Her Enemy Highlander

Chapter One

Scotland—September 1296

Mairead Buchanan tried to calm her heart and failed. She didn’t even know why she tried. She knew it wasn’t possible. It had been pounding like this for over a fortnight and now it was only worse. Inside her thumping heart, grief clawed sharp.

But she didn’t have time for grief, didn’t have time to be reasonable, or to think. She was about to break; she just needed to do.

This nightmare had to end. And here, tonight, where she stood observing the shadows of a disreputable inn and freezing in the night’s damp cold, it would.

The candles on the inn’s ground floor were finally extinguished. The windows were black; the main shutters were closed. Not even a woman laughing in the distance marred the soft rustling of the night breeze. It was late; it was time.

Yet even now she fought what she had to do. Even now, she wanted to shake herself, to run in circles like a madwoman trying to escape what she had seen, what she had done. What she could not ever repair. Her brother, Ailbert, collapsing to the ground. His eyes going vacant, losing their sight. She clenched her eyes shut. Grief clawed. She clawed back.

It wouldn’t do to think of Ailbert now. Her anger or her pain. She must still her heart and retrieve what was stolen from him. It was the only way to save her family from Ailbert’s recklessness. If she didn’t retrieve the priceless dagger, the laird would certainly punish her family.

Scotland was being ravaged by war and conflict. Her mother and sisters would never survive the humiliation or the certain banishment from the clan. Without the clan, there was nothing to protect them from the English. They had nowhere else to go. No other family to turn to.

For her family’s sake, she followed Ailbert’s murderer to the inn. The man had actually paid for a room. Had probably eaten his fill and was now sleeping soundly. Ordinary actions her brother would never do again. Fury swamped Mairead’s grief and she welcomed it. Grief and desperation consumed her, but only anger would get her through this night.

Looking over her shoulder and into the gloom of the evening, she took a big breath. There was no one behind her and she had had enough of waiting.

Silencing her breath, she opened the door and let herself in. It was darker than she imagined; the shadows blanketed furniture and walls. It was unnaturally quiet and she concentrated on the sounds she could hear. The hammering of her heart, the air as it left her body, the creak of the boards as the night wind buffeted the old building.

Nothing else.

Swiftly and nimbly, she weaved through the benches and trestles on her way to the stairs. She wasn’t certain which room the murderer occupied, but she’d give herself no more than an hour to search the rooms for the stolen dagger. Any more time and travellers would be likely to stir.

She had to have—no, needed that dagger. She’d lie and steal if she had to. She’d even go into strangers’ rooms and risk her life. The dagger’s large handle was made of finely decorated polished silver and was inset with two rubies. If she could sell it, like Ailbert had intended, the debt he’d incurred could be repaid. Everything would not be lost by his reckless gambling and then, only then, could she grieve.

Walking down the small hallway, she stopped at the first door and eased the heavy iron latch open, only to find the room empty. Gently closing the door, she peered over her shoulder. She was alone.

Mairead crept to the next room and winced as the door clicked loudly. A narrow window on the opposite wall provided the light needed to illuminate an occupied bed.

From the size and shape of the lump, it looked to be a man. Her brother’s murderer was large and this man looked large, but she couldn’t tell whether the bed linens gave him the breadth or if it was the man himself.

Reminding herself she needed the bed occupied, she released her breath and entered the room. Clothes were strewn over a stool at the foot of the bed. A pair of boots sat nearby. Perhaps the dagger was here. Grateful that the floorboards did not squeak, she knelt on the floor.

The dim embers in the fireplace provided little light, but the unshuttered window gave plenty. His clothing consisted of a cloak, braies, dark leggings, a whitish tunic, boots and a pouch.

The man in the bed was naked.

The bed creaked as the man shifted and gave out a heavy breath. Mairead tensed, ready to run, until he stilled.

Her heart wasn’t so accommodating and continued to hammer in her chest. Trying to steady her nerves, she continued her search, but her fingers trembled as she felt along his boots. There was no dagger placed deep in the feet. Careful of the attached belt, she pulled the pouch off the stool and on to her lap. A slight jangle of coins made her jump, but the man remained still. The bed linens continued to rise and fall with each steady breath.

Not bothering to open the pouch, she felt along the fine leather. No dagger. She felt the tunic, the braies and the thin leather leggings. Nothing. That left the cloak.

Gathering it in both hands, she was instantly aware of the fine soft wool. Never having felt such a cloth before she reveled in its feel as she pulled on the immense amount of fabric. The stool upended, and she made a grab for it. Too late. It fell with a dull thud to the floor. The man’s deep breathing stopped abruptly.

She froze.

‘Who’s there?’

His rough voice commanded the little room. She didn’t answer. Maybe it was too dark for him to see. Maybe if she didn’t make a noise he’d go back to sleep.

The man rose in a half incline. Though she willed her body to remain still, slight tremors began in her legs and arms. If possible, her breathing grew louder.

The bed linens did not make him look large. He was large. His chest was bare of any ornament. She could not see the texture of his skin, but could see the ripples and curves of deeply embedded muscles coursing from his wide shoulders down his arms. His long loose hair gave his dark face a wild and untamed look. The rest of him was partially concealed by the bed linens, but not the glint of steel he held in his hand. This was a man who slept with weapons.

‘If you...think I cannot see you, you forget you sit within the light of the window.’

This was not the murderer. His voice was too calmly masculine, too reverberating, too...slurred. He was drunk!

Relief skittered through her. Thinking only of slow responses from a drunken man, she leapt for the door.

Her eyes did not register the blade flying past her arm. But she heard the sharp slice it made in the oak door, mere inches from her outstretched hand.

Chapter Two

Mairead’s hand froze along with the rest of her body. But her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to focus and comprehend.

Had he thrown a dagger towards her? She peered closer. It was only a small boot blade, and not the dagger she wanted.

What kind of man slept with a small blade and a sword in his bed? Her hand could have been cut, or worse, sliced in two!

She whirled around. ‘How could you throw a dagger at me?’

‘You’re a woman?’

‘Ach, of course I’m a woman. Even in this dim light you must see I’m wearing a gown!’

He made a noise, somewhere between a huff and a groan, as he shoved the linens away and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He was not just a large man, he was huge. He carried his sword loosely at his side. She didn’t care about his sword. She cared about his nakedness walking towards her.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

The dim light wasn’t going to hide him much longer. She could not only see the size and shape of him, but also—

He was magnificent. Just stunning. It was as if he reinterpreted everything she’d ever known about the opposite sex. There wasn’t a Buchanan man built like him. She didn’t even know men were made like this.

She couldn’t tell the colour of his hair or eyes, but the light did not hide the hard slant of sharp cheekbones, the bold line of a straight nose. And lips beautifully curved, shaped full underneath.

Her eyes didn’t want to blink. Her chest felt light and constricted at the same time. Her breath came in short gasps. Was she going to actually giggle?

He walked nearer. He was naked. Utterly naked.

Revealed to her were the defined curves of powerful shoulders and arms, the very masculine breadth of his chest, the fluid movement of muscles tapering slightly to a rippled stomach.

She should have turned away, but she couldn’t. Maybe it was the darkness making her bold. Maybe it was her impulsiveness, a trait her mother lamented, stopping any maidenly blushing. Or maybe she looked because she couldn’t help herself. Aye, that was it.

Her eyes dropped lower.

Her mouth became dry, her lips parched. Fearing her mouth hung open, she licked her lips, only to feel the moisture evaporate like all the thoughts in her head. Her legs suddenly felt like tall reeds of grass swaying in the wind. Try as she might, she could not lock her knees.

He growled, low, almost a purr except for the fact it was so masculine. So predatory. She didn’t know how to interpret the sound and couldn’t seem to look to his eyes for any help.

‘Do you like what you see?’ He set the sword against the bed. Her eyes thankfully followed the movement. But averting her eyes did not give her balance and she looked back up.

‘I like what I see.’ His eyes were too intense, too penetrating and held her immobile. ‘I like what I see very much.’

Where was her anger and fury? Gone. Just like her ability to move. He was so close to her, she felt the heat from his skin. Despite his nakedness, he smelled like warm leather, cold steel and a scent she had never encountered before. Something so tempting she inhaled it greedily.

His eyes continued to hold hers and she did not break that hold. So she felt rather than saw the caress of his fingers stroking from her temple, along her jawline to the cusp of her lower lip.

‘So-oo bonny even though you’re not talking,’ he purred. ‘Did my brother send you to me? Was that why you were by my bed?’ He cupped her chin, tilted her face up to his. ‘I didn’t think I’d have the strength for any lass this eve, but I’m glad to be proven wrong.’

Reeling, Mairead felt the heat of his hands as he seized the sides of her face. She tasted the ale warmth of his breath, the restrained caress of his fingertips as he brought her lips to his.

When he coaxed hers to part, when his tongue teased along their seam, she knew this was more than a kiss. It was something altogether different—just like the man.

He cradled her face, but it was neither his lips nor hands holding her captive. Instead, she was bound by the potency and response of her body against his.

He released their lips, only to draw her more fiercely against him. His arms wrapped low around her, his hands cupped and lifted. No longer on her feet, she was kept in balance by the breadth of his body and the strength of his hands and arms.

Then he tilted her head, exposing her neck to his lips, to his kisses.

Suddenly, she spiralled as desperation and anger returned to her, but now the emotions changed, turned darker, more volatile, wanting something else, something she didn’t understand even as her hands went to his shoulders. Her fingers tugged, kneaded, trying to draw the great bulk of his body closer to her.

He groaned, shifted. Not enough. Not nearly close enough. Mairead pulled harder and the next step he took made him stumble and bump her against the fireplace behind her.

The sharp jab of pain in her back and his gentle oath broke their contact, pulling her back to reality. And the reality was more painful than the fireplace, mortifying even.

She was kissing a man. A naked drunk man she didn’t know! Her eyes flitted from the door to the open shutters and back again. She looked anywhere but towards him. He had regained his balance, but his oath made her tingle and reel almost more than his kisses.

The room was dark. That fact was important, but she couldn’t remember why. The dagger!

He crooked a finger under her chin. ‘There now, where did you go?’ he teased.

His head was tilted down to catch her gaze. His eyes were still dark with desire, but amusement made them sparkle. He was pure masculine temptation and completely focused on her. What was she doing?

She had to make a run for it, but it wouldn’t be easy. He was a large man with a sword. There would be no reasoning with him. The only advantage she had was surprise and his nakedness. Her eyes shifted to the door again.

His eyes narrowed and he straightened cautiously. ‘You’re not going away...now are you, lass?’

‘There’s been a mistake,’ she said, her voice unsteady, just like her thoughts. ‘I’m...in the wrong room.’

Though he didn’t move any closer to her, and his caress on her neck was light, she wasn’t free of him.

‘There’s been nae mistake. You came to my room. You let me kiss you.’ His fingers made gentle circles, skimming down her neck to her shoulders and back up. ‘And before I was clumsy, you wanted me to kiss you...more.’

So true. All so confusingly true, but she needed the dagger, not this man who caused her to want to go and stay at the same time. How was this possible? How could she be here like this?

‘I mean nae harm,’ she said, willing her heart to stop fluttering inside her chest so she could concentrate. She was Buchanan, lying was her greatest skill. But she’d never be convincing if she was trembling with this need.

‘I have to go,’ she continued, pleased her voice was growing steady. ‘My friend will be looking for me.’

‘A friend?’ He snatched his hand away and his brows drew together. ‘A male friend?’ The tempting mouth turned fierce. The change was so sudden it would have been comical, if not for the fact he looked a bit frightening.

‘You’re here with a friend?’ he said, the last word a growl. ‘My brother did not send you to me?’

There could be only one reason his brother would send a woman to his bedroom. If she’d had any modesty left, she would have blushed with embarrassment, not with desire as she thought of their kiss.

Shaking her head to dispel the images, she replied, ‘Nae, I doona know your brother.’

He pursed his lips. ‘A neglect of my brother and of mine. If I had seen you serving downstairs, I would have stopped my drinking to be with you. Do you belong to your friend for tonight only?’

‘Nae! I just need—’

He grew angrier. ‘You belong to him for life? You are married!’

Her mistakes just got worse and worse! She was either a whore, a cheating wife or she could tell him she was a thief. He now stood too close for her to escape or to think clearly.

‘Nae, nae,’ Mairead said. ‘I am not married. You doona understand. I entered this room by mistake.’

A wolfish grin replaced his frown, but it did not erase the traces of anger furrowing his brow. It was as if he was angry, frustrated and filled with some fierce determination all at the same time.

‘I may be slowed by drink, lass. But there is nae mistake you entered my room. You have been conjured by my very dreams.’

Her gestures were restricted by his presence looming over her. ‘I will blame it on the drink, but you are not getting my meaning. I’m not supposed to be here. I didn’t mean to kiss you. You must let me go.’

He shook his head as if he just didn’t understand. ‘It was my clumsiness startling you. Please forgive me.’

Inclining his head, he continued, ‘My name is Caird. I’m here celebrating my sister’s wedding you see, and I’ve done a bit too much of that celebrating. It’s made me clumsy on my feet, and in my manners.’

He smiled. ‘Or maybe I’m clumsy because a bonnie lass...with curly hair...entered my room. But I promise if you lie with me on that there bed, I won’t be a clumsy lover.’

With the tips of his fingers, he started caressing her skin again. Behind her ear, down the cords of her neck, then across her shoulder, then up again to repeat.

Caird. He had a name. Not so much a stranger any more and his fingertips were doing strange things to her again.

‘If you lie with me, I promise to be the most skilled lover who has ever taken you.’ His voice was a low purr of pleasure. ‘My lovemaking won’t be fast. Urgent, aye. But I’ll take my time with you, lass. I’ll make sure my body moulds to yours so you won’t feel the chill of the night’s air.’

She could feel the roughened surface of his fingers, the heat from the palm of his hand. She felt naked under his gaze.

‘My hands will caress you. With heat, my tongue will taste your breasts. Ah, to see them, to feel how they’ll tighten.’

His words seared through her. She should have been shocked or at least offended by his intimate words. But instead she was captivated. Enticed.

‘I’ll make you crave my hands and my mouth as I stroke across your stomach.’ He flattened his hand until his entire palm slid low at the base of her throat. ‘Your legs will spread and my mouth and hands will move lower still.’

He must have loosened her ties or her thin gown was no barrier to his ministrations. He was pushing her gown down from her shoulders. The bodice loosened above her breasts and the sensation of the air’s coolness was nothing in comparison to the heat of his hands. She parted her lips to let in more air and didn’t mistake the look of triumph in his eyes.

What was she doing?

‘Nae!’ Swiping her arms to break his contact, she ran to the door and wrenched it open.

Chapter Three

Blindly, Mairead entered the hall and rammed into a man heading towards the stairs. The impact knocked the wind from her and threw her back against the wall.

The man’s cloak loosened and his hood fell. She saw his face and the flash of a silver dagger tucked into a belt around his waist.

‘You!’ she cried.

Turning suddenly, the man took a moment to register who she was. His surprise held him still.

She found her tongue. ‘You thief! You murderer. Give me my—’

‘What’s going on here?’

Caird entered the hall. His loose tunic just covered him, but didn’t hide the sword he carried.

Mairead blinked. Had he grabbed the sword before or after she cried out?

The man adjusted his cloak. His eyes turned calculating. With Caird here, she didn’t know what to do. If she made accusations, the questions would be numerous. Kissing Caird didn’t mean she trusted him. The dagger was too valuable.

Even lunging for the dagger would be futile. She had no weapon with which to fight. At best she’d get hurt. At worst, killed.

Her plan of stealing the dagger and returning home was now impossible. Her hands were tied. By the look of the gleam in the man’s eyes, he had come to the same conclusion.

The man inclined his head; his lips a smirk. ‘Pardon, wench. I see you are already detained for this evening. I meant nae harm.’

‘What’s this!’ Caird indicated with his sword. ‘Is this your friend?’

Mairead didn’t even think. Caird seemed...uncontrolled. His stance widened, his tunic not covering the aggression and tightening of muscles in his legs. He looked like he was about to spring. Maybe she did have a weapon she could use. Her practised Buchanan lying would come in handy.

She nodded haughtily. ‘Aye, and now he leaves like a thief in the night.’

‘A thief?’ Caird looked at her closely. His eyes narrowed, his posture becoming even larger. ‘He’s ripped your gown!’

She looked down. Somewhere between Caird’s expert hands and the impact with the murderer, her well-worn gown had torn. Horrified, she frantically adjusted the thin strips of cloth covering her breasts. It was useless and she kept her hands across her chest.

The murderer sensed the change in the air and attempted to put up his hood. ‘I never touched the wench! This is all untoward; I bid you both goodnight.’

The swift whip of air was all she heard as Caird’s sword came up in front of the man. He could move, but only if he wanted to be cut in half.

‘She called you thief,’ Caird said. ‘Exactly what were you thieving?’

‘Nothing, the wench—’

‘Stop...calling her wench; she’s a lady compared to the likes of you.’

The man’s entire demeanour changed from umbrage to overly pleasing. He raised his hands, and shrugged his shoulders as if in defeat. ‘You are welcome to the lady. It was an accident. She bumped—’

‘It wasn’t an accident!’ she interrupted. Mairead wouldn’t let the man’s false humbleness ruin her only chance for retrieving the dagger. ‘This is the man I was to meet. But he saw me come from your room and in a rage he tore my gown!’

The man’s eyes widened in fright; if it wasn’t dark, she’d swear she saw sweat break over his brow. Even better, he looked guilty. Good, he should feel guilt. Especially since she was wishing him dead.

Caird’s sword sliced the cloak’s tie under the man’s chin. The cloak billowed to the ground, revealing her dagger and a sword strapped to his belt.

‘You need to apologise to the lady,’ Caird said.

‘But I didn’t—’

Another slight movement and this time the sword neatly slashed the man’s tunic. Right across his heart.

Mairead bit her lip to hide her reaction. Grief, desperation, anger...and now this?

Caird did everything she wished to do, but it wasn’t enough, not for what this man, this thief, had taken from her. She wanted to swipe the sword and slice the black heart of her brother’s killer.

The man’s eyes grew wide. There was no calculating gleam there now. His eyes darted to the sword, to Mairead and then to the staircase; his right hand visibly twitched. Was it because he feared Caird? She hoped so.

Being half-undressed didn’t make Caird look vulnerable. In fact, his well-muscled, well-trained body looked more formidable than the sword he held. She couldn’t believe she had curled her body around the man as if he was safe. Right now, he looked anything but safe.

A flash of movement.

‘The stairs!’ she yelled.

Caird