The Accidental Highland Hero (The Highlanders #2)

Chapter Eight

“God’s wounds, Eilis,”

James’s growled close to her face as she lay on her mattress, his voice sounding far away, only his warm breath fanned across her hair as she attempted to recall what had just happened.

Her lashes fluttered, and in a dense fog, she saw James’s furrowed brow, the angry set of his mouth.

“Were you looking for me again?”

he asked, his voice gruff.

Her mind clearing, she shifted her attention from his brooding face to his bronzed chest, every muscle in his torso straining with tension. She looked further down, but his plaid brat now hung low on his hips. She imagined he must have carried her into her chamber after she fainted dead away then returned to his own room to throw on his brat before he came back to scold her. She licked her dry lips and swallowed hard, unable to lift her gaze and face his condemning expression.

Why did he have to be in his chamber? Naked?

“Eilis?”

“Aye,”

she said, her voice catching in her throat. He would know she was again attempting escape.

“If you wish to take the charade further…”

He let his words hang ominously in the tension strung out between them.

Her gaze shot up, her cheeks burning. “Nay.”

He cast her the most deliciously sexy, but decidedly wicked smile. “’Tis up to you, lass. Only give the word.”

Taking her hand, he lifted the palm to his lips. He pressed his mouth against her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “If you continue to venture into my chamber while I am in various states of undress, I will assume you wish to join me in my bed.”

The message was clear. Quit trying to escape through his chamber or else…

He traced her jaw with his fingers in a tender way, forcing a thrill through her. “Did you like what you saw?”

Before she could find her tongue, the door opened, and a female servant gasped. “Pray pardon, my laird. Tavia sent me to…”

She lowered her eyes. “…to watch over the lady.”

“She was momentarily indisposed. But I believe the color is returning to her pale cheeks. You may help her get ready for the meal, however, Nesta.”

“Aye, my laird.”

Nesta bobbed a curtsey then James disappeared into his chamber and shut the door.

Eilis still couldn’t catch her breath, her heart racing like the sea’s swift tide.

“You look flushed,”

Nesta said, tucking a wayward red curl back into her braid. “But then seeing His Lairdship…” The girl quit fussing with her kirtle, and her green eyes widened. “Oh, pray pardon. I meant no disrespect, my lady. Only I, well, seeing his Lairdship in only his plaid and naught else…”

Now Nesta’s face blossomed with color. “Let me dress you in a fresh gown, afore I say more than I ought to. Not than I have not already.”

Eilis gave a small smile, glad the woman could fill the silence, because she couldn’t summon her tongue to speak a word.

While the woman rebraided Eilis’s hair, Eilis sat quietly on the bench, her gaze fixed on James’s door, only she envisioned him, not the door, as she remembered the look of his unclothed body. If she were betrothed, she hoped the man would look like James. Powerful shoulders and muscular arms strong enough to wield a sword against his enemies and carry a damsel in peril to safety, a bronzed chest furred lightly in dark hair trailing to the apex of his thighs. She thought he had large feet that suited the rest of his form, but she couldn’t be sure because of the staff he carried between his legs. ‘Twas as beautiful as the rest of him.

“…but Lady Beatrice is Laird MacNeill’s da’s sister, and she and his da never got along. His father was a rake, left his mother all on her own to raise the four boys and her nephew, Niall, when his parents died,”

Nesta continued, and Eilis realized the lady had been talking the whole while, but she’d missed quite a bit of the conversation. The lady didn’t seem to notice.

“I have to say, Lady Akira is anxious to get His Lairdship married off so he will provide an heir, but I do not believe Lady Beatrice’s arrival was planned and not even Lady Akira, who is always very gracious, seems at all pleased. I can see…”

Footsteps sounded down the hall, drawing closer and closer then stopped before the door. A muffled voice spoke to someone, most likely James speaking with Fergus. Would he tell him Eilis was not to be trusted as she continued to attempt to escape through his chamber?

“We all know His Lairdship is interested in Lady Catriona, but she will surely be upset when she sees you have her room,”

Nesta said.

“She has stayed here before?”

Eilis asked, unable to hide her surprise. The rake! He had already been with Catriona? What need had he of Eilis then? If he was as good a lover as she assumed he was the way he charmed her without even trying, the woman would join him in his bed or he in hers, and Eilis had no need to be here.

The realization that Catriona had been here before in the chamber adjoining the laird’s could mean only one thing. James had access to Eilis just as easily as he had to Catriona. Not that there was any cause for concern since Eilis was being chaperoned nearly all of the time, and the only times she had intruded on His Lairdship’s chamber was with the mission of escaping. But Catriona would not know it and would be incensed.

Someone knocked on the door.

Eilis jumped.

“Aye, Lady Catriona has been here several times,”

Nesta said then hurried to get the door. “My laird.” She bobbed a curtsy.

“Is Eilis ready?”

James asked, his tone abrupt.

“Aye, my laird,”

Nesta said.

She opened the door wider, and Eilis rose from the bench. She raised her chin and challenged his smug smile, saw his eyes bright with humor. He must not have been angered with her then. Although the look in his eyes indicated his thoughts were still on their bedchamber encounter. Discomfited anew, she felt her skin heat.

Joining him, she rested her hand on his arm with a feather-light touch then walked with him to the great hall, but she feared the meal would not digest properly. Not only because of the realization James had a more than distant relationship with Catriona, although why it should have mattered she couldn’t fathom. But once his cousin saw the way James treated Eilis with fondness, she feared the lady would not take it well.

When they entered the hall, everyone grew quiet and greeted Laird MacNeill and cast speculating glances at Eilis. But ‘twas the icy stares Eilis received from James’s aunt and cousin that caused her the most discomfort.

Now that she could see a little more of the women, she noted Nighinn’s expression from the downturn of her lips to the narrowed blue eyes as frozen as the loch on a winter’s day. Dark hair was pulled back tight against her head, emphasizing full ruddy cheeks and the woman’s nose three sizes too small for her face. Her saving grace was her startling blue eyes, if they weren’t so condemning.

Her mother looked similar—except she was taller and broader. But both wore gowns befitting royalty. Mayhap to impress James and his people?

When Eilis discretely looked away from James’s aunt and cousin, she saw Nesta speaking with three women, which garnered her immediate attention. She couldn’t be telling them what she’d seen transpire between Eilis and James. Could she?

The ladies turned to observe James and her, their eyes wide, brows raised. Eilis felt as if she’d been slaving over a cauldron of boiling beef all day. The women turned to talk to others and surprised expressions filled faces all along the table then small smiles accompanied the news. Before long, the word began spreading from table to table. Eilis was certain the news would cover the farthest reaches of the MacNeill’s land before everyone retired for the eve, that James was found half-naked with Eilis in the guest chamber, and he had undoubtedly bedded the lass.

If she could have enjoyed the experience at least that would be something, but to be innocent and presumed wanton… She glanced at James and found him enjoying his new notoriety. She quickly pulled her hand from his arm and sat at the head table beside him. Which thankfully blocked her view of Nighinn whose very glare threatened to slice Eilis in two.

“Who is she?”

Nighinn spat.

The woman’s shrewish words were not the way to a man’s heart, Eilis thought.

“She is Eilis McLennan of Glen Affric.”

So James did not wish to let his cousin know she was a MacNeill also, although she was not truly one of his distant kin, she didn’t think.

“What is she doing here?”

“Visiting much the same as you are, Nighinn.”

He buttered a slice of bread and smiled at Eilis.

But she couldn’t shake loose the notion that the days would progress badly if his cousin stayed here for very long.

“She looks pale and thin. She is not ill, is she?”

Nighinn asked, her voice haughty.

James glanced at Eilis and quirked a brow, his mouth turning up at the same time. “Nay, her cheeks are quite rosy.”

“A fever?”

Nighinn quickly responded, implying Eilis should be whisked away from the table at once.

He smiled at Eilis, and aye, the feverish way her body felt grew even hotter. But then her embarrassment turned to anger that the ruddy-cheeked cousin would attempt to intimidate her. Eilis would leave before long, but she could play His Lairdship’s game just fine.

James reached for his goblet, and Eilis touched his hand with a tender caress. “’Twas kind of you to take care of me when I became indisposed.”

His brows shot up at her forwardness in front of his people. But then a sinister glint appeared in his dark eyes. He leaned over, and his mead-flavored breath caressed her ear. “You will not leave here until I command it, lass. I am verra well aware of your maneuvers.”

Not expecting that kind of a response, she scowled back at him.

He took her hand and pressed his lips to the tender skin at her wrist, making her breath hitch. He would be just like his father, she imagined, taking a wife, leaving her with a castle full of heirs, but finding his pleasure in other women’s arms at night.

“Your thoughts, Eilis?”

he asked for her ears only.

She took a deep breath. “Nesta will have told all your people what she saw.”

“Nay,”

he said, with a devilish smirk.

“Aye. She has already told the ladies closest to her, and the word is spreading.”

Nesta was again speaking at the lower table to one of the women while two others leaned in to hear what she had to say. Eilis imagined ‘twas not good. The women sitting close to Nesta had wide-eyed expressions as they shot looks James’s and Eilis’s way. What more could Nesta be saying? ‘Twas Eilis’s misfortune that Nesta had come to serve her at such an inopportune time.

James patted Eilis’s hand, which did not go unnoticed by many of James’s people. “Nesta is a great weaver of tales. I assure you, she will elaborate much more, and the story will grow into an epic tale.”

Groaning inwardly, Eilis drank several gulps of her mead. “You are trying to shame me.”

“I am not the one who barged into your chamber whilst you were naked, lass. When you fainted, what choice had I but to catch you and carry you back to your bed? Of course, I donned my plaid before I woke you, worried that had I not worn it, you might faint again.”

He grinned as the heat returned to her face. “Did you like what you saw?”

She tried to gather her composure to appear unaffected, although the way her cheeks burned, her efforts were in vain. “I have naught to compare you with. I imagine every man is the same as any other.”

James laughed out loud.

Nighinn leaned over to James and said something Eilis didn’t hear, but it was Eanruig’s arrival that caused her heart to stand still. He looked at James, nodded then smiled at Eilis with smug satisfaction.

In that instant, she knew he had found out who she was, and although she wanted to bolt, James must have surmised as much and clamped his hand around her wrist.

“Appears we may have some news, lass. Mayhap even good.”

She knew deep in her heart the news could not be good. She felt it with the tightening of her muscles, with the skittering of her heart, and the way her mind sorted through options. Escape remained the only alternative to her way of thinking.

But for now, she stiffened her back, waiting to hear who she was and dreaded learning the truth.

****

Dougald MacNeill drank some more of the wormy gruel, knowing he needed any sustenance he could get if he was to keep his strength in the Dunbarton’s dungeon and ultimately make his escape. He had no intention of being bartered for ransom.

The dark, dank place smelled of human waste, although Dougald thought he was becoming accustomed to the stench because it didn’t seem quite so odorous. Now that his eye was less swollen and his head pained him a wee bit less, he considered his surroundings.

Groundwater seeped through the stone walls covered in green moss, and the air was cold and damp. Chill bumps covered his bare skin. A sliver of light from a barred window high above and the torches flickering in the hall outside the cell kept the tiny room shadowed in gloom. He devoured the rest of his gruel, angered that a battle-hardened warrior and not a sweet lassie had delivered the putrid tasting stuff.

“Have you come up with a plan yet?”

Gunnolf grumbled from his cell across the hall. “I will be laid to waste if I have to endure another bowl of this slop.”

“I am still attempting to remove the chains from my—”

The door creaked open down the hall, and Dougald waited, the tension building in his muscles as he prepared himself to spring on anyone who might get near him. If he didn’t attempt escape soon, he feared he’d be too weak.

The telltale light footfalls of a lassie taking one step, then another, made him smile. And he knew Gunnolf would be grinning his fool head off.

When the small lass finally appeared before Dougald’s cell, he swore a golden halo radiated above her dark curls. Wearing a brown woolen kirtle, she looked like she served on Dunbarton’s staff. But doe-like eyes betrayed fear and intrigue.

“Lass,”

he whispered, hoping his voice would shake her from the way her dark eyes devoured his nakedness.

Her eyes shot up, caught his, then her hands shook as she fumbled with a key in the lock. She trembled so hard, he feared she’d never get the lock open before she was caught. But then as if deciding it was now or never, she managed, yanked the lock free, and rushed across the floor to join him. She attempted to unlock the manacles around his wrists and ankles, her hands shaking just as hard as before while her silky hair tickled his chest.

Slightly built, pretty of face, and smelling of sweet waters, the maid was truly a heavenly apparition.

Once she freed him, he tossed the chains aside and took her wrist, then led her to Gunnolf’s cell in a rush. But she shook her head. “Not him.”

“Aye. He will come with me. I will not leave him behind.”

Dougald took the keys from her and freed his friend. “What is the plan, lass?” At least he hoped she had a plan if she’d made it this far without being stopped.

“I will lead you out of the castle while Laird Dunbarton is having a grand feast in celebrating your capture. But I can do no more for you. You will have a long way to travel on foot.”

“Without clothes or weapons?”

Dougald asked.

She looked up from his nudity and pointed to a bundle on the floor. “Some of the servants’ clothes. They are not much but will have to do.”

They grabbed the bundle of the mended and tattered woolen garments and shoved them on while the lass watched for signs of trouble.

“What about the guards?”

“Sleeping. I know a potion or two.”

“Your name, lass?”

“Allison,”

she said. “Speak not from here on out. We must be silent.”

Dougald kept feeling it was some kind of trick, and the shared look Gunnolf gave him assured him he felt as uneasy. But no one gave them a second glance while busily imbibing ale, laughing and joking about capturing the MacNeill and Viking as Dougald, Gunnolf, and the lass hastened out of the keep into the inner bailey. They quickly made their way to the outer bailey, and once they were beyond the curtain wall, he and Gunnolf were free men. He glanced over his shoulder, but before he could thank the lass, Allison had disappeared back inside.

Not wanting to alert anyone, they stalked through the grass, wanting to run, but quelling the urge as they made their way west toward Castle Craigly. In the distance, the ancient forest loomed and would provide them relative safety if they could reach it in time. With a lot of luck, they would arrive on the MacNeill land by midday tomorrow.

Shouts from the wall walk made Dougald’s heart race even harder. Forced to sprint for the forest, he prayed they had not been sighted so soon and that the agitated yelling was for some other reason having naught to do with Dougald and Gunnolf’s escape.