. “Ye have no idea what I could do with ye—what danger ye are truly in.”