Seducing the Highlander (10 page)

Conor entered his solar and paused before slowly closing the door. Laurel was sitting in the farthest of the two hearth chairs, slowly brushing out her hair. With her head tipped back, the firelight played against pale gold curls as they tumbled over her shoulders. Unable to stop himself, he walked over to fondle the soft mass, still unable to believe that he and only he was lucky enough to do so.

He watched as a soft, inviting smile graced her lips, telling him in her private, feminine way that she was completely his. Conor felt his whole body tighten with desire. “I hope you are not tired,” she murmured.

Conor arched an eyebrow but continued to stroke the silky tresses, enjoying how they felt as they slipped through his rough fingers. “I don’t believe I am,” he replied as one curl coiled around his finger. If he didn’t know better, he would say that somehow his wife had trained her hair in the art of seduction.

Laurel turned slightly and placed her hand on his arm. The feel of her skin touching his sent sparks flying through his body. “Tonight is going to have to last for a while, so do not plan on falling asleep anytime soon.”

Conor swallowed, filled with a sudden need to possess her body, her entire being, and fulfill her wish without further prelude. He pulled her up out of the chair and into his arms, burying his face in her neck and breathing in her scent. His hands slowly soothed her back in the gentlest of touches when his efforts were suddenly stalled. He pulled back just enough for him to verify that the garment she was wearing was
the
gown—the practically transparent one that played havoc with his senses. Laurel only wore it when they were about to have an argument that she suspected she might lose without the aid of some distraction.

Gray eyes met, locked, and held those the color of a stormy sea. Two souls communicating with each another, neither willing to yield.

“This,” Conor began, taking a step back while waving his hand at her chemise, “is not because of dinner tonight, is it?”

Laurel licked her lips. She had actually forgotten her promise to him after his little speech to Conan. “Not
only
because of dinner,” she admitted.

Conor grimaced and began to undo his belt. Letting his kilt fall to the floor, he stripped off his leine and tossed it over the chair next to hers. Naked, he went over and stoked the fire before getting into bed. He hoped he had made his point and that she would join him without any more pretense, but Laurel remained standing. And she was still wearing that damn chemise that made it near impossible to think when looking at her.

He closed his eyes. “Based on your comment, you believe one of us is going to be leaving on a trip.”

Laurel nodded. “You.”

Conor leaned back against the pillow and crossed his arms behind his head, letting his heated gaze drift over her, touching her breasts, her belly, down to her toes and back up. He knew what it did to her and felt a small sense of triumph when she shivered under the caress. When his eyes met hers again, her face burned with a combination of need and something else entirely. “Just where am I going?”

“To see Colin.”

The answer surprised him and he dropped his arms, forgetting his plan to bother her as much as she was disturbing him. If she meant for him to visit Colin in the Lowlands, then this was no quick journey she was sending him on. This was more like a month. “I had plans for us both to visit him in the spring.”

Laurel clasped her hands in front of her. “I know, but we have not heard from Clyde in awhile, and after what happened to his friend, it would be good to know how he is faring before the long stretch of winter prevents communication with your brother.”

Conor was concerned about his youngest brother as well. They had heard little about Clyde and how he was doing since news arrived of the appalling death of his best friend, Kam. And while Laurel’s similar concern was no doubt partly why she wanted him to go south, it was not the reason behind her sudden desire to have him gone for a significant amount of time. Obviously, she wanted him out of the way, but why? So that he couldn’t interfere? Or so that he would not gripe when she put whatever plan she had into action?

Laurel leisurely strolled to the bed. Hooking a finger on one shoulder of her chemise, she said, “And since you and Conan are both going to be gone for a while, I thought it might be a good idea to invite Craig to help out until you return.”

Craig and Meriel.
Conor sighed inwardly. He should have known that Laurel had not given up on bringing them together. And it appeared she had decided to escalate matters. Suddenly the idea of visiting Colin was looking like a reprieve.

Conor reached over and gave a gentle tug to the other side of the undergarment, just enough so that it slid down her frame to her waist and eventually the floor. “Good idea,” he whispered hoarsely, “and it just so happens that I have another one.”

Lured by his touch, Laurel joined Conor on the bed and was about to give in to her need for a kiss when it occurred to her that Conor had agreed to leave, and much too quickly. Such a request should have been rejected multiple times before he succumbed to her logical and cajoling arguments.

Placing a hand on his chest, she sat up and stared at him, the tiny muscles around her eyes rigid with suspicion. “Just why are you so willing to leave?”

Conor shrugged and reached out to brush his fingertips along her face with incredible gentleness. “Does it matter?”

Laurel closed her eyes, cursing her traitorous body and the way it dissolved under his touch. “It matters,” she managed to get out.

Conor pushed her hair off her shoulders and let his hand wander behind her neck. He pulled her close, reveling in how she felt, all soft and vulnerable pressed up against him. “Just be glad I’m willing to be gone, unable to stop your meddling,” he murmured before he kissed the spot below her ear, sending her pulse racing. “How long will you need to”—he paused as his lips traveled lower down her neck—“prove Craig and Meriel belong with each other or”—he moved lower—“accept that they do not?”

Laurel moaned. After ten years, she was still completely and utterly lost by the potent heat of his touch. Each kiss created a fire within her that burned only for him. In moments, she would lose all ability to think and speak. “I don’t know,” she answered, beginning to return each of his kisses with one of her own. “Ask Meriel. It is her plan. She thought it was the best way to convince Craig to come here.”

He would be well along the way to the Lowlands before he recalled that bit of information. If Laurel was serious and this whole scheme was Meriel’s, then Craig was in more trouble than Conor originally believed. Despite what he told Laurel, Conor did think his brother loved Laird Schellden’s daughter. And if Meriel now had it in her mind to make Craig acknowledge it as well, Craig had little chance to avoid it.

The only good news was that Conor had escaped the mayhem that was going to accompany the days preceding and following such a revelation.

That, and Laurel had indeed been serious about not letting him sleep.

 

 

Craig stepped into his cottage, and for a brief moment the moonlight illuminated the interior before his left leg kicked the door closed with significantly more force than was needed. The thunderous sound matched his mood. And it was all Meriel Schellden’s fault.

“Ciùrradair
,” he muttered to himself, knowing deep down that he was far more responsible for his current torment than Meriel, but she was not here to defend herself. For nearly three weeks Craig had called her names that if muttered by someone else would have caused him to flee for his life. But he being her best friend, and she his, had some privileges, including calling her all types of a stubborn fool.

Craig knew if he had not pricked her pride about being unable to stay away for even a fortnight, Meriel would have been home by now. They would have practically forgotten everything, and things would have returned to normal. With any other woman that would have been the outcome. But not Meriel. No one was more stubborn than she.

Most people believed her sister, Raelynd, to be the more inflexible of Rae Schellden’s daughters, but
wrong
would not be a strong enough word to describe just how mistaken they were. Unlike Meriel, Raelynd considered most things— including trivial ones—important; therefore, Meriel often acquiesced to her sister’s desires. However, when it came to matters of personal meaning and consequence, Meriel’s will of iron far surpassed that of anyone he knew. And that included himself.

Oh aye, he could be stubborn. He was a McTiernay, after all. They were known to be somewhat mulish about things, but all of his brothers would agree that they only acted obstinate when they had good reason or if they knew they were right. And in this particular case, Craig had no doubts about the legitimacy of his reaction to their kiss. So if Meriel wanted to continue punishing herself by staying away from her home, friends, and family, then he would not save her from such a self-inflicted wound until she asked. Unfortunately, with Meriel, just when the pain of loneliness would surpass her obstinacy was hard to determine.

For the first few days after her departure, Craig had actually welcomed her absence. Meriel could read him too easily and she would know exactly how much he was struggling with his emotions. It was a particular ability she had demonstrated from day one of their relationship. No one else could discern what he was feeling if he did not want them to—whether it was anger, lust, panic, or even
love.
He could still remember Meriel riding—or attempting to ride—next to him last year, inquiring just why everyone acted as if he wanted to be a laird when he truly had no desire for the responsibility.

For years, his brother Crevan had functioned as his best friend, but in truth they had both kept secrets from the other. Meriel was the only person Craig had ever been completely honest with, and that was because she could see the truth anyway. Lying was not an option around her. She had been able to see what no one else had and accepted him despite that knowledge.

Most women would think less of a man who had no desire to become laird. They would think him afraid or maybe less than capable. Not Meriel. From the beginning of their friendship, she understood and accepted him and her ability to read his thoughts had only grown in accuracy. A trait until now he had thought rather advantageous.

It was nice to be able to look across the table or room and with a single look convey a stream of thoughts, knowing they would be accurately interpreted. Too many times they had “saved” each other from an uncomfortable situation, under the guise of a chance encounter. That was before
they
became the cause of each other’s discomfort.

Craig untied his belt and swung it onto the table with the sword still attached, so it landed with a loud
thud
. It hit something and clattered to the floor. He stood there in the dark and fought the compulsion to see what it was he had knocked over. Damn woman. A year ago he would not have cared. But now she practically lived in his head. He could hear her light laughter, chiding him to see what the sword had hit, to ensure nothing important was broken or ruined.

He turned and grabbed the door handle, yanking it back open. He needed to start a fire anyway, he told himself, and bent down to grab one of the logs he kept outside. Grimacing, he noticed that the pile was once again low and he would need to replenish it soon—a particular chore he loathed. Snatching up the smallest log, he marched toward the gatehouse to light it using one of the sconces.

Craig could feel the anger in him rise, and tried to shake it. Of all his brothers, he was the least easily riled. He rarely struggled with his emotions but knew from experience that until he admitted them, at least to himself, he would never be able to suppress or eradicate them.

“Fine,” he grumbled to himself. “I am . . .” he began, but before he admitted to being the fool that had caused every bad decision of the night, another excuse popped into his head. “I am . . . no . . . I was just not in the mood. Aye, that’s right,” he said more forcefully. “Sometimes a man doesn’t want a woman—any woman—and that doesn’t mean anything more than that.”

Convinced he was right, Craig was already feeling better. He only wished the reaffirming advice he gave himself at night provided equal relief. It all came down to feelings. Did he have them for Meriel? Aye. Deep ones. Did they go beyond that of friendship? This confession was harder to make, but, aye, his feelings did go beyond those of a traditional friend. However, he and Meriel did not have a conventional friendship. Did that mean he was in love? That was one question he refused to answer, for it would not change anything. And to prove it, Craig had made sure that his routine had remained unchanged since her departure.

He trained first thing in the morning. This was followed by discussions with Rae and Crevan concerning the clan, army needs, or whatever needed their attention. The noon meal was usually a quick event coupled with some other meeting at either the castle or someone’s home during one of his rides to visit outlying clansmen and their families. Dinner remained a relatively simple affair; he ate with friends, or at the Great Hall with his brother and his wife, and Rae. Only afterward, when everyone retired, did it become difficult. Too easily had he identified a reason why: he missed Meriel’s company.

Until a year ago, he and his twin brother, Crevan, had discussed the day’s events before going to sleep. Then, after Crevan and Raelynd married, Meriel slipped into that role, just as he had for her. Aye, he enjoyed having her as a
friend
and a confidante; but if someone else, like Hamish, had been there instead to fill the vacuum his brother’s marriage had created, it would be Hamish he was missing and not Meriel. Which was another reason he felt positive that his feelings for Meriel had nothing to do with the type of love everyone persisted in believing was between them. And earlier that evening, Craig had decided to confirm his conclusions by seeking out the affections of another woman; for what could be more definitive evidence against love than a duplicitous heart?