Craving the Highlander's Touch (2 page)

He gripped the dirk in his hands, knowing he had only seconds to go after the girl. He stumbled forward, furious that his body lacked the strength he needed. He centered his gaze upon the young child, her reddish-blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. In her sweet face, he saw the reflected memory of his daughter Iliana. Now, he prayed that he could somehow free MacKinloch’s daughter and atone for what he’d done.

The MacKinloch chief turned on Harkirk, unleashing his rage as his sword struck the Baron’s shield. The two men fought hard, and in the chief’s eyes, Finian saw a father willing to die for his daughter.

Although it was too late to save Iliana, he could save this girl.

His gaze moved up, and he saw Lady Harkirk standing atop one of the towers. The wind blew her brown hair against her face, and though he could not see her closely, he sensed her watching him.

If he made it out alive, he’d ensure that she escaped Harkirk. She’d given him the gift of his own life, and he owed her that. But when she left the tower, disappearing down the stairs, he forced himself to concentrate on the battle at hand.

“Kill her!” the English lord cried out. The command jerked Finian to his senses, and time slowed as he saw a soldier reach for his blade. MacKinloch’s daughter would die if Finian didn’t reach her. A burst of energy flooded through him, and he found the strength to run, his dirk raised.

Dimly, he heard the roar of the MacKinloch chief before Finian embedded the blade in the back of the soldier’s throat, pulling the child away. The girl sobbed with fear, but he held her tightly, his blade gripped to defend her.

When he met Alex MacKinloch’s hard stare, he nodded, trying to make the man understand that he’d give his life for the girl.

As the remaining reinforcements invaded, Finian didn’t move, keeping careful guard over the child. His breath froze in the air, and the longer he stood still, the more difficult it was to keep from shivering. In time, he saw Lady Harkirk in the distance, watching him. He sensed that she approved of what he’d done, and her quiet presence granted him the absolution he needed.

He set the child down in front of her father. “You saved her,” MacKinloch said. There was surprise in the chief’s voice, along with gratefulness.

“Were it not for me, she’d never have been in danger. I’m sorry for it.” Finian moved aside so Alex could reach for his daughter, and when the pair embraced, his throat closed up. Though he’d done what he could to help them, it wouldn’t assuage his own loss of Iliana.

As he parted from the MacKinloch chief, he struggled to walk like a normal man. So cold. So desperately cold. He gripped the edges of Lady Harkirk’s cloak, shivering violently.

Behind him, the battle had ended, and his own clan and the MacKinlochs had seized command of the fortress. He caught a glimpse of Lady Harkirk moving towards him, a hand covering her mouth in horror.

Finian followed the direction of her gaze, and saw the reason for her fear. Lying upon the ground was the body of Lord Harkirk, a black-feathered arrow embedded in the man’s throat.

He’s dead. After all these years, he’s finally dead.

The words didn’t feel real to Alys. And though an hour had passed while the MacKinlochs freed the prisoners and drove out the remainder of her husband’s men, she felt an overwhelming fear. Smoke billowed into the air from the fires set by the MacKinloch men, and her husband’s body was left to burn.

No longer would she be enslaved within a marriage to such a monster. Never again would he use her body, blaming her for her barrenness. She was free of Robert, but she didn’t know whether to weep for joy or out of fear for where she would go now.

Her maid Jeanne had tried to lend support, taking her hand and murmuring words of comfort. But Alys couldn’t find any words at all to reply. Laren MacKinloch came up beside her, offering the comfort of silence.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Alys whispered. “I just…don’t know where to go now.”

The woman touched her shoulder. “Do you have family you could return to, perhaps in England? We could arrange an escort.”

Alys shook her head. “I have no one.” It wasn’t the truth, for her father was still alive. He’d gloried in the service of King Edward, commanding troops wherever Longshanks desired English forces. A man born and bred for the battlefield, her father had arranged her marriage to Lord Harkirk as a means of securing a strong alliance. No doubt her father would arrange another marriage to further his own interests, if she dared to return home.

She stared into the forest, turning over the problem in her mind, when a sudden motion caught her attention. It was the older girl she’d freed several weeks ago, before Robert could have her killed. Alys had been forced to disguise her as a boy, shearing off her hair, but the ruse had worked. She’d hidden the girl in the forest, in an abandoned shelter.

Alys hurried toward the trees, signaling for the girl to come forward, now that the battle was over. A flash of intuition overtook her when she looked into the girl’s familiar face. The pieces suddenly came together, and she made the connection as she turned to find Finian. His gray eyes held shock and disbelief as the girl ran to him and burst into tears.

It was his daughter.

Thankfulness transformed his face as Finian smoothed his hand across her shorn hair. His eyes stared at her while he held his daughter, and color flooded Alys’s face. She managed a nod, answering his silent question if it was she who’d saved the girl’s life.

But she wasn’t prepared for the way he was looking at her now. The intensity of Finian’s gaze moved past her boundaries, in a silent message of gratitude. Though she wanted to shrug it off, an invisible bond seemed to draw her closer to him.

To distract herself from the unexpected muddle of feelings, she started explaining what had happened. “I bribed one of the soldiers to help me get her out.” When she heard herself speak, she was talking too fast.
Calm yourself.

“I disguised her as a boy and let my husband believe she was dead,” Alys finished. Feeling guilty, she added, “I didn’t know she was yours.”

Finian kept his arm around his daughter, but he came forward and took Alys’s hand. His palm was cold, reminding Alys of the icy night he’d endured, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “There are no words to say how grateful I am.”

She could make no reply, for her cheeks were burning. He was staring at her as if she’d given him back his life, when all she’d done was protect a child. Like any woman would have done.

The girl sent her a smile, snuggling against her father. But when Alys studied Finian again, she saw the tension in his face, the glassy stare in his eyes. And she recalled the lashes he’d endured at the hands of the soldiers. He needed someone to tend his wounds, to give him care and shelter.

“Lady Harkirk will need a place to live, now that the fortress is gone,” Laren said to Finian. “Will you provide her with an escort?”

“Anywhere she wishes to go.”

Alys acknowledged her thanks, but her greater concern was his physical health. At a closer look, she saw that his hands were still shaking. She drew close to Finian and whispered low. “Your wounds…you need to tend them.”

“Later,” he promised, holding his daughter’s hand.

But if they waited too much longer, his back might grow swollen, his body becoming feverish. Already she could see the signs of exhaustion, and Finian needed rest, more than all else. As her eyes passed over him, she glimpsed an angry burn upon his arm. Though it was an older scar, it must have hurt him badly.

When she stared back at the fortress, she realized that it could still shelter them for a night or two. The fires had not touched the tower, but were isolated to the outer structures and walls. They could prevent it from spreading further.

She went to the MacKinloch chief and pleaded, “Will your men put out the fires? I want to stay here in the tower for a few days more…until I’m ready to leave.”

Alex didn’t look pleased by her request. “There are many who would rather see it burned to the ground.”

She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “After I’ve gathered my belongings, I’ll set it ablaze myself.” It would be a fitting end to watch the four years of captivity go up in smoke.

But for now, Finian needed a place to heal, and it was the best she could do.

“I’ll give the orders,” Alex said.

“Will my da be all right?” Iliana whispered.

“Of course he will,” Alys reassured her. The young girl’s worried expression was matched by her own wariness. Finian had barely managed to make it up the winding stone staircase, and he’d stumbled on to his hands and knees near the top. His brother Brochain had helped him into her husband’s bedchamber, while she and her maid Jeanne took care of the girl.

“It’s late,” Alys told Iliana. “Follow me, and I’ll show you a place where you can sleep.” She led her into a separate chamber, where she had slept while Robert had entertained other women. It was a small bed, but the young girl dove beneath the coverlet, snuggling up.

“You’ll take care of my da?” Iliana asked.

Alys reached out and touched the girl’s short hair. “I promise I will. And perhaps in another day or two, he’ll take you home again.”

A smile faltered on her face as Iliana closed her eyes. Alys waited a few more moments until she was certain the girl was safe enough.

“My lady?” came Jeanne’s voice. “Shall I stay with the child and look after her?”

Alys sent her a grateful look. “Yes. In the meantime, I need to see to the MacLachor chief’s wounds.”

Her maid bowed her head, and Alys left her alone with Iliana. When she returned to Robert’s bedchamber, Finian lay on top of the bed. His brother Brochain eyed him as if he didn’t know what to do next.

“Build up the fire so we can make him warmer,” she ordered. From a chest, she withdrew a heavy fur coverlet and brought it over, layering Finian with as many blankets as she could find. And still, he trembled.

“I’m bringing the rest of the MacLachors into the main hall,” Brochain said. “We’ll stay here tonight.” With a look towards Alys, he asked, “Would you rather I remained here to look after him myself?”

“No, I’ll tend his wounds,” she told the man.

Finian stared at his brother and raised his arm to show the burned, scarred flesh. “This was your idea of healing, don’t you remember?”

There was a twinge of remorse on Brochain’s face, and Alys realized with dismay that the man had cauterized a sword wound. Though it might have saved Finian’s life, the gesture was nothing short of brutal.

“The wounds on his back should be treated,” she said. “I have herbs that will help.”

But Brochain wasn’t listening. Instead, he eyed his older brother. “Do you want me to stay or sleep with the men?”

“Go away,” Finian warned. “I’d rather have a beautiful woman looking after me.”

“Our enemy’s wife?”

“She’s the one who freed me from my chains. If she’d wanted to kill me, she’d have done it then.”

Brochain gave a nod. To Alys, he said, “We’ll guard the hall below and make sure none of the garrison returns. If you need any of us, call out.”

She murmured her thanks and busied herself preparing healing herbs to draw out any poison from the lash marks. But it was Finian’s freezing skin that bothered her most.

Despite all the blankets, nothing seemed to warm him. She sat beside the bed, and the exhaustion of the day swept over her. Her neck ached, and she was holding back her emotions by a thread. Robert was dead. No one would tell her how useless she was, or how fortunate she was that he’d taken pity on her and married her.

When he’d visited her bedchamber, it had never been anything but a horrifying ordeal to endure. She would lie beneath him, staring at the ceiling, praying to God that it would be over. Though after a few years, it had stopped hurting…it had still humiliated her every time. And not once had she become pregnant.

But that was her fault, like everything else.

“Lady Harkirk,” Finian murmured. “Are you well?”

She veiled her unsettled emotions and nodded. “I’ll be all right. Are you any warmer?”

Finian shook his head. “I suppose it will get better, in a few hours.”

She reached beneath the coverlet and took his hand. It was freezing, but she rubbed her palms against it, trying to imbue some warmth. His gray eyes studied her as she touched him. Alys grew self-conscious, but didn’t stop trying to warm his skin.

She touched his cool fingers, holding them between her palms. Then she massaged the skin, one finger at a time. He closed his eyes, as if he could melt the heat away from her body and pull it into his own.

Silently, Finian offered her his other hand. Once more, she rubbed his knuckles and fingers until they lost the stiffness, holding his hand between both palms. His gray eyes watched her, and the act took on an intimacy she’d never intended. The intense look in his eyes overpowered her defenses, as if he were trying to understand her.

She tried to pull her hands away, but he caught them. “What you did…when you saved my daughter’s life—” He squeezed her palm, holding on to her as if his touch could convey the words he couldn’t find. “It meant everything.”

“She was a child. I did what I could to save her.” She lowered her gaze, wishing the ghosts of the other prisoners didn’t weigh down upon her. She’d been unable to save all of them.

His mouth came to rest upon her hand, and his warm breath caught her without warning. “You gave me my freedom that night.”

“You didn’t look like a man who deserved death,” she whispered. “You looked like one in need of mercy.”

“I didn’t deserve mercy. I expected to die.” He rolled to his stomach, his face buried against the mattress.

I’m glad you didn’t.
But she couldn’t voice those words. Pulling back, she swallowed hard. “Can you…remove the cloak? I want to look at your back and apply a salve to your wounds.”

Finian removed the garment, baring his shoulders. When he turned over, she saw the carved lines of his upper back, the broad strength that he’d kept hidden. His flesh was not as pale as Robert’s, and she supposed Finian was a man accustomed to the harsh conditions here.

The lash marks weren’t as deep as she’d thought, and the bleeding had dried up. She washed his skin, and he jerked at the cool water.

“I’ll hurry,” she promised, swabbing gently at the lash marks. Then she made a thick salve from the herbs and pressed it against his back. She tried not to hurt him, smoothing the mixture into the wounds.

When it was done, she wiped her hands with linen. “Try to sleep now. You need to get warm again.”

“My daughter—” he protested.

“My maid is with her. But if you want me to, I’ll go and stay with Iliana.”

He closed his eyes. “Is she well?”

“She’s gone to sleep. Just as you should.”

He sent her a baleful look. “My dreams have troubled me for as long as I can remember. Sleep doesn’t come easily.”

“Then I’ll stay with you until then,” she offered. He looked so ragged and lost, she supposed it would do no harm. With her fingers, she brushed the edges of his eyelids, drawing them closed. “Sleep, Finian.”

He took a breath, but she could see the tension weighing him down. Right now his body needed sleep in order to heal. Though it went against her instincts, she lay down beside him with her hand holding his. “It’s all right.”

Her presence did seem to soothe him. But what she hadn’t expected was how her body seemed to sink into the mattress, the arms of sleep drawing her near.

There’s no harm in it
, she thought. Not if she closed her eyes for a moment or two.

Alys felt so warm, cocooned within a man’s arms. Not Robert’s—no, these arms were strong. The spicy scent of male skin was calming instead of threatening. This man was holding her, his skin growing warmer by the minute. Her dreams stumbled against the wall of reality, but she wasn’t ready to wake up. Not yet.

Somehow she was beneath the coverlet, and the man’s hips were pressed against her. Her woolen gown was loose, and a sudden tension filled her up inside when his arousal pressed against her bottom. Not fear…but a strange feeling of longing held her captive. Before she could open her eyes, he touched her back, reaching beneath the gown to caress her bare skin. Gentle and strong, he held her close while his mouth came to kiss her neck.

In his sleep, Finian was touching her. Alys knew she had to move away, but the moment she tried, his hand slid lower beneath her gown, drawing it from her shoulders until she was bared to the waist. His hand reached over and cupped the fullness of her breast. Instantly, her nipple grew taut, and the heat spiraled through her, down between her legs. She was caught between the tantalizing sensations and her need to leave.

Just a moment longer
, her body pleaded. She’d never been caressed like this before. It was as if Finian were reverencing her body, touching her with the intent of drawing out the buried feelings of desire. She was accustomed to her husband groping her, and never before had she felt this way.

It was wrong. So very wrong.

And yet her eyes clouded up with tears as she remained motionless. She ought to pull away, to preserve her virtue. But the hurtful four years had taken their toll, and she resented her husband for making their marriage bed such a miserable place.