To Steal a Highlander's Heart (11 page)

"Alana,"
he tried, his voice scratchy. "Wake up,
m'eudail
. Pray, wake up."
His eyes felt hot and he clenched a fist. Damn that Margot to hell. And damn
him for not taking steps to protect Alana. If she died...

If
she died it changed everything. If she lived it changed everything too.

The
realisation of how important she was to him flooded through him, making his
heart thud erratically. Alana had always been part of his life and even in the
eight years they'd been separated, she remained in his thoughts. Seeing her
once more... Well, the attraction was undeniably powerful. But he also realised
how much he missed that lass he'd shared everything with.

Almost
everything.

He
never told her that he expected to marry her one day.

A
hard knot formed in his throat as he swept his lips over her hand again and
again. How could he let her go again? If he returned her to her father, he would
never see her again.

If
she lived.

"Forgive
me,
m'eudail
, I shouldnae have been so blind. Yer more important than
revenge. More important than the clan even. Wake up so I dinnae have to let ye
go."

The
door creaked but Morgann couldn't drag his gaze away from Alana. Heavy
footsteps came up behind him.

"Margot's
gone.”

Jaw
tight, Morgann swivelled his head around, fixing his glare on Finn. "Ach,
damn that witch to hell.”

"If
she wasn’t guilty, then she’s certainly made herself look it.”

“She
poisoned Alana, Finn. I know it. She couldnae afford for the truth to come out
and Father would never believe me without proof. Alana was supposed to bring me
that proof. I should never have put her in danger.”

“Ye
did what ye needed to do.”

“I
should have found another way. Should have gone against my father and had Margot
banished anyway.”

“If
Margot has done everything ye say she’s done, then she’ll no’ be driven away so
easily.”

“I
dinnae know all Margot’s plans but she’s determined to see my father and the
clan destroyed.”

Finn
sighed and glanced over at Alana, scrubbing a hand across his chin. “The healer
is on her way. She’s gathering up some herbs. I’ll start the search for Margot.
She cannae have got far.”

Morgann
turned his attention to Alana as Finn retreated, the door closing with a soft
thud behind him. Only the faintest movement of her chest reassured him she was
still alive. For how much longer though?

"Forgive
me, Alana," he whispered gruffly, squeezing her hand between both of his.
"I swear I'll do all I can to make this right if ye just wake up."

He
didn't know what he would do. He barely cared. The thoughts that had driven him
ever since he'd discovered Margot's plot to kill his father and take their
lands had all but left him. Rage had been replaced by desperation and devastation,
leaving him weak, so very unlike a warrior. If Alana died he doubted he'd
continue to be much of a man. Already she had him reduced to a begging fool,
urging a dying woman back from the brink. If only he lay there instead, the
poison working its deadly magic on him. Alana was not meant for such an end.
Nay, she was meant to spend the rest of her days finding ways to aggravate him
surely?

The
rest of her days? Aye. If Alana awoke, he wasn’t sure he could let her go. But would
she even have him? Somehow he would make a deal with her father and make Margot
pay. If he could convince Laird Dougall that Margot intended to harm his
daughter, he would have nothing to do with her. He needed to make sure his
stepmother paid for what she'd done to Alana. Ach, but he’d been so close to
telling her all. Debating whether she could handle the truth anyway. But if his
father didn’t believe him, why would Alana? And if she did, she’d realise how
callous her father was.

He
clenched his eyes shut and offered up a prayer. Alana had to wake. She had to.
And he would cease being a fool and tell her just how vital she was to him.
Soon enough he would have her vibrant and argumentative in his arms once more,
revelling in her heated lips and silken skin. Aye, she would return to him.

A
cold fist of dread clenched at his heart. She had to for he didn't know how he would
continue on if she didn't.

Watching
carefully, he willed her to open her eyes but the only response that greeted
him was the slowing of her breaths, the faint rasps of Alana trying to cling to
life. His throat ached in desperation as he battled his emotions, the
realisation that she may never awaken thrusting through him, as sharp and as
powerful as the steel of a sword.

Alana
was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.

Thrusting
a tiny finger into Alana's chest, Tèile sighed and slumped onto the front of
her gown. All was lost. The poison Margot put in that hair tonic was very
powerful. Death awaited Alana as surely as a faery loved to drink. It had to be
that evil woman that had done it. There was no poison in the wine. Tèile drank
enough of it to know that but one sniff of the hair tonic and she knew it was
hemlock.

Morgann
hadn't noticed yet but his hands were red from the potion. Lucky for him, his
hands were rough and coarse and he’d only touched the liquid briefly. Alana had
spent several days with it slowly seeping into her skin. As soon as Tèile got
the chance, she’d ensure the tonic disappeared.

Head
in her hands, she released a wry laugh. Finally Morgann understood his feelings
for Alana. What was it about humans that meant it usually took a disaster for
them to see what was right in front of them?

If
only she hadn't indulged in the wine. She should have been watching Alana more
closely. From now on, she was never going to drink again. Or maybe only drink a
glass every now and then. A glass a day perhaps. Now death awaited Alana and
the
sidhe
council would not be happy. Tèile would probably be banished.
No more parties and balls. It was enough to make a faery cry.

The
rasps in Alana's chest told her the inevitable was just around the corner. A
vow would go unfulfilled and the fighting between the clans promised to
continue. Many men’s deaths would sit on Tèile’s shoulders.

She
fingered one of Alana's golden locks as the rise and fall of her chest beneath
her began to slow. She glanced up at the Highland warrior, devastation etched
into his face. He knew as well as she did that Alana wouldn't come back from
this. Tèile wracked her mind. Surely there was something she could do? If a
faery could not save a human life every now and then, what was the point in
being a sacred being? Nodding slowly to herself, she fluttered her wings,
allowing them to lift her away from Alana. She stopped briefly by Morgann and
pressed a gentle kiss to the man's cheek. He didn't feel it but she hoped he sensed
the comfort she tried to offer. With one last look at the couple, she flew out
of the window, a barely muffled roar of anguish making her shudder as she
slipped into the night.

***

The
silver goblet smashed against the wall with a clatter but the sound brought him
little pleasure. He stumbled to pick it up and debated throwing it again but it
would do little to calm his anger. Placing it on top of the wall, he stared out
into the dark, lit only by a few torches dotted along the walls. Clouds filled
the sky, blocking out the starlight and Morgann felt a grim satisfaction at the
sight. A night like this shouldn’t be beautiful. Nay, this night he wanted the clouds
as grey and as depressing as he felt.

High
up on the ramparts, the wind buffeted at him. It left him chilled enough to almost
dampen the warmth of the copious amount of mead he'd drunk. Silence surrounded
him. Thank the Lord. Sympathetic looks and words of concern made his stomach
churn. They had no idea how he felt. Hell, he'd only just discovered exactly
how important Alana was to him. And he could do without their fears on his
shoulders right now. Laird Dougall's wrath hardly concerned him. He'd offer
himself up if needs be. Finn could take his place easily enough.

He
dug his nails into the top of the stone wall as he stared down the length of
the keep into the bailey. With Margot gone, he had no one to offer to the laird
for punishment. That woman surely had the ear of the devil to have escaped
them. She must have realised Morgann would never let her get away with poisoning
Alana. It was a rash and foolish move on his stepmother's behalf. He ought to
be relieved she was gone but until his stepmother was brought to justice, he wouldn't
be happy. And the thought of her still out there... he doubted he'd seen the
last of her.

Sucking
in a long breath, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and sketched a
finger over the cold stone. He and Alana came up here in more peaceful times and
talk endlessly. His lips slanted into a wry grin. In the years since, he’d
forgotten how to talk to people. He used to share almost everything with her.
The one thing he had never told her was how he felt about her. At the time he
considered it to be a strong affection but mayhap it had been love. Either way,
he knew he would marry her someday. If only he’d taken the time to tell her.
Who knew if she had even felt the same but he was certain she felt
something
for him.

He
scuffed the ground with his boot, kicking up a loose stone. It was too late
now.

Morgann
swung the jug hanging from one hand up to his lips and took drink, frowning
when only the smallest amount of sweet mead slid down his throat. Surely he'd
not drunk the whole jugful? Ach, now he would have to go the kitchens and get some
more. He twisted around, put a hand to the wall as the world tilted slightly.

Heart
leaping into his throat, Morgann froze. The jug dropped from his fingers and
the pottery smashed against the stone floor. He scrubbed a hand across his face
and blinked, trying to shove aside his drunken haze. Good Lord, how much had he
drunk?

He
stumbled forward, arm outstretched. Was he going to be haunted by her for the
rest of his days?

"Morgann?"

His
knees threatened to buckle beneath him. "God's blood," he whispered.
She had to be an illusion, but it didn't stop him from closing the gap and
bundling her into his hold. He held her head between both hands and pressed a fervent
kiss to her forehead. "Alana?" he muttered as his shifted his lips desperately
down, seeking her mouth. "'Tis ye?"

"Aye,"
she mumbled before he took her mouth in a frantic kiss.

She
was warm and soft and alive. Surely she was alive? A ghost should not feel so
good. A sound of anguish bubbled in his throat as her tongue met his and he
failed to hold it back. Was she truly alive? The pain of losing her still sat
in his chest. The memory of her last breath still rang in his ears. How could
it be?

Unwilling
to release her for fear it was all some dream, he tangled his fingers into her
hair. Mayhap he tugged too hard as she whimpered but he couldn't control the
frantic movements of his hands as he clasped her to him, seeking a deep, firm
kiss.

Feminine
hands came around his back and worked under his shirt. Soft fingers stroked his
skin, making his entire body tingle. He longed to do the same to her. Only
disbelief prevented him from throwing her onto the ground and stripping her
bare to repay the favour. He had to know she was real.

Hauling
his mouth away, he dragged his lips across her cheek and buried his face in the
crook of her neck. She smelled so vibrant, so alive. What in God’s name had
happened?

"Yer
alive, aren't ye?" he muttered into her hair.

Alana
laughed and withdrew her hands from his shirt, stroking them up and down his
arms. "Aye, I'm alive. What is yer meaning, Morgann?"

He
pulled back to look at her, seeing her scowl in the torchlight. By God, she was
beautiful. That sweet chin remained thrust out as ever. Even in confusion, her
eyes were enough to bring a man to his knees. And those lips… Puffy from his
kisses, he knew in better light they would be red and rosy.

"Do
ye remember naught?"

"I—"
Her scowl deepened. "I swooned, did I not? It doesnae surprise me. I'd not
eaten in a while."

"Alana,
ye—" he gulped, "—ye died. Poisoned. I was there by yer side. I saw
ye breathe yer last breath."

"Poisoned?
Dinnae be daft. I know I swooned. I even remember... I remember ye talking. But
I couldnae open my eyes for some reason."

"Did…
did ye hear everything?"

A
smile played on the corner of her lips. "I think so. I remember ye begging
me to wake up. I tried but I couldn't. Ye sounded worried. Ye said," her
smile expanded, "ye didnae want to let me go."

Morgann
groaned and rubbed a thumb over her cheek. "I didnae think ye could hear
me. But I dinnae understand. Ye died, lass."

Alana
raised a brow at him. "I think ye've been indulging too much, Morgann. Yer
wits are addled."

"The
healer confirmed it. Finn saw ye. Ye were dead!"

Her
smile slipped at his tone and her gaze locked onto his, searching his eyes.
"Yer serious aren't ye?"

"Aye,
I lost ye, Alana. I thought I'd never have ye back in my arms again."

She
softened into him. “Morgann, we need to talk.”

“Aye,
we do.”

“Margot—”

“That
witch willnae be able to hurt ye. I’ll protect ye, I swear it. We need to leave
Glencolum for a bit. 'Tis no' safe here."

She
forced herself back in his hold. “Ye believe Margot poisoned me? Morgann, this
is just silly. Ye cannae be accusing—”

“Ye
dinnae believe me?” He dropped his hands from around her and stepped back. Of all
people, he was sure Alana would believe him. After all, she’d been the only one
to defend him when he was accused of theft.

“I’m
no’ saying that, it’s just… ye must see ‘tis a tall tale indeed. Poisoned,
dead, brought back to life. I think I’d know if I’d been poisoned!”

Despair
drenched him. Even the person who knew him the best didn’t believe him. Teeth
gritted, he widened his stance in an attempt to wrestle back some control. He’d
already proved himself weak around Alana. He dare not allow his need for her to
cloud his judgement and put her at risk again. In his gut, he knew Margot
wasn’t finished with them. Desperation clearly drove her now, or else she would
never have stooped so low. Mayhap she’d hoped to pass it off as an illness and
indeed, they’d found no proof of poisoning. But Margot’s disappearance only
served to prove her guilt.

“Ye
could just return me to my da. I’ll be in no danger there,” she tried tentatively.

He
took a step back and raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll no’ return ye. Yer
staying where I can be sure yer safe. And I cannae step foot on yer father’s
lands.”

Alana
crossed both arms over her chest as her eyes flared. “Yer overreacting,
Morgann. Even if ‘twas poison, I’m in no danger now. Give me a mount and let me
go and I’ll tell my da ‘twas all a mistake.”

Morgann
gritted his teeth and stepped forward again, snatching an arm. “What part of
‘I’ll no’ let ye go’, do ye not understand? If yer on yer father’s lands, I
cannae protect ye.”

She
wiggled in his hold. “Morgann, yer as pig-headed as ever. When will ye learn ye
cannae command me?”

He
released her slowly. How had they gone from kissing to arguing again? Things were
meant to be different now. The relief he’d felt as seeing her once more, at the
miracle of having her back in his arms, had been replaced with pure
frustration.

Aware
his anger may get the better of him, he turned and stalked away, stepping into
the stairwell. He paused briefly to view her through the arch. “I’m taking ye
to the Old Castle. Ye have no choice in this, Alana. Ye may have little care
for yer safety but I’ll no’ go through losing ye again.”

Without
giving her a chance to respond, he stormed down the steps in search of Finn.
Now he needed to make preparations. And have yet another messenger sent out. Morgann
paused briefly on the stairs and cursed aloud, the harsh words echoing off the
stone. Hadn’t he sworn to do things differently? To be honest and open with
her? And all he’d succeeded in doing was angering her and frustrating himself.

He
needed to get her to safety. That had to be his priority. Once he did that,
then he would concentrate on being a better man. Mayhap if he proved himself to
be honourable, she would trust his word. It was not as if he’d given her much
reason to hold any trust in him. Kidnapping her, near ravishing her, tying her
up. Aye, he’d done little to prove himself. From now on he would be the perfect
gentleman. Morgann released a snort. Well, he would try his best at least.

***

Chin
thrust out, Alana huffed as Morgann directed the mount through the valley. She
struggled to cling on to her annoyance as Morgann's chest rubbed against her
back, his hold strong around her as if she were a precious cargo. Yet again she
was being treated as if she were some prize. Nay, not a prize, a
tool.
Something
with which to win wars. She tried to summon more anger but it fizzled inside
her. The way he looked at her after she fell ill... and held her so tightly. As
if she truly were something precious. For a brief moment, everything changed.
They were a man and a woman again and there was no war or plotting or secrets.
But he closed over once more. She was beginning to doubt Morgann could ever let
go of the past and be the lad she used to know.

His
legs chafed hers and she fidgeted in the saddle. Not that the man was entirely
unappealing. The determination and focus he displayed was something she never
saw in him before. Potentially Morgann MacRae was the most amazing man she'd
ever met. If only she could see but a bit of how he was before.

Alana
stared at the horizon as she drew in deliberately long breaths. She looked
forward to seeing the Old Castle again but knowing she'd be in such close
quarters with Morgann for who knew how long made her skin prickle and her mind
reel. Why hadn’t her father come for her yet? Even if he hadn't received the
message, he surely must have figured out what had happened. With the tension
between the two clans as strong as ever, his first assumption would be that the
MacRaes took her.