To Steal a Highlander's Heart

by Samantha Holt

  She swallowed and glanced up at the four-storey tower as it loomed over her. Her father’s hand had created that scar. Would there be any forgiveness to be had from Morgann or was his anger too deep?

  Morgann led his horse over to the stables and dismounted before offering up a hand. Alana wished she could deny his aid but her head still swam and her eyes threatened to bust from their sockets with the thumping.

  She clasped his hand, coarse skin warm against hers and risked a glance into his eyes. Pain and confusion echoed in the dark depths and something else… a kind of curiosity. His gaze skimmed over her before she slid from the saddle as he took the time to trace every part of her. Her breathing stilted as she did the same, taking in those powerful legs, wide shoulders and stubbled jawline. His lips twisted into a mocking grin.

  For some reason she needed to feel those lips upon hers.

  A wild recollection of being pressed against him, her body entwined with his as she revelled in the taut strength of his physique assailed her. Heat soared into her cheeks. Had it been a dream? The memory was disturbingly real. Sweet Mary, her mind really was addled.

  A tug on her hand reminded her she was meant to be dismounting and she pushed herself from the saddle only for her feet to go from beneath her. Morgann moved swiftly, hooking an arm around her back and forcing her into him to keep her upright. She latched onto his neck instinctively and found herself bent slightly back, Morgann looming over her.

  Which was more threatening? The keep or Morgann?

  Morgann, for certain. His dark hair fell over his face, creating shadows in his features as his gaze bore into her. His lips were a scant distance from hers and she felt his breaths gliding over her skin. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest. Did nerves do that or was it something else? If only her captor wasn’t so ridiculously beautiful. Morgann was a Highland warrior through and through. Raw, untamed. Like the Highlands themselves.

  But no other highlander sent her pulse pounding or forced heat though her body. Mayhap it was just nerves.

  Attempting to right herself, the haziness that crowded her mind lingered and she fell flat against him once more. He sighed and scooped her into his arms, and she let out a squeal of protest. With quick strides, he navigated the few steps leading up to the keep and the short wooden bridge creaked and thudded as he carried her across it.

  “Morgann, I am no sack of grain. Ye cannae cart me about so.”

  He ignored her, his hold firm, jaw set tight. She dragged her gaze around as a familiar voice called out a greeting.

  Morgann’s stepmother, Margot, approached, a slender eyebrow arched as she eyed Alana. Unease pricked across her and she clutched at Morgann’s shirt, knowing it was foolish to seek comfort from him but doing it anyway. Margot stalked across the Great Hall, footsteps echoing in the vast space. A fire pit crackled in the middle of the room and massive black chandeliers creaked lightly as a breeze blew through the open shutters of the hall.

  “What in the Lord’s name are ye doing, Morgann?” the lady demanded as she approached.

  Still as unerringly beautiful as Alana remembered, Margot cast cool grey eyes over her, mouth tight. The woman reminded Alana of a raven. Sleek black hair, darker than Morgann’s, white skin and refined, noble looks. But those looks hid something sinister, she was sure of it. She’d never seen proof of it but the woman always sent chills through her.

  Alana shot Morgann an imploring look. “Morgann, put me down. ‘Tis most unbecoming.”

  “Ach, if I put ye down, ye’ll fall down.”

  “Then put me somewhere safe. ‘Tis yer fault.”

  Margot’s eyes narrowed. “Sweet Mary, is that the Dunleith lass?”

  Morgann stiffened but kept his hold on Alana. “Aye, this is Alana. She is injured and I have taken her into my care.”

  Margot crossed her arms across her chest. “What are ye thinking of, bringing the daughter of yer enemy into my keep? She cannae stay.”

  Feeling ridiculous draped across Morgann’s arms, Alana held her chin high, determined to retain even the smallest amount of dignity as she watched their exchange. The undercurrent of aggression on both sides made her wish the ground would swallow her up.

  “She can stay and she will stay in my keep, and ye’ll have naught to say in the matter.”

  “Yer keep?” Margot asked, a sly smile slipping across her face. “Yer father isnae dead yet.”

  “Nay, not yet. A disappointment to ye no doubt, Mother.”

  With that he spun on his heels, calling back to her over his shoulder. “Be sure to have some clean garments and a bath sent up.”

  Shadows swallowed them as he stepped into the stairwell and easily carried her up the winding steps. His lurching movements forced her to hold on tightly and she buried her face against his chest as the dizziness in her head grew stronger.

  By the time they reached the top, nausea welled in her stomach. Using a foot to press open the door, Morgann carried her into the chamber. She could hardly bring herself to study her surroundings as he placed her onto a red canopied bed.

  He stood over her for a moment, unease etched into his features as he shifted on his feet.

  “Ye need not look at me so, Morgann,” she grumbled. “I’ve no intention of dying on ye. Though…” her stomach lurched, “I believe I may be sick.”

  His eyes went wide and he grabbed a chamber pot and thrust it in front of her as she retched. Awkwardly patting her back, he eased her hair from her face as her stomach emptied its contents into the bowl.

  When she had nothing left, he discarded the pot to one side and poured her a drink. Alana took it gratefully, the tang of ale cutting through the taste of bile.

  “Ye should never have run from me,” he scolded.

  “And what did ye expect me to do? Offer myself up to ye?”

  He gave a wry laugh. “Nay, I didnae expect that. I didnae expect much of what ye did.”

  She scowled. Why was he speaking in riddles? The image of her entwined with him on the hills swamped her again. Had that really happened? Was that what he was talking about?

  “If yer done pretending to care for my welfare, will ye no’ leave me in peace? No doubt yer father will have something to say about my capture. Mayhap he has more sense than ye and will send me home.”

  “My father will have little to say on the matter. He is unwell. All duties at Glencolum are in my hands so yer pleading will fall on deaf ears.”

  “Oh.” She sagged against the bed. “I didnae know yer father was ill.”

  His expression twisted into a brief moment of anguish, quickly replaced with a cooler one. “Aye, well ‘tis nae something we want our enemies knowing.”

  “Ye see me as yer enemy?”

  He considered her for a moment. “I’ve never seen ye as my enemy, Alana, but ye are still Dougall’s daughter. I’m sorry to involve ye in this, but I have little choice.”

  Alana pressed a hand to her head, the pounding increasing. “Ye’ve yet to tell me why ye should wish to bring war to yer doorstep. Ye talk in riddles. I cannae understand ye anymore.”

  She needed him gone. All this talk of duty and reasons. What reason could he possibly have for capturing her? Was it revenge that drove him? If it was, he was clearly not thinking properly.

  “I cannae tell ye why. The less ye know, the better.” he muttered. “But just know that if ye were in my position, ye’d do the same.”

  “How can I know that if ye will tell me naught?”

  God’s blood but the man was evasive. They used to tell each other everything.

  But that man no longer stood before her. Her heart ached for what she’d lost. Shaking away morbid thoughts, she closed her eyes. She heard the grinding of his teeth and assumed he studied her as she lay prone. What did he see? Was he planning his next move or did he reminisce about better days too?

  “I’ll return to check on ye later.”

  Waving a hand dismissively as him, she prized open an eye. “Dinnae bo
ther, I need no aid.”

  She needed to clear her thoughts and figure out how to escape. If she was gone much longer, her father would surely assume the MacRaes had taken her and would be on their doorstep before long, baying for blood. Her father’s temper was quicker than Morgann’s and he’d not listen to reason.

  Morgann studied her for a moment and gave her a brief nod of his head. “As ye will. Behave yerself, Alana. I’ve no wish to put ye in irons but I will if I have to. Ye’ve done yerself enough harm for one day.”

  The callous countenance had slipped back into place, all concern for her gone and she threw an arm back over her eyes, unable to bear it. The door clunked shut and she heard a bolt slide across. She truly was a prisoner then.

  Her empty stomach churned. Rest. That’s what she needed. And then she’d work on a plan to escape. Aye, she’d leave Morgann MacRae to his torment. He clearly wanted no help or sympathy from her. Ach, to think of the anguish she’d felt for him all these years after her father’s behaviour. That man hardly seemed worth such sorrow.

  ***

  Dragging her hands though her pale green hair, Tèile huffed. Curses, the pair were as stubborn and as confused as each other. She’d sometimes watched them as young friends, waiting for the moment that fate would be fulfilled and their debt would be repaid but as the years had gone by, it became clear interference would be necessary.

  Neither had the courage to admit their feelings. Or mayhap they’d been too young to understand them. Humans were very confusing beings. How hard could love really be?

  She cast her gaze over Alana as the woman’s breathing slowed and she fell asleep. Tèile admired her spirit. The lass was planning some kind of rash escapade but Tèile couldn’t allow that. It had been hard enough to persuade Alana to leave the keep and bring Morgann to her. Her interference had to be limited; they had to find their own way to each other.

  But there were things she could do. Dreams were an excellent tool of the fae. The sidhe council would only allow her so much use of magic. Too much and the mortal world would shift into an imbalance with all the magic in the air. Putting the Campbell clan to sleep for a while had already cost her dearly.

  With a wave of her fingers, she grinned as Alana exhaled slowly. She would not need to do much to ensure she dreamt of Morgann. The moment they had shared under the rock had been entirely their own. Tèile had hoped the kiss might happen then but Morgann…

  Stubborn human male.

  A kiss. That was all that was needed, she was sure of it. Their connection would finally be realised and Tèile could get back to enjoying herself as a faery should. She rubbed her hands together as she thought of the celebrations that would take place. The burden of the sidhe’s promise would be at an end. Too much faery time had been devoted to the foolish couple. But that was the price they paid for human aid. Many years ago, Alana’s mother had helped one of the fae bear a child. Delicate creatures that they were, they occasionally needed a human’s aid. And in return they promised to look after Alana. Which meant ensuring she and Morgann married.

  Aye, she looked forward to being rid of her tiresome task and indulging in a little tipple or two. Tèile sighed. She would deserve it after trying to get these two to see what was right in front of them.

  Silly fools. Couldn’t they see they were destined for one another?

  ***

  Swiping a hand over his face, Morgann stormed down the stairs, pushing past a guard at the bottom. His stepmother turned at the sound of his footsteps and placed her goblet of wine on the trestle table at the end of the Great Hall. Swathes of gilded light danced through the rear window, illuminating Margot’s curvaceous figure.

  He scowled as she slid toward him, a twisted smile upon her lips. A bitter taste sat in his mouth as she skimmed her gaze over him. Too many men had fallen prey to her seductions, his father included, and he didn’t doubt she hoped the same for him. But he’d always seen through her stunning looks to the black, ambitious heart that lay beneath.

  He would not succumb as easily as his father had.

  “Is our guest settled then, Morgann?” she asked as she sidled up beside him.

  “Aye, well enough.”

  “Think ye ‘tis wise to bring that lass here? Ye must know ye are inviting war by holding her here.”

  He clenched his fist, pulling on his self-restraint. For too long, the woman had spread her poison through Glencolum. “I know naught, save that I will do whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of the clan.”

  “Safety? How shall we be safe under the threat of war?”

  “Do ye question me, Margot?” Morgann took a deliberate step toward her.

  Her eyes widened briefly before she pulled her shoulders straight. “Nay, of course not. I trust yer judgement.”

  Morgann seized the moment to study her. She’d acquiesced far too quickly but a flicker of a plot sat behind his stepmother’s grey eyes. Turning before she recognised he knew as much, he paced over to the table and poured himself some wine.

  “Is my father abed?” he asked without looking at her.

  “Aye, my lord husband is sick as ever. But dinnae fear, I have been by his side, faithfully tending to him.”

  He didn’t doubt it. “Well, ye need tend no longer. Have a maid see to him. The keep needs yer attention elsewhere, Mother.”

  It galled him to call her that. She—only five summers his senior—could never take the place of his mother. But sometimes it worked to put her in her place. While his father lay sick in his bed, he had taken on all the duties of the laird. And thus she was under his command.

  But Margot was not easy to command. Slippery and cunning. Rather like Alana, though she certainly held no wicked thoughts like Margot did.

  “Shall I see to our guest? No doubt she is in need of a woman’s touch.”

  He gave her a cold stare over his shoulder. Morgann wouldn’t allow his stepmother anywhere near Alana. Surely she knew what he intended to do with Alana and it did not bode well for his stepmother.

  “Nay. Ye’ll no’ step foot in my chambers.”

  Behind him, Margot huffed and he heard her skirts swish as she stormed away. Ach, now he had two difficult women to deal with. Though he had to confess that he preferred dealing with Alana. A surge of desire burst through him as he recalled the sensation of soft skin and delicate curves pressed into him.

  It wouldn’t do. Lusting after her would only serve to distract him. Never mind that the warrior in him longed to keep her in his chamber and take full advantage of having her as his prisoner. Not that she seemed to remember the moment she’d thrust that sweet figure up against him.

  Lucky lass. That moment would likely torture him for an eternity.

  And now she lay in his bed, invading his sheets with her addictive scent.

  Morgann squeezed at the stem of his goblet and drew in a breath through his nostrils, hoping to calm the heat spearing through him. The image of the disappointment in her eyes dampened it, a heaviness growing in his chest. He knew he’d changed, that he was no longer the carefree lad she’d known and mayhap cared for. And he understood her need for reasons. But for the moment he had to keep his plans quiet and Alana would find no benefit in learning the truth.

  If he could, he would protect her from it to the best of his ability. He wasn’t sure how. But he would do that for her at least. Morgann heeded her feelings more than he cared to think about.

  With a sigh, he walked over to the writing desk in the corner of the hall and reached for a quill while motioning to one of his clansmen, Kieran. “I need a missive delivering to Laird Dougall Campbell with haste. Stop for naught, ye understand?”

  Kieran nodded. “Aye, laird. What shall I say of his daughter?”

  “Say naught save what ye must to ensure yer safety. This missive will tell him all he needs to know.” Morgann sat and dipped the quill in the ink. “He willnae wish to see his daughter harmed.”

  Chapter Four

  Night air whispered
through the hall, seeping through the closed shutters and Morgann shuddered. He glanced at Margot who sat near the fire pit, carefully embroidering a tapestry. Though she looked engrossed in the task, he knew well enough her mind worked to figure out how to get rid of Alana.

  He groaned inwardly. What a mess. By bringing Alana here, he not only risked further fighting but placed her in very real peril. He’d already seen the effects of Margot’s plots—his father’s health was evidence of that. How she continued her witchcraft on him baffled Morgann. He ensured all food and drink was checked, yet his father still ailed. And he could not accuse her outright of witchery or plotting until he had proof.

  Which was where Alana came in.

  Margot cared little about war or his clan. She’d been an outsider to begin with until she’d ingratiated herself to his father and climbed into his bed following the death of Morgann’s mother. But she did care about power. And Alana had the power to prove without doubt that Margot was a traitor.

  She flicked her gaze up to him and offered a seductive smile. Morgann saw the sinister undertone to it and snapped his gaze away. Aye, if Alana was the key to Margot’s undoing then he’d placed her in grave danger.

  He sagged into his chair. He’d spent too long watching Margot’s every move. It made him edgy. A man was posted on Alana’s door and Margot had not been near the kitchens or her room to meddle with Alana’s food or bath.

  A sharp twist in his stomach stiffened his muscles. So why did he feel as if Alana was in danger this very moment? It was the same sensation that had struck him in the mountains. He jumped to his feet.

  “Morgann? Is all well?” Margot asked as several members of the household stared at him.

  Ignoring her, he pushed past the men around the fire and took the spiral steps two at a time. Sweat tinged his brow as he reached the top, breaths coming heavily as the sickening sensation grew stronger.

  Help her, a voice whispered and he shivered.

  Finn, his cousin, and one of his strongest warriors, guarded the door to his chambers and he trailed his gaze over Morgann, brow furrowing. “Laird?”