Samantha Holt (Highland Fae Chronicles)

by To Dream of a Highlander

“Forgive me.”

  “’Twas a while ago and I have many kin around me,” he replied stiffly. His father had died of a battle wound—an honourable death, everyone assured him.

  “And yer mother?”

  “Aye, dead too.” Sickness had taken her several years after his father’s death. Yet another lass taken from him by some unseen enemy.

  “As is mine.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “’Twas long ago too. But I do miss her,” Katelyn admitted and he felt her sigh against his back. “Ye have other brothers and sisters?”

  “Nay, just Lorna. But she is enough for any brother to handle.” Her hand dropped and grazed the top of his thigh and he coughed. “And ye?”

  “I had—have a twin sister,” she mumbled.

  Interesting. He hadn’t heard mention of another sister. No wonder the lass was traumatised, having been torn apart from a close sibling. “A twin? Why were ye no’ with her?”

  “I—we’re not close. She was likely with my father.”

  “Well then, I am sure she is well.” He reached behind and squeezed her fingers, regretting it immediately when those soft tips settled in his palm.

  Dìleas jerked on the reins as Katelyn shifted again and Finn muttered a soft oath. On such uneven ground, he risked the mount injuring herself.

  “Is something amiss?” he asked more sharply than intended.

  She yanked her fingers from his. “Nay,” she replied huskily.

  He gripped the leather bridle and nudged the horse back on course. Dìleas could cope with much but Katelyn’s discomfort was putting her on edge. And him. He tried not to miss her delicate fingers in his hand.

  Dìleas tensed beneath him. If only the lass would relax. “If ye are tired ye can rest against me.”

  “I am no’ tired.”

  He masked a snort. “And I suppose yer feet dinnae hurt either. Mayhap I should have ye walk the rest of the way,” he teased.

  Silence reigned and Finn cursed inwardly. He’d hoped to draw her out of her unease, not create further tension. And his natural reaction was to jest. She softened as did the horse and he released the air from his lungs.

  “I dinnae believe ye would make me,” she responded, a smile in her voice.

  The sound warmed his heart. He longed to turn and see that smile. “I might be persuaded to.”

  “After all the effort to bring me from Bute, you would discard me so easily?” A hand curled around his upper arm.

  “Indeed. I might even put ye back on the boat and have ye row yerself back.”

  She gasped. “And here I had ye marked as an honourable man.”

  Honourable? Would she still think that if she knew of all the heated thoughts he kept having? He longed for—and dreaded—the moment fatigue would overcome her and those luscious breasts ended up pressed against his back.

  He needed to create some distance. “Alas, I am naught but a humble warrior.”

  “That I dinnae believe for a moment.”

  “What? That I am no’ humble?”

  She laughed. “Nay, that ye are naught but humble. But I would question that too, now you speak of it.”

  “Ach, I dinnae know what I have done to be so harshly judged.” He grinned. Her laughter danced in his ears, a low and sensual sound. The kind of laugh a lover might hear if he skimmed his lips over her skin.

  This time it was his nervous movements that had Dìleas tensing beneath him. He forced himself to relax.

  He heard her yawn and his grin stretched. Stubborn lass. The wee woman was certainly made of strong stuff.

  “Rest against me,” he commanded gently.

  “Nay, I told ye, I am no’ tired.”

  “Yer disconcerting Dìleas.”

  “Oh.”

  “I willnae bite.” Hard, he added silently, then mentally kicked himself.

  “I know.” That smile flowed through her voice again.

  First one hand, then the other curled tighter around him. He ground his teeth together. Then came her cheek as she leaned into him. Next her breasts. He lifted his gaze to the skies and prayed for restraint. Through his plaid and her gown, that rounded flesh scorched him.

  Hell fire, he would need more than prayers and his sword arm to see him through this journey.

  ***

  After a day’s riding, Catriona sank gratefully to the ground and stretched out her legs by the narrow stream that slipped between the rocks. She dipped her toes into the icy water, gasping when it bit into her skin. She sighed and listened to the soothing trickle as she got used to the temperature. It numbed the scratches and eased the aches. She tilted her head back and drew in a long breath.

  “Drink, lass.”

  She jolted when Finn appeared at her side and sat upright, guilty that he caught her in a vulnerable moment. She’d tried hard not to complain about their journey. Not only had these men risked their lives for her, but they’d risked their lives for the wrong woman.

  He offered the leather skin again and she grasped it and smiled her thanks. She had little appetite or thirst but she needed to keep up her strength if she was to survive the coming days. Her body ached from a day’s riding. Ensuring some distance remained between her and Finn made her arms hurt. Eventually she gave in and rested upon his back, but tension riddled her thighs from so long in the saddle.

  Already, she had nearly let slip the truth behind her identity. It took much concentration to remember she was meant to be her sister. She glanced at the fair warrior as he eased off his boots and stepped into the stream. Finn bent, scooped a handful of water and scrubbed his face before doing the same with his hair. Rivulets of water skipped down his throat and she watched their journey until they disappeared under his shirt. His hair, darkened by the water, rested over his shoulders, dampening the linen. A small braid behind his ear, bound by leather, begged to be played with.

  Catriona dropped her gaze as he caught her eye and smiled, but there was no fighting it. His strong jaw, graced with stubble, a slightly long nose and intense blue eyes all drew her attention. On his bottom lip, a small scar caused her fingers to tingle as the odd urge to trace it teased her. She watched him, unable to tear her gaze away, and prayed he did not think her strange.

  She should not be thinking it—not after what she had been through—but the man had somehow charmed her. No doubt a man like Finn found it easy to charm the lasses, but why had she succumbed so easily? If she allowed her thoughts to dwell on the previous days’ events, a well of terror would threaten to break through her restraint, and yet around Finn she felt safe and at ease.

  “Drink then, lass.”

  Catriona blinked and stared briefly at the flask in her hands. Ach, but she must appear a fool. Taking a quick drink, she gasped as fiery liquid—and not ale as expected—burned down her throat and simmered in her stomach.

  “’Tis mead?” she asked breathily.

  “Aye. Good for keeping ye warm.”

  She nodded. The mead worked quickly into her muscles, making them loose and the heat flowed through her. Now she was expecting it, she took another swig and savoured the sensation, but when she went to take another drink, Finn tapped her shoulder.

  “We just want ye warm, Katie. Not senseless,” he teased.

  Catriona couldn’t resist returning his smile. “I shouldnae drink any more anyway. I shall fall asleep if I am no’ careful.”

  “Aye, it has been a hard day’s riding.” He made a show of stretching and wincing.

  She raised a brow. “Ye tease me? I dinnae believe ye found today hard at all.”

  He shrugged and gave her a bashful look, one that told her he had been trying to make her feel better. “I ache a little.”

  “Ach!” She laughed and his returning chuckle set butterflies alight in her stomach.

  “Ye’ll forgive me that I cannae leave ye alone to bathe. Ye’ll have to settle for a light wash.”

  Warmth bloomed in her cheeks. In her mind those large hands and blunt fingers wer
e upon her, peeling away her gown and scrubbing away the grime and fatigue. Then those fingers grazed hers as he took the flask and helped her to her feet. If she glanced down would her whole body be aflame? Because that was surely how she felt. Even the bitterly cold steam failed to cool the heat within her.

  They stood for a moment. Their gazes connected brashly and even embarrassment couldn’t make her look away. What did he see? She hadn’t even been able to see her reflection in the bubbling water of the stream. Did any of her beauty shine through her bruises and grimy skin? And why did she care?

  Flustered, she tugged her hand away and scooped up some water, bringing it up to her face. The water cooled her heated skin and gave her a moment to steady herself. Finn likely saw her as nothing more than a woman under his protection. A man doing his duty. Not to mention he thought her someone else. A day flattened against his back, feeling the undulation of his muscles did nothing to help her make sense of her situation.

  Aware of Finn standing close enough for her to touch, Catriona kept her gaze on the shiny grey rocks while she dipped to scrub her feet and calves. Her gown skimmed the water but it mattered little. Already stained and filthy, a little damp would do no harm.

  Smears of blood—the Viking’s blood—painted the forest green wool of her gown, drawing her attention as she snatched her skirts. Clutching the fabric until her hands ached, she willed the memories to disappear. But they would not. She could almost feel his sweaty hands upon her, smell his acrid breath and remember the pounding horror that had her convinced she was to die.

  Someone put a hand to her shoulder and she squeaked as crimson liquid spilled across her in her mind. With a heavy swallow, she met Finn’s concerned gaze. He watched her intently. How much did he see? The thought that mayhap he had figured her out made her stiffen.

  “Dinnae be afeared. I’ll no’ let anything happen to ye.”

  She drew up her chin. That Viking’s actions and grisly death would not defeat her. Somehow she was determined to overcome it and forget such scenes.

  “I am no’ afeared,” she told Finn. His eyebrows darted up—surprised, she assumed. It emboldened her. That she shocked such an obviously worldly man made her lips twitch. “I could take the first watch if ye wish.”

  Finn shook his head, barely smothering a laugh. “Nay, lass, ye just rest. We’ve men enough to deal with anything that may come our way. Ye’d do better gathering yer strength for the rest of the ride.” He paused and pinned her down with a knowing look. “Ye’ve had a trying day.”

  Curse the man. How did he see so easily through her? Her false bravado lent her a sense of security yet he stripped it away with one glance. They fell silent, only the wind sighing between the valleys accompanying the pounding of her heart in her head.

  Unable to bear his scrutiny any longer, Catriona grabbed her skirts and stepped toward the grass. A sharp stone jabbed her foot and she cried out as she lost her footing. Solid hands came around her waist, enclosed her in a shield of masculinity and stopped her from slipping. Her hands fell onto his forearms as she steadied herself. His skin pulsed beneath her fingertips. Coarse fair hair begged her to run her palms up and down his arms.

  She stared at Finn’s arms for a moment—or mayhap longer. Time drifted and an awareness of his palms pressed above her hips seeped in, made her breathless. When she finally lifted her head, his blue eyes had darkened, his grin absent. With a sudden movement, he tugged her into him, hand splayed over the base of her spine, the other crushing her hair.

  Breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples peaked.

  His gaze dropped to her lips and she knew what was coming. Lips parted, she fought to draw a breath as he dipped his head. Her lids fluttered closed even while her mind told her to flee, to break from his hold.

  “Damnation.”

  The warmth of his body left her and she flicked open her eyes, blinking at the sight of Finn stumbling up onto the grass and falling into a sprint. When she had steadied herself, she realised one of the horses was galloping down the hill to the bottom of the valley. Something must have startled it. Taking a shaky breath, she dipped her fingers in the water and blotted it across her chest in a bid to cool her skin.

  Sweet Mary, how close she had been to kissing him. What was wrong with her? She had never been interested in men. Catriona stepped out of the stream, the grass tickling her cold feet and pressed her fingers to her lips. She watched as Finn caught up with the horse and mounted her with ease. He offered her a jaunty smile and her heart leaped.

  She could ill afford to fall for Finn, not when she had to keep up this ruse. Hopefully her father would find out where she was and send for her soon enough and it would all be over.

  He galloped past her to where the men were setting up camp for the night and she let slip a reluctant smile. Running a hand through her tangled hair, she shook her head, willing to bet many a night she would wonder what it might have been like had Finn kissed her.

  ***

  Smoke drifted up into the air and disappeared against the inky sky. The low murmur between the men was only punctuated by the occasional pop of wood. Tèile satisfied herself with resting between the fire and Catriona. She dare not sleep too close to the flames or an errant spark might strike her and her wings would go up in flame in no time. She shuddered. Trapped here with no wings…

  If only these humans appreciated the sacrifice she was making for their happiness.

  Glancing at the highlander sitting on the slight rise of a slope, she shook her head. He watched over their encampment, but Tèile saw his gaze tracking to where Catriona slept. They’d both avoided one another after that near kiss. That had been far too close. If they acted on their attraction too soon, fate would still be out of alignment. Curses. It was such a fine line. The smallest of action could throw so much out of balance—as she had learned the hard way. She hadn’t even had to consider her actions when it came to Morgann and Alana.

  Thank goodness that horse responded to her request so quickly and distracted them. Tèile propped her chin on a hand. At least she’d have no problems bringing them together when the time came. When they realised their love for one another—at the right time—all would be well once more and she could return home. Finally.

  ***

  The final day’s ride to Lorna’s keep proved to be quick and easy. The start of summer treated them to clear skies and the worn paths snaking through the valleys were dry. They made good time, only stopping briefly to rest. The gentle skim of Katelyn’s fingers on Finn’s waist, occasionally brushing the top of his thighs brought him more pleasure than it should have. And more discomfort.

  When the tall walls of Kilcree keep came into sight, he sighed and patted his mount encouragingly. Men milled around the wall that surrounded the large keep. Moss clung to the square towers, painting the grey stone green in places and Finn knew that was down to the old laird’s neglect. Lorna had been very determined to ensure Kilcree Castle be restored to its former glory upon the death of her husband two summers ago. Soon the keep would be something to be admired once more if Lorna had anything to do with it.

  Several men-at-arms recognised him when he navigated his horse between the gap in the wall and toward the stables. The small building sat apart from the keep and he found himself slowing, as if to put off the inevitable.

  Soon he would say farewell to Lady Katelyn.

  Which would be no bad thing, he reminded himself. Though they had maintained a courteous relationship, tension simmered in the air between them. All because of that near kiss. Every time he considered it he had the desire to punch something. What a fool, trying to kiss the lass he was to deliver to her betrothed. He couldn’t decide if Katelyn’s attitude toward him was born of embarrassment or because she too wished to kiss him. He caught her looking at him sometimes and in those moments he convinced himself that she needed to taste his lips just as much.

  He dismounted, adjusted his sword on his belt and helped Katelyn down. Colour sat hig
h on the cheek not marred by bruises and he stared at her for a moment. Those green eyes drew him in and under his hands her breaths quickened, her ribs expanding against his palms. A stable hand scurried over as the other men brought their horses in and they broke apart hurriedly. Katelyn murmured her thanks and backed away as Finn saw Dìleas into a stall.

  Drawing a breath, he took a moment to pet the horse’s muzzle. All he had to do was hand over Katelyn to Lorna. That was it. Then he could be on his way. So why did the thought of leaving the lass create a knot in his throat?

  A careful grin across his face, he stepped out of the stall and offered his hand to Katelyn. She nodded her appreciation and laid her hand across his. The touch of delicate fingers sent warmth to his groin. Many times on their journey he’d held his breath and prayed for those fingers to inch further down. He shook his head and led her up the few stone steps to the keep. Her grip tightened and when he glanced at her, he noted her stiff spine and tense expression. Something made the lass nervous. He gave her fingers a tiny squeeze and pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The slight smile she rewarded him with made his heart skip.

  Rosemary and lavender drifted through the air when they stepped in, mingled with the smoke of the fire pit in the centre of the room. While the weather was warming, the stone of the keep held in the cold. It pleased him to note the Great Hall looked well-tended, as did his sister. The years he’d spent dealing with the problems in Glencolum and leaving his sister in the hands of Logan and her late husband did not play on his mind so much when he saw how well she handled things on her own.

  His fair haired sister turned and her eyes widened when she spotted Katelyn and then her gaze fell on something behind him. He peered over his shoulder at Logan, whose brow dipped into a frown. He nodded his acknowledgement to Lorna and hastily made his way up the inner stairs to the balcony. Finn scowled and watched his sister carefully as he approached. Lorna had always been close to Logan, so why the cold reception?

  At four and twenty—some three summers younger than him—she remained youthful looking though the sweet shape of her face belied her determination and sometimes disagreeable temper. Not that he’d have her any other way, but not many men liked a woman who spoke up readily.