The Elusive Highlander

by Ju Ephraime

  “We are not married, and I don’t want to share your bed.”

  “Do not lie to yerself, Coira. I know ye want me by the way ye kissed me. Or is it something else? Have ye ever lain with a man?”

  “What business of yours is that?”

  “None! I just thought that would account for yer hesitation. Ye have nae worries. I will be gentle.”

  “Gentle or not, I’m not ready to go down that road.”

  “I will not press ye, but I am yers to use any time ye want to. Ye will get no resistance from me.”

  Coira looked at him. This hunk of a man, standing in her bedroom offering himself to her, was difficult to resist, but resist him she must. She knew she was a fool to turn him down. Her problem was she wouldn’t know what to do with him. Coira had been so busy pursuing her career that her love life had been non-existent. She had promised she would give herself time to actively pursue a relationship. This might never happen now, especially after having met him because she’d be comparing every man who happened to come her way to this giant of a warrior.

  “Do ye want me to help with yer dress or no?”

  “No, I don’t want to tempt fate,” she replied. Who was she kidding? She’d been tempting fate the moment she landed in his keep.

  “As ye wish. I’ll send Imogene to attend ye.” And, with that, he disappeared. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone.

  It was as though he’d never been. Had she not still been feeling the after-effect of his presence, she would’ve thought she’d imagined the entire thing. Her body remembered. It was still heated.

  True to his words, there was a knock at her door, and Imogene entered upon her bidding.

  “I’m here to help ye undress, m’lady.”

  “Thanks, Imogene. The Laird offered. I was able to resist the temptation to let him.”

  “Why? The Laird will soon be yer husband, m’lady. I heard him telling the staff to prepare the room for the few guests he’d invited. I believe it will be a small wedding. Although we are preparing for war, the entire village will attend the Laird’s wedding.”

  “Imogene, I’ve not quite made up my mind.”

  “Why not, m’lady? The Laird is a fine catch.”

  “I’m well aware of that. I don’t think he’s for me. I’ll make up my mind soon.”

  “Ye had better. I believe the Laird had Edwina, the head dressmaker, adjust his mither’s wedding gown for ye. She said it only needed lengthening on account of ye being so tall and the Laird’s mither being so short.”

  Desperate for a change in conversation, Coira focused on the first thing that came into her head. “His mother was short? How comes he’s so tall?”

  “That is from his da. His da was a Norseman.”

  “Ah, a Norseman. That explains it.” She really knew nothing about Norsemen from her history book other than they were indeed giants.

  Coira began to panic. It was not that she didn’t like the Laird—she liked him too much—but she had a life in another time, with a dad who depended on her. It was true he wasn’t near death’s door, but the nature of his sickness was so unpredictable. One minute he was fine and the next he had deteriorated to almost a vegetable state.

  His doctors couldn’t explain the rapid progression of the disease. Now he had to cope with not seeing her for weeks now. She didn’t know how he was taking not seeing her. She needed to be in Manhattan. She wanted to make her own decision about getting married, if, when, and with whom.

  Long after Imogene left, she lay on the bed but couldn’t get to sleep. Coira was worrying about her upcoming wedding. She didn’t think the Laird would force her into marrying him, even if he’d said that the wedding was for her safety. So what was she to do? She’d try to have a talk with him again in the morning. Having come to that decision, she fell into a sound sleep.

  * * * *

  Alasdair cursed under his breath as he left Coira’s room. He was furious with himself for allowing his emotions to overrule his good sense. Since the moment he’d met her, she’d had the ability to affect his dreams, his thoughts, his moods, and even his actions. He was unused to anyone else’s influence; it chafed him like a burr beneath a horse’s saddle. Irritated beyond reason, he went looking for Tristan and, of course, had to wait while he got off one of the kitchen wenches before he could challenge him to a match.

  “What’s th' maiter, Dair? Did ye lose yer best friend?”

  “Dae nae be a bahookie, Tris, yer my best friend. Now get ready for a thrashing, as I try out my old shield.”

  “Dinnae take yer frustration out on me. What happened with ye and tha lass?”

  Without answering him, Alasdair charged him, and the fight was on. They were both skilled at using the two-handed broadsword, and what Tristan lacked in experience, he kept up with dogged determination. He was determined not to give in to Dair and kept at it for a good hour before he called it done and gave in.

  “Good night, Dair. We will take this up again in the morning. I need my energy for other things.” And, with that, he strode off, no doubt to look for one of the maids.

  Patience was not Alasdair's strong suit. Now he found himself having to draw on what little he had in dealing with Coira. He had to fulfill the condition of the geas if he wanted to remain alive. He had not been truly alive for hundreds of years, just existing on the peripheral, and now that he had found the cause, he intended to make it right. He had to do it sooner rather than later. Putting it off would be exposing him and her to a possible recurrence of the past, and there was no one to circumvent it now. He would have another talk with Coira to impress upon her how precarious her situation was and that this marriage had to take place.

  He went back to his chambers and was tempted to use the crystal ball again. Alasdair had enjoyed seeing himself tupping her, but he refrained. He couldn’t change what the fates had in store for him, and looking into the crystal too frequently would only cloud the result.

  It took him a while before he was able to fall asleep. He was wired up and hurting for the lass. The next morning, he had a grueling day of practice with his men. He had received word the Bruce was preparing to go to war any day. The Knights were impatient to fight. This would be a bit of news they would appreciate.

  Taking a short break from training, he sought Coira’s company, offering to give her a tour of the garden. There was nothing much to see. It being late winter, and the garden was not at its best, but it would give him an opportunity to talk with her uninterrupted.

  He was surprised when she fell in with him without one of her acerbic comments. This was a plus.

  “Are ye ready for yer upcoming nuptials?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. Why do we have to marry? I’m a little concerned that it’s the only option open to me. I’d like to get back home. Maybe I could return after I’d put things in order back home?”

  “Coira, I cannot send ye back home. There is no door that ye could go in and out of. I could not take myself back there.”

  “So you do remember being there.”

  “Not so much remembered but a feeling, very fleeting. When I try to explore it, it escapes me. You have to believe me when I tell ye I had no control over yer arrival here. And now that ye are here, yer well-being is my main concern. And, in order to ensure yer safety, I have to make ye my wife.”

  “Why? Couldn’t I just be a visiting relative?”

  “Lass, this is a volatile time. The Scots are suspicious of anything foreign, and they attack first and ask questions later. I had to introduce ye as my betrothed to get them to welcome ye. They accepted ye as my soon-to-be wife.”

  “Getting married seems such a drastic step to take.”

  “It is. I promise to be a good husband. I have already committed myself to making ye my wife. Why do ye not think on it? I will put it off for a week. However, it has to happen before Robert the Bruce gets here. He is due here in a week.”

  “Good, that will give me some
breathing room.”

  “Now that it’s settled, let me show ye the garden. I am very proud of it; 'twas started by my mither, and it is kept up by the head gardener, but it is still considered my mither’s.”

  “It’s a beautiful garden and well laid out. I can imagine how beautiful it is when it’s in full bloom.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  * * * *

  They spent the better part of the morning exploring the quite extensive grounds of the castle. By the time they returned indoors, it was lunchtime. They parted, she returning to her chamber to freshen up and he going to do whatever he did all day.

  That was the problem for Coira. She was used to being busy every hour of every day; this inactivity was beginning to get to her. She wasn’t cut out to live the life of a woman of leisure. She found little things to keep her busy. However, it was becoming more and more difficult.

  * * * *

  Three days had gone by since their talk in the garden. Coira felt the loss of her old life very keenly. Her days were spent going through the castle to acquaint herself with the place. As castles went, it was on the small size, but it was massive for a normal home.

  She looked forward to the evening dinners when she got a chance to sit across from Alasdair and watch him enjoy the sumptuous meals his staff prepared. They made excellent use of the fresh fish they caught in the waters surrounding the castle. Every night was something to look forward to. The baked fish in wine sauce was to die for, and every meal was followed by a dessert, which they seemed to be masters at preparing.

  Alasdair appeared to have a weakness for the whipped cream because he always accepted seconds and sometimes thirds. He was a big man, and all the physical activities he engaged in must require a lot of nourishment. She loved watching him eat, although she wasn’t the cook and had nothing to do with the meal. She knew the cook must be pleased at his enjoyment of her cooking.

  She couldn’t fault him in his treatment of her. He’d not visited her room after that incident with her dress. They talked about everything but the white elephant between them. She still felt heated every time she was within touching distance of him. The only way she was able to control it was to avoid being alone with him for any length of time.

  He seemed to be going out of his way to be the gracious host, patient and accommodating. He told her about the Knights Templar and their skills in battle and how he had them dispersed through his men and had even been able to convince the Bruce to incorporate some of them into his army. She was curious about the villagers, and he told her his ancestors had been Lairds of the village for centuries.

  His father died when he was a boy, and his sister was a young woman getting ready to marry when she came down with the ague. She was dead within a month. He wouldn’t say when his mother had died, just that she was no longer with them.

  Alasdair seemed very secretive about his mother, and when he spoke of her, Coira got the distinct impression that he hadn’t been present when his mother passed. She wanted to ask how old he was, but something about the way he skirted the subject told her he wouldn’t discuss it.

  Coira learned quickly there were some topics he didn’t want to discuss, and he was good at evading those. The moment she got too close to anything personal, he’d politely excuse himself. One minute they were talking, and the next he was gone.

  She was disappointed he never asked to escort her to her chambers as he’d done once before. She didn’t know whether to be glad or mad. Whoever it was who said women could be quite contrary knew what he or she was talking about. First she wanted him to leave her be, and next, she wished he’d make a pass at her. If he was doing this to make her yearn for his kisses, he was winning… She was yearning.

  She rushed from the table each night like a bashful schoolgirl, but it was only because she was having a hard time keeping the lascivious thoughts off her face. By the fourth night, she was visibly trembling so great was her feeling for the Laird. If she didn’t know better, she would say he must have put something in her food to make her think of nothing else but making love with him, but she knew that dream had a lot to do with it.

  On the fifth night, she was trying to work up the courage to ask him to walk with her to her chambers, hoping it would end in a kiss, when he surprised her by offering to accompany her. Coira was ecstatic. She allowed him to take her hand as they walked to her chambers. She didn’t know about him, but she wouldn’t put up any resistance if he should favor her with one of his sizzling kisses. She didn’t know how to let him know she was willing. Coria hoped allowing him to hold her hand all the way to the chambers was sign enough. Nonetheless, she was searching for an opening to tell him she was ready to feel his lips against hers again when they arrived at her door. He turned to her and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. It was done so quickly she hardly felt his lips against hers.

  “Good night, Coira. Sleep well.”

  Coira swayed, dizzy from being this close to him. She had forgotten how big he was, forgotten how much she desired his touch over all others. Her eyes were still closed when she heard a door close, and she opened them to find herself alone.

  “Damn!” she swore.

  The following morning she was up early. She had nothing to look forward to, only another wasteful day. She sighed, wishing fervently that she had something to do. Work would be cathartic; immersing herself in physical duties was the only way she’d ever managed to keep up a positive attitude. The problem with first her mom and now her dad had almost destroyed her. Work was what had gotten her through it. Now, even that was denied her. There had to be something she could do in this castle.

  Leaping from the bed, she made use of the hot water Imogene had left on the washstand. While she was doing this, there was a knock at her door. Thinking it was Alasdair, her heart began to race. It turned out to be only Imogene, bringing her a breakfast tray. For once, she wished she was having breakfast downstairs, although she didn’t think she’d enjoy sitting at a table alone having breakfast. The men ate very early in the morning because they began training before it was fully light.

  After breakfast, she changed into a dress that had the closure at the front, put her hair up in a bun, and left her room in search of something to keep her busy.

  It took her an hour of searching before she found the kitchen. It was a large room on a floor below the dining area. She could understand why the dining room was always warm and toasty; the heat from the kitchen kept the floor nice and warm.

  Coira walked in and was not surprised to see a dozen servants preparing the afternoon meal. The conversation, which had been buzzing when she walked in, ceased immediately, and all eyes were on her.

  She pretended not to notice and said hello.

  Now, not only did the talking cease but all work also came to a standstill.

  “M’lady,” they said nervously.

  This was ridiculous. Coira stood there for a couple minutes hesitating. She hadn’t counted on them seeing her as the Laird’s wife, and as such, she didn’t belong in the kitchen. She was totally put out. She was used to working, though not necessarily cooking. She did her laundry and prepared herself an occasional meal. This elevation in her status was not going over well with her. She couldn’t blame the staff for that. So, murmuring a hasty goodbye, she exited the kitchen and continued walking until she came to the great hall.

  She took a seat at the window facing the courtyard and had an unobstructed view of the men, who were engaged in training exercises. She didn’t have to look for Alasdair; he stood out among the hundred or so men prancing around on horseback. He moved so fast on that horse she had a difficult time keeping him in sight.

  He was a formidable opponent. He defeated and unseated each and every man he took on. The one who stayed longest in his seat was Tristan. He was almost as big as his brother. Alasdair was bulkier and had a more commanding presence. She noticed Garvin didn’t practice with him. He did practice with Tristan, but not Alasdair. Hmm, she wondered why. There mus
t be more to this than met the eye.

  Coira had to stop thinking about Alasdair. If only she could tell that to her traitorous body. He was so gorgeous she couldn’t stop her eyes from following him, searching for him. She had to close her eyes to shut out the sight of him. Suddenly, she felt a presence next to her. She knew who it was by the way her breasts stiffened before she opened her eyes. How did he do this? For such a big man, he moved very silently.

  “Lass,” he greeted her. “Have ye had a meal?”

  “Yes,” she replied with a deep sigh.

  “Whit's amiss?” he asked. “I mean, besides wanting tae be back home. What has ye looking so glum on such a beauteous morn?”

  “Do you really want to know, or are you just funning at my expense?”

  “Now why would I be doing that?”

  He flashed a wide smile. And although she kept her face inscrutable, inwardly she sighed with pleasure. He was a sight for sore eyes, tall, powerful, and utterly gorgeous; she could very easily get used to seeing him first thing in the morning. He was wearing his tartan and no shirt, just a leather strap across his chest. He had his sporran belted around his waist with a studded leather belt, which accentuated his physique, especially his long, muscular legs and massive calves. He was sweating from the exertion of the training, and drops of sweat were dripping down his face underneath the helmet.

  Coira couldn’t stop herself from following the drop of sweat as it traveled down his naked chest. She had a sudden urge to lick it off him. Irritated with the way she couldn’t stop thinking of doing things with him that she’d never done with anyone else before, she sounded curt.

  “What do you expect me to do with myself, Alasdair?” she asked, much more sharply than she intended.

  He went very still. “What did ye call me?”

  Coira looked up at him, wondering if he expected her to address him as my lord. So be it, then. Far be it from her to squabble over how to address him. It would work for her. That way it would remind her she was not in his class.

  “Alasdair. Is there something wrong, or should I address you as Laird?” She stood up and made to pass him.