The temptation of a high.., p.12
The Temptation of a Highlander, page 12
part #3 of Midnight in Scotland Series
She scrambled backward. Spinning. Running. Slipping. Gripping the door latch. Thrusting. Slamming. Sprinting. Inside, she raced for the kitchen. The maids rushed forward with worried frowns as she struggled to catch her breath. “D-Daniel. Has he returned from his patrol?”
Jean and Abigail both shook their heads. “What is it?” Abigail asked. “What happened?”
“There was someone … on the ridge … watching the house. I think. I don’t know …” She rubbed her forehead. Was she going mad? Perhaps. But her heart still raced. Her skin still prickled a clanging alarm.
What if Northfield had done something to Daniel? What if he’d done something to …?
Panic surged. “Fergus.” She gripped Abigail’s arm. Shook it. “Oh, God. Where is Fergus?”
The round-faced maid tried to steady Clarissa, murmuring nonsense about staying calm.
“You don’t understand. He’ll hurt him. He’ll …” Her breath caught on a sob. She bolted for the scullery door, both maids calling after her. “Must find him.” She yanked it open and dashed outside, shouting toward the barn, “Fergus!”
From behind the barn, one of Campbell’s lanky farmhands emerged. He carried a weathered rifle. “Miss Meadows? What’s amiss?”
“Where is Daniel? And Fergus?”
He shot her a puzzled frown. “Is there trouble at the house—”
“Just tell me where they are!”
He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.
Before he could say another word, she hiked up her skirts and ran. She’d only gone a dozen feet when, from behind the barn, stalked a towering, glowering, mountainous male. Fergus trotted at his side. Daniel trailed behind them both.
Instantly, her heart flooded her body with bone-melting relief.
“Campbell.” It felt like a bellow but emerged as a sigh. She stumbled to a halt.
He crossed the yard with long, intimidating strides. Dark, flashing eyes locked upon her. “What’s wrong, lass?”
She didn’t think. She simply ran, stumbling at first then racing. She collided with him at full speed, requiring him to step back to absorb the impact. Her arms latched around his waist. Her face buried in his shirt. She breathed him in.
Steel bands wrapped around her back. A huge hand cupped her nape gently. His fingers were cold and so very, very welcome.
Heavens, he felt solid. Immense. Like shelter.
“Tell me what happened.”
“He—I thought I saw someone.” She burrowed into him, clinging harder. “I can’t be certain.” Breathlessly, she described the shadow and the sensation of being watched.
Campbell started to withdraw, but she clutched him with all ten fingers.
“No,” she gritted. “If it is him, he’ll try to hurt you.”
“If it’s him, he’s on my land,” came a deep, resolute rumble. Huge, strong hands cradled her jaw gently. “Ye must trust me.”
She gazed up at his hard, ferocious face, heart pounding. Aching. “P-please. Be careful.”
With stunning tenderness, he brushed his lips along her temple and set her away. “Daniel,” he said without looking away from her. “Take her and Fergus to the house. I’ll join ye soon.”
He claimed the worn rifle from his lanky farmhand and strode away.
She wanted to weep and scream and demand he stay with her. But she couldn’t. If Northfield was watching the house, if he had his gun with him, all of them were at risk.
Fergus nuzzled her palm. She patted his neck before she could stop herself.
They returned to the kitchen, where the maids halted their chatter the instant Clarissa entered. Likely they’d been gossiping about her mad ranting. Avoiding their wary, sympathetic gazes, she busied herself preparing meat scraps and pouring water for Fergus. Tense minutes passed while she gathered her composure.
Daniel sat beside her at the table. “I’m sorry I wasnae here when ye took a fright,” he said gently. “Fergus was playin’ hide-and-seek with a hare. Delayed our return a wee bit.”
She nodded, feeling utterly foolish for her earlier panic. Her hands shook as she placed Fergus’s bowls on the floor. The dog greedily lapped at the water, snuffling loudly. The need to wrap her arms around him and kiss him between those beautiful eyes seized her until she had to clutch the edge of the table to lock herself in place.
She squeezed it doubly hard when Campbell returned. “Did you find … anything?”
He raised a canvas knapsack like the one he’d carried day before last, only this one was dirtier. Then, he propped a shovel against the scullery wall. Finally, he dug a dingy wool cap from his pocket and hung the hat on the shovel’s handle. From inside the scullery doorway, a shamefaced farm hand mumbled an apology.
Campbell glared at the ruddy-flushed youth. “She cannae hear ye.”
The farm hand—Jamie was his name, as she recalled—cleared his throat with a rusty squeak. “Very sorry, Miss Meadows. I was diggin’ in that area and left my supplies near the rocks whilst I went for a … whilst I … ahem … that is—”
“He was havin’ a piss.” Campbell’s crushing glare never lifted from Jamie’s woebegone head. “He left the shovel propped against the stones with his cap on the handle. Would have resembled a man at a distance. Likely that’s what ye saw.”
Strangely, the tight knot in her stomach failed to unravel. She lowered her gaze to Fergus’s back then to her own hands. Her knuckles were bloodless. “It was my mistake,” she murmured. “I’m sorry to have troubled you all.”
The maids’ pitying silence merged with Fergus’s snuffling to form a mortifying hush. Clarissa’s cheeks burned. In brisk tones, Campbell sent Jamie and Daniel back outside to finish their work, then ordered her to follow him into the front room. Reluctantly, she did.
As usual, nervousness spurred her mouth into motion. “I—I wasn’t expecting you home so soon. Was your day … productive?”
A neutral grunt. He shrugged out of his heavy woolen coat and crossed to hang it by the front door.
“With so many responsibilities, both here and at the distillery, I’m surprised you find time to visit Rowan House with such frequency. Of course, the food there is lovely. I never considered that putting something Scottish in my mouth could be so pleasurable.”
He stilled while removing his hat, stiffened, then hung it on the hook.
“But pleasure it is,” she continued. “Hearty, substantial fare. Quite filling. Too much so, in all honesty. Having one’s body stuffed beyond its capacity may seem pleasurable in the frenzy of the moment, but it’s rarely worth the discomfort afterward.”
He ran a hand through damp, dark hair. With a roll of his shoulders, he moved to the fireplace and stabbed at the embers. Flames licked upward. Briefly, his gaze settled on the bird carvings. He frowned but held his silence.
She rushed onward. “Still, even for the sake of a delectable meal, riding all that way must be vexing. Forgive me, but Scottish weather is dreadful. I mean no insult, of course. English weather is also quite dreary. At Ellery Hall, I’ve been known to plead a headache when I wish to avoid a soaking ride.”
He cast her a dark, penetrating look and rolled his shoulders again.
She cleared her throat. “Perhaps your rides offer an exhilarating diversion. Today, I would have welcomed a pounding gallop, I daresay.”
He stared at her strangely, his gaze flickering over her bodice. Had she said something peculiar?
She smiled. “Of late, my schedule has been rather sparse, and it’s made me restless. Thankfully, Rannoch brought Grandmama for a visit.”
He ran a hand over his jaw. “Aye, I asked him to.”
“You did?”
He nodded.
“Oh. That was … kind of you.” Kind and unexpectedly thoughtful. Had he sensed how much she’d needed it? “Earlier, I was in the drive seeing everyone off, but I didn’t see you arrive.”
“No, ye wouldnae have. Most days, I take a shorter path along the burn.”
“Through the glen where we had our lesson?”
“Aye, the burn feeds MacPherson Distillery. Best water, best whisky.”
“I’d enjoy touring the distillery one day. Kate says—”
“Calm yerself, lass.”
She paused, noticing her breaths were fast and shallow. “I’m perfectly calm.”
Slowly, he moved closer. “Nah. Ye’re shakin’.”
She dropped her gaze. Her hands twisted together and trembled with a fine tension. She shook them loose and brushed at her skirt. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Clarissa.”
“Everything is perfectly fine.”
“Ye needn’t lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
He moved near enough that she could feel his heat. “Look at me.”
She shook her head and shifted away, wandering toward the fireplace. “I do hope you aren’t too vexed that I displayed your carvings.” She wadded the fine blue wool of her skirt then released it to brush away the wrinkles. Again. And again. “They’re magnificent creations. You should craft new ones and sell them.”
“I dinnae like that ye went outside without a guard.” His voice was lower. Closer. A raspy rumble. “But when ye saw a threat, ye raised the alarm and ran into the house. That’s the best thing ye could have done.”
Her mouth went dry. She scrambled to change the subject. “If you were accepting commissions, I would request an owl. Majestic birds. I watched you carve one shortly after I arrived at Rowan House. Whatever happened to it?”
His massive shadow blocked light from the window, surrounding her in heat and comforting darkness. “Dinnae be afraid, lass.”
“I’m fine.”
“Ye forgot ‘perfectly.’”
“Right. Perfectly fine.”
Silence intruded, punctuated by the fire’s faint crackle, the soft sighing of breath, and the wind’s distant groan. She felt his presence at her back, a wall of muscle, bone, and patience. “Ye’re safe here.”
She shook her head. Her heart thrashed to escape her chest.
“Aye. Ye are.” Enormous hands stroked from her shoulders to her elbows, squeezing gently, steadying her. “Anybody tries to hurt ye, he’ll have to kill me first. Whole armies have failed to do that.”
An unbearable ache bloomed inside her. Heat shimmered down to her thighs, out to her fingertips, and up into her breasts. What she wouldn’t give to turn in his arms and draw him into her kiss. What she wouldn’t give to claim him as her own.
“I’m such a fool,” she whispered to the raven.
“Nah. Ye’re fine,” he murmured, his breath tickling the wisps along her nape. “Finest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She froze. Had that been a compliment? Before she could ask, he moved away. She turned to see him bracing a hand beside the window, those broad shoulders stiff, one hand cupping the back of his neck as though in pain.
Swallowing hard, she flattened a hand over her middle and scrambled for another change of subject. “Do you prefer cauliflower or kale?”
He twisted to frown at her over his shoulder. “Why?”
“I’ve only one bed left in the garden. We can’t have them mingling. Consider the scandal.”
Silence. His mouth twisted into an unexpected curve. Abruptly, he hung his head and shook. Only after she heard deep, resonant chuckling did she realize what had happened.
She’d made him laugh.
Good heavens, it was like coaxing a great, beastly bear to roll over and let her scratch its belly. Pure exhilaration. She wanted more.
“By God, woman. I never ken what ye’ll say next.”
Happiness took her by storm. “What if Rakish Kale and Careless Cauliflower produced illicit offspring? We’d have hordes of deflowered Caulikale. Or bulbous, white Pale Kale. Could such an unholy abomination possibly belong in a civilized salad? I think not.”
He laughed harder.
She giggled, bouncing up on her toes.
“Cloistered Cauliflower it is, then.” He took a deep breath and shot her a glittering look. “Though, if ye add enough butter, even an abomination isnae too bad.”
Another dream came for Campbell later that night. First, he saw Isla, though she was obscured by mist this time, and he didn’t plunge underwater the way he’d done before. Instead, he stood beside a rocky shore while an owl hooted nearby.
“What in bluidy hell are ye tryin’ to say?” he called across the water. His voice was a muffled echo. “I’m done with yer silence. Do ye hear me? Show me somethin’ or leave me be!”
Dread swamped him in sticky, icy, sickening sweat. For a moment, he was slighter. Shorter. Confused. His mind flickered strangely from one thought to the next: A dead deer. A white shift. A pair of beautiful lips. An old mill. Darkness. Blood. Rage. Clarissa’s sunlit hair. Red flowers. A broken gate. A sheet on a line. A pair of crows. The scent of death.
Blackness and pain. Pain and blackness. Fear of losing her. Fear of what he might do to her.
Mustn’t lose her. Must have her. Own her. Punish her.
Sounds of water pulled Campbell’s mind free. An owl landed on a fence nearby. The bird’s head pivoted to stare at him with grim silence.
“Sweet bluidy Christ,” he rasped. “Was that Northfield?”
The bird didn’t answer. It lifted into the sky.
Daylight returned. The sun warmed his skin.
From behind him, a sweet, breathless voice carried across green, shorn grass. “I wondered if I’d see you here again.”
He closed his eyes and savored the scent of lavender. “I cannae help myself, love.”
She drew near. He turned, soaking in the pure pleasure of seeing her golden curls gleam. Those eyes shone like the sky. Lush lips smiled. Parted. She laughed, the sound of her happiness intoxicating. She ran into his arms as she’d done earlier that day—full speed, no holding back. Only this time, it wasn’t from fear.
In his dreams, she was free to want him, and he was free to touch her.
He gathered her close, holding her as tightly as he dared.
“Campbell,” she whispered, nuzzling his chest. “If you were mine, I’d spend hours on kissing alone.”
His chuckle turned into a groan when she slid her hands from his waist to his belly. “I’ve a feelin’ it wouldnae last that long, lass. One of us would break within minutes.”
“Yes. It doesn’t seem to matter how often you pleasure me; my appetite is never quite satisfied.” A faint quiver in her lower lip caused him a twinge of concern.
“Perhaps I should try harder, eh?”
She shook her head and flattened her palms against his chest. Then, she traced a cross over his heart. “I can’t keep doing this, Campbell. Dreaming of feasts will never fill an empty stomach. It only deepens the hunger.”
He frowned, puzzled by the melancholy turn. “Clarissa.”
“The hunger is devouring me.” She pulled away, her voice contorting. “It hurts too much.”
“What are ye doin’?”
She moved away, retreating. Retreating.
“No. Dinnae go.” He reached for her again, but she’d already vanished into the mist. “Clarissa!” he bellowed. “Dinnae leave!”
But she didn’t hear him. And he couldn’t see her.
She was gone.
CHAPTER NINE
“I’m goin’ after him.” The low, resonant thrum of Campbell’s fury made the world vibrate in a queer red hue. A fortnight after the dreams stopped, his impatience had grown into a rage.
He’d never felt anything like this. It scared the bloody hell out of him.
Broderick frowned and finished his dram of whisky. “Be sensible. We dinnae ken where he is, and even if we did—”
Campbell leaned into his old, scarred dining table—the one she’d decorated with the first wildflowers of spring. “I mean to track him,” he snarled. “And I mean to kill him.”
Distantly, he heard Kate and Clarissa laughing in the next room. His gut churned. It wasn’t the whisky.
Broderick cast him a speculative look. “Teversham is due to arrive soon. My understandin’ is that he intends to wed her.”
The rage flared bright. Campbell shoved back his chair and stood up to pace.
“Why not wait? A few days, and she’ll be another man’s responsibility.” Broderick paused. “Another man’s wife.”
Did he think Campbell didn’t know that? Did he think he hadn’t been bloody counting?
“Aye, she’ll return to England, and ye’ll nae be bothered with her. No more bonnie flowers on yer table. No more bonnie lass fussin’ at ye to wear a hat in the rain.” Broderick shrugged. “For the best, likely. She’ll make a splendid countess. Beautiful woman. A wee spot of grace in a man’s home.” Another pause. “Mayhap her marriage will cause the mad cur to reconsider his obsession.”
On the cusp of madness himself, Campbell shook his head. “He has to die.”
“Let Teversham handle it. He has funds. He’ll hire—”
“No.”
“’Tis nearly done. Let her go to a man who wants her.”
“He doesnae want her.” Campbell’s fury drove him to brace his hands on the table and lean across to glare at an infuriatingly relaxed Broderick. “He doesnae,” he growled. “Nae like he should. Nae like …”
A smile quirked the scarred side of his brother’s mouth. “Like … you?”
Campbell shoved upright, poured himself more whisky, and downed it in a swallow.
“Ye dinnae hide it very well, brother. Nae from me.”
“Haud yer wheesht.”
“Think ye all those invitations to dine with us at Rowan House were meant to fatten ye up?”
Campbell stiffened. Frowned.
“Kate saw it straight away. Took me a wee bit longer, but sweet Christ, even a man with one eye could spot the attraction.” Broderick chuckled. “Dinnae fash. Clarissa thinks riding an hour through pissin’ rain twice a week to visit yer brother is normal behavior. We didnae explain ye’d normally tell me to go to the devil with my bluidy summons.”
