Highland Ruse: Mercenary Maidens - Book Two

by Martin, Madeline

  But it was not the weather which held her attention, it was Kaid, and how much she needed the escape of his kiss.

  “Delilah,” he said again. “Ye’re exquisite.”

  Exquisite.

  The word coiled around the wounded place deep in her heart, wrapping it in a balm more soothing than she had ever known.

  She had but a moment to savor the flattery before his mouth came down on hers, deep and delicious. Droplets of water from the tips of his hair dripped onto her shoulders, cold against the sudden burning heat of her skin.

  All the memories she’d kept brushing away tumbled through her mind. The masculine scent of him, the scrape of his whiskered chin against hers as they kissed, the low groan he gave when they’d coupled.

  She could lose herself in him again just as easily.

  He caught her lower lip between his teeth, nipping it sensually before his tongue brushed hers.

  Delilah’s body smoldered with a desire so strong, her knees went slack beneath its force.

  She wanted him. All of him.

  Now.

  The rasping sound of a throat being cleared echoed on the stonework around them. They flew apart like lovers caught.

  For isn’t that what they were?

  Rhona’s steely gaze met theirs.

  “I dinna think ye’ll get much for the lass from MacKenzie if ye have her first.” Her scolding came out in a singsong tone.

  Delilah’s cheeks scalded with shame, but Rhona looked right through her toward Kaid. “I’ve brought ye more of yer sleeping draught.”

  Rhona strode forward and pushed her gnarled fingers into Kaid’s palm, intentionally standing between him and Delilah. A flash of glass showed against his hand.

  A vial.

  Kaid nodded in thanks. Rhona spoke quietly to Kaid, who nodded again.

  She turned to Delilah and sneered at the sodden mess of her gown. “I’ll have yer maid come and fetch ye to freshen ye up for supper.” Then she quit the room with steps as sharp as the edge to her smile.

  Delilah regarded the vial before Kaid pocketed it. She had to tell him what she’d learned of it from Rhona. Her suspicions had been confirmed, and he needed to know what he was doing to himself. “Kaid—”

  “I shouldna have kissed ye.” He set his jaw. “Especially no’ out in the open.”

  She shook her head. “We thought we were alone.”

  “Ye’re the last chance I have.” Something shadowed his eyes. “I canna have people thinking ye’ve been compromised.”

  The last chance he had?

  She frowned. “What do you mean by—”

  “My lady?” Leasa stepped from the darkened hallway, concern evident in the furrow of her brow. “Rhona said you were in a bad way. Are you unwell?”

  Delilah suppressed an exasperated sigh. “I’m fine. We were caught in the storm, and I need to change before supper.” She turned back toward Kaid in time to see him slip the valerian root extract into the waist of his kilt. “Kaid, I’d like to continue speaking with you.”

  “We’ll speak later.” He nodded toward Leasa. “Go prepare for supper. It will be served soon, and ye dinna want the whole of the clan waiting on ye.”

  But they did not speak later, not through the food or the ale as it was served, or while they ate, or even during the entertainment afterward when the music played and the whisky flowed.

  Later, Delilah lay in bed, her mind as awake as her body. She stared at the shadowed underside of the great canopy bed and listened to the steady, even snores of Leasa sleeping on the pallet on the floor.

  Kaid would be alone now.

  Memories of his nightmare rushed into her mind. She hated the thought of him poisoning his nights with the valerian root again.

  Her mind cycled back to their kiss. Their conversation. Not only what he’d thought about her, but also when he’d said she was their only hope. What did he intend for her to do? Especially when she’d already told him she would not go to MacKenzie as Elizabeth.

  She could speak with him now. She knew what room was his. Leasa had mentioned his was near theirs to ensure their protection, but it set the other servants whispering with suspicion.

  It wouldn’t be proper to see Kaid at such a late hour, alone. It wasn’t something Lady Elizabeth would do.

  But she wasn’t Lady Elizabeth.

  Delilah rose from the bed with such care, the bed ropes did not even squeak, and slid a night robe over her bed clothes. After quick confirmation that Leasa still slept, she slipped from the room and headed toward Kaid’s.

  Impropriety be damned. She would deliver her warning to Kaid, and she would get her answers.

  • • •

  The vial called to Kaid.

  The hour was late and the day had been long. So damn long.

  There had been many issues requiring his assistance—disputes which had awaited his arrival, decisions to be made, advice to be given. His head ached with the burden of his responsibilities.

  But, no, it wasn’t that.

  It was coming home to Ardvreck and being reminded of what MacKenzie’s attack had done to his people. Though they tried to rally, their spirits were even more broken than their bodies. Many had died, and those who carried on had to work twice as hard to compensate for the loss. The deep lines in their faces bespoke how the extra labor exacted its toll.

  At least home brought the relief Rhona afforded him.

  He pulled the stopper from the vial. He wanted the bitterness on his tongue, to melt into his body and mind and shroud everything roiling and screaming in a blanket of silence.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  He clenched his teeth and slid the stopper back into place before bidding the intruder enter.

  The door did not swing open as he’d expected. There was a moment of hesitation before the creaking groan of the hinges.

  And it was no man who entered his private room, but a woman.

  Nay, a goddess.

  Or so she appeared with her golden brown hair spilling over her shoulders and a cloak of rich red velvet atop a night-rail seemingly made of glowing moonlight.

  “Delilah.” Her name came out in a low rasp, like a dying man asking for water.

  Her gaze swept his large room and lingered for the briefest of moments on his bed. She paused in the doorway before lifting her head and striding toward him with all the confidence of the goddess she appeared to be.

  God, how he longed to pull her into his arms and bury his nose in the silken tresses of her hair where he could breathe in the sweet floral spice of her.

  “Have you taken the valerian root yet?” she asked.

  He blinked.

  That was not what he’d expected to hear her say, not when she appeared so brazenly in his room while the rest of the castle slept.

  He shook his head and tightened his grip on the glass in his palm.

  Delilah’s shoulders relaxed. “Please do not take it.”

  Her words sent a shiver down his back. Not because he feared what she said, but because the idea of possessing the valerian in his grasp and not taking it was almost as agonizing as having Delilah in the privacy of his room and not touching her.

  She approached him, and the feminine scent of her perfume caught at his awareness with a far tighter hold than he’d have thought possible. Her hands settled on his fist, delicate and soft.

  He wanted them on the rest of him.

  “Please don’t take it,” she repeated. Her pleading look grabbed at his heart. “It’s poison to your body. It brings nightmares and sleepless nights and yet makes you want more.”

  He gritted his teeth. “How do ye know this?”

  Even as he prepared to defend the drug, his thoughts searched for the validity of her words. He remembered how he’d been before they all got sick and how renewed he’d felt after.

  “Rhona told me, but not because I asked after you. I tricked her into telling me.” She frowned. “I know she’s one of your people, but I confes
s I don’t trust her.”

  The aged seer was not actually one of his people. She’d shown up at the castle three years prior, seeking refuge after having been cast from her own clan—an event so painful, she never spoke of it. No one had minded as she’d proved herself to be quite useful in the art of healing.

  Of course, divulging this to Delilah would not help his claim. “She doesna trust ye, lass. It’s the only reason she acts as she does.”

  “Please don’t take this,” Delilah said again. She found the place where his fingers wrapped tight over his palm, sealing the vial safely within, and tried to pry his hand open.

  He resisted.

  Even if the valerian brought nightmares, they were not with him in the morning. All he ever recalled was the quiet black it welcomed him to, where nights of restless slumber turned into a full block of forgotten everything.

  He didn’t want to remember. Nor did he want to think. He wanted the nothing. He craved the nothing.

  She shook her head at him.

  Irritation prickled through him at the thought of having to release his precious vial. The prickle quickly turned to an irrational whip of rage which lashed through him.

  “And what do ye care if I take this?” he asked. “When ye’ve seen my people and no’ done a thing to help them?”

  She straightened as if he’d slapped her. “I spent the day helping them.”

  “Aye, I told ye to,” he countered. “Ye’re worried about a vial of liquid when my people will die if ye dinna help us.”

  Her hands dropped from his. Her expression was wounded, and he knew he’d hit a mark deep within, exactly where he’d intended to strike.

  Except now there was a wrench of guilt where his ire had once resided.

  “I can’t…” she started. She looked hard into the fire and a small muscle worked at her jaw. “It’s so much more than me wanting to help.”

  “Ye canna take me from my own castle to Killearnan,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Ye canna fulfill your original purpose for playing Elizabeth with me. But ye can help us by playing her again.” He wanted to touch her tense shoulders, just a brief graze of his fingertips along the silken heat of her skin. He was close enough to do so.

  His hands balled into fists. He would not have her think he was attempting to seduce her into compliance.

  The golden glow of the fire flickered across her comely features. Her expression was impassive and the silence stretching between them was becoming uncomfortably long.

  “What would you have me do?” she asked.

  “I’d like information ye dinna want to share.” He tried not to speak too quickly, to appear too overeager. “Who sent ye, why, what my death meant to them, the details of yer mission.”

  She tilted her head away from him, as if hearing as much physically hurt her. Worse still, he sensed her wary interest flagging at the demand for information.

  She turned back to him. “I told you before, MacKenzie did not hire me—that is all I will share with you.”

  Kaid nodded and shoved down the fresh rise of questions surging in his mind. Those were things to worry over another time. “Verra well. I need ye to pretend to be Elizabeth Seymour with MacKenzie.”

  She opened her mouth, and he put a hand up to stop her inevitable protests.

  “I want to ransom ye to MacKenzie, but for more than just to get my da’s sword or work out peace negotiations. If I do that, he’ll agree to peace and then attack without any thought to our deal.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “This is something I’m asking ye to do as Delilah. I dinna know that Elizabeth could have done what I’m about to ask for.”

  Delilah lifted her brow. “Go on.”

  “Ye remember I told ye MacKenzie had an older sister named Torra? She was the true heir to the MacKenzie lairdship per her father’s wishes before his death. Ye need to find her.”

  She merely notched her chin upward in a way that left her mouth far too temptingly close. “You speak as though Torra will be hard to find.”

  A palpable sense of relief melted over his shoulders. He understood by her straightened back and her solemn demeanor that she was intrigued. But then she was the same as he—a schemer, a chess player in the game of life. And he respected her all the more for it.

  “MacKenzie’s sister was deemed mad when her father died,” Kaid said. “No one has seen her since.”

  “Perhaps she is dead.”

  “If she is, we will have to come up with another plan.”

  Delilah did not answer, resuming her stare into the popping fire.

  “Will ye help?” he asked.

  Her chest swelled in a long, deep sigh before she finally turned back to him. “I promise to think on it if you promise to rid yourself of the poison clutched in your hand.”

  The vial was hot in his palm now. Delilah stared at his fist until he unfurled his fingers and presented the valerian root to her.

  He wanted to tell her what he sacrificed, how it was a blanket of comfort she was yanking from his soul, but instead he surrendered it in silence.

  She pulled the stopper from the vial and flung the contents into the hearth where the precious droplets hissed and spit. Then she threw the vial and stopper into the fire as well.

  He stared into the licking flames, seeking the glossy tube, when Delilah touched his cheek in a tender, distracting caress. His gaze found hers, and he forgot the valerian root. Her lips pressed to his, warm and sweet, before she pulled back, leaving him wanting so much more.

  “Good night, Kaid,” she said solemnly. Then she turned and left without giving him an answer at all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was a minor victory to keep Kaid from his nightmares.

  A far bigger victory awaited Delilah in helping his people.

  She pressed her hand to her brow to shield the glare of the sun and watched two boys dash across the lawn near the orphanage. After bringing them the remnants of the noonday meal, Delilah had stayed to assist Aida any way she could. After all, the young woman had her work well laid out for her with so many children.

  The air was tinged with the mustiness of sweat and the lushness of a new day after a night of rain. It was a smell which lightened her heart and yet burdened her shoulders all at once.

  She could save them.

  All of them.

  If she played Elizabeth for MacKenzie.

  If she turned her back on Sylvi and Liv and Isabel and Percy—the ultimate betrayal.

  A boy across the field took up a stick and brandished it like a sword toward a younger boy who was held between two others. The disconcerting scene intruded on Delilah’s thoughts and she quickly made her way toward them.

  “Take that, ye filthy MacLeod,” the older boy bellowed in a nasty growl and plunged the stick toward the younger one’s armpit so it seemed to penetrate his chest.

  Delilah stopped short in horror.

  The younger boy collapsed to the ground in a dramatic death. “Dinna hurt my wife.” His head dropped to the side, and he went still.

  Aida rushed past Delilah toward the boys and bent at the waist to speak to them. Delilah could not hear what she said, but could tell Aida was not rebuking them for their gruesome display. With a pat on the back for each of them, the boys disbanded in pursuit of other activities.

  Aida straightened with the stick in her hand and cast Delilah a woeful, apologetic smile that was altogether too tired for a woman so young. “They dinna know what to make of it all,” Aida offered in a sad tone. “They saw more than children ever should.”

  Delilah nodded silently. Aida patted her shoulder in the same manner as she’d done to the boys, and turned back toward the orphanage.

  How could any woman endure such heartbreak daily?

  Something warm brushed against Delilah’s fingers before sliding against her palm. She found Claire standing beside her, her hand clasping Delilah’s.

  Claire gave a shy smile. “I’m Claire,” she sai
d in a very little voice.

  “I’m…” Delilah caught herself. “I’m Elizabeth.”

  Claire’s lips screwed up toward the left side of her cheek, and she studied Delilah with unabashed curiosity. “Are ye an angel?”

  Delilah shook her head.

  “Ye look like my ma,” Claire said in an awestruck whisper. “I thought ye might be her angel since ye said ye werena her.”

  The girl’s voice was so small, so hopeful that it left emotion crowding in Delilah’s chest. “I’m sorry to not be. I would very much love to have a daughter like you.”

  Claire’s hand in hers was growing overly hot and sweaty, but Delilah had no intention of breaking the tender hold.

  “I think ye’d be a verra good ma,” Claire said with a bashful glance at the ground. “Because ye’re pretty and ye’re nice.”

  “Is that what makes a good mother, then?” Delilah asked with a laugh.

  The girl’s lips twisted in thought once more. “I think the nice more so than the pretty,” she conceded earnestly.

  “Was your mother like that?” Delilah asked.

  Claire’s fingers tightened and for a moment, Delilah wondered if it’d been wrong to ask such a question.

  “Would ye like to hear about her?” The afternoon sun lit Claire’s hair like glowing gold. If anyone were the angel, it was she.

  “Very much so,” Delilah answered.

  And the girl talked then—talked and talked and talked, as all little girls do, detailing the way her mother looked, and smelled, and even sang. Every bit of the dead woman was told in an unending speech only a child who truly loved her mother could give.

  The two of them walked around and through the orphanage together, hand in sweaty hand, and chatted until the sky began to darken. The onset of evening found them in large, comfortable chairs in front of the fire, where it was warm and snug.

  Claire gave a mighty yawn, revealing a missing bottom tooth, where the white flecks of another coming into its place were visible.

  “Are you getting sleepy?” Delilah asked.

  Claire nodded. “May I sit with ye?” Even as she asked the question, she was already climbing into Delilah’s lap.

  Delilah had cradled her own young siblings before and now marveled at the ability of all children to comfortably snuggle themselves into a willing lap. Claire’s legs lay over Delilah’s, and her head rested just under Delilah’s chin.