Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) by Laurin Wittig Page A
Authors: Laurin Wittig
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the evening meal, laughing and teasing with Nicholas. Her body heated all over again every time she remembered the feel of his lips on hers, the hard plane of his chest under her palms, the feel of his heart hammering as fast as hers.
Rowan slowed her pace as she descended the stairs from the great hall into the deeply shadowed bailey. She needed a moment to regain her equilibrium before she returned to her aunt’s bedside.Never had she reacted to a man the way she did to this stranger. Nicholas. Just the thought of his name sent a little thrill over her skin, heating her cheeks as if she were a lass caught up in her first flush of infatuation.
His bravery in helping her cousin and herself escape the collapsing wall, his willingness to keep Scotia’s tryst a secret, his laughter over wee Ian’s antics, and his gentle caresses and unexpected kiss had filled her up as if she had been an empty ewer. The closeness of his body as they had stood on the ramparts had warmed her in ways she wasn’t prepared for and didn’t completely understand.
Longing echoed just behind her heart. She had not thought herself wanting in any way and yet it had taken Nicholas of Achnamara only a pair of days to leave her feeling as if she’d been missing something important in her life.
She stopped at the tower door, her hand on the cold iron handle, letting the reality of the situation settle around her. She was daft to let Nicholas make her feel this way. She was sad over Elspet’s failing health, her uncle’s barely contained worry, Scotia’s childish ways, and the heavy responsibilities that would soon fall on Jeanette’s shoulders. And then there were these headaches, the memory that she couldn’t quite grab but that left her panicked anytime she tried to even think about it, and the odd reaction she had to the blessing. Nay, it was not surprising that the diversion of a man with warm brown eyes and an easy laugh should lift her out of that sadness and confusion for a few moments.
That was all she was feeling—relief, however brief, from the burdens that lay upon them all. She was not lacking in anything. She was loved, respected, needed. She wanted for nothing and yet, as she lifted the latch and pushed the door inward, she couldn’t help but wish for one more kiss from Nicholas.
Folly. She was not Scotia, losing all sense because some braw lad smiled at her… or kissed her. It was nice to be distracted from her panic and everything else that was happening to those she loved, but that was all. She took the stairs two at a time, stopping at the top of the tower to peer in Elspet’s chamber to the right.
“Come in, niece.” Elspet’s weak voice drifted through the darkness.
An unwelcome urge to pretend she had not heard held her still for a moment before she pushed it away. “You have slept a long time, Auntie,” she said, moving quickly to the hearth to stir the fire back to life. “Are you hungry?”
“I did not mean to sleep.”
“Then you should not have taxed yourself with the blessing.” Rowan winced at the harshness in her own words. She took a breath to quiet her mind and stirred the kettle of broth that hung over the fire. “Is there aught I can get you?”
A quiet sigh. “Do not fash yourself.”
“Auntie, that is what I am here for. You have taken good care of your own daughters and me these many years. It is our turn to take care of you.”
“Nay. You should not have to.”
“But we want to.”
“Contrary, as always.” Elspet’s laugh was little more than a wheezy breath. “ ’Tis what your own sweet mother said about you when you were but three.”
Rowan quickly rounded the bed, laying a hand upon Elspet’s forehead. It was cool for a change, but the wheezy laugh was now a quieter, but still wheezy, breath. “Would you take some broth?”
“Is it here?”
Rowan was so happy to hear her interested in broth that one would think her aunt had declared herself cured. “Aye. It has
Rowan slowed her pace as she descended the stairs from the great hall into the deeply shadowed bailey. She needed a moment to regain her equilibrium before she returned to her aunt’s bedside.Never had she reacted to a man the way she did to this stranger. Nicholas. Just the thought of his name sent a little thrill over her skin, heating her cheeks as if she were a lass caught up in her first flush of infatuation.
His bravery in helping her cousin and herself escape the collapsing wall, his willingness to keep Scotia’s tryst a secret, his laughter over wee Ian’s antics, and his gentle caresses and unexpected kiss had filled her up as if she had been an empty ewer. The closeness of his body as they had stood on the ramparts had warmed her in ways she wasn’t prepared for and didn’t completely understand.
Longing echoed just behind her heart. She had not thought herself wanting in any way and yet it had taken Nicholas of Achnamara only a pair of days to leave her feeling as if she’d been missing something important in her life.
She stopped at the tower door, her hand on the cold iron handle, letting the reality of the situation settle around her. She was daft to let Nicholas make her feel this way. She was sad over Elspet’s failing health, her uncle’s barely contained worry, Scotia’s childish ways, and the heavy responsibilities that would soon fall on Jeanette’s shoulders. And then there were these headaches, the memory that she couldn’t quite grab but that left her panicked anytime she tried to even think about it, and the odd reaction she had to the blessing. Nay, it was not surprising that the diversion of a man with warm brown eyes and an easy laugh should lift her out of that sadness and confusion for a few moments.
That was all she was feeling—relief, however brief, from the burdens that lay upon them all. She was not lacking in anything. She was loved, respected, needed. She wanted for nothing and yet, as she lifted the latch and pushed the door inward, she couldn’t help but wish for one more kiss from Nicholas.
Folly. She was not Scotia, losing all sense because some braw lad smiled at her… or kissed her. It was nice to be distracted from her panic and everything else that was happening to those she loved, but that was all. She took the stairs two at a time, stopping at the top of the tower to peer in Elspet’s chamber to the right.
“Come in, niece.” Elspet’s weak voice drifted through the darkness.
An unwelcome urge to pretend she had not heard held her still for a moment before she pushed it away. “You have slept a long time, Auntie,” she said, moving quickly to the hearth to stir the fire back to life. “Are you hungry?”
“I did not mean to sleep.”
“Then you should not have taxed yourself with the blessing.” Rowan winced at the harshness in her own words. She took a breath to quiet her mind and stirred the kettle of broth that hung over the fire. “Is there aught I can get you?”
A quiet sigh. “Do not fash yourself.”
“Auntie, that is what I am here for. You have taken good care of your own daughters and me these many years. It is our turn to take care of you.”
“Nay. You should not have to.”
“But we want to.”
“Contrary, as always.” Elspet’s laugh was little more than a wheezy breath. “ ’Tis what your own sweet mother said about you when you were but three.”
Rowan quickly rounded the bed, laying a hand upon Elspet’s forehead. It was cool for a change, but the wheezy laugh was now a quieter, but still wheezy, breath. “Would you take some broth?”
“Is it here?”
Rowan was so happy to hear her interested in broth that one would think her aunt had declared herself cured. “Aye. It has
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