To Steal a Highlander's Heart (8 page)

But
her hands were bound. A blessing, mayhap, for she could ill afford to fall foul
of these ridiculous thoughts. The steady throb of desire seemed to hum between
them, barely disguised by the anger simmering off his being. What had she done
wrong?

“H-have
ye sent word to my da?” she forced out.

“Aye.
No doubt we’ll be hearing from him soon.”

“When
he’s at yer walls, threatening war, ye mean?”

Morgann
gave a decisive shake of his head. “He’ll no’ be threatening war, ye just wait
and see, lass.”

“I
dinnae know how ye can be so confident. Ye will have angered him and my da has
a temper.”

He
distractedly curled a hand around his forearm, covering the spot where the scar
was. “Aye, I know.”

“So
what do ye intend to do with me in the meantime?” The pressure around her wrist
was slowly turning her hands tingly and she
really
needed to relieve
herself.

His
expression changed. The anger making his body stiff slowly gave way. She noted
the softening of his shoulders but it was the change in his eyes that captured
her attention. Once dark with annoyance, a carnality resounded in them as he
let his gaze settle on her lips.

She
opened them, trying to suck in enough heated air to clear her confused mind. It
was as if he knew what she’d been dreaming. And her own gaze did the same,
lingering on his firm lips as they pulled into the faintest hint of a smile.
Was he considering what other things he may do with her just as she was with
him? The fire behind her thoughts should have frightened her but there was
something instinctual and primitive behind them, as if it was always intended
for her to feel this way about Morgann.

The
discomfort in her body nagged at her once more and she wriggled and coughed,
effectively breaking the moment. Morgann raised his gaze to her eyes and
crossed his arms, the warrior slipping back into place.

“I
havenae decided what to do with ye, yet,” he told her coolly. “I doubt very
much I can trust ye to behave.”

“Well
ye need to at least release me. There’s little I can do now.”

He
studied her silently for a moment and Alana fought the need to squirm under his
frank appraisal. “I think mayhap I should keep ye here until yer da comes for
ye. ‘Tis nae often I have my enemy’s daughter tied up in my chambers.”

“Ye
cannae keep me tied up! How will I… relieve myself?”

Morgann
laughed. “I’ll no’ fall for that one again!”

“I’ve
been tied up all night! Ye must at least let me use the garderobes. Yer enemy’s
daughter I may be, but I am still a lady. Ye cannae expect me to remain like
this.” His countenance remained taciturn and unyielding and Alana’s hope
dwindled away. How did one argue with a man so callous? “Ye never used to be so
cold hearted, Morgann,” she added softly. The man she once knew still existed,
surely? Mayhap she could appeal to him.

“All
right,” he muttered. “I’ll take ye to the garderobes but yer hands will stay
bound. I’ll no’ have ye making a fool of me again.”

“But
how shall I change?”
Or relieve myself?
Her cheeks warmed. She wasn’t
sure how to handle her skirts with hands still tied.

He
shrugged as he strolled over to the bedpost and began to untie the sheets. “I
care not.”

“Ach,
ye’ll care when ye hand me over still caked in filth and Da calls ye out.”

“Mayhap
I should help dress ye then.” A wicked glint illuminated his gaze as he fisted
the sheets in his hand and came to stand before her. With a slight tug, he had
her on her feet, using the bedding tied around her wrist like a leash.

Alana
frowned, chest tight. The endless sides to Morgann MacRae baffled her. The
faintest hint of the playful lad she’d known lay under that deadly gleam but it
was smothered by more intense emotions.

“Ye
tease me?”

“Mayhap.”
He gave a little yank and she stumbled forward, smacking into his chest.

Before
she could react, rough fingers pressed under her hair, teasing across the skin
of her neck, down to the top of the lacing on her gown. He gave the ribbon the
lightest of tugs, making her breath hitch.

“Morgann,
pray cease,” she managed to whisper.

He
froze, cursing quietly as he took a step back. With a wry laugh, he tapped a
finger under her chin—the gesture returning her to a time when they had nothing
to worry about. He always used to do that to her. Whenever she took life too
seriously, whenever she got over-emotional. It was his way of drawing her out
of it. Was she taking
him
too seriously? Was it some twisted game?

“Will
ye promise not to get yerself into any more trouble if I release ye?”

“Aye,
I promise.” An easy promise to make. She had little intention of getting into
trouble. Next time she tried to escape, she’d do it properly and make no
mistakes.

“Ye’ll
no’ get anywhere if ye try anything. The walls are well guarded.”

Alana
nodded. That she well knew. If she’d even made it down the side of the keep,
she hadn’t figured out how to get past the watchmen. She’d have to bide her
time and hope an opportunity presented itself though she had little time. War
was almost certainly imminent.

***

Tèile
watched Alana through narrowed eyes from her spot on the windowsill. She swung
her slender legs playfully, long skirts swishing. The girl was planning
something again. If only there was more she could do. Unfortunately Alana seemed
to have a nose for trouble and if she wanted to put herself in dangerous situations,
there was little to be done.

If
only they would act upon their attraction. She crossed her arms over her chest
and huffed as Alana offered up her wrists to Morgann to be untied. Like Finn,
Morgann struggled to undo them and had to use his teeth. Alana’s face blossomed
with colour. The pull between them was so strong Tèile could smell it. She simply
didn’t understand. What was so hard about giving into one another?

Still
she’d bought them a little more time. Morgann’s messenger, Kieran, was right
now having a wonderful time with the nymphs. Having lured him in, they were no
doubt helping him to indulge in all kinds of carnal delights. No man could
resist the tree folk. She propped her chin on a hand and blew out a long
breath. At least
he
was having fun. If these two didn’t hurry up, she
was likely to die of boredom.

***

A
hand clasped around her wrist, Morgann led Alana to the garderobes.

“Ye
need not hold onto me, Morgann,” she protested from behind. “I already said I’d
not get into trouble.”

Aye,
she had. But he still wasn’t sure he could trust her. Something about the look
in her eyes, that faint glimmer of hope, told him she wasn’t finished creating turmoil.

Never
mind that she caused such turmoil in him. Her smooth skin against his palm made
his gut clench. He tried to wipe the way she stared at him when he’d taken the
knots of her bindings in between his teeth from his mind. Those wide eyes and
short breaths lingered in his memory.

Had
he scared her or was it something else that caused such a reaction? He had frightened
her with his anger but she seemed to bounce back from it, ready to lash out
with her tongue once more. The thought that, maybe, just maybe, she felt the
same burning temptation as he did both terrified and thrilled him. The need to
act on their attraction increased.

Releasing
her wrist, he remained silent as she brushed past him and closed the door to
the garderobes, flicking the briefest of glances his way. He flattened his
forehead against the wood and groaned. Just a few days more, he reminded
himself. A few days and she’d be back with her father and he would finally be
able to relax. With Margot banished or in irons, Glencolum would no longer be
at risk. And nor would Alana.

At
the moment it seemed the biggest risk to her was him.

The
door swung open abruptly and he jolted upright. Hands clasped in front of her,
Alana perfected a meek, submissive pose, eyes pleading and bright.

Ach,
but it worked. He, the great warrior, felt his knees weaken. It took all his
willpower not to drop to the floor and beg to do anything for her. A MacRae
bought to his knees by a woman. Well, he wouldn’t be the first. Margot had already
done the same to his father.

“Morgann,”
She smiled sweetly, “I thank ye for releasing me. Is there any chance of having
a bath sent up? I have need of a wash.”

He
tensed his jaw. As if he needed the image of Alana bathing in his head. Unable
to stop himself, he studied the sweep of her neck, imagined water dripping down
it. The thought forced a lump into his throat.

Realising
she awaited an answer, he cursed inwardly. “Ye had yer chance yester eve. I
cannae spare anyone to tend to ye now. And readying a bath takes too long.”

Alana
scowled and took a step past him. Morgann wrapped a hand around her arm, holding
her in place. “Where do ye go to, lass?”

“If
ye’ll not send for a bath, then I’ll go do it myself. In case ye hadnae
noticed, I’m filthy.”

Her
words forced him to skim his gaze over her gown. Her adventures had left mud smears
on her clothing and face. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and skimmed a
thumb across the grimy mark on her forehead.

“Aye,
I can see that,” he said gruffly, watching the slight flutter of her throat as
she swallowed. The memory of the gentle warmth of her skin under his thumb
remained and he clenched his fist. “Ye’ll have to content yerself with a quick
wash. Finn already brought ye some clean garments.”

“He
always was thoughtful,” she said softly.

A
faint bubble of anger burst inside him and he struggled to tamp it down. Would
he ever forget the image of Alana with her hands on Finn’s lap or Finn’s mouth practically
touching her skin? He loved Finn as a brother but, by God, the thought of him
being in Alana’s affections tore at his gut.

“But
I cannae do my hair myself.” Hands going to her hips, she dragged him out of
his thoughts. “Ye must have a maid to spare.”

Morgann
pinched the bridge of his nose and spun on his heel, forcing Alana to scurry
along behind him.

“Well?”
she persisted as he pushed open the door to his chamber and ushered her in.

“I’ve
no maid to spare. The keep takes time enough to manage.” Thanks to Margot’s
negligence, he thought bitterly, the castle was barely running properly. He
spent half his days making up for her idleness, ensuring the servants and
soldiers knew their duties.

Alana
released a grin, a spark of amusement reaching her eyes and his insides near
crumpled. What in God’s name had her so amused?

“Ye’ll
just have to do it then,” she announced as she sauntered over to the washbowl
propped on a tall oak side table and snatched the linen towel that rested
beside it.

Eyeing
him, she loosened the ribbon barely holding her braid in place. Hair spilled
over her shoulders, thick and luxurious in spite of the streaks of stone dust
that still marred it. His fingers twitched as his stomach roiled and he
blinked.

He
let out a light laugh. “Ye cannae want me to do it.”

“I
do.”

Throat
clogged, he shook his head. Was she attempting to seduce him once more? She had
little idea how close she’d been to succeeding when she’d all but offered
herself to him the previous night. It would have been so easy to strip her gown
from her, to stroke every womanly fragment of her until she begged him to take
her. And she would. If she felt as he did, there would be no denying him. But
Alana, sweet Alana, deserved so much more than that. He could never treat her like
that. Bad enough that he had to take her prisoner.

She
flung the towel at him and he fumbled to grab it, brow creasing as she leaned
over the bowl, the ends of her hair dangled into the cool water.

“Ach,
ye cannae expect me to do women’s work,” he tried in desperation.

Alana
tilted her head sideways, gaze latching onto his as streams of hair fell across
her face. One eyebrow rose. "I didnae take ye for a coward, Morgann."

Damnation.
He sucked a long breath in through his nostrils and stepped sharply forward. He
saw the faint flicker of triumph on her face before she turned her head over
the bowl. He snatched at the jug resting near the washbowl and pressed his free
hand against the exposed skin at the back of her neck.
Pale. Fragile.
His
hand looked too strong, too rough next to her flesh. A sharp awareness of the power
he had over her rushed through him, the primal need to conquer and command
fresh in his mind. What was it about Alana that made him feel more a warrior
than when he spilled blood on the battlefield? And yet, she was the one
conquering him. She already had him doing maid's work. It was an odd balance of
power they had. While he commanded the physical side, she commanded the
emotional one, toying with him with great skill. Grudgingly, he admired it. He
wondered if women did not have the upper hand sometimes. Strength only got you
so far.