The Highlander's Return

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘I’ve asked myself that a thousand times. I suppose it was partly out of a sense of honour—I didn’t want to do anything behind your father’s back, but also because I didn’t want to wait a second longer than necessary before we could be together. But I bitterly regret going about it so impulsively. It was a stupid thing to do.’

  ‘Yes, it was a stupid thing to do. If you hadn’t, things might have turned out differently.’

  ‘Come, Ailsa—you don’t really believe that, do you? Neither of us was thinking straight. We were too wrapped up in the excitement of our feelings for each other to think properly about the future at all, or any of the problems we’d have to manage. You were only sixteen, I had nothing but a vague dream to cling to.’

  ‘I know,’ Ailsa said regretfully, ‘looking back now I can’t believe how unrealistic we were. One kiss and we just assumed everything would fall into place. I could not have come to the New World with you straight away. I would have been a burden to you until you had established yourself. That could have taken years.’

  ‘Would you have agreed to come out and join me later, if I had asked you?’

  ‘Would you have not gone in the first place, if I had said no?’

  The question hung between them like a vast chasm, deep and unknowable.

  ‘Your parents were right about one thing. We were naïve, hopelessly naïve,’ Alasdhair said sadly. ‘It was our innocence that was our real undoing. Much as I’m sure we’d both like to lay all the blame at your parents’ door, we were the architects of our own downfall, for we thought love would change everything, but in the real world it changes nothing.’

  Out at sea, the cormorant emerged with another fish, tipping back its elegant neck and swallowing it down in one long gulp.

  ‘I know you’re right,’ Ailsa said, ‘but I just wish …’

  Alasdhair got to his feet and shook the sand from his clothes. ‘You know what they say. If wishes were horses …’

  ‘… then beggars would ride,’ Ailsa finished. ‘You mean it’s pointless.’

  He held out his hand. ‘What’s done is done. Come on, we should get back. It’s getting cold.’

  She allowed him to help her to her feet, stumbling as her boot caught in the sand into which she had burrowed it. She fell against Alasdhair’s chest and, in trying to right herself, braced herself with her hands. The connection was instant, as was the sudden surge of longing.

  They stared at each other unmoving, barely breathing. Smoky brown eyes filled with the promise of something she hadn’t known she wanted until then met hers.

  Yesterday had been tantalising. She had tried to put if from her mind, tried not to think of what would have happened if the kiss had gone on, tried not to think of how it would feel, tried not to think about the way that it had made her feel. She had tried. But standing so close to him, her senses filled with the feel and smell and almost-taste of him, she knew she had failed. She wanted him to kiss her. She couldn’t bear it if he didn’t.

  Alasdhair’s fingers curled into her hair. He had been unable to forget it. The honey-sweetness of her mouth on his. The perfect fit of her lips. The touch of her tongue. He knew he should not, but he also knew if he did not he would regret it. He had had enough of ‘what ifs’. Yesterday’s kiss had been too tentative a goodbye. She had been his before she was promised to anyone else. It was wrong to have this still between them.

  His lips touched hers. The tiniest, faintest touch. She was still his until it was over. This was the only way to make it be over. His tongue licked its way into her mouth. She tasted intoxicating. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her slender back, wrapping a long tress of her hair around his hand. Ailsa gave a soft sigh and her tongue touched his.

  One minute they were suspended in time, the next they were lost in it. Their kiss had none of the uncertainty of the previous one, nor any trace of wistfulness. It was a sensual kiss, lips scraping lips, and as it deepened, it became a raw kiss, the kiss of a man and a woman who desire each other. Their mouths tasted, then drank thirstily. Their hands clutched and tugged and pulled, closer and closer and closer, until their bodies were pressed tight, Alasdhair’s hardness against Ailsa’s softness. Their mouths hungrily sought each other, more and more and more, as if to make up for all they had lost, and all they would never have, the seeking igniting a hot searing passion that took them both by surprise.

  Ailsa had no idea how it happened. She had no idea of what was happening to her, for nothing, nothing she had ever known, had prepared her for the raw sensuality, the shivering excitement, the rising crescendo of feeling caused by lip on lip, mouth on mouth, tongue on tongue. Alasdhair’s hands stroked her arms, her waist, her back. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her nipples aching, though she didn’t think it was pain, and all the time he was kissing her in a way she had not known it was possible to kiss. She felt urgent, as if she was seeking something, or had lost something, and only he could help her find it. She felt dizzy and restless and heavy and slumberous. She reached up to stroke his hair, the blue-black of a raven’s wing. Silky soft. She could feel his heart hammering against her, just like hers, so maybe it was hers after all.

  Reluctantly, Alasdhair ended it. Ailsa put a finger tentatively to her lips. They felt swollen.

  ‘A proper goodbye kiss, this time,’ he said, for both of them. ‘Before I leave to go south with Calumn tomorrow.’ Though he felt so unlike saying goodbye that it frightened him.

  ‘Yes,’ Ailsa said. Leaving? He was leaving? But it didn’t feel like goodbye. Weren’t goodbyes supposed to be endings? This felt like a beginning.

  ‘Yes,’ Alasdhair affirmed. If he said it out loud, it would make it true.

  And it was true. He intended seeing Lady Munro today. Armed with the answers he was certain she would give him, he had arranged to leave Errin Mhor tomorrow, taking part of the journey with Calumn and his wife, who were journeying to Edinburgh on some urgent business to do with the settling of the old laird’s will. But the kiss had made his certainty drain away. He could tell no one else had ever kissed her in that way. It thrilled him and yet disturbed him. He should not have kissed her. How could he leave with this—this—this whatever it was, hanging over him? There had to be a way of ending it.

  Chapter Four

  ‘A clean slate,’ he muttered, staring down at the lovely face that had the dazed look of a sleeper just awake.

  ‘A clean slate?’ Ailsa frowned. ‘Do you mean a fresh start?’ She was trying to tidy her hair, just for the sake of having something to do. Was it passion she’d just experienced—or something else? Was he as surprised by it as she was? Slanting a look up at him, she thought he probably was. She wished he hadn’t kissed her. She wished he hadn’t stopped. She felt as if she’d been trusted with half a secret she’d rather have remained ignorant of. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said despairingly, not meaning to say the words out loud.

  Her words drew a reluctant laugh from Alasdhair.

  ‘Nor do I.’

  ‘What are we to do?’

  Violet eyes, pleading with him, and he had no answer. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, his homecoming. Answers, not questions, were what he sought. Other people’s soul baring, not his own. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Pretend it never happened?’

  ‘We can’t do that, but we can make sure it never happens again. Why are you not married, Ailsa?’

  She blinked at what felt like a sudden change of subject. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘How long have you actually been betrothed to McNair?’

  ‘A year or so. Maybe nearer two.’

  ‘So why aren’t you married?’

  ‘My father has been ill.’

  ‘All the more reason, I’d have thought, to have you safely wed.’

  ‘Calumn’s wedding took precedence.’

  ‘Judging from the condition of your sister-in-law, that must have been a good few months ago now. You’re a beautiful woman. You’ve a
good dowry and kin whose connections are a huge advantage to McNair. I’d have thought he’d be eager to take you to his bed.’

  Ailsa flushed. ‘Stop it. It is none of your business.’

  ‘I thought you were married. For the past six years I’ve had to live with the knowledge that you were another man’s wife. And now it turns out you’ve been single all along.’ And it’s too late now!

  She had been hanging on to her self-control by a thread. Now it broke. ‘Why are you bringing this up now? You’re the one that just said it was pointless to speculate. You’re being completely unfair, Alasdhair. It’s not my fault, this mess; it’s not my fault any more than it’s yours. I’m sorry things haven’t turned out as you wished. I’m sorry to disappoint you by being unwed, and I’m sorry my being unwed made you kiss me again. I’m sorry you enjoyed kissing me so much. I’m sorry I enjoyed it, too—believe me, I’d rather not have. In fact, I’m sorry you came back, because I was just about getting accustomed to my life and now you’ve turned it all on its head.’ Ailsa covered her face with her hands. She was shaking. She never lost her temper like this, but it felt as if she’d been holding it in for years, and it would not now be easily contained. ‘Just go away, Alasdhair, go back to Virginia and leave me alone.’

  ‘Oh God, Ailsa, I didn’t mean to—here, come here.’

  Strong arms engulfed her. As he held her close, making inarticulate shushing noises and stroking her hair, Ailsa released a torrent of pent-up tears that left her limp and feeling hollow, empty. She must look a fright. She had soaked his shirt. She had no idea what he thought of her, and right now, she didn’t care.

  As her sobs gave way to hiccups, Ailsa pushed herself away. ‘Better?’

  At least he wasn’t angry any more. More likely he was appalled. Ailsa nodded. She tried to wipe her face with the ends of her arisaidh.

  ‘Here. Let me.’ Alasdhair tilted her face up, mopping it with his large kerchief, carefully untangling her hair from her lashes and cheeks, where it had become plastered down with her tears. ‘You’re right, I was being completely unfair,’ he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear and straightening her arisaidh. ‘It’s not your fault, it’s just that I’ve grown so accustomed to thinking that it was easy to blame you. I shouldn’t have kissed you. Maybe it’s to do with wanting what we never had. Maybe it’s just that you’re a very beautiful woman and for a moment there I forgot that you are spoken for. I don’t know. I really don’t have an excuse or a proper explanation, and that made me angry, too—with myself. I am not accustomed to acting recklessly. Forgive me.’

  She managed a watery smile. ‘If you will forgive me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. What you said was true.’

  They began to make their way slowly back along the beach to the castle. ‘Are you really set on marrying McNair?’ Alasdhair asked.

  Ailsa shrugged. ‘It’s a good match. There’s no getting away from that.’

  ‘For your family and for Errin Mhor, but what about you?’

  ‘What is good for my family and Errin Mhor is good for me.’

  ‘Why marry at all if it is not what you wish?’

  ‘It is my duty—anyway, what else would I do? You have wealth and independence, I have neither. I will be a burden if I do not marry. At twenty-two I am still an asset to the clan, a prime piece to barter, but I will not have so much value at twenty-five, and almost none at thirty.’

  ‘That’s a horrible way to talk about yourself.’

  ‘Horrible, but realistic. It’s how things are.’

  ‘So speaks Lady Munro. You sound as if you are set upon following in her footsteps.’

  Ailsa flinched. ‘On the contrary, I am quite determined not to. The circumstances are quite different.’

  They had reached the main entrance to the castle. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  He did not wait for an answer. Alasdhair strode off down the corridor in search of Calumn. Raking over old times and catching up on new with the simple, uncomplicated camaraderie of two old friends would be a welcome diversion.

  She could not put it off any longer. Ailsa knew that she owed it to herself to at least attempt to find out why Lady Munro had felt it so necessary to destroy her first love. She was, however, far from confident that she would succeed.

  As she knocked on the door of her mother’s parlour, her fingers were trembling. Even after all these years, Lady Munro’s hold over her could not be ignored. Try as she might to pretend indifference, Ailsa knew in her heart of hearts that what she wanted was some sign—any sign—that her mother felt something for her. Love was too much to hope for. Lady Munro was incapable of such an emotion, and in any case, Ailsa had decided she was unlovable. Well, didn’t all the evidence point to that? No, her relationship with her mother would never be a loving one, but approbation would have been nice, perhaps an occasional seeking out of her company for its own sake.

  She thought herself inured to the situation, but since her father’s death, and the little flicker of hope that things would be different had been quashed, she had been forced to accept that she was not. The forthcoming interview was bound to turn up yet more unpleasant truths, but how could she face the future mapped out for her, with all those questions hanging unanswered over her head? In that respect she and Alasdhair were similar, she realised. She could appreciate what drove him. The need to know.

  Her mother’s voice bid her enter. The resemblance between Lady Munro and her daughter was striking. Both women had the same colour of hair, the same violet-blue eyes, and perfectly symmetrical features, though on Ailsa the mouth was softer, the expression warmer. Ailsa’s beauty was vibrant, where her mother’s was that of a marble statue. In their carriage, too, they differed, for Ailsa’s step was quick and graceful, her mother’s was more measured.

  They eyed each other across the parlour, a room that had been furnished back in the days when furniture was made for durability rather than comfort. The heavy chairs, made of solid black oak, were about as welcoming as a tombstone and less comfortable. Lady Munro sat by the fire and fixed her daughter with one of her piercing stares.

  Ailsa willed herself to meet her gaze. ‘Mother, I am come to ask you—’

  ‘I know what you are come to ask, I have been expecting you. You will oblige me, Ailsa, by curbing your enthusiasm for that man’s company,’ Lady Munro said firmly. ‘It has not escaped my notice that your childish penchant for him has not entirely burned itself out.’

  ‘If by that man you mean Alasdhair, then you must know that I have ample reason to seek him out and it has been a most enlightening experience. Oh, Mother, how could you? How could you tell us both so many lies?’

  If Ailsa had been expecting an admission of guilt, she was to be disappointed. Lady Munro pursed her lips. ‘I had my reasons.’

  ‘What reasons?’

  ‘I have no doubt that you and he have swapped stories and concluded that you were star-crossed lovers. I have no intention of explaining myself or justifying my actions. It should be enough for you that I thought—and continue to think—them justifiable.’

  ‘You lied to me!’

  Lady Munro’s lip curled. ‘I think you’ll find, Ailsa, that you lied to yourself. Do you honestly think you would have been happy, living with that son of a whore among a bunch of savages halfway across the world?’

  ‘We’ll never know, will we? You didn’t give me the choice.’

  ‘I stopped you making an appalling choice. I did what I thought best, and time has confirmed the wisdom of that. I wish he had never come back here.’

  ‘Alasdhair has made an enormous success of his life.’

  ‘He may have money, I’ll grant him that, but it doesn’t compensate for a lack of breeding. Underneath that veneer of wealth Alasdhair Ross is still a peasant with ideas above his station.’

  Ailsa looked at her mother in despair. There seemed to be no way of breaking through the barrier of her certainty. ‘Why do you hate him so much?
I don’t understand—what has he ever done to deserve your enmity, for it goes back way beyond his daring to court me?’

  Way back before Ailsa was even born, truth be told. Lady Munro pulled the shutter over the flash of pain to which the memory gave rise. ‘What I cannot understand,’ she said slowly, ‘is what he has ever done to merit your rather childish adoration?’

  ‘You would not understand that, Mother, would you,’ Ailsa replied swiftly, ‘never having made any attempt to earn it for yourself.’ If she had not known better, she would have believed her mother hurt. But she did know better.

  ‘Ailsa, what is the point in us digging over the past like this? It is far better that we concentrate on the future.’

  Ailsa wandered over to the window. It was dark outside. She turned back into the room, where her mother was lighting a branch of candles with a spill. She was as intractable as ever. Pushing her for reasons would only make her further entrenched. And really, what did it matter now, why she had done it? The point was that it was done and could not be undone.

  Her mother was once again seated by the fire, her implacable gaze fixed on Ailsa’s face. ‘I have written to Donald,’ Lady Munro said carefully, ‘and asked him to call here at his earliest convenience.’

  ‘Why?’

  Lady Munro raised a delicate brow. ‘Your nuptials have been too long postponed.’

  ‘My father is not yet cold in his grave.’

  ‘His passing allows for new beginnings at Errin Mhor. A wedding will be an excellent start.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be seemly.’

  ‘I do most sincerely trust you are not having second thoughts because of that barbarian’s most untimely arrival,’ Lady Munro said, throwing her daughter an assessing look.

  Ailsa looked at her feet. There were times when she felt as if her mother could read her mind as easily as flicking through the pages of a book, and this was one of them. She could feel Lady Munro’s sharp gaze sinking into her thoughts as easily as a dirk into butter. She didn’t even know her own thoughts, and whatever they were, she didn’t want her mother having access to them first. ‘Alasdhair’s arrival has nothing to do with it.’