The Highlander’s Rescued Maiden by Anna Campbell

Chapter 4

Ellen woke the next morning in her bedroom at the top of the tower and listened to the wind howling around her eyrie. The gale sounded even worse than yesterday. There would be no sailing today.

As she snuggled down under the blankets, she found herself smiling in forbidden pleasure.

Then her smile faded as disquiet flooded her. Dear Lord, she must have rocks in her head.

Sightlessly she stared at the tapestry of the Judgment of Paris that hung on the wall opposite her bed. She’d spent the last ten years sending the few suitors who found their way to Bortha to perdition. Or to be more accurate, her father’s men-at-arms had. Whenever a stranger landed, she stayed out of sight. Far better that anyone who came was never sure that they’d found Fair Ellen’s tower.

Yesterday, when the far too confident for his own good William Mackinnon had had the temerity to invade her stronghold, he’d been just another man out to claim a woman, no matter what the woman might prefer.

Except right from the first, Will hadn’t been like those other men who had come to Bortha in search of glory and a bonny bride to carry away as a prize. He’d said that he found her island by accident, and she was now inclined to believe him. Nor had he treated her as an object, but as a person. He understood so much about her life. At times, too much for her peace of mind.

She was well aware that he’d had a hundred opportunities to overpower her and have his way. For pity’s sake, last night, she’d set the gun down on the table when its weight in her pocket annoyed her. The weapon sat there for the rest of the evening, mere inches from his capable hand. He hadn’t even glanced at it.

No, instead, his eyes had been all for her. Eating her up with a concentrated attention that had her heart performing acrobatics in her virginal breast.

Those eyes made a claim on her. A claim just as greedy as any made by the idiots who turned up, believing a serenade was enough to win her favor. Or those who arrived with a rougher wooing in mind.

Any suitor soon saw the wisdom of abandoning his quest when he met half a dozen stoutly armed guards.

Yesterday she’d told Mr. Mackinnon that she was interested neither in rescue nor in him.

Both those statements were lies.

With a groan, she tugged the covers over her head. What on earth was wrong with her? The heir to Achnasheen was a man. Why should she imagine that he was any better than the rest of his selfish, careless sex?

Except that he’d been kind about her limp. No, he’d been better than kind. He’d noticed it, but it hadn’t seemed to matter. None of her unwelcome swains had come close enough to discover the flaw that shattered the myth of Fair Ellen of the Isles. William Mackinnon had, yet her infirmity made no difference to him at all.

He hadn’t hovered at her elbow to give her help she didn’t want. He hadn’t pretended to ignore her limp. He’d somehow seen it as an essential part of her, the way nobody else ever had.

It could be a trick. But to what purpose? There was nothing to stop him seizing her. Instead he talked to her, and her lonely soul blossomed like a dying plant given water.

She was fond of Susie her maid, and she had her correspondents, and the guards had become familiar companions over the years. But it wasn’t enough. She hungered for intelligent conversation, for an equal, for a friend.

One night did not a boon companion make. But one night of urbane conversation with an interesting man proved a harrowing reminder of her isolation.

Through the years, she’d settled into a routine of full days that left no time for brooding over her travails. Last night, all that hard-won acceptance had disintegrated under a handsome man’s smile.

However the world wittered on about Fair Ellen of the Isles, she was too aware of her physical imperfection to feel beautiful. Her father’s lifelong disgust was eloquent testimony to how she failed to measure up. But William Mackinnon regarded her with a wholehearted approval that made her feel fully human.

Ellen couldn’t resist admiring him, too. And not just for his conversation. She wanted to run her hands through that mane of rich red hair and cuddle up to that strong, vigorous body. She wanted him to put his powerful arms around her and keep her safe. She wanted him to press that smiling mouth to hers.

Despite the suitors who came to her door, she’d lived a life devoid of desire. Last night, she’d learned how desire could burgeon, irresistible and without warning.

Her imprisonment was a terrible thing. Suffocating and lonely and stultifying. Yet while her tower might constrain her, it also kept the world away. The world offered untold excitements, but it also represented danger. Danger she sensed with every cell in her body when she gazed with covetous pleasure on a good-looking young man with the devil in his eyes.

***

Ellen remained troubled and confused when she came down to her study, one floor down from the bedroom. She discovered her disturbing intruder lounging on the window seat, looking out over the mountainous seas. His smile added a sunlight that the weather lacked.

“Good morning, Miss Cameron,” he said, rising and bowing. “What a bonny sight you make on a dreich day.”

With a nervous gesture, she touched her hair. Mostly she dressed for practicality. Today, she’d dithered over her hair, until she’d told herself she was a silly goose and bundled it up in a loose mass of curls. A more elaborate style than usual. More elaborate and more flattering.

She’d also taken longer over choosing her gown. Instead of yesterday’s plain blue dress, she’d chosen a cream chintz robe à l’anglaise, embroidered with peonies and peacocks. Ellen loathed to think that she preened for her visitor, but once she’d put on the pretty gown, she couldn’t summon the will to change it again. Although given that she had to prepare their meals and look after the livestock, this was a cursed stupid frock to wear.

“Thank ye.” She struggled to steady her voice to hide the way her heart leaped around like a grasshopper. But excitement quivered under her words, and she suspected Mr. Mackinnon heard it.

He wore the same clothes, the striking red tartan a vivid splash of color against the gray light. Auburn bristles marked his cheeks and jaw. The incipient beard increased his piratical attraction. “The weather is worse.”

He was back to eating her up with his eyes, as if he couldn’t get enough of the sight. That intense stare did nothing to calm her heart’s daft antics.

“Aye, I know,” she said, cringing at the bright tone that betrayed how the bad weather suited her.

Ellen might be glad that Mr. Mackinnon was caught on the island, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know that. She laced her fingers together at her waist and tried to contain the giddy anticipation bubbling in her blood.

“I’m afraid we’re stuck here together, at least for today,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked startled. “Are ye?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. She hated feeling so awkward. Men from all over the Highlands might dream of pursuing her, but she was woefully inexperienced in how to attract one particular laddie’s interest. “No’ at all,” she stammered.

When that flashing smile appeared, her heart set off on another breathtaking whirl.

“I’m delighted to hear that. Are ye still armed?”

“Oh…”

His smile intensified. “I’m glad you’re no’.”

“It’s…it’s upstairs.”

“That’s where ye sleep?”

“Aye.” She shifted from one foot to the other, while she couldn’t help thinking about inviting him upstairs into the beautiful bed with its carved dolphins and mermaids. With a speed that left her dizzy, her interest in this engaging stranger had turned carnal. She enjoyed his company, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy her yearning. Every minute strengthened her wicked curiosity to feel the touch of those elegant hands.

She struggled to remind herself that she’d only met this man yesterday. Although somewhere between threatening to shoot him and this morning’s blushing pleasure in his presence, she’d accepted that he meant her no harm. On a physical level, at least.

Mr. Mackinnon gestured to the walls of books and the chaotic desk. “Ye seem to have all the latest novels and periodicals.”

“Aye.”

His smile developed a disconcerting tinge of tenderness that made the breath jam in her lungs. “Och, you’re very agreeable this morning.”

She found herself smiling back, as she subsided into her favorite chair beside the fire. “I’m feeling a wee bit jittery. I told ye that I’m unused to entertaining gentlemen. I’m unused to company at all.”

“You’re no’ still afraid of me?”

She bit her lip and cast him a questioning glance under her eyelashes. “Should I be?”

“I willnae do anything ye don’t want me to.”

That was just what she was afraid of. “Have ye been up long?”

“About an hour.”

It was still early. For once she had an exciting alternative to her daily routine, so she hadn’t wanted to linger in bed. “Have ye eaten?”

“I was waiting for ye.”

Ridiculous for that answer to warm her heart. It didn’t mean anything special. This man had excellent manners, if one overlooked his habit of climbing towers and breaking in where he wasn’t invited.

Ellen stood to go downstairs and start breakfast, but he waved at her to stay in the chair. She noticed that he’d fed the fire. The room was a cozy refuge. “Breakfast can wait a moment or two. Tell me what ye do in here.”

“Why?” She cursed the nerves that made her sound ungracious.

His smile hinted that he didn’t mind the sudden sharpness. That was something she’d noticed yesterday. He seemed to appreciate a woman with a bit of sauce in her.

When Ellen disagreed or questioned him, he responded as if talking to someone with a brain met with his approval. From his stories, she’d discovered that the Mackinnon women were powerful figures, starting with his mother Bonny Mhairi.

He relaxed back on the window seat. Perhaps because she was so conscious of her physical awkwardness, she’d always been powerfully aware of the way other people moved. Will Mackinnon had the grace of a dancer. Wherever he landed, he created an appealing picture. Lazing against her window onto the Atlantic, he was as loose-limbed as a cat.

“Because I’m interested.” Mr. Mackinnon shot her one of those crooked smiles that set her pulses rushing. “No’ to mention we’ll be inside all day. Perhaps tomorrow, too. We need something to talk about – unless you’d prefer to play cards.”

“I have nothing to wager.”

His comprehensive inspection of her person stirred wanton heat. “I wouldnae say that.”

Her blush was back. Good heavens, it was too early in the day to get all hot and bothered. “Mr. Mackinnon…”

He gave a short laugh, and the deep, velvety sound made every hair on her body stand up and pay attention. “I’ll stop teasing ye.”

What was this sorcery? She’d spent twenty-five years thinking of her body as a mere means of getting around, and not a terribly efficient means at that. After less than a day with Will Mackinnon, she felt like she was on fire.

“Save it until you’ve had your porridge, at any rate,” she retorted and basked in the appreciation gleaming in his eyes.

“How do ye fill your days? I’m guessing you dinnae sit here, staring out to sea and praying for some gallant adventurer to rescue you.”

Her snort expressed disdain. “How asinine, to sail to the edge of the Hebrides in search of a lady who may no’ even exist. If ye do happen to find her, you know nothing about her. She could be stupid. Or a shrew.”

And all of these fantasy Ellens were lame.

Mr. Mackinnon shrugged. “Men can be asinine. Even I’ve done the occasional stupid thing, and I’m a paragon of the sex.”

She burst out laughing. He’d made her laugh last night, too. “I’m sure.”

“So tell me about your life.”

For years, nobody had been interested in her. Her longing heart opened wider to him, even as native caution warned her to be careful. It would be too easy to fall under Will Mackinnon’s spell.

“I write about Highland folklore. My nurse on Inchgallen was a repository of the old stories and the old ways, and I’m putting together a book of some of the tales she told me when I was growing up. I correspond with scholars all over Britain, too.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” More of that sinfully addictive admiration lit his face.

“I have a lot of hours to fill,” she said, unable to mask her regret at that reality.

“And your father doesnae mind?”

“I promised him I’d make nae reference to my circumstances or the fact that I’m a woman. Everything comes to me via Inchgallen. He used to check my letters but these days, he cannae be bothered. The men-at-arms bring the post each week when they change shifts. I sign everything E.C. Cameron. That’s how I’m published.”

“You’re published?”

“Aye. In a few antiquarian journals.”

“I take my hat off to ye.”

“Thank you.”

He looked thoughtful. “So Fair Ellen isnae quite as cut off as I’d thought. Although she herself could be a heroine in one of those Highland tales.”

“It’s mad, is it no’?” She sliced a hand through the air to indicate the irony. “I’m a prisoner, yet my mind can roam where it wants.”

She liked her anonymity when she wrote as E.C. Cameron. Fair Ellen was a powerless pawn, whereas the scholarly world treated E.C. Cameron as an equal.

Mr. Mackinnon’s hazel eyes were somber and disturbingly perceptive. “But ye remain a captive.”

She heaved a weighty sigh, and her spurt of uncharacteristic self-satisfaction vanished. “Aye, I remain a captive.”

A heavy silence fell. He shifted his attention to the sea outside. Stark, gray light illuminated his commanding profile. If Ellen played the heroine in an old tale, Will Mackinnon looked like the perfect knight to save her. Avid eyes traced that straight nose and square jaw, and the way his abundant red hair sprang back from his high forehead.

But he was more than handsome. The mind behind those chiseled features was sharp, and those glinting eyes saw too much.

Had they noted her penchant for him? She had a sick suspicion that they had. She wondered if she’d been unwise to leave her gun upstairs, even as she recognized that the moment when she might have shot him had passed. If it ever existed at all.

He turned to her with one of those quicksilver smiles that lit his face to a male beauty that sent her heart somersaulting. “Perhaps after breakfast, you’ll show me your work.”

“I’d like that,” she said, proud of her steady tone. Even as her witless heart yearned toward him and begged for him to admire her.