A Highlander's Gypsy (Highland Temptations Book 2)

by Aileen Adams

  Yet it would make his life easier, and perhaps she owed that to him. This was not her world. This was not her life. She had no business living within castle walls.

  “Do you recall telling me of times when a man must admit he’s outmatched?” she murmured with a gentle smile. “It isn’t bravery to run into a fight one knows they cannot win. It is foolishness. Now, I would go so far as to call it stubbornness. You cannot win this fight. Richard will win, for this is Richard’s castle. You have the rest of your life to consider. You’ve worked hard. You ought to keep your men in mind, your responsibilities here. I am not your responsibility.”

  He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Why does it seem as though ye are?” His eyes searched hers as though she held the answer to a mystery.

  “Perhaps because of what you suffered for my sake,” she whispered over the racing of her heart.

  He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Och, it wasn’t all suffering.”

  She held back from leaning in, from resting her head against the inviting solidness of his chest and taking comfort in him. There were so many things she wished she could say, but there was no way to do so without giving away what had been growing in the darkest corners of her heart for some time.

  To tell him how much he’d come to mean to her would be the greatest selfishness, for it would mean making his life more difficult. Never would he turn his back on her if he knew she cared for him. He would only feel a greater sense of responsibility.

  In spite of the ache in her chest and the tightness in her throat, she backed away. “We both ought to sleep. I believe we’ve earned it.”

  “Aye. That we have.”

  She cast one last look over her shoulder before stepping into the bedchamber. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened again. “Will ye at least give some thought to what I said?”

  “Of course.” She would. She would not be able to stop herself from thinking about it, again and again.

  But this did not mean she would do as he asked.

  22

  He’d been so looking forward to the first night in his bed. His beloved bed. The bed in which he’d spent far too many sleepless nights before following the seer’s advice.

  Yet there he was, once again, after having found the lass. After killing that she might live. Crossing the Highlands. Delivering her to safety.

  He still could not sleep.

  Now, because there was nothing he could do. He’d come to the end of what was possible and had nothing more to do but wait and have faith that everything would work out. That she would have the good sense to do what was needed. That Richard would ignore his bruised pride and accept her at her word. She meant them no harm, and had no intention of inviting her kinsmen to have their fill of the Munro coffers.

  He was not a man of faith, and he did not take well to sitting back and allowing things to happen on their own. He’d never believed in divine providence, in the notion of some unseen hand guiding his way.

  Which made the fact that he’d acted on faith by searching for an unnamed lass all the more amusing, in a bitter sort of way.

  He gave up just before dawn, washing up and shaving before donning the uniform of the Munro guard. He felt more himself than he had in a simple tunic and trews, the sash across his chest signifying his rank in the guard.

  This was his place. This was his home. He’d been foolish to have his head turned by a life that would never be his. Better to put his energy into maintaining a solid guard worthy of Laird Richard. Better to make his mark that way.

  “Captain?” A faint knock at the door.

  “Aye.” He turned to greet his visitor, one of the youngest of the guard and thus one of the most eager to please. He appeared downright awed at having been sent to the captain’s chambers.

  “The laird wishes to see ye, Captain. And the visitor. I shall fetch her next.”

  “Never mind that,” William was quick to command. “I shall have that honor for myself.” He made a show of rolling his eyes for the lad’s benefit, but really was anxious to see whether she’d tried to escape during the night and didn’t wish for the guard or anyone else to find out before he did.

  While he wanted to give her credit for having at least a bit of sense, he knew too how stubborn she was. How she might ruin herself in a vain attempt at freedom. All to show them she didn’t need them.

  To show him she didn’t need him.

  He made a point of walking with an even, measured stride as traveled the corridors. The men he passed, and some of the lasses, he noticed—appeared pleased to have him back. It was good to feel appreciated.

  This was where he belonged. These were his people.

  No matter how the memory of Rufus’s face, glowing with pride at the notion of being a father, tugged at his thoughts and caused a strange pressure in his chest whenever it came to mind.

  He pushed that aside in favor of knocking at her door. If only she had stayed inside…

  The door opened, and there she was. His heart clenched at the sight of her in a clean dress, her curls neatly washed and combed.

  “Two of the lasses—I forgot their names, they giggled quite a lot—gave me a dress and tended to me.” She lifted a hand to touch her hair. “Does it… not look well?”

  It took some searching, but he found his voice. “Aye. It looks well.” It looked much better than that. It shone in an ebony cloud around her shining face, the eyes bright and wide as always, and made him wish more than ever that he might touch her just for the sheer joy of doing so.

  She smiled, now confident. “What brings you here?”

  The question popped his good mood as easily as though it were a soap bubble. “Richard wishes to see us both.”

  “Oh. I see.” Her mood darkened as well. “I suppose we had better be on with it. I would not wish to keep the laird waiting.”

  “Lass.”

  She gave him a cross look.

  “Tara. Dinna provoke him. Please. Meet him halfway at least.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you’re a damned fool, woman, and I took ye for having a bit more intelligence than that.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I’ll do as I please, and I’ll thank you to stop telling me how to behave as though I were nothing but a bairn. I can take care of myself. I’ve been all but doing so for much of my life.”

  This was one of the few times in which she’d ever made mention of her life, aside from blaming outsiders for their contemptible ways. Would that they might continue speaking of it—he hungered to know more about her, in spite of or perhaps because of her unwillingness to share anything worthwhile.

  Instead of asking her to continue, he merely led the way down the corridor and downstairs to where Richard would be awaiting their arrival. He did not like to be kept waiting.

  Richard apparently also did not like to find two people whom he’d wished to see separately appear in his study at the same time. “I only wished to see ye apart,” he explained, pointing to the lass. “Her first.”

  William cleared his throat, hoping what he was about to do would not lead to embarrassment—or worse. “I would wish to be here while ye speak with her, if ‘tis all the same to ye.”

  Richard’s mouth twitched as though he longed to say something but did not dare speak as freely as he wished. “It is not all the same to me. If it were, I would not ask ye to wait your turn.”

  William looked down at the lass, who it was clear, found this very interesting. She at least had the sense to hold her tongue. He went to Richard then, keeping his back to her that she might not overhear. “I won’t leave her. I mean no offense, and I dinna wish to contradict ye in front of an outsider, but ye must know how important it is to me.”

  “It is? Or she is?” Richard’s brows lifted as his dark eyes searched William’s face for answers. “You’ve never shied away from telling me the absolute truth before now. What makes her so special that ye change who ye are?”

  “Nothi
ng has changed.”

  “Ye say ye dinna wish to contradict, yet here ye are. In front of an outsider, yet.” Richard sighed, his shoulders falling as he took on a resigned stance. “Verra well. Remember later that this is how ye wished things to be.”

  William had no chance to ask what his friend meant by this before Richard summoned her to him. “Sit, please.” He gestured to a stool which he’d pulled up opposite his chair, the two of them facing each other from opposite sides of his work table.

  William retreated to the side of the room, leaning against the wall just off the fireplace. From here he could watch the two of them observing each other, and could not help but wonder idly just which one would be the victor in this battle of wills.

  Richard folded his hands atop the table and forced a tight smile. “Ye look well. I trust ye rested well. I see the lasses I sent up to ye did their work as I asked.”

  She was guarded in her response. “They did. Thank you.”

  “Have ye given any thought to what we discussed last night?”

  She nodded.

  “And?”

  “And…” She glanced at William, her face unreadable. “And I have not changed my mind. Not a bit. Forgive me, but that is how it must be.”

  William wanted to strangle her. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He was not alone. Richard’s upper lip quivered as he barely held back a snarl. “I thought that is how ye would end this.”

  “End it?” William couldn’t help but ask. “What does that mean?”

  “As I said.” Richard’s steely stare never moved from the lass seated before him. “This will end. I will not have ye under my roof or on my lands if ye will not pay the respect I’m owed as laird.”

  William waited, all but biting his tongue to keep from roaring at her and ordering her to answer Richard’s questions. The room felt tight, closed in, the fire too hot, the smoke too thick. There was nothing he could do for her if she refused to help herself.

  And it was all but killing him to stand by and watch this unfold. As though a terrible accident was about to take place and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  “Tara.” William cast a pleading look at his friend before pointing his gaze to her. “Why is it ye will not tell us who ye are? Is it fear? Do ye fear your kinsmen finding out? I can assure ye, there’s no chance of them knowing ye were honest with us.”

  She rewarded him with a withering look. “I am not afraid of my blood.”

  “Dinna take that tone with him,” Richard warned.

  This was getting them nowhere. William scowled at Richard—would he ever learn when to keep his mouth shut and stop pushing to have his way?—and turned back to her. “Is it we who frighten ye then? Have I not done enough to earn your trust?”

  She was not so quick with an answer this time. In fact, the way her teeth sank into her lower lip spoke of the indecision with which she struggled. “It… nay. It is not that.”

  “What is it, then?” Richard slammed his hands onto the table, making both her and William flinch. He bolted upright, his body tensed and prepared to strike. “What do I have to do to get through to ye? I’m not a difficult man. Anyone who knows me would tell ye the same. And I am not a cruel man. I dinna wish to put ye out in the cold, with winter on its way, and ye with nowhere to go. But I canna have ye beneath my roof or on my lands if I dinna know why ye will not be forthcoming!”

  She folded her arms, as obstinate as ever, and now William saw red. He’d never known what it meant to really and truly hate another person until just then, when she made him hate her. He’d only thought he hated—hated the loyalists, hated the mercenaries and the cruel excuses for men who’d broken up and destroyed the gypsy camp.

  This was so much worse.

  After all he’d been through for her sake. After all he’d done. Three men, dead by his hand. Riding day and night, pushing himself to the limits of exhaustion and beyond. Taking the chance of bringing Jacob Stuart and his forces across the Highlands in pursuit, every minute one minute closer to death.

  After everything, this. She cared nothing for what he’d been through or how he’d fought for her. To protect her. To care for her when she was wounded.

  She cared nothing for him.

  He was mere moments from telling Richard he ought to throw her out and lock the doors behind when Richard’s expression shifted. He went from angered—no, enraged—to stony. The flush of his cheeks cooled. His eyes hardened.

  Did she know the mistake she’d made? How she had crossed a line she could never cross again?

  “All right, then,” Richard murmured. “We shall have it your way. Ye dinna have to tell me anything ye dinna wish to reveal.”

  She merely raised an eyebrow in response. She was far too clever to believe for an instant this was anything offered in friendship.

  William’s resentful heart was heavy as he joined his friend on the other side of the table, opposite the lass. She raised the other eyebrow but again offered nothing more.

  Even now, there was no hint of human feeling in her. It mattered not at all that her protector had taken the side of the man glowering at her, that he now stood across from her rather than beside her.

  She’d more than likely expected him to do just this.

  “Captain Blackheath, see to it that this woman is taken to the cells beneath the keep.”

  William’s throat closed, cutting off his air. He did not dare show surprise, however, as this type of announcement ought to appear as though they’d discussed it first.

  A glance at Richard from the corner of his eye show that the man he’d known his entire life was completely serious. This was not a threat meant to frighten her into a confession.

  Her face went slack. “You mean this?”

  Richard’s reply was curt. To the point. “I do.”

  “And you would allow it?” she demanded, glaring at William.

  “I dinna think ye understand,” he grunted. “I owe ye nothing. We owe ye nothing. If ye wish for protection and ease, ye have to offer something in return. Ye will not offer what the laird requests.”

  “Demands, more like, and you are a fine pair if ye believe otherwise.” She stood, chin high, eyes blazing, teeth bared in a snarl. “This has gone on long enough. I thank you for rescuing me, and I shall go on my way now. I want nothing more to do with this place or anyone in it.”

  The fact that she stared at William after announcing this made it clear to whom she directed it.

  “Och, but it’s too late for that. Ye might have left before now, or ye might have worked with me to see we were both satisfied. Now, there will be no leaving. Not until the truth of who ye are and just why ye are so important to Jacob Stuart is settled.” Richard nodded to William then, a signal which he’d used countless times. His orders were to be carried out.

  By William.

  “Come,” he ordered, the word sharp, clipped. He couldn’t look at her and certainly could not touch her. Not when the memory of being close to her was still clear in his head, as clear as if she’d only just been in his arms.

  When she did not so much as move a muscle, William whistled for the guards outside to enter the room. “Take the prisoner to the cells,” he ordered, and this time he forced himself to watch as the men took her by the arms.

  They weren’t rough or abusive, but they left little room for argument. Compared to her, nothing but a wee slip of a thing, they were giants.

  He had to watch. He had to hold her gaze as she glared spitefully his way. He knew what she was thinking and could all but hear her nasty, vile words in his head, but this was not the time to look away.

  She’d had her chance. He’d all but begged her to bend under Richard’s commands.

  This was not his doing.

  He led the way out of the study, down the corridor, to the wide, stone stairs leading to the dark chamber carved from the very earth on which the keep stood. It was cold enough to make his arms erupt in gooseflesh. This was where she
would stay. In the cold, in the dark.

  He might at least see to it the torches were kept lit.

  “This way.” He led the trio between the cells which lined both walls, iron bars revealing what was inside. They were empty at the time—all they normally held were the occasional guard who’d had too much to drink and needed a reminder of the virtues of practicing self-control.

  Self-control meant not having to spend the night sleeping atop a pile of straw in a cold, lonely cell.

  She made not a sound as she walked behind him. Even her breathing was silent. But her stare, och, the way she stared at the back of his head.

  “See to it the torches are lit and changed regularly,” he ordered, pretending he did not feel the weight of her accusatory glare. “See to it the straw is changed as well.”

  They reached the cell furthest from the stairs, in the deepest corner. Why had he chosen this particular cell? Was it because she might cry out for help and he did not wish to hear her cries?

  He turned around after unlocking and opening the door. “And see to it she’s shackled to the wall.”

  “What’s that now?” she bellowed, and her voice echoed back at him again and again in the otherwise empty space.

  The guards appeared just as surprised as she. They had never used the shackles—to his knowledge, there had not been any need to do so since the former laird lived. In those days it was more common to take prisoners, as there was much greater unrest in and around Munro land.

  He would hear none of it, and pointedly looked over her head to those of the men still holding onto her. “She’ll be shackled to the wall and fed twice per day, but no more than the normal rations given to prisoners. She is not to be spoken to by anyone but myself or the laird. Understood?”

  “Aye,” they both agreed.

  “Wait. Wait, William. Please.” She strained to break free of them, to be nearer to him. He took a deliberate step back, away from her. Telling her without using words how unlikely it was for them to ever come to an understanding.