Highland Hope by Julie Johnstone

Seven

Royce had looked but only just the once. That hadn’t been a lie. What he would never admit was that the one glimpse at Abigail in her half-dressed state had seared several excruciatingly detailed images into his brain. Alongside them was the heated memory of her silken skin beneath his fingers when he’d accidentally brushed her inner thigh and skimmed his fingers down her smooth, delicate back to grab the snakes. Those images plagued him all day and broke through his normally impenetrable concentration to his duties. Shortly after instructing Elena to teach Abigail and the girls to dance, he had gone directly to the great hall to hear his tenants’ complaints. But for the first time in the years since he’d become laird, his mind wandered away from his people’s problems and to Abigail’s thighs.

He could see her creamy flesh perfectly in his head, the way her léine had bunched high on her legs to just below the place where shadows dwelled to hide her core and he was certain bliss awaited. He tried to shake off the unwanted memory, and he did so with moderate success for the rest of the morning, but when afternoon came and he was training with Brus, Royce missed an oncoming blow from his brother because the image of Abigail’s generous breasts, the outline of which had been revealed by the léine, suddenly popped into his head and heated the blood in his veins to steal his concentration.

“’Tis nae like ye to be so distracted, Brother,” Brus teased, “but I kinnae say I’m surprised. I give ye a fortnight to resist her.”

“Resist whom?” Royce asked, though he knew very well whom Brus was speaking of, and he knew Brus was aware of that fact, too. So before his brother could pester him more, Royce called a halt to training for the day, took a dip in the icy loch, and made his way to his solar to go over the clan ledgers. He’d no more than gotten comfortable in his chair when peals of laughter drifted to his open window from the courtyard below. He recognized his daughters’ high-pitched squeals of delight, and he knew they had to be with Elena and Abigail. He tried to ignore the compulsion to get up and look out the window, but the urge grew so strong that he threw down his foolscap and went to investigate.

He frowned as Lenora slapped Abigail’s hand away after she’d extended it to go through steps of a dance with her that Elena was showing them. But when Lillith fell as she was racing around the courtyard, and Abigail stopped practicing and raced to Lillith’s side, dropping to her knees into the dirt, Royce’s chest tightened. Abigail fussed over his daughter, shocking him when she lifted her skirt and ripped off a pieced of material to tie around Lillith’s leg, and then she helped Lillith up with great care and obvious concern.

Those were the actions of a woman who cared more for others than for herself. If he was ever going to take a wife again—He stopped the thought cold. He was not. He was never going to take a wife again. He had no interest in marriage or in letting a woman into his heart once more only for her to betray his trust. Yet, he did not move from the window, and that fact was not lost on him. He watched as Lenora whispered something in Lillith’s ear, and the sweet smile that had been on Lillith’s face disappeared, making his own smile vanish.

Lenora had taken Lara’s death the hardest, and he was certain she was the one dictating that she and Lillith run off any woman that he arranged to care for them. Was she angry at Lara’s death? Did Lenora blame him, and this was her way of punishing him? She had been especially close to Lara, always following her around, whereas Lillith had followed him around when he was home. Lillith turned from Abigail, as did Lenora, and she marched to the opposite side of the courtyard, indicating without saying a word that they would not cooperate, would not allow Abigail close to them.

Abigail’s shoulders fell, and a shocking streak of envy coursed through Royce as Elena patted Abigail’s arm in a comforting gesture. What in God’s name was wrong with him? If he were one to believe in ban-druidh, he’d say Abigail had bewitched him, but since he didn’t believe in witches, he decided the lass had simply stirred his lust to a level it had never been stirred to before.

Elena grasped Abigail’s hands, and as the women faced each other, his sister showed Abigail the steps of the fae dance, as his clan affectionately called it. They skipped to the left, then back to the right, and both women began to laugh, their faces cracking wide and filling with joy. Then they began to spin round and round in a circle, red and blond hair flying out behind them. Abigail threw her head back and grinned. The beauty of it made Royce’s chest ache.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Brus said from behind Royce, surprising him. He’d been so distracted staring at Abigail that he’d not even heard Brus enter his solar.

“Ye changed yer mind about what?” Royce asked, turning toward Brus to find his brother smirking at him.

“I’m shortening the time it will take for ye to succumb to Abigail’s charms now that I’ve found ye staring at her from yer window instead of working.”

Royce brushed past his brother and stalked back toward his desk and the work he’d abandoned. “I’ll nae be succumbing to her charms. I do nae need nor want a lass in my life again.”

Brus strolled over to Royce’s desk, raised his dark eyebrows in amusement, and leaned his hands against the wood to stare at Royce. “Who said anything about letting the lass into yer life? I’m suggesting ye let go of yer rigid control and take her into yer bed. Enjoy yerself.”

“I’m laird. I do nae have time to enjoy myself.”

“God’s teeth, Royce!” Brus shoved into a standing position and scowled. “Mayhap if ye allowed yerself to enjoy life more, Lara would nae have betrayed ye.”

Royce flinched, his hands curling into fists, and his right eye starting to twitch. His brother had just hit upon a question that reoccurred in Royce’s own mind regularly. Had his actions, how he lived his life, and his duties to his clan driven Lara into Ewan’s arms by not being attentive enough? “Ye think Lara’s betrayal was my fault?”

Brus rubbed a hand across his face as he stood. “Nay, God’s blood, nay. I should nae have said that. My own questions about my own actions and life came out now. Lara was selfish, and maybe ye could have been home more but maybe nae. Ye are laird, after all. But ye have become rigid since ye discovered Lara’s betrayal, Brother. I worry for ye. I kinnae see that there is any lightness in yer life.”

“Ye’ve enough lightness for the both of us,” Royce snapped, his mind turning over, as it had so many times, the question of if he was somehow responsible for what Lara had done. “Rigid control keeps the clan running smoothly.”

Brus frowned. “Ye’re lying to yerself. The clan ran smoothly in yer hands before ye became so rigid. Ye’re rigid in yer constant work and in nae allowing merriment for yerself because ye’ve allowed the fear of loving again to grip ye.”

“Do nae talk to me about loving again,” Royce thundered, shoving up from his desk and glaring at his brother. “Ye spend yer days bedding women to try to forget the one who left ye.”

“Who’s trying to forget whom?” came Elena’s voice from the doorway.

Royce glanced toward the threshold. Abigail was standing beside Elena, cheeks flushed, silvery-blue eyes stunning in their brightness, and just enough of her ample treasures displayed by the deep-ruby gown she wore that lust smacked him once again. His inability to control it angered him. He didn’t want to tumble in a bed or anywhere else with Abigail. He didn’t know her very well, but he respected her too much to do that to her. Still, he’d meant what he’d said to his brother. He didn’t want or need another woman in his life. He’d found a woman’s betrayal to be deadlier than a blow from any enemy. He could—and would—control his desire.

Without a word to anyone, he stomped toward the door, brushed by the women and down the shadowy stone stairs, past glowing torches and windows that filtered in sun from the outside, and through the halls of the castle. Servants scrambled out of his way, and not even Magnus dared try to stop him, so Royce knew he must look fiercely angry. And he was—at himself. He bounded out of the castle, through the commotion of the inner courtyard filled with warriors returning from a hunt, kitchen wenches bustling about to prepare supper, and children playing, including his own. Clansmen called his name, and he waved a dismissive hand, stalking toward the seagate stairs.

He slung open the black iron gate that led to the stairs, and it creaked on its hinges as it did every time, despite nearly daily oiling, and he took to the narrow stone steps that wound precariously down the steep, rocky side of the fortress. Below was only seawater, blue and deep, but he could have taken the stairs with his eyes closed without worry, he’d gone this way so many times in his life. The wind whipped at him, hinting at the storm to come, and thunder boomed in the sky as if to send him back to the castle. But he wasn’t going back until he got her out of his mind and found his control once more.

He reached the last stone step just as the sky opened and unleashed the rain. It hit his skin like cool shards, which he welcomed in hopes that it would dampen the lust that mad the blood in his veins simmer. As he left the steps for the sand of the embankment, he trod over rocks toward the water, discarding his braies as he went. Without pausing, he waded into the biting sea, the waves lapping at him, and then he dove under. The cold sucked out his breath and stilled him underwater for a moment before he began to swim. Farther and farther he went, staying under the surface until his lungs burned for release. He finally emerged to a white sheet of rain slanting from the darkening sky. The rain filled his ears with a loud shh sound, and the sea smacked him repeatedly in the face as numbness seeped into every part of his body. Yet it was not enough. His blood coursed so hot for her that he could feel the path of it through his veins from his head to his heart to his core. The image of Abigail’s creamy thighs and ample breasts came to him. She was in his head, and he didn’t know how to get her out. He did know that until he figured it out, he needed to ignore her.

Two days later, exhausted from her second day of feigning that she knew what she was doing in the healing room with Elena, all Eve wanted to do was drop into her bed and sleep for days. She’d seen the girls safely to their bedchamber after another supper where their father had been absent. She frowned as she made her way down the winding corridor to her own bedchamber, and she paused in front of her door, thoughts of Royce on her mind as they had been ever since he’d barged past Eve and down to the sea, apparently to swim naked. She knew because Elena had told her so after both Elena and Brus had raced after him, leaving Eve standing in the solar alone. She’d not followed for two reasons: he had clearly wanted to be alone, and the man was already alarmingly in her head since he’d skimmed her skin earlier that morning. Elena had returned just as Eve had finally decided to depart the solar to find the girls, and Royce’s sister had announced that he was swimming in the sea without a stich of clothing on. She’d given Eve a long look—Eve had no notion why—and then with a smirk and a shake of her head, Elena had led Eve to the healing room so she could use her nonexistent knowledge of the healing arts to aid people.

It was a terrible quandary and one Eve didn’t know how to solve without revealing her duplicity, but it was nothing compared to the problem of her inability to quit picturing what Royce might look like swimming naked in the sea. It was sinful. And yet, she could not get her mind to stop. She could see his arms cutting through the water, his large muscles shifting with each stroke, his buttocks breaking the surface every now and then, tight and—

“By all the saints,” she muttered to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her fingertips to her temples. “I’m going to go to Hell.”

“Why’s that?” came a deep male voice from behind her.

Her heart leaped, and she turned around, unable to deny the disappointment that filled her to find Brus there and not Royce. Oh, she liked the youngest MacLeod sibling just fine. He was overtly flirty, but he was overtly flirty with all women, not just her, so she knew she wasn’t particularly special to him. Nor did he create havoc in her like his brother had managed to do from practically the moment she’d met Royce. Elena had also made mention that Brus had been thrown over by the woman he loved for a wealthy border lord two years ago, and that ever since, Brus had acted, in Elena’s words, like “a rutting, mindless beast.” But Eve suspected his constant conquest of the castle wenches was anything but mindless. She’d seen a tortured look on his face several times now when he did not think anyone was paying him heed. She would wager the tumbles in the sheets were to help him forget the one woman he had truly cared for. Or at least it was nice to imagine a man could care for a woman so greatly that he had trouble forgetting her.

He offered her a slow, seductive smile, and she could see why the wenches found him so appealing. He was ruggedly handsome like his brother, but whereas Brus seemed to take nothing seriously, Royce seemed to carry the weight of the clan’s welfare upon his shoulders, and it could sometimes make him overly serious and almost rigid with his daughters. Brus had dark, thick hair, just as Royce did, but Brus wore his longer, almost touching his shoulders. Both men had the lean, muscled bodies of warriors, but Royce was slightly bigger. And both men had compelling, chiseled faces and striking eyes the color of the sundrenched waters of the sea. But only when Royce looked at her did her knees feel weak and her heart give an odd flutter. She suspected it was his clearly protective nature that made her react the way she did to him.

As a young girl, and all the way to her wedding night when she’d discovered Frederick’s true character, she’d hoped to wed a man who would treasure her for the person she was in her heart. She had dreamed of a man who would treat her with respect and kindness and give her loyalty, one who wanted to love her wholeheartedly as she wanted to love him. But that was not to ever be, and it would cause her nothing but pain to allow herself to imagine anything with Royce when she was wed to another—and when it was more than likely that Royce had not given her a passing thought in the past two days.

In fact, it seemed to her as if Royce had gone out of his way to avoid her. She’d glimpsed him across the courtyard that morning and raised a hand in greeting, and she’d sworn he’d immediately turned on his heel to head in the other direction. She’d convinced herself he must not have seen her, but then in the afternoon, their paths had crossed again at the entrance to the castle. He was going in as she was leaving with the girls to see the herb garden. He’d greeted them, but he had not looked at her. His tone had been formal and his shoulders tense.

And then there had been the previous night at supper when Elena had invited Eve to sit in the empty chair beside her on the dais, but Royce had said they had private family business to discuss and waved her toward another table. She didn’t think it was true. She’d glanced surreptitiously at him from under her eyelashes, and he’d been staring out into the sea of his clanspeople crammed at the long wooden tables that lined the great hall. He had raised a silver goblet to his lips, but his face had a contemplative look upon it. Around him, conversation had been flowing between Elena, Brus, Magnus, and Father Murdoch, but Royce had not joined in once. She’d watched him the entire meal, unable to make herself turn away until she realized Brus was watching her watch his brother. Perhaps Royce had been reconsidering allowing her to stay to aid him in rearing his girls? Mayhap he thought her incapable of the task after the snake incident and the way they had kept slipping away from her.

“Have ye forgotten, then?”

Brus’s question made Eve blink and jerked her back to the present. “Have I forgotten what?” she asked, embarrassed because she had, in fact, done exactly that.

“Why are ye going to Hell?”

Her cheeks burned hot. She certainly could not tell Brus that she was unable to get Royce out of her mind. “Oh,” she said, trying to make her tone light, “my sins are too many to list. We’d be here all night. I was just thinking of them as I walked to the door.”

Brus leaned a hand against the wall to the right of her as he studied her with keen eyes. “Was one of yer sins the sin of lust?”

Devil take the man. Eve pressed her lips together. He knew. Of course he did! He’d seen her gaping like a caught fish.

Before she could think how to answer, Brus chuckled and dropped his hand from the wall. “Do ye know what I think?” he asked. She shook her head. “I think ’tis nae a sin to simply look at a man ye find attractive, and if he’s nae wed and ye’re nae wed, I think it’s nae a sin if the two of ye find yerselves—” She smacked a hand against his mouth to stop him, but deep laughter seeped out from the edges of her palm.

She was wed. That was one of the problems, but if she weren’t, would she find herself in Royce’s sheets if he wanted her? Was she the sort of woman who was driven by desire? She thought perhaps she was the sort that needed love to complete the desire.

“You,” she said, trying to make her tone sound admonishing, “enjoy making people uncomfortable, don’t you?”

Brus’s eyes fairly twinkled as he reached up, peeled her hand off his mouth, and gripped her fingers. She tried to tug her hand away, but he held tight, smiling. “If my fool of a brother does nae want to satisfy ye, I’ll be happy to aid ye.”

“Ye’ll be happy to aid her with what?” came another deep male voice from behind Eve, making her yelp.

She glanced over her shoulder to find Royce standing there, black hair dripping wet and bare to the waist with rivulets of water streaking down his muscled chest. Her eyes momentarily met his simmering gaze before he looked at his brother, but the fraction of time their gazes had held was enough to send that now familiar dizzying sensation through her. She locked her knees as warmness shot through her veins, causing her to sway slightly toward him.

“Nothing,” she said, glaring at Brus, who had a mischievous look on his face. It was obvious that he intended to rile his brother for the sport of it.

“Why are ye standing in front of Abigail’s bedchamber door holding her hand?” Royce demanded.

The jealous note Eve swore she’d heard in his tone made her lips part. Was he truly jealous? Impossible. And yet, he looked as if he wanted to deliver a blow straight to his brother’s nose, and that made her want to smile, which was horrid! She should not be happy that a man who inspired sinful lust in her might be jealous. She’d have to get on her knees tonight and confess her weakness in prayer. In fact, she should do so now.

“We were just having a conversation about harmless tumbles in sheets,” Brus said.

Eve heard herself gasp, and at the same time, Royce jerked her hand out of his brother’s while giving Brus a murderous look. “Ye,” he said, stepping so close to Brus that Eve didn’t think even a hair could be slipped between them, “keep yer manners with the lass, or ye’ll answer to me. And go to yer own bedchamber, as Abigail is now going into hers.”

With a chuckle, Brus bowed ever so slightly to her and departed, and Eve turned toward her door, swung it open, and screeched at the sight of crickets covering her floor so thoroughly she could not even see a smidge of the rushes beneath. When several crickets hopped onto her shoe, she scrambled backward and hit a solid wall. She jerked around to find Royce directly behind her.

“Ye’re all right, lass,” he said in such a gentle and soothing tone that her pulse immediately slowed.

A tremble raced through her, but she willed herself to gain control. She could not appear to fear insects, but God above, she did detest crickets. She had ever since one had gotten tangled in her hair as a child while she was trying to sleep. “I’m not afraid of bugs,” she whispered, feeling foolish. “It’s just, as a child, a cricket got caught in my hair when I was half-asleep in my bed, and I’ve never forgotten the fright.” She hoped he’d understand.

His hands came to her shoulders, the large expanse of them curling over the front and back and giving her such a complete sense of being protected that a sigh escaped her. “I do nae care for snakes,” he said. “As a lad, one slithered up my braies, and it scairt me half to death.”

She turned around to look him in the face. His hands fell away from her shoulders, but they stood so close that the heat of him surrounded her and the salty smell of the loch that clung to him filled her nose. “But you grasped your daughters’ snakes without hesitation.”

“Well, aye,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Lairds kinnae allow fear.”

She laughed, thinking he was teasing her, but he did not even crack a smile. “So since you became laird you have no fear?”

“Aye.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she muttered. “Being laird doesn’t mean you now have no fear.”

“Oh, aye, it does,” he replied, his tone as unbending as steel. “That’s exactly what it means.” When she opened her mouth to protest once more, he said, “’Tis fine if ye have fears. Ye’re a lass.”

“You have fears,” she growled. “And your biggest fear is admitting that you—”

Before she could finish, Brus said from behind her, “Do ye think the girls did this?”

Eve glanced over Royce’s shoulder to see Brus once again standing at her bedchamber and giving her a warning look. She bit her lip and nodded ever so slightly. She supposed it wasn’t her place to demand the laird of the clan acknowledge he had fears.

“Why in God’s name are ye back?” Royce demanded.

“I thought ye may have need of me, Brother,” Brus said, grinning, and Eve could not help but respond to his obvious amusement. She found herself smiling at the closeness of the brothers, the way Brus felt at ease to tease his elder brother.

“I have need of ye if ye can mind yer manners with the lass.”

“Unless she asks me nae to, I vow I will,” Brus said, winking at her.

Eve couldn’t help herself; she laughed. “The lass will expect you to behave,” she said, her tone playful.

“’Tis enough between the two of ye,” Royce growled, and Eve bit her lip on the need to smile. There it was again, a jealous note. She vowed it. “Ye can sleep in my bedchamber tonight,” Royce said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’ll sleep in yer bedchamber just in case we do nae get all the crickets. I’d hate for ye to have a fright in the middle of the night.”

“Because I’m a lass, so I’m allowed to have fears,” she teased.

He scowled at her, but even with the scowl the corners of his mouth gave way after a breath to a smile. “Precisely,” he said, the word vibrating with his merriment.

She wanted to show him that revealing fears did not make one weak. “I’ll sleep in my own bedchamber, and I’ll help you get out the crickets.”

“Ye’re a braw lass,” he complimented, but he sounded so grim about it, as if the fact that he thought her brave disturbed him mightily. Before she could think how to comment, he whipped around, sidestepped Brus, and then stalked down the hall, dripping as he went. He disappeared into the girls’ bedchamber, likely to collect them and make them aid in cleaning up their mischievousness. She turned to Brus to ask him if he thought that’s what his brother was doing, and she found Brus staring at her, looking like a cat who’d just caught a mouse.

“What is it?” she asked, feeling her eyebrows dip together in a frown.

“There’s a crack in the ice,” he said.

“The ice?”

“Aye.” He moved past her and into the room where he brushed crickets aside with his foot to make his way to her bed. He pulled off the bedcover, made a clearing in the crickets, then laid the coverlet down. He swooped the crickets onto it, folded it, and stood. “I’ll just take these lads outside, and then I’ll be back.”

“What shall I do?” she asked, still thinking about his comment about the ice, even as her pulse grew faster, surrounded as she was by the insects she despised.

“Pull off the other cover and do the same as I did.”

The thought of touching the crickets made her skin crawl, but she nodded, pulled off the cover, and stared down at the insects.

“Ye look faint,” Brus said, chuckling.

“I feel faint,” she murmured.

“Then why do this?” He stared at her as if he were trying to puzzle out something.

“I wanted to show your brother that revealing fear does not make you weak, and I don’t want to give him a reason to send me away,” she admitted.

“Send ye away?” Brus sounded all amazed. “Ye’re a wee funny lass. Ye’re the chisel that’s cracked the ice, ye daft thing.”

She didn’t have any notion what he meant, but she didn’t even get a chance to ask. He swung around and departed in a blur. She took a deep breath, and just as she kneeled to do as he had, the crickets started to jump. The first landed on her foot, then her leg, and then her lap. A sweat instantly broke out across her forehead, and the room started to spin. And when a cricket scrambled from her lap to her shoulder to her hair, she couldn’t suppress the yelp or the reaction to flail her arms. It sent her careening backward, letting out another yelp as she fell hard onto her bottom in a sea of crickets. And then, she did faint.