My Heart's in the Highlands

by Angeline Fortin

  “Almost 150 feet,” she responded, not bothering to look down. “I spent many an evening sitting just so; you needn’t worry for me.”

  “I find myself quite concerned.”

  “As for a sister?” she persisted.

  Ian met her gaze. Her words were bold ones, prodding even, seeking something that Ian hadn’t yet truly accepted. Hero was the Marchioness of Ayr, a woman worth more respect than his ogling and lustful thoughts had yet delivered. He wanted her. Still, it was more than that. There was an undeniable connection between them, something more than attraction or mere desire. He wanted her body beneath his, true enough, but it was what else he wanted that was eluding him.

  An indefinable longing for something … more.

  The sentimentality of the thought grated at Ian’s nerves, and his answer, when it finally came, was evasive. “I doubt I would want to waltz with a sister if I had one.”

  Her airy rebuttal was immediate. “A cousin, then?”

  “I haven’t many of those either,” Ian quipped lightly, but Hero didn’t respond. Instead, she merely watched him intently, as if she were waiting for something greater to emerge from his lips. What was she waiting for? A confession? Admission that he found her intoxicating, bewitching?

  He’d be a fool to admit such a thing. Their opportunity for comfortable cohabitation was hanging in the balance. If he said the wrong thing, Hero might feel the need to leave Cuilean, and he didn’t want that. Yet if she continued to prod him so with her steady gaze, Ian felt that he might find himself saying those very things.

  “Lord Ayr?”

  Ian needed to stop her questions before he said something he’d regret. He needed to break away from her probing gaze.

  “Won’t you say something?”

  Ian shook his head. He could either walk away or …

  Pushing himself off the wall, Ian crossed the short space between them in a single stride. Bending, he caught her around the waist, pulling her up and against him even as his lips descended. He took her lips in a fiery kiss full of the desire he’d been feeling all day and the frustration of these last few moments.

  A squeal of surprise escaped Hero before Ian’s lips covered hers. For a moment the force of his body meeting hers startled her, so that she reached back to steady herself against the ramparts, lest they both tumble to their deaths, before realizing that Ian was as solid and supportive as the wall. Bending her over his arm, he allowed his mouth to slant across hers, parting her lips before his tongue swept in. Hero clung to his shoulders, astounded by his passion. Then her body recovered from the surprise and responded in kind. Fire unlike any she’d ever imagined burned in her chest and sizzled down her belly and thighs.

  Overwhelmed, she dropped her head back, breaking the kiss, but rather than retreating, his lips seared a path down her neck and back up to her ear, raising goose bumps that were chased by a shiver of excitement. A low moan escaped Hero as she clung to Ian, but, rather than interpreting the sound as the surrender it was, Ian pulled back and met her eyes. Straightening, he steadied her before stepping back.

  Hero stared up at him, all words lost. The need to hear some confession from his lips—that he felt the same insane attraction for her that she felt for him—was gone. Ian’s dark, turbulent gaze pierced her, leaving her mind surprisingly blank and her body trembling.

  That wasn’t what she had expected at all. But how could she have? Hero had never known that a kiss could be so all encompassing, or that desire could prod someone to act so rashly.

  Taking a step back, Hero steadied herself once more on the rampart, dizzied by the new feelings that were assailing her. A part of her wanted to throw herself back on him much as he had just done and continue down this unknown path. The other part wanted to lift her skirts and run away.

  Hero opted for a well-mannered retreat, though her voice was shaky when she spoke. “It has been a long night. I believe I shall retire now. Goodnight, Lord Ayr.”

  She executed a whisper of a curtsey and he returned it with a bow, seemingly content to let her leave. Raising a trembling hand to her lips, Hero turned to walk away, her skirts dragging against the walls, since she was too preoccupied to lift them. She had little experience with what had just happened. Robert hadn’t been one for kissing, and certainly not so fervently. Hero wished she could go back and respond differently, not with such shock but with the enthusiasm she felt unable to express.

  Of course, she hadn’t been expecting a kiss, Hero thought defensively. She had sought only some small assurance that his affections—if he possessed any—were not of a fraternal bent. If they had been, Hero would merely have done all that was in her power to maintain a certain distance with the new marquis, avoiding any flirtation so that they might live in peace at Cuilean together.

  She would have no peace now, Hero was certain. His actions, however impulsive, had set her heart racing, her blood pounding, and her imagination soaring. Once she was able to gather her wits about her, perhaps she might be able to vocalize some thought on the subject rather than opting for an abrupt exit.

  Ian must think her a ninny for her reaction! Hero flushed in embarrassment as she hurried along, but Ian’s rough brogue broke the silence of the night.

  “In case you are still uncertain on the matter, Lady Ayr, a sister might be the very last thing I would consider you.”

  Hero glanced back over her shoulder to find him leaning with a shoulder against the inner wall, arms crossed over his chest. His hot, dark eyes followed her intently.

  Swallowing deeply, Hero was torn by the urge to race back to him and fling herself recklessly into his arms. Years of training on proper deportment held her back, but Hero’s eyes flashed. “Thank you for the clarification, Lord Ayr.” Hero considered him for a moment longer before adding lightly, “Should you be equally uncertain, please know I cannot consider you even the most distant of cousins.”

  With a nod, Hero turned away and continued her walk back up the ramparts and through the armory door. Sedately, she made her way through the castle, murmuring goodnights to the staff she passed. It wasn’t until she reached her rooms and closed the door behind her that a wide grin split Hero’s lips. Hugging herself, she twirled about the room before flinging herself across the bed.

  What an interesting summer it was turning out to be!

  While Hero had nearly swooned from the intensity of Ian’s kiss, Mikah’s heart had soared. This was the man who had lingered at the edges of her dreams for nearly her entire life. The man who had prompted a sense of watchful anticipation over the years. She suddenly knew without a doubt that he was the reason she’d never been able to maintain a long-term relationship with another man, never been able to commit herself. Mikah had always felt that something was missing, and the other men had always left her feeling empty. No one had ever made her feel the way she had in that moment when Ian had kissed her, so full of joy, trepidation, and passion.

  Certainty.

  Uncertainty.

  It pulled at her heart, invaded her soul. She was complete in his arms, complete with him. This connection, this bond, was what she had been waiting for. Coma, death … suddenly it didn’t matter any longer. If having this man who was in Hero Conagham’s life meant embracing her fantastical link within Hero, then Mikah was good with that. There might never be another lifetime where anything meant so much.

  She lay on the bed grinning up at the canopy. She had left the autumn behind in 2012 in exchange for a most interesting summer, indeed!

  There was nowhere else she’d rather be.

  You don’t find love, it finds you.

  It’s got a little bit to do with destiny, fate,

  and what’s written in the stars.

  ― Anais Nin

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning …

  “My lord! I wasn’t certain if you were planning to join us for a walk after all.”

  Ian turned to find Hero approaching on her father’s arm, though he could ha
rdly spare a glance for the fellow. His arousal flared to life, recalling that brief passionate moment the previous night, and Ian found that he couldn’t look away from the woman who had so inflamed him … not only with her body but with the acknowledgement that she didn’t view him as a close relative any more than he did her.

  Hero was a vision of summer splendor this morning. Her wide hooped skirts belled around her as she walked, almost giving the impression that she was floating toward him. The gown she had chosen was a practical choice, given the unexpected heat of the summer’s day, yet the pale blue muslin skirts wafted about her like a cloud billowing from the tiny, cinched waist. The bodice clung tightly to her torso and breasts, and the sleeves hugged her arms to the wrist. Both sleeves and bodice were detailed with mother-of-pearl buttons. It was a modest gown, yet from the peak of her breasts to her shoulders the bodice consisted of nothing more than ruched ecru chiffon that formed a deep V at the neckline. So sheer was it that Ian imagined he could see the flesh of her breasts swelling above her corset with each breath she took.

  Her blue and ecru lace gloves, bonnet, and parasol all matched the gown, and as she stepped down from the terrace, slippers of the same peeked from beneath her skirts.

  Angelic. It was the word that best described her. Her smile, too, was more than heavenly as she beamed down at him, an attractive blush spreading over her cheeks. Ian felt his heart twist and his groin grow heavy as he held out his hand and she placed hers so trustingly in it. He wanted her. Kissing her the night before had been impulsive, originally meant to do little more than stop her from forcing him to acknowledge what, in truth, he already knew. The attraction between them was strong and undeniable. Body and mind, he wanted to know every part of her.

  But how to express the power of his hunger without frightening her off? Despite her years of marriage and her provocative parting words the preceding evening, there had been an innocent vulnerability in Hero’s kiss that told him she wasn’t wholly wise in the ways of men. His burst of passion, he was certain, had startled her, though she had responded sweetly in turn.

  There must be a courting of sorts, Ian decided with an inner smile, and perhaps a seduction more subtle than pouncing on her. He would win her into his bed … but would that be enough? Ian shook his head as the question rose in his mind. Enough for what? Good God, all he was looking for was a mutually satisfying affair. Perhaps it was her very naiveté that was putting such thoughts into his head. Hero Conagham wasn’t the sort to fall into bed with a man she didn’t care for.

  Would that be so bad? Another question that Ian pushed aside, putting the blame on long, lonely nights on the battlefield, and raised her hand to his lips. Nudging up the cuff of her sleeve with his thumb, Ian pressed another kiss to the inside of her wrist. With a flare of satisfaction, he felt her pulse race beneath his lips. “Good morning, Lady Ayr. Of course I am eagerly anticipating our day. I ate an early breakfast so that I might get some work done, thereby allowing myself your uninterrupted company as reward.”

  “Did you?”

  Truthfully, Ian had spent a sleepless night, riddled with sexual frustration, and he wondered if she had been left as unsatisfied by their abbreviated encounter as he. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did, thank you,” she responded blithely. “The State Room is a lovely bedchamber.”

  Ian inwardly groaned. For all that Hero had given him reason to hope that she might welcome advances from him, it was clear to see that either she hadn’t a clue how strongly she affected him or she was simply too naive to appreciate the state she had left him in. There was little he could say on the matter, however, with her father by her side. “I’m sorry you were unable to resume residence in your old rooms.”

  Hero laughed then, her eyes twinkling. “It would hardly be proper for me to inhabit the marchioness’s chambers when they are attached to your own.”

  Yet I would love to have you there, so near, Ian thought. With a rueful chuckle, he acknowledged that it was better that Hero was far removed from him at night. Such temptation so close at hand would be too much to bear. It had been hard enough to imagine her just across the hall.

  Aware that Hero’s father was eying him curiously, Ian turned to the duke with a bow. “Good morning, your grace. Did you sleep well?”

  “Who are you?” Beaumont asked with a frown.

  “Papa, this is the marquis. You met him yesterday when we shared his carriage,” Hero said patiently. “The Marquis of Ayr.”

  “Your husband?”

  “No, Papa, my husband died last year. Don’t you remember?”

  “How sad.” The duke studied Ian intently for a moment before his brow cleared. Whatever troubles the duke held were swept from his expression, and a smile replaced the worried frown. “Did you try the porridge at breakfast, sir? I thought it was most outstanding.”

  “It was, indeed, your grace. Perhaps the finest porridge I’ve ever had,” Ian agreed. “I believe we have your daughter to thank for the fine meals served at Cuilean. She was the one who engaged the cook.”

  The duke patted Hero’s hand affectionately, leaning in to whisper sotto voce to Ian. “She’s a very clever girl.”

  “Aye, she is.”

  “Very pretty, too.”

  Ian turned to find Hero’s cheeks blossoming a becoming shade of pink. “Aye, she is indeed.”

  “Papa, really!” Hero chided before addressing Ian. “Pay him no mind, my lord. He’s just teasing.”

  “Then I am not to agree with him?” Ian asked with raised brows. “How can I not? You are most fetching this morning. Though perhaps pretty is not the word I would choose.”

  Hero’s lips parted then before she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and Ian grinned roguishly, aware that she’d nearly taken his invitation to fish for compliments. Instead, she blushed once more and glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “You shouldn’t toy with me so, my lord.”

  “Who’s toying?” he asked with an innocent shrug. “You are as lovely as this glorious day. And I thought we had agreed that you would call me Ian.”

  “Ian?” Beaumont cut in with a joyful smile. “I once had a cousin named Ian whom I liked very much. His hounds were the best I’ve ever seen.”

  Ian couldn’t help but smile at the older man’s enthusiasm. “I’m pleased to think my name rouses such happy memories, your grace. Perhaps you might help me to convince your daughter to address me as such.”

  “You should, girl,” the duke said immediately. “We don’t want to be rude. I’ll even let him call me Harry. No one’s called me Harry since I was a young lad.”

  “I would be honored, Harry.” Ian bent in a slight bow and grinned devilishly at Hero, who just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “Papa, I shouldn’t …”

  “Harry,” the duke insisted of her as well.

  “Papa! Really!” Hero sighed in frustration but Beaumont just crossed his arms over his burly chest and scowled at her. Hero shook her head once more in resignation. “Harry.”

  Both men smiled engagingly, and Ian held out his arm to her. Hero took it with a sigh. “You’re impossible and you shouldn’t encourage him.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s Harold Arthur Phillip Ashburn, the eighth Duke of Beaumont,” Hero said with a frown. “He comes from a long and distinguished lineage and now he’s been reduced to Harry. It’s simply wrong.”

  “If it makes him happy, what is the matter?” Ian asked as he steered Hero across the terrace and down the long stone stairs to the lawns below while the duke trailed behind. As they moved away from the castle, Hero popped open her parasol and positioned it to keep the sun off her face.

  “I guess it’s no great matter, I suppose, if he allows you to call him by his given name,” she said at length, then added cheekily, “I should, however, prefer continuing to address him as I have my entire life.”

  “Then patience, Hero,” Ian said with an engaging smile. “I’m sure he’ll ha
ve forgotten all about it in a few hours.”

  “I suppose so. I hope you don’t mind if Papa joins us for our walk this morning. I thought the day too lovely to be spent in the dungeons,” Hero continued as they arrived at the formal garden in the English style that spread itself on the wide expanse of lawn that stretched out on the east side of the castle. When visitors approaching from the east broke through the tree-lined drive, the vista of the gardens with their low, precise hedges and the ornate reflection pool and fountain at their center would be backdropped by the glorious castle with its towers, turrets, and wings sprawling along the cliff side. It made a mighty impression on newcomers.

  “Not at all,” Ian answered. “On both counts, you made the right choice.”

  “I’ve told him so much about Cuilean over the years, I know he is anxious to see for himself,” Hero continued, as if she did not believe his assurance.

  “He’d never been here before?”

  “No, life’s business kept my family away, and Mama preferred London to Scotland.”

  “And yet, you do not.” It was a simple statement but even after their long conversations the night before, he remained curious of her reasons.

  Hero tilted her head in a thoughtful fashion and considered him with a smile that settled in her eyes. “Why would I? London is filled with superficial society and frivolous endeavors. Dùn Cuilean feeds my soul. It has since the day Ayr first brought me here. I’ve never been anywhere else that I’ve felt such peace … and anticipation.”

  “Anticipation? Of what?” he asked curiously.

  “I don’t know,” she responded vaguely, adding a self-conscious shrug. “I’ve just always sensed that something is waiting to happen here. And how do you like Dùn Cuilean thus far, my lord?”