A Highlander's Gypsy (Highland Temptations Book 2)

by Aileen Adams

  She wanted to close her eyes and cover her ears to keep all of it out, keep it far away, pretend it wasn’t happening—yet if she did, there would be no knowing what happened to William, and he was all she cared about. Only his life.

  Which made the entrance of Jacob Stuart nearly stop her heart.

  “Blackheath!” he bellowed, a snarl twisting his features as he strode into the entry hall with a dirk in each hand. “I want Blackheath!”

  She was a breath away from leaping from the furs and announcing her presence when William’s cry of rage split the air and froze her. The two men clashed just outside the door to the room in which she hid, growling and spitting curses.

  William slashed at him with his dirk, while Jacob jumped back with ease before lunging forward with both blades aimed at William’s stomach. He sidestepped this, slamming his elbow into the back of Jacob’s neck.

  Jacob fell to one knee but was quick with the dirk nearest William. He brought it upward in one quick, violent motion, and Shana barely held back a scream as the shining blade disappeared into William’s side.

  He staggered back, blood appearing on his tunic and already spreading. Yet he did not stop, moving forward again, this time swinging the dirk in a wide arc which caught Jacob’s arm and tore it open from shoulder to elbow.

  Jacob cried out, dropping the bloody dirk which he’d used to stab William, though there was still one in the other hand. He curled his free hand into a fist, driving it into the side of William’s face while slashing at him with the dirk. He was a man possessed, determined to have his vengeance.

  Yet William would not fall, responding to each blow with one of his own.

  Until Jacob punched William squarely in the place where he’d been stabbed.

  William let out a strangled cry, dropping to his knees. Jacob drove a foot into his back, sending him sprawling. He held him down with that foot, grinning triumphantly through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth.

  His eyes were crazed, his face bruised and bloodied. He raised his dirk.

  William did not move. His eyes were only half-open. Would he not stop this before it was too late?

  “Jacob Stuart!”

  Shana hardly recognized her own voice as she threw off the furs. She sounded like a warrior. Fear turned to rage, and it raced through her veins like fire. “I am here! Take me if you have the courage to do so!”

  She raised the hatchet high, marching across the room toward the open door. He might try to kill her, but she would make certain he joined her.

  His eyes widened, gleaming as he recognized her. His tongue even darted over his lips as though the thought of a new challenge delighted him.

  He took one step, then stopped when William’s dirk slid into his side.

  Shana watched as the man’s eyes widened further still, his face frozen in a mask of surprise and then agony. He dropped his weapon, his hands skittering about on his back as though to swat away a fly.

  He fell to his knees, then face-first on the floor. He moved no more.

  William rolled onto his back, panting, groaning, his blood still pooling beside him. Shana stepped over Jacob’s body—barely stopping herself from spitting on him, and knelt beside William.

  “Ah, my dear, my dear.” She took his face in her hands. “Look at me, please.”

  “Wh—what are ye doin’ here?” he whispered, his green eyes unfocused as he searched her face. “What did ye think ye were doin’?”

  “I could not let you do this for me.” She kissed him again and again. “Please, please, stay with me. Do not leave me now.”

  The battle was slowing, the worst of it now over, and the stench of blood and smoke filled the air. Several of Richard’s men noticed them there, calling for help, kneeling beside their captain and tending to him in ways she could not.

  Yet she would not leave his side. Not ever again.

  27

  “It seems the men charged with patrolling the western and northern sides of the castle were captured and bound while Stuart sat here, drinking my wine and lying to my face.” Richard stood at the foot of William’s bed, his eyes flashing. “The bastard had no intention of waiting.”

  “Men such as himself could only win by cheating,” William mused. “He got what he deserved.”

  “Not before nearly taking your life.” The lass’s hand tightened around his. She’d been by his side from the moment he ended the life of that worthless, cheating, lying man. No one, not even old Maggie—who seemed to have taken a liking to her—could convince her to leave, even while the healer treated and stitched his wounds.

  “But he did not,” William reminded her with a gentle smile. “Remember, he did not. Thanks to ye.”

  “A good thing ye convinced the women to release ye from the cell,” Richard observed, lifting a brow. “How ye did it is a mystery, as neither Maggie nor any of the others will say.”

  She shrugged. “It was hardly witchcraft or anything of the kind. I told them I wanted to spare their men. Nothing more.”

  “How we ye intending to do that?”

  A guilty look to William. She swallowed hard. “I was going to offer myself to Jacob Stuart.”

  “Ye were going to do nothing of the kind!” William bellowed before the pain in his side reminded him of what he’d just sustained.

  Her chest puffed out. “Do not tell me, William Blackheath, what I did or did not intend to do!”

  “Enough,” Richard announced, holding up both hands and looking decidedly tired. “Ye can fight about it all ye like after I’ve gone. I’ve heard enough fighting today, thank ye kindly. But lass—” His brow furrowed when he looked upon her. “How could ye imagine ye would be successful? That ye would even manage to get out of the castle?”

  “I… admit, I did not think clearly. I was far too concerned over what was about to happen. I wanted to stop the fighting before it began, and that was the only way I could imagine doing so. I did not wish for anyone here to fight on my behalf.”

  “That was not your decision.”

  “Why not, when the fighting was over me? It was the only way I could see to make things right.”

  William clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Och, lass, it would not have been right if it meant ye surrendering to him.”

  “That is my decision, whether or not the two of you agree.” She looked at him, then at Richard. “It is still my life.”

  “We shall have to agree to disagree,” Richard decided. “I would merely like to know why my orders seem to make no difference.”

  “It all ended well enough,” she reasoned, brightening. “You lost none of your men, thanks to the training they’ve received from the captain of your guard.”

  “Ye dinna need to praise him,” Richard chuckled. “I know how fine a job he’s done.”

  “I never mind being praised,” William grinned.

  “Aye, I would not want ye to think too highly of yourself. Ye might demand a home of your own or something of the sort.” Was it his imagination, or did Richard glance at her before stepping away from the bed? “I have quite a lot to manage now, as ye can imagine.”

  Such as what to do with the bodies of the men who’d died. Intruders, all, who deserved no better than to be thrown in a pit and burned for all William was concerned. They had traveled across Scotland, and this was all they had to show for their efforts. Good riddance.

  When they were alone for the first time since it happened. Now he had the chance to see her, not merely to look upon her, and what he found disturbed him. “Ye are filthy.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Perhaps because I was in a filthy cell for much of the day.”

  “That was a mistake. I should never have allowed Richard—”

  “Hush.” She covered his mouth with her fingers. “No more. ‘Tis in the past. I am here now, no longer locked away, and all is well.”

  “Is it? Truly?”

  “Is it not? Jacob Stuart is no longer, and you are safe and alive. What else is there
to fear?”

  “Perhaps not fear, but… your family was captured. Ye ought to know that.”

  Her eyes darkened, turning nearly black. “Aye. The time had to come, did it not? Manfri—my brother, I suppose there is no harm in telling you that now—took too many chances. He wanted to prove how clever he was, how the law could never catch on to him. I suppose he liked to thumb his nose at the men who never cared to come to our aid when we needed them.”

  She sighed, lowering her head, and he knew she was much more deeply affected by this than she let on. “They are your kin. ‘Tis only natural for ye to be upset or saddened for them.”

  “I am, at that,” she murmured, eyes downcast. “I only wish there was something I could do for them, though I know it can never be. I would only be taken to jail along with the rest of them, simply because I was one of them. Do you… do you believe me to be in the wrong? Does it make me a terrible person?”

  “A terrible person? Look at me.” He took her chin in one hand, raising her head. “Lass, ye only just minutes ago confessed that ye were about to give yourself up to a man ye knew would kill ye, all to save the lives of everyone here. Ye would make that sacrifice—I’ve no doubt that had the gates been open, ye would have run out without a second thought. It would have pained me beyond measure, ye ken, as I am pained to merely imagine it.”

  “I would have. I wanted to—well, I did not truly want to,” she whispered with a shaky, nervous laugh. “But I would have, for the thought of what might come of a battle was much worse.”

  “Bravery does not mean walking into battle without fear,” he explained. “It means knowing what might come of it, wishing it did not have to be so, but walking into battle nonetheless. I dinna know a single man who did not feel at least a bit of regret that he had to fight at all. No one would rather fight than not. And then, to reveal yourself to Jacob Stuart, all to stop him from killing me.”

  He shook his head with a sigh. “How can ye ask whether ye are a good person or nay? Ye are the best person I know. The fiercest and the bravest.”

  She sniffled, wiping stray tears away with both hands. His words had provided comfort, which served as comfort to him as well. If he could only always comfort her, his life would be complete.

  Yes, he knew that now. Hearing her call out Jacob’s name, announcing that she was there, ready for him, knowing in that one brief moment that she might die. That he might lose her forever. He’d already been in terrible, blinding pain and had already lost enough blood to leave him weakened, but the sound of her voice had granted him the strength to deliver the final blow.

  He could do anything so long as it meant keeping her safe, making her happy.

  “Might I ask a favor of ye? If it isn’t too much?”

  “Anything,” she beamed.

  “What is your true name?”

  She burst out laughing. “You do not approve of calling me Tara, then?”

  “Not if it isn’t your name. I wish to know ye, truly. Who ye really are.” He took her hand, winding his fingers through hers. “I wish to know everything there is to know about ye. Now and always.”

  She raised his hand to her lips, brushing them over the backs of his knuckles. “If you insist. My name is Shana. Shana Invermore.”

  “Shana Invermore,” he murmured, sounding the words out slowly. Testing them on his tongue. “It reminds me of music.”

  “You are only saying that.”

  “I mean it. How many times have ye heard me say something I didna believe?”

  She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I suppose you have a point.”

  He squeezed her hand, wishing he had the strength to do much more. “Shana Invermore. Thank you for saving my life.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Och, but ye did. He had me dead to rights—I can admit it, though it pains me to do so. It would have been a matter of moments before the wretch sank his sword into me. If ye had not cried out when ye did, he would have done just that. How can I thank ye enough for taking such a chance?”

  “It was not a chance.”

  “It was. If I had not been able to strike that final blow…” The very thought brought a tightness to his chest, as if a hand squeezed his heart.

  She seemed to study his hand, her eyes downcast. It was when her chin quivered and her lips pressed together in a thin line that he knew she struggled to conceal her emotions. “We need never speak of it. I would rather not remember the day if ‘tis all the same to you.”

  “The day ye saved my life?”

  “The day I nearly lost you.”

  “Och, Shana.” Yes, he enjoyed calling her Shana. It suited her. “Shana, my heart’s own, ye need never fear over losing me. I would never leave ye alone for long. I would haunt ye as ye haunted me.”

  She burst out laughing, smacking his shoulder with the hand not already grasping one of his. “Do not make jokes!”

  He grabbed her wrist, now holding onto both of her hands, and jerked her toward him until she was all but stretched out across his chest. “I say this in earnest,” he whispered, now very aware of her nearness. Her warmth, her scent, her softness. The blessed weight of her on top of him. “Shana Invermore, I would haunt ye all the rest of your days, for I would be unwilling to ever leave ye. I would remain at your side and come to ye at night and tell ye of my undying love for ye. If that was the only way I could be with ye, I would do it, for it would be better than spending an eternity without ye.”

  She nearly stopped breathing, her body going completely still. “You love me?”

  “Och, I do. Most desperately, it would seem. As foolish as it might sound—”

  “Nay, nay! It does not sound foolish at all. Not at all.”

  He chuckled. “Ye aren’t bothered by it, then? My love for ye?”

  She shook her head with a wry smile. “Not a bit, for I love you as well. You are the reason I begged the women to release me. I only thought of you. Your life. I knew Stuart would want you dead for taking me away. You would be the one he came for, and only you. I could not allow it, for I could not live without you now.”

  He strained upward, catching her mouth before she could speak further. He needed only to taste her sweetness, to savor her softness and take solace in the fact that she loved him. She was his and always would be.

  Burying his hand in her hair, he held her head in place while he kissed her. Passion bubbled up to the surface in spite of the pain and the exhaustion plaguing every part of his body. He groaned when her palms touched his bare chest, his skin sizzling as though it had been touched by a flame.

  “Enough,” she whispered, breaking away with a breathless gasp. “Enough for now. You need to rest.”

  Rest be damned. He knew what he needed. “I need ye, Shana.”

  Trembling fingers stroked the side of his face, taking care to avoid the bruises which still throbbed painfully. “I need you doubly so. But you must rest, or else your wounds might open.”

  Her swollen, flushed mouth quirked up in a smile. “I seem to recall you ordering me to take care of my wounds. Do you remember?”

  He chuckled, and felt the stitching in his side straining, as though to remind him of the truth in her warning. “Aye. It feels like another life.”

  “That it does.”

  It might as well have been another life. They might as well have been two different people. Now, when he gazed upon her, he saw nothing but love and perhaps the hope of a future—the sort of future they had both only dreamed of, but neither had dared hope for.

  Perhaps it was that thought which sent a question spilling from his lips before he could help it. A question which seemed as natural as breathing. And once he’d voiced it, he felt no regret. This was meant to be.

  “Will ye marry me, Shana Invermore?”

  28

  “I knew it would turn out this way.”

  Shana chuckled at her friend’s knowing tone. “You did, eh?”

  Davina nodded as she finished tucking th
e last of the white heather into the bouquet which Shana held. “Aye. I knew the two of ye were a pair. I told Rufus as much after ye left the farm—ask him for yourself, if ye dinna believe me.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I knew ye were meant to be together. It was clear.”

  “No matter how unlikely?”

  Davina stepped back, hands on her hips. They seemed to frame her growing belly, the reminder of the life inside her. “Do ye believe it was likely that Rufus and I wed? Why, we were the most unlikely pairing ye could ever imagine. There are still days in which I ask myself just how it happened.”

  “And I suppose you could not imagine living without him?”

  “Ye suppose correctly, which I’m sure is how ye feel for your man.” Davina adjusted the crown of heather nestled in Shana’s curls and brushed her hands over the full silk skirts of her gown.

  The gown had been a gift from Richard, made of the finest gray silk embroidered about the edges in silver. A generous gift, no doubt, especially seeing as how he’d already promised them a house outside the castle walls.

  “’Tis time for ye to start your family,” he’d announced the night before at a feast held in William’s honor. The guard had made quite a night of it, empty cask after cask of ale in toasting the bride and groom.

  Shana blushed at the memory of the rousing chorus of cheers and whistles which had accompanied this announcement, but Richard’s heart and intentions were pure. He wished to see his friend, his brother, begin a new life. While he would still serve as captain of the guard and likely would continue to do so until the day he could no longer manage it, he would live privately with his wife.

  In their home.

  A home. Finally, a home! Somewhere to begin a real life. Sleeping in a bed, waking up every morning beneath the same roof.

  In the arms of the same man.

  It was a testament to how beloved Richard was among his tenants that none of them seemed to mind very much that Shana’s mother was not of their kind. They’d been nothing but gracious, a few of them even going so far as to offer their assistance in cleaning and freshening the little stone cottage which had not been used in many years.