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

She shook her head. "My father was a merchant in Inverness. He had a fair amount of wealth when I was growing up, provided good tutors for my sister and me, but then he lost everything. He passed several years ago, along with my mother."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You still have a sister?"

"Aye. Kristina is blind and lives with my aunt."

"But you prefer the life of a traveling minstrel?"

"Indeed, so I can support myself and her. My aunt and uncle have little means, but I couldn't bring my sister with me on the road. Sometimes we walk for days. 'Twould be too hard on her."

Neacal nodded. Such a life would be too hard for most women, but Anna was obviously up to the task. Though she appeared dainty and lady-like, he sensed she had much hidden inner strength.

Tavia had said Anna was a widow. He wanted to ask her about her late husband, but he did not wish to upset her or pry too much. Most intriguing of all, he recognized something in her which he himself possessed—painful secrets. He yearned to know what hers were. But after the last woman he'd dallied with… who had betrayed him… he would not trust another so easily. Women could be just as dangerous as men. Not because of their fighting skills but because of who or what they knew.

His gaze drifted back to Anna, so beautiful in the firelight. Her skin held a creamy glow that lured him to run his fingertips over her to see how silken she was. And her rosy lips… he yearned to taste and explore them. Unwanted arousal surged through him.

Hell, it had been almost two years since he had touched a woman. And this one just happened to be in his bedchamber.

What the hell business did he have getting aroused? He knew very little about her and he respected her too much to seduce her. Still, he craved her with everything primal and male within him.

He paced again and dragged his fingers through his hair. He'd best forget about how bonny she was and focus on the traitors out to destroy him. How many of his own clansmen were actually his enemies? They were liars, for they'd pledged an oath to him, twice.

"I'd best be getting back to my own chamber." She stood.

Though he didn't want her to go, he knew she was right. The gossips wouldn't be kind if they knew she'd been in his chamber.

"I thank you for telling me about the traitors. I have an idea. In the morn, try to eat early. Then, while everyone is in the great hall breaking their fast, meet me at the top of the stairs that lead up here. I want you to secretly point out the two men you heard talking. I'll tell no one that you were the one who informed me."

"Very well, m'laird." She curtsied, then exited, closing the door behind her.

He'd told her more than once to call him Neacal. Why wouldn't she do it in private, at least? Every time she called him m'laird, some part of him rebelled against it. He knew not why. He was the laird and had to grow used to the title. But he had been Neacal the whole of his life, and now very few called him that. 'Twas as if they expected him to take on a new name and new identity simply because his brother had died.

After barring his door, he paced, thinking of each of his clansmen. Which two were traitorous? They had to be some of the ones who had hung back slightly when all the men were pledging their allegiance again a few days ago.

Early the next morn, Anna ate a bowl of porridge in the kitchen while Mistress Pottenger and servants prepared the meal for the rest of the clan. She could not help the anticipation that quickened her pulse and hurried her motions. 'Haps she liked the chief a bit more than was wise, but she could not seem to help herself. After breaking her fast, she proceeded up the steps to meet him. She didn't know how she could point out the traitors to Neacal in the great hall without everyone watching her do it.

When she arrived at the top of the steps in his corridor, Neacal stood waiting, tall and dark, leaning against the stone wall. His great wolfhound sat by his leg, wagging his tail in greeting.

Neacal's long, midnight hair was combed smooth and still damp. His blue eyes glinted with a bit of morose wickedness. Good heavens, he was breathtakingly handsome in the light of early morn. Surely he must have been a devastating rogue before his capture, one who stole the hearts of all the lasses from many miles around. He had a profound seductive air about him, though now 'twas overshadowed by a cloud of dark intensity. This made him even more appealing to her.

"A good morn to you, Anna," Neacal murmured in a husky, intimate voice, for her ears only, making her imagine things she should not. Things like… waking up beside him.

"Good morn, Neacal." She curtsied.

His expression lightened and she thought he might smile—hoped he would. Instead, he turned and proceeded down a short narrow corridor, an offshoot of the main one, then opened a small, almost hidden door. "Stay, Dunn," he told his dog, before squeezing his broad shoulders through the doorway. Once inside, he held out his hand to her.

She took it, the heat of his roughened palm making her tingle, and stepped inside the confined dark space. "Heavens. Is this a closet?"

"Shh," he hissed softly against her ear, his warm breath teasing her skin and giving her delightful shivers. Goodness! He really shouldn't do that, for it inspired all sorts of unladylike urges. Finding herself suddenly short of breath, she inhaled his luscious, clean male scent combined with that of a spicy soap. Her thoughts took flight and she no longer cared why they were in this small room. She only wanted to press her nose against his throat and breathe him in.

He drew her toward a square opening where light and the murmur of several conversations filtered up. What was this? Where were they?

Holding her breath, she eased forward and found herself staring down at the tables of the great hall, filled with many people eating their first meal of the day.

Of course, this was a laird's lug, or laird's ear. She had heard of these little eavesdropping chambers but had never been into one. Neither of the castles she'd lived in had them. How unnerving to imagine someone spying on her below, without her knowledge, but 'twas also true that lairds had to be extra careful about conspiracies and clan politics.

Neacal stood just behind her, not quite touching, but the presence and heat of him were palpable. His delicious scent surrounded her, sending her woman's instincts into overload.

"Do you see them?" he whispered, his warm breath fanning the hair by her ear again.

She shivered as a more intense heat and awareness washed over her. It took all of her strength not to turn and melt into him. More than anything, she craved looking into his eyes… or pressing herself against him, but she had more important things to do. She forced her attention downward, into the great hall. She scanned the many clansmen and finally found the co-conspirators sitting at the far end of a table near the entry, their heads bent together once again.

She pointed at them. "There," she breathed.

Neacal moved his head forward, beside hers, to peer through the opening. With his tall height, he loomed over her in the cramped space.

"The ones sitting at the end of that table," she whispered. "It appears they are plotting even now. The chubby, ginger-haired one has on a green doublet and the slim, brown-headed man is wearing a blue doublet." She glanced aside at him.

Neacal narrowed his eyes, observing the men with a sharp glare. "Roy and Parlan."

She was so close to Neacal she heard his teeth grate together. Of a certainty, she would never want to make an enemy of Neacal MacDonald. He would be a deadly foe. But with more than one—perhaps several—in his clan against him, his life could be in danger.

***

Neacal could not believe it. His own distant cousins plotting against him. He should've expected it. Though they had pledged their fealty along with every other clansman, they had always remained aloof and often observed him warily. Although anger at their betrayal twisted his gut into a black knot, something else demanded his attention—Anna stood so close in front of him his skin tingled. The spellbinding scent of woman and lavender had filled his senses since she'd entered this room with him. Her hip barely brushed against him but it set his body on fire with powerful yearnings he had not felt in years.

Ignoring the traitors, he dropped his gaze to her and was surprised to find her staring up at him. The intense expression in her green eyes snatched his breath away and captivated him. His own longings were reflected there.

Unable to stop himself, he lifted a hand and stroked his fingers along her perfect, satiny cheek and smoothed a stray flaxen curl behind her ear.

She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes flew wide. Aye, he'd shocked her but 'twas not enough to deter him in his pursuit of a wee glimpse of paradise. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. She gasped, but at the same time, latched her small hand onto the plaid crossing his chest to pull him closer.

Aye, he was right. Paradise. He flicked out his tongue for a taste of her, sweet as honey. Damnation, it had been so long. Forever. He gathered her close, kissing her harder, more ardently. He could not get enough of her. Saints, he near drowned in the delicious female taste of her.

He relished her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. She accepted each of his lustful kisses and returned them. She was exceptionally skilled at kissing. Aye, experienced, for she was a widow.

But who was she, really? At the moment, he didn't care. Damned if he could stop kissing her even if she was the worst of the traitors.

Loud laughter echoed up from the great hall.

She jerked back from him, gasped and covered her mouth. Her wide eyes said she was horrified. At him, or herself?

She stared down through the hole into the great hall again as if she thought they were laughing at her. Nay, the people below did not know the two of them were in here.

Neacal sucked in a sharp breath. "Pray pardon," he whispered. "I forgot myself." He turned to the door, hoping she didn't know of his raging arousal. Had he pressed himself against her? Had she felt how much he wanted her?

If so, he couldn't blame her for drawing away. He was naught but a bad-mannered rogue. Exiting the room, he helped her into the corridor, then quietly closed the door.

Facing her, he said, "I hope you can forgive me."

She swallowed hard, her face still flushed. "There is naught to forgive, m'laird."

M'laird? She had already reverted back to his title. She must indeed be vexed at him, although not admitting to it. He gave a brief, caustic laugh. "I beg to differ. You're helping me and I'm…" He shook his head, unable to voice how loathsome he felt.

Her wide curious eyes searched his and he wondered what she truly thought of him. Clearly she did not fear him, or she would've run from him as if he were the devil himself.

Had she liked the kiss as much as he'd thought she did? As for himself, he had enjoyed it more than anything in the past several years. Mayhap more than anything in his life. A new burst of arousal struck him and it took all his strength not to pull her to him and claim her sweet mouth again.

He forced his gaze aside. "I thank you for telling me of the traitors," he whispered.

She nodded. "You're welcome. I'm glad to help." She turned and walked away slowly.

He could not believe it. She didn't fear him as most women did… even though he'd kissed her like a man bent on ravishing her. Saints, how he craved feeling her bare skin and curves brushing along the length of his body.

He ached for it.

Shaking off the yearning, he descended the stairs in search of his most trusted men. He had to discover how many traitors lived within these walls. He hoped his friend Colin Cameron showed up soon with an army of several dozen. 'Twas sad he trusted another clan more than his own.

***

Anna rushed toward her small bedchamber on the servants' floor. Good heavens! What had she just done? Kissed Neacal! She pressed a hand to her burning, sensitized lips.

Surely, she'd lost her mind.

Well, he'd kissed her first, and how could she possibly resist? She closed her eyes, remembering what a stunning, dreamy kiss it had been… and unbelievably seductive, but she'd also felt his loneliness pulling at her soul. The kiss had been as dark, tormented and sinful as the man.

He was dangerous temptation itself. Although some women might fear his glares, or find his scars unappealing, she could easily look beyond his forbidding surface to the agony beneath. The angst in his blue eyes drew her in. She felt his isolation, for she lived the same sort of existence—surrounded by dozens of people but not truly a part of the group. 'Twas the pain and secrets of the past that made it so.

If he followed her to her room now, in pursuit of another kiss, she would be hard-pressed to resist him. But she must! No matter how much she'd enjoyed the kiss, she was daft to have allowed it to happen.

Although she had not willingly married Blackburn MacCromar, she feared she was wed in the eyes of the law. The priest had heard her say
nay
many times during the ceremony, but in the end, when Blackburn had his man press the tip of the sharp blade against her sister's throat, she'd been forced to say
aye
to save her sister's life.

Of a certainty, she did not feel married to Blackburn, nor claim him as a husband. Still, if he ever found her, he would force her back to the MacCromar castle, lock her inside, then beat and punish her. Since he was a man and now a chief, the law would be on his side. The only way to escape him would be to kill him, but she was not a murderess. Nor did she possess his strength, fighting skill or manpower to best him.

Regardless, she must stay away from Neacal. Aye, she'd loved slipping about and eavesdropping on the clan with him in the wee laird's lug, but that was folly. She could not get too close to anyone, especially Neacal, and risk exposing her secrets.

***

Neacal found Matthew in the great hall, rising from the table after breaking his fast.

"Have you a minute?" Neacal asked, forcing himself not to glance in the traitors' direction. He did not want them to suspect he knew.

"Aye, of course, chief."

Neacal headed toward the library, which he knew to be secure with no places to eavesdrop. Not enough time had passed for Lawler and Roth to return with Colin Cameron and his men… if his friend decided to help him with manpower. Besides, Neacal had to discover the traitors among his clansmen for himself. Hopefully before Colin arrived.

Once they were inside the library, he closed the door.

He had known Matthew since they were lads. They had always been friends back then, in addition to cousins. He didn't believe Matthew would be a turncoat.

"There are traitors among us," Neacal said, keeping his voice low.

Matthew's dark eyes widened. "Indeed? Who?"

"Roy and Parlan. There could be more."

"Saints! I never suspected."

"Nor did I."

"How did you find out?"

"Someone overheard them talking and reported it to me." Neacal did not want to bring Anna's name into this, for that might put her in danger.

"Do you want me to lock them in the dungeon?" Matthew asked.

Neacal shook his head. "I want you to act as if you're disgruntled with me in front of Roy and Parlan. Pretend to be on their side and find out how many clan members are in with them. See if you can discover their plans. It has something to do with Sleat."

"Damnation, man. They plan to overthrow you and bring in Sleat as chief, do they not?"

"I think so. Have you heard anything?"

"I just remembered—after your brother was killed, a couple of the men suggested asking Sleat for his help."

"Do you remember who?"

"Gegrim was one."

"Aha." Could it be possible that all his guards were against him? How on earth would he find so many replacements? He would worry about that later. First, he had to weed out all the dishonorable men. "Pretend I have relieved you of your position as war leader." Neacal gave a wry grin. "That will convince them you have truly turned against me. I'll run the sham of searching for a replacement."

"'Tis brilliant… although I hate to imagine or pretend such a thing. I am truly honored and grateful you chose me for such an esteemed position."