Chapter Fifteen

The way Kallum stared at her made something flip in Ailsa’s stomach. He smiled, just a little at the edges of his lips, his eyes suggesting he knew a secret worth sharing but withheld it to use against her at a later time. ’Twas strange to see him smile, really smile, not that wicked grin thing he did when he was about to kill someone.

The pressure at her core slowly started to recede, but she still felt unbalanced, flushed, and uncannily like she’d lost out on something life-altering. A warm haze surrounded her, and she felt a slight euphoria from the lingering effects of that kiss—his kiss. ’Twas a memory she’d pack away to pull out on future nights when her life as a singlewoman of independence got daunting.

Kallum ran his thumb across her bottom lip again. “Aye. Curious indeed.”

He finally shifted her so he could dismount, then lifted her down. He dropped the mare’s reins to ground-tie her.

Ailsa glanced around their latest campsite while she collected her scattered emotions. The area housed a shallow cave at the base of a rocky hillside fronted by a grove of trees. The cave was wide enough for people to spread out seated or prone but not tall enough for Kallum to stand inside. ’Twas more like a small niche carved naturally into the rock.

The MacNeill removed their belongings from the mare, stashed the items at the mouth of the half cave, then immediately began looking around the tree lines surrounding their secluded pasture.

She stepped up beside him. “What are you looking for?”

Without looking at her, he tucked in his lower lip to cover his bottom teeth and gave a shrill double whistle. The pounding of horse’s hooves echoed a few moments afore his big, black stallion came charging out of a grove about a half kilometer to their left. The horse wore no harness or halter.

“Him,” he replied.

The beast charged toward Kallum, not looking as if he intended to stop. Ailsa quickly took several steps backward, but Kallum stood his ground. The stallion halted abruptly in front of Kallum and snorted fiercely. The animal shook his head and pawed at the ground with his front right hoof. The stallion was huge. Ailsa could probably walk under him simply by tucking her chin to her chest.

Kallum placed a hand against the horse’s forehead and rubbed. “I know. I’m late. But you look no worse for wear.”

The horse bobbed his head as if in agreement with Kallum, and Kallum chuckled softly. His adoration for the stallion showed in his expression and constant rubs and touches to the beast’s head and torso. From the stallion’s reaction to Kallum’s touch, the bond between the pair held strong both ways.

After the beast quieted, Ailsa returned to Kallum’s side. She raised her hand, palm facing out, toward the animal’s muzzle.

“Careful!” Kallum grabbed at her wrist, but afore he could stop her, the stallion’s lips began nibbling her palm.

Ailsa giggled. The horse’s nibbling tickled her hand.

Kallum stared at her then the stallion with utter amazement. “He…doesn’t usually like strangers. He’s been known to bite.”

“Hmm. He most likely smells your scent on me.”

“My scent?”

“Aye. My grandfather was a master with horses. He was the best groom in the village. He taught me that horses are very in tune with humans through our scent. Our fear, our joy, many of our emotions, they sense through our smell. Since we just…um…since you just…”

The horse took several steps forward and sniffed Ailsa around the head and shoulders, saving her from having to finish a description of what she and Kallum had recently done on the back of the mare. She laughed and pushed lightly at the horse’s head to get him to stop, but he continued.

Kallum stepped in to shove him away. “Ogun! Stop that! Find your own girl.”

The horse headbutted him on the shoulder as if offended by the rebuff, then pivoted and sauntered over to check out the mare.

“Ogun? You named your horse after the African warrior god?”

Kallum’s gaze snapped to hers. “Aye. You know the African lore?”

She nodded. “My mother kept the old stories alive. She would oft tell them to me when putting me to bed as a child, as her parents had with her. How come you to know those tales?”

“Same. My mother would tell me tales of the old world when I was a lad. She arrived in Scotland after being kidnapped from the old country shortly afore reaching marriageable age. Even after she learned to speak English well, her voice retained the sound and cadence of Mother Africa. I loved most to hear her tell the stories of Ogun coming down to Earth and clearing a pathway for the other gods.” His eyes lost focus. “Sometimes, I still miss the sound of her voice.”

Ailsa could feel his loss across the space separating them. The loss of a mother was something they shared, mothers who both told them tales of the old country. She’d never had that connection with another person. Although the Connery clan had a noticeable population of Blacks, their small numbers were spread across the village. Plus, with her mother’s notoriety and Ailsa’s status as a bastard of mixed heritage, friends had not been a common experience for her.

She thought back on the tales she remembered of Ogun. Kallum’s choice of name for his steed was fitting. Besides being a warrior, Ogun was also known in Yoruba culture as the god of justice, his wrath swift to mete out consequences for those who transgressed. The black stallion together with the Black Highlander made quite a pair. A warrior riding a warrior. She imagined seeing the steed bearing down on them with Kallum MacNeill on his back would make many a man shiver with trepidation.

She glanced at the MacNeill. He observed her with the oddest expression on his face.

All of a sudden, he whipped around, grabbed the short bow he had retrieved with his other belongings, and, without a word, headed for the trees.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“To hunt,” he said without turning around. He took another two steps, then stopped. He turned to look at her, his expression now blank and his sable eyes shielded. “Do not move from this spot.”

He departed without waiting for an answer.

Ailsa stared at his retreating back. The mercurial, standoffish Shepherd had returned, barking orders and treating her like a lackey to tremble at and blindly follow every command. The lingering glow from her first real kiss evaporated like mist sucked into the burning rays of a rising sun.

She had no clue what she’d done to upset him this time.

…

Kallum stomped into the bushes without a thought for the game he needed to hunt. Foremost on his mind in this moment was escaping the woman who had disrupted his life. First, she’d inserted herself into his journey home. Second, she’d ignited his ardor to the point he acted like some randy lad not yet weaned from premature releases. And now, she’d started crawling inside his head to tinker with his memories and his emotions.

That comment about her mother telling her stories from the old country at night. If he did not know for certain she could not have learned such information about him from another, he’d have thought she played games of a nature to manufacture commonalities between them.

It had been a long time since he had thought of his mother, and of all women, for it to be this brazen troublemaker who brought her to mind was as disconcerting as it was unsettling.

Hell, even his horse liked her. Traitor!

What manner of scourge—or sorcery—had overtaken the world when you couldn’t count on your ornery stallion to act ornery?

Kallum had been right from the first. The lass had the powers of a witch. She’d even jested she’d descended from a witch. ’Twas no jest to him. He felt the lass’s spell luring him in, and he needed to extricate himself. She still held his secret, but he knew not hers. ’Twas a dangerous situation to be in, and he needed to pay heed that the lust in his cods did not cost him his neck.

A hare jumped across his path, and Kallum missed the opportunity to shoot it. He swore under his breath, then nocked an arrow so he’d be at the ready for the next bounder. Once he focused, he made short work of collecting two brown hares for supper and headed back to the campsite.

He glanced around but saw no sign of Ailsa. At first, he thought she’d simply wandered off despite his order to stay put. The dratted female never did what she was told. He dropped the hares by the firepit she had set up afore she disappeared to wherever she’d gone and walked around the fringes of the brush bordering their site. He moved slowly but noisily, to give her time to make herself known if she were perchance in the middle of handling some private need.

When he found no trace of her, his residual anger from their earlier encounter fled, and his heart thudded as momentary fear gripped him. Had she been taken?

He did a quick visual recheck of the camp but saw no signs of a struggle. Mayhap another band of miscreants came upon her with the element of surprise and took her, but the little hellion would have put up a fight to free herself. There would have been signs. At least, that’s the story he told himself.

Still, he’d have no comfort until he was sure she was all right.

Not daring to call out in case he was wrong about the circumstances of her capture, Kallum unsheathed a sword and made his way slowly through the trees. Mindful to watch the ground for any signs of disturbance, he soon picked up a trail of footprints. They appeared to be small impressions like those that would be made by a woman. Ailsa.

From what he could tell, she’d been alone when she’d walked this way. He prayed she’d stayed that way.

Being careful to make no sound, he approached a small clearing from whence he could hear the sound of rushing water. The sound suggested a waterfall flowed not too far ahead. He cleared the trees, and the sight that greeted him nearly felled him to his knees.

Ailsa stood knee-deep in the water, wet from the neck down. She had removed her smock but still wore a linen chemise, mayhap out of caution should she be discovered during her bath. The lightweight material was soaked clean through and clung to every curve and angle of her plump backside. The material had gone gossamer and allowed the nudeness of her ravishing brown complexion to glow through as if not covered at all. She looked like some ancient goddess of the forest bathing amongst the foliage of her kingdom.

“Sweet Jesu,” he uttered without conscious thought.

The roar of the waterfall should have covered the soft utterance, but the din of his sword tip carelessly scraping the rock at his foot reverberated over the pond’s surface. He glanced down in shock at the treacherous hand that had allowed such sacrilege to occur, and Ailsa dropped low in the water upon seeing she was no longer alone. Her wide eyes found him on the bank while her long braid bobbed behind her on the surface of the water.

The dark tips of her breasts hovered just above the water line and showed visibly through the drenched material of her chemise. The russet brown of her nipples, beaded from the kiss of cold water, beckoned him with a silent song more powerful than any siren who’d ever beckoned a sailor. Kallum could not shake off the thought that the entreaty would also prove just as deadly.

He took an unconscious step forward. Ailsa’s mouth dropped open, an anxious look in her eyes, and she threw up a dripping hand to warn him back. The movement of her arm made her wet chemise slide across her right breast, and Kallum’s eyes were once more drawn to her bosom. He took no more steps. His hand clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword, and the ardor he’d only recently leashed began to rise in his loins yet again.

Ailsa finally noticed his stare focused not on her hand or her face but on her bosom. She glanced down and realized all she unwittingly displayed. Her opposite arm crossed protectively against her chest, blocking Kallum’s view of the lovely jewels he longed to take in his mouth and suckle until she began to whimper as she had done while squirming in his lap during their kiss.

Kallum shook his head to clear it. ’Twas not honorable to invade the lass’s privacy such. He whirled around to present his back to her.

“When I did not find you at the camp, I became concerned. I did not mean to intrude on your privacy. I shall meet you back at the cave.” He walked away without looking at her again. If he glanced back, he was not sure he would be able to stop himself from walking into that stream and taking a taste of those luscious, budded cìochan.

When he reached the firepit, he dropped to dress the hares for roasting. Focusing on the task of supper prep would help prevent his mind from replaying the alluring sight of Ailsa standing wet in the pond. He hoped.

She was not his to lust after nor his to keep.

His fingers clenched on the hilt of his blade, and he focused on cutting away the skin of the second hare to push away that annoying, recurring thought of keeping her. He was not a man who longed to mate with a woman for a lifetime. He’d never considered the option appealing. Women were beautiful and tempting and luscious places to dabble when he needed a release. To keep one for longer than that invited nagging and responsibilities and the frustrations of constant vigilance to countermand their betrayals or their manipulations or their weaknesses.

Except there was nothing weak about the brazen lass bathing in the pond.

He stood, annoyed by all the ways in which the lass impressed him. ’Twould be easier if she were just a bonnie face.

’Twould be easier if you knew to whom the lass was kin.

And therein lied his biggest frustration. How could he trust a woman whose background remained shielded in secret? To be kin to a clan who took so little care in their women they had allowed her to be enslaved without attempt to free her—how could she continue to defend such people?

Those were ties to which he preferred not to bind himself. If he were in fact to ever bind himself to a female, that is.

Get a grip on yourself, Kallum. ’Tis merely lust. If you were to have the lass, all would pass.

He looked up when he heard her step into the clearing. The relief that flooded him at her return flushed out the mad he’d been trying to work up.

Her hair was unbound. It spread in thick, wavy curls about her shoulders. The intimate sight of her loose hair renewed the stirring in his loins, and her beauty tugged at him more fiercely than ever. The thought of bedding her rose, but even more strongly returned the thought of keeping her. He had no need for the household oversight that a wife could provide. More important, he had no need for the constant distraction a lass such as this one would create. He wanted her anyway.

He was a warrior. He lived a warrior’s life, a life fraught with danger and unavoidable combat. As he stared at the goddess before him, for the first time in his life, he got the sense he was about to fight a battle—a very personal battle—he could not win.

…

Ailsa felt speared by the look in the MacNeill’s eyes. His gaze roamed over her, and she sensed he saw not what she currently wore but all he had inadvertently seen at the water site. The air crackled between them, a charge as potent as a leftover lightning strike.

The fine chisel of muscle hidden beneath his tunic flitted through her mind. ’Twas a vision seared into her memory. Now that she’d not only seen but felt those ridges and planes, the sensory recall of her fingertips wreaked havoc with feelings she wasn’t sure she had words to describe. If his remembrance of her wet body caused half the agitation she currently felt, they were at a dangerous crossroads.

Heat swamped her insides and gave her a yearning she was afraid he’d see in her eyes, so she looked away and went to pack her things without speaking. He was gallant enough not to comment on what he had come upon at the pond, but the unspoken consideration did little to reduce the pulsing physical awareness between them.

An anxious disquietude disturbed Ailsa for the rest of the evening. After she had supped on the fresh meat brought back by the MacNeill, she refashioned the braid she had untangled in the short time the broody man had given her privacy at the water to wash up or bathe as best she could. No matter the effort to distract herself, her mind continued to race. Yet, she could find no clear answers to the questions that had plagued her since the start of the day.

By the time she had returned from bathing, the MacNeill had not only set hares to roast but also had set out his blanket roll for her to use. When they retired for the night, he motioned her inside the partial cave and laid himself in front of her across the mouth.

He had said few words to her while or after they supped. He’d been irritable and standoffish. She knew not what she had done to annoy him, but he had said enough words to explain they would not keep a fire this eve, since they were close to the borders of clans without amicable ties to the MacNeills.

To assist with warmth, he had tied his cape to branches anchored into the ground and tented it open across the entrance to the cave. The setup would help block the wind, as would his body. Wrapped in the great plaid he had retrieved from a satchel that had been stashed deep in a thicket of bushes, the MacNeill settled in for sleep positioned with his back to her.

Despite the warrior’s sullen disposition, Ailsa laid behind him, wondering what ’twould feel like to fall asleep with his arms wrapped securely around her the way he did when they rode together. This day may have been the last time she felt those arms encircle her. On the morrow, she would ride separately from him. She now had her own mount. Given the unwavering temptation to engage in naughty acts with the man, she should consider such change of circumstance a blessing. Yet, a part of her felt regret. There were times that being with him gave her a sense of security she hadn’t felt in over three years.

She did not want to keep him, but a part of her wondered what ’twould be like to hold on to him for just a little while. To pretend that mayhap, just possibly, she could have a small portion of normal. Be a normal woman, not the woman who was always the outsider. The woman who always had to be strong for herself because no one else would be strong for her. She knew how to take care of herself. She’d been doing so all her life, but sometimes being the one to take care of yourself made living hard and lonely.

Ailsa never wanted to give up her independence. She’d learned the hard way, though, that independence could be fleeting and taken away in ways other than the bondage of marriage. Didn’t she owe it to herself to seize what little bit of life she could?

She and the warrior laid less than an arm’s length apart. If she reached out for him, what would he do?

Would he roll over and take her in his arms?

Would he offer another one of those kisses that would make her feel as if she were about to tumble off the edge of the world?

She’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d found her bathing. He’d wanted her. He might find her irritating, but he wanted her the way a man desires a woman.

She knew not how to initiate loving. She had no experience with what to do or what to say.

Or even what not to do to mess things up. She silently laughed at herself.

The MacNeill would know such things, though. If she had the guts to test his awakeness with a touch, she had little doubt he’d take control and teach her the rest.

She now understood why courting couples were mandated never to be alone without a chaperone. An inexperienced maiden was no match for controlling the raging temptations of the flesh in the face of a mature male who knew his way around a lady’s wares. A cranky, disapproving elder was the perfect remedy to douse the catching flames of a maiden’s desires.

No matter. Ailsa would never have a proper suitor offer her courtship. Thus, mayhap she need not worry about caving in to the callings of the flesh.

She rolled toward the MacNeill’s back. Tempted to reach out a hand.

Did she dare?

His response to her caresses of his beard proved he liked her touches, and what he’d offered her in return still left her with a pulsing need deep in the region between her legs. Now that he had awakened her womanly passions, they would not quiet.

She snaked a hand out of the bedroll she had wrapped around her and held on to the blanket where it tucked under her chin. She waited.

She waited for the courage to possibly take something for herself that she wasn’t supposed to have but might give her a sense of freedom and power that had been denied her since her captivity.

She waited, but the boldness did not come this night.

She tucked her hand back inside the blanket.

So much for being brave, she chastised herself, then rolled onto her back.

Less than an arm’s length away from the MacNeill, she fell asleep with turmoil still blazing inside her.

For the second morn in a row, she awoke with hands on her. This time, large hands painfully gripped both her wrists. She fought hard against her assailant even afore she managed to open her eyes, the need to break free a panic inside her.

“Nay. Nay!” She tussled, but no matter how hard she fought, she could not break free.