Highlander Ever After

  When Zarabeth swam awake again, the window was gray with dawn. She tried to sit up but found the bulk of Egan pressed against her side.

  She relaxed with relief. He hadn’t left her.

  Egan was awake. He smiled at her, the gold flecks in his eyes alive with warmth.

  “Good morning, love. Ye slept well?”

  “You know I did.” She pushed hair out of her eyes, realizing she must look horrible. Whenever she’d dreamed of having Egan in her bed, she’d forgotten that in the morning she’d look like she always did when she woke, her face lined with sleep and her hair everywhere. “What happened exactly?”

  “Ye mean ye don’t remember?” Egan grinned. “’Tis a bit unflattering.”

  “Of course I remember. I mean …” Zarabeth blushed, suddenly tongue-tied. “I mean, when you touched me. When you were inside me it felt wonderful, but when you touched me it was more than I could stand.”

  His brows shot up. “Ye never?”

  “I never felt anything like it. What was that?”

  A teasing light entered his eyes. “But ye told me ye studied treatises and books all about the art of lovemaking. Ye’ve never heard of orgasm?”

  “How do you say that in Nvengarian?”

  He started to laugh. “I have no bloody idea. I only know the naughty Nvengarian, nae the refined words for it.” He rubbed his finger along her cheek. “But it sounds t’ me like ye had your first one.”

  Zarabeth ran her hand along his warm shoulder, becoming thoughtful. “It seems that theory and practice are two different things.”

  Egan’s laughter shook the bed. “Aye. It also says that your husband didn’t take proper care of ye.”

  Zarabeth shivered, the warmth fading a bit. “I don’t wish to talk about my husband.”

  “I know.” Egan cuddled her close, kissing her hair. “I know ye don’t, love.”

  “I like it here. With you.”

  “I know.”

  Sorrow touched her. “But I’ll have to leave. Nvengaria is where I belong. That is likely why my father came, to take me home when it’s time.”

  “Mayhap.” He didn’t look worried.

  Zarabeth wanted to stay in this castle with her Highlander the rest of her life—going would tear away an irreplaceable part of her. Egan was smiling at her, however, as though he weren’t contemplating much more than what Mrs. Williams was cooking for breakfast.

  “You’ll let me stay?” Zarabeth ventured.

  Egan pressed another kiss to her hair. “We’ll talk about what happens to ye when the time comes. Your father says Nvengaria still isnae safe, so you’ll stay for now. We’ll worry about later, later.”

  She slanted him a wry look. “Very philosophical.”

  Egan shrugged, muscles rippling in splendid strength. “Scots are philosophical.”

  And handsome, strong, and wonderful lovers. Zarabeth brushed her fingers across his chest and rested them on his armband. It was silver, its pattern an intricate interlaced design she’d seen on some of the weapons in the Great Hall.

  “Why do you wear this? I don’t remember you with it before.”

  He touched it. “Something m’ mother left me, from her side of the family. She was a MacLean, a distant cousin of Gemma’s. I’d had it up in my chamber since her death.” He shrugged. “When I came home this time I decided to wear it.”

  “It looks old.”

  “Aye, supposedly handed down through the centuries.”

  Perhaps he’d taken to wearing it because he’d believed he’d have no son to pass it to. The thought made her sad. “You don’t speak much of your mother.”

  Egan continued to trace the band. “She was long-suffering, married to my father. She died when I was at university.”

  Zarabeth’s heart squeezed. “I am sorry.”

  Egan’s voice was low, that of a man trying to hide his sorrow. “She was a kind woman but pushed aside by my father. She wasn’t like Gemma, strong enough to take matters into her own hands. I was surprised she made certain I had this.” He touched the band again. “The day after she died, I found it in the drawer in my bedside table.”

  Zarabeth touched it, meeting his warm fingers. “I like it. Something for you to remember her by.”

  “Aye, I suppose it is.”

  It was—she knew he was trying not to admit to doing something sentimental. “She was lucky to have such a son,” Zarabeth said.

  Egan’s brows went up. “Was she?”

  “Of course. And I am lucky to have you as a friend. What would I do without my Highlander?”

  His eyes glinted. “Likely get more sleep.” To her disappointment, Egan threw aside the covers and rolled out of bed.

  Her disappointment died quickly. Egan was a splendid sight. Zarabeth watched his tall body move with grace, her gaze going to his well-muscled thighs as he bent to retrieve his kilt from the floor beside the bed.

  “Don’t go, yet,” she said softly.

  Egan slung the kilt around his hips. “I want to before anyone sees me sidling out of your room with a guilty look on m’face.”

  Zarabeth reached for him, closing her fingers on the wool plaid. She knew she was being shameless, but she couldn’t bear for this joy to be over.

  “Please.”

  Egan looked down at her, not pulling away, but she couldn’t see what was in his eyes.

  “Might we …” The words stuck in her throat, and Zarabeth tried again. “Might we be lovers?”

  A faint smile flickered around his mouth. “I thought we already were.”

  Zarabeth clung more tightly to the plaid. “No, I mean for longer than one night.”

  Egan regarded her quietly “An affaire de couer, ye mean?”

  Zarabeth could only nod.

  Egan gazed at her for a long time, the folds of his plaid hanging still. “Is that truly what ye want?”

  Zarabeth released his kilt, her face heating. “If it’s not what you want, then never mind.”

  Egan sat down on the bed, the mattress sagging. “It’s not something to go into lightly, lass. It makes ye a certain sort of woman in the eyes of the world. Ye know that.”

  Zarabeth drew the sheet to her chin, suddenly wanting to hide her bare body. “What I don’t want is for you to condescend to me. I am a woman of the world …”

  “No, ye are not.” Egan’s hand came down on her arm with weight, his eyes holding sternness. “Ye have no idea what the world can do. You are innocent, despite all your talk about learning things the Nvengarian way. I said I wouldn’t ruin ye, and I won’t.”

  She scowled, her heart aching. “We must always play by your rules. No one else’s.”

  “I am the laird.” Egan rose. “And we aren’t playing. This is no game.”

  “And I am no schoolroom miss,” Zarabeth shot back at him. “I was five years married, and hosted gatherings for the very top of Nvengarian society. You don’t have a dozen dukes and duchesses staying in your house without learning a thing or two about the world.”

  Egan studied the ceiling. “Aye, now you’re about to remind me how sophisticated is Nvengaria and how backward is Scotland.”

  “I don’t know enough about Scotland to make a judgment,” Zarabeth said primly.

  “Lass.” Egan’s voice gentled as he looked at her again, and she saw him try not to smile. “Ye are not a worldly woman. Ye are still the daughter of a close friend, and I don’t plan to be the man who ruins ye completely.”

  Zarabeth’s anger mounted. “In Nvengaria, ladies are much freer to make their own decisions. I will only be ruined by this if I choose to be. Now, go and have your breakfast, since you have made it plain how you feel.”

  Egan leaned down and smoothed a lock from her forehead, then he wrapped the kilt around his hips, hiding his delightful nakedness. “Ye rest now. I’ll see how Valentin is faring.”

  Was he admonishing her for not rushing to see if her bodyguard was all right? “Oh, do go away,” she snapped.

 
To her surprise, Egan grinned at her, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “That I can do.”

  He walked unerringly to the key she’d flung away, picked it up, and went to the door.

  Zarabeth put aside her anger long enough to admire his backside as he bent for the key, but the knowing look he gave her as he exited—he noticed her noticing him—made her rage flare again.

  She heaved a long sigh once Egan had closed the door softly behind him. No matter how long she lived, Egan would not see Zarabeth as she wanted him to. He could made love like an angel, but he’d never equate her with the countesses and duchesses he’d wooed across the continent.

  He hadn’t wanted to come to her bed at all—she’d had to trick him into it. And Egan couldn’t understand that, of all the lovely ladies on the Continent who sighed over Egan, Zarabeth needed him the most. She needed her old friend who fished with her and raced horses with her, and she needed the strong Highlander to take her into his arms and make everything better.

  Zarabeth lay down again, burying her face in Egan’s warmth and scent that lingered in the sheets.

  * * *

  Hamish grinned at Egan from the table as Egan made his way into the Great Hall for breakfast. The place was still in disarray from the Hogmanay revelry, with Zarabeth’s footmen sleepily tidying up.

  Egan tried to tell the lads not to bother—Hogmanay would continue for several more days and the house would be a wreck again in the end. They’d all sleep it off then dive into putting the castle to rights. The footmen acknowledged this but stubbornly continued to work.

  “So, cousin,” Hamish rumbled as Egan piled sausages, potatoes, bannocks, and toasted bread on his plate. “Worked up an appetite, did ye?”

  Egan gave him a sharp look. “Your meaning?”

  Hamish leaned to him and lowered his voice, though there was no one else in the Great Hall but the footmen, who spoke little English. “My chamber’s right next to Zarabeth’s. I didn’t think that headboard would stop bangin’ into the wall all night. And then I poke me head out of the door in the wee hours and see ye traipsing out, naked as a weasel.”

  “Ye keep that to yourself.” Egan scowled. “And I was wearing a kilt.”

  “Barely. So, will ye make an honest woman of her?”

  Egan’s thoughts drifted to Zarabeth asleep in the nest they’d made together, her body curled among the pillows. It had been difficult to leave her this morning, difficult to walk away and not linger to make love to her all day and into the night. What better way to celebrate the coldest days of the year than lying in bed with Zarabeth?

  “’Tisn’t what she wants,” Egan said. “I think she’s had enough of marriage. ’Twas nae a happy one as you might imagine.”

  “I didn’t ask what she wanted,” Hamish said amiably. “I asked if ye’d make her honest.”

  “That’s my intent.” Egan studied his charred bread, wondering what Olaf would say when he learned what Egan had done. Olaf had not wanted Egan for Zarabeth before—had things changed?

  Hamish burst out laughing. “First poor Angus, then Egan. I’ll be the only MacDonald bachelor left.”

  “I’ll send ye to Nvengaria,” Egan threatened. “The ladies there are keen, and they’d be happy to have a go at such a strapping man as yourself.”

  An apprehensive light entered Hamish’s eye. Egan continued to eat his toast, perfectly serious.

  Hamish fell silent, but a teasing gleam remained in his eyes. Egan finished his breakfast then went upstairs to check on Baron Valentin. When he’d peeked into the man’s chamber before breakfast, Valentin had been fast asleep, but breathing well. Egan had closed the door without going in, leaving him to rest.

  Now as he opened the door wider to enter the bedchamber, he saw what he hadn’t before, his sister curled up in a chair near the fireplace. “Have ye been here all night?” he asked in a quiet voice as he closed the door.

  Mary remained where she was, head resting on her arm. “Yes. I worried for him.”

  Valentin lay unmoving under the covers, but his skin was no longer waxen, his color returning. Egan checked the wound, happy to see it wasn’t hot or swollen.

  “He’ll feel like hell when he wakes up,” Egan remarked, keeping his voice down.

  “He did wake.”

  Egan blinked at Mary. “Ye didn’t call me.”

  “It was the middle of the night, and he didn’t stay awake long. I thought it best to let him sleep. And you.”

  Mary sounded subdued, shaken even, not her usual brisk self. Egan wondered what had happened in here, what Valentin had said to her, if anything. The way Mary pressed her lips together told him she wasn’t about to reveal it.

  “Ye should sleep,” Egan told her.

  She shook her head. “I think I should stay, in case he wakes again.”

  Egan frowned, but Mary returned his look inscrutably. Egan shrugged. Mary could win an argument without saying a word. “Just be careful and call out if ye need anything.”

  “Of course.”

  He waited but she said no more than those two words. Very strange. Usually his sister didn’t hesitate to voice an opinion on anything.

  Egan gave up and left her to go in search of Olaf. He didn’t find the prince and ended up in the kitchen to ask the ladies there if they knew where he was. “He’s gone out with Angus,” Gemma said. “Angus is showing him a bit of the land.”

  Gemma was elbow-deep in dough, helping Mrs. Williams prepare for the next round of Hogmanay feasting. Egan got away with stealing one sugar-coated dried apple before Gemma and Mrs. Williams ran him out. He had many things to do this morning, so he headed upstairs and prepared to leave the castle.

  As he passed the main staircase on his way out, Zarabeth’s bedchamber door above him opened a crack. He sensed her behind it, watching him closely, but she made no attempt to call out. She hid while he continued through the hall, then he heard the door close behind him with a soft snick.

  * * *

  Hogmanay wound on. The family ate a modest meal just after midday then prepared to visit their tenants, crofters, and neighbors. The night would culminate in bonfires and a huge gathering at Ross Hall. Adam and Piers had set up fireworks in their gardens, and the inhabitants of every village for miles around would to be there.

  Egan tried to tell Zarabeth not to go.

  “And why not?” Zarabeth demanded as they stood outside the Great Hall after luncheon. She hadn’t seen Egan all morning, not since she’d observed him hurrying downstairs and out of the castle earlier. “I believe I will be safer in a crowd of Highlanders than left behind with my footmen and Valentin in his sick bed.”

  “Ivan and Constanz will go to the revelry,” Egan said, sounding offhand. “They’ve worked hard and deserve a treat.”

  “So I should remain here completely unguarded?” she asked in amazement.

  Egan had no business looking so cool and calm, his hair brushed and tamed instead of in its usual wild abandon. His eyes were a careful blank. “Of course not. I’ll be here, and your father. And Mary, who’s looking after Valentin.”

  Zarabeth glared at him, anger and trepidation rising. “Of course. I am certain two ladies, my father, and an injured logosh can withstand an army of assassins.”

  “We can, and I dinnae think we’ll have an army. I need to show ye something.”

  Zarabeth’s brows rose. She tried to sound haughty, but the things Egan showed her were always interesting. “Another adventure?”

  Egan nodded. “Dress warm and prepare to leave after the others depart for their merrymaking.”

  He walked away from her, perfectly confident she’d do what he wanted. Zarabeth ground her teeth. Insufferably arrogant Highlander.

  Even so, she dressed in the warmest of her plaid gowns with fur wraps borrowed from Mary, thick gloves and stout boots, and met Egan downstairs after the others had gone to Adam Ross’s. She wanted to continue her anger at Egan, but she was also curious as to where he would take her th
is evening.

  The Williamses and the other servants had been given the night off—that morning Egan and Mary had bestowed gifts on them and bade them a happy new year. The staff would attend merrymaking below stairs at Ross Hall, just as the Ross servants had enjoyed themselves at Castle MacDonald the night before.

  When Zarabeth descended to the cavernous kitchen with Egan, she found the room deserted and the fire banked for the night.

  “Is this what you wished to show me?” she asked Egan, keeping her voice light. “You raiding the larder?”

  “Hush now,” Egan said absently. “Ah, here he is.”

  He was Zarabeth’s father. Olaf waited in the shadows of the stairs that led to the cellars, a shuttered lantern in his hand. He looked alive with anticipation, his blue eyes sparkling, a scarf in Nvengarian wool around his throat.

  “Are we going to look at the bits of manacles?” Zarabeth asked Egan. “There isn’t much to them,” she confided to her father.

  “Trust me, lass,” Egan said.

  Zarabeth gave him an innocent look. “Don’t I always?”

  Egan opened his mouth to answer, then closed it and shook his head, ignoring Olaf’s amused expression. “Come along now.”

  Olaf motioned for Zarabeth to walk ahead of him, while he brought up the rear. Egan also carried a lantern, the candlelight reflecting eerily on the walls.

  Egan moved past the barrels of whisky as well as the rusting manacles left over from the clan’s more ferocious days. At the end of the cellar, farther than Zarabeth had yet explored, was a door about four feet high and wide. Egan took a thick key from his sporran, inserted it into the lock, and creaked the door open.

  “Will we have to crawl?” Zarabeth did not have a horror of closed-in spaces, but that did not mean she wanted to get herself dirty scooting on hands and knees through a tunnel.

  “Nay, the door is small, but the passage was dug so a man can walk upright.” Egan shone his lantern inside an earthen tunnel shored up with hand-cut stone. The cellar behind them, though several hundred years old, looked modern compared to this tunnel.

  Egan ducked through the doorway, his lantern light gleaming on the stone walls. Zarabeth came next, and then her father behind her.