Highland Captive

by Alyson McLayne

  “I’ll put her in front this time,” Kerr said, bringing his big stallion over.

  Something welled up within Gavin, resisting the notion of Kerr pressed up against Deirdre in the saddle, and he tensed. “Nay, she’ll ride with me. Ewan willna settle otherwise. Besides, there’s no room for her with that big arse of yours in the way.”

  Her lips moved in response, but the words she’d spoken were so soft he couldn’t hear them. He wouldn’t have even noticed, except he stood so close to her. Ewan was even closer, leaning toward her to grab her hair like he had before.

  “You said something—just like at the keep,” Gavin said, his tone almost accusatory. Deirdre’s eyes widened before she dropped her gaze and shook her head.

  Ewan laughed.

  “You think my big arse is a jest?” Kerr asked, pretending to stomp toward the lad and sticking his arse out behind him.

  God’s blood, I forgot how much Kerr likes bairns.

  Ewan laughed harder. “Aye. And then Mama said big arse, big head.”

  Color washed up Deirdre’s cheeks. “Ewan, hush!”

  But he didn’t hush. “Big arse, big head! Big arse, big head! Big arse, big head!”

  Kerr clapped his hands over his heart. “Cousin, you wound me!”

  Gavin couldn’t help the amused twitch of his lips. He rolled his eyes and whistled for his horse. Thor came over immediately, but by the time he could take the stallion’s reins in hand, Gavin’s unexpected urge to smile had faded. Things were complicated enough without Kerr taking a liking to Deirdre. Especially since they were distantly related. Kerr had killed many of his uncles and cousins after he became laird and the other MacAlister clans attacked him. He would be happy to find a decent, honorable relative—so long as that was what Deirdre was.

  It was obvious she loved Ewan and had taken good care of him, but she had run away from Gavin two days ago, all the while knowing he was Ewan’s father.

  That, he couldn’t forgive.

  No matter what her story was or how she’d gotten Ewan, Deirdre was not staying.

  He sat Ewan on Thor’s back, close to the withers, so there was room behind for Gavin and Deirdre. “Hold on to the mane and squeeze with your legs,” he told the lad.

  Deirdre’s eyes had widened and her face blanched, seeing her son up there.

  “You’re next,” he told her. “And if you panic this time, you’ll knock Ewan off. Control your breathing, Deirdre, and you’ll control your fear. If you control your fear, then you’ll have control of your body. Do not flail about wildly, just swing your leg over Thor’s back, grab the mane like Ewan is doing, and squeeze your legs around the stallion’s flanks.”

  Kerr moved to Thor’s other side, just in case, and Gavin bent over and linked his fingers together to make a stirrup. Deirdre put her foot in his hands and stepped up. Gavin raised her slowly, and she balanced on his shoulder, then swung her leg over Thor’s back. After reaching around Ewan, she grasped Thor’s mane tightly. Once she was settled, Kerr offered his hand from the other side, and Gavin quickly grasped it and jumped up.

  Then he wished he hadn’t.

  She was warm against him. And soft. Her hair was silky wherever it touched his bare skin, and she smelled like honeyed lavender.

  And she fit perfectly between his thighs. Her plump arse cushioned his cock, and when he slipped his hands around her to grasp the reins, his arms brushed the undersides of her breasts. Their weight rested, full and yielding, against his muscles.

  She inhaled jaggedly, and he couldn’t help holding her just a wee bit closer, to feel her breathing.

  She was well endowed up top and below but narrow through her rib cage and waist. He dug his heels into Thor’s sides to stop himself from imagining what she might look like naked. At the pressure on his flanks, the stallion jumped forward and straight into a gallop.

  Deirdre let out a terrified shriek, while Ewan yelled in delight.

  Gavin grinned again at his son’s exuberance, but Deirdre was soon tilting to one side, and Gavin had to tighten his arms and legs just to keep them all in place.

  “Close your eyes, Deirdre.”

  She stiffened and tilted again. “What? Nay, I canna.”

  He pulled her upright once more. “Aye you can, or you’re going to take us all down with you this time. Close your eyes, lean back against me, and relax. Trust that I’ll keep you and Ewan safe. Stop fighting me and let go.”

  “You’re asking too much,” she said, and he heard tears in her voice.

  He realized she wasn’t talking about the stallion anymore, and he felt a strange pressure in his chest. He wanted to wrap one arm all the way around her waist and rest her against his heart—absorb her uncertainty and heartache so she didn’t hurt so much.

  But how could he do that when he planned to take Ewan away from her?

  He couldn’t.

  “I said I would ne’er lie to you, Deirdre. The only promise I can make right now is that I’ll get you and Ewan safely to Clan MacKinnon. Once I find out what happened to my son, I’ll hunt down and punish those who took him. That I swear.”

  Four

  “Mama, look! A pattern,” Ewan said, holding up a pine cone that he’d pulled off a tree. He had a growing collection of leaves, twigs, and flowers that he’d picked from the foliage as they’d ridden by. Having nowhere to put his treasures, he’d woven the various pieces into Thor’s mane so they wouldn’t fall off.

  Deirdre wagered the stallion had never looked so bonnie.

  Grasping her son’s hand, she slowly turned the pine cone to see how the buds grew upward in a circular design from the stem. “It is a pattern. One we often find in nature. Do you remember what it’s called?”

  “Aye, it’s a…a…” His brow furrowed as he tried to remember the name. “It’s the same as the snail’s shell we found at the creek. And the seeds in the sunflower.”

  “It starts with an ‘s,’” she said. “Sp—”

  “Spiral!”

  “That’s right! And the name of the mathematician who gave us a numerical sequence for the spiral?”

  “Fibonacci. 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233.” He said it in a singsong voice, which had helped him memorize the numbers and their order.

  “I’m impressed,” she said. “I think I was older than you when I learned the numbers.”

  “Who taught you that?” Gavin asked.

  “Mama. She drawed me a picture of all the different rectangles too, and then we put a line through them until we had a spiral. It works every time! When we stop, she can show you.”

  What did Gavin think of that? When Deirdre was growing up, her tutor had been her godsend. Spending time with him in the nursery, away from her family, had been long, happy, mostly uninterrupted hours learning mathematical equations, music, language, history, and art. She’d begun teaching everything she knew to Ewan, as the cost of a tutor had been out of the question. Lewis might be the next laird of Clan MacIntyre, but until then, his father was making sure he lived on as little money as possible.

  And truth be told, she didn’t mind. She loved spending time with Ewan and educating him about the subjects she held most dear. Especially geometry. It wasn’t what her sisters had been interested in, and certainly not her mother, whom Deirdre would often watch outside riding her horse. But for Deirdre, inside with her quills, ink, and books, she’d felt safe and happy.

  Ewan snagged another flower from the tree and weaved it into Thor’s mane behind his ear. Gavin snorted behind her, and she couldn’t help smiling. “Such a bonnie lad,” she said to Ewan.

  “Aye. I’m sure he feels pretty,” Gavin replied.

  Now it was her turn to snort. And then she wished she hadn’t. Who knew what might offend the laird behind her?

  Ewan settled down after that, and a few minutes later, he yawned, which ma
de her yawn in turn. She knew, though, it would be impossible for her to sleep. She’d never been in so much pain in her life. It was no wonder she’d rarely ever ridden a horse. Her whole body ached from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. They’d rested twice already, and she’d hobbled like an old woman when she’d dismounted. The second time, she’d fallen when her feet hit the ground. Only the fear of being left behind had made her get back in the saddle.

  She’d finally relaxed against Gavin and found that it had helped. At least she was no longer petrified of falling off.

  And truth be told, she liked the feeling of his arms around her. A strange flutter had started in her belly, and his strength—controlling Thor and holding them all up—made her feel protected. All this even though he was the one stealing her child and dragging her across the Highlands to an unknown future.

  It makes no sense.

  She’d never been this close to a man before, never mind leaned her body against one. Well, other than that once, and that had been confusing, upsetting—and terrifying in the end. Another reason she’d been happy to escape to Clan MacIntyre, even though it meant leaving her beloved tutor behind.

  “Mama, I’m tired,” Ewan said as he squirmed around to face her. Fear shot through Deirdre, and she tipped to one side at the sudden imbalance, but Gavin’s arms tightened around her until she was settled against his chest again. Safe.

  Ewan laid his head on her shoulder, and Gavin pulled her son’s legs over either side of their legs. She winced at the jolting pain, but then Ewan settled and quickly drifted off. She slipped her hands beneath his bottom to keep him steady.

  Gavin brushed his fingers through his son’s silky tresses, then leaned down and kissed Ewan’s brow. Gavin’s spiky hair tickled her ear, making her shiver. He tightened his arms around her for a moment, and her pulse sped up until she felt it drumming in her ears.

  That strange flutter had risen into her chest now, and she couldn’t take a full breath. What was wrong with her? She’d never been attracted to a man in her life. Why, when it finally happened, did it have to be to a man who would ruin her?

  It wasn’t as though he would return the attraction. Gavin MacKinnon was tall and fair like the rest of her family. She was the dark, soft, unattractive outcast even her husband didn’t want.

  But for just a moment, she thought about what it would be like if Gavin MacKinnon was her husband instead of Lewis—and the son she held in her arms had come from her own body. What if Gavin held her tight like this because he loved her? And after kissing their son, he turned his head and kissed her—the side of her neck, the whorls in her ear?

  Aye, what would that feel like?

  The flutter in her chest turned into a flood of heat that saturated every inch of her and throbbed between her legs. The tips of her breasts hardened and sensitized, the soft underside rubbing against Gavin’s arms with every sway of the horse.

  Is this how it would feel to be married to him? To want him?

  To welcome him into her body?

  Her experiences with men had not been pleasant so far, but she thought with Gavin MacKinnon, that could change.

  “Were you at the summer festival when the pestilence hit?” he asked, his words quiet yet clipped, as if he was angry.

  And the heat in her body doused with cold. How could she have forgotten?

  “Nay. I’ve ne’er been to a gathering other than the one a few days ago.”

  “That’s hard to believe. You ne’er went with your family to any of the festivals near your castle?”

  Heat rose up her cheeks again, but this time from embarrassment instead of desire. How could she tell him that her family had never wanted her with them? And the times she did spend with them were some of the most excruciating in her life—filled with fear and humiliation, but also with a desperate neediness to belong? To be loved?

  She shook her head, not wanting him to hear the shame in her voice.

  “Then where did you find Ewan?” he asked. “And doona tell me you birthed him. We both know that’s not true.”

  She had to unclench her jaw before she could talk. Force the words past her lips. “I didn’t find him anywhere. And he is my son. I know it, and Ewan knows it.”

  He drummed his fingers on his leg where his kilt had ridden up to reveal brawny thighs. “So, if you didn’t find him, someone gave him to you. Your husband, perhaps? Was he mistreated before you got him?”

  “Nay!”

  “Nay your husband didn’t give him to you, or nay he wasn’t mistreated?”

  “He’s ne’er been mistreated in any way. I would ne’er hurt Ewan. I would give my life for my son!”

  “Not your son. Do you think people could believe for even one moment that you’re his mother? You couldnae be more opposite.”

  “You wouldnae say that if you met my mother. She’s as fair as Ewan. All my family is.”

  “And do they all have my eyes? And the same cowlick that Ewan and I share? The same dent in our chins? Does their hair peak downward in the middle of their brow like mine does? Like Ewan’s?”

  She stayed silent. This was a pointless discussion. She could agree, confess that Lewis had given Ewan to her and told her he was the boy’s father, but then what would Gavin do to him? Lewis wasn’t a bad man, and she couldn’t imagine he’d deliberately hurt a child in any way. Nay, she’d been fifteen when she’d married him, and he’d treated her like the child she still was instead of taking what was his by rights of marriage. Her life had vastly improved since she’d moved to Clan MacIntyre, and if nothing else, she owed Lewis her loyalty.

  “Do you not find it strange that they didn’t change his name before they gave him to you?” Gavin asked. “Someone took him from the gathering before the pestilence hit. They knew his name, so he must have been targeted. And then they gave him to you to raise—to take him on picnics and teach him about spirals and put your life before his—without even trying to hide who he was. Why?”

  She shrugged, feeling helpless and confused. Frightened. Her time with Ewan was almost at an end. She knew it. Gavin MacKinnon would not want to keep her around. Her fantasies about them being a happy family were just that—fantasies. Tears pricked her eyes, and her lip trembled.

  “I think whoever took him wanted to use him as leverage against me,” Gavin continued. “But if that’s true, why didn’t they? Why give him to a lonely, barren woman to raise instead? To make him happy?”

  She blinked, and the tears ran down her face. Aye, she had been lonely. And she’d done her very best to fill her son’s days with love, laughter, and learning, which had filled her own life too. A life which now loomed ahead of her as barren as Gavin had described.

  He pushed Ewan’s hair back from his forehead with his fingers. A small scar marked the center of his brow. “Did you ever wonder how he got that?” he asked. “He fell off a chair in the nursery and hit a jagged edge on the stone wall. I had the mason come in the next day and sand down all the sharp edges on the walls so my son wouldn’t be hurt like that again. And this one on his palm?” He turned Ewan’s hand over, so she could see, but she didn’t need to. She knew the exact scar he referred to. “He grabbed a knife I’d laid on the table. I was right there, watching him, and I only intended to put it down for a moment. I banned all daggers from the keep after that.”

  He rubbed Ewan’s back, down low on the right side. “He has a birthmark here in the shape of a rearing horse, and his wee toes are perfectly shaped—all ten of them—which he did not get from me.”

  He rubbed his hand on Ewan’s back again, soothing but also strong and protective. “I did everything I could think of to safeguard my son. And then someone stole him from me when I wasn’t there. And I could do naught to stop it. All I could do was keep looking for him. Keep believing he was alive. I never gave up the search.”

  Pain radiated off him, and he sq
ueezed his arms more tightly around Ewan. He kissed his head once more, and then nuzzled his face in the boy’s hair. Things that Deirdre had also done every day since he’d been given to her.

  “He wasn’t hurt, Laird MacKinnon, or sad or unprotected. Take comfort in that. He was—is—loved and happy.” She pressed her fingers over Gavin’s and traced the outline of the birthmark that she knew by heart. “We named the rearing horse on his back Dardoo—a made-up name that he liked. And I also didn’t let him around knives. He’s fascinated by them. You’ll have to teach him to use them responsibly soon.”

  She pushed his fingers back to Ewan’s leg where a more recent scar sat. “A weasel bit him here. Ewan found it going after the chickens and chased it out of the coop. He fevered afterward and was sick for a few days. I ne’er left his side.” She trailed her fingers up to his knee. “He’s scraped and banged these too many times to count. His elbows too. I’ve held him until he stopped crying and washed, bandaged, and kissed every cut and bruise. And I’ve kissed all ten of his perfect toes.”

  She turned her head this time and nuzzled Ewan’s hair. “Aye, Gavin MacKinnon, he’s your son. But he’s my son too.”

  * * *

  Gavin led Thor across the wildflower-strewn field to the creek. The gloaming was upon them, and the sky was covered in waves of orange and pink. He crouched down at the stream’s edge and drank deeply, as did Thor, then splashed water on his face.

  They would make camp here tonight and hopefully cross into MacKinnon land two days hence. He hated to admit it, but the ride had been tough on Ewan. Having to stay on Thor for so long was no easy thing, and Gavin had often wished they’d brought a wagon, as Deirdre had asked.

  The ride had been tough on her as well…but that wasn’t his concern, no matter how many times he’d considered stopping early so she could rest.

  He looked back over his shoulder and saw Deirdre and Ewan walking toward the woods with Clyde—Gavin’s most trusted man—at their heels. Deirdre moved awkwardly—in pain from the ride, most likely—and Ewan stepped sedately beside her, carrying a linen that dragged on the ground. Not like the first few times they’d stopped, when he’d darted all over the place, exploring.