Highlander Ever After

  Baron Valentin presented himself at the meal, in human form and fully dressed. He good-naturedly took the ribbing from the other Highlanders that he’d missed all the fun of the chase.

  Afterward, Egan walked Zarabeth upstairs, continuing his vow to not let her out of his sight.

  “I spoke with Valentin,” he said. “If not for him, we’d never have found the lass out there in the dark. She might have died of exposure before daylight.”

  Zarabeth scuttled into her chamber when Egan opened the door for her. She was exhausted, her eyes dark, and she was trying to stifle her yawns. He followed her inside and made for the fireplace, ignoring her startled look.

  “Valentin must have scared her, poor thing.” Zarabeth folded her arms and watched him. “On top of being abducted.”

  Egan shook his head. “I’m certain that with time, it will become a grand adventure for her. She can believe herself a brave little heroine for not being eaten by a wolf.”

  “I suppose that is true.”

  Egan leaned against the mantelpiece, letting the warmth of the fire slide under his kilt while Zarabeth sat heavily on the sofa, balling her fists in her lap.

  “Ye have an interestin’ collection of friends,” Egan observed. “Valetin, Damien, Alexander …”

  Zarabeth lifted her brows. “Good and loyal friends.”

  “Aye. And ye have many more here.”

  “I’m grateful for all of them,” she said, her voice softening. “Believe me.”

  Egan lounged more negligently. She was fighting fatigue, but stubborn Zarabeth would never admit it. She would keep pretending to be the polite hostess until she fell over.

  “Your face might shatter, love, if you keep trying to hold it steady,” Egan said after the silence had stretched between them.

  That earned him a glare. “It’s been a tiring night.”

  Egan shrugged, pretending his heart wasn’t beating fast and hard. “Rest then. Ye are safe enough here with me.”

  She gave him a surprised look. “With you? What are you talking about?”

  “I told ye last night, remember? I’m nae letting ye out of my sight.”

  Her mouth popped open. “Yes, but I didn’t think you meant it literally.”

  “I meant every minute.”

  Zarabeth snapped her mouth shut, her chest rising with a swift breath. “Egan, you cannot possibly stay in the same room with me. It’s not proper.”

  Egan folded his arms as though prepared to stand there all day and all night. “This is my house, and I’ll stay in whatever room I please.”

  She stared at him. “You have to be mad. Mary and Gemma will never allow …”

  “My sister and Gemma are not charged with protecting ye. I am.” He tapped his chest.

  “Egan.”

  “Zarabeth.”

  She came to her feet, her eyes sparkling as she faced him. Her head was up, her cheeks flushed, and she looked beautiful.

  “I see,” she said. “You’ll save my life but ruin my reputation? What would my father say?”

  “He’d likely say, Thank you for protecting my mule-stubborn daughter.”

  Zarabeth’s eyes flashed. “Mule-stubborn? Thank you very much.”

  Egan left the fireplace and met her in the middle of the room. Her shoulders were back, her blue eyes holding challenge.

  “When ye arrived here, lass, I didn’t see the Zarabeth I knew,” he said, trying to gentle his voice. “I saw a woman in hiding, putting on a mask of the gracious lady to all those around her. The hellion is gone, and I wonder what you did with her.”

  Zarabeth flushed. “I was a child. I grew up.”

  “At first I thought ’twas simply that ye were scared.” Egan gave her a nod. “That I understood. But there’s more, isn’t there?”

  Her glare intensified. “How could you know? You left my father’s house and never returned. Not for my wedding, not to visit my father—even when you came to Nvengaria for the wedding of Penelope and Damien, you never tried to see me.”

  Zarabeth flung the words at him, and they stung because Egan knew she was right. But he couldn’t explain why he’d stayed away—because he’d known he could not have remained being simply friends with her once he’d seen what a beautiful, entrancing woman Zarabeth had become. He’d have thrown honor to the wind, not caring whether she was married, and attempted to coerce her into a sordid affair. Some Nvengarians had open marriages, and he’d have tried to convince her to do the same. He’d wanted Zarabeth then and he wanted her now. The time apart had only heightened his desire.

  “I don’t recall seeing ye or your charming husband at Damien’s weddin’,” he said. “I looked for ye.” He had, fearing at every moment to see her, fearing his reaction when Zarabeth arrived on the arm of another man.

  Her gaze flickered. “Of course Sebastian would not attend. It was political—my husband was never a supporter of the Imperial Prince. He’d wanted Grand Duke Alexander to win.”

  “And when Alexander threw his backing to Damien?”

  “Sebastian deserted Alexander. Missing the wedding was a protest.”

  From what Damien’s letters to Egan had indicated, Sebastian belonged to an opposition party who believed that the country would be better off without an Imperial Prince. Sebastian and his friends had moved from angry mutterings in the Council of Dukes to out-and-out rebellion, complete with weapons and plans to assassinate Damien. How Zarabeth had discovered this, Egan didn’t know, but she’d bravely left her husband and crept off in the night to warn Damien. It killed Egan to learn what she’d been through and how much danger she’d faced, and faced even now.

  “Why didn’t ye send for me, lass?” he couldn’t stop himself asking. “Why didn’t ye tell me ye were so unhappy and needed help? Did ye forget I was your friend?”

  The anguish in her gaze pierced his heart. “You never came back.”

  “I had no choice but to leave ye that night.”

  He’d been about to ravish his best friend’s daughter, not hours after Prince Olaf had indicated his high hopes for eighteen-year-old Zarabeth’s marriage and future. That future did not include a Scotsman who buried himself in whisky and indulged himself with barmaids. Olaf wanted Zarabeth to marry a duke or perhaps foreign royalty. She was highborn, and she should fly higher still.

  A drunken laird whose ceiling regularly fell down did not count as highborn, at least not to Prince Olaf. Egan MacDonald did not get to live in a spun-sugar palace with the beautiful princess.

  Zarabeth regarded him angrily now, her eyes as intensely blue and beguiling as they’d been on that faraway night. “You left Nvengaria because I shamelessly begged you to kiss me?” she asked, astonished hurt in her voice. “You should have laughed and told me not to be silly. I would have been unhappy, but I’d have come to my senses in time.”

  Egan’s throat tightened as he remembered the long, lonely ride away from Olaf’s house, the knowledge that he’d lost something precious in his life—that he’d never had it in the first place.

  “But I would nae have stopped, nae have laughed,” he said quietly. He stepped close to her and cupped her cheek. “Ye think I didnae want what ye offered me? I was drunk, and ye were beautiful in the firelight. I would have put ye on that floor and had my way with ye, no matter what ye thought about it. Ye wanted a kiss, but I wanted everything. Everything.” He dragged in a breath. “Ye’ll never know how hard it was to turn from you and go.”

  Her throat moved. “I would have given you everything you wanted that night,” she whispered.

  Heady thought. Her smile had been sweet and his body had ached for her. Egan should have been given a medal for having the strength to leave her.

  “Aye,” he agreed. “Then ye’d have bitterly regretted it.”

  “You broke my heart,” she said softly.

  He’d broken his own heart ten times over. “I’m sorry, lass. Your father meant the world to me. He gave me back my life when no one else believed in me.
I loved him for that and I couldn’t repay him by ruining his only daughter. I had to choose.”

  She looked down, lashes shielding her eyes. “I came to understand that, of course. Why throw away a friendship for the whims of an eighteen-year-old girl?”

  Egan drew the ball of his thumb along her chin, wanting more than anything to let his fingers trail down her chest, to part the buttons of her bodice and touch the warm roundness of her breast. “I never meant to hurt ye, Zarabeth. But I would have hurt ye worse if I’d stayed.”

  Her lips parted, red and kissable, as she looked up at him. Egan could bend and touch her mouth with his right this moment, slide his tongue along her lips and taste her. He wanted to feather kisses down her throat, catch the top button of her modest dress in his teeth.

  Perhaps her eyes would soften and she’d make a soft noise of surrender, pull him to her as she had that night all those years ago. He could skim his hands into her gown and pull it down, smoothing her skin under his touch.

  Egan curled his fingers into his palm. She needed protecting, not ravishing, and he was old enough and wise enough to leave her be.

  Never mind that he was throbbing hard, everything in him crying out for her.

  “In retrospect,” Zarabeth said, hurt in her voice as Egan pulled away. “I’d rather you had ravished me that night. I’d not have married Sebastian, which would have saved me a world of trouble.”

  Egan certainly didn’t want his imagination going there. He’d have taken her down to the floor, pulled up her skirts, and pressed his very stiff cock into her warm, intimate place. He’d have taken her virginity, her trust, and her friendship. He’d have ruined her, and she and her father would never have forgiven him. Better that Egan had backed off, as he did now.

  “Ye’re tired, lass,” he said carefully. “Ye should sleep.”

  Zarabeth’s brows went up, and she returned to her bantering tone, unaware of his roiling thoughts. “If you insist on sleeping on the sofa, I may get no rest at all with you snoring away.” She folded her arms. “I’ll have a ruined reputation and lose a good night’s sleep.”

  “No ye won’t. I planned t’ bunk down outside the door.” Egan jerked his thumb at it.

  Zarabeth blinked. “What? But you said …” He watched her flush as she worked out that he’d never actually said he’d sleep in the room with her. “You are horrible, Egan MacDonald.”

  Egan gave her an exaggerated bow. “I live to tease. I’ll go now, so ye can preserve your modesty.”

  His heart thumped and his blood went hot as he imagined her slowly stripping off her clothes after he was gone, dropping each item delicately to the floor. Then she’d stretch like a cat, rubbing her tired limbs before pulling a nightdress over her nakedness.

  Zarabeth rolled her eyes. “Oh, do go away, Egan.” She turned from him, and Egan took himself swiftly out of the room before his rising arousal could betray him.

  * * *

  Zarabeth slept very little.

  She thought over her argument with Egan and knew she’d been ridiculous to grow angry at him for not coming back to her in Nvengaria. He’d had no idea what Sebastian was like or what she’d gone through—no one had, not even her father, until Zarabeth had left Sebastian and told the whole story to Damien.

  She couldn’t have sent for Egan during her marriage because Sebastian or his hateful secretary, Baron Neville, read every letter she wrote and always found the ones she’d tried to keep secret. And then she would be punished. Sebastian never beat her, for that would show—he wouldn’t want to spoil the performance of doting husband he put on for the world. But his twisted mind came up with very creative punishments.

  He’d made Zarabeth dress and behave to his dictation at all times, speak and write only to certain people, attend only certain events. Disobedience to these instructions resulted in more punishment to Zarabeth, or worse, to her maids—he’d have them beaten while she was forced to watch, stressing that their suffering was her fault. Eventually Sebastian had managed to wear Zarabeth down and sever every tie to her old friends and even her family.

  Sebastian had watched her every move, but he’d never detected her ability to read thoughts. She’d learned of his plan to assassinate Damien from a stray contemplation in his head. She remembered the terror of that night as she’d lain in bed after she’d heard it, the realization that she could no longer pretend to the world that nothing was wrong—knowing she had to stop hiding and act.

  Now as twilight fell, lengthening shadows in her chamber, Zarabeth heard Egan’s snore through the door and allowed herself a few tears—not of anger but relief. She felt safe here in Egan’s stone castle, with him guarding her.

  She rose, pulled on her dressing gown against the cold, and wandered to the window. The October day had grown dark, ropes of white stars casting their light over the valley. The loch lay in a shimmering silver sheet, a moon path stretching across it.

  Zarabeth loved it here, and she understood why Egan did as well. It was a part of him, this wild, remote land. He might have avoided it for years, but it had called him back.

  She heard the door open, then felt warmth behind her. Egan. He hadn’t undressed, sleeping in his linen shirt and a kilt. The heat of his tall body encompassed her as he pointed around her through the window.

  “See there?”

  Zarabeth followed the line of his outstretched finger. She thought she detected faint movement in the darkness, but she couldn’t be certain. “What is it?”

  “My men. At least a dozen patrol the valley at all times. They go in shifts t’ keep rested and alert. Had Olympia been staying at Castle MacDonald, the men who came for her would never have got near her. This is a safe place, never worry about that.”

  Zarabeth tried very hard not to lean back against him. “I still feel responsible for Olympia.”

  “Not your fault she wandered off by herself. ’Tis dangerous to do so even in times of peace. Ye’d not have been so foolish.”

  Zarabeth subsided, but she’d never feel easy about what had happened. Olympia hadn’t understood her danger.

  “Who are your men?” she asked. “I thought the days of clans with their own soldiers were gone.”

  She felt Egan’s shrug. “Some are from families who still consider themselves the laird’s retainers. Some are soldiers from the Peninsula who had nothing to return to, happy I could give them employment. Some have lost land and don’t want to turn to the factories for work. They are all loyal to me, and happy to help keep you safe. I would nae call them an army, but ’tis good to have them.”

  Zarabeth let out her breath. “You have done so much for me, Egan. I haven’t said thank you enough.”

  “I don’t blame ye for it,” he said, his voice quiet.

  “It is not because I am not grateful.” Unshed tears made her throat ache. “I am simply … I am having difficulty being around people who are kind.”

  She felt Egan’s body shake with laughter. “Kind? My family? Mebbe ye’re asleep and dreamin’, lass.”

  Zarabeth hid a smile. “Good-hearted, if you do not like the word kind. Your family is good-hearted. So are the Rosses.”

  “Aye, if ye’d like to think so.”

  “You are teasing me.” Zarabeth turned and found him too close. “You always liked to tease me.”

  “’Tis a fine pastime,” Egan said in a low voice. “I cannae seem to leave off.”

  Zarabeth’s heart was hungry and sore, and she was so tired. Up here in the dark, high in the castle under the stars, she could believe she and Egan were the only two people in the world.

  She touched his face. Egan’s whiskers were rough against her fingers, and his eyes glinted under his lashes as he looked down at her. Her heartbeat sped.

  Don’t.

  You will regret…

  She no longer cared about regret.

  Zarabeth raised on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth.

  Egan made a noise like a groan and turned his hea
d to meet her. Their lips rested together, the kiss half formed, until Egan captured her lower lip between his teeth, a gentle nip that disguised his strength.

  His breath was warm on her face. Zarabeth expected him to pull away, to set her aside and tell her again she was not for him. But the line between his brows only deepened as he bent into the kiss.

  Perhaps time and the outside world didn’t matter here. Maybe this was a magic castle, and Zarabeth could have her heart’s desire as long as she didn’t leave this room.

  She nearly laughed at her own foolish thoughts, but instead of breaking the kiss, she slid her arms around Egan’s waist and welcomed him in.

  Chapter 8

  A Highland Celebration

  Egan knew he should leave. He should press her aside, virtuously turn away and walk out the door, positioning himself outside like a guard dog. But he couldn’t stop himself from opening her mouth and tasting her, sliding his hands beneath her dressing gown to cup her shoulders under her nightrail.

  She tasted like Highland sunshine, prized because it was rare. She was melting him like mountain snow with its first brush of summer.

  Zarabeth made a noise in her throat as she laced her arms around Egan’s waist and pulled him closer. Egan moved his palms to the small of her back, liking the swell of her buttocks beneath his hands. She smelled of lavender, tasted of the spiced wine they’d drunk to warm themselves downstairs after the search.

  Sweet, sweet woman, I could kiss you all the night.

  He knew Zarabeth would let him into her bed if he asked. She was tired and afraid, and she trusted him. He could lay her down and peel the flimsy nightgown from her body, nuzzle between her breasts and drown in her scent.

  He could kiss his way down her throat, take her nipples into his mouth one by one, nibble his way to her navel. Down to the soft place between her legs, to lick and taste and enjoy her. Then he’d rise up again to ease himself into her.

  He wanted it with every breath.

  Ghosts from the past swam up to haunt him. Unbidden came the face of Zarabeth’s father the night Egan had told him why he had to leave Nvengaria. Olaf had nodded solemnly and placed his hand on Egan’s shoulder.