Highland Scandal (3 page)

No other words were needed. She knew the exact location and time. A white-heat raced through her.

He loved her.

That made everything worse.

“Your opinion of him?” Caelen asked.

“Everything you said sounds like a command.”

“It is. Now, tell me.”

She debated whether to tell him or not. The man didn’t need any more boast to his hauteur. “He is as you say. Pride is a sin.” She raised a finger in rebuff.

“I am not being prideful. I’m right.”

The garrison marched in the great hall in a cacophony of male guffaws and grunting tones. A racket shook through the hall at the thump of the benches being pulled out and the pound of their hands against the trestle tables. Her head thumped in rhythm with the noise. Rowen steeled herself. Silly, aye, but she would be sharing this meal with Eacharn and Lachlan. During her other visits, she had sat with Lachlan—when Caelen wasn’t forcing them apart.

Duncan appeared with Ailsa at his side. Rowen took her position alongside her brother and walked to the dais. She might be acting histrionically, but this night, her old life was over. She stood beside her seat and the first face she saw was Lachlan’s. She wasn’t ready to leave him behind…yet.

A feast spread before her, not that Rowen tasted one morsel of it. She presented her best manners. Truth was Eacharn did make the meal less tense. He had an easy laugh that stirred her own laughter.

“I had meant to show the wee lad how to balance the point of the blade on my fingertip. It balanced there”—Eacharn pointed to the exact point on his finger—“the firelight glinted off the sharp point. Then it teetered and fell. The point buried right in my foot. I stood there, unsure what to do. I knew I couldn’t leave it in my foot.” He leaned toward her. “But I didn’t want to pull it out. Tell no one.” He leaned back. “Gathering my courage, I bent down to pull it out. I lost my balance. My arms flapped back like a duck about to take flight. I fell over and onto the lad. I do not know who was more surprised, me or the lad. As luck would have it, the blade popped right out.” He laughed. He bowed his head, sending his thick, black hair to flap about with every move. Eacharn resembled a naughty boy getting away with a little trick.

Rowen smiled. “You find the oddest things humorous.”

He hooked a finger under his earlobe. “I heard your laughter.”

“Guilty. You do tell a grand tale.”

He laid his hand on her own. She did not jerk away from it. His touch wasn’t vile. That didn’t mean that she didn’t feel tightness settle in her breast. She snuck a glance at Lachlan. He was refilling his cup.

Laird Murray’s croaky voice rose about the other conversations. “Tomorrow shall be a good hunt. Will you be joining us, Mistress MacKenzie?” Oil shined around his mouth.

“Aye, I do love to hunt.”

Caelen shared a warm glance with her. Hunting was an activity they both shared with their father. She had not joined one since his death. She had tried, readying her horse, yet she never mounted.

“Caelen had told me how you killed a boar. You are a fierce woman,” Eacharn said.

“I did not kill it with my bare hands.”

“Rowen, do not diminish your accomplishment. You should boast to all. I would have it proclaimed.”

“Women are more modest, but next time, I shall. Sadly, the beast has been eaten and its parts used for objects, otherwise I would wear the skin as my trophy.”

“Exactly. Perhaps its head as a lovely headdress.”

“I would surely frighten all.”

Eacharn craned his head to meet her eyes. “Nay, they would tremble in righteous fear.”

“You do say the most wonderful things.” She shook her head ruefully.

“Good. I would not want otherwise.”

“I find that I do like you.” She blinked at him, surprised at her own confession.

“Once more—good. It bodes well for us.”

“That it does.” Her lashes fell to cover her embarrassment. As they swept up, she caught Lachlan watching her. His easy expression was missing. A servant stepped between them, blocking him from her view. Her chest constricted as if someone reached into her and stole her breath. The servant moved away. Lachlan had turned from her and laughed with the man beside him.

Servants swept in and cleared the tables. Eacharn led her to a bench facing the dais. The harper sat and began playing.

Lachlan stayed far from her. There were moments when their eyes met over the heads of the audience. She loved those moments. Her cheeks heated. When she looked away, she felt a tug of guilt. Eacharn never noticed. Each time, he appeared to be interested in something else other than her.

Eacharn stumbled to speak. A flush spread across his cheeks. Before he could gather his words, Caelen stood at her elbow. Both shot a look at her brother.

“I shall bid you a good night until the morn.”

Rowen wished him the same. When Eacharn departed, Rowen elbowed her brother in his ribs. “You frightened him away.”

“I am not here because of him.”

Rowen spun around and left Caelen to march behind her.

Her brother saw her to her chamber. “Sleep well.”

Did he warn her?

She had to close the door in his stern face. Inside, she threw herself on her bed. Her weary body sank into the small feathered mattress, not that she was ready to sleep. Her mind raced, impatient for the time to meet with Lachlan. She flipped on to her back. She rested her hands on her chest and drummed her fingers. She hummed. She tapped her foot.

The proper behavior of a betrothed lady would be to stay away, but Rowen never considered it. To face the life that stretched before her, she was willing to risk all for a few memories to carry with her.

From her chamber, it seemed the night had ended. Drunken voices no longer swirled outside her window. She slipped her shoes on. She cracked open her door and slipped into the hallway. She felt her way down the darkened stairway to the great hall. The castle was asleep. The castle dogs were snoring before the banked hearth. The dogs growled. She whispered some sweet Gaelic words. One of the dogs stretched and yawned before following her. The scrap of its nails blended with her breathing. She continued down to the bowels of the castle. She shivered at the biting cold, thick with dankness. Her fingers chilled. She passed the castle stores. A torch light flickered odd angles against the walls and floor. Lachlan was hunched down and petting a castle cat. The dog lay down, keeping watch, while Rowen crossed into the light.

Lachlan faced her. She wanted to run into his arms. She didn’t. She was too afraid of his rejection. She shivered from the dampness and the wind rushing through the corridor.

“Rowen.” His longing tone twisted at her. She hurried to him. He stretched out his arms and wrapped them around her. He squeezed her tightly, lifting her to her toes. His delicious heat banished the cold. He cupped her cheek. His touch didn’t stop there. He ran his hand over her head as if remembering the feel of her for the last time.

She laid her forefinger against his chin. She smiled, feeling happiness, excitement, and anticipation whirling within him. She trembled from the sensation. His hand traveled down her back. His fingers danced along her spine. White-hot tingles sparked. His hand rested on her hip.

He claimed her mouth.

She shouldn’t kiss him back.
She wanted to.
She kissed him, loving his mouth with every fiber of her. A rushing fervor turned the kiss into a ravishing one. This one tasted sweeter, yet spiced with an underlying layer of grief. This may be her last one. She buried her hands in his hair. The silken strands tangled around her fingers. She wouldn’t let him stop. He moaned low in his throat.

At this moment, nothing else existed but his mouth. As long as she kissed him, she didn’t have to think about her coming marriage and a life without him. Lachlan was the only man she loved. Kissing him let her deceive herself.

Just beyond her, like the darkness, was reality. But in his embrace, she could let them linger within this warm cocoon. There was nothing better in the world than this. So she kept on kissing him. Her heart drummed a wild tattoo against her breast. No doubt, she would be bruised from the inside out.

She held onto him, drunk from the kiss. She swayed, feeling tossed about like a boat caught in a storm. His unyielding shoulders that carried the burdens of his life supported her.

Lachlan pulled away a scant space. His ragged breathing blasted against her face. Slowly, she steadied. He licked his lips, and then planted a quick peck. Even he didn’t want it to end, but their lungs demanded air. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. His calloused fingertip snagged on her lip.

“This is wrong.”

* * * *

Rowen yawned. Her lashes weighed down her eyes. She had splashed her face time and again. The cold water failed to shock her awake. She rubbed her eyes. The misty huffs of horses resonated through the morning mist. Voices were still gritty from sleep. The dawn wind drowned away the small snatches of muted conversation. The new day’s gust was crisp, scented with dirt, horse, and leather. Through the thick whiteness, she saw the shapes of the horses. The big cock had crowed awakening her. Now, the young cock crowed. Its echo bounced about the courtyard and blared in her ears. Dogs barked and snapped.

The mist evaporated. Lachlan stood beside his mount, tightening the cinch of his saddle. He hadn’t spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, twisting among her bed linens.

This is wrong.
He had pushed by her. She had lingered there, listening to the dog’s breathing and shivering from the cold and his words. Lachlan was right. Reasoning failed to convince her heart.

Eacharn appeared at her side, leading his horse. “Ready for the hunt? It shall be a good one. MacLean said the deer have been plentiful this season.” He rubbed his thick hands together in glee.

Maybe it was the mist or the lack of distractions, but beyond the bright blue of his eyes, she gleaned the sorrow in the depths. Did he know about her meeting with Lachlan?

“Then it shall be a great hunt.” She mounted her horse. She smiled, hoping it soothed both their worries. That was all she was capable of this morn. Eacharn mounted and stayed at her side. The excited barks and whines of the dogs rumbled through the courtyard. Dozens of men shouted out orders, so their voices blended to gruff shouts and nothing seemed to be distinguishable. For that, she was grateful. What could she say? She had given into her desire with no care to others. She had risked too much.

In the center of the party, she rode out of the safety of the castle. Thick mist blocked the dowie morning light. The morning dew smeared against Rowen’s face, leaving a wet sheen on her. The summer greenery changed into an autumn brown. The tall grass writhed to dry stalks that crunched under the horses’ hooves. The rich, earthy dankness filled her nostrils. The hounds ran along the riverbank, one of the many linking lochs and rivers branching through the land. A red squirrel scurried into the pinewoods. Its affronted screech added to the other forest’s inhabitants. Each of the horse’s steps stirred up the pine scent of fallen needles blanketing the loamy earth.

The wind blew against her, in the opposite direction the deer fled. The stalkers had caught the tracks.

A hunt, for Rowen, was never about the kill and the feast that happened thanks to the animal. Nay, something primal in her stirred to life. On the hunt she shed her womanhood and the men’s ideals of her weakness. A hunt was about survival, mutual existence, and a small space of time when she connected to another life.

The battened down excitement erupted at the appearance of the stag on the mountain’s slope. The stag cocked its head. His antlers reached upward and branched across the sky.

Rowen tapped her horse’s side and leaned low and joined the fray. Her heart raced, matching the thunder of their hooves. The earth trembled beneath her. From here, Rowen swore she smelled the muskiness of their skins. She could hear…feel the animal’s heart pounding alongside her own. Her gaze narrowed on the flanks of the stag. Her mouth dried.

The stag charged into the woodland. She tightened her thighs, slowing Maiden. The rest slowed as the cacophony of the hunt echoed through the woods.

Her mount halted with a jerk. Her painful whine dowsed Rowen in fear. Maiden reared up then stomped the ground. Rowen held on. Her neck whipped back and forth. Finally, Maiden stilled then backed up. Maiden huffed for air, sending snot and saliva flying. Her roan coat was damp from sweat. The party vanished in to the forest.

She dismounted. “What has happened, Maiden?”

A dead adder was curled among the undergrowth. Its long body cut into pieces.

“Did she strike you?”

Rowen ran her hands over Maiden’s broad chest and delicate legs. “Nay, you are well.” Birdsong rang about her and mixed with the buzz of the few insects that still survived. She was alone.

Rowen gathered the reins. “Come let’s get you something to drink.” Maiden neighed and lifted her right front hoof. “Poor girl, you’re injured. You are in need of some tender care.” Rowen grabbed the bridle. “Do not worry. We shall go slow.”

Birds took to the air as the drum of an approaching rider beat through the woods. Eacharn must have noticed her absence. It was not him.

Lachlan.

He swept down off his mount. “What is wrong?”

“Maiden seems to have injured herself.”

Lachlan laid a hand on the animal’s side and bent down.

“I have inspected her.”

Lachlan made a sound in the back of his throat. She knew it wasn’t an agreement. Nay, it was an appeasement.

“You cannot ride her back. You may hurt her more.”

“I know that. What about the others?” She peered over her shoulder. The woods stretched and darkened in the distance. “They may wonder where we went off to.”

The left corner of his mouth raised and the rest of his mouth spread in that wicked smile. “Afraid they may think sinful thoughts?”

“Lachlan,” she said in warning.

He rested his arm on her saddle. “Do not fret. I have informed the men about our whereabouts and my plans to return you to Castle MacLean. Eacharn continued with the hunt since I assured him I would see to your safe return. He appeared as much in a rut as the stag.”