To Steal a Highlander's Heart (4 page)

She
rocked against him and the world went hazy as her soft flesh rubbed at him through
her skirts. Ach, he was certainly being punished. Restraint was not his strong
point. Alana’s breasts thrust up against him, small and delicate, practically
begging for him to palm them.

“Cease,
ye daft lass,” he forced out as she wrapped her hands around his neck.

“Ye
dinnae mean that.”

He
rolled his eyes as her lips pursed with disappointment. No doubt she would be
furious if he took what she offered when she came to her senses. Where had that
sweet lass he’d once known gone? Was it just the knock to her head that had
turned her into a sultry seductress or had the years really changed her so?

“Ye
wouldnae thank me if I took advantage. Now behave yerself. Ye’ll be lucky if ye
dinnae catch a chill.”

“Ye
are no fun anymore, Morgann MacRae.” She unclasped her hands from around him.

Relaxing
his muscles, he slipped his thigh from between her legs. “Aye, yer probably
right.” He eased her into the crook of his arm and tried to keep some distance
between them. Shivers still wracked her so he couldn’t fling her away as he
wished to. “Rest some,
m'eudail.
Ye’ve had too many adventures this
morn.”

“Yer
still planning on kidnapping me?” Her lashes fluttered as she fought a yawn and
Morgann’s fingers twitched with the need to smooth his palm over her face and
soothe her off to sleep.

Funny,
because he hadn’t felt any such needs in a long time. For too long he had been
on edge, striving to protect his father and his lands. War and rivalry dominated
his life. That, and anger. Softer sentiments had no place in his life.

He
didn’t respond. Already her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. Morgann took
a moment to study her profile. Even in rest her chin pointed out stubbornly as
her lips parted. They looked soft and tempting. He’d certainly gone too long
without a woman, that was it. Feeling lust for the daughter of his enemy, old
friend or not, was not good.

Cool.
Callous
. That’s what
he needed to be. The fates had landed Alana in his lap for a reason. With her
in his clutches, her father, Laird Dougall, would be forced to admit the truth
and reveal his plans from eight summers ago. And Morgann would finally have
justice and hopefully peace. A tiny noise escaped Alana’s lips as she nuzzled
into him, her golden curls soft against his neck.

Ach,
callous? Holding Alana captive was going to be quite the test of his character.

A
thud echoed in Alana’s head as she attempted to pry open her eyes. Someone
incessantly pushed at her, pressing her shoulder. Was it her maid? She never
normally tried to wake her with so heavy a hand. If she’d only leave her be.

“Too
tired,” she mumbled as something jostled her again.

“Alana?”

Something
rumbled against her back. That definitely did not sound like her maid.

“Ye
awake, lass?”

Dragging
her eyes open, she winced as her head pounded and sunlight flickered over the
horizon. She glanced down. A horse! She was on a horse.

Strong
male arms surrounded her, holding her securely and a familiar spicy scent
teased at her.
Morgann MacRae.
Of course. It all came back to her. She
put a hand to her thumping head. Obviously her attempt at escape had failed and
she must have hit her head when she slipped.

“Alana?”
His voice mumbled over her hair.

“Aye?”

“Good,
yer awake. Ye had me worried for a while.”

“Aye,
I’m awake.” She tried to twist to look at him but straining her neck round hurt
her head. “Just. And no thanks to ye.”

“I
didnae force ye up the mountain,” he protested.

She
peered around at the scenery through half-closed eyes. The day was growing
late. The sun glinted over the hills and cast their tips in an amber glow, drawing
out the yellow fauna in the Highlands. Her stomach sank.

MacRae
land.

The
enemy’s territory. What a fool Morgann was. Her father would never let him get
away with capturing her. The probable outcome of his rash actions made her
stomach churn. Death would no doubt come to both sides. Mayhap even her if the
MacRaes wanted.

“I
suppose yer still kidnapping me too.”

“Aye.”

“Yer
a fool. Just return me and I’ll no’ say a word. I swear it.”

“Yer
in no state to return and as ye said I cannae step foot in Dunleith. Ye’ll come
to Glencolum and recover while I make negotiations with yer father,” he told
her coolly.

His
tone made her shiver. Something dark and desperate lay under those words. It
reminded her of what she’d seen in his eyes. As if the very devil drove him.

The
ache behind her eyes grew worse and she closed them, gave into the urge to rest
against his broad chest. Hard muscles prodded into her back but were somehow
comforting. Aye, finding comfort in the arms of her captor was not the best of
ideas but her head hurt too much for her to think straight.

“The
keep is up ahead,” Morgann murmured in her ear.

Alana
didn’t bother to open her eyes. She remembered the keep well from the days when
the clans worked closely together. Surrounded by a jagged wall, the main keep
towered over the surrounding land, propped up by a tower on each corner. Once,
it had been a place she’d be happy to see. Glencolum Keep meant seeing Morgann
but now it was enemy territory and who knew what was awaiting her there.

Shadows
flickered behind her eyelids and she heard the clatter of a portcullis. Dragging
her eyes open once more, she noted the curious expression on the villagers as
they passed through the gate. Trepidation tied her stomach tight and forced the
pounding in her head to increase. Alana didn’t believe Morgann truly meant her
harm but no doubt the MacRaes harboured anger over the deaths of their warriors
just as her own clan did. The frequent battles and skirmishes between the clans
had left many scars.

But
the change in Morgann sent a chill through her. She’d always known he was a
capable warrior with a bit of a temper and a rash nature but he’d also been humorous
and kind. She only saw the tiniest flickers of such traits in him now. Surely
he would not let her come to harm? Even with whatever desperation drove him?

Shudders
wracked her and his hold tightened. Ach, but she was weak. The movement of his
arms displaced the chill with a great surging warmth. She glanced down at his
arm, watched the way the linen pulled tight against his skin as he handled the
reins. The slightest hint of a scar peeked out of his sleeve but she couldn’t
see it properly without pulling back his shirt. Alana knew well how he came by
it.

She
swallowed and glanced up at the four-storey tower as it loomed over her. Her
father’s hand had created that scar. Would there be any forgiveness to be had
from Morgann or was his anger too deep?

Morgann
led his horse over to the stables and dismounted before offering up a hand.
Alana wished she could deny his aid but her head still swam and her eyes
threatened to bust from their sockets with the thumping.

She
clasped his hand, coarse skin warm against hers and risked a glance into his
eyes. Pain and confusion echoed in the dark depths and something else… a kind
of curiosity. His gaze skimmed over her before she slid from the saddle as he
took the time to trace every part of her. Her breathing stilted as she did the
same, taking in those powerful legs, wide shoulders and stubbled jawline. His
lips twisted into a mocking grin.

For
some reason she needed to feel those lips upon hers.

A
wild recollection of being pressed against him, her body entwined with his as
she revelled in the taut strength of his physique assailed her. Heat soared
into her cheeks. Had it been a dream? The memory was disturbingly real. Sweet
Mary, her mind really was addled.

A
tug on her hand reminded her she was meant to be dismounting and she pushed
herself from the saddle only for her feet to go from beneath her. Morgann moved
swiftly, hooking an arm around her back and forcing her into him to keep her
upright. She latched onto his neck instinctively and found herself bent slightly
back, Morgann looming over her.

Which
was more threatening? The keep or Morgann?

Morgann,
for certain. His dark hair fell over his face, creating shadows in his features
as his gaze bore into her. His lips were a scant distance from hers and she
felt his breaths gliding over her skin. Her heart threatened to burst from her
chest. Did nerves do that or was it something else? If only her captor wasn’t
so ridiculously beautiful. Morgann was a Highland warrior through and through.
Raw, untamed. Like the Highlands themselves.

But
no other highlander sent her pulse pounding or forced heat though her body.
Mayhap it was just nerves.

Attempting
to right herself, the haziness that crowded her mind lingered and she fell flat
against him once more. He sighed and scooped her into his arms, and she let out
a squeal of protest. With quick strides, he navigated the few steps leading up
to the keep and the short wooden bridge creaked and thudded as he carried her across
it.

“Morgann,
I am no sack of grain. Ye cannae cart me about so.”

He
ignored her, his hold firm, jaw set tight. She dragged her gaze around as a
familiar voice called out a greeting.

Morgann’s
stepmother, Margot, approached, a slender eyebrow arched as she eyed Alana.
Unease pricked across her and she clutched at Morgann’s shirt, knowing it was
foolish to seek comfort from him but doing it anyway. Margot stalked across the
Great Hall, footsteps echoing in the vast space. A fire pit crackled in the middle
of the room and massive black chandeliers creaked lightly as a breeze blew
through the open shutters of the hall.

“What
in the Lord’s name are ye doing, Morgann?” the lady demanded as she approached.

Still
as unerringly beautiful as Alana remembered, Margot cast cool grey eyes over
her, mouth tight. The woman reminded Alana of a raven. Sleek black hair, darker
than Morgann’s, white skin and refined, noble looks. But those looks hid
something sinister, she was sure of it. She’d never seen proof of it but the woman
always sent chills through her.

Alana
shot Morgann an imploring look. “Morgann, put me down. ‘Tis most unbecoming.”

“Ach,
if I put ye down, ye’ll fall down.”

“Then
put me somewhere safe. ‘Tis yer fault.”

Margot’s
eyes narrowed. “Sweet Mary, is that the Dunleith lass?”

Morgann
stiffened but kept his hold on Alana. “Aye, this is Alana. She is injured and I
have taken her into my care.”

Margot
crossed her arms across her chest. “What are ye thinking of, bringing the
daughter of yer enemy into my keep? She cannae stay.”

Feeling
ridiculous draped across Morgann’s arms, Alana held her chin high, determined
to retain even the smallest amount of dignity as she watched their exchange.
The undercurrent of aggression on both sides made her wish the ground would
swallow her up.

“She
can stay and she will stay in
my
keep, and ye’ll have naught to say in
the matter.”

“Yer
keep?” Margot asked, a sly smile slipping across her face. “Yer father isnae
dead yet.”

“Nay,
not yet. A disappointment to ye no doubt,
Mother
.”

With
that he spun on his heels, calling back to her over his shoulder. “Be sure to
have some clean garments and a bath sent up.”

Shadows
swallowed them as he stepped into the stairwell and easily carried her up the
winding steps. His lurching movements forced her to hold on tightly and she
buried her face against his chest as the dizziness in her head grew stronger.

By
the time they reached the top, nausea welled in her stomach. Using a foot to
press open the door, Morgann carried her into the chamber. She could hardly
bring herself to study her surroundings as he placed her onto a red canopied
bed.

He
stood over her for a moment, unease etched into his features as he shifted on
his feet.

“Ye
need not look at me so, Morgann,” she grumbled. “I’ve no intention of dying on
ye. Though…” her stomach lurched, “I believe I may be sick.”

His
eyes went wide and he grabbed a chamber pot and thrust it in front of her as
she retched. Awkwardly patting her back, he eased her hair from her face as her
stomach emptied its contents into the bowl.

When
she had nothing left, he discarded the pot to one side and poured her a drink.
Alana took it gratefully, the tang of ale cutting through the taste of bile.

“Ye
should never have run from me,” he scolded.

“And
what did ye expect me to do? Offer myself up to ye?”

He
gave a wry laugh. “Nay, I didnae expect that. I didnae expect much of what ye
did.”

She
scowled. Why was he speaking in riddles? The image of her entwined with him on
the hills swamped her again. Had that really happened? Was that what he was talking
about?

“If
yer done pretending to care for my welfare, will ye no’ leave me in peace? No
doubt yer father will have something to say about my capture. Mayhap he has more
sense than ye and will send me home.”

“My
father will have little to say on the matter. He is unwell. All duties at Glencolum
are in my hands so yer pleading will fall on deaf ears.”

“Oh.”
She sagged against the bed. “I didnae know yer father was ill.”

His
expression twisted into a brief moment of anguish, quickly replaced with a
cooler one. “Aye, well ‘tis nae something we want our enemies knowing.”

“Ye
see me as yer enemy?”

He
considered her for a moment. “I’ve never seen ye as my enemy, Alana, but ye are
still Dougall’s daughter. I’m sorry to involve ye in this, but I have little
choice.”

Alana
pressed a hand to her head, the pounding increasing. “Ye’ve yet to tell me why
ye should wish to bring war to yer doorstep. Ye talk in riddles. I cannae
understand ye anymore.”

She
needed him gone. All this talk of duty and reasons. What reason could he
possibly have for capturing her? Was it revenge that drove him? If it was, he was
clearly not thinking properly.

“I
cannae tell ye why. The less ye know, the better.” he muttered. “But just know
that if ye were in my position, ye’d do the same.”

“How
can I know that if ye will tell me naught?”

God’s
blood but the man was evasive. They used to tell each other everything.

But
that man no longer stood before her. Her heart ached for what she’d lost. Shaking
away morbid thoughts, she closed her eyes. She heard the grinding of his teeth
and assumed he studied her as she lay prone. What did he see? Was he planning
his next move or did he reminisce about better days too?

“I’ll
return to check on ye later.”

Waving
a hand dismissively as him, she prized open an eye. “Dinnae bother, I need no
aid.”

She
needed to clear her thoughts and figure out how to escape. If she was gone much
longer, her father would surely assume the MacRaes had taken her and would be
on their doorstep before long, baying for blood. Her father’s temper was
quicker than Morgann’s and he’d not listen to reason.

Morgann
studied her for a moment and gave her a brief nod of his head. “As ye will.
Behave yerself, Alana. I’ve no wish to put ye in irons but I will if I have to.
Ye’ve done yerself enough harm for one day.”