Deception of a Highlander

by Madeline Martin

  The young man looked sheepishly up at Kieran. “I suppose I dinna think of that.”

  “Aye, ye dinna. I am laird here, Hamish. If ye have concerns, ye should speak with me.” Kieran gave him an appraising look. “Ye’ve got a strong arm there, lad. With proper training, I can make ye a warrior yet.”

  “Aye?” Hamish grinned. “When can I start?”

  “When ye make the decision to be a man and leave off boyhood games.” Kieran turned him in the direction of the castle and gave his back a final thump. “If ye find yerself a man by morning, ye know where we’ll be training.”

  Hamish strode past Mariel and gave her a nod of acknowledgment, his chest puffed with obvious pride.

  Witnessing Kieran’s intimate discussion with the rebellious adolescent made her wonder how he would handle Jack. A smile threatened to break her composure as she imagined little Jack standing in Kieran’s massive shadow, listening with similar wide-eyed adoration. Her brother had been too long without a strong man to look up to, and Mariel had a sneaking suspicion Kieran would not turn down the chance to help him.

  She clenched her fist against the weight of shame lest it overwhelm her. Kieran strode toward her, and it was all she could do to rein in her emotions. Not only was Kieran MacDonald a good, honorable man, but he was also a leader admired by his clan.

  “Mariel, ye werena supposed to be here.” The corners of his lips pulled down into a frown. He looked toward the castle. “Did no one try to stop ye?”

  “If you mean Colin, he did try. My curiosity, however, outweighed his good intentions.” She looked pointedly at the hilt in Kieran’s hands. “What happened?”

  “Ach, nothing to worry yerself over, lass.” He swung the sword over his shoulder. “No when there are more important things for ye to be doing.”

  “Dyeing wool?” she guessed. Idle hands were wasted hands. Apparently, Scotland was no different. Truth be told, she looked forward to honest work.

  “Exactly.” He grinned. “Let me introduce ye to Innes.”

  After a few inquiries, Mariel found herself in front of a dour looking woman with snarls of gray hair stuffed under a cotton bonnet. She peered down a crooked nose at Mariel with a sneer that evidenced the woman’s clear distaste for being stuck with the English stranger.

  Innes waved a hand at Mariel to follow her and stalked through the heavy castle doors. Her shoulders hunched forward, and her grumbling Gaelic was impossible to ignore. “No that the likes of ye will be of any help. Ye look like a slight breeze might carry ye off. No that I’d mind.”

  Just over the swell of a hill lay a dense copse of trees, streaked with gold and scarlet amid the splashes of emerald green.

  “Here,” Innes said and motioned to the narrow stream several feet away.

  Carved into the landscape like a silvered ribbon, the crystal clear water moved swiftly through the naturally cut path, gurgling with an excited babble. Were it not for the foul-smelling pots lining the grassy bank, the area would be a very peaceful setting.

  Innes grasped a handful of fluffy wool from a large wooden basket. “Take,” she barked in English followed by an additional mutter in Gaelic. “If ye even understand me, ye silly chit. It’s been years since I’ve had to speak this damned language, and I dinna like it.”

  Innes thrust the wool into a vat that reeked of rotting fish. “Put,” she instructed as she lifted a thick log and poked the buoyant clump until it sank. “Leave.” The old woman then lifted the top off the pot closest to Mariel and pointed. “Done.”

  Mariel held her breath and peered over the rim to where the snow white wool showed through the murky liquid. It certainly did not look dyed. Perhaps the Highlanders purchased their vibrant fabric from England.

  Innes thrust her hands into the noxious liquid and pulled up wads of sodden wool. To Mariel’s amazement, the downy white shaded to a dingy pale green and darkened further into vivid blue. She continued to stare in wonder, waiting to see if any additional colors showed.

  Innes glanced at Mariel and rolled her eyes before throwing the mass into the empty basket at her feet. She lifted a clam-like shell and looked at Mariel as though she were daft and said, “Woad.”

  At least that explained the smell.

  “Out,” she commanded while performing a scooping motion. Without waiting for acknowledgment that she had been understood, Innes turned her back to Mariel and began stuffing fistful after gnarled fistful of wool into a fresh pot of the foul woad concoction. Her grating voice rose over the wind. “We’ll see if the cosseted English whore can get her hands dirty like the rest of us. Pampered little brat with her rounded fingernails and milky white skin that have no ever seen a hard day’s work.”

  Mariel shrugged off the bitter grumblings and rolled her sleeves up despite the chill. Holding her breath, she slid her hands into the warm, putrid bath. The wool was spongy against her fingertips, clinging to her flesh like wet hair when she drew it from the pot. She suppressed a gag as a strong wave of the noxious odor washed over her, and then tossed the bluing ball of wool into Innes’s basket with a soft splat.

  Once the vat was emptied, another lay ready, and after that another until the day passed in a blur of gray green and brilliant blue. Mariel’s stomach growled fiercely in protest of her skipped meals, and her body was stiff from lack of sufficient movement.

  The sun sank low in the sky, cradled in the bosom of the hills beyond. Its crimson light splashed against the drying wool and lent it a purple essence.

  As though sensing night settling upon them, Innes rose and stretched her back. She nodded in Mariel’s direction. “Done.”

  For all the misery the woman had obviously intended to inflict, Mariel’s chest swelled with the sense of accomplishment. She had completed a day of true, honest work. Her livelihood had been earned with the strength of her body, not the twisting of words and manipulation.

  • • •

  Later that evening, Mariel sat on the edge of her bed, fed and exhausted as she waited for the sound of Kieran’s return. The cloak of night had long since snuffed out the sun’s golden rays, and yet still he was nowhere to be found.

  She had changed into a simple dress for supper that evening and taken great care with her appearance. The subtle hues of the dress complimented the color of her eyes, and her hair had been twisted back in a simple braid. She sighed and looked down at her blue tinged fingers. There had been little she could do for her hands. Not that any of her effort mattered. He had not shown.

  No one mentioned where he was, nor did they seem concerned by his disappearance, or so she had gathered from the multiple conversations she had overheard. Her heart thudded in her chest in a frenzy of excitement and regret as she accepted the only assumption remaining. Kieran was with Blair and Dougal Hampton, the men she had been sent to find.

  Her gaze slid to the scrap of ice blue silk draped unceremoniously over the wooden chest at the foot of her bed. The tissue thin night rail had come at sufficient cost. Her hand slid under the sheer fabric, letting the coolness of the silk soothe the ache of her overworked fingers. It was a gown made for the bedroom. A gown meant for seduction.

  Breathless anticipation filled her chest, and the throb of desire slowly pulsed to life. She closed her eyes and imagined the brush of his warm lips against hers, and the gentle caress of his hand upon her breast and his fingers as they crept up the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

  The heavy tread of footsteps thudded down the hall. Mariel’s eyes flew up. She straightened. Her ears strained for the sounds of movement. If the footsteps retreated, they were those of a guard. But if the door next to hers opened, she knew Kieran had finally returned.

  She listened with her breath held, lest she miss anything. The creak of a door opening echoed off the walls of her room and released the air she’d been holding. She curled into the searing burn that twisted in her stomach, the squeezing grip of guilt and weight of remorse that kept her human through the years of deception. She would neve
r shy from its wicked embrace. It was her punishment.

  But guilt would not save Jack.

  Mariel shrank inside of herself and let the dress whisper down the length of her body, sheathing her in the silky fabric.

  The time had come to seduce Kieran MacDonald.

  • • •

  Kieran released a heavy sigh and sank into the large chair beside the fire. His gaze settled on the smoldering peat, watching smoke curl over the black slabs of earth in billowing plumes. The day had been long, and his dealings with Hamish had been easy in comparison.

  Crop fields had needed to be set, and the farmers had argued like old women over the exact day. The kitchen had begged his instruction on meals with questions better left to the lady of the castle. Of course there was no lady, but why the cook insisted on playing that argument over and over with Kieran was beyond him. So long as the food was warm and unspoiled, he cared little what graced his trencher.

  Then there was his trip to see Blair and Dougal. His heart wrenched angrily in his chest. To know how they were treated made his iron stomach churn with disgust.

  No, he couldn’t think of that. It made him too damn angry.

  Doubtless Mariel’s day had been difficult as well. He absently noticed the smile spreading over his lips as he imagined her elbow deep in those foul-smelling pots. Perhaps she would wish to leave Skye after he found a replacement lady’s maid for her.

  He took a sip of the whisky and leaned his head back against the chair. The amber liquor slowly burned a path down his throat until it pooled like fire in his empty stomach. While Mariel’s departure was necessary, Kieran was not as eager to see her go as he should be.

  Pressing the cup to his lips once more, he idly mused if she had worn her hair twisted up or plaited back in a long braid. Perhaps she had left it loose. That was how he liked it best, with ebony stands flowing like a waterfall down the length of her slender back.

  A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. He lifted his head and glared at the back of his door, willing the intruder to leave him in peace.

  The knock reverberated against the solid wood door with more force this time.

  “Who is it?” he barked.

  In response, the door opened and Mariel stepped in, her curvy body clothed in a gown of liquid silver that displayed more of her body than it hid. She pushed the door closed behind her back, and her lips lifted in a little half smile. “I thought you might enjoy some company.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kieran swallowed thickly, letting the burn of alcohol sear a path to his loins. The dying embers of the fire flickered against Mariel’s shimmering dress. God help him, he could see right through the thing. His gaze slid lower to where her body was visible through the sheer fabric. Her full breasts rose high and round and her nipples were rosy as they hardened beneath his stare.

  He was unable to turn away, unable to stop the path of his stare from trailing down her taut stomach to the shadow of dark hair between her legs where her slender thighs met. Where she would be liquid heat and temptation.

  He shifted forward in an effort to ease the discomfort of his aching cock and the chair creaked. “What are ye doing here? Ye should be asleep.”

  She appeared unperturbed by his gruff tone and met the challenge of his glare with indifference. “You were not at dinner.”

  The burn of jealousy tightened the bands of his stomach as he raked his gaze down the dress once more. Had she worn that into the great hall? Did his men see her thus?

  Kieran clenched his hands into fists. Did they follow the lines of her body with their stares? He gritted his teeth. Did they imagine touching her? Possessing her?

  “Is that what ye wore?” he ground out with more rage than he intended.

  The corner of her lip lifted in a slow, sensual smile. “Of course I didn’t.” Her hand smoothed over the swell of her hip. “I didn’t think you had noticed.”

  Was she daft? He hadn’t been able to pull his eyes from her since she stepped inside the door, and she hadn’t thought he noticed?

  “I canna help but notice.” He smirked. “But ye already knew that, dinna ye?”

  She pulled a pin from her hair and rich, black waves spilled down her back. He hadn’t even realized her hair was pulled up.

  “It’s just my night rail.” Her voice was husky, low. The way it had been at the inn.

  The gown glided across her skin, caressing what his hands longed to savor. One slim, perfectly shaped leg was unveiled by a long slit in the dress. His fingers itched to follow that tempting cut of the gown, to brush the smooth warmth of her thighs. He swallowed a groan. She would be so slick…so hot.

  With each step toward him, her breasts moved ever so slightly with a firm bounce that made his mouth water. All hesitation fled his mind as his cock squeezed with bittersweet tension, and his bollocks ached with want. Her. He wanted her.

  And judging from the glint in her eyes, she wanted him.

  He shouldn’t let her be there. His gaze trailed down the length of her body and desire hammered his brain into thoughtlessness. She approached the back of his chair and slid her fingertips against the expanse of his shoulders with a feather light touch that sizzled across his flesh like lightning. She stroked with light pressure against the taut muscles. The hair rose on his arms and unexpected pleasure tingled across his neck.

  Her movements were fluid, continual, so her two hands felt like a dozen, all stroking and easing the tension from his body.

  “You look tired,” she said in a soothing voice. Her magic fingers worked their way up his neck. Knotted muscle melted into hot butter beneath her ministrations.

  He groaned and dropped his head forward. Whatever she was doing, he hoped she would do it to the front of his body…and soon.

  “I could go…” She left the statement hanging, but her hands continued to sweep against the back of his neck.

  Go? Kieran blinked, momentarily pulled from the heady relaxation. Why would she go?

  “Mmm-mmm…stay,” he murmured and tilted his head to the side to give her access to his right shoulder where Hamish had landed a solid blow that morning.

  As if reading his mind, her fingers moved deftly toward the sore area and eased the gnarled ache residing there. Never in his life had he been given such relaxing pleasure. Never did he realize such satisfaction could exist when both people were still fully clothed–her significantly less than him, of course. A grin lifted his lips. He’d have it no other way.

  “What is it ye do to me?”

  Her fingers did not stop moving. “Something I learned in London.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Although I have to say, you are significantly stronger than any Englishman I’ve ever seen.”

  The compliment would normally roll off his shoulders. Instead, it seeped into his thoughts and widened his grin. Women had admired his physique before, but it sounded different coming from Mariel. Like warm, sensual strokes of flattery–so much like the movement of her hands.

  “I ought to be scolding you rather than pampering you right now.” A playful slap landed on his shoulder.

  Scolding?

  “Mmm?” he mumbled. “Why do ye say that?”

  “Innes.” She paused from her task and rasped in a shrill voice, “Come. Put. Done.”

  Kieran gave a lazy laugh at her impression of the old woman. “I dinna think anyone has ever dared mock Innes before.”

  Mariel’s hands slid across his back. “I don’t think I’d be brave enough to do it in front of her.”

  He imagined Mariel bent over one of those foul-smelling pots with Innes snapping orders at her and remorse niggled his conscience. Perhaps having Mariel dye wool with the hard old woman had been cruel.

  A thought suddenly occurred to him, and a smile curled his lips once more. “Let me see yer hands.”

  She gave him another little slap. “You cur. You have to earn it.”

  His mind flashed with the various ways he could do just that. “Did ye ha
ve something in mind?”

  She was quiet for a moment, hesitant almost. “Tell me what was so important that it drew you from my company this evening.”

  Her response was not what he had expected.

  The tension she worked so hard to ease from his shoulders crept up once more as he remembered his visit with Blair and Dougal. Telling Mariel where he had been would draw her deeper into the clan, make her one of them. It would make her belong when she was so far from a home that did not want her.

  But it was not his secret to tell. Could she be trusted?

  Guilt tugged at his chest. That morning he had ordered his clan to trust Mariel. He had claimed he trusted her. Yet when faced with the opportunity, he realized the disheartening truth. He did not.

  Not when his trust had been so brutally betrayed in the past, and not when that misguided trust had cost him so dearly.

  Mariel’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “I can feel the tightness in your body. Forgive me for asking.”

  He heaved a sigh of frustration. Mariel was not the spy from his past. She was genuine and kind. She was worthy of his trust.

  He either needed to force her to leave Skye, or he needed to allow himself to let her in. Not just for her, but for proof to himself that he had not wholly lied to his clan.

  “Have ye ever seen someone so ill-treated that it puts violent thoughts into yer head?”

  Her hands stilled on his back. Was she horrified by the question?

  “I have.” The words were spoken softly.

  She understood. Of course she did.

  Trust her.

  “And when ye see the product of that abuse, it tears at yer soul and leaves ye feeling…empty.” Would she know what he spoke of? A glimmer of trepidation rippled through him. Would she think him weak for it?

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Vain relief coupled with the rage tightening in his gut. “And for all the power and strength ye possess, ye canna do a damn thing to help them?”

  “All you can do is bide your time until salvation becomes possible…then take your chance before it’s gone…” Her voice caught on the last word and pulled his attention away from his own darkness.