The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Only if ye are compelled to give them.”

  She looked about to say one thing, and then changed her mind, judging by the sudden fire sparking her mesmerizing green eyes. “You would not be here to spar with Amish if our fight had been a true one.”

  He stepped closer and then bent the rest of the way, until his breath was filled with the scent of her. “If our fight had been a true one,” he said, keeping his voice low, “ye wouldna have lasted longer than two breaths.”

  She wanted to say something. He could see it in her eyes. But she knew he was correct.

  He straightened to his full height, allowed himself to smile at her, and then stepped away.

  “Where are you going?” she called out, hurrying after him.

  He stopped and looked at her and then at the men all gaping at them.

  “D’ye all want to practice with me now then?” Cain called out.

  They promptly turned away, pretending interest in anything but the two of them.

  “I am goin’ huntin’,” he told her next.

  He took a step to move on, but she bounded in front of him. “How long are you going to avoid me?”

  He stepped back, lest a strong enough wind cast her into his arms. “I thought we agreed—”

  He would have expected a dagger. Hell, he would have preferred one instead of the pain from her twisting fingers pinching his arm.

  “We did not agree! I told you I would not stay away and then I learned you lied to me and told you to get out!”

  “Ye said I had my wish and ye would stay away from me,” he corrected, glaring at her and holding his hand over his bruised arm.

  “I was angry with you! But you, it seems, are more than that!”

  “What?” His heart felt as if it had just stopped beating. Were his reactions to her so obvious? Apparently so, for even Father Timothy had accused him of hiding.

  “You truly do hate me.”

  He wanted to laugh with relief but, hell, she was serious! She looked more unhappy than angry. Why would she be? Trying to trick him into agreeing to something was one thing. She would be clever in trying to gain his favor, mayhap keeping him here to join in her battle against his own countrymen. But he didn’t believe she was trying to trick him. What he saw in her eyes was real. She didn’t want him to hate her.

  “My intention is not meant to make ye believe I hate ye,” he told her. He wanted to look away—or say more, but he could do neither.

  “What is it meant to make me believe then?” she asked, dipping her head and shielding her eyes with her hood.

  Hell, what had he gotten himself into? He looked around, wishing for help. None came. “Come,” he said taking hold of her arm. “I dinna want to speak in front of the men.”

  She didn’t resist when he pulled her along. He wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  When they stepped beyond the curtain wall, he stopped, having had enough time to prepare himself—as he would for any battle.

  “I dinna hate ye,” he began on a low rumble. “but—” A cool gust of wind, laced with the fragrance of her hair, blew her hood away from her face. He lifted his hand to a stray lock of hair whipping across her lips. “Ye were correct, lass. I am fond of ye, but I canna—”

  “So you lied to me about that, as well,” she said accusingly and flipped her hood back up.

  He smiled, but he wanted to throttle her. “I dinna see any point in—”

  “—saying another word?” she asked tersely. “Since I will not believe anything you tell me? You are correct. I am going back to William and the others.” She turned to head back to the inner yard. “At least they—”

  He reached out and caught her wrist. He didn’t think about any of the reasons he shouldn’t, but pulled her back to him, lifting her wrist over his shoulder and snaking his other arm around her waist. She didn’t try to stop him when he pulled her in closer, but closed both arms around his neck. When he dipped his head close to hers, she closed her eyes and waited to receive him.

  He kissed her with a growl of pure demand, forgetting everything but the wind and the feel of her yielding body melding against his. With a flick of his tongue, he coaxed open her lips and swept it inside her.

  She tasted like honey and innocence, intoxicating him and vanquishing his fears.

  She moved her fingers through his hair and held on while he devoured her softness.

  His hands, so much larger than every part of her, swept over her back, down her spine, drawing her closer. She tugged on his hair, keeping him close, until he breathed her, in and out.

  He thought kissing her might be enough to satisfy this need he had of her. But as she answered his passion with passion of her own, he knew he was wrong. He wanted her. Every part of her. He wanted to whisk her away somewhere and…no, she was too dangerous. He wouldn’t risk dying a second time.

  He broke their kiss, and stepped back, breaking their embrace as well. “I shouldna have done that.”

  She lifted her fingertips to her lips and looked at him and then away. “Aye, you should not have.”

  He wasn’t sorry that he had. “I fear I may do it again if I dinna go…” He took another reluctant step back. “Now.”

  She nodded, still touching her mouth, drawing his eyes there again. “Safe hunting.”

  He didn’t want to leave her, but he needed to before he defied everything and carried her back to the keep.

  He pushed back his bow over his shoulder, pulled up his hood, and left.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aleysia let her hand fall to her side and watched the commander walk away from her after a kiss that made her doubt everything she thought she knew, including her name.

  She’d only been kissed intimately twice in her life. She’d been fifteen and curious. It had been nothing like this. Emotions swelled up in her and, for some mad reason, she wanted to weep.

  She understood his regret, for she felt it, too. His kiss, his embrace, made her feel too much. This was not some fling with a handsome Highlander. This was more. This warmed her knees and a place below her belly. This made her feel alive and reborn. How would she tell everyone? Richard and the others? Could something grow between them? She knew she was attracted to him and that she sometimes wanted to beat him over the head with something, but she had no idea until he kissed her how much of her he was beginning to claim.

  She watched him, his broad shoulders growing small in the distance. He was heading for the trees—to go hunting. She took a step forward, and then looked back at the curtain wall.

  She didn’t want to return to the men practicing, back to Richard constantly trying to convince her to go back to Normandy with him. Thank God for Father Timothy always changing the topic and even standing up for her desire to stay. She would have been content to be left alone at Lismoor—after she lied to the Bruce and promised him her fealty. She’d decided to do it last eve. She hadn’t prepared for four years only to give it up to some arrogant king. She would feed his ears if that was what it took to keep her home.

  But now, after the commander’s kiss, she thought about what it would be like to stay here with him.

  Was she mad? He was correct. They were enemies. But she’d felt like his enemy for the last four days and she didn’t like it.

  He didn’t hate her. No man could kiss her the way he had and hate her.

  She touched her lips again and then ran back to the castle, but only to lift one of the men’s bows and quiver of arrows. She escaped without even Mattie seeing her, through her tunnel, and came out at the eastern edge of the forest. She’d have to make a half-circle through the woods, but she would find him. The question was, did he hunt from above or on the ground?

  And why was she following him?

  She smiled, not caring why, and took off up a slanted tree.

  Aleysia saw the roebuck go still. She crouched low in the cradle of two branches and looked around her, knowing the commander was near and finally spotting him i
n a tree to the south of her, ready to shoot.

  She nocked an arrow, aimed, and let it fly. An instant before him.

  The buck went down and the critters around him in the bramble scattered.

  The commander found her in the trees and stood up. He started toward her, running across branches and planks as if he’d been doing it for four years. If she didn’t know him—if he hadn’t just kissed her as if his life depended on it, she would have run for her life.

  It didn’t take him long to reach her. He stopped, a few feet away, settling his boots on a wide, painted plank and his arms on a branch overhead.

  “What d’ye think ye’re doin’?” he asked in his low, resonant voice. His eyes on her were as still as the buck’s had been.

  “I’m hunting. Same as you.”

  He looked as if he were trying to keep from laughing or knocking her out of the tree. “The same buck ’twould seem.”

  “I have had my eye on it for a good amount of time now,” she replied, doing her best to appear unaffected by him and the fact that he was just a few steps away.

  “When did ye decide to go huntin’?”

  “I believe you will recall me mentioning that I wanted to hunt for the villagers.”

  Then he cast her a doubtful look. “And ye are just gettin’ to it now?”

  She chewed her lip and thought about giving him a false reason but, more than likely, he wouldn’t believe her. And she had followed him. Why deny it? “I decided to go soon after you left.”

  His smile started at one corner of his succulent mouth and then shone full force on her. He said nothing for a moment, staring at her with a look of acceptance creeping into his eyes, as if he finally realized there was no point in trying to keep her away.

  She watched the way his plaid moved around his legs when he left his plank and came to sit on a bough close to where she was.

  “Ye’re makin’ this verra difficult, lass,” he said with the residue of his smile aimed at the ground.

  She lowered herself into the cradle and sat. He was an arm’s length away and a forty foot drop threatened. She wouldn’t argue with him about this. Whatever was going on between them was wrong. It went against everything for which they had given up years of their lives. She felt shame over her desires involving him. “’Tis difficult for me, as well. I convinced my friends that I would kill you all. Instead, I find myself—” She snapped her mouth shut and shifted between the branches. She looked at him and caught him looking back. “I find myself drawn to you.” There. It was the truth—just not all of it.

  “I shouldna have kissed ye,” he said hoarsely, turning toward her. “I will be leavin’ once I have secured yer place here.”

  She was thankful for his willingness to help her. But he’d carefully skirted around her confession and made a point of letting her know he was leaving.

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  The branch he was sitting on cracked and echoed through the trees.

  His eyes opened wider but he kept himself still.

  Aleysia rose with her heart thundering in her chest. “Come,” she coaxed in a quiet voice and held out her hand. “Jump!”

  He didn’t hesitate, but leaped to his feet, and then straight for her. The bough beneath him splintered and fell away, hitting other branches on the way down.

  Aleysia looked into his eyes as he teetered on the edge of one of her forked branches, his hand attached to hers.

  She could let him fall. He would likely die.

  She pulled him in. He landed in her arms, hard against her. His heart thumped between them. His gaze moved over her as if she were cool, crisp water for his parched body.

  “I am tempted to replace Amish with ye as my second.”

  She smiled at his praise and then let him go. It was better if he never kissed her again, better if he left Lismoor soon.

  “Let’s be off these branches,” she said, turning away. “I do not know if they can hold us both.”

  She moved away quickly, leading the way over a plank and a few lower branches until it was safe enough to jump. She watched him land with the agility of a cat, appreciating even more his strong, lithe body.

  They checked on the buck but rather than take it to the village right away, they decided to leave it where it had fallen and return for it later.

  “Who taught ye to shoot?” the commander asked her.

  “I taught myself,” she told him. “I did not do well.” She smiled, remembering. “But when Giles saw my interest, he made certain that I had the best instructors.”

  “And fightin’?” he asked, walking alongside her on the ground. “Who taught ye to sweep yer leg across yer opponent’s? ’Tis a sure way to bring yer enemy down.”

  She wanted to smile at the lilt of his voice. She was surprised and guilt-ridden that she found the sound of him so pleasing.

  “I would like ye to teach it to me, so that I can teach the men.”

  She gaped up at him as if he were mad. “You would like me to help my enemies?”

  He tilted his head just enough for her to look into his blue eyes. She saw the deadly man he could be.

  “Are we yer enemies then, Aleysia?”

  She wanted to close her eyes and remember how her name sounded on his lips. Aye, he was a wild Scot, but she saw someone else. Someone, perhaps, his men did not see. He’d been patient and merciful despite all she had done. And somehow, he managed to penetrate all her defenses with his reluctant smile and passionate kiss.

  She was fully aware of what could never be, but she didn’t want to think on it now.

  “Let us forget who we are and the war going on around us for a little while and just enjoy the day.”

  He looked as if he were about to laugh. It appeared that forgetting the war was impossible for him. Well, he was just going to have to do it if he wanted to spend time with her.

  Did he want to? She was the one who’d come looking for him, after all.

  With a carefree shrug, she continued on, stepping around a few ancient oaks. He followed her to a shady path that was too narrow for them to continue walking together. The commander followed her. She turned to smile at him as the path opened and he paused to let a dragonfly hover before him in a thin shaft of sunlight seeping through the canopy.

  Aleysia watched, entranced by the sight of him stepping through the light like some elven king who belonged here.

  The path was surrounded on both sides by overgrown wild strawberries. Aleysia picked one and offered it to him. “Try it. ’Tis delicious.”

  He took the fruit from her fingers and put it in his mouth. She picked another for herself and ate it. They both smiled with delight.

  “I would come here every day if I lived here,” he said, picking more.

  She leaned closer to him and whispered. “I do.” Then, with a short squeal of excitement, she took his hand and hurried along the path. “This way!” She pulled him around a bend, toward a small opening in the thick bramble.

  Why was she sharing this place with him? She’d stumbled upon it years ago. No one knew of it. It was where she came to rest after practicing all day or building in the forest.

  After what Father Timothy had told her about the commander’s childhood, she thought, perhaps, he needed a rest, too.

  She stepped out into a sunlit glade, carpeted in bluebells and purple orchids, surrounded on every side by plank-free trees and overgrown bramble.

  She turned to watch his reaction to her private little paradise and was surprised to see him close his eyes rather than take in the sight.

  “This is what ye smell like.” He opened his eyes and smiled, first at her, and then at the glade. As he took in the vision before him, he exhaled and something warm—something that came from the inside—filled his gaze.

  “’Tis like I stepped into someplace that doesna belong here in this world.” He moved forward and then stopped and looked at his boots crushing the bluebells.

  “They will spring back up when you
move,” she reassured him and pulled off her hood. “I sit in them all the time.” She looked around at all the flowers and smiled shyly, feeling silly for confessing such a thing to him. “I even lie in them.”

  She paused for a moment. “Come.” She closed her fingers around his much larger ones and tugged him toward the middle of the glade. “Come and sit.”

  She felt his reluctance and wondered how long he would deny what he was feeling. He was terrified of it. And she should be terrified, too. Why wasn’t she? Why was she more afraid of him leaving Lismoor or, God forbid, being forced to wed someone else?

  He sat with her in the flowers and stretched out his long legs. He leaned back on his palms and settled his gaze on hers. “Ye seem at peace aboot King Robert.”

  “I am,” she said with a slant of her lips. “I’m going to lie to him. You helped me decide.”

  “How did I do that?” he asked with a trace of humor racing across his eyes.

  “You told me to,” she reminded him.

  “I would never tell ye to lie to the king,” he defended himself, and then laughed when she tossed him an irritated look. “I will help ye.”

  “Why?” she asked, giving him a candid look. “Why would you help me lie to your king?”

  “To keep yer home,” he answered easily.

  “But why? Why do you care?” She wanted to try to make a little more sense of him—of things between them.

  “I…I dinna know.” He shook his head and looked up at the sky.

  She waited a moment for more and then lay down beside him. “’Tis better like this.”

  He looked down at her and smiled, then lifted his palms out of the bluebells and lay back. “Ye’re correct. ’Tis better.”

  They lay in silence for a moment or two before he spoke again. “I am not one fer carin’ fer things…or people. Things change and people die.”

  “Aye,” she sighed, staring at the peaceful heavens. She understood. She lost her parents to illness and her life changed. She lost her brother to the war and her life changed again. Still, she offered, “My life was easy compared to yours.”

  He turned his head in the flowers and stared at her. “What d’ye know of my life?”