He surrendered. What other choice did he have? With a growl, he claimed her mouth, the heat of her lips making his stomach flip, his skin prickle. Grip strong on the towel, he kept her pinned to him, almost afraid she would make an escape.
And while he anticipated his reaction to her, he didn’t expect her fiery response. Moist, gentle warmth greeted him as she opened her mouth and flicked her tongue over his bottom lip. His entire being tensed. She widened her mouth with a small whimper, allowing him better access as her hands trailed up his arms and around his neck.
Damp hair snagged briefly in his stubble as Morgann tilted his head to get to the sweet taste of Alana. Better than the finest wine, her flavour was subtle and wholly addictive. In the back of his mind, he feared he may harm her tender skin with his rough bristle but nothing would prevent him from making the most of this kiss.
The floral scent of her hair seemed to increase with the heat of their kiss. Little murmurs and soft, sensual sounds came from Alana as he twined his tongue with hers, greedily taking all she could give. His grip around the towel remained firm, not quite trusting himself to let his hands explore her figure. Somewhere, deep down, he remembered he only intended to kiss her.
Even though his body screamed for more.
Nails dug into his neck as she squirmed against him, breasts prodding into his chest. He tasted her once more, a deep lingering kiss before drawing back. It near killed him but somehow he managed to place a second, more chaste kiss on the corner of her lips and relinquish his grip on the towel.
She sighed—in disappointment?—as he broke the connection. He was still close enough to see the bloom in her cheeks dissipate, to view the glossy succulence of her mouth. How wrong he’d been. One kiss would never be enough.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he retreated a pace. A simple movement, but it made his chest ache and his body cool rapidly. Alana offered a little half-smile of understanding. The woman really did know how to read him.
“Will ye be locking me up again?” she asked suddenly.
Well if she’d intended to soften him toward her, she’d succeeded. “Nay, if ye swear ye’ll no’ put yerself in harm’s way again, ye can have free roam of the keep.”
“I thank ye, Morgann. I’ll no’ get into trouble, I swear it.”
He was going to regret this. He tightened his grip on the back of his neck before releasing it. “I’ve duties to see to. Will ye manage yer gown on yer own?”
“Aye, of course.”
“Good. Fine. Well… good day to ye, Alana.” Morgann dropped his head into a formal bow and twisted away before he changed his mind.
He smacked a palm against the cool stone after he pulled the door shut behind him, the sharp sting doing little to discharge his frustration. One kiss. What a fool. He only hoped Laird Dougall would be on his doorstep soon. How much longer he could resist Alana was anyone’s guess.
***
Alana dropped heavily onto the bed. How she had even remained standing when Morgann had broken off the kiss she didn’t know but somehow she’d managed it. Fingertips to her lips, she stared, unseeing, out of the window.
Sweet Mary, what a kiss. Her first kiss. Were all kisses like that? She’d been toying with fire when she’d begged him to wash her hair. Something about having a rough highlander playing maid had amused her and he deserved some hardship after everything he had done, but she hadn’t realised quite where it would go. If she said it was all part of a game, a way of bargaining for more freedom, would that lessen the memory of the kiss?
But it was no game. Not for either of them. Her naïve idea of seduction never ran as deep as that kiss had. Morgann’s mouth on hers, his tongue exploring every part of her, now etched into her mind. And in her heart…?
Indeed, Morgann MacRae had probably captured a little bit of that too.
She ran her fingers through her damp hair, sighed and got to her feet. The cold touch of water against her skin as she cleaned the remnants of her adventures from her arms and face did little to dampen the heat lingering in her body. Yet again, she wished things were different. If only her father had never accused Morgann of theft. If only she'd been braver and gone to his defence. Emotions battled within. Morgann capturing her could only lead to more heartache and strife but if he hadn't, she never would have discovered that the friendship between them had blossomed into attraction. An attraction so strong she barely comprehend it.
But attraction was not enough. The lad she'd known had to lie somewhere beneath that rough exterior. He revealed glimpses but mayhap he was buried too deep. With her father—and clan—in danger, giving into a desire that held little promise was pointless.
Alana dressed quickly, the chill of the wind through the open window against her damp hair making her shiver. She might as well make the most of the little freedom she'd been granted. Mayhap she would find a way out. Aye, she'd promised she’d not get into trouble but she never made any promises about not escaping.
Briskly tying her hair into a braid, she tossed it over her shoulder and straightened her red plaid. Hopefully Morgann was too busy with his duties and she'd not have to face him quite yet but she was hungry. She slipped on a pair of leather slippers that had been left for her. They were slightly too large but would do her well enough.
Concluding she was a ready as she'd ever be, she pressed open the door and peered around. No guard awaited her, no one demanded to know what she was doing, so she slipped out and made her way down to the hall.
The morning meal was long over, the tables cleared away and Alana patted her empty stomach with sympathy as it growled. Most of the men were likely seeing to their duties and only a few servants lingered in the hall, sweeping the rushes and wiping down the long tables.
Margot lounged in one corner, spread across a bench, some embroidery hanging limply from one hand as she rested an arm across her eyes. Alana frowned. Did she not have anything that needed seeing to? Having effectively taken on her mother’s role since the age of thirteen, Alana knew how much work running a keep took. And with her husband sick, Margot should have been at his side.
Alana took a tentative step forward and Margot lifted her arm, eyeing her from under it. “So yer no longer a prisoner?”
“I am no longer confined to my chambers, at least.”
“Morgann’s chambers, ye mean.” Margot moved sinuously to her feet and strolled over to the main table. Pouring some wine, she eyed Alana over the brim as she took a sip. “He didnae harm ye did he?”
Unease settled in Alana’s chest. She doubted Margot cared for her welfare so what game was the woman playing? “Nay, of course not.”
Chin up, Alana stepped over to the table and helped herself to an empty goblet, copying Margot’s movements and taking a large gulp of wine.
Margot smirked. “Ye are lucky then. Morgann is not the man he used to be, Alana. Ye’d do well to avoid angering him. I dinnae know what he was thinking bringing ye here.”
“Morgann wouldnae harm me, he swore it.”
“Ye have not noticed a change in him?”
Alana shifted her feet, glancing down briefly. Of course she’d noticed a change in him. He carried around a great weight on those vast shoulders. Whether it was his father’s illness or the constant fighting that caused the deep furrows in his brow and the jaded look in his eyes, she didn't know, but she didn't like what Margot implied. Morgann was no liar and the man who had been her friend was still there, just hidden.
"Aye, he is changed. Indeed he has grown much since I saw him last." Alana grinned. "In fact I think he may be a whole head taller."
Eyes narrow, Margot dropped her goblet, wine sloshing over the rim as it clunked on the table. "Ach, yer a fool. He'll only use ye. Ye must make yer escape while ye can." She edged toward her. "Ye are in grave danger. He is bitter and jealous and it eats at him."
"I already attempted an escape. 'Twas none to successful."
"Aye," Margot's lips twisted, "‘twas a sight to be seen. But ye
must try harder."
"Why do ye care anyway? Should ye not be supporting yer laird in his decisions?"
"He is not my laird!" she spat. "My husband is my laird. Morgann will never be laird."
Alana took a step back, the venomous tone taking her by surprise. Why would Morgann never be laird? What did she mean? She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Anger and something sinister darkened Margot's eyes, forcing Alana to hold the questions on her tongue.
"Trust me," Margot continued when Alana failed to respond, "ye dinnae want to make the mistake of trusting Morgann. Jealously will drive a man to much desperation."
"What does he have to be jealous of?"
Pausing to secure her gaze on her, a smile slid across Margot's face. "Me."
"Ye?"
"Aye. He loved me ye see. Wanted me for himself. And then I married his father. He's not been the same since. Why he's even accused me of witchcraft."
Alana blinked. Morgann loved Margot? Surely he would have confided in her when they were friends? A sharp twisting pain stabbed at her heart. But he'd said there was something he never told her. Could that have been it? And witchcraft? It was hardly an accusation to take lightly. Morgann surely knew that saying such a thing might see Margot burned. While Alana didn't trust the woman, she'd never stoop to accusing even her worst enemy of witchcraft. Morgann had to be driven by something very grave indeed. Or… mayhap wild jealousy provoked him.
Alana twisted away and blindly sought the arched doorway. When she stepped outside, she scanned the walls for any sign of Morgann but he was nowhere. The man was so reticent, it was enough to drive her mad. If she confronted him about Margot, would he even admit as much? She barely managed to get two words of explanation from him as it was. Only that this wasn’t about revenge. She sorely hoped it wasn’t. The thought of him caring for that woman made her hands curl into fists.
Well, if he wanted to be so shady then let him. She threw up her chin and strutted down the steps. For she had better things to think on. Like how she was going to escape his clutches for good.
Chapter Six
The air in his father’s chambers smelled sour. Morgann eyed the shrivelled old man surrounded by pillows and blankets and sighed. Hard to believe his father had once been a great leader, bringing about peace and many victories for the MacRaes. Ranald MacRae was respected far and wide.
Floorboards squeaked as he stepped carefully across the room, candle flames flickering as he brushed by, and his father awoke. It took a moment for him to focus on Morgann and he grinned in recognition.
“Morgann, lad, ‘tis good to see ye. Is all well?”
Morgann resisted the need to wince at his father’s scratchy voice and how he greeted him as if he hadn’t seen him in days. Which was likely true. He avoided seeing his father, using his duties as an excuse. The sight of his father so decrepit tore at him, made his gut clench with despair.
He concealed his discomfort with a grin as he came to his father’s side and dragged the small wooden chair closer. “Good morrow, father,” he greeted as he sat. “Are ye well?”
“Aye, aye, well enough. Have ye seen Margot this morn? I’ve not seen her yet.”
“She’s busy, Father.”
“She is? What have ye got my bride doing? For surely I cannae persuade her to take her duties seriously.”
Morgann let slip a wry smile. “None can, but I try.”
“And here ye take yers too seriously.”
“Someone has to.”
“I worry for ye, lad. Ye cannae bear everything on those shoulders of yers. Ye need to share yer burdens.”
“With someone like Margot ye mean?”
His father gave a gruff laugh. “Margot is well enough for an old man like me but ye need a woman like yer mother. One of good character.”
In spite of himself, Morgann laughed, trying to ignore the voice at the back of his mind that told him he’d already found one. “Ye mean she’s good only for a quick tumble. Then why did ye marry the woman? Father, there’s more to that woman than good looks. She has a black heart.”
The old man shook his head. “She’s just a simple lass. Ye need to realise that, Morgann. Not many women are like yer mother, so I settled for what I could get. She keeps me warm as long as I keep her in fine clothes and that will do for me. Soon ye’ll find yerself a good lassie of strong character and Margot will be content not to have to worry about her duties.”
Morgann fought the urge to grimace. They’d debated Margot’s character many times and the man refused to believe she was anything but a beautiful, empty-headed woman. But Margot was not so simple. If she was, Morgann would have little to worry about.
“So have ye any news for me?”
Pressing his fingers to his temples, Morgann debated telling him of Alana’s presence. In truth, he didn’t know what to say and he feared making his father sicker, but he also needed him to know of Margot’s plot. He’d wondered if Margot intended to make his father aware of Alana’s captivity but decided it was unlikely. If Alana disappeared suddenly, Margot would have no one to answer to but himself and would still have the protection of being his father’s wife.
With a sigh, he forced a smile across his face. “Nay, Father, no news. All is well.”
***
Alana saw little of Morgann that day or the next two. It riled her for she urgently wanted to confront him. And kiss him. She shook her head. Nay, not kiss him. Anything but that. If what Margot had told her was true then sharing another kiss with him was more senseless than ever. She certainly didn’t want to be some other woman’s replacement. And who could compete with such beauty?
She slumped onto one of the chairs that sat around the edge of the hall and glanced at Morgann’s stepmother who was clearly inebriated. The woman drank a lot. Alana plucked at the fabric in her hand and yawned. She was in no mood for embroidery. Her feet twitched with the need to do something. There was still no word from her father. Morgann had even sent another messenger out that morning. Why was he delayed? Was he gathering an army strong enough to knock down the walls of Glencolum? Her stomach twisted. She hoped not. A siege would bring such devastation to both sides she hardly dared to think on it.
And she’d still found no way out. Margot had hinted at her being able to escape through a drainage gate in the wall but mayhap Morgann had thought of that as there was always a guard posted in front of it. She blew out a breath. It was hopeless.
The large hall door swung open, letting in a gust of cool air. The day had begun grey and cloudy, gradually turning into heavy rain, leaving Alana feeling more like a prisoner than ever. Morgann strode in, his dark hair damp and spikey. Water dripped down him and moulded his plaid to his body. Alana knew she was gaping as she watched his every move but couldn’t look away. The linen of his shirt was almost transparent, revealing every indent in his physique. He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at her.
Alana yelped as she jabbed her needle into her finger. Cheeks heating furiously, she looked down to see blood pooling on the pad of her finger. The sight made her stomach roll which was odd for she normally had a strong stomach. As she brought the finger to her lip, she lifted her head and gulped.
“What have ye done to yerself, lass?” Morgann demanded as he came over and snatched her hand.
“Naught.” She tried to drag her hand from him but he kept his grip firm as he inspected the damage.
He blotted the finger using the sleeve of his shirt and gave her a tilted smile. “Daft lass,” he said softly.
Had she imagined the affection in his tone? He certainly didn’t sound like he was scolding her. Mayhap she’d mollified him with her good behaviour. A faint spark of hope alighted in her chest. Mayhap he’d be more willing to talk about releasing her. Or at least explain his reasoning’s.
“Ye’ve been gone all day,” she said hoarsely.
“Aye.”
“Yer duties have kept ye busy?”
He pulled the linen away and checked her
finger. “Aye.”
“Morgann—” Her voice shrivelled up as he brought her hand to his lips and briefly kissed her knuckles.
“All better.” He released her hand and she rubbed at where his lips had touched.
Damn the man. How could he confuse her so? One minute he was kissing her, then ignoring her, and then being the most chivalrous man she’d ever met. She coughed as she peeked over at Margot who watched them closely and remembered that she wanted to speak with him.
“Morgann, I must speak with ye. ‘Tis… ‘tis about…” she dropped her voice, “Margot.”
Morgann’s eyes flashed briefly at the mention of his stepmother. “What has she done? Has she harmed ye? Threatened ye? Curses, I—”
“Nay, nay, nothing like that.” She frowned as she studied his reaction. Surely he wouldn’t think such things of Margot if he loved her?
“Come with me then,” he commanded suddenly, offering a hand.
Alana took it, a faint sensation of dizziness coming over her as she stood. She blinked. While his touch usually incited many sensations, it never normally made her nauseous.
Morgann led her out into the archway of the door. The wind and rain buffeted but the stone protected them from the worst of it. And Morgann positioned himself so that he shielded her from the rest.
“Ye could have taken me to yer chambers.”
“I cannae be in yer chambers, Alana. ‘Tis no’ a good idea.”
“After that kiss ye mean?” She couldn’t believe she’d said that aloud. Her mind was muddled and she wavered slightly as bile rose in her throat. Sweet Mary but she did feel queer.
She saw Morgann’s brow furrow in the light of the torches on either side of the door. “Alana, is all well? Ye look a little pale. Do ye need something? Is that why ye needed to speak with me?”
“Nay…” A strange foggy sensation had reached her ears and her voice seemed muffled. She put a hand to the wall for support as her legs tingled. Something was not right. She threw a desperate glance up at Morgann, praying he would understand as her knees threatened to buckle. Sweat blossomed on her forehead and she leaned back into the castle and closed her eyes. The world swayed beneath her and she just heard a shout of dismay as the wall stopped supporting her.
To Steal a Highlander's Heart Page 8
