Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

  “Ewan was a mon grown when he became the laird,” she said, fixing her attention upon the first clear difference she could see between her brother and Ewan.

  “He was laird in all but name years before that. Ye have been here long enough to ken the mon Sir Fingal is. If the old laird isnae making us a new enemy, then he is off rutting with some lass making another bastard. Matters such as food for his clan, finding the coin he can spend so freely, or making sure his people have shelter, ne’er held his interest for long. He liked to call himself the laird, but he has ne’er much liked the work that comes with the honor.”

  “So Ewan did the work. As I have said, I have gotten the strong feeling that Sir Fingal is verra much like a spoiled child.”

  “Tis exactly what he is. Tis why he is here, why he calls us MacFingals. He wanted to wed a lass but his father and hers said nay. She was wed to his eldest brother, the heir. Sir Fingal cursed them all and left, got his hands on this place, and formed his own clan. Now and then his kinsmen wander by to see if he is ready to mend the breach, but he is a stubborn old fool. And nay, I still willnae say the name.”

  Fiona laughed. “Come, Mab, I willnae tell anyone. E’en if ’twas discovered that ye told me, what could happen?”

  “Twould put the old laird into a rage and I find that most unsettling.”

  “Ah, weel, never mind. Mayhap they will wander by whilst I am here and I can find out this dark secret then.”

  “Oh, I think ye will be here for a verra long time.”

  “Nay, Ewan doesnae want me here. I begin to think I will just tell him who I am and let him send me home.”

  “E’en if he truly did wish ye gone, he will still ask a ransom for ye.”

  “I shall have to trust in my brother’s wit and guile to make it a wee one.”

  “I hadnae thought ye would be one to give up so quickly,” Mab said.

  “Tis verra hard to fight when he willnae let me near him.”

  “Weel, I do believe I willnae be about when ’tis time to remove those stitches.”

  The sly look Mab wore sat so ill upon her sweet face that Fiona had to bite back a smile. She knew Mab was suggesting that she do more than just get close to Ewan and hope he would reach for her again. There were several problems with a plan that included seducing Ewan. Fiona was not exactly sure how to do such a thing as, aside from the rough assaults she had endured at Menzies’s hands, her experience with men was limited to a few stolen kisses. There was also the unease she felt over trying to make Ewan do something he obviously did not wish to do. The consequences of such a thing were numerous, and none of them pleasant. The worst was that he might succumb to temptation only to turn about and reject her. Fiona was not sure she would be able to survive that, at least not in spirit.

  “If I guess right, and ye hint at seduction, I am nay sure that is wise,” Fiona said finally.

  “Why? Ye want him and he wants ye. Ye just need to make him see that the world willnae end simply because he gives in to that want.”

  “Fine. So, he beds me. Then what? He would be appalled by his weakness and run away again, farther and faster. Or he could feel he must wed me because he stole my innocence. Or others could force him to the altar for the same reason.”

  “Isnae kneeling before the altar where ye want him to be?”

  “Aye, but I would like him to go there willingly.”

  Mab smiled in understanding. “I am nay sure many men go willingly, and those who do are usually thinking of good bloodlines, heirs, and dower lands. Exactly why would ye be kneeling there, lass? Because he makes your blood run hot?”

  Fiona blushed. “He does do that, but I ken he is my mate. I kenned it the first time he kissed me. I foolishly thought that I could make him see that.”

  “If ye had the time, ye might. Considering how stubborn Ewan can be, that could take a verra long time, however, and I dinnae think ye have that. If ye were wed to him, ye would have a lot of time.”

  “But if he is forced to wed me, by his own sense of honor or the demands of others, he willnae be feeling verra kindly toward me. All the old problems will still be there, but a few more will certainly be added.”

  “True, but ye will be close at hand to try to sort them out.” Mab held up her hand when Fiona started to speak. “I ken what worries ye, but ye must think hard on this. What we speak of here isnae a good way to get a husband, but what other choices do ye have? Ye have a few days to weigh the matter in your mind and heart ere ye decide. But keep this in mind. His birthday is in but ten days and he will be healed enough by then to go to the village. If he sates himself on some whore, ye might weel find that he gains a renewed strength to resist ye.”

  The very thought of Ewan in another woman’s arms, even a whore he cared nothing for, was almost too painful to endure. There was also the flicker of anger at the thought that he would flee what they could share, yet pay some woman for a soulless rutting. The mere thought of it was enough to make her consider Mab’s plan. How much worse could it be? It would hurt to know he was an unwilling groom, but at least he would not be giving some other woman what she herself craved.

  Fiona looked out the window and all thought of seduction, forced marriage, and consequences fled her mind. “Jesu, Mab, there must be nearly two dozen men out there now.”

  Mab peered out the window. “Some of the younger men have joined the dance. That often happens. The lads have a few tankards of ale and think that nonsense looks like fun. It does improve the view, however.” Mab laughed along with Fiona, then gasped. “Oh, dear, the women are coming.”

  “Are they going to—” Fiona squeaked in surprise when a large, calloused hand was placed over her eyes.

  “Ye ladies should be ashamed of yourselves,” scolded Gregor, biting back a grin over the way Mab and Fiona blushed. “Come away from there.”

  “I think ye are calling the wrong people to account,” mumbled Fiona as Gregor tugged her away from the window.

  “There is naught I can do about those fools. I can but stand amazed that none of them get the lung fever. Simon sent me to find ye, Fiona. He was wondering if ye would play a game of chess with him ere ye sought your bed for the night.”

  For a brief moment, Fiona hesitated. She was not really in the mood for a game of chess. Simon was still new to the game and that meant there was more teaching than challenge. Then, she inwardly sighed. Simon was undoubtedly bored beyond bearing. Her sympathy stirred, she nodded and left to go to Simon.

  “She seemed in better spirits,” Gregor said as soon as Fiona was gone. “Did she say aught about Ewan?”

  “Now why would the lass talk to me about the laird?” Mab kept her back to Gregor as she sorted through the gowns she had chosen for Fiona, trying to ignore Gregor and decide which gown to sew first.

  “Dinnae play that game, Mab.”

  “What game do ye mean, lad?”

  Gregor laughed at her supremely innocent expression, then grew serious. “My idiot of a brother was unkind to her, Mab. When she left him, she was upset. Women like to talk to other women when they are upset. Since ye are the only woman at Scarglas she spends much time with, I thought she might have spoken to ye about it.”

  “Aye, she spoke to me, but ’tis none of your business what she said. What was said was personal, confidences she entrusted me with. Ye must ask her your questions.”

  Seeing how nervous Mab was, Gregor wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “I have but one question: Does Fiona-of-the-ten-knives want our dour, monkish Ewan?”

  “Ah, weel, I dinnae think I will be breaking any confidences in answering that. Aye, she does, but she isnae certain he wants her.” She peered up at him a little warily. “I tried to explain how matters stand at Scarglas, to make her see why the laird is the mon he is. I think she does understand some of it for she spoke of her brother Connor.” Seeing the keen interest in Gregor’s handsome face, Mab told him all Fiona had said about her brother. “Tis my opinion that she
has dealt with a mon much akin to our laird, that she would understand him verra weel.”

  “Aye,” agreed Gregor. “Tis my opinion that she would make a verra fine lady of Scarglas, and so say my brothers. The problem is how do we bring it about when Ewan is so determined to toss aside this gift?” He grinned when Mab blushed. “Aha! Is a plot already afoot then? Can ye nay share it with me? I may be able to help.”

  “A plan has been made, but Fiona hasnae agreed to it yet,” Mab confessed, realizing that she had found a strong ally in Gregor. “All I can say is that, on the day our laird is to have his stitches removed, I might need some help in becoming, er, lost.”

  Gregor laughed. “So be it. I can promise ye, Mab, that on that day ye will be as elusive as a wisp of smoke.”

  “Ye dinnae think the laird will be angry about being ensnared, do ye?”

  “A wee bit, but trust me, we will be giving him exactly what he wants. It may just take him a wee while to recognize his own good fortune.”

  Fiona stared up at the ceiling over her bed. She was tired, but could not sleep. Her mind was too busy, her thoughts tangled and refusing to be quieted. Everything Mab had told her kept repeating itself in her mind, demanding she study each fact closely and that she come to some understanding of it all. She could almost wish she had not spoken to Mab, had stayed locked in her pain thinking all was lost. It had been far less confusing.

  A decision needed to be made and it was obvious she would get no rest until she made it. The part of her that was certain Ewan was her mate was eager to follow Mab’s plan. The prideful part of her, however, shied away from the thought of entrapping a man, using her innocence to get him to marry her. She wanted Ewan to want to marry her, to ask her to be his wife. She wanted him to love her, to know that they belonged together.

  She cursed and forced her eyes shut. Ewan was determined to keep her at a distance. He had set his mind on finding out who she was, ransoming her, and sending her home. He was not going to give her any chance to woo him, to make him see that they could be so very good together. If she wanted him, she was going to have to be ruthless, to use any means necessary to hold him at her side until she could knock some sense into him.

  Realizing she had just made her decision, Fiona felt encroaching sleep begin to weight her down. What she planned held as much promise of pain as it did pleasure. No man liked to be forced or tricked. And any man who had the strength of will to feed his lusts only once a year while surrounded by willing women would undoubtedly prove very stubborn about changing his mind. Her last clear thought on the matter was—Och, weel, at least I can be sure he will be faithful while we thrash out our problems.

  Chapter 9

  Ewan knew the alarm he felt was probably clear to see upon his face when Fiona strode into his bedchamber. Despite Gregor and Simon’s claims that they could not find Mab, he had been expecting her. He had obviously made his eagerness to have his stitches removed too clear and they had decided he could not wait until they found Mab.

  Fiona smiled sweetly at him as she approached his bed, and he felt his innards clench with desire. Obviously keeping her at a distance, even out of sight, was not enough to cure him of his passion for her, but he should have recognized that sad fact. He had, after all, spent the eight days since he had banished her from his presence thinking about her. Time had not dimmed the memory of how she tasted, the sweet heat of her kiss, or the softness of her skin. He quickly bunched the covers over his groin to hide his erection.

  “Where is Mab?” he asked

  “No one seems to know,” she replied. “Tis thought she may have wandered off to search for some herbs or plants needed for her healing arts. I am sorry, but ye shall have to deal with me, no matter how distasteful ye find it.”

  “I dinnae find ye distasteful,” he muttered, then hastily added, “Tis just that I am accustomed to Mab.”

  “Of course.”

  She did not have to sound so blatantly disbelieving, he thought crossly. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his resistance to her care. After all, he had known Mab for years and she was a very motherly sort of woman. There was also the simple fact that no man would like to be seen in such a weak state by a young, beautiful woman.

  He tensed when she bared his leg. The light brush of her fingers against his skin as she removed his bandage had him gritting his teeth against the flood of need that gripped him. To his utter dismay, the removal of the stitches did not cause enough pain to dim his rapidly rising passion.

  The beast was stirring to life within him. With each light touch of her hand, it snapped another of the chains that he kept upon it. Ewan tried to think of crops, livestock, his ledgers, but nothing worked. He had spent far too many hours thinking about her, about the fierce heat of their embraces. When her thick braid slipped over her shoulder to brush against his thigh, he trembled. Ewan watched himself reach for it and knew that, this time, he was not going to be able to rein himself in.

  Fiona removed the last stitch and tried to concentrate on studying the scar left behind, but failed. She had to clench her hand into a tight fist to stop herself from stroking Ewan’s long, well-shaped leg. Smoothly muscular and lightly dusted with black hair, the leg looked beautiful to her. Fiona inwardly shook her head, amazed and a little amused by how besotted she was.

  Then again, stroking his thigh might be a way to seduce him, she mused. Mab had made it very clear that, if Ewan was determined to be a gentleman, seduction would be necessary. A slight nudge in the right direction, Mab had called it. Praying she was not about to embarrass herself, Fiona put her hand on the top of his strong thigh.

  A swift inhale from Ewan caught her attention. She was just turning her head to look at him when he grasped hold of her braid. Fiona did not resist when he used her braid to tug her closer. She shivered beneath the look he gave her, his eyes darkened with desire. If he could look at her like that yet still send her away after one kiss, Fiona felt it would prove that her quest was utterly hopeless.

  “I told ye that ’twould be best if Mab tended to me,” Ewan said.

  “Mab isnae here,” Fiona said, “and I cannae see what difference it makes if ’tis Mab who removes your stitches or me.”

  “Nay? If ’twas Mab here, I wouldnae feel compelled to do this.”

  A soft gasp escaped her when he caught her up beneath her arms and pulled her on top of him. It was such a swift, abrupt motion that the slightly large shoes she wore fell from her feet. She placed her hands against his broad, smooth chest to steady herself and he growled softly. Then, he kissed her.

  His kiss was fiercer, more demanding, than the others he had given her. Fiona hoped that meant he had finally lost his iron grip upon his passion. There was such need, such hunger, in his kiss that Fiona found it increasingly difficult not to succumb blindly to her own soaring desire. She struggled to keep a few of her wits intact, for she wanted to be alert enough to sense when he might begin to regain some control over himself. Although she was not sure what she could do to stop him if he started to withdraw from her again, she wanted to maintain enough presence of mind to give it her best try.

  She smoothed her hand over his chest and felt him echo the shiver that went through her. The feel of warm skin, taut muscle, and even the light feathering of hair in the center of his chest made her heart race. Her hands itched to touch all of him, to find every ridge, every hollow. Fiona soon became irritated by their position despite the fever his kisses were infecting her with. The way he had his arms wrapped around her, holding her on top of him, made it difficult to satisfy her need to touch him.

  As if in answer to her prayers, he turned so that they were lying on their sides facing each other. She took swift advantage, slipping her arms around him to stroke his back. A whispery moan escaped her when he began to kiss her throat. What few wits she had clung to were rapidly melting away beneath the heat of the desire he was stirring inside of her.

  “Ye should run, Fiona-of-the-ten-knives,” Ewan sa
id even as he unlaced her gown, desperate to see her, to touch and taste her soft skin.

  “Why?”

  Fiona could feel him tugging at her clothes. A brief unease chilled a little of the heat in her blood, for she feared how he would react when he saw her scars. She ruthlessly buried that fear, shifting to make it easier for him to remove her clothes. If the sight of her scars repelled him, it was best if she knew now. It would mean he was not the man she thought him to be, that she had given her heart to an illusion.

  Staring down at Fiona, who was now wearing only a thin chemise that revealed far more than it concealed, Ewan fought hard to cling to a few fragile strands of control. “Because ye have unleashed the beast.”

  “Och, weel, that sounds intriguing.”

  He opened his mouth to try to explain himself better, but she stroked his hip with one of her soft, pretty hands and all he could produce was a low groan. It was too late for her to save herself. Although she did not seem particularly inclined to do so, he thought as he unlaced her shift with badly trembling fingers. Her apparent willingness was making it impossible for him to think straight. He pulled off the thin linen garment, tossed it aside, and looked at her. One look was all it took for him to know that nothing short of death would stop him now. Just once he was going to take what he wanted, what he needed, and damn the consequences.

  The tension that had entered her body as Ewan looked at her fled swiftly beneath the heat of his gaze. “Is the beast still unleashed?” she asked in an unsteady whisper.

  “Och, aye. Unleashed and on a rampage.”

  She was not sure what he meant, and a heartbeat later, she did not care. He placed his big, long-fingered hands over her breasts and the heat that flared to life inside her was so intense she was surprised she could not see the glow of it beneath his hands. Certain that he would not be pushing her aside again, Fiona released the last threads of her control and let passion rule.