Highland Captive (23 page)

As
Parlan was about to give into the tempting pull of sleep, Aimil began to thrash
about. He quickly got a firm grip on her to still her flailing arms. From her
movements he guessed that she was reliving her near drowning in her dreams. As
he held her, he called to her, trying to pull her from her nightmare. He
decided that he did not like to see her so afraid, even in her dreams.

Aimil
fought the pull of the waters. She desperately needed air but dared not breathe
knowing that the cold, dark waters would fill her if she did. Something held
her firmly and she fought its grip, but nothing she did seemed to break it.
Then breaking through the choking terror she felt was a deep, soothing voice.
She saw Parlan and reached for him, certain he would save her. Slowly, she felt
herself pulled from the depths. With a gasping cry, she opened her eyes and met
Parlan’s gaze.

For
a moment she felt swamped with confusion. She was not wet and neither was he.
Although her throat was sore and her chest hurt, she felt no need to spew out
any water. Then she realized that she was warm, dry, and in Parlan’s bed. An
instant later she recalled all that had happened, the nearly tragic end to her
attempt to leave the man who now held her.

“T’was
but a dream.”

“Aye,
lass.” He eased his hold on her.

“I
thought I was drowning.”

“Ye
nearly did.”

“Aye,
I remember that now. Wheesht, I dinnae fell verra weel.”

“Nay,
I suspicion ye dinnae but t’will pass quick enough.”

She
sensed a sternness in him and eyed him warily. What surprise she felt over his
presence faded quickly as she faintly recalled him crouched over her while her
body violently rejected all the water she had swallowed. It occurred to her
that he must have been the one to pull her from the water. Although he did not
look very receptive to gratitude, she knew she ought to thank him. He had
obviously saved her life and probably at no small risk to his own, something
that made her feel uncomfortably guilty.

“I
owe ye my life.”

“Aye,
ye do.”

“Weel,
I thank ye for it.”

“If
it means aught to ye, mayhaps ye shouldnae risk it so carelessly.”

There
was anger in his voice, and her initial reaction of chagrin quickly changed to
annoyance. She decided that he had no right to get cross with her. If not for
him, she would not even be at Dubhglenn. If not for him, she would still be a
maid and not concerned with people thinking her a whore. He was the one with
all the grand plans that did not seem to be working so that it began to look as
if he could not be trusted. And if his plans were working, he was not telling
her and Leith about it which was nearly as bad.

“‘Tis
all your fault.”

“My
fault?” Taken aback, he was torn between amusement over her belligerence and an
urge to shake her.

“Aye,
right from the beginning. Weel, mayhaps not exactly right from the start for
t’was Artair who made the raid and caught us, but ye didnae send us home. Then
ye speak of all these plans that seem clever yet naught happens save that my
father still pays.”

“Dinnae
ye trust me?”

“Aye,
I trust ye and Leith does too, but, as he said, there comes a time when ye must
ask yourself if ‘tis wise to set still and be trusting, if ye have been wrong
and act upon what ye see and not what ye feel. We both feel that ye can be
trusted, but we see naught happening save that my father still struggles to
collect the ransom and I,” she said, sighing, “and I still share your bed. We
both ken that the bargain made for Elfking has long since been fulfilled.”

He
smoothed away the lines caused by her frown with his fingers. “And ye are no
longer happy to share my bed?”

“Aye,
but therein is some of the trouble. Cannae ye see that? As Leith said, my being
here is accepted as part of my being a hostage, but when I make no attempt to
escape, especially when the chance arises, then I become naught but a whore in
all eyes.” She looked at him closely, hoping he would understand for she had
never wanted to deliver any insult. “I couldnae do that to my family.”

“Nay,
ye couldnae. Weel, ye have now soothed all that worry for ye have tried to
escape, something all can attest to. Aye, and ye nearly killed yourself in the
doing of it.” For a moment he thought about speaking of marriage now but
decided he would stay to his original plan. “So, now ye can stay right where ye
are and I mean to see that ye do.”

She
thought that sounded arrogant but was feeling too weary to take him to task
about it. With an inner sigh, she also admitted to herself that, if he wanted
her to stay in his bed, she really had no objections. It was where she really
wanted to be. While he gave her only passion when she ached for so much more,
there was still more joy than sorrow to be found in the arrangement. Neither
did he ever leave her feeling no better than a whore. She was not quite certain
of what he felt for her and continuously feared that his feelings would change,
that he would eventually discard her. However, she was sure that she was more
than a mere bedmate with whom he sated whatever lust he felt. As long as he
allowed her to, she would stay and try for more, try to win his love.

“Go
to sleep, loving,” he ordered gently. “Ye need your rest. Get a lot and on the
morrow ye will feel better.”

“I
hope so,” she murmured, and yawned widely. “I can still taste the water of the
loch. Aye, still feel as if it fills me.”

“T’will
fade.”

Suddenly
recalling that he had been gone for a while and realizing that he was making no
move to make love to her, she forced her heavy eyelids to open to peer at him. “Isnae
there anything ye want? Ye have been gone a wee while.”

“Aye,
I have.” He smiled faintly and lightly kissed her. “And, aye, there is
something I want but it can wait until ye are rested.”

“If
ye are sure,” she said even as she closed her eyes again and started to let
sleep conquer her. “Seems verra tolerant of ye when ye are such a greedy rogue.”

“Aye,
‘tis and ye will no doubt pay for it on the morrow.”

He
smiled when she laughed softly and then almost immediately fell asleep.
Although it had been a nightmare that had made her wake, he had had a lot of
his fears about her health eased by that short time of coherency. So too had
her words softened the sting her attempt to escape had inflicted. She had not
said much more than Leith had, yet seeing it all from her side had aided his
understanding. Knowing that she still wished to share his bed and that in her
heart she still trusted him was going to make what he planned to say on the
morrow a little easier.

Chapter Thirteen

“Where
are we going?”

Swinging
her up onto Elfking’s back, Parlan smiled sweetly at Aimil. “‘Tis a surprise,
lass. Dinnae ye like surprises?”

Frowning
as she watched him mount his horse, she grumbled, “Not particularly and even
less when I consider who means to spring it on me.”

“Ye
wound me, loving. Come, arenae ye a wee bit curious? Let your curiosity lead
you.”

“Curiosity
can lead one into a great deal of difficulty,” she intoned a little piously,
eyeing him with suspicion.

He
laughed and spurred his mount foreward. After a brief hesitation Aimil cursed
and followed him. His cheerful mood and the air of a mischievous boy that he
carried drew her. She was curious. She simply hated to admit it especially when
it made him grin so.

Deciding
to ignore him, she turned all her attention to riding. It was something she had
not been able to indulge in as freely as she had been accustomed to since
coming to Dubhglenn. She was determined to enjoy the freedom, false though it
might be, and the unusually fine weather, a sunny day the like of which came
along too rarely.

When
they finally reined in, Parlan indicating that they were to stop and dismount,
Aimil looked around in interest. There was a wild, somewhat desolate beauty to
the spot he had chosen. She wondered why he had chosen it and again found
herself wondering what he was up to, why he needed to get her alone. It was
then that she realized just how alone they were.

“Ye
have left your guard behind?” she asked in surprise as he drew her toward the
blanket he had spread out upon the ground.

“Weel,
I wished to spend some time alone with ye, and I cannae rightly do that with
them stomping about, now can I?”

She
was about to remark upon that when she heard what sounded like a soft wail, the
cry of a woman. Giving a gasp, she flung herself into Parlan’s arms. Her fright
ebbed quickly when she saw that he was grinning.

“Didnae
ye hear that?” She tensed, listening closely. “There it is again. What is it,
Parlan?”

“‘Tis
the banshee.”

Meeting
his grin with a stern frown, she drawled, “Ye jest with me, but look at my
face. Even a man of your wit can see that I dinnae find it verra humorous.” She
frowned even more when he chuckled and kissed her downcast mouth.

Standing
up, he pulled her up after him and started toward a ravine. “Come, my
sour-tongued wench. I will show ye.” He stopped near a hole about a foot away
from the edge of the ravine, holding her back when she would have stepped
closer. “Careful, sweeting. It may be unsafe. The hole might have been made
because the roof of a cave has collapsed. That moaning is made by the wind.
There must be a second hole in the wall of the ravine somewhere. The wind
sweeps through, and, lo, ye hear the wail of the banshee of Banshee Well. She
calls to those foolish enough to walk without heeding where they step.”

Aimil
shivered as the sound came again. “I ken ‘tis naught but the wind but ‘tis a
verra mournful sound.”

“Aye.
When I would come here as a lad, I often made up some wild tales to explain it.
‘Tis a sound that near begs to be more than just the wind. I had myself lowered
into it once and found naught, but felt the wind and with each stirring of it
came that sound. It doesnae sound so ghostly from inside either.”

“Was
there a cave there?” she asked as he drew her back to the blanket.

“There
was a small hole and a lot of rubble. Mayhaps I would have found something had
I taken the time to clean out the rubble, but I was only after discovering the
source of the moaning. I was past the age where caves were of any interest to
me.”

“Is
the hole verra deep?”

“Deep
enough so that ye could break your neck if ye took a tumble down it.” He began
to unpack the basket he had brought along.

Her
eyes widening as she saw what he set out, she asked, “Ye mean for us to dine
here?”

“Aye.
‘Tis a fine way to spend a beautiful day. I have even brought us some wine. We
shall drink and eat and loll about in the sun like idle royalty. Have ye never
dined in the sun?” She shook her head knowing he did not refer to the sometimes
rough and rushed meals taken while traveling. “Then this shall be something new
for you. Come, enjoy.”

She
did and, as they ate and drank, her enjoyment grew. Parlan was in high spirits
and kept her laughing with his teasing and nonsense. It was not until they had
finished the food that she began to suspect there was more to the trip than
food and sun. She half-lay in his arms, sipping wine, and recognized the look
that was slowly altering his expression.

“I
begin to think ye have been sly again, Parlan MacGuin,” she drawled but made no
move to leave his hold.

“Sly,
am I?” He took her cup and tossed it aside then pushed her onto her back. “I
thought I was being most clear about what I want.” He began to unlace the
jerkin she wore. “Ye needed but one look to guess it.”

She
attempted to stop him from removing her jerkin but even she recognized it as
half-hearted resistance. “We are outside and the sun is shining.”

“Aye,
and I think ye will look beautiful in the sun’s light.”

“Ye
cannae mean to do it here?”

“Ye
do favor saying that, sweeting. Aye, and I do favor showing ye that we can.”

He
halted her other protests with kisses. When Aimil grasped at sanity long enough
to recall that they were outside beneath a very bright sun, she was already
naked. Parlan crouched over her, staring at her with eyes black with passion,
and quickly shed his own clothes. Despite the fact that she ached for him, she
felt the heat of modesty stain her cheeks.

“I
was right, dearling.” Once free of his clothes, he eased himself on top of her.
“Ye do look fine lying naked in the sun.”

“‘Tis
a scandal,” she whispered, and arched toward him when his mouth found her
breast.

“Och,
lass, it does a body good to have a touch of scandal in his life.”

It
was beyond her to argue with that outrageous opinion. She was too consumed by
the desire he awakened in her to form a coherent sentence. All thought and
concern about where she was faded as the passion they shared became her world.
Shock briefly broke her free of desire’s grip when his mouth moved that small
distance from her inner thigh to touch the silken curls adorning her womanhood.
Her embarrassed protest was short-lived as his hoarse love words and kisses
drove her beyond thought.