The Highlander's Sin (7 page)

Heather gasped. No words came out of her. She was too shocked. No one had ever spoken to her that way before. No one. Literally. Not her parents before they’d died. Not her older brothers and sisters. Nor her aunts, uncles, and cousins. And never her own family chaplain. But this man. This priest… He took the fight right out of her, for she desperately did not want to be laid over his lap, her naked behind bared to his eyes while he whipped her. That would have been the ultimate in mortification. And she didn’t doubt for second that he would do it.

“Shall I let go of ye? Think ye can behave, princess?”

Heather nodded, tears burning her eyes.

Duncan slowly removed his hand from her mouth and then his arm from around her waist. He back
ed away from her inch by inch, and as she felt his presence retreat, she stiffened upward, but couldn’t turn around. The tears that had brimmed she couldn’t hold back and now they slid in large rivulets down her cheeks. She was too embarrassed to swipe them away, or to face him, and so she stood there, facing the way out. Her escape.

Duncan didn’t say anything to her, perhaps sensing somehow that he’d wounded her pride. No orders to return to her seat. She heard him moving around behind her. Her throat was tight
, and her shoulders shook a little with the held-in tears. A quarter hour passed like that in silence, and she was well aware with the amount of time passing, that Duncan knew she’d cried. That he’d given her space, allowing her some semblance of privacy, the kindness of the gesture only made her wish she could hate him more.

“I’ll nay be lighting a fire. W
ould draw attention, but with a plaid to cover ye, ye shouldna be too cold in here tonight.”

Heather swallowed hard, discreetly swiped at her
remaining teardrops and nodded. With a shuddering sigh, she composed herself.

“Come and l
ie down.” It was not a request, but he said it softly, so that it felt like one.

Still unable to speak, afraid her voice would sound garbled from her cry, Heather bowed her head and turned, seeing that Duncan had spread a plaid wide on the ground and then another over top. Big enough for two. He’d made
them
a bed. Not her.
Them
. For a pillow, he’d rolled up his robe. There was nothing in her spot.

“Since ye’ve got on at least four gowns, I thought ye might spare one for
a pillow.”

Heather was stunned still—staring at the black robes carefully rolled up. She didn’t dare look at him. He’d said before that he was naked beneath his robes. Was he now standing naked a few feet away and intend
ing to sleep beside her in such a state.

“
Here.” He handed her a stick. “Chewing this will get the taste of your stomach out of your mouth.”

Heather took the proffered stick with trembling fingers and tucked it into her mouth. Cinnamon burst in her mouth, not at all sweet like it was on rolls, but foul. Utter trickery
, given its delicious scent.

“Next time we kiss, ’twill be doubly sweet.”

Next time? Her stomach fluttered with excitement, and her breath hitched.

“I…” She couldn’t finish.

“Take off a gown and lie down, Heather.”

Oh dear heavens… There was no escaping this.
Except… if he was nude, he might not run after her.

Heather whirled on her heel, prepared to make a break for it. But before she took three steps, his arm snaked around her waist
, hauling her back.

“Dinna think about it.”

She glanced down to see that his arm was covered in white linen. Not naked. He had on a shirt at least.

“Do I have to tie ye up while ye sleep?”

Heather shook her head, the thought of being held captive like that, terrifying.

“I thought lying beside ye would be enough of a deterrent to trying to escape, but I see that may not be the case after all. I’ve some rope I can use to bind ye.”

She cleared her throat. “Nay. Nay, that won’t be necessary.” Miraculously her words came out strong and sober. “I will lay down.”

“Do ye need me to help ye remove a gown?”

Heat filled her cheeks as the image of him behind her untying her and loosening the gown over her arms flooded her mind. “Ye’d probably like that, but nay.”

“I w
ill nay lie to ye, lass. The idea is enticing. But I merely asked to be practical.”

“N
ay, thank ye.” Heather made a move to step away from him and was shocked when he didn’t hold her back. Keeping her back to him, she reached behind her and untied the knots at her back—knots she’d somehow managed to do herself after wriggling into the gown, a feat in and of itself without the help of a maid.

Once she’d taken off the gown, she felt instantly lighter. Two other gowns and three chemises made up her ensemble.

“Ye might consider wearing only one outfit on the morrow. Must be infernally hot.”

Heather whirled to face Duncan, intending to issue him some reprimand, but his threat of a whipping and the sight of him in a plaid and leine shirt took the words from her tongue.
Gone was the leather jerkin and wicked ax.

There was no trace of a priest left, but a brawny, devastatingly handsome warrior
who stole her breath and made her heart leap into her throat.

Chapter Six

A
roar, foreign to him, rushed through Duncan’s ears.

He’d been frozen, watching as the lass reached behind her and tugged at the ribbons of her gown.
Though he’d known she was covered in infinite layers, the thought of her undressing before his eyes had been enough to make him want to get down on his knees and beg her for more. Beg her to peel away each and every gown and chemise.

And
Duncan never begged for anything.

In just a few short hours, Heather Sutherland had him undone.
She turned around, his emotions mirrored in her expression as she studied him without his priest’s robes. He stood before her clothed, just as she was, but the idea of one less layer seemed doubly powerful. They were both intoxicated by it. A realization that made his blood rush harder through his body. Together, they were toxic.

The gown she’d been wearing was a muted
evergreen of lightweight wool. This one was more of a sage color. Both were loose, and he was unsure if that was intentional for layering or if they were even her own clothes. They were certainly not the fashionable gowns he would have seen on a wealthy woman.

“Ye dinna dress like a sister to an earl.”
His voice was lowered, and he gazed at her with hooded lids.

“Worried ye have the wrong lass?” She cocked her head, toying with him, evidence of her spirit pushing through despite his threats to punish her.

He took a step closer. “Nay. I know who ye are.”

“How?”
Heather seemed to hesitate a moment before taking a step back.

He didn’t want to answer. Lady Ross had described Heather to him in detail.
When he’d sneaked on to the castle grounds to research his entrance and escape routes, he thought he’d spied her. Pretending to be older and crippled with a hood pulled up over most of his face, he’d looked out for her but wasn’t sure if the lass he’d seen was in fact Heather. She’d worn an
arisaid
tucked up around her middle filled with apples, and several young lads and lassies were plucking the fruit from her makeshift basket.

She stood up straighter, jutting her chin forward. “How?” This time there was some force behind her question.

“Ye sass more than a lady should.” He tried to frown.

“What would ye know of how a lady should act?”
Feminine hands planted on her rounded hips.

“More than ye.”

That got her goad up. Heather huffed a breath and stormed toward the makeshift bed he’d created for the two of them. She crumpled up her gown in a ball and tossed it down, where it landed in a heap of fabric that resembled nothing of a pillow.

“Let us be clear on one thing, Duncan. Ye may think ye know me, but in truth ye’ve not a clue. Nobody knows the real me, and I’ll be damned if I let some heathen tell me how I should and should
not behave.”

The woman had the uncanny skill of making his skin bristle with irritation. At the same time he wanted
to wrap his arms around her, he also wanted to shake some sense into her. “I thought I made it clear ye were nay to insult me?”

She frowned, covering the tremble in her lower lip.
But he saw it. A lot of bravado she had, and he had to give her credit for that. He liked a woman with a backbone—when he
wasn’t
abducting her.

“Will ye make good on the insults? Bend me over your wretched knee and violate me?”
Fear showed in her eyes, even if her lips were curled into a sneer.

Duncan groaned, rolling his eyes. “If ye were nay a lady, I might have suggested joining a traveling play group. Your theatrics are
extraordinary.”

He might have threatened to pummel her arse—and
, boy, would he have enjoyed the view—but he would not violate her in such a way, no matter how angry she made him.

“Go to bed afore I change my mind
,” he growled.

Without a second passing, Heather leapt b
etween the plaids he’d laid out, tucking the blankets beneath her armpits. She crossed her uncovered arms over her middle so that a hand rested on either opposite forearm and closed her eyes. She looked like a corpse lying like that. ’Twas disturbing.

He frowned at her, willing her to open her eyes, but she didn’t.
He caught himself staring at her chest to see if it rose and fell as she breathed. It did. “I need to inspect the grounds. Make sure we are still alone.”

Heather nodded
but still did not open her eyes. Was she purposefully avoiding him?

“Ye’ve got Blade for protection.”

She chuckled but did open her eyes and look over at him. “Lot of good a horse will do.”

“Dinna underestimate him. Blade is well-trained.”

She giggled some more, staring at him like he’d grown a tail. He frowned, wondering if she’d somehow managed to become foxed on the few droplets of whisky that may have made it into her system. Blade may not have been a guard dog, but his horse would not think twice about lifting onto his hind legs and pummeling an intruder with his front hooves. “I’ll be back.”

“Wait!” she called out in a high-pitched whisper.

Duncan turned around with a raised brow. She’d sat up and held out a hand imploringly. “Aye, princess?”

She rolled her eyes, a
sudden change in her alarmed expression. “I do wish ye’d stop calling me that.”

Ah, at least now he knew how to change her moods.
“And I wish ye’d stop acting like one.”

Heather waved away his insult. “Let us say that your magnificent steed is not able to protect me in the event someone more nefarious than ye should happen upon me. How am I to protect myself?”

“Scream.” Duncan turned back toward the entrance to the great hall. He’d check each level of the castle first and then outside—

“Scream? Are ye jesting with me?”
The woman sounded like he’d told her to go jump into the nearest loch and hand-catch them some fish for dinner.

Duncan whirled
, ready to gag her for certain this time. Enough threats. “Devil take it, woman, what do ye want of me? Should I give ye my sword?”

She nodded
, serious. “Aye, that would be good.”

Exasperation did not begin to describe the burning emotions pummeling his insides.
“Lass, ye canna handle my sword.” And he meant that in more ways than one.

Heather pursed her lips, scrunched up her pert nose. “I’ve handled a sword before.”

“And I’ve heard that line more than a dozen times.”

Her face colored. Either she understood the double entendre or she might genuinely know how to handle a blade and was getting angry at him for doubting her.
And he was seriously leaning more toward the former.

“I’m serious.”

Damn, it
was
the latter.

“I’m not giving ye a weapon.” He turned back, deciding he would ignore any more interruptions. He had to scout their camp before all light was lost.
These were dangerous times they lived in. He wasn’t going to get caught unawares and with a woman holding him back.

“Do ye truly think the Earl of Sutherland would allow his sister to go untrained in protecting herself?” she called after him.

Duncan responded over his shoulder, not bothering to slow his pace. “Ye’re here, aren’t ye? Let that answer your question.”

He was pretty sure whatever it was that she grumbled behind his back was worse than bastard, whoreson or heathen.
Duncan smiled, had to stop himself from whistling. There was something about the lass that really got his blood rolling. He was either burning with rage, hot with desire or laughing his arse off.

It’d be rough when he had to drop her off with Lady Ross. The part of him that was starting to doubt this mission was only growing stronger.

“Not a chance,” he mumbled. He was not going to let that impish twit wiggle her way inside his head. Letting her change his mind would be his downfall.

Duncan was a loner. And he’d remain that way until he met his end, preferably a death worthy of a warrior.

Exiting the great hall, Duncan was careful to step quietly over the stones and scattered debris. If anyone had chosen to make camp in the courtyard in the time they’d been inside, he need not let them know he was here. In all his days of coming to the ruins, not many dared to camp inside. The castle was rumored to be filled with restless spirits and demons. He’d never run into any ghosts, and the only demons he was aware of were his own.

Stepping silently, he crept to the main doorway.
Two large wooden, iron-studded doors used to fill the space, but one had long since fallen and rotted into the ground. The other hung on a hinge. The only reason he’d never repaired them was that doing so would have called attention to his being there. And would have invited unwanted guests to try to slumber there as well.

A cursory glance around the courtyard showed it to be quiet. There appeared to be no one approaching from where
he could see through the broken-down gate, but that didn’t mean they were safe from the rear. This castle had been built upon a motte, and so it looked down into the surrounding valleys, but it was not protected by a loch or the sea, nor a cliff. Completely exposed in the open wilderness, it was no wonder that it had been easily overtaken.

The sun was fast setting, and the storm that had been brewing in the skies above appeared to have picked up speed.
Not a simple drizzle, as he’d first thought. Mother Nature was not working well with him on this mission. But he refused to believe in superstition, which told him everything he was doing here was wrong. Dark clouds made the already setting sun dimmer, and a fierce gust of wind blew, bending the grass and weeds that grew over abundantly in what had to once have been a neatly kept courtyard. Nay, he would still not change his mind.

And he needed to secure the premises.

Storms meant there was more of a chance someone would seek shelter here, despite any ghosts or demons. Duncan jogged down the stairs, making his way around the perimeter of the castle, not seeing any sign of an intruder nor one who might be returning. The valleys beyond looked clear of stragglers. There was a good chance they wouldn’t be bothered here.

Duncan made his way back into the castle from the kitchen doorway, and began to carefully check every room, storage area, nook, alcove and hidden door that he knew of. By the time he’d made it to the third floor, he was confident they would spend at least the next foreseeable minutes in peace.

Then Heather screamed.

A bloodcurdling sound that sent every hair of his on end, and prompted him to bolt to the nearest stair, taking them three at a time, hands pressed against the crumbling stone walls as he made the circular dissent. Upon the bottom stair, he drew his sword.

By the time
Duncan made it to the great hall, Blade was in full pursuit of the intruder and Heather had managed to climb up onto the makeshift stool he’d sat on earlier, a broken chair leg in her hands as she turned in a frantic circle.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Duncan roared.

Heather blathered on, pointing with her free hand at the ground where Blade stomped with fury.

“Speak, woman,” he ordered.

“A…a…”

A rat the size of a cat leapt, hissing
, from beneath a pile of rotted rushes. Its front paws extended, tiny white razor claws ready to tear into flesh, but Blade was on the animal like green on grass. He stomped three times, the third time finally crunching the vicious animal beneath his hoof with a bone-chilling crack.

“I was about to tear into ye for having screamed about a bloody rat, but that was no normal rat.”

Heather shook her head, trembling from fear so much he could see her shake. “’Twas a demon rodent.”

“That it was.” Duncan took wide steps over to her and gently pried the chair leg from her death-like grip. Tossing the leg away with a clatter, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her from the broken chair.

He would have put her down, but she sank against him, wrapped her arms tight around his neck and trembled like a leaf in a storm. Duncan found himself stroking her back and whispering words of comfort in her ear.