The Highlander Read online

  Anora quieted, listening as Matthew sauntered down the stone path away from her cottage. He disappeared down the road that led to the village, but she hadn’t lost hope of escaping. It was just as well that he had not searched further for her, or she suspected the Highlander might have killed him.

  Rope in hand, the Highlander pulled Anora back toward her place. Her whole body tensed in preparation for more of a battle. When they entered the cottage, he led her to the sleeping chamber where she renewed her struggle, trying to wriggle free. She wasn’t going to be tied up without a fight.

  She tried to remove his fingers from their shackling grip on her wrist, but he grabbed her waist, lifted her as if she weighed no more than a sack filled with air, and dumped her on the mattress. When she attempted to get up, he lunged forward, pinning her body to the mattress with his own.

  Shocked to the core, she didn't move at first, feeling all that hard muscled body pressed so indecently against her. She hadn't expected him to make such a move, either, completely rattling her composure. She should have been wholly terrified, hating the way he felt lying between her spread legs, the only thing separating them—his wool plaid and her wool léine—that barely seemed to exist between them. Not when she could feel his heat pressing against her, his staff taking on a life of its own, growing harder—and she knew exactly what that meant.

  At least the shepherdess had informed her greatly of the matter once John had caught Anora swimming half dressed with the butcher's son in the loch. And they thought it past time that she knew about men and women and how dangerous being together like that could be—when she had only been ten summers. Matthew was only two years older than her, so she really didn't understand their concern.

  But now, here she was this Highlander's hostage, and why was she feeling so… intrigued, interested, and curious about what lay beneath his wool?

  She had to be mad.

  “I am too tired for this continued skirmish, lass, though if I were not so exhausted, I believe I would rather enjoy this moment with you.” His eyes had darkened to midnight, and his mouth curved up in a sensuous smirk.

  He was a barbarian—she reminded herself. So why was she hoping he didn't move off her? So she could feel every bit of him against her for just a while longer?

  No man had ever touched her so intimately—and mayhap no man ever would.

  Either from the weariness he felt, or the pleasure he seemed to take in lying against her, he made no effort to move from his restful position. Finally coming to her senses, she squirmed in an attempt to unsettle him from his repose.

  He cast her a dark smile. “You are making the situation more untenable for yourself, lass, as you are stirring the dragon from his sleep. Take care that you do not wake him too much.”

  The so-called dragon had stirred from his sleep well before she began to wriggle beneath him. Even so, she grew very still, remembering what her guardian had told her about men when Anora was old enough to understand something about the way men were. Just like a ram that wished to tup a ewe could not hold back his natural urges, neither could a man if the woman encouraged him in any way.

  When Anora quieted, the Highlander finally took a deep breath and rolled off her. He pulled her from the bed and sat her in the ladder-backed chair standing next to the bed. He began to tie her to it, and she scowled back at him. All she could hope for now was that she could free herself from the rope while he slept.

  After knotting the rope, he considered the way she was bound to the chair, ensuring she was perfectly secure. “That ought to keep you still for a while.” Glancing at the mattress, he said, “You could be more comfortable, if you would lie quietly beside me.”

  Her scowl deepened. What if he woke from his sleep and began to kiss her and touch her and… bed her? What if she went along with it?

  He laughed at the look of contempt that must have shown on her face. “I venture not.”

  Then she scolded herself. She could have pretended she'd stay with the man and then as soon as he fell asleep, escaped.

  He walked out of the room. She heard the bolt slide against the main door, but before she could wonder what else he was up to, he returned with another chair. After he shoved it against the door, he sat on the mattress, leaned over, and then pulled off his boots.

  "Mayhap I will take you up on your offer," she said sweetly.

  He only smiled at her. "Aye, lass. And I would never get any sleep."

  She scowled again at him. Why had he said he'd allow her to stay with him if he hadn't meant it?

  Taking a moment more, he considered the rope that bound Anora and satisfied it would hold her while he slept, he lay back down on the mattress, and pulled the sheepskin over his shoulder. He watched her for some time, his eyelids growing heavy.

  She continued to glower at him, just waiting for him to close his eyes, and she'd get free of her rope prison. After he shut his eyes, his breathing grew shallow while his face took on the appearance of a cherub completely at peace with the world.

  A cherub. She shook her head. A devil wrapped in his plaid, more like.

  The Highlander grew still in sleep, and Anora struggled with the rope as her dog shoved his nose through the sliver of the entrance. Squeezing through, he ran into the room, his toenails clicking in a methodic rhythm on the floor.

  “Charlie,” Anora whispered as he ran over to her, wagging his shaggy brown tail in an enthusiastic frenzy. “I wish you could go get Matthew.”

  Charlie plopped his bottom down at her feet. His tongue hung over his teeth while he panted a refrain. Surrounded by a mask of brown and white fur, his deep brown eyes hungered for more of his mistress’s praise. At least she was certain he believed that’s what her words meant. His reddish brown ears twitched back and forth, his fringed tail sliding over the stone floor like a broom.

  Struggling, wiggling, she continued to work on the rope. Charlie curled up in a ball on the tips of her toes, warming them, and promptly fell asleep.

  Anora looked down at him. “Oh, Charlie.” She glanced back at the man sleeping soundly in her bed.

  She had to get the Highlander out of here before any learned of his presence, and the word spread… and ruined her. Not to mention, she didn't exactly trust herself with him, either.

  Chapter 3

  A candle now glowing in the sleeping chamber, Anora lifted her head and wondered how late it was—only to see the Highlander sitting up on the bed, staring back at her, and her skin warmed uncomfortably. ‘Twas bad enough that she was here alone with him, but trussed up and being scrutinized by him made her body heat in a way that both startled and annoyed her.

  His dark hair looked mussed and endearing, his masculine lips curved slightly, hinting at amusement. The angular set of his jaw and his cheekbones made him appear sculpted out of the same granite that the cliffs behind her home were made of. Her gaze shifted to his bronzed chest, the bloodied fabric wrapped around his waist, garnering her attention again. How had he been hurt? Had he been fighting someone? Were they searching for him now?

  More barbarians like him? She shuddered, thinking how much more trouble she might be in, all because this man took refuge in her cottage.

  “It appeared that you needed to sleep as well.” He pulled on one, then the other of his leather boots.

  “I did not sleep.”

  Straightening his plaid, the Highlander said, “Oh? It appeared that way to me. I have observed you for some time, lassie.” He studied her further as she squirmed against her bindings. “I believe I prefer you this way. I should leave you bound like that so that you willna give me any more grief, but I am hungry and wish for you to prepare something for me to eat.”

  “You think I will feed you when you have trussed me up thus for so long?” she asked indignantly. Yet she was hungry and had to eat also, and the preparations would take some time if she was to have a meal today.

  “Aye,” he said curtly, then stood and stretched, but groaned.

  Her gaz
e again latched onto the bloodied cloth around his waist. The wool fabric was his tunic, she now thought, first believing he had traipsed through the glen wearing naught but his plaid, half naked like a true barbarian. He moved to the chair Anora was confined to. Charlie jumped up to greet him.

  “Oh, Charlie,” Anora said, her voice rife with remonstration, “you are supposed to bite him, not welcome him.”

  The Highlander smiled while he untied her wrists. “He is offering Highland hospitality, lass, despite this being the Lowlands. More than that, he knows when a man is friend or foe. So, Anora, where is your father?”

  Ignoring his question because she couldn’t allow him to know she lived all alone—though she wondered why he had not seemed to worry overmuch that anyone might arrive home and find the cottage door barred, she asked, “Who are you? You carry a fine claymore and your clothes, though soiled, have never been mended. I can see where they could use a stitch or two now.”

  For a moment, he studied her, as if trying to decide if her knowing his name was a safe thing to reveal. “I am no' from around here.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Tell me something I do not know. Like your name.”

  He shook his head. He didn’t trust her? He was the one who couldn’t be trusted. He’d barged into her cottage, slept on her bed, and used her own rope to tie her up.

  She pursed her lips. “I thought you said you were leaving once you had rested.” She knew reminding him of his own words would not change the Highlander's mind, but she had to speak them anyway.

  “I am hungry now.”

  He sounded like a man used to getting his way and that irritated her all the more.

  Anora rubbed her wrists where the ropes had burned, but only because she’d struggled so hard to free herself.

  Without him noticing, she slipped the small knife off her kitchen table and sheathed it in the scabbard on her belt. She went outside to the stone well beside her cottage, and was thankful to see the sun had burned off some of the gray mist of earlier in the day, and was still fairly early. He followed close on her heels as if he intended to grab her if she decided to run off. She swore she could feel the heat emanating from him.

  “I have chores to do first, before I may eat.” Anora hoped he wouldn't force her to bend to his will and have her feed him first, when she needed to pasture her sheep. She'd taken some of her sheep to market at dawn, as everyone opened their stalls at first light. Right afterward, she had planned to start her meal—that would take hours to cook—and pasture the remaining sheep. Until the braw Highlander took her hostage and unsettled her normal routine on market day.

  She dipped her bucket into the well. “If you are hungry, you will help me with my chores as you have kept me from my work for a couple of hours and now I am late in pasturing my sheep.”

  She imagined her dictating to him wouldn't go over well, but she couldn't help it. She had to let him know how she felt. Her guardians had taught her that everyone worked at whatever job they could to put a meal on the table. Not that she had expected her captor to agree.

  He quirked a brow at her. Surprised that she would give him an order?

  “I will watch you do your chores," he said, a hint of a smile curving his mouth. "If I help you, I could become too thoroughly distracted, and you would attempt to slip away.”

  Why hadn't Anora thought of that? Her main concern had been that he would work for his meal—which only seemed right. Not that it made any difference now.

  She'd heard that the Highlanders—though barbarians—did offer a meal to those who visited. But since he hadn't visited her and she was not a Highlander, she didn't feel the need to abide by their rules of hospitality. She doubted if he had bound a Highland lass to a chair in her own cottage, she would have felt very hospitable, either.

  Then again, maybe a Highland lass would have done anything for the braw warrior. Melted at his touch and offered him much more.

  Anora shook her head as she lifted the heavy pail. “You will not help me because you are a man of some… rank and do not work for a living.” Although he appeared more like a rugged Highland warrior, not pampered in the least. He still seemed more like a leader of men, rather than someone who was ordered about.

  Not taking offense, he laughed. “You are right, lass. I dinna wish to injure myself with doing any hard labor.”

  “I suspected as much.” Anora briskly walked back to the cottage, carrying the heavy bucket of water. Some of it sloshed onto her léine.

  “I could have carried that for you.” He followed her into the room.

  “Of course.” She poured the water into the kettle “After I had finished with the task.”

  She really wasn't annoyed with him concerning his not helping her. She did these tasks all on her own all the time, so was used to the work. She lit a fire and watched it for a moment to see it catch hold. The flames grew in height, licking the iron pot with a tender touch. She grabbed a basket off a shelf, and then walked back outside to a small garden.

  Imagining she was doing her chores as she would have if she'd had no visitor, she ignored Niall this time. Though pretending he was not so near was difficult to do. He remained close by, and she couldn't help but glance at him from time to time to see what he was doing. He was surveying the lands, looking for someone? Listening. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as if any moment he would be attacked.

  And then of its own accord, her gaze wandered over his naked chest again, the muscled smooth planes, the warm, golden color of his skin, his dusky nipples—that she could observe so much better in the misty gray light of day. He caught her studying him and… smiled knowingly, the rogue.

  The day was cool, but she instantly felt hot.

  Reaching down, she pulled up a handful of leeks. Using the small knife, she cut off sprigs of rosemary, thyme, and dill. He frowned a little when he saw that she was armed. As if she could fight him with such a small knife when he was armed with a sword. To her way of thinking, a pitchfork was a much better weapon—well, if the man did not wield a mighty sword.

  Returning to the cottage, she chopped the herbs into fine fragments, and then threw them into the pot as the water warmed over the fire.

  “At the castle where you live, do you act as a shadow in your servants’ presence as well?” she asked.

  Dimples appeared on his cheeks before she brushed past him, felt the heat and hardness of him all over again, smelled his spicy masculinity and chided herself for enjoying his closeness, when she should have loathed it. She hated to admit she halfway enjoyed his company, which had her believing she had been living alone for so long she had become daft.

  She left the cottage and walked down a short path to a stone building past her byre, dug deep into the ground. The aroma of the earthen walls, like that of a freshly plowed garden, filled the air as Anora climbed down the steps into the cool, damp room, making her shiver. Niall leaned against the doorjamb at the top of the stairs, arms folded, watching her.

  She pulled a strip of meat off an iron hook. “We will have pork stew if that should be acceptable to you.” Not that she intended to fix anything else. Or that she cared if it was acceptable to him. She was just fortunate enough to have a friend in Matthew. Most renters did not have the luxury of eating much meat during the week like she did.

  “Aye, lass, if you are able to prepare it suitably,” he said. He sounded serious.

  She raised a brow. He cast her an elusive smile. She swore the Highlander was teasing her.

  “I will attempt to do my best,” she said, only because she always did her best. If he didn't like how she prepared the stew, he could go elsewhere to attempt to secure a free meal.

  “Call me Niall—if you please, lass.”

  Her mouth gaped. He was now trusting her with his name? That did not bode well. What if he thought that because he'd slept in her bed and she was fixing him a meal, it meant he could take other liberties with her? And that's why he gave his name up to her? Unless he
was lying and that was not his name at all.

  “Those who serve you do not call you Niall, I surmise.” Anora headed for the stairs, attempting to learn the truth.

  “Two of my cousins are called laird, lass, the eldest having received the title from his da, and the other, through battle. Alas, I am an orphan with naught but the tunic on my back. Not even that at the moment. And, aye, everyone who is friend calls me Niall. You would not wish to hear what my enemies call me.”

  She closed her gaping mouth. He truly was from a family who ruled others. She glanced at the bloodied bandage around his waist. And he had enemies that could be looking for him.

  She let out her breath in frustration. She had to get this man out of here as soon as possible. She would offer to examine his injury and take care of it, if she could. Otherwise, what if it got infected, and he died? It didn’t matter the manner in which he had taken over her cottage or ordered her about. She couldn’t let the man die here.

  She felt a bit of relief that he wasn’t a nobleman of title who believed she was of no consequence. Yet, she was a little disappointed as she climbed up the stairs of her cellar while he stood in her path. If nothing else, it would have been a boon to know that a man of some stature had slept in her bed. Not some orphaned cousin of a couple of titled lairds. And that he had no land or way to support himself or a wife and his children, should he have any.

  Unless he worked for one of the cousins. “So which laird do you serve?” she asked, trying to ascertain which clan he was with and what his duties truly were.

  He only smiled. He had the look of a charming rogue, but he wasn’t taking the bait—as he refrained from speaking of his family further.

  She attempted to squeeze by him. He leaned close to her and took a deep breath, unsettling her. “You smell of lavender. I wouldna believe a shepherdess would smell so fine.”