Chapter Four

Kirstie easily shook her guard and spent the afternoon exploring. The last thing she wanted was to waste the day hidden away in that stuffy castle. After learning earlier he would be out of the stone fortress and in Edinburgh tonight, she planned to try Argyll’s room again before the halls filled with the rest of the guests scheduled to arrive. Before that, she would force herself to dance in the great hall with anyone who might have the plans for the imminent attack on her brothers, so she needed this fresh air to bolster her courage.

She didn’t want to contend with the men who felt they had the right to put their hands on her wherever they pleased, Campbell being one of them. But he seemed to be the one closest to Argyll and would be the one most likely aware of Argyll’s plans, so she had to put up with his pawing for now.

This spying business wasn’t for her. But if it meant saving her family, she would stay in this filthy city and see her plans through. It was a shame she couldn’t confide in Malcolm. But he was hot tempered, and she couldn’t rely on him to not do something that might jeopardize his life sooner. Lachlan would know what to do, but he wasn’t here.

That left Alan.

He could help, but he was cavorting with Covenanters. She had an excuse for being around them. The Macnab laird, whose clan she’d been residing with, had become sympathetic to the Covenanter cause, even hosting some of them on occasion. It was how she’d grown to know Hamish, as he frequently visited the laird. But how could Alan associate with them?

After all the time he’d spent with the Camerons, he must know they wished her brothers harm.

What had happened between her family and Alan in her absence? The man she knew wouldn’t betray her brothers, but there it was: she no longer knew Alan Mackenzie. When he’d introduced himself earlier, he’d aligned himself with his birth family instead of her clan.

Alan would never do anything to harm Lachlan, but what if he had grown sympathetic to their cause? He had been returning with Hamish earlier, and if her guess was correct, they had been coming from the Kirk. Could he have converted? In her absence the last few years, she’d done her best to forget him, and as much as she wanted to trust him, she couldn’t.

Passing by the stables, she reminisced on what it was about Alan that had drawn her to him in her youth. He’d always been bonny, but that wasn’t the reason; it was that he used to visit her as she tended to the horses and made her feel as if she could be more than a simple lass meant for all the repetitive tasks of day to day castle life.

They would talk about what she was reading, and he made up stories better than any of those she’d found in the binding of a book. She’d been able to listen to him, fascinated for hours. Alan had also been the only one to encourage her interest in animals, even helping her evade music lessons when her tutor came looking for her. He’d understood her, or at least she’d thought he had.

She strolled down and away from the castle, alone and unaware of anything around her. As she did, her thoughts turned to the last time she’d seen Alan.

She’d been seventeen, and he’d been nearly a grown man. There was a celebration of the birth of the stable master Wallace’s first grandson taking place at the keep. The great hall of Kentillie had been bursting with people drinking and singing and shoving into each other. It had been too much for her, so she’d escaped to one of her favorite places, the stables. No one was there that night.

She was talking to one of the horses that had become jittery with the uncommon quiet of the night when a figure walked in through the door and strolled past the stalls. Alan.

Her heart raced with the excitement that coursed through her veins anytime she found herself in his presence. Earlier in the day, she’d had a conversation with her friend Donella about her feelings. Donella told her it was time to let Alan know how she felt, and she agreed.

“Good night,” she said to the horse, giving it a soft pet on the muzzle then turning to leave the stall. This was her chance because lately, Alan was always with either Lachlan or Malcolm.

When she emerged from the stall in front of him, he gave her a small smile, but his shoulders sagged and no joy reached his eyes. Actually, he didn’t really even look at her. He was off somewhere else as he skirted around her and kept going.

She’d never seen him look so sad, and her heart ached to reach out to him. His hands shook. It was hard to make out in the low light of the stables, but there appeared to be blood dripping down his knuckles.

Taking a few quick steps to catch him, she reached out for his arm. He flinched and drew back to strike as if he was expecting the devil, but he stilled when he realized it was her.

She pulled his hand up to inspect it. It was blood. She tenderly touched it. “What happened?”

“’Twas just a brawl. ’Twill be all right.” He tried to pull away and keep walking, but she held him.

“I-I have been wanting to tell ye something.” Her voice caught as she tripped on the words that would lay her soul naked before him.

“Can it wait, brat?” She should have kenned then, should have stopped, should have run, but she had been young and foolish.

“Nae, Alan, I’ve waited too long.” Her thundering heart wouldn’t let her back down now.

Reaching with her free hand, she rested it on his cheek. He shuddered and closed his eyes, seeming to lean in to her touch. Taking the caress of his soft flesh in her palm as encouragement, as a sign that he welcomed her affections, she pressed on.

Her eyes stung and threatened to run over, even at the memory now. She thought she had moved on, believed her heart safe, but even these last couple years with the Macnabs had not relieved the pressure. It had been hidden beneath the surface waiting to bubble up and seize her again.

The rest of that fateful night played through her head. There, in the middle of her sanctuary, her gaze had met his, and she thought they held desire. But now Kirstie knew she had been too inexperienced to comprehend what she had seen.
“I love ye, Alan.” Her confession was shaky, because it had come from the too-tall girl with no figure and no confidence. His breath seemed to hitch, but he said nothing. She moved closer and rose up on her tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his lips. They both stilled.

His arms wound around her and crushed her to his muscled chest. His lips were moving over hers, and she did her best to match the caress. His tongue jutted out and delved between her lips.

Gasping in surprise, she quickly recovered. He was honey and male and everything she had ever wanted. Letting her own tongue duel with his, she thought he groaned, and his grasp around her waist tightened.

The moment was gone just as quickly. Withdrawing, he grabbed both of her shoulders while holding her stiffly at arm’s length. His fingers dug sharply into her skin. “This cannae ever happen again.”

Her body closed in on itself as his words slapped her, causing a numb tingling to erupt somewhere deep inside, and if he’d not been holding her, she was certain she would have fallen. Her tongue was frozen, her breath lost or stolen.

“Kirstie, do ye understand?”

She didn’t, but she nodded anyway, not really knowing what she was agreeing to.

“I could never do this to Lachlan. He’s the closest thing I have to family, my brother. Ye are like a sister to me.”

Her body started to vibrate as chills extended from her chest to her fingertips. He had rejected her. Not only that, he thought of her as nothing more than family.

If a heart could crack, hers was bleeding and leaking out into every cavity of her body. She was like the cook’s cat the time an overzealous dog bounded toward it, unmoving and waiting for the impact, for the rest of her world to end.

And then it happened. Letting go, he turned and, without another sound, stalked away. Numbly, she watched as his long lean legs carried him and her dreams out through the back door of the stable. She stumbled back to the stall she’d been in with the lonely horse. Collapsing into the straw in the corner, she curled up into a ball and let the pain drown her in darkness.

The next day, she had been able to convince her mother and Lachlan that she should go to Blair’s for an extended visit. Receiving a request the week previously from her cousin begging for her to come for a visit and help tend some ill horses, she jumped at the chance to flee her humiliation.

Then, every time Lachlan and her mother would come to see her, she found a way to stay when they insisted she return. She was pretty certain at this point that her oldest brother had guessed why she was reluctant to return. Each time Alan’s name was mentioned, she either left the room or changed the subject.

She’d not been able to keep the truth from her mother because she had the uncanny ability to read anyone. She and Blair were the only two people who knew of her secret shame.

Her life had meaning again, and she didn’t need that infuriating Highlander. The Macnab stables had been in disarray when she’d made it to their lands, unhealthily dirty stalls and dingy, putrid water the previous caregivers didn’t refresh near enough, equipment not cleaned, and the beasts treated poorly. Only losing a couple of the ill horses that had been too far gone upon her arrival, she had saved the rest and convinced the Macnab laird to let her take over as their stable master.

Those horses were her life now, and she couldn’t see herself anywhere else, despite the knowledge she would have to find a husband once Blair married. She didn’t want to be near a man who didn’t want her, especially one with gray eyes the color of tumultuous Highland skies before the heavens unleashed a summer storm.

Kirstie continued to explore, coming to an old abbey whose outbuildings lay peacefully moldering in the late afternoon sun. They were deserted, but not eerie, just sad. It had been such a beautiful place, but the walls had crumbled and left a shell of what it had once been.

This temple had been built to hold the hearts of its Catholic worshipers, just like she had set herself up to be the keeper of Alan’s heart, the protector of his soul, and the person he would come home to at night. She was just like this forsaken place. Despite the distance she had put between Alan and her, there had been no way to outrun the desolation that had been left by his rejection.

She’d heard stones of the cloisters had been ripped down and were used to add onto the castle high on the hill. The roof of the nave was still intact and the beautiful arched windows and doors inspired awe, but it felt like a cold, empty tomb. Had Alan found someone else and given that lucky lass the pieces of his heart, the ones she had so desperately wanted?

Her feet felt heavy as she climbed the hill back to the castle. Dread filled every step as she planned out the evening ahead, determined to make progress on her quest.

…

Sending Blair ahead with a story that she would skip the meal tonight due to women’s problems, Kirstie bided her time until Malcolm’s guards outside her door disappeared. ’Twas for the best, because the main course might be a better time to sneak into the Earl of Argyll’s room.

Slinking toward the other side of the castle, she stuck to the shadows and did her best to avoid being seen. She had brought several different tools to try this time, determined that damn lock would open for her. Standing in the darkened hall yet again, her hands shook and her heart beat so fast she could feel it in her ears.

The hairpins proved to be too weak, bending as she fidgeted with them in the small hole. The wooden knitting needle she’d found in one of the antechambers rewarded her with a solid click on the first try. Finally breathing, she stood to check the hall before turning the knob and backing silently into the room.

This was one of the larger chambers, and despite the earlier warmth of the sunny day, peat blazed in the fireplace to keep the evening chill from the room. It supplied ample light but did nothing to sate the fear that kept her eyes darting around the deep shadows of the stone corners. Slinking over to the desk, her fingers trembled as she rifled through the papers scattered on the smooth wooden surface.

Maps detailing different areas of the Highlands and letters about commissioning men to fight for the Covenanters, names she didn’t recognize, blurred as she strained to focus in on any imminent threat, and it wasn’t long before she found her eyes watering at the lines of the letters and intricate details on the maps. Rifling through the drawers, she discovered the rest of the documents all had to do with crops and cattle.

Resisting the urge to throw all the documents into the fire just to thwart any undiscoverable evil plans they contained, she pushed back from the desk, deciding it was best not to alert the Covenanters to someone searching their rooms. Letting out a frustrated breath, she scanned the surroundings; it dawned on her that she should have guessed there would be nothing incriminating in his room. The earl was a cautious man. This had all been a huge waste of time.

The lock clicked in the door, and she inhaled sharply. Kirstie fell to her knees and rolled under the desk. She focused on controlling her breath. One little sound could get her discovered. What was the penalty for breaking into the Earl of Argyll’s room? Surely, she would be put in prison, and she couldn’t save her brothers from the dungeon.

She didn’t hear another sound, but the fire exposed a large shadow that could only be a man. It moved toward the desk, and a hand clasped onto her arm, dragging her out from under the wooden structure.

“What do ye think ye are doing?”

Fear almost turned to annoyance when she realized the voice was Alan’s.

He didn’t give her time to answer as he yanked her across the room and to the other side of the chamber in an instant. Opening the door, he peeked out into the hall. He must have liked their chances, because he dragged her from the room and shut the door. Thankful she was tall and didn’t have to strain to keep up, they’d taken three large strides in the direction of Malcolm’s room when the sound of boots marched down the hall.

Alan’s arm still latched onto her like an eagle that had captured its prey. He stopped and spun her around, backing her harshly to the wall. She inhaled sharply at the impact. He stood over her with his arms on the walls beside her head in a fierce protective stance. Trembling, her hands locked onto Alan’s sides. His warmth was reassuring, but the tempo of his steady heartbeat thrummed into her fingertips. The rhythm of her own faltered at his close proximity.

“Hell, they’re going to see ye.” His gaze darted from the sound and back to her.

As the clacking cadence of the approaching threat neared, she spared a glance down the hall to see how close the man was, but Alan’s position blocked her view. When she glanced back, something had shifted in his eyes, and her inhalation of air lodged in her throat, the bodice of her gown becoming tight and restrictive as her chest swelled.

In the scant light of the hall, she imagined his eyes had darkened and dilated. Was it fear or hunger she saw there? Maybe both. Shuddering, her lips parted to let in the air that refused to reach her lungs.

She froze as his hands came down to clasp both of her cheeks, again seeming to hide her face from the newcomer. One thumb traced her lips as his breathing became heavy. She, on the other hand, couldn’t breathe as his head dipped closer.

Damn, he was going to kiss her.

Her body heated and her chin tilted up, lips parted to give him easy access. No, he was going to destroy her. But right now she didn’t care. Exhilaration rushed through her as she realized she was going to let him do what he wanted. Awareness and desire claimed her as his head dipped, and it became too late to protest as his lips covered hers.

She had kissed other men since her first kiss with him, so this time she thought she would be prepared when his tongue swept into her mouth. Yes, she had had other kisses, but none of them had made her come undone the way his did. None made her forget the world around her like his caress.

Surrendering, she gave everything to him. All the years of pent-up longing and frustration manifested in such stark need that her body took control and left her logical side reeling at how easy she succumbed to his touch. Her hands slid higher to curl around thick arms and grabbed on, pulling him closer. His tongue tangled and played with hers, and she thought she would explode with the feelings that were ignited deep in her chest.

Everything disappeared except him and this embrace. He groaned into her mouth, and her fingers skimmed up to his neck to thread their way to thick tresses that slid through her hands like French silk. They tightened in the shoulder length tendrils at the base of his neck as she slanted her head to the side to give him better access.

Alan leaned into her, crushing her between the solid wall of his chest and the stone behind her. It didn’t hurt, it was real and warm, and it felt right. As they continued to kiss, her body became heated and needy, an ache growing in her, and she knew this kiss wouldn’t be enough.

“Take her to a room.” Some deep male voice jested from behind as she became aware of the boots as they continued past them and down the hall.

Alan froze, hands unmoving on her cheeks, pulled back and rested his head on hers as he continued to shield her from the view of the passing man.

No, screamed a voice deep inside her head, no, no, no, please don’t stop.

A click sounded and then a soft thud of a door closing.

Kirstie fought to control her breath as Alan stayed still, face near enough she could smell sage on his ragged breath. Pressed so close, she could feel his heart pounding. It was a rhythm that called to the deepest part of her and spoke to feeling long buried. The thumping beat played the notes she had yearned for but not found until now. His head nuzzled into hers, and he spoke softly into her ear, “Are ye trying to get yerself killed?”

Her body was still reeling from the passion he had awoken in her. All she could do was shake her head.

His voice became hoarse and raw. “Dinnae ever let me catch ye doing something so foolish again. Ye willnae be able to sit for a year.”

Anger had seeped into his words, and the pleasure she’d felt was replaced by a bone-numbing chill. He straightened and retreated. Now, her limbs were cold as well. More boots clambered down the hall, but she didn’t look. Her eyes were fixated on the flames she saw dancing in Alan’s eyes. For a moment, she dared to think they were filled with need for her, but then they flickered and all she saw was irritation.

Her wobbly limbs were difficult to peel from the wall, but she forced herself to move because she didn’t have to listen to him. Sticking her nose up in the air, she attempted to move gracefully toward the stairs.

“Kirstie.” He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward Malcolm’s door. Even that touch set sparks ablaze on her skin, and she wanted to cry from the sheer frustration of it. After inserting a key into the lock, he pushed in the door, drawing her in behind him and shutting it with a soft clunk. “Ye have no business playing games with Argyll. What did ye think ye were doing?” Fury was evident in the soft hiss of his whispered words, and her gaze drifted down to avoid his penetrating eyes.

“Kirstie, what are ye doing up here?” Malcolm asked from a corner of the room. She gulped, thankful he’d made his presence known before she’d been forced to make up some unbelievable lie and annoy Alan further.

“I need an escort to the hall. Blair is already there without me.” She avoided Alan’s eyes and tried to pull free from his grip, but his fingers didn’t budge.

“Aye, of course. I am on my way there right now,” her brother said.

Alan said, “I just caught Kirstie breaking into Argyll’s room. Dinnae let her out of yer sight tonight.” Something passed between them in some shared code she wasn’t privy to.

Releasing her, he stalked over and whispered something to Malcolm. Why would the two be keeping secrets?

Malcolm said something inaudible, then both gazes shot in her direction. “What were ye thinking, Kirstie?”

’Twas thinking I would save yer life, she thought, but she held her tongue.

“Ye shouldnae be seen here.” She was about to protest when she saw Malcolm’s brows rise as he gazed at Alan, not her.

Alan nodded and turned. Opening the door, he peered out as if checking to make sure the hall was abandoned then retreated without another word.

“Why can he no’ be seen here?” She turned her gaze to her younger brother and tried to forget the tingling sensation still humming on her swollen lips.

The kiss had meant nothing to him, and he had shredded her heart again, interrupting her quest for answers in the process. Well, maybe he had actually helped her, because she wasn’t sure if the man who had spoken to them in the hall went into the earl’s room or another. She had been so wrapped up in how Alan’s embrace had felt like home and mist on a hot day that she hadn’t cared.

“Dinnae worry with that,” Malcolm answered. “’Tis best if Alan doesnae appear to take sides during these negotiations.”

They were keeping secrets.

Her brother broke into her thoughts. “Ye have some explaining to do. Mayhap I should send ye back home to let Lachlan deal with ye.” Shaking his head, he started for the door, opening it and nodding for her to exit. She stopped as he turned to lock the door, then he proceeded down the hall without her.

She wanted to leave, but then she remembered why she couldn’t.

The day she had first arrived at Edinburgh with Blair and John, she had lingered in the stables to brush down Poseidon. It had become a ritual for both of them after a long ride.

Deep male whispers carried from just a few steps away. The men nearby hadn’t known she was there.

“The Cameron laird is not traveling with them.”

She cocked her head to better hear. Were they speaking about Lachlan?

“He sent his brother in his stead.”

“We cannae take the Cameron clan with either alive.” The voice sounded familiar, but with the hushed tones, she couldn’t make it out. Heart racing, she shifted to make sure Poseidon’s body kept her hidden.

“Ye will have to be the one to tell Argyll. Mayhap he will have someone send for the Lochiel.”

Kirstie bit her lip and ducked down as they mentioned her oldest brother’s title. These were the men plotting the death of her brothers.

…

Alan adjusted his painfully hard cock as he bounded down the steps. He groaned and shook his head to dislodge his treacherous thoughts. It didn’t work. She tasted just as he’d remembered, honey and spice, and she’d melted into him with those curves and long legs.

He could still feel where her breasts had been crushed to his chest. Ugh, he wanted to scream in frustration. Hell. If she were any other lass, if she had another name, if she wasn’t Lachlan’s sister, he would have claimed her.

It all came down to honor and betrayal and things you just did not do. If Lachlan were here now, maybe he would find the courage to beg for her. But the only thing he had ever learned worth any value from his father was that you did not betray your brother.

He wanted Kirstie so badly he could taste her, but two things stood in the way. He couldn’t be a husband to her. What if his father’s brand of madness affected him? It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take, and she deserved so much better. Her love and devotion were worth more than what he could offer. Not only that, he couldn’t betray the one man whose loyalty and approval he valued over everything or the one woman who made him want to forget he wasn’t worth her affections.

As he snuck down the hall to avoid being seen near Malcolm’s room, he reminded himself that the safety of his brother and sister came first, aye—Kirstie was like a sister, sister, sister, he repeated to himself. As he entered the stairwell, he told himself the impulse to kiss her had been to protect her from the man coming toward them, but he was having trouble believing that had been his only reason.

It had been necessary; no one needed to know she had been there. And it had worked. The man had no idea who they were, but touching her had reawakened that longing he’d pushed away after the first time she’d kissed him. The timing had been so wrong on that night, too.

The events of that long ago evening were still etched in his head like the initials of scorned lovers on an old oak.

It had seemed as if the entire Cameron clan had been crowded into Kentillie to celebrate. That didn’t bother him. What did was the inebriated state of several of the clan and the pressure to join them in drinking the whisky and ale.

Having the urge to escape, he fled the crowded hall in favor of the cool night air. A squeak caught his attention, and he glanced over to the side of the building to see a large Cameron man had pinned Arabella to a wall and she was screaming at him. Arabella was a manipulative wench, but no man should lay a hand on a woman when she didn’t wish it.

Rushing to her defense, he put a hand on the beefy man’s shoulder. “Leave her be, Angus.”

The red-faced, sweaty lout turned, and a wave of liquor-soaked breath spewed on him. “Go away,” the man slurred. “’Tis none of yer concern.”

“Aye, ’tis if the lady does no’ seek yer attentions.”

Angus’s arms fell, and the lass stole from behind him to run into the castle. The lout grabbed Alan’s arm and then swung with the other. Alan ducked to the side, and the blow just skimmed his chin.

Memories of the beatings he’d endured by his father’s hand assailed him, but unlike in his youth, he fought back. Everything blurred, and before he knew what was happening, Angus lay whimpering on the ground with a battered face. Disgusted with what spirits did to a man, and that he’d lost his temper and resorted to violence, his legs carried him toward the stables.

His hands shook with rage at his family’s curse and that he’d let the anger consume him. He’d had no control, and the correlation between his father and he had never been so prominent. He was a monster.

Kirstie was there, and she kissed him. He liked it. But when he opened his eyes, he saw blood covering his bruised knuckles and remembered who she was and what he was. He would never be good enough for her, and Lachlan would kill him if he touched her and didn’t wed her.

Releasing Kirstie, he swung away and walked out to the loch to be alone. Within the next week, she was gone. He’d always known it was for the best, but every time he walked by the stables, he still caught his gaze drifting through the windows to look for her.

Trusting Malcolm would watch out for her, Alan continued out through a side door instead of waiting for the pair to appear in the great hall. She must know something of the plot against the Royalist lairds or she wouldn’t have been snooping in Argyll’s rooms. He’d tried to retrieve her as soon as he’d seen her slip into the earl’s room, but people kept appearing, and he couldn’t be seen going in, either. He’d gotten to her, probably saved her life, but it had taken longer than he’d wanted.

If he weren’t trying to avoid being seen with Malcolm, he’d talk to him about sending Kirstie to Kentillie now. But he had to keep up the ruse that he and the Camerons were no longer friends. It was the only way the Covenanters would let him into their inner circle.

For now, he was off to The Full Cask to pretend to be someone he wasn’t while that silly Hamish Menzies put his hands on Kirstie. He might have to start a brawl with someone. More points for him if the man was a known Royalist so he could impress the Covenanters. John Macnab had better stay away from him tonight.

Several hours later, he walked back into the hall to find Kirstie dancing with Hamish and Malcolm nowhere in sight. He had thought she was safe with her brother around, but maybe he didn’t grasp the importance of the situation. He couldn’t blame Malcolm since he’d lived without a sister to watch over for years. This was Lachlan’s fault for letting her have too much freedom.

Kirstie’s cheeks were red with exertion. How long had she been dancing? Then he noticed how slow she was moving and how carefully she watched her steps. Hell, she’d been drinking.

Debating whether or not he should grab her and escort her out of the room to scold her for being so careless, he opted for rubbing his head and eyes to tame his temper. She was going to drive him mad. He knew when someone was drinking, their nature was amplified. Another lesson from his father.

She was a sensual woman. Hamish was watching her like a hawk closing in on a mouse. Niall Campbell’s eyes were on her as well; so were several other men he didn’t know. He had to get her out of here.

Song ending, he prowled over to them and bowed politely. What he really wanted to do was drive his fist into the man’s gut, but he needed to remain in his good graces for now. Straightening, he took Kirstie’s hand. “May I?” Hoping he didn’t come across as uncivil, he gave neither of them the chance to answer as he drew her in and whisked her away.

Kirstie’s eye’s widened, but she’d had too much to drink to react in time or protest with her usual fervor. He had gathered her close, and they were twirling around to some music he’d never heard and could have done without, but she was safe and she was in his arms. Now that he could breathe again, the anger returned.

“Ye look like ye drank a whole barrel by yerself tonight.” He tried to keep the bite he felt out of the comment.

Mornings of waking to find his mother battered and passed out on the floor ate at him. He might not have been big enough to help his mother, but he would never let it happen to Kirstie.

Kirstie’s eyes were weary, showing none of the fury he’d expected her to turn his way. “I couldnae handle the crowds.” Shrugging as she offered the explanation, he let the words play over in his head.

She’d always stuck to the corners of a room. It was one of the things he had loved about her. She was a solitary soul like he and avoided the celebrations where anyone was drinking. He’d never thought about why and assumed it was because she didn’t want to be around the vile liquid. Now, he realized she had her own reasons.

Biting her lip, she looked down, and he’d swear her cheeks were blushing if they weren’t already flushed from the dancing and drink.

“Does the close quarters bother ye?” Guilt stabbed at him when he remembered his rush through the crowd last night as he’d dragged her along and then the paler color of her skin as they’d made it outside.

“Aye. I’ve always felt sick when there are too many people about.”

She leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. She was just tall enough for him; their bodies fit. Och, the touch was light and innocent, but it sent a wave of longing coursing through him. She was vulnerable, and some part of him that wanted to be her rock reveled in the soft weight, wanted to pull her closer and say “mine.”

He yearned to stay like this, but people were watching as they swished by with the music he could no longer hear. Somehow, he and Kirstie had stopped moving, and the moment had apparently become too intimate for the bustling dance floor. Reluctantly, he drew back, but not wanting to lose the connection completely, he snaked his arm through hers.

“Let’s get ye back to yer room. Where’s Blair?”

“John was escorting her and Henry on a walk.” She leaned into his side, and her free hand reached over her midsection to clasp onto his arm. The embrace was warm like a hug, and she inhaled deeply then closed her eyes as if she’d been smelling him.

“Who’s Henry?”

“Henry Graham. He’s the cousin to the Marquess of Montrose.”

He knew Henry, and although the man was a staunch Royalist, he was rumored to be quite violent. Another of their kin had been found murdered in the castle this morning, and with the intrigue about, he lamented that Kirstie and her friend seemed to be involved on all political sides.

“And what would they be doing with the Royalist leader’s kin? I thought their father supported the Covenanters.”

“Aye, but John is different, and I think he’s trying to arrange a match between Henry and Blair.”

“And she agrees to the plan?” He doubted any of them knew of Henry’s reputation.

“Aye. She’s infatuated with Henry’s good looks.” They’d reached the edge of the hall.

“They should be back soon. I can wait here for them.”

He didn’t trust anyone but a Cameron with Kirstie. “I’ll take ye. Do ye have any idea what happened to yer brother?” Scanning the crowd, he spied Malcolm, who had reappeared, his gaze resting on them. He nodded so only Malcolm could see and kept walking them toward the door as he carefully took the least crowded route.

“Aye, ’tis stomach problems. He keeps running in and out.”

That explained why he’d not seen Malcolm on the way in.

A figure almost bumped into her, and Alan pulled Kirstie closer to narrowly avoid the man’s body colliding into hers. Hell, she felt so good snuggled up close to him. He cursed himself for allowing such a pleasure.

As they cleared the hall and stepped out into the night air, he voiced what had been bothering him all evening.

“What were ye doing in the earl’s rooms?”

“I’m so tired. Can we no’ talk about this later?”

Her words were starting to slur together. She pulled from his arm and picked up her pace. Deciding not to push, he followed.

Starting up the steps, Kirstie stumbled, and he wrapped both arms around her before she hit the unforgiving stone. Excessive spirits apparently magnified her awkward movements, but the real problem was his body’s reaction to holding her in his arms. Everything in him stilled, and a desire to press his lips to hers once more welled from some deep hidden part of him.

“Thank ye.” Tilting toward him, she smiled with sleepy eyes, making him envision lazy days falling into bed with her. His heart thudded. She was too close, but he couldn’t find the strength to remove his hands from her sides.

Anytime, he burred in his mind but knew he couldn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t give her hope when there was none. Not that she wanted him now, anyway. Managing to peel his hands from her delicious curves, he set her straight, watching her carefully as she held up her skirts to ascend the rest of the way. “Yer welcome.”

When they reached her room, she retrieved her key from a hidden pocket on her gown. It slipped through her fingers, and she swayed as she dipped to retrieve it from the floor.

“How much did ye drink tonight?”

“Nae much. I’m just no’ used to strong drink, and it helped me cope with the crush of people.”

“But ’tis also no’ safe. There are many dangerous men here.”

“Well, I’m lucky then to have ye here with me.” She giggled.

“And what if I’m one of those dangerous men?”

Something akin to admiration lit in her gaze, and he wanted to be whatever she saw in those sapphire eyes. “Nae, that’s no’ who ye are.” She placed her hand on his chest, and he wanted to take it in his until he realized she might have done it to steady herself.

“Alan Cameron, ye are a hero and ye’ll save me like ye did the lad today.” She beamed up at him before dropping her hand and twirling around to insert the key in her door.

When Kirstie pushed it in, he was overcome by the moonlight that shown into the room, causing her brunette hair to shimmer like the dark waters of Loch Arkaig. Pulling his gaze away from her, he noticed the chamber was sparse and lacked a fireplace. He hadn’t observed that the previous evening, but his gaze had been on something much more interesting. “It must get cool in here at night.”

“Aye, it does. Blair and I huddle under the blankets. We warm up nicely when she isnae stealing the covers.”

She’s one lucky lass. We would make enough heat we wouldnae even need the blankets. Shaking his head of the stray thought, he turned to close the door as Kirstie walked over to a small table and lit a candle.

He had opted to stay at an inn down the hill from the castle. Finding a room at a tavern close to The Full Cask had given him easy access to the Covenanter’s meeting spot. The room was smaller than this one, but it had a fireplace, and the innkeeper kept a nice supply of small peat blocks that burned for just long enough to last through the night.

Hoping his accommodations gave credence to the story that he, Malcolm, and the other Camerons weren’t on friendly terms, he now wondered if he should have stayed closer to keep a better eye on Kirstie. He’d been following her this evening, or he wouldn’t have seen her enter Argyll’s room. A chill ran down his spine even now as he thought of what could have happened to her.

Ambling over to the table, he enjoyed the silhouette of her figure. She had wide hips that gently arched into a small waist. His hands itched to feel those curves, but instead, he reached down to pick up a stack of bound papers.

“What’s this?”

Her eyes lit. “’Tis a copy of a play Donna brought me from London.”

“Ye still read, then?” He flipped up the binding and read aloud, “A Chaste Maid in Cheapside.” Puzzling over the strange title, he lifted his gaze to meet her sparkling stare as she took the bundle from him and hugged it to her chest. He’d never been jealous of a book before, but hell, he wished to again be worthy of the affection she’d held for him when she was younger.

“’Tis by Thomas Middleton. His plays are supposed to be wonderful.”

“Sounds as if ’tis ’bout some boring wench. I am questioning yer tastes. What happened to the more exciting books I used to catch ye reading up on the turret?” Fond memories of her hair blowing in the wind as her sweet voice carried to his ears came rushing back with nostalgia.

“If I remember correctly, ye found me every time I went to read.” Her gaze became glassy, and he couldn’t tell if she was reminiscing affectionately or if it was sadness reflected in the blue depths.

Smiling inside, he recalled that she would sneak up to the turrets at the west end of Kentillie. He followed her every time. He’d been enthralled by the stories she read, and her voice had always been comforting. On occasion, he’d even fallen asleep with his head in her lap as she sat on the stones propped against the wall.

“I will admit that I liked yer stories, but this one?”

Her gaze returned to his, eyes alight as she straightened her shoulders at the challenge. “I havenae read it yet, but ’tis supposed to be good. Shall I read the first scene to prove it?”

“Aye.”

He’d always felt at ease with her and taken comfort in her routines. She was predictable—at least she had been before she started cavorting with the enemy. He’d never thought about why her habits had meant so much to him growing up in the Cameron house, but then he remembered the days and years before he’d come to live with them and knew exactly why.

He should leave, but the strength to turn around and walk out the door eluded him.

“Aye, prove to me this story is fit for my ears.” Easing down onto the edge of the bed, he patted the thick blankets for her to join him.

Sitting, Kirstie unfolded the first page and started to read. He was taken back in time. He didn’t realize how much he had missed this and how soothing it had been. He could listen to her all night. Wanting to do just that, he let his mind stray to stretching out on her bed and falling asleep with her voice filling his ears, knowing she would be there when he woke. Shaking the image free, he grudgingly admitted that as much as he enjoyed this, she deserved better.

As she read, he fantasized about laying her back and making love to her slowly and then falling asleep with her nestled in his arms, her soft curls splayed across his chest. It was an indulgence he couldn’t afford.

The reading ended too soon. “What did ye think?”

“Not too bad, but ’twill need to hear more. I dinnae want to rush to a conclusion.”

She stood, set the book down, then ran her fingers over the binding as if it were a treasured artifact. “Another time. I’m tired.”

Her hips swayed as she walked across the room and stopped in front of another small table. “Ye must be happy Skye is back,” she called over her shoulder.

Smiling at the mention of his cousin, he relaxed and leaned back onto the soft bed, resting on his elbows. She turned to him and stretched her neck from side to side.

“Aye, ’tis good. I’m still no’ convinced that at some point I willnae have to take off Brodie’s head.”

Kirstie unpinned her hair and ran her fingers into her scalp to massage where it had been pulled back. Mesmerized, his gaze lingered as she dropped the pins on the table and waves of deep chestnut curls cascaded down to brush her cheeks. He was tempted to reach out and run his own hands through the thick mass, but she seemed oblivious to her effect on him.

He tore his gaze away before he acted on the impulse, because that would surely drive him mad or cause him to lose control.

“’Tis time I get back.” He stood and took a step toward the door.

Turning back, his breath caught, gaze landing on her dress as the lavender silk slid down her shoulders before she shimmied her hips to guide it over her waist and then off entirely. He groaned internally as his cock came to life. She was going to drive him mad. She wore an undergarment, but the material was thin, and it didn’t cover much. Mouth watering, he had to swallow.

“What are ye doing?”

“Going to bed.”

She flung her dress over a chair, slipped out of her shoes, then leaned down to wrestle her stockings free. His mouth went dry. As she leaned down, her shift bunched in the front and gave an enticing glimpse of the tops of her well-proportioned breasts.

“Ye shouldnae be doing that with me in here.” He tilted his head to the ceiling, but his treacherous eyes lowered back to take in whatever they could. His heart pounded as he tried to fight the urge to touch every inch of her.

“Why, seems if any man had to be in here, ’tis perfect, ’tis ye.”

“What gives ye that idea?”

She narrowed her eyes on him and swayed slightly. “Ye are the only one who isanae trying to get in here to see me undress.”

So she wasn’t completely unaware of her charms. She had at least four men that he knew of vying for her attention, and the thought of them seeing her like this angered him. None of them were worthy. Hell, he wasn’t.

She moved past him to draw back the covers and slide under them.

When she looked back up at him, there was a sadness that had not been there before. Her shoulders were pulled in, and she looked smaller. “What’s wrong with me?”

What was she talking about? “There isnae a thing wrong with ye.”

“Then why do ye no’ want me?”

Her assumption nearly broke his heart, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. It wasn’t her; she was perfect. She was everything he knew he could never have; she was Kirstie, the girl who had haunted his dreams for years.

He knelt down beside the bed to be at her eye level. “It isnae ye, kitten. Ye couldnae be more right.” He couldn’t resist pushing back the silky curl that had fallen over her cheek.

“If ye think ye are protecting me, ye are wrong.” She burrowed into the bed, and her head tilted into the hand that had lingered at her temple. “The me without ye is more vulnerable than the me with ye by my side.”

They were sweet words, but she didn’t know what she was saying in her defenseless, drunken state. She didn’t know why she was better without him.

He picked up several curls that were draped across her neck and brought them to his nose. She smelled of fresh air after a storm. He wanted to soak in the scent of her so he would never forget.

If he weren’t so tainted, maybe he could ask Lachlan for permission to marry her, but he had felt the rage inside, had even felt it tonight as he’d seen her dance with Hamish. He was like his father, and she wasn’t safe around him.

He started to reply but her eyes were closed. He gently placed her hair on the pillow and got up to walk out. He cursed when he looked at the door. If he left, he couldn’t bolt it. He returned to the bed.

“Kirstie.” No answer. He tried again, softly shaking her shoulder. “Kirstie.” She still didn’t wake.

Pulling the chair to the side of the bed so he could watch her, he settled in. It wasn’t long before Blair showed, but in that time, he had come to a conclusion. He had to keep his distance, because everything about Kirstie tempted him. He was too close to giving in to the urge he had to hold her and never let her go. But it was a selfishness he couldn’t afford. That’s how his mother had died.