Her Savage Scot: 1 (Highland Warriors)

by Phillips, Christina

  “My lady?”

  Aila halted by the door and glanced over her shoulder. Floradh was holding out Aila’s cloak, a bemused expression on her face.

  Aila stared at her cloak, uncomprehending. How had she forgotten to take it? She never went anywhere without it. But then, usually as soon as she moved away from a fire the tips of her fingers would chill and shivers trail over her arms.

  With a sense of disbelief, she realized that tonight that hadn’t occurred.

  Irritated, and not sure why, she snatched the cloak and slung it around her shoulders, for once its familiar weight not wrapping her in a cocoon of comfort. She pulled open her door, waited for dear, faithful Drun to limp outside, before jerking it shut with a satisfying thud.

  The stone corridor was chilly, but strangely the cold didn’t penetrate into the marrow of her bones. She hesitated, unnerved, before thrusting the thought aside and taking one of the torches from its sconce to light her way. A dark shadow detached from the wall and she stifled an impatient sigh. “I am quite safe by myself.”

  “My lady.” He was of the peasant class but, as all men born within the boundaries of Ce-eviot, he would have received adequate training in case of war. “The queen’s orders.”

  Of course it was the queen’s orders. Her mother’s opinion of the Scots was scathing and she wouldn’t trust them not to ravish her daughter should they stumble upon her in a dark corner.

  Suddenly feeling less inclined to indulge in something that, in the past, had given her hours of secret pleasure, she turned her back on her hulking bodyguard.

  The staircase she used for her solitary hobby wasn’t the main one. It was a narrow, strategically constructed one, hidden between the thickness of the outer and inner walls of the palace. And it curved directly around the feasting hall, giving her a perfect view through the spyhole that had been cut into the massive stone hundreds of years ago.

  She settled her shoulder against the wall, tried to ignore the unwelcome presence looming several steps above, and peered down into the hall.

  The feast was well underway. Remnants of the first courses littered the high table, where her mother and senior royal relatives sat on ornately carved chairs, and the long table, where everyone else sat on plain benches.

  And directly in her sight, as she gazed down at the long table, sat Connor.

  Next to Elise.

  And he appeared fascinated by the younger woman’s animated conversation.

  Only years of hiding her innermost emotions prevented her from slumping against the wall. Why did it matter that Connor found Elise so charming? Everybody else did. Especially men.

  It was no great surprise. She’d known he would fall for her cousin’s sweet charms.

  Drun nudged her waist, sensing her distress and she buried her fingers in his rough, comforting fur. Drun, who knew everything there was to know about her, and whom she could trust with her life never to reveal.

  Dearest Drun. Until today, whenever one of her melancholy moods attacked, his loyalty had been enough. But until today, her melancholy had only been stirred by memories of her past, never by her present. And most certainly never by a Scot.

  Damn Connor. Damn all the Scots. Why had they come to Ce? Why had he found her by the stream this day?

  Connor took a long swallow of mead before turning to the woman by his side. Her bright-blue eyes sparkled with mischief as she regarded him over the rim of her goblet.

  “I was always taught,” she said, “that Dal Riada was a heathen, barbarous village located on a barren rock.”

  “I fear,” he said, “you are sadly in need of some further education on the matter.”

  Her eyes widened. They were beautiful, clear, and deceptively innocent. But for some annoying reason he kept seeing Aila’s captivating green eyes instead.

  “Connor MacKenzie.” Her voice was a breathy caress. “Are you offering to teach me of your savage Scots ways?”

  He laughed. And froze as an eerie sensation of being watched crawled along his spine. His warrior instincts sharpened and under pretext of rolling his shoulders, he glanced stealthily along the table.

  Nothing appeared amiss. His men were enjoying themselves but, under his orders, were not overindulging in wine or mead. They might not be at war with the Picts at the moment, but neither were they yet allies.

  But still unease washed through him. As if eyes unseen bored into him, assessing him. And found him wanting.

  He banished the thought. Fuck knew where it had come from. His conscience was clear when it came to Aila, even if he regretted causing her a moment’s distress. Far better that than starting something that could be all too easily misinterpreted by her—or her kin.

  And where was she? The hall was all but bursting at the seams with noblewomen of all ages—but Aila had yet to make an appearance. God, he hadn’t upset her to such a degree that she couldn’t bear to be in the same chamber with him, had he?

  “Connor?” Elise, the exquisite blonde beauty by his side sounded a little impatient, as though she wasn’t used to being ignored. He thrust the thought of Aila from his mind. At least he tried to. It was as if she’d dug obstinate hooks into his brain and refused to be dislodged so easily.

  He focused on Elise. She may have sounded irritated but she didn’t look it. She was married, her husband was absent and she was, quite clearly, interested.

  And all he could think about was whether he’d hurt Aila more than he’d realized.

  “Aye?” Hell, what had she asked him? What had they been talking about? If he wanted any chance of securing this woman’s favor tonight, he had to concentrate. Except it had been years since he’d flirted with a woman for the sole purpose of parting her thighs. He’d obviously lost his touch. Gotten too used to having Maeve.

  Elise smiled, as though his distractedness bothered her not at all. “You were about to tell me why you are here, O savage Scot.”

  He might not recall what they’d been talking about, but he knew it hadn’t anything to do with his king’s command.

  “Much as it grieves me to disappoint a lady, my words are for your king only.” He offered her his most disarming smile. The one Maeve told him possessed the power to melt even the iciest of female heart.

  Elise pouted and feathered the tips of her fingers over his hand. But before he could fully enjoy the sensation, once again the inexplicable certainty of being watched shuddered along his spine.

  “That’s a pity,” Elise said, abandoning his hand in favor of toying with the stem of her goblet. “I dearly love gossip.”

  Her comment, so apparently artless, caused an unintentional laugh to escape him. And once more he fought to banish the feeling of being spied upon. Perhaps he was. But if the Pictish queen hoped to catch him or his men unawares, she was destined to be disappointed.

  “Speaking of gossip, I’ve met with the younger Princess Devorgilla, but not yet with the elder. Is she at the high table?” He watched the slaves clear the high table in order to display the following course’s centerpiece—a magnificent stuffed peacock, replete with vibrant feathers.

  When Elise didn’t immediately respond, he turned to look at her. She had an odd expression on her face but as soon as she realized his scrutiny, she recovered instantly and bestowed a blinding smile in his direction.

  “The eldest Princess Devorgilla?” She raised her eyebrows and made a great pretense of peering up at the high table. “Why, no. I don’t believe she is. What is your interest in her?”

  “No interest.” It wasn’t precisely a lie. Even if she was the reason he was in Ce, he personally didn’t give a shit where the eldest princess was. It was merely a tactic to discover why not every noblewoman attended this feast. “Mere curiosity, that’s all.”

  “Curiosity,” Elise said, “is meant to be the preserve of the female of the species.”

  Amusement flared. “Perhaps we Scots possess more curiosity than you Picts.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “So t
ell me.” He angled toward her. “Does your princess insist on her ladies not attending a feast if she doesn’t?”

  Elise blinked in apparent confusion. “Why should you ask such a thing?”

  “I’ve noticed not all the ladies I saw earlier are in attendance tonight.” One in particular. Damned if he knew whether any others were missing.

  He watched Elise glance around the table, a faint frown marring her forehead. Finally she looked back at him. “No. I believe everyone who should be here, is.” She picked up her goblet, pressed the rim to her lips then hesitated. “Which ladies do you mean?”

  Belatedly it occurred to him that mentioning Aila’s name would likely do him no favor with Elise. But she was staring at him with an enquiring look on her face and clearly had no intention of allowing him to bypass the issue.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Ewan kiss the fingers of one of the young women he’d disappeared with earlier that day. Obviously Ewan would not be lacking for bed partners during their stay in Ce.

  “I recall only one name.” He helped himself to another serving of beef. To show his apparent nonchalance. “I believe she is called Aila.”

  Elise choked on her wine, but when he turned to her to see if she required assistance, she had already composed herself.

  “Are you well?” he said.

  “Indeed.” She flashed him a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. They no longer sparkled with mirth. Instead it seemed a dark shadow had touched her soul and as if to reinforce the notion a delicate shudder rippled over her.

  Intrigued as to why Aila’s name should cause such reaction, he waited for her to continue. But she didn’t. She merely played with the stem of her goblet and remained silent, as though her previous exuberant flirting had all been a flimsy facade.

  He should change the subject. Focus on Elise. He didn’t want to spend yet another night alone and that was exactly his fate if he didn’t recall the basic rules of seduction.

  Elise was beautiful. Most certainly desirable. But he couldn’t rid his mind of Aila.

  “Are you acquainted with Lady Aila?”

  Elise offered him a restrained smile. Aye, he’d fucked his chances with her. Ewan would find it highly amusing in the morning.

  “I’m acquainted with all the queen’s ladies.”

  So she was one of the queen’s ladies. How then could she teach in the monastery?

  “Is she unwell?” She had worn a cloak despite the mildness of the day. Although why it should concern him, he couldn’t fathom.

  He wasn’t concerned for her health. Merely wanted reassurance she wasn’t hiding this night because of him. It was scarcely likely. And yet he couldn’t forget the mortified blush that had stained her cheeks. Or erase the insidious feeling that he’d crushed something infinitely precious and fragile.

  “Lady Aila is…quite well.” Elise’s voice was oddly contained, giving the impression her words conveyed their opposite meaning. “Forgive me, Connor.” Once again she brushed her fingertips across his. “I have a fearsome headache. I’ll return shortly.”

  As Elise left the hall, he caught Ewan’s knowing grin. Clearly his friend thought an illicit assignation was in process. Unheeding of the orders he’d given his men, Connor drained his tankard but it did nothing for the rising irritation heating his blood.

  In the course of less than half a day, he had managed to grievously insult two young women. For a moment, he contemplated finding a willing serving girl. Perhaps if his cock gained satisfaction it would allow his brain to once again function.

  With a smothered curse he stood. He would find Elise, apologize for his behavior. Explain he was merely concerned that he’d offended Aila earlier that day, nothing more. If he was lucky, Elise would forgive him and instead of another night of solitary gratification, he could lose himself in her scented embrace.

  With a sense of detached inevitability, Aila watched Connor stride after Elise. She should have stayed in her chambers. At least that way she wouldn’t have had to witness first hand, Connor succeed in seducing one of her closest friends.

  She turned from the spyhole and caught sight of her mother’s appointed bodyguard. The thought of returning to Floradh so soon, of having to pretend nothing was wrong, was too much. She didn’t want the stuffy, heated confines of her bedchamber. She needed fresh air to clear her head. To scour these foolish emotions that slithered through her chest like poisoned serpents.

  What she really needed was for the Scots to leave Ce.

  “Come, Drun.” She continued down the worn, stone steps, no longer trying to smother her bubbling resentment. Connor’s arrival had shattered her equilibrium, scattered her fragile sense of peace. And she didn’t like what lurked beneath.

  She left the hidden staircase and entered the outer hall of the palace. But before she reached the door, Elise was by her side.

  “Aila. I was coming to see you.” Elise looked strangely flushed. All Aila could think about was Connor holding Elise in his powerful arms. Crushing his body to hers. Claiming her lips with his.

  “I must speak with you.” Elise glanced over her shoulder, as if searching for her impatient lover. Aila had no doubt he’d be wonderful. Inventive. Mindful of his lover’s pleasure.

  God knew, Elise could do with such a man.

  But so could she.

  She gave a heavy sigh and took Elise’s hand. It was chilled. The realization stabbed through her, incomprehensible.

  It had been years since she had experienced such a thing. She was the one whose hands were always icy. She only just prevented herself from lifting Elise’s hand to stare at it.

  “One of the Scots, Connor MacKenzie.” Elise’s voice was hushed. For the first time Aila noticed the shadows in her cousin’s eyes, and presentiment trickled along her arms. “He’s been asking about you.”

  The sensation vaporized and foolish pleasure raced through her. “What did he ask?” Not that she cared. Much.

  “He wanted to know about the eldest Princess Devorgilla.”

  And the pleasure died. He hadn’t been asking after her at all. “And what did you tell him?” After the Scots returned to Dal Riada, she would confide in Elise and they could comfort each other as to the cruelty of men. But not yet. Not tonight, when her pride was so wounded.

  “Nothing.” Elise widened her eyes and looked shocked by the question. “But Aila, that’s not all.” Again she glanced over her shoulder, and Aila followed her gaze. But the only others in the outer hall besides themselves were countless servants and slaves who were attending to the needs of the feast.

  And the needs of the warriors. Her glance slid over to a darkened corner where a slave girl was on her knees before one of the Scots. At least it wasn’t Connor.

  “He also asked after you. Aila.” Elise gripped her fingers. “He thought you were two individual women. And, my love.” She cupped Aila’s jaw, as though she were the elder cousin instead of five years Aila’s junior. “He wants you.”

  Aila ignored the way her heart knocked in response to Elise’s words. “No. He doesn’t.” She attempted to laugh, failed dismally, so shook her head instead. Even she had limits when it came to maintaining her facade to the outside world. “I do believe it’s you he wants, Elise.”

  Elise’s hand slid from Aila’s face and gripped her shoulder. “I know you don’t believe in our ways anymore. But trust me on this. I know he wants you. And I know a terrible darkness is descending.”

  Aila recalled the blood-drenched memory—not vision—that had assailed her the morning before the Scots’ arrival.

  “That doesn’t mean anything.” Not the fantasy that Connor wanted her or the devastation Elise was so sure was approaching. “There are always wars, Elise.”

  Bloodshed was a way of life. But since the brutalizing battles against the Vikings four years ago, there had been tentative peace between Pict and Scot. Yet much as she distrusted the Scots, since her disastrous encounter with Connor she had been unable to believe they
were here with malicious intention.

  As if summoned by their whispered conversation, Connor appeared through the throng. Tall and muscular, his hair no longer a wild black mass, his foreign presence commanded attention. And in that brief, unguarded moment, Aila saw dark, unbridled lust glowing in his eyes.

  Chapter Five

  “Ladies.” Connor’s deep voice sent steamy tremors vibrating through her blood, pooling into liquid heat between her thighs. She gripped her cloak as if it were her savior, when all she really wanted to do was let it drop to her feet and allow a cooling breeze to soothe her burning flesh.

  She hoped the flames from her torch didn’t allow him to witness her blush of mortification. Would this man always catch her off guard?

  “Connor.” Elise tilted her head to one side and even though Aila couldn’t see her face, she knew her cousin would be giving him that sultry glance beneath her lashes that had men begging for more.

  “I trust your headache is not causing you too much pain?” Connor spoke to Elise, but for a fleeting second glanced in Aila’s direction. Or had she imagined it? The flames so easily distorted vision.

  Elise pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “I’m sure I will survive.” She moved toward the Scot. “Now, shall we return to the feasting?”

  Connor offered her a half-bow but instead of taking her arm, he turned back to Aila. Her fingers tightened around the torch. What now? Hadn’t he covered every topic of polite conversation on their walk back to the palace this afternoon?

  “Lady Aila.”

  She inclined her head. He hadn’t been so formal earlier. She almost told him who she really was, simply to see the shock on his face. But what was the point?

  It wouldn’t change anything.

  “Connor.” Damned if she would address him any other way. Elise hadn’t. And the childishness of her thought caused fresh irritation at how this man managed to so completely unbalance her. Apparently without him even trying, and somehow that made it worse.

  “May I escort you and Lady Elise back to the feast?”