Highland Hope by Julie Johnstone
Ten
She pressed the red-hot poker to Royce’s flesh and felt as if she would faint, but the only sign he felt pain was the twitching of his right eye. Their eyes clashed, and she said, “Do lairds not feel pain, either?”
His smile was tight. “Aye,” he said, the word tight, and she knew then that he truly was in pain. But he’d not show it, just as he refused to show fear. “Lairds feel pain.”
Eve awoke slowly from the dream as she had for the last four nights, and she had the same question in her head. What in Royce’s past pained him? Slowly she opened her eyes, blinking to find her bedchamber bright with morning sun and the twins standing by her bed, their blond hair plated and their blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
“Ye need to wake yerself,” Lillith said, setting her hands on her lithe hips. “We wish to go on a ride. Will ye take us?”
Eve rubbed the bleariness from her eyes and sat up. “Does your father allow you to wander outside the castle without a warrior? Is it safe?”
Both the girls snorted. “Of course ’tis safe! Our father is a feared fighter, and our home is impossible to breach.”
Nothing was “impossible to breach,” but Eve could see why the girls might think that, since their home sat near the edge of a bluff and at the pinnacle of a steep, jagged cliff with thick woods on one side and naught but the sea on the other. The only entrance that she’d noted in her time here was at the top of the narrow, long, slick treacherous seagate stairs. She could have missed another entrance, she supposed, given she had been upside down over a stranger’s shoulder when she’d been brought into the main castle, but what she’d learned of Royce told her he was not a man who would ever leave the safety of his family or clan to chance.
If there was another entrance from the sea, she was quite sure it was heavily guarded. The castle itself was surrounded by a wall of stone, with the seagate stairs leading to a pebbled path that wound its way to the inner courtyard. The turreted tower and long guard wall, manned by many warriors that Royce personally trained daily, would also make the castle nearly impossible to breach, but just nearly impossible. Regardless of the impenetrability of the fortress, she would never knowingly detract from the girls’ obvious adoration of their father as long as their belief in him to keep them safe did not endanger them by leading them to carelessness.
With that in mind, she rose from the bed and said, “I’m certain that your father is a great warrior.” It was dismaying how simply speaking of him made her body go all tight and return the ache between her legs. The man made her wanton with a look. That wouldn’t do at all, but she was powerless to control her body’s reaction to him. What she could control was whether or not she acted upon her body’s response, and she knew she could not do that.
However much Royce MacLeod, with his commanding presence, gruff nature that hid a kind heart, and his obvious care for his family and clan made her wish there could be the possibility of a future with him, there could not be. She was wed, and even if she weren’t, she’d noted the way his jaw clenched when she drew near him in the healing room and the way he tensed at her touch. What she didn’t know was why. Perhaps he simply didn’t like her because she was English, or perhaps he was annoyed with the way she’d been unable to get his daughters to warm to her. She thought she possibly sensed an attraction to her, but he seemed to dislike that he had it. Two people who had an attraction neither of them wanted, for whatever the reasons, had no future.
“He’s renowned, and leading the clan and caring for us are his priorities.” Both girls nodded at Lenora’s statement. “So do nae even think for a breath that our father would want ye. He does nae.”
“I wouldn’t dream it,” Eve said. Old pains that had settled in her bones about her own father—how he’d seemed to forget her mother overnight after her passing, and how he’d callously cast Eve aside and allowed her to be treated horribly—now made her entire body suddenly ache. She wrapped her arms around her midriff. “I’ll have to ask your father for his permission to take you exploring.” She paused, expecting the girls to protest. She was slightly suspicious that they were plotting something against her, but when they both nodded eagerly, she felt guilty that she’d thought the worst of their intentions.
Once she was dressed, she joined the girls outside her bedchamber. “He’ll be training now,” said Lenora.
Eve already knew that. She was acutely aware of him day to day, though she tried not to be. She pressed her lips together on saying any of this, of course, and nodded.
“When he’s at home,” Lenora continued, “he trains his men every morning by the loch.”
Eve knew this, as well. She’d spied him multiple times on the shore below when she was going to and from the courtyard to get herbs with Elena. He was always shirtless and swinging a sword. It was hard to look away from him.
“Ye can go to where he trains and ask him for permission to take us,” Lenora finished.
Eve frowned as they wound their way through the castle, then reached the seagate stairs. Below, like specks on a distant horizon, a large crowd of men was gathered. The warriors appeared to be circling two men who were sparring. This was new. She’d hadn’t seen so many warriors gathered below before. “How many men are in your father’s guard?”
“Five hundred,” Lillith said, taking the seagate stairs at a pace that made Eve’s heart lodge in her throat.
Moss and moisture from the sea slickened the stairs, and there was nothing to hold on to. To her left was the thick, jagged stone wall of the castle, but to her right was nothing but air. One misstep and she could fall to her death. She’d never been afraid of heights, but she had to pause, close her eyes, and inhale a long, deep breath to calm the roiling feeling that was growing within her. When she opened her eyes, Lenora and Lillith were both staring at her.
“Fearful of heights, are ye?” Lenora asked, giving Eve a smile that reminded her of how her cat at her childhood home looked after discovering a mouse it wanted to eat. The girl looked wickedly pleased.
“No,” Eve assured her, even as another wave of dizziness overcame her.
“Ye’ll need to wind yer way from the stairs to the shore where Da is training. Just pick yer way through the men.”
Eve was having difficulty keeping her thoughts clear because of her pounding heart, but the closer they drew to the bottom of the stairs, the better she felt. “Where will you two be?”
“Oh, we’ll wait by the trail to the Fairy Pools, which is the area where the waterfall we want to see is, and where the seer we want to speak with lives,” Lillith said.
“’Tis where our mother died,” Lenora added. “’Tis the anniversary of her death today.”
“I’m sorry.” Eve wanted to say more, but their guarded expressions did not invite further discussion; so, instead, Eve glanced toward the men on the shore. “Your father does not mind interruptions during training?”
“Of course nae,” Lenora said. “Our father is a reasonable man.”
Eve nodded and started down the rocky hill, but the incline was steep and her slippers would not grip the slick rock. She lost her footing, and instead of walking the rest of the way down the hill, she went flying toward the fray of men, screaming a warning as momentum propelled her toward their gleaming swords.
“I hear ye invited Abigail between yer thighs,” Brus said, swinging his sword high above his head and bringing it down in a ferocious attack to Royce’s left. The warriors that had formed the training circle in the sand around them cheered, and Brus gave a quick, cocky bow.
Royce took advantage of his brother’s momentary show of bravado, which left him distracted. He brought his sword to Brus’s left side, giving him a surface cut on the arm. “Because cleaning my wound was awkward from the side,” Royce replied, knowing full well that was not the only reason.
“So ye do nae want her on her backside? Because if nae, I plan to get her there and help her spread her thighs, and—”
Royce had no idea what else his brother might have said. A rage like the kind he normally only felt in battle took over, and all he could hear was the sudden roaring of blood in his ears and then his own voice as he bellowed and charged at his brother. His body plowed into Brus’s—rock meeting rock—before his brother even knew Royce was coming at him, if the shock on Brus’s face and how easily his solid brother was to move backward were any indication. And backward they went, through the warriors surrounding them, who jumped out of the way. But just as a path was cleared and Royce thought to drive Brus to the sand and pummel his face, Abigail appeared out of nowhere in a blur of moonbeam hair and frantically waving arms that there was no hope of stopping. The momentum of his anger propelled his and Brus’s bodies straight into Abigail, who went flying backward when they hit her.
Royce couldn’t say what occurred after that, but somehow he went down on top of Brus and his brother landed on top of Abigail, face-to-face. The sight of his brother atop the woman made Royce lose his good sense even further. He jerked Brus off Abigail and shoved him to the side. Abigail rose to her elbows, blond hair tumbling over her shoulders, and her gown dropped to where the tops of her creamy breasts were revealed. He hardened to stone and attempted to rip his gaze away, but somehow he ended up staring at her long, shapely legs, which were fully exposed to mid-thigh after her gown had been shoved upward in the fall. His brain left his body at those legs, and he was no longer lying on the ground but imagining himself on a bed with her legs wrapped around his waist.
“What are ye staring at, Brother?” Brus taunted loudly enough to snap Royce out of his stupor and for Abigail to hear what Brus had said. Her face turned crimson, and she attempted to scramble up, got her foot caught on her gown, and tipped forward into Royce so that her soft breasts grazed his right arm.
Lust wrapped around his groin and squeezed. He fairly shoved her away and set her on her feet, coming to stand as he did so. Having her near was torture, and it was a glaring sign that she already had power over him, power he’d vowed never to relinquish to a woman again. Her voice was suddenly in his head. Lairds have fear. He couldn’t permit fear, so he could not allow her in. And yet she seemed to be slipping within him somehow and that irritated him mightily, causing him to snap, “What the devil are ye doing plowing into a group of men training with weapons?”
She flinched at his harsh tone, and he inwardly cursed himself for sounding like such an arse, but he did not recant the demanding question. He needed a wall between them, before he covered her mouth with his right here in front of all his men. He ignored his brother gaping at him, and he tried to ignore the guilt his cold words had brought, but it punctured his gut like a well-honed blade.
Her eyes narrowed, and he swore if eyes could spear, hers just shot silver daggers at him from the endless blue depths. Then he saw the struggle to control what she wanted to say to him play out on her lovely features. He’d never seen such an expressive show of ire, frustration, and finally, a subduing of her pride. It was the last that drove the guilt straight into his heart. He didn’t want her to have to subdue her pride. God’s blood, he was starting to question what the devil was the matter with him.
A flame of anger burned in her gaze. But when she blinked and was once again looking at him, the anger was gone, replaced by an expression of nothingness, as if she’d had practice hiding her true feelings before. The desire to ask her about her past rose, but he ignored it.
“I am sorry, Laird MacLeod.” She sounded anything but sorry. In fact, she sounded as if she wanted to poke his eyes out.
He had the ridiculous urge to soothe her feelings and remind her to call him Royce, but he clenched his jaw on that notion, too. Laird MacLeod was probably best.
“Just do nae let it happen again, aye,” he said, and the damn guilt drove so deep into his chest that he grunted.
If he’d not been staring so intently at her, he’d have missed the slight hitch of her eyebrows and the barest flare of her nostrils. “Of course not, Laird MacLeod.”
That was the first time he’d ever heard his name pronounced in a way that sounded like a curse. It should have angered him, except he knew he deserved it. Besides, her show of spirit made him want to grin, which irritated him.
“Next time I lose my footing,” she continued, “and my feet outrun my body, I’ll throw myself to the ground instead of trying to stay upright so as not to irritate or inconvenience you. Will that do, Laird?”
“That will do just fine,” he replied, ignoring the barbed sarcasm she’d volleyed at him. “What do ye need?”
She reached behind her head in one graceful motion and gathered all her glorious hair in her hands as she responded. “Your daughters wish to take a ride.” She knotted her hair with an efficiency that put many of his slower warriors to shame, and then she tilted her head and fanned her long, slender neck.
Christ, the woman was a bean bhàsail if ever there was one. Sometimes he had to think long why he should not pursue her, but then he’d conjure Lara’s image entwined in another man’s arms, and recall why. “Fine. Off ye all go. Watch them well. Ye’re dismissed.”
She frowned. “But do you not wish to know—”
All he wished was to get her away from him. The longer she stood there fanning her neck, the more he was imagining kissing his way down the length of it and the harder he was becoming. The situation would soon be embarrassing. “Do nae stray out of the boundaries,” he interrupted. “Now away with ye. I’ve more important things to do than stand around being pestered.”
The crack in her emotionless facade was only visible for a breath, but it was a display of black dislike. It should have pleased him, but it had the opposite effect. He wanted to apologize, but he swallowed it down.
“Oh, I’m certain you do, Laird MacLeod. I’m certain you have more swords you wish to run into today.”
Snickers erupted from his men, but Royce glared them to silence.
“Oh,” Abigail said, her eyes going wide as she must have realized how loudly she’d said the last for all his men to hear. “I’ll just leave you now.” With that, she swung away from him and marched off, head held high, shoulders back, and spine stiff. It would have been a sight of indignation to behold except she slipped on the first rock and went down on her knee with a loud oof.
His body reacted before his brain could remind him not to. He was at her side and grasping her before he registered what he was doing. His fingers closed around the curve of her waist, and he inhaled sharply with desire, the scent of lavender and lemon wafting from her hair and skin and making him want to tug her close and take another breath. Instead, he steadied her and gently set her away. Their gazes connected, and wariness filled the beguiling blueness of her eyes.
“Are ye all right?” he asked.
“Certainly.” Her tone was stiff. “I’m sorry I bothered you yet again.” She gave him a look that said he was the one who ought to be sorry for his rudeness, and he was, damn it all.
This time, she turned abruptly away and did march off, her hips swinging in a most provocative manner that did nothing to dampen his desire. He sucked in a long breath, watching her as she made her way toward the trail that led to the cliffs, which were a safe distance away and well within the boundaries of the protection of his men. His girls must be taking her to the cliffs. Perhaps he should follow her just to ensure—
“What in God’s name is wrong with my head?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” came his brother’s voice directly at his back. Royce swung around to find Brus little more than a hairsbreadth from him. Brus clapped him on the shoulder while smirking. “By all means, continue to act like an arse to the lass. It bodes well for me getting her in my bed.”
Royce felt his lips pull back from his teeth like a feral dog. It took him a moment to calm the reaction, but when he managed to slow his pounding pulse, he said, “I command ye to leave the lass be.”
“Why?” Brus asked, cocking an eyebrow and grinning.
Royce wanted to knock that smug, all-knowing grin off his brother’s face. Instead, he inhaled another long breath. “Because I wish her to focus on my girls and nae ye.”
“Och, Brother, is that the best lie ye can come up with?”
“Elena has been jabbering in yer ear,” Royce accused.
Brus just grinned wider, slung his arm around Royce’s neck, and tugged him close, as they used to do when they were much younger. “Ye need lessons on how to tell yerself untruths.”
“Ye’re practiced, then, are ye?” Royce asked, poking the sleeping bear of a subject they never spoke of—Sebille.
“Aye, years and years of practice. Ye fancy that lass.” Royce opened his mouth to protest, but Brus shook his head. “Let me finish, Brother. I’ve kept my opinion to myself for a long time on how ye have lived yer life since—Well, ye know. But I’ll have my say now.”
Royce gave a quick nod. It was useless not to. Brus had that stubborn look on his face, the one that told Royce his brother would not relent on his desire.
“Ye fancy that lass, which is why ye do nae wish me to pursue her. It has nothing to do with yer girls. In truth, I’m glad to see it. I was starting to wonder if ye’d taken to lying with horses or mayhap dogs.” Royce grimaced at his brother, which only elicited a chuckle. “I’m going to give ye some advice on how to interact with her.”
“I do nae need advice from ye on how to comport myself with Abigail, nor do I want it. I will conduct myself with her as her laird, as I do everyone.”
“Aye, I see that’s what ye’re trying to do. Elena sees it, too, and Magnus, if ye’re wondering.”
“I’m nae,” Royce growled, not liking that Elena, Brus, and Magnus had obviously discussed this. When? Last night after super when Royce had headed once more to the loch?
“Bah,” Brus said. “Yer cock will nae allow ye to ignore her.”
It wasn’t just his cock. His head kept her at the forefront of every thought, even in sleep, but he’d not admit that. “Unlike ye, I think with my head and nae my cock.”
“How’s that fared for ye?” Brus asked, causing the desire to hit his brother to rise up in Royce again.
“Unless ye want to lose some teeth,” Royce bit out, “I suggest ye say what ye have to say quickly.”
“Fine. Ye do nae have to wed the lass to bed the lass. If ye want her and she wants ye, and ye are clear that’s all ye want and she’s accepting of that, ye can have a merry time.”
“Ye’ve said so already, but I tell ye that has nae worked for me in the past.”
“Aye,” Brus said, his tone solemn. “That’s because ye want more than a tumble, ye daft fool. I feel sorry for ye.”
Instead of bothering to reply, Royce slung his arm around his brother’s neck, put him in a hold, and brought his head to Royce’s hip so that Brus was looking up at him. “If ye try to give me any of yer ill-begotten advice again, I’ll knock out yer teeth, and then all those lasses that fall into yer bed will nae think ye so handsome.” It was an empty threat, but Royce knew Brus would understand. “And then,” Royce continued, deciding this might be the perfect moment to turn the talk away from him and to Brus, “what will ye do daily to forget Sebille?” Brus narrowed his gaze on Royce, but Royce held his brother’s penetrating glare. “If ye want to poke into my past, I’ll poke back.”
“’Tis good to see things do nae change here in my absence,” came a voice from behind Royce.
He glanced over his shoulder, took in the familiar gray eyes and the face with the white scar by the upper lip where his cousin had fallen on a rock as a child, and grinned. He released his brother to embrace Thor. “Thor, what brings ye to Dunvegan? Are Auntie Bridgette and Uncle Lachlan well?”
“They were the last time I set eyes on them,” Thor said with a grin. “I’ve been at the king’s court. Did ye nae hear I took the role as yer da’s right hand?”
“Nay. He did nae write as much.”
Thor nodded. “Yer da is a busy man, trying to ensure the king rules well.”
“And how goes that?” Royce asked. He truly wanted to know if his father was achieving the goal he’d set out to when he’d handed over the clan in favor of serving the king, a man he’d once vehemently opposed as ruler of Scotland when he had been a foe of Royce’s father’s childhood friend and then king of Scotland, David II.
“Yer father did nae write because he sent me with what he wanted to convey. He did nae wish to chance putting it in writing and risk it being intercepted.”
Uneasiness gripped Royce. “Come,” he said, motioning toward the seagate stairs. If his father had been unwilling to put it in writing, then it was important indeed that he and Thor speak in privacy. He trusted his warriors, but there were only a handful of people he trusted completely, and those people were of his blood—Thor among them. “We’ll talk in my solar. Should I call the council?”
“Only yer brother and Magnus for now, aye? Let me tell ye the tidings of kings, so ye can decide what ye want to convey.”
Royce went still at his father’s code words: the tidings of kings. They were meant to alert Royce that the message was about wishes of the king that their father needed to relay to Royce with utmost secrecy. The words let Royce know that whatever was told to him was from his father’s lips to Royce’s ear—and portended danger to come.
Royce turned to Brus, who also knew the code words. His brother’s dark brows were dipped together, and his eyes were narrowed. “Collect Magnus from the fray,” Royce said, motioning to the sea of men who were training, “and meet us in my solar.”