Highlander Ever After

  “Thank you, my friend. I knew she’d fallen in love with you, and you were good to let her down so gently.”

  “Best I leave, I think,” Egan had replied. He’d still been tingling from Zarabeth’s kiss, finding it difficult to catch his breath.

  Olaf agreed. “Only because it would hurt Zarabeth if she had to see you again. But be assured I’d trust her life with you. I know you’d never do anything to harm her.”

  The vision faded and Egan groaned. Why did Olaf have to reach out of the past to twinge him now?

  Egan eased away from the kiss, feeling Zarabeth’s fingers tighten on his arms. He took her hands and pushed her away. “Best ye go back to bed, lass.”

  She stared up at him, her lips damp with kissing. Outside the moon slid behind a cloud, the moon path on the loch faded, and the magic vanished.

  “Egan,” she whispered.

  He gently disentangled himself from her. “Best we don’t, lass.”

  “I may not kiss you as a friend?” she asked, her voice scratchy.

  “That was no friendly kiss, and ye know it.”

  Zarabeth stepped back, anger in her face. “Thank you very much, Egan MacDonald.”

  “For what?”

  “For telling me, ever so gently, that you still regard me as a child.”

  “Now, lass, I never said that.”

  She sent him a severe look. “I am three and twenty and have spent years in a very bad marriage. My father’s innocent daughter is gone—she was trampled to death. And now the one man I thought a friend pats me on the head and calls me a ninny who understands nothing.”

  Egan stared at her in amazement, then pointed to his lips. “Did that come out of my mouth? Did ye hear it, or see these lips form those words?”

  Her voice heated. “You think it, and you know you do. Sweet Zarabeth, still infatuated with her Highlander. I must be kind to the poor girl.”

  “So now ye’re doing my thinking for me too?” Egan’s voice rose—the woman could drive him to distraction. “I’ll tell my cousins t’ take no more orders from me—they can just ask ye what I want.”

  “You are absurd, Egan MacDonald.”

  “As are ye, Zarabeth of Nvengaria.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Perhaps you should shout louder, so Hamish and Jamie will come running to see what’s the matter. Then my reputation will certainly be in ruins.”

  Egan took a step toward her, his blood singing with anger and exultation. “Mebbe you should have thought of that before ye started kissing me.”

  She gave him a lofty look. “I kissed you? Do not be ridiculous—you kissed me.”

  “I remember ye on your tiptoes, grabbing me around the waist.”

  She scowled. “Absurd and conceited.”

  Egan’s heart beat faster. He loved sparring with her. “’Twas not me lookin’ my fill at a Highlander in his bath.”

  Zarabeth gave him a glare that would surely knock him over if he weren’t feeling so fit. “Will you be twitting me about that for the rest of my days?”

  “Aye, I think so.”

  She was beautiful when she was angry, her entire body vibrant and alive. “You’ll not use it as an excuse to kiss me again.”

  Egan wanted to laugh, loud and long. “If I’m very determined to kiss ye, I’ll find a way. And what happens if ye want to kiss me?”

  “I won’t.” She gave him a haughty look fit for an empress. “I will make certain of it.”

  “Good.” Egan pointed at the door. “I’ll be out there, trying to get some sleep.”

  Zarabeth pointed to the bed. “And I will be over there trying to shut out your snoring.”

  He stilled. “Oh, lass. Ye’ve done it now.”

  Apprehension entered her eyes. “Done what?”

  “Insulted a Scotsman—a laird—in his home. The repercussions will nae be good.”

  “What repercussions?”

  “I’ll think of something. ’Tis my duty as laird to mete out justice.”

  Something flashed through Zarabeth’s blue eyes, like deep fear, even panic. Then it was gone, before he was sure he’d seen it.

  She made a noise of exasperation. “You are teasing me again. You never leave off.”

  “No’ much to do out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  Zarabeth pivoted on her heel and marched toward the bed, the dressing gown hugging the curve of her hips and her strong legs. “I’m going back to sleep. It seems to be the only way to avoid your condescension.”

  She scrambled up onto the sagging mattress, slammed herself down, and pulled the covers over her head. Egan chuckled at the lump under the blankets and walked away, shaking his head.

  She didn’t know how much he longed to tease her, even in bed. Their argument hadn’t dampened his desire for her, and it had forced her spirit to blaze out. She had been her old self again for a few minutes, telling Egan exactly what she thought of him and his high-handed ways.

  He left her chamber, his humor returning but his body aching for her. Yet if this was what it took to restore Zarabeth to her former self, he’d pick an argument with her every day for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  Egan held hope that, after Olympia’s adventure, the young ladies would clamor to go back to Edinburgh, but Adam reported the next morning that this was not the case.

  Egan was more a hero than ever for finding Olympia, Adam told him, and Faith had even gone so far as to try to run away so Egan would come after her. Her father had caught her and sent her to bed.

  “And anyway,” Olympia had protested, according to Adam, “Mr. Ross is hosting a supper-ball at the end of the week, and it would most unfair if we had to miss it.”

  In the end, both sets of parents relented.

  “All they have to do is bat their eyelashes,” Adam finished sourly. “And their dear papas will do anything for them.”

  “And this is what Mary wants me to have for a wife?” Egan growled.

  Adam’s smile was pained. “’Tis the curse of the MacDonalds at work. But count your blessings, man. It isn’t your house they’re stopping in.”

  Jamie moped at breakfast, sopping up his eggs with the heel of a loaf of hard bread. He was sulking because Hamish and Angus had found the abductors’ trail and had rushed off to follow it, Dougal and Adam with them, but Egan had insisted Jamie stay behind and help look after those at the castle. The lad was far too young to face paid kidnappers and assassins, no matter his opinion on the matter. Hence, he scowled at his food, shooting dark glances from time to time at Egan.

  Zarabeth sat next to Egan, demurely eating, saying little. She did not indicate any memory of their kiss or ensuing quarrel, but consumed her breakfast quietly, not looking at him.

  Egan had tossed and turned on the cot he’d set up in the gallery near her door until dawn. Their exchange and soul-satisfying kiss had awakened a fire within him, and the embers had not gone out.

  “Which of them will ye marry, Uncle?” Jamie asked abruptly.

  “Eh?” Egan pulled himself from thoughts of Zarabeth’s soft lips. Jamie was staring at him with insistent brown eyes, waiting for his answer. “Ye mean yon debutantes?” Egan asked. “Neither one, lad.”

  “Ye have to marry, Uncle.” Jamie gave him an irritated look then turned to Zarabeth in appeal. “Can ye nae persuade him, Zarabeth?”

  “Perhaps you should try another pair of ladies, Jamie,” Zarabeth answered as though this were a reasonable reply. “Your aunt said she had quite a list.”

  Egan huffed. “More debutantes? I want fewer of them about, not more.”

  Zarabeth’s blue eyes sparkled like Loch Argonne in sunshine. “You’ll need to meet others if you are to choose a bride.” Her impish answer made him want to laugh, but at the same time, he knew she’d not shrink from scheming with Mary and Jamie to trap him into marriage with some featherhead.

  “Exactly,” Jamie said. “See reason, Uncle.”

  “Your father would have been laird
after I was dead,” Egan said. “The least I can do is see that his son inherits what he should have.”

  “That isn’t reasonable. Ye ought to have married and had twenty children by now. Da wouldn’t have wanted the castle, anyway. He told me, back when I was a bairn.”

  Egan felt Zarabeth watching him. The mood had changed from light to deadly serious, and she’d sensed it.

  “Ye’ll say no more about it,” Egan said firmly to Jamie. He didn’t like speaking of Charlie, even with Jamie. Too much pain lay in that direction. Egan couldn’t trust his own emotions on the subject.

  Jamie looked rebellious. “He did tell me so. He wanted to enjoy life and live in Edinburgh or London, not take care of this ruin.”

  “Go from the table, Jamie.”

  “But, Uncle …”

  Egan growled. “I told ye t’ say no more, and ye disobeyed me and went on about it. Go from the table.”

  Jamie opened his mouth to argue, caught Egan’s furious look, and closed it again. He snatched up the last of his bread, made a decent bow to Zarabeth, then ran from the room, his kilt sagging on his lanky hips.

  Zarabeth returned to eating, taking dainty bites of the porridge Mrs. Williams had made especially for her. Mrs. Williams had swirled it with butter and sugar and added a dab of cinnamon, preening when Zarabeth praised her.

  The scent reminded Egan of his rough-and-tumble childhood, a childhood in which his younger brother had been the darling of the household. He’d had charm, had Charlie.

  “Jamie’s scheming will have to stop,” Egan rumbled. “It was amusing to play the Mad Highlander for the young ladies, but it put them in danger, and ’tis no longer funny.”

  Zarabeth’s eyes were serious over her porridge spoon. “Jamie only wants your praise.”

  Egan gave the door through which Jamie had departed a stern glance. “He wants a thrashing.”

  “He is trying to please you,” Zarabeth went on. “Your brother died when Jamie was very young, did he not?”

  Egan made a curt nod. “Jamie was four.”

  “So you are the next thing to a father to him.”

  Egan laid down his fork, straightening the flatware on the scarred tabletop. “I wasn’t much here when Jamie was growing up. My father looked after Jamie, then Angus and Hamish after me dad’s death.”

  “Not the same thing as having a father, though.”

  She was digging too deep. Egan hadn’t mastered Zarabeth’s ability to hide behind masks, but he was good at growling until everyone left him alone. He tried this on Zarabeth, but she simply leaned her elbow on the table and regarded him interestedly.

  “Jamie means well,” she said. “And he’s right. You are the head of the family and should carry on the line. You were the eldest brother.”

  Egan gave her a frown. “As head of the family, I choose whether or not I carry on the line.”

  She raised her brows. Zarabeth could always look at him so, making him argue with himself.

  He leaned toward her. “And I’ll thank ye to stay out of it.”

  Zarabeth smiled, her lips too close to his, and echoed his words of the night before. “Not much to do out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  Egan smelled cinnamon on her breath. Her mouth would taste sweet. All he had to do was lean closer.

  He slammed himself back into his chair. “No more debutantes,” he snarled.

  Zarabeth serenely lifted another spoonful of porridge. The Zarabeth he’d known might have fired the glob it at him. This Zarabeth simply put the spoon into her mouth and smiled around it.

  * * *

  That evening, Hamish returned with news. He and Egan’s men had tracked the kidnappers to Inverness, where the abductors had been arrested. The leader and three other men had been up before the magistrate and now waited for their trial. They’d confessed that they’d been paid by a foreigner to receive Zarabeth from the ship that went down, and if that didn’t work, to seize her any way they could.

  They did not know the name of the foreigner or where he could be found, and he’d paid them in English pounds sterling. A search of Inverness and surrounding areas had turned up no foreigners, except a few Frenchmen, elderly gentlemen who were friends of a local laird.

  That seemed to be that.

  Zarabeth knew it was not. The hired men might have been captured, but if Sebastian wanted Zarabeth killed or dragged back to Nvengaria in order to kill her there, he would not stop until one of those was done. He’d simply hire someone else. The foreigner could be Sebastian’s secretary, Baron Neville, who had been Sebastian’s right-hand man and in thick with his schemes. He was more of a fanatic even than Sebastian.

  But for now, Zarabeth determined to enjoy every sip of life she’d been given here in the Highlands, with Egan and his family to guard her. Who knew when it would be taken away?

  Zarabeth grew eager as she descended from Egan’s carriage that Saturday and entered Ross Hall to attend the ball Adam, Piers, and Mary had planned. The house blazed with light against the autumn cold, and the garden walks had been hung with strings of paper lanterns—blue, yellow, and red shining in the night. Music and laughter poured from the open doorway Zarabeth approached, along with cozy warmth. This was a gathering of families and old friends, similar to the events her father had hosted when she’d been young. Friendship and camaraderie prevailed here, and it touched her lonely heart.

  Zarabeth smiled at Adam as he shook her hand and passed her to his brother Piers for greeting. Mary flitted among the guests, acting as hostess, her face strained. Her thoughts came to Zarabeth, clear and sharp—worry that the ball would not impress Zarabeth, and that Egan would again try something asinine.

  Heat at Zarabeth’s back told her Egan hadn’t strayed far. He was keeping most insistently to his vow to not let her out of his sight, had done so all week. He looked particularly fine in his formal kilt and frock coat, a swath of plaid wrapped over one shoulder.

  “You will have to dance every dance with me at this rate,” Zarabeth told him. “If you follow me about all night.”

  Egan gave her a nod, his dark eyes glinting. “Aye. ’Tis my plan.”

  Zarabeth shot him a smile. “Pity. The other ladies will cry their eyes out.”

  He looked perplexed, one lock of dark hair falling to his cheek. “Why should they?”

  Zarabeth flipped her fan open and waved it in front of her face, the room too hot with Egan so near. “A handsome laird, unmarried, who refuses to spread himself out among the single ladies?”

  “Spread myself out? That sounds a bit disturbing.”

  Her dimples showed. “It wouldn’t be disturbing for the ladies.”

  The idea of Egan lying spread-eagled on the floor in his kilt, smiling at anyone who’d take him, made her giddy. Zarabeth would be the first to fling herself onto him.

  “I’ve made it plain I’ve no plan to marry,” Egan said, oblivious of her roiling thoughts. “Jamie will inherit after me, if he’ll push that through his thick head.”

  Zarabeth’s fan moved swiftly as she tried to cool her flushed cheeks. “He really does not wish to.”

  “And I really dinnae wish to talk of it,” Egan said in irritation. “I’m his guardian, and he’ll do as I say.”

  Zarabeth raised her brows. “Forcing a person to be something he’s not is the cruelest fate imaginable, you know.”

  Egan narrowed his eyes at her. Zarabeth quickly masked her expression, but it was too late. The man could worm truth out of her when she least expected it.

  Egan took her elbow and marched her across the ballroom. Adam’s friends hovered nearby, waiting for Egan to introduce her, but he sailed on past them, heedless of their eager looks.

  “You’re being quite rude,” Zarabeth pointed out.

  “Am I?” Egan said without looking around.

  “I should be meeting people and speaking to them. They’ll believe me haughty and priggish.”

  Egan shrugged. “Pretend ye cannot speak English. I fin
d that works. The vacant smile and nod does wonders.”

  Zarabeth halted abruptly and faced him, and Egan nearly ran into her. He was too close, only an inch separating them, and she found she could not breathe.

  Egan’s formal attire hid the true man inside. He looked more himself in the faded kilt and linen shirt he usually wore, though Zarabeth now decided the effect of him in ballroom clothes was not terrible. The coat hugged his broad chest and shoulders, and the swath of plaid over it made him look slightly wild and dangerous. He’d tamed his hair into a queue except for the lock that had already escaped, probably forcing the curls to stay put by dampening them with water. This made his hair slightly darker and the gold flecks in his eyes warmer.

  She’d seen Egan’s eyes, so near, the night he’d kissed her. The kiss had been unhurried, tender, not full of demands or swift passion. Egan had kissed her because he’d wanted to.

  “I don’t wish to embarrass Adam,” she said quickly, her heart thumping. “Or Mary.”

  Egan looked impatient. “Ye didn’t come to Scotland to win a string of admirers—ye came for safekeeping. Remember?”

  “You caught the men who took Olympia,” she pointed out, pretending everything would be fine now.

  “’Tis nae the end of it, and ye know it.”

  “I know,” Zarabeth said, subdued.

  Candlelight burnished the whiskers that lined Egan’s jaw, the new beard there almost auburn. She wanted to run her fingers along the sandpaper roughness, and then her tongue, enjoying the subtle friction.

  She suddenly wished Egan would go away, leave her be. It was torment enough to remember the kiss without him by her every moment to remind her of it.

  Mary sailed toward them, full of distress. “Egan, you haven’t even spoken to the Templetons. They are most put out.”

  Egan turned his scowl on her. “I’m here to protect Zarabeth, no’ entertain your Edinburgh guests.”

  Mary gave him a despairing look. “You could at least try.”