Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8) (13 page)

Oh, blast! She shouldn't have said that, for it might reveal that she was not from the working class peasants who generally possessed a great many labor skills. A lady was trained in needlework, music, singing, running a household, and a few other things. Most of which were useless outside of a castle.

"You wish to sing in a tavern?" he asked, his tone disbelieving, his brows quirked.

"Not in truth, but if I have to…"

"Do you not know what sort of men you would run into in a tavern? Men seeking more than ale and fine music."

Heat rushed into her face because she knew from experience he was right. She and the other minstrels had sung in taverns several times. They’d had a few run-ins with disagreeable men. "I would've asked the proprietor to protect me from his customers as part of the employment," Anna said.

"And who would protect you from the proprietor should he take advantage?"

She hunched her shoulders, for she had not considered the possibility. In the past, the three male minstrels in their group had kept bad men at bay. But she hadn't thought this whole thing through before she'd left. She simply knew she had to get away from Chief Hamilton. She did have the knife she'd lifted from the kitchen. She could defend herself with it, but if she should kill a man in the process, she might be tossed into the tolbooth prison or even executed. She well knew a woman traveling alone was vulnerable, but she'd had little choice.

"You could've stayed at the castle, regardless of an argument with the other musicians," Neacal said.

She could not hide in the castle forever. It was filled to overflowing and a servant would find her no matter where she went.

"I didn't wish to cause trouble," she said.

"You wouldn't."

He was wrong there, for trouble followed her wherever she went. She had to change the subject and remove the focus from her. "Have you chosen any of the young ladies as your bride?"

"Nay," he said sharply. "Nor will I. The elders are wasting everyone's time."

She observed him in the gradually deepening dusk. His dark brows lowered over his midnight blue eyes. So serious… she couldn't resist teasing him.

"Most chiefs want a pretty young wife." She kept a straight face, for 'twas true.

He glared at her for a long moment, then glanced away. "Aye, well. I'm not most chiefs. I plan to wait until next year, at least. Why should I become chief and get married all within a month's time? I see no need to rush."

"I agree." An odd thrill spiraled through her. Why should she care if the chief married? She certainly couldn't marry him. She cared because of those bonfire hot kisses he'd bestowed upon her. What did they mean? She had no inkling and never should've let them happen. But how could she stop him? When he had leaned toward her, as if seeking sensual sustenance, everything in her sang with delight and anticipation. He gave her joy such as she had not experienced in years.

"Anna?"

"Aye?" Had he been speaking to her while she was woolgathering about him? Her face burned.

"Where are you from, lass?" he asked, his voice sincere.

"The east," she blurted.

"Who is your clan or family?"

"Douglas." At least her grandmother had been a Douglas. She supposed that made her a distant part of the clan.

"Are you a widow?"

"Aye." She was being honest. The one man who had been her true husband was dead. She didn’t consider Blackburn her husband.

"What was your husband's name?"

"Richard Douglas." She almost choked on the made-up name, even though this was the same lie she'd been telling everyone for the past couple of years. She couldn't tell anyone her husband's real name, John MacCromar, for then they might ken her identity and where she was from. Blackburn had put the word out that he was searching for his missing wife. She had even seen his men searching for her in Edinburgh at one time. Regardless of the necessity of making up these stories and false names, guilt bored through her at lying to Neacal. He'd been naught but helpful to her… and caring.

"Which clan were you born into?"

"My father was a merchant in Aberdeen. He was a Forbes but we were not exactly part of a clan like you have here." She bit her lip… punishment for more lies? If only he would stop asking the hard questions, she could stop telling him these falsehoods.

"I wish you would tell me the whole story of why you left Bearach," Neacal said.

She shook her head. "I cannot involve you in my problems." Finally, the truth. He had been so horribly injured in the past she would never wish to draw him into the danger and violence that followed her.

"'Tis part of my duties to solve problems," he muttered. "I'm not so bad at it once people let me know what the problem actually is."

She gave a small, sad smile, wishing she could tell him all.

"Determined to be stubborn, aye?" He lifted a brow, his gaze searching, trying to delve into her thoughts.

She shrugged.

His gaze sharpened upon her, as if he'd gained a sudden insight. "The reason you left… has it something to do with the visitors?"

Alarm spiked through her. "Nay." Saints, how had he figured it out? He was too brilliant for her peace of mind. 'Haps her hated lies were all for naught anyway. What if he saw right through them? Feeling doubly guilty, she shook her head. He had treated her better than anyone, and it flayed her to keep lying to him. But she couldn't tell him part of the truth without revealing all.

"You still want to go to Acharacle?" he asked.

"Aye." What choice did she have?

"Very well. I'll escort you there." He glanced up at the slate gray sky. "We may be able to reach the village before full dark. I know the tavern's owner. I'll speak to him about hiring you."

"Is he a good man?" she asked, remembering what he'd said earlier.

Neacal shrugged. "As far as I know. I've only talked to him a few times. We're not close friends."

"Why did you suggest the proprietor might take advantage of me?"

"You never know, do you? A lovely woman can make a man do insane things." His gaze darkened upon her.

A rush of heat consumed her face, for his comment was indeed flattering, and he was having some silver-tongued-devil moments, which she hadn't expected from him. But at the same time, he implied that her looks would cause men to behave in dishonorable ways. "I don't know whether to thank you or stomp your toe."

He snorted, only a hint of amusement showing in the easing of his expression. "I'm trying to be serious, lass. You cannot trust everyone. Simply because a man owns a business does not make him a good person."

"I'm well aware, but you were trying to scare me."

"Nay, only warn you to be cautious, especially when traveling alone like this."

"Well, I thank you for agreeing to take me to the village. 'Tis very generous of you."

Looking disgruntled, Neacal gave a brief bow, then extended his elbow to her. Though sad she had to disappoint him, she took his arm and again relished the solid feel of his muscles.

They descended the hillside, Dunn trotting in front. When they reached the horse, Neacal lifted her onto the pillion cushion behind the saddle, then mounted himself. She could not believe how strong he was. He'd effortlessly lifted her as if she weighed no more than a child.

"Hold on well, lass," he murmured, glancing back at her.

She did not even mind him calling her lass. In fact, she enjoyed it, for it made her feel several years younger, as she did before she'd married. Like a girl instead of a woman in her twenties. She slid both hands around his lean waist, trying not to let her fingers linger on his firm, rippled muscles.

With the gait of the horse, his hard body moved against hers, doing insane things to her. It had been so long, she'd forgotten how wonderful a man's body could feel against her. It was something that defied explanation. Why should she care what he felt like?

Maybe because he had kissed her twice.

Why would he do that? She knew he must find her attractive, but how could he think her more appealing than the bonny young girls who had come to potentially marry him? She had seen them, and some of them were stunning. Mayhap because he wasn't interested in marriage, but instead a mere physical liaison. She could not become someone's lover, even a most gorgeous chief. Heat consumed her whole body at the thought.

***

Neacal could hardly believe how the light touch of Anna's hands at his waist, holding on while they rode, aroused him until he was near insane with it. If she but moved her hand a wee bit south, she might encounter more than she bargained for.

Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he thought back about the young ladies who had come as bride candidates. Not one of them sparked his interest as Anna did. In fact, he could hardly remember any of their faces. They were just girls… most likely girls who were terrified of him. And he didn't care. He didn't want to calm any of their fears. He didn't plan to go near them.

But with Anna, 'twas a different story. She did not fear him, and 'haps she halfway trusted him. At least, physically she did, but she still would not reveal her secrets. He would get the whole story out of her, one way or another. It might take a lot of time, which he didn't mind at all. He wanted to spend more time alone with her. That was why he hadn't forced her back to the castle.

The tavern in Acharacle popped into his mind. The Red Stag had a couple of small rooms over it, for rental. Damnation. He could think of naught but carrying her up the stairs to a private chamber. But he couldn't do that. She was a respectable woman.

Still, the kiss against the standing stone would not leave his thoughts. He had been entranced… transported to a realm where only sensation and Anna reigned. He could've happily stayed there forever, exploring every inch of her. But that was impossible—he muttered another curse—or was it? The elders wanted him to get married. Why couldn't he marry Anna? If she would have him.

He knew why he shouldn't marry her. His bride was supposed to bring an abundance of soldiers or wealth to the MacDonald clan. Anna could not do that. At least, he didn't think she could. She obviously had no money or clan or she wouldn't be a traveling minstrel. If she was a wealthy widow, she would be tucked away somewhere in a manor house with many servants waiting on her. She would not need to sing for a living. The elders would never approve of Anna as a wife for him, but what did he care? He'd been a rebel for most of his life. Why stop now?

Anna could bring something to his life he'd never expected… happiness. Though he should not even think of happiness, for he didn't deserve it, he couldn't help himself. Once he'd experienced the joy of her presence, he found he was addicted to it.

Anna's fingers pressed lightly against his stomach, completely distracting him, bringing sensations of what her soft, gentle hands would feel like running all over him. Stroking. Caressing.

Saints!

He breathed deeply and tried to dispel the excitement and lust rampaging through his veins. He had not been so keenly interested in a woman in years, if ever. And now he would marry her… if she was willing. Because of her eager kisses, he thought she would be.

Maili had married the man she chose. Neacal could've said nay and forced her to marry some old and powerful chief who wanted to be an ally, but why should he force his beloved sister to live a miserable life? He wouldn't do it to her, so why would he do it to himself? If he had to sacrifice all for the clan, 'haps being chief wasn't his destiny.

When they reached the outskirts of the village, full dark had fallen but the moon shone brightly. The torches and glow from the windows seemed welcoming. Neacal would rent two rooms for the night at the tavern. He would talk to the proprietor about allowing her to stay here for a few days, until Neacal figured out why she should wish to leave Bearach. Surely, it had something to do with the clans who were visiting. Once he'd sent them on their way, he would come back here and retrieve Anna.

In front of the tavern, he dismounted, then helped her down.

"Wait here with Dunn while I speak with the proprietor," Neacal said.

"Very well," she said, blushing and looking highly uncomfortable.

"Is aught amiss?"

"Nay." She shook her head but would not meet his gaze. Instead, she glanced around at the village.

She needed someone to protect her, someone she could rely on. Something deep within him clawed upward toward the light, grasping, yearning to be that man. His stomach knotting, he shoved the greedy sensation away and tried to appear normal.

"I'll be right back," he told her, then strode into the Red Stag Tavern and glanced around the near empty room. 'Twas late and most people had gone home. The owner, Korbin MacDonald, stood behind the bar.

"Chief MacDonald," the stocky man greeted with a friendly smile, then came forward. His brownish-gray hair and beard were a bit longer than the last time Neacal had seen him. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

Neacal shook his hand. "I'm helping a young woman. Could we rent both of your rooms for the night?"

"So happens I only have one room left, but you're welcome to it free of charge." The man winked.