Highland Temptation (Highland Pride) Page 2

  “Yes. A unified Scotland is a better Scotland.”

  “Aye. I’ll drink to that.” Alan didn’t drink, and his vision of a unified Scotland didn’t include the Covenanters forcing their beliefs on others. His was more of tolerance.

  Hamish nodded and smiled, his shoulders relaxing a bit.

  “After the lady retires for the evening, would you like to accompany me to The Full Cask? It’s in walking distance and serves the best ale in Edinburgh.”

  “Aye, I could use a good drink after the long journey here,” he lied again.

  Kirstie broke in, “Hamish, this is my brother Malcolm.”

  Alan attempted to seem cross, knowing how important it was that they be seen as enemies.

  Backing farther away, he eyed Kirstie’s ringlets bob as she turned her head. The deep chestnut curls had grown, and she wore it pulled back at her temples while the rest fell like unruly waves to her waist, beckoning to him. He wanted to touch one of the spirals to see if it was as soft as it looked.

  He shook his head. This was Kirstie, Lachlan’s little sister. She’d changed. On top of that, instead of following him with those blue eyes like she always had at Kentillie, she studiously avoided his gaze and turned her attentions to the man he was quickly developing an irrational loathing toward. He didn’t know why, but it annoyed him that she was no longer infatuated with him.

  What the hell was he thinking? He blinked and turned his attention back to his target. And what was she doing dancing with the enemy, anyway?

  A tall, sturdily built man with a regal bearing approached Kirstie. “May I have this dance, Ms. Cameron?”

  “Aye, Mister Campbell, but I must warn ye. I am no the picture of grace.” She smiled, and her dimples peeked at the man.

  Why did she even ken a Campbell?

  “’Tis perfect. ’Twill give me the opportunity to hold ye close and keep ye safe.”

  Alan’s breathing became quicker. Was she flirting, and with a Campbell no less? They were sworn enemies to the Royalist cause and her clan. And was the man eyeing her breasts? Alan was going to have a talk with her about her lack of judgment and putting on some proper clothing.

  A short blonde lass appeared by Malcolm’s side and drew him in for a hug. He overheard snippets of the conversation as Kirstie was whisked out to dance with another Covenanter. If Lachlan were here, he’d tell his laird to bend the lass over his knee.

  Hell, he might do it himself.

  “When did ye and Kirstie get here?” Malcolm asked.

  The lass must be Blair Macnab. That was the problem—the Macnab was a Covenanter. And it explained why Kirstie was consorting with the enemy; she’d been allowed to live with them. Lachlan should never have let her go to stay with that set of cousins.

  Blair and Malcolm continued to talk, but Alan lost track of the conversation. His eyes had focused on the Campbell with his arms wrapped around Kirstie. The brute was entirely too close, and he vowed to find out who the man was.

  Beside him, Hamish watched Kirstie’s partner intently as they sashayed around. The weasel’s face remained passive and unreadable, the clenched fists and white knuckles at the man’s side the only clue that something ominous lurked beneath the surface.

  She laughed and said something, then smiled and looked down to concentrate on her steps. The unknown Campbell’s eyes focused on Kirstie’s chest as if she were thick, creamy custard to lick from a spoon. She seemed unaware, or worse yet, not bothered by the arse’s perusal of her ample bosom.

  Did she even ken what kind of effect she had on the arse?

  The man beside him still didn’t express anger, but his fists pounded on the side of his leg. Hell, did she ken what kind of effect she had on Hamish?

  “And ye must be Alan.” Blair’s high voice cut into his thoughts. She was a pretty lass, probably a year or so younger than Kirstie.

  “Aye, ’tis a pleasure to finally meet ye, Blair.”

  Who was this lass Kirstie had given up Kentillie for? He’d often wandered through the stables and wondered why she would leave her home.

  He had never been asked to accompany Lachlan or the rest of the Cameron family when they had gone to visit Kirstie, and the couple times she’d come home, he’d been with his cousin on the Isle of Skye. He had never before acknowledged the part of him that felt the loss of Kirstie’s presence, a lass he’d always considered a sister.

  “Ye are as handsome as Kirstie said, but ye are much larger than I expected.”

  She said I was handsome?

  Blair studied him with a mischievous glint in her eyes that seemed to indicate she was privy to secrets he knew nothing about.

  “Has she filled yer ears with me, then?” At one time, Kirstie had followed him around with stars in her eyes, a silly childish infatuation. It had been flattering at the time, but now he stilled and swallowed waiting on Blair’s response. The girl bit her lip then looked down.

  “Nae, only when she first came to live with me.”

  Hamish, who had been watching silently, pretending to observe the conversation, broke in, “Mackenzie.” He almost didn’t realize the man was speaking to him until he remembered his reason for using the name he’d been born to, a name that invoked anger and rejection.

  “Aye.”

  “I must be off. Will you join us tonight at the pub?”

  “Aye, I look forward to trying some of Edinburgh’s brew.” He attempted to look enthusiastic.

  The Covenanter gave a curt nod and turned to go.

  Losing sight of Kirstie, he swiveled to follow Hamish’s movements as the conversation between Blair and Malcolm continued. He was barely aware of what was being said when he saw the Covenanter approach a man wearing a gaudy yellow military-style coat.

  It was the captain of dragoons of the English Parliamentary army and an Anti-Royalist. The two men headed for the door together. Yes, Alan would be meeting with the right crowd tonight. If he could pull this off, in the morning they would think he was one of them.

  When he glanced back, Kirstie was standing next to Blair. But the vision before him was not the lass he remembered. Cheeks flushed a warm pink, she was winded, and a sudden wave of irritation that he’d not been the one to make her look so ravishing gnawed at him. It was irrational.

  “I need to get some air,” she said, looking at Malcolm, but he took the opportunity and jumped in to answer her.

  “I could use some time under the stars. ’Tis stuffy in here.”

  Despite the disapproval in her gaze, he took her arm before she could utter an objection and hastened toward the door. He might be able to see where Hamish and the army captain were headed if they made good time. Afraid he might lose sight of them, he took the most direct route, straight through a throng of guests, dragging Kirstie behind him.

  “Alan,” she protested as she tried to pull free from his grip, but he ignored her as his prey disappeared then reappeared again.

  When they reached the door, he scanned the courtyard. Kirstie jerked free of his grasp as he looked down the corridors, to the left and right, then across the open space. People loitered, but there was no sign of the yellow jacket.

  Hell, they’d been too late. If she hadn’t fought him, they may have made it. He turned his frustration on her. “Ye didnae need to…” He stopped when he saw her face.

  The courtyard was well lit with sconces, and the full moon shone high and bright. Kirstie’s smooth golden skin had turned green. She was standing by—no, leaning against—the wall as she held a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her breaths were rapid and unsteady.

  His hand rose and stroked her cheek. “Are ye going to be sick?”

  She froze and then flinched back as if his touch burned her. Then she moved to put more space between them. “Ye have no right.”

  Her long curls bounced rebelliously as she fisted her hands on her hips. The candle caught her eyes in a way that turned the blue darker; a glimpse of a spark of anger bubbled to the surface o
f their mysterious depths. Her shoulders were held high, which not only made her look like a conquering goddess in the moonlight, but pushed her chest up for his display. He licked his lips. His gaze dropped to take in her small waist and large hips. They were just asking for a man’s hands—no, his hands—to hold them and pull her down on top.

  What the hell was he thinking? Breathing in sharply, he gulped.

  Her dress left little to the imagination. He’d never noticed her figure back home at Kentillie when she’d worn a plaid draped over her shoulders.

  When had the little doe-eyed brat who used to follow him everywhere turned into a woman? And why was he having this reaction to her?

  She was forbidden.

  He’d never risk harming her in any way. Her family had taken him in when he had no one else. Lachlan and he had sworn oaths to each other. Where was his honor?

  He beat back whatever he was feeling. It belonged locked away in a box he couldn’t get to—there were enough complications and risk in his plan already. The less Kirstie was involved, the better. Her brothers were already in danger. He couldn’t think of protecting them if he was distracted by her.

  “Ye and Blair should leave Edinburgh.”

  “Are ye mad? I amnnae going anywhere.” Her head jerked angrily. The defiant stance made him want to wrap his arms around her and cart her off. He stepped closer but didn’t risk touching her. She didn’t back down.

  “Edinburgh isnae safe.” He spoke in a quieter tone and enunciated each word slowly as he clenched his plaid to keep his hands from reaching out to shake her.

  “Nae, ’tis being around ye that isnae safe.” Her haughty tone seemed to indicate any childish feelings she’d had for him were long forgotten. He sighed. The knowledge should have made him happy.

  Lightening his tone, he motioned toward the door. “Come, I’ll take ye back inside.”

  “Nae, ’tis time I return to my chamber. I dinnae wish to go back in there.” He almost missed the tiny shudder that ran through her.

  “Then I will escort ye back to yer room. Ye shouldnae be alone.”

  She pursed her lips and studied him then nodded agreement. “We are in the east wing.”

  They fell into step together as they strolled silently through the courtyard. As they took the stairs, Kirstie’s foot must have caught on her dress, because she pitched and careened toward the stone. His arm was able to catch hers before she hit, and they stood there a moment, as if they’d both been rattled by the contact.

  “Thank ye,” she said, and if it had not been so dark, he was certain a blush would be on her face.

  For some reason, it made him smile. “Ye will have to watch yer step in the dark.”

  “Nae, ’tis this silly dress. They are made so long that steps are impossible to navigate.”

  She ran her hands down the length of her skirts, taking the material and pulling it up, then stilled and looked at him with questioning brows. He felt a tightness in his chest as he stared back.

  Her eyes darted to his hand. She was waiting for him to let go of her arm. Forcing his fingers to loosen, he let his hand fall limp to his side.

  “How is Maggie?” she asked as she started up the steps again.

  He stayed a pace behind her. There was still a chance she might tip backward with all that material trailing behind her. “She is going to have the babe any moment. I have never seen yer brother so worried over something before.”

  “He’ll be a good father, and Maggie is so perfect. I’m glad they found each other.”

  “Aye, ’tis so easy to rile him up with her around.”

  They crested the top of the stairs, and she turned to the right. He followed, noting the lighting as they walked the hall. One of the sconces was out. She walked past not noticing, but he found himself scanning the shadows.

  It was too easy for someone to hide in the dark.

  He’d have to have someone take care of it. There was no reason to think she was in danger, but since her brothers weren’t with her, the responsibility fell to him to be certain she was safe.

  After stopping in front of a door, she turned to him. She looked timid, like a cautious cat. It was quite a change from the tiger he’d seen just a few moments earlier with claws drawn, ready to strike. This demure side of her was just as appealing as the fiery one. He found himself leaning in and trying to read those soulful, mysterious eyes.

  She sank back into the doorway. “Will ye be certain Malcolm gets Blair to the room? I amnae sure where her brother has run off to, but she shouldnae walk back alone.”

  “Aye, ’tis no’ safe for any lass to be roaming these halls alone. Too many men drinking.” The words reminded him, he couldn’t be seen with Malcolm, so he’d have to ensure Kirstie’s friend had another escort, because he’d be pretending to be one of the men indulging in spirits shortly. She said nothing. “Be sure to bolt the door, kitten.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and a flash of something unreadable hinted at hidden currents that lay buried beneath a calm facade. If he’d not been like a brother to her since she was but a wee thing, he would think she was afraid of him. What had possessed him to call her kitten?

  She fumbled behind her back then pushed the door in and silently took a step backward. He didn’t move. “Good night, Alan. ’Twas nice to see ye.”

  It was the first kind thing she’d said to him. Some pent-up dam of emotions cracked inside and relieved a pressure he was only vaguely aware of. He was able to breathe a little easier, but then a memory of the last time he’d seen her crept in unwanted.

  The hurt on her face that day had been a source of guilt for years. He squashed it down because there was nothing he could have done differently. He still wouldn’t change the past even if it were possible. He’d done what he had to.

  “Sleep well. Dinnae forget to bolt the door.” She disappeared into the dark room, closing the door without looking back at him. He stood there until he heard the lock click in place.

  He headed back to the great hall to ensure John Macnab was present to take care of Blair. Not knowing the man and unable to find the lass’s brother, he escorted her back himself.

  Then he would be on his way out of the castle and down the hill to The Full Cask to become one of the enemy.

  Chapter Three

  Kirstie leaned against the back of the door as she fought to control her pounding heart. Her hand touched her cheek where his had so tenderly caressed it.

  Damn him.

  He’d touched her arm, too. It still tingled where his bare skin had warmed hers.

  Damn me for being such a fool. He never wanted me and never will.

  Then why did his touch still affect her so?

  Alan had called her kitten. No one had ever called her kitten. He had never called her anything but Kirstie or brat. She preferred brat; at least that wasn’t confusing.

  Had she imagined the interest in his eyes?

  She was going daft. All the time and distance between them had dulled her desire to be near him, but if he touched her again, she was afraid her silly, childish infatuation would return.

  Why had she insisted on coming to Edinburgh? She hated crowded places, and this had to be one of the worst. And she should have known her brothers wouldn’t have left home without Alan. Now, despite her desire to be anywhere else, she had to be here.

  But she knew well why she had insisted on accompanying Blair’s family. Her friend Isobel, a member of the Royalist Resistance, had warned her that the Royalist lairds in attendance at the upcoming meeting in Edinburgh were at risk and that the Resistance was working to quell a plot to murder them all. She’d expected Isobel to make an appearance this week, but so far, there was no sign of her.

  Tamping down her besotted childish dreams to be with her brother’s closest friend, she shook her head. The soul-crushing fact was he saw her as nothing more than a little sister. It was the furthest thing from what she had felt, and if she wasn’t careful, those feelings she thought long ago gone
might awaken. She was the worst kind of fool.

  Alan was a complication she didn’t need or want. It would take all her strength to avoid him and the way her heart fluttered at the sight of his gray eyes. She had more pressing matters than a foolish infatuation. It was imperative she discover who was in on the plot to eliminate the lairds.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from the door. The sound of Alan’s boots echoing down the hall had faded, and the air returned to her lungs.

  The night had netted no evidence. Her attempt to get into Argyll’s room had been thwarted, and her dance with Niall Campbell had given no clues as to who wanted to murder her brother. She had put on the charm, too. He didn’t let anything slip, but he had become quite comfortable with her, even putting his hand dangerously high on her ribs, his fingers inching toward the underside of her breast. Twice, she’d had to physically pull his hand back to her waist. And he was unapologetic about it, the treacherous rogue, giving her a sly smile as if it were a game and he thought she was happily playing along. He would be dangerous.

  Sweet, unsuspecting Hamish had a viper’s nest of friends. She’d be happy when this business was over and she could return to her peaceful life in the Highlands with her horses. Maybe if Alan remained here a while, she could go to Kentillie to see Maggie and the babe. And Mother. She desperately missed her mother and her own room and the comforts of home, but she’d built a comfortable life at the Macnab’s, and now they depended on her.

  Pulling at the unfamiliar gown, she undressed as quickly as her fingers could fumble with the confining ribbons. The coolness of the night air was a balm that reminded her of home, and although the room was small, she felt as if she could finally take in a full breath. After removing her shift, she put on the thinner of the two night rails she had brought. As she sat on the bed, visions of Kentillie floated in her mind, just as they had a thousand times before.