My Captive Highlander (Highland Adventure Book 7) (7 page)

A sudden shout echoed behind them, drifting on the harsh wind. A horse's neigh.

Dread surged through him. "God's teeth, they're not far behind us."

Hand on his sword hilt, Shamus turned to look back toward the shouting but saw nothing in the darkness. He couldn't believe her clan had noticed their absence so quickly.

Maili urged her horse to a faster pace. They raced toward the hill.

"I must hide you." Shamus was far more concerned for her safety than his own. "If they find you, tell them I kidnapped you and forced you to come with me."

"Nay, I will not." Sounding panicked, she drew up. "Come. Dismount." Maili slid off the horse. "We'll both hide."

Shamus followed suit. Though he would not normally hide from challengers, he was greatly outnumbered this time. "Where?"

"Among the standing stones and gorse bushes at the top of the hill. My clan won't go up there. They believe anyone who trespasses in the fairies' domain will be cursed."

"And you don't believe this?" he asked.

"Nay. I have been here before. If the fairies live here, they don't mind my visits." She led the horse up the hill into the circle. Shamus followed, spending half his time staring back toward the trail but seeing naught.

"You stay here and hide," he murmured. "I'll take the horse and ride on. They'll follow me and you can safely return to the castle." Though he did not want to leave her, '
twould
be the best for her.

"Nay. I'll not have you accused of stealing a horse," she said in a fierce whisper.

"They'll not capture me," he assured her.

"Then why did we simply not ride on? I won't slow you down."

Damnation, Shamus could think of no ideal solution.

For a moment, all was silent save the wind and the horse chomping grass. Fortunately, the bushes here were tall enough to hide the horse.

"Will he stay quiet?" Shamus asked.

"Aye. I believe so."

Peering around a tall stone, Shamus watched as torches came into view around the bend. A dog's bark echoed through the night.

"Saints, they're tracking me with a dog," Shamus said, his stomach knotting.

"Don't
fash
. I doused the cell with whisky and you brought all your clothes with you."

"The dog could be tracking you."

"Oh, blast," she whispered. "I didn't think of that."

The dog might smell either of their scents, or even the horse's. Fortunately, they were downwind at the moment.

The dog and her clansmen swiftly passed by along the trail, the men sounding loud and unruly as if they were ready for battle. He could not see all of them by the light of a few torches, but suspected there were more than a dozen.

Soon, they were gone, moving inland.

"
'Tis
surprising the dog didn't smell us," Shamus said.

"This is a magical place, you ken." Maili sat on the ground and he joined her, sitting close enough for his arm to brush hers. How cozy this was, she thought, sitting here, sheltered from the wind and the eyes of her clan among the gorse bushes and standing stones with the most appealing man she'd ever met.

"Indeed?" he asked, skepticism and amusement clear in his voice. "Magical?"

"Of course. Do you not believe in things you cannot see or touch?"

"Aye, certainly." He paused for a moment. "I wonder… are you one of the fairies?"

"Ha. Nay, of course not." She eyed him through the darkness but could only see the outline of his form. Was he teasing or serious?
'Twas
difficult to tell.

Her stomach growled.

"You sound hungry," he said.

"I am indeed. I haven't eaten since this morn."

'Haps Shamus was hungry, too. She dug into the pouch of her
arisaid,
pulled out the satchel and unwrapped the cloth. "Have some bread and cheese." She handed him chunks of the food.

"I thank you. I was hungry," he said between bites. Even then, his voice held a smooth, seductive quality. Or was she imagining things?

After eating a few bites, she uncorked the spiced wine she'd brought and sipped, then gave him the bottle.

The wine sloshed and he swallowed. "Delicious," he said, passing it back to her.

After corking the wine, she put it and the food away in her satchel.

"Is there another trail out of here?" he asked.

"Ben
Clagen
is to the north and Ben
Milchen
to the east. Both are high and craggy. We can cross neither. Even the pass is very high and rough. The best route is the way my clan went."

"
'Tis
too dangerous to follow them," he said. "They might turn back. Or hide and wait for us to approach."

"A few miles south, there is a fork in the trail. In the morn, we might be able to see their tracks and tell which way they've headed.
'Tis
too dark now, even with the moonlight."

"Aye."

Because she was only able to discern his silhouette in the moonlight, the sound of his voice stirred up something strange but thrilling inside her.

What were they going to do for the rest of the night? Sleep? She was far too restless. Kiss? That thought sent a rush of heat through her. Was this desire she was feeling for the first time in her life? Was this the passion the bards and troubadours sang of?

Feeling disturbed and flushed, she arose and wandered to the central standing stone, the tallest. It had to be at least twelve feet in height. Legend said it was the marrying stone. She did not know whether to believe this or not… or even what it truly meant. She placed her hands flat upon it, as she had done a few times before. It had certainly never caused her to get married. In fact, all her suitors had been repelled.

Rocks clattered as Shamus approached. "
'Tis
a very tall stone." He tilted his head back to observe the top in the moonlight.

"Aye." She loved the smooth, weathered surface and the scratchy lichens growing on parts of it. When she closed her eyes, she felt the centuries these stones had stood witness to. They had existed here far longer than hundreds of years.
'Twas
thousands of years they had stood just as they were now. With her "sight" she saw the ancient people who had come here. This had been a most sacred place to them. And then she saw the couples, hundreds of them, who had stood here touching the stone. It had bound them in a love so strong, none had ever parted. Even though death had separated some of them briefly, they had remained soul mates, and rejoined in the afterlife. Tears pricked her eyes at the depth of emotion and love. This was the kind of love she wanted.

"Maili, are you all right?" Shamus asked in a gentle voice.

She opened her eyes to find him leaning against the stone.

"Why are you crying?"

She shook her head, her throat too tight to speak. She could never explain what she saw. It was too grand, too elaborate and complicated. Infinite love.

He pushed away from the stone and drew nearer. With his thumbs, he stroked her tears away, then leaned in and kissed her. Keeping one hand on the stone, she placed the other around his waist. How profoundly his kiss affected her. She felt as if that same powerful emotion she'd sensed coming from the couples thousands of years ago, who'd joined here, was surging through her. Love and need so strong she could hardly breathe.

Her heart pounded and she pulled him tighter against her, kissing him with more fervor. His heart beat hard against her breast.

She grew frantic at the overwhelming intensity of emotion. "Shamus," she gasped between kisses.

"Aye, Maili." He sounded as profoundly affected as she was, and his kisses grew more insistent, more ardent.

Good heavens! Had the stones joined them?

***

Shamus drew Maili tight against him and took possession of her sweet mouth again. He flicked his tongue between her lips. Saints, but she was passionate and delectable. He wanted to devour her on the spot.

Her hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck and before he knew what he was about, he had her lying on the grass-softened ground. He drew back and lay beside her so as to not frighten her.

But she did not seem afraid. In fact, she grasped the top of his plaid and pulled him down to her again. The kiss resumed, slower and more sensuous this time. '
Slud
! Either she was a quick study or she'd lied about not knowing how to kiss. Was she more experienced than she admitted? He didn't care. He simply wanted her.

Wishing her to know how powerfully she affected him, he pressed his hard shaft against her hip.

A startling feeling ricocheted through him—the realization that he would do anything to protect her. That she belonged beside him. His instincts urged him to yank up her skirts and take her, make her his mate, his wife.

Damnation, he couldn't do that.

Grinding his teeth, he pulled her hands from around his neck and shoved to his feet.

"We must stop now, Lady Maili," he growled, turning away from her. He tried to calm his breathing and the excitement rampaging through him. Saints, how he desired her. He had never felt such intensity before.

"Why must we?" she asked in a small voice.

He turned to glare at her through the moonlight. He could barely discern the outline of her form where she sat on the ground by the tall stone. "You don't ken?" he demanded. Did she not feel the need as he did?

"Well… I was enjoying it," she confessed.

He let out a humorless laugh. In his view, that was putting it mildly. He reveled in her. He could devour her, lose himself in her.

"Did you not?" she asked in a puzzled voice.

"Aye, lass, I was enjoying it far too much, if you grasp my meaning."

She remained silent.

"You don't have an inkling what I'm talking about, do you?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Not… fully. I didn't ken it was possible to enjoy something
too
much."

He blew out an exasperated breath. How could she be so guileless and innocent? "Is it true you had never been kissed before I kissed you in the dungeon?"

"Of course. I would not lie," she said, her tone quiet but defensive.

She was so naïve, 'haps she was younger than he'd imagined. "How old are you?"

"Three and twenty," she snapped, rising to her feet. "You think simply because of my advanced age I should've been kissed long ago. I ken it. I was betrothed three times." Her voice caught with emotion.

A shock went through him. "Nay, I thought you younger. Pray pardon. I didn't mean to upset you." Saints! The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry.

"
'Tis
naught," she whispered, turning away. The tears in her voice flayed him.

"Three and twenty is young. I'm five years older." He feared his lame attempt at soothing her wouldn't work, but he wished to know more about her. "What happened… with the betrothals? Why did you not marry?"

"None of them would have me after they… heard the rumors." Her voice hitched.

"What rumors?"

She shook her head. "I would rather not say."

Nay, she wouldn't have him believe her a witch like everyone else did. She wanted Shamus to like her, to take her with him to his clan's castle. He was an honorable man who would protect her. Not like the cowards who accused her of witchcraft.

"You can trust me. I'll not judge you."

His smooth, rich voice sounded soothing in the darkness, and somehow she believed him. Still, she didn't wish him to know. '
Twould
change things. He might even leave her here, if he feared witches.

"Very well, then," he muttered. "Don't trust me."

She turned halfway. "I do… trust you, but 'tis difficult for me to talk about it. I hope you can understand."

Her horse started down the other side of the hill.

"Where's he going?" Shamus asked.

"Mayhap he's thirsty and kens there's a small loch at the bottom of the hill."

Thankful for the excuse to escape the conversation, she caught up with Ruairi, led him down the hill to the water's edge, then held his bridle while he drank. Moonlight and the tall mountains around them reflected off the dark water.

"Is it deep?" Shamus asked from a few yards away.

"Toward the center it is. But the edges are shallow. I have swum here before."

"You have?" His voice held surprise. "Nude?"

"Nay! I wore a smock."

She could not believe her eyes when Shamus started disrobing. "What are you about?" she asked.

"I'm needing a wee swim. The cold water will… feel good. At home, I swim often in one of the three lochs that converge at Teasairg."

Although she knew she should not watch him in the faint light, she could not look away. When he tossed down his last garment—his shirt—and stood naked, she could not believe how the moonlight glanced off his broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms and legs. Before she could discern any more detail, he waded into the loch and took off swimming.