The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

by TERRI BRISBIN

  As they entered and walked the corridor to the lady’s solar, Isobel decided that she would find a way to watch the two men practice in the yard later. Surely Cora would accompany her on her mission.

  * * *

  Athdar swore under his breath as he walked ahead of the two young women into the dark stone keep to find his brother-by-marriage. He had to meet with Connor and several of his advisors over changes to their plans. As he nodded to those he knew, he cursed himself for his stupidity. Smiling and winking at Isobel? Truly, he was wanting in the head to do such a thing in front of others.

  Nay, to do such a thing at all.

  Isobel was Rurik’s daughter and if Rurik learned of any attention paid by him to her the man would have his head...or nether parts! He’d already faced death at Rurik’s hands once before and he never intended to do that again, not even for the lovely Isobel.

  Damn his eyes, but she was a beauty! He’d watched as she’d grown from gangly girl to this stunning young woman of confidence and intelligence. Her parents had seen her educated as most of those in the MacLeries’ immediate families were. And like many of the other girls and women, they had been encouraged to know and speak their minds. Most unusual, he knew, but here in his brother-by-marriage’s keep and village it all seemed the norm.

  He sought the chamber that Connor used as a workroom and found him there with several others he knew. As they began their discussion, Athdar found his thoughts distracted by a heart-shaped face surrounded by pale blond curls and the blue-green eyes that were ever filled with merriment when they met his. And the full, pink lips that tempted him to madness. His body went along with these thoughts and reacted in surprising manner. Athdar shifted in his chair, gaining Connor’s attention.

  ‘Are you well?’ Connor asked, offering him a cup of wine.

  ‘I am,’ he replied, taking a mouthful of wine to give him a moment to focus his thoughts on the business at hand and not on the lovely and forbidden Isobel. ‘About the preparations for winter?’

  Try as he might, even as Connor went back to explaining their plans, and his clan’s part in them, Athdar thought about Isobel.

  And the fruitlessness of any interest he might have in her.

  Glancing around the chamber and realising that most of those there were happily married, he felt the heartache pierce through him as it always did.

  Happy, he might be, but married he would never be again.

  The disasters of his previous marriages and the most recent betrothal had made his decision for him—he would not subject any woman to the dangers of marrying him.

  Especially not the lovely Isobel.

  The tragedies of his past would haunt his every day and night, but he would not risk someone as precious and vibrant as her to the chance that he was truly cursed.

  Some would laugh and call him foolish. People died. Women died, especially in childbirth or such manner. But then they would recall that he’d lost two wives to death, a betrothed to an accident and two possible wives to the fear of all that would befall them if their fathers agreed to matches with him.

  So, in spite of any desire he had to find a wife and have a family as these men had, Athdar understood that the fates stood against him. Standing and walking to the window, he listened and replied to Connor from there.

  As though his thoughts had conjured her up, Rurik’s daughter passed into his view as she walked through the yard in the direction of the practice yards. She and her friend had their heads close together, conspiring no doubt on some feminine matter, as they laughed and glanced at the men practising their fighting skills. He emptied the cup and placed it on the nearby tray.

  ‘I will accept your invitation to stay for a few days, Connor.’ He strode towards the door, ignoring any questioning glances. ‘I must check with my man about some of the supplies we need.’

  ‘Your sister is in her solar, Dar,’ Connor said.

  ‘I will seek her out later.’ Lifting the latch on the door, he pulled it open. ‘I will return shortly.’

  His feet led him outside before he could consider how strange his behaviour was. Something, someone drew him as though a rope connected him with...her. When he realised his dangerous actions—dangerous to his own well-being and hers—he slowed down and sought Ranald instead.

  A good fight might beat this madness out of him. It might make him remember his reasons for being here. And his reasons for avoiding marriage completely.

  * * *

  His plan almost worked, too, until he heard Isobel gasp out his name as he landed face first in the dirt from a well-aimed punch. How was he ever going to ignore her when every fibre of his body and soul wanted to claim her?

  * * *

  ‘Rurik thinks to marry her elsewhere.’

  Connor stepped closer, watching the scene in the yard from above—in his favourite place and standing behind his beloved Jocelyn. He leaned nearer, placing his arms on each side of where she stood, and inhaled the scent of whatever she used to wash her hair. His body grew hard just thinking about her...taking a bath...naked. Shaking his head, he laughed at the ever-present temptation she presented to him, regardless of their decades-long marriage and age.

  ‘Has he finally realised she is of age to marry?’ Jocelyn asked, turning into his arms. ‘He has resisted for a long time.’

  ‘Two offers have come in recently. We discussed them at length which forced him to accept that it is time.’

  ‘And you support these matches?’ she asked. A hint of something—suspicion? sarcasm?—entered her voice as she asked.

  Connor laughed. ‘Is the game on then, wife?’ Kissing her, he watched as her eyes lit with mischief. ‘So it is, then.’

  He released her and looked over the side of the battlements down to the yard. Her brother had left their meeting abruptly and now he fought with one of the younger warriors, Ranald, before a shouting and cheering crowd. Even from this distance, Connor could read the distraction in Dar’s fighting style. And, if he was right, he knew the person causing it.

  ‘He notices her.’ He felt Jocelyn tense and waited for her to object to his guess. ‘Rurik will not be happy.’

  ‘Athdar has sworn not to marry again,’ Jocelyn whispered as they watched her brother losing control of the match below. ‘He keeps so much pain within himself.’

  Connor remained silent then, knowing that it could be telling their own story again—the pain, the refusal to marry, the inability to hope that love could be within their grasp until it was nearly too late. Only the woman before him had saved his soul and his heart from eternal darkness.

  ‘Rurik has hopes she will settle her heart elsewhere, and that’s without Dar’s name being mentioned.’

  ‘I did not think Rurik one to hold a grudge for so very long,’ Jocelyn said, facing him once more and searching his face. ‘It was so long ago and Athdar was so young. And it was only an insult, not an attack.’

  ‘You have not involved yourself with Dar’s affairs before. Why take up this challenge now?’ he asked. He was trying to figure out if this would indeed become their next matchmaking challenge.

  ‘It was not my place, Connor. I had accepted that,’ she said, as sadness filled her voice.

  ‘Had?’ That was not good.

  ‘I see the longing in his gaze at gatherings. He wants what we have. He wants a wife, bairns. Love. He wants it and yet he fears taking another chance.’

  ‘So mayhap you should leave him to making that decision?’ It could not hurt to nudge his beloved in the right direction. ‘He is a chief now, with responsibilities. I do not think he would take it well to know you plot about him.’ Hoping that was enough to push her away from making this attraction between Dar and Isobel more than that, he added, ‘I have to see to things. I will see you at table?’

  She smiled, acquiesced even, but
he knew in his soul that she would not turn her efforts from a possible match between her brother and Rurik’s daughter. And there would be hell to pay on all sides if that happened. He did not have the time to make her see the folly and danger in her choice, but he would see to it later. This night. In their chambers.

  ‘Until then,’ she whispered, reaching up on her toes to touch their mouths together.

  He watched the seductive sway of her hips as she walked away and realised she’d not denied that she would pursue a match. Outplayed once more by desire for his wife, Connor cursed under his breath and walked away in the other direction. He needed to have a conversation with Rurik.

  Or mayhap not.

  For, once fired up, the commander of all his troops was formidable even for him. Mayhap this time he would hold back and see how this all played out?

  With thoughts of what would await him in his bedchamber tempting him, Connor walked off to find someone to fight. It was a good way to clear his mind and sharpen his wits. And if his wife and the other mothers had decided on a match, he and the other fathers would need their wits about them.

  From the smug expression that lay across her lovely face as she turned from him, he knew that even his wits might not win this battle.

  Chapter Two

  Since he was a visiting nobleman and considered more family than ally, Athdar was not surprised by the lack of formality during the evening meal. He’d shared many meals here in Connor’s hall and most of them were like this one—family, friends, villagers and anyone in need of a meal. Conversations ebbed and flowed throughout the meal, laughter echoed high into the rafters and those dining moved between the small gathered groups to talk with others.

  As always, his eye was drawn to Connor, his brother-by-marriage for this last score or so of years. His mentor in many things, his nemesis in others, Connor never minded his presence or his opinions, but, watching as the man’s gaze softened each time he glanced at one of his children or at his wife, Dar’s gut tightened with a mix of envy, jealousy and admiration. That the fearless, ruthless Earl of Douran could yet have a soft place in his heart made Dar want everything Connor had...yet again.

  Drinking deeply from his cup of ale, he nodded to several who passed by and offered greetings to him. Glancing around the hall, he found Rurik sitting at a table with his wife and their children. The son, a year or so younger than Isobel, would be as formidable as their father in a few years. His height and build spoke of his Norse forebears and heritage. Then Isobel laughed and Dar felt it ripple across his skin. As she raised her eyes, their gazes met.

  He knew he should look away. She was too young for him. She was too innocent of life and the horrors he’d seen. She was her father’s daughter. For once, he simply enjoyed the innocence and freshness he saw in her eyes and did not question his need for such things...from her. At least he did until someone stepped between them, ending whatever connection had begun.

  ‘Athdar,’ his sister said as she sat on the bench next to him. ‘When will you return home?’

  He laughed at her remark. If he did not know her as he did, he would have thought his welcome was over.

  ‘I expect to be on the road in the morn, dear Jocelyn,’ he replied. ‘My business with your husband is complete now.’

  She reached over and plucked a morsel from his plate. ‘I have been thinking...’ she said, before tossing the bit of roast fowl into her mouth and savouring it.

  Jocelyn thinking usually meant trouble for him—it had as a boy and it usually did now that he was grown and laird in his father’s place. ‘That is never good, Joss,’ he said. ‘Connor should discourage such things.’

  She smacked his shoulder and shook her head at him. ‘You are a lackwit at times. ’Tis no wonder...’ Her words faded off as she realised that any jest about married life would fall like rocks thrown in the air. But the pity that replaced the mirth in her eyes hurt more than the memories. ‘Dar...’ She reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled back before she could.

  ‘What have you been thinking about, then?’ he asked, hoping she would allow the change of topic without comment.

  ‘Will this be your last visit before the year’s end? I know you and Connor made arrangements for supplies and other things, but I knew not if that meant your journeys here are done until spring?’ she asked.

  ‘Connor invited me to visit again and I will, unless the weather turns.’

  Jocelyn glanced away from him. ‘Unless the weather turns...’ She remained silent for a few moments and then shook her head. ‘Good. I am always glad to see you.’

  He was certain she wished to say something more, but Connor called out to her first. She stood, as did he, and nodded to him. After taking a couple of steps towards her husband, she turned back to face him. ‘Did he speak of...helping you to find...arrangements...?’

  Athdar knew of what she spoke. Though he’d couched his words in diplomatic terms, his sister’s husband, his overlord, had offered to broker a marriage contract. He’d done so many times in the past for other allies and kin, so it was not so strange. But he had no need for such aid.

  ‘Aye, he did, Joss,’ Dar replied. ‘I declined his offer.’ Best to have things clear between them. An unexplained frustration and anger grew within him then.

  ‘You need a—’

  ‘Stay out of this.’ His voice must have been louder than he thought, for most in the hall stopped talking and looked over at them.

  Including Connor.

  Including—damn him for noticing!—Isobel.

  And her father.

  Rurik had long been Jocelyn’s champion, loyal to her in every way, so an insult to her would not go unnoticed or unanswered by him. The commander of all the MacLerie warriors began to walk towards him, but was waved off by Connor who reached them first.

  ‘Jocelyn?’ he asked as he held his hand to his wife.

  ‘I am meddling as you have warned me not to, husband,’ she said, smiling into the laird’s concerned face. ‘My brother has been my target and an unwilling one at that.’

  And as usual during their lives, she tried to take the brunt of displeasure for him. She ever did so when they were children and would still do so now in spite of their ages and positions. It had changed their lives irreparably before.

  ‘Your pardon, Jocelyn, for my sharp tone,’ Athdar offered the apology so that all could hear. Brother or not, laird in his own right or not, here he was a guest and she was their lady. Jocelyn’s reaction removed the tension from the situation as she threw herself into his arms and hugged the breath out of his chest. He allowed himself a moment of weakness and then eased himself from her grip.

  ‘I take my leave now, sister,’ he said. Nodding to Connor, he waited for the laird to give him leave. ‘I leave at first light and would not disturb you so early.’

  Connor offered his hand and Rurik, convinced now that his services were not needed, walked back to his own wife. The others drifted back into their own conversations and Dar finished his ale. Walking back to his room, he realised that, once more, he was alone.

  And no matter what he’d said to his sister, it was a condition he did not like and he did not want. But the danger of taking steps to make it different overrode his own personal needs or desires. For after the death of two wives and one betrothed, he would not put any woman in danger by being associated with him.

  That dark night passed slowly and he rose at dawn to ride out as he’d planned.

  * * *

  Isobel had watched as he’d finished his meal and spoken to Lady Jocelyn. Something very strange and strained happened between them and she winced as he uttered the harsh words that made the lady turn the colour of Isobel’s newest chemise. Then her father and the laird both went to her side and the hall grew silent.

  Somehow, she could not imagine the lady ne
eding protection or aid against Athdar. Her father had championed Lady Jocelyn for as long as Isobel could remember, and if the laird questioned it he never put a stop to it. Isobel’s mother did not seem bothered by this protectorship, for she and Lady Jocelyn were the closest of friends. When the laird was absent, her father stood behind the lady. When the lady travelled, her father made the arrangements. It had always been that way.

  So why had the hostility between her father and Athdar started? As she had watched the scene resolve, she tried to remember any clues about the beginning of the bad feelings. Then her father had returned and Athdar left the hall and she knew she would not see him again on this visit. As her father bade them go with him back to their cottage in the village, she knew that, unless she did something, Athdar would always wear the expression of grief in his eyes. And that she simply could not accept.

  As she had lain in her bed, seeking sleep while finding a restless night, Isobel realised that the only way to make that happen would be to get her mother on her side. Lady Jocelyn’s support would be a good thing because her father would listen to the lady. Plans and ideas had come and gone as the hours did and soon the weak light of a cloudy dawn had begun to seep into her bedchamber.

  * * *

  Dressing quickly and quietly, she made her way through the dark cottage, trying not to wake anyone. If her luck held, she could be back, in her bed, before the rest of her family rose. Already some of the villagers were about their daily tasks and she nodded as she passed them. Uncertain of why she wanted to speak to him now, she accepted it and continued walking towards the main gate.

  She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders to fight off the early morning chill and lifted her head to watch as those gates opened. A small group rode through and in her direction, so she stepped back off the path to let them pass. The lead rider waved the others on and drew his horse to a halt before her.