The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3) (20 page)

Late afternoon, and still Sky and Malcolm tarried in the village. Hunter scanned the mainland and paced. Finally he spied movement upon the far shore. His breath left him, and he ceased his pacing. He didn’t want to appear as if he’d spent the better part of his day wearing a new path upon the shoreline. Though that’s exactly what he’d done. He scrubbed his face with both hands, trying to rid himself of the frustration fogging his mind.

He returned to pacing. If groveling at Sky’s feet was what it took to return his life to some semblance of order, so be it. Mayhap if he slammed his head against the boulder before him, he could knock thoughts of Meghan out of his mind. Was such a thing possible? Eyeing the granite protruding from the ground, he pondered the possibilities. Hadn’t he heard tell of men who’d suffered wounds to the head losing all memory of who they were?

The ferry approached. Sky and Malcolm stood on the wooden planks, waving a greeting. Hunter waved back, his palms moist and his ears ringing with the rush of his blood. Ever since he’d laid eyes on Meghan McGladrey, the careful foundation upon which he’d built his life had begun to crumble. Bit by bit his dreams proved harder to hold. The curtain walls around his heart had been breached, and now was the time to shore up his defenses.

Sky Elizabeth was his salvation, his refuge. She always had been. His nerves settled as the ferry landed. He reached out a hand to help his lady disembark.

“Good day, Malcolm,” he said with a nod toward his foster father. “Sky, might I have a word?” He trapped her small hand in his, lest she take her leave before he had his say.

“Of course, Hunter.” She stepped onto the sand and smiled up at him.

“Lad.” Malcolm nodded back. “What news? We saw two riders returning.”

“Giselle has been found. Two days hence I will set out for Inverness with Meghan, Tieren and six of our soldiers.” He led Sky up the slight incline, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “You’ll be relieved to hear of Cecil’s plans.”

“Will I?” Malcolm cocked an eyebrow.

“Cecil offered for Meghan. She refused him, and once he’s journeyed with us to Inverness to retrieve his armor and gear, he’s leaving us for Glencairn.”

“
’
Tis good news indeed.” Malcolm chuckled. “And good riddance. Dinna let down your guard, lad. The journey to Inverness will take five days, at the very least three if you ride hard. ’Tis more than enough time for Cecil to contrive some sort of mischief.”

“I never let down my guard.”

“Good. I will see you at the evening meal then. Dinna stay away from your mother overlong, Sky. She’ll want to hear all the gossip from the village.”

“I’ll seek her out anon, Da.” Sky lifted her chin to gaze up at Hunter. “What is it you wish to speak to me about, dear
brothe
r
?”

Had she put emphasis on the word
brother
? Hunter waited until Malcolm was well away before replying.
“I am no’ your brother, my lady. I am your suitor.”

“Nay, dinna say such a thing.” She squeezed his arm and smiled sweetly, though she pulsed with anxiety. “You will always be my elder brother. Were you no’ there at the day of my birth? Have our father and mother no’ claimed you as their own?”

“They fostered me, aye, but . . .” He frowned. “Sky, have you given no thought to my desire to wed you? Are my wishes so insignificant that you canna even spare them a few moments of consideration?”

“I have given it a great deal of thought. We are no’ suited. It does no’ please me to think that every emotion I carry would be so easily discerned by my husband.” She moved away from him and clasped her hands together. “Erin explained to both of us how genetics work. You and I are both gifted with fae abilities. Would you risk the chance of our bairns being even more fae than the two of us combined? Would you risk the chance of our bairns being even more of an oddity than the both of us?”

He hadn’t considered that. The granite boulder he’d studied earlier somehow found a place in the pit of his stomach. “She also said the possibility existed that genes can mix in such a way that none of the fae characteristics will show in a bairn. Thomas is no’ gifted.”

“Aye, but neither is Da. One out of the six of us is without the curse, Hunter. One out of six, and that is with only one of our parents carrying the fae gene.” She shook her head. “Nay. I wish for my sons and daughters to have a greater chance at a normal life than the two of us can offer.”

“You too see our abilities as a curse? Why have you said naught about this before now?” They’d taken the well-worn path to a secluded spot on the lakeshore—a spot where lovers oft hid for a few moments of privacy.

“I do see it as a curse.” She nodded, her eyes downcast. “You are only recently returned. When would I have spoken to you about such?”

“If I could find a way to rid myself of the fae abilities, I would do so in a trice.” He leaned over and picked up a few flat stones, skipping one across the surface of the loch. “I live in fear that I will be discovered. ’Twould lead to suspicion, isolation . . . or worse.” He glanced askance at her. “I could no’ bear it.”

Tossing another stone, he followed the trajectory as it skipped along the surface. “Still, wouldn’t we both be better off together? At least then there would be understanding between us. We’d have no need to keep our abilities and heritage a secret from one another, aye?”

“Do you love me, Hunter? Does your heart cease beating for an instant when you behold me?” She stared at him in that intense way she had and awaited his response.

“I do love you, aye.” He hadn’t lied.

“Granted, as a dear sister, but does the very sight of me set your blood on fire? Do you feel passion for me?”

He couldn’t answer. He kent full well she’d recognize the lie as soon as he gave it voice. A lump rose to his throat. “Mayhap in time . . .”

“Nay.” She shook her head. “Time will no’ make a difference. I mean to marry Oliver, the earl of Mar’s grandson. He’s a good man, and—”

“The
earl’s
son. In truth, ’tis my lack of land and a title that makes me unsuitable and no’ my fae blood. Isn’t that so, lass?” He hurled the rest of the stones out over the water to rain down in a flurry of tiny splashes and ripples. “I kent as much.”

“How many times must I say it? Your lack of a title or land means naught to me.”

Her words rang with truth, but he chose not to pay them heed. “What if I were to perform some service to our king? He
might grant me land and a title, albeit none so lofty as an earldom.” Desperation tore at him. His dreams were slipping through his fingers like water through a cracked ladle, and he could do naught to stop it. “Then would you consider marrying me?”

“Hunter . . .”

“Will you wed this Oliver fellow out of duty alone? Do you love him? Does
he
steal your breath and send your pulse racing?”

Her lips compressed into a straight line. She too refused to give voice to a lie. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. “I ken you as well as you ken yourself, lass—as you do me. There can never
be
lies between us, and that is a good basis upon which to build our lives. What will Oliver make of you once he sees you are no’ like others? What will he do when he discovers you are part fae?” He cast her a hard look. “When your husband turns from you out of suspicion and fear, what will you
do then, lass?”

“Now you resort to cruelty to bend me to your will?” She glared at him. “I thought you cared for me, but I see now you are like every other man—selfish and somehow entitled to trample upon the feelings of a mere woman.” She turned on her heel and marched away from him. “Mayhap
I
will find a way to the future. I hear tell the men there are far more enlightened and much less fearful,” she called over her shoulder.

“Shite.” He leaned down, scooped up a handful of pebbles and flung them out over the loch with all the force he could muster. Once again he’d failed to find the right words to persuade her. Instead of gentleness, sentiment and ardent words, he’d behaved like a petulant lad, resorting to bullying to have his way.

’Twas Meghan who addled his thoughts and had him behaving like a man grasping at straws. Once she was away, he’d go about persuading Sky in a more logical, rational manner. At least he kent Sky hadn’t given her heart to the earl of Mar’s grandson.

“Just out of curiosity . . .”

He nearly leaped from his skin at the sound of Meghan’s voice. Whipping around, he scowled at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw a lot of splashing out over the water and came to investigate.” She toed the pebbles beneath her boot. “What did the lake ever do to you to deserve such abuse?”

She still wore her hose and tunic. Her hair hung over her shoulder in a tight braid, and once again she called to mind the warrior queen Boudicca. ’Twas not safe to be so near her in this secluded place. Her wide-set eyes, fixed upon him so earnestly, held warmth and concern. How was he supposed to resist her when with every action and word she entranced him? “I beg your pardon?”

“All those rocks being hurled . . .” She gestured toward the loch. “At first I thought maybe some of the boys were trying to out-throw each other, or maybe they were skipping stones.” She picked through the pile at her feet, chose a smooth, flat stone and sent it skimming across the surface of the water. “But the way the rocks were coming down, it seemed less like fun and more like an expression of frustration . . . or anger.”

“Humph.”

“Humph?” She arched a brow. “Use your
words
, Hunter. What’s eating at you today?”

He blew out a breath and chose a flat stone at his feet. He sent it skipping, pleased when his throw outdistanced hers.
“
’
Tis frustration.”

Meghan picked up a smooth stone, aimed carefully and threw. Her effort outdid his by several hands. He couldn’t let
that
happen. Picking up just the right specimen, he judged the weight of it in his hand before putting a bit more muscle into his next toss. “Ha! Beat that if you can, lass.”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him in feigned innocence. “Are we competing? Because if we are”—she searched the shore—“you don’t stand a chance.”

“Think you?” he shot back. “Do your best, Beag Curaidh. ’Twill be for naught, for you dinna possess the strength to match mine.”

“Of course you’d think it’s all about muscle.” Her eyes narrowed. “Watch this.” She stepped closer to the water’s edge, surveyed the loch and shifted the stone from one hand to the other. Finally, she brought her arm back and flung it out over the loch. Six skips, and the stone traveled well beyond his last effort. “See?” She twirled in triumph, her features lit with satisfaction.

He laughed, drew her into his arms and brought his mouth down to hers before he kent what he was about. Her arms circled his waist, and her nearness, her scent, intoxicated him. She returned his kiss, and he was lost. With her warmth and the feel of her curves fitted so sweetly against him, the kiss took on a life of its own, deepening until his rigid control gave way.

He ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth, and she opened for him. He slid his tongue around hers in a mating dance, and a soft moan escaped her. The need to claim her overwhelmed him. Hard, aching—and yes . . . desperate, he backed her into the trunk of the nearest oak and pressed against her. Cradling her face between his palms, he slanted her head to gain better access, delving deeper into the sensuous feast she offered up so sweetly.

Meghan ran her hands over his chest, then over his shoulders to stroke his back. He ran his palms down to her tiny waist to hold her hips, bringing her up against his hardness, cursing the clothing that separated them. Rational thought burned away in a conflagration of desire.

He had to stop this before he took her right here in the copse. Mustering his will, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, so close they shared the air between them. Every fiber in his being protested. He labored to breathe, and his heart beat against his rib cage in castigation against his restraint.

“Why are you here, Meghan?”

“Do you mean in your century, or . . . ?”

“Nay.” Hunter drew a long, steadying breath. “Here in this secluded place . . . with me. ’Tis dangerous to play with fire, lass.” A surge of heat and longing shot through him at the swift intake of her breath. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Meghan, and he was certain he never would again. May the saints preserve him, he
prayed
he never would again.

She cleared her throat. “About the same time I noticed the shower of pebbles, I saw Sky heading for the keep. Judging by the look on her face, I figured the two of you had argued again. I thought maybe you could use a friend.”

“Aye. We did argue.” He couldn’t seem to force himself to let go of her. He nuzzled her temple and ran his knuckles over the delicate skin of her cheeks. How was it his wee warrior had such soft skin?