Highland Temptations: Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Adams, Aileen

  It did not.

  “I need to be alone for a bit. Worry not. I won’t go far.” She stood, brushing the dirt from her legs, then walked along the stream’s edge and disappeared behind a spruce.

  He could only wait for her and wish he hadn’t been truthful.

  14

  Shana slid to the ground, her back against the rough bark, a cushion of needles soft beneath her. The stream rushed past, unaware of what she suffered.

  What would she have preferred? Would it have been better for him to be a mercenary who only rescued her to claim the gold on her head?

  He’d dreamed of her? He’d searched for her? Why? How?

  How could she ride with him now? How could she trust him again? Did his friends know of these dreams, how he’d searched for her on a seer’s advice?

  It was enough to make her stomach clench. She felt as she would after spinning in circles while dancing. The world seemed tilted, moving around her while she sat still.

  What was she going to do now? Was he the sort she ought to be alone with? What were her chances of surviving without him? Rather low, she would wager, and the thought filled her with no small sense of dread.

  Trapped. Once again, she was trapped.

  Her heart raced sickeningly, beads of sweat beginning to form at the back of her neck. Panic threatened to take hold, and she knew that once it did, she would be at its mercy.

  “Think, think,” she whispered to herself, closing her eyes to stop the spinning. When she touched the back of her head to the trunk behind her, it helped her feel centered and still.

  Mother Tara, help me. Her usual prayer, the one she’d prayed her entire life. If anyone could help, it would be the Goddess.

  Although…

  Her eyes opened.

  As did her mouth, little by little. Surprise took the place of panic.

  Perhaps the Mother had helped her already. Was he the answer to her prayers?

  Nonsense. While she believed her prayers were heard and answered, never had one come in the form of a living, breathing man before.

  Then again, had she ever needed a living, breathing man to save her life before then? Not that she could recall.

  It was all too strange to consider. She nearly laughed at herself—had some of his madness infected her? What was in the salve the healer provided, which had already gone such a long way in healing her wounds?

  Was she losing hold of her senses?

  If she was, it still did not explain how he’d come to find her or what brought him to her. There must have been some reason why he’d happened to cross her path at exactly the right moment, just when she’d emerged onto the road, when it had seemed the guards might catch her at any time.

  That was no coincidence. That was guidance. She’d been guided, as had he, that they might come together at just the right instant.

  Strange how she hadn’t given that much thought before, but then she’d had so many other concerns. Her wounds, her safety, her hunger, and fatigue. Always the memory of the cell and of Jacob Stuart’s veiled threats.

  Thinly veiled, at that.

  “Lass?”

  She stiffened, staring across the stream and into the dense woods beyond. The trees grew so tight together, hardly any light touched the darkness within. Anything could be in there, watching her—yet there she was, afraid to answer the call of a man she had no reason not to trust.

  No true reason.

  “Tara?” he called this time, his voice strained. “Are ye…?”

  “I’m well,” she replied in a low voice. “I merely needed a minute to think.”

  “We ought to eat, then move on. We dinna have much time.”

  “I know it.” And she knew she had no choice but to continue as they’d been doing, for there might indeed have been anything or anyone watching from the other side of the stream and she had no means by which to protect herself.

  Even a cornered animal sometimes had the choice of whether or not to be captured. She would not be captured. Never again. Even if it meant accepting the protection of a man who might well be mad.

  She’d heard tales of men who’d lost their minds, naturally. Some became religious zealots who heard voices in their heads and killed when those voices told them to, all in service of a God they swore spoke to them. Some returned from battle having borne wounds which the eye could not see. Wounds inside, in the memory, wounds no healer could treat.

  Having traveled all her life, she’d heard many such tales and even met a handful of rather odd people who’d made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

  William had never struck her as one of those people. She certainly had not experienced that sensation with him, of knowing something was slightly off without being told.

  Still, no matter how fervently she’d prayed or how deeply she had always believed in a loving, protective power watching over her, she could not bring herself to believe that power had come to her aid. It seemed worse than unlikely.

  She was not worthy of such assistance. Was she?

  He was seated on an old log, the bark long since stripped clean by wind and rain and possibly wild animals. Before him on the ground was one of the cloths which Davina had used to wrap their food, and in it was a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese. “Rufus made certain to provide fresh milk from one of his cows, as well.” He handed her a waterskin which had instead been filled with rich, creamy milk which Shana had to stop herself from drinking too much of.

  “Nay, drink more. Ye need your strength,” he encouraged, taking a large piece of bread and a good deal of cheese. “I suppose we’ll save the meat for our evening meal. They truly were generous.”

  “That they were,” she agreed. They could speak of this, as it was a neutral subject. It had nothing to do with either of them, or how they’d come to be together. “Did you know Davina is expecting?”

  He grinned. “Aye. Rufus suspects as much.”

  “He does?” Shana smiled fondly, imagining their happiness when his suspicions were confirmed. She almost wished she could be there to share in their joy. How strange, seeing as she hadn’t known they existed only a day ago.

  “I suppose it’s verra nice for them, now that they found each other.” He waved away her offer of milk, choosing instead to drink water he had just taken from the stream while she’d been on her own. “They had quite a difficult time of it at the start.”

  “Aye, she told me of this morning. A terrible thing, that. It makes their joy that much sweeter, I would imagine.”

  “I would imagine,” he agreed. “I would not know, ye ken.”

  “Nor would I. My father…” She bit her tongue before anything further spilled out. It was too easy to share too much. She reminded herself of the need for discretion. “My parents did not live together long. I do not remember anything of their life together. He died. I know nothing of marriage or home life.”

  “My mam died when I was born.”

  “Och, I’m sorry to hear it.” How bitter her life would have been without her lovely, sweet, fiery mother.

  “I didna mean to make ye feel sorry. Only to tell ye I understand more than ye might imagine. I’ve never had a home of my own, not truly.” He tore another bite of bread away with his teeth, and she thought he might have perhaps torn a bit harder than he needed to. As if he recalled something unpleasant.

  “You live under the laird’s protection, do ye not?”

  “Aye, but that is not the same,” he muttered as he chewed, staring off into the distance. “I live there as I always have. I was born in inside the castle walls. But it will never be my home. I will always be a guest, just as long as I continue acting as captain of the guard. Once I’m too old to do so—or should I be wounded badly enough that I canna any longer lead the men—I suppose Richard would allow me to stay on. A sense of duty, ye ken. He’d feel he had to. But it still would not be mine. It would never be.”

  “And you would hate that.”

  “With every breath I took,
” he admitted. “Because I would not be earning my way. I would have nothing to be proud of. Nothing of my own. At least now, I feel as though I earn my place.”

  “Does it worry you? The thought that you might one day not be able to do your duty?”

  “At the moment? Or for the last fortnight? Aye,” he snickered. “’Tis worried me more than I like to admit.”

  “We are almost there, are we not?”

  “A few days more.” He finished eating and saw that she was already finished as well, and as such rose and gathered their things. “If we make good time.”

  “You will not have to worry for long, then.”

  “I didna bring it up to make ye feel sorry for me.” He turned to her once what was left of their meager feast had been packed up again. “I only wished to show ye in some way that I know what it means to feel like a person without a home. And if ye were to come to live within the walls of the keep, I would understand if ye felt as though ye didna belong there. It would not be yours any more than ‘tis mine.”

  She remained silent.

  He looked down, kicking at a stone with his toe. “I dinna think I ever considered any of this until now. Not even when I visited for the wedding. The farm was in grave shape then, nowhere near where it is today. And everything was in a state, ye ken, with the wedding coming and all the excitement. Now?” He sighed. “Now, I see what my friend has, and perhaps I wish I had it for myself.”

  While she understood how he felt—all too well, in fact—she wondered why he chose to share this with her at this very moment. Was this an attempt at relating to her? Reminding her how rational he was, not at all the strange and threatening figure she’d feared?

  If so, it was working, in spite of her misgivings.

  “I felt the same way,” she admitted. “Davina… I wished I was her. I had never been inside a happy home before. I saw the manner in which she managed the house, the men, the way she takes care of them and keeps them fed, clothed, and the like. And it was very nice. Better than anything I’ve ever had, I can tell you.”

  He nodded. “We are not verra different.”

  “We are the opposite of each other in some ways,” she corrected. “But not all.”

  “Do ye trust me? I am not some wild man, roaming the Highlands in search of lasses to rescue.”

  She looked at him, into his eyes. Lovely eyes of the clearest green, reminding her of fresh spring growth along the hillsides. The green of new leaves, new grass.

  And they studied her with such seriousness.

  Yes, she had always been able to understand people. And she understood his need to know she believed in him. Trusted him. That she did not fear him. It would not be enough for her to simply go along for the sake of going along.

  She remembered the overpowering relief when he killed the man who’d threatened her. He’d done so without question, without hesitation. All because she’d needed him to.

  He had not even stopped to ask who she was running from that night on the road.

  “I do,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

  “’Tis glad I am to hear it.” He held out a hand. “Come. We have a good deal of riding to do before we can bed down for the night.”

  She reached out, placing her palm against his. So much larger than hers, calloused from hard work, from holding the reins and wielding a sword.

  Yet he had the lightest touch. He drew her to him, then placed those work-roughed hands at her waist and lifted her into the saddle. How could he be so strong, so rough, yet so gentle?

  She’d spent the morning asking herself about his choice of words.

  Now, she could not stop asking about the man himself. What made him who he was. And why he fascinated her so.

  15

  It was not until well after the sun had made its descent and the sounds of night creatures—owls, bats and the like—had begun making themselves known that the scent of smoke caught William’s attention.

  The lass’s, as well, since her head snapped up and almost connected with his nose. He moved out of the way just in time to avoid a bleed, or worse.

  “A fire,” she whispered, unaware of their close call.

  “Aye,” he replied, looking ahead. “I dinna see any light. Do ye?”

  “Nay, though we are downwind of them, which means they must be in that direction.” She pointed ahead and slightly to the left, which indeed was the direction from which he’d estimated the smoke was coming. He reminded himself that she’d spent her life roaming to and fro, and had possibly learned even more than he about living out of doors.

  “What do ye think?” he asked, and the fact that he thought to ask her opinion surprised him.

  “I think we ought to avoid them,” she replied, in a voice heavy with disbelief. “Why do you even need to ask?”

  “I thought perhaps we might stray nearer—not too near, mind ye, but enough to get a sense of who they are. They could be unaware of ye. As Drew was unaware.”

  “Or they might be enemies who would murder you and take me to Jacob Stuart.”

  “They might be enemies,” he admitted, “but we might learn something from them if we listen. Men’s tongues tend to loosen when seated around a fire. Have ye never noticed?”

  “I’ve traveled with men all of my life,” she snorted. “I’ve heard more than my share over the years. Things I was far too young to hear.”

  He could just imagine. “We’re downwind, as ye say, so the sound will carry.”

  She groaned. “I do not much like the thought of this.”

  “I didna think ye would.”

  “Yet you’ll do it.”

  “Aye. I’m not asking your permission.” He dismounted. “Ye might stay here. I can always steal closer to their camp and might be able to better do it alone.”

  “Och, aye,” she muttered, shaking her head as she followed suit. “I shall stay here, alone, in the dark, while you wander away. Forgive me if the notion provides me little comfort. It was enough that I stayed alone while you went into Inverness. I cannot believe my nerves would manage it a second time.”

  He chuckled, earning an icy glare he could still make out even in the dark. “All right, then.” He tied off the horse’s reins and prayed no one thought to wander by and steal it.

  They crept along, him taking the lead while she followed close behind, both of them careful where they stepped lest they fall or give themselves away. It brought to mind his training, when his father had taught him just as he’d taught the other guards.

  Difficult training from a difficult man, but it had been necessary in order to build a strong, efficient, fierce group of men. Including William himself.

  And he’d learned to train others along the way, which he supposed now had been his father’s goal all along.

  They’d learned to track from early on, how to creep through darkened, dangerous areas with nothing but a dirk or even one’s bare hands for defense. How to move about without attracting attention. To surprise a trespasser before they even knew they’d been spotted, much less followed.

  All of these lessons came back to him as he picked his way along in the darkness and maintained keen awareness of her behind him. It did not take long for him to catch on to her skill. She knew almost as well as he did how to move about without making a sound.

  But she would, of course. Being who she is, doing what she does.

  This was not the best time to remind himself of her past, yet it was too late to pretend he hadn’t heard that thought. The voice in his head was not unlike that of his father, a man who’d been dead more than five years.

  She had been caught while raiding villagers, stealing from innocent, hardworking people. This was second nature to her. How many camps had she and her kinsmen raided before she was kidnapped? Dozens? Hundreds? How much suffering had she caused?

  “What is it?” she breathed when he came to a stop, causing her to bump into him.

  He shook his head, raising an arm to indicate the presence of li
ght. It was just barely visible now. A fire. And people walking before it. Tents.

  Tents?

  Yes, of red and gold and blue. Rich colors. Vibrant. Many voices were now present, overlapping each other. Laughter, singing. Soft, but there.

  She saw it. Heard it. Now he could see her more clearly, and her expression betrayed her. She felt hope. Fear for them. Fear for him, perhaps?

  Or for herself?

  “Your people?” he whispered.

  She shook her head. “Nay. Not mine. My kind? Aye. But not mine.” Was she disappointed by this? Relieved that he would not know where her family could be found?

  “Who goes there?” A sharp voice, shrewd, angry.

  They’d come upon one of the men, someone who had evidently stepped away to relieve himself in private. He was only just adjusting his breeches when he stumbled over them.

  “Wait!” she whispered as William reached for his dirk, while the man in question reached beneath his tunic, into the waist of his breeches.

  She held her hands up. “We are not here to harm you. We were merely riding through and thought you might have been our foes, but we wished to know better before we continued on.”

  “Riding through?” the man snarled, his hand still lingering on the unseen weapon he had not yet withdrawn. He looked a great deal like her, with dark hair curling over his forehead and down the back of his neck. Dark eyes, heavy brows. Young. Perhaps pretending to be fiercer than he was.

  “Aye, the horse is back there,” William murmured, motioning behind him.

  “Ye weren’t sneaking up on us in hopes of raiding us, were ye?” he asked, looking them both over.

  “I am one of you,” she informed him. “Can you not look at me and see it?”

  “One of us?” He peered more closely, squinting, and that was when William knew for certain he’d been drinking. Quite a bit, really. They had accidentally come upon a celebration.

  His face cleared, his eyes widened. “That ye are. Are ye…?”