Desiring the Highlander (13 page)

A quiet stillness filled the air. Ellenor had been doing most of the talking, and Cole had enjoyed listening to the soft melodic rhythm as she spoke in his own language. An ability that must have taken years to cultivate, but how? He watched the slow rise and fall of her shoulders and guessed she had fallen asleep.

Quietly, he slipped out of the water and threw on his leine. He moved to check on her garments. Finding them still sodden, he quickly wrung the material and spread them on a bush closer to the river, hoping the steady night breeze would have a better chance at drying them out. Next, he collected her bag, his belt and tartan, and then moved to her side. Carefully lifting her, he gathered her close and turned toward the campsite. His hands caressed her back, molding her to him as if she were made for him, and only him.

She stirred only once as he laid her down still wrapped in his tartan. She opened her eyes and said in almost a childlike voice, “You would be a wonderful laird, Cole. And wouldn’t it be great if Dugan could be your commander?”

“My commander?” Cole choked, letting her go. But before he could move out of reach, her arm whipped out and cupped his cheek. Her eyes were glazed, as if she weren’t looking at him, but a dream of him. A sudden rush came over him and he wished that someday she would look at him that way when she was fully awake—warm, sensual, and aroused.

“Mmm-hmm. It would make everyone happy. Your people happy, Dugan happy to have a place of importance, and best of all, you could teach him how to be a great man.”

And then Ellenor did the unthinkable.

She curled her hand behind his neck and pulled him down to a waiting kiss.

At first, Cole tried to ignore the soft full lips moving erotically against his. She was half-asleep and not aware of what she was doing, but his body didn’t seem to care. His ability to resist suddenly crumbled, and with a moan, he invaded the sweet, vulnerable warmth behind her lips. He heard her groan softly and felt her grip tighten on his neck.

The kiss was a drug on his senses. His heart was beating rapidly, his imagination was going wild, and he could feel his body trembling. Her lips burned against his, igniting flames that could burn out the aching emptiness inside him.

He turned onto his side and eased Ellenor onto her back, deepening the kiss. The blanket fell down to her waist and he covered her supple body with his own. His tongue swept her mouth, devouring her lips, and instead of pulling away, Ellenor responded. She arched into him, pressing her frame against the length of him. It felt so good, so right, so wonderful, he knew he had finally found perfection.

Need tore through him, ripping away all of his carefully constructed defenses, leaving only the agony of knowing this kiss—this phenomenal, earth-shattering kiss—would be all they would share.

He was seconds from ending the thin barrier between them and discovering the rest of her secrets when a voice deep inside him made him stop. Cole wanted to ignore it, but he couldn’t. Not this voice. It wasn’t his; it was Ellenor’s, yesterday, telling him that she didn’t trust any man, but she trusted him. With a groan, he crushed her to him and kissed her one last time, wishing he could make time stand still.

With the last of his strength, he lifted his mouth from hers and looked down into emerald eyes still glazed with sleep. “Elle…God, Elle…what you do to me,” he whispered, smoothing back her hair.

“You do the same to me, Highlander.” Then Ellenor lifted her lips and pressed them softly against his cheek. “Good night,” she whispered, closing her eyes and her body suddenly went limp.

Letting her go, Cole flipped onto his back and tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or insulted that she just slept through a kiss that would keep him awake every night for months.

Kissing Ellenor Howell was the least honorable thing he had ever done.

It was also the most manly.

Cole stirred, refusing to open his eyes. The last time he had made that mistake, it was just in time to spy Ellenor tiptoeing into the trees in the dead of the night. She had wrapped the blanket around her waist, holding up the ends over her breasts. The extra material in the back created a deep and revealing swag. The memory-scorching view of her glorious honey-colored hair tumbling off her shoulder blades to the small of her back had sucked the breath right out of him and he had yet to recover. She had looked like a temptress and an angel seamlessly blended into one woman. A woman whose kiss had pierced his soul.

His body was becoming aroused, and he knew if he continued to lie still, it would only become worse, not better.

Rousting himself up, Cole had grabbed his sword and headed out after her. Minutes later, he wished he had stayed where he was. Ellenor had dropped the blanket and was wrestling with the thorn bush to retrieve her chemise. His throat had seized and suddenly he had been unable to breathe. Only in dreams did men chance to see such perfection and never was it quite as beautiful as Ellenor.

Unable to stop himself, his gaze swept over her, taking her in from head to toe and then back up again. Long, lithe legs, perfectly curved hips, the graceful line of her spine, soft ivory shoulders, a slender white neck…all pieces perfectly linked, beckoning to be touched. Kissed. Savored. And worst of all, Cole knew exactly how good it would be. He still remembered how she tasted and felt against his hands when he’d held her, all soft and vulnerable.

His body quickened at the memory, and he silently cursed his own weakness. Sheer willpower and a lifetime of suppressing emotion were the only things keeping his control from disappearing altogether.

God, how he wanted her. She just wasn’t his to have.

Pivoting, he returned to camp and lay back down. Moments later, Ellenor returned dressed in her chemise and his blanket was once again around her shoulders. In her hand was her bliaut. He guessed it was still damp because she threw several more sticks onto the dying fire and then spread the gown on the log she had been sitting on earlier during dinner. Only once did she glance his way, just before she had settled back down to sleep.

Cole opened his eyes and stared at the night sky, watching his breath mist his view and then evaporate. The once rising moon was now setting, indicating it was hours later. Ellenor was still asleep but her breathing had quickened, awakening him from his already light slumber.

Her dreams had returned. The bad ones.

He wondered what he should do—if anything.

She was curled up into a ball with his plaid wrapped tightly around her, and every so often, a soft whimper would catch the breeze. The effect was like a knife in the chest.

Every male impulse he had cried for him to go to her, hold her, and comfort her. But his survival instinct forced him to remain outstretched, uninvolved, and silent. Physically he was distant, but emotionally he was still connected to her, and none of the walls he tried to erect had broken their bond.

After Rob’s death, Cole had had no difficulty separating himself from those he loved. And while he was loyal to his men, respected them, and would readily die to save or protect any one of them, friendships were something he no longer shared…with anyone. So, why was he finding it impossible to keep his distance from this woman…this
Englishwoman
?

A groan followed by a loud cry caught his attention. Cole glimpsed at Ellenor and saw her struggling with the blanket, cursing at it as if someone—not the material—was pinning her down. Her eyes were opened, crazed with both terror and fury. She was starting to kick, tearing and clawing anything that was daring to restrain her.

The plan to keep away from Ellenor and let her fight her own demons instantly disappeared. This was no ordinary nightmare. Ellenor was once again reliving whatever had happened to her, only this time, she wasn’t able to get free.

Without further hesitation, Cole knelt beside her and began to unwrap the maddening material from her body. The second her arms were liberated, Ellenor began pounding on his chest, screaming and repeatedly drawing out the word “No!” as he worked to release the rest of her limbs.

Finally free, Ellenor jumped up and held her hand out as if it clasped a dagger and not air. “I will kill you,” she seethed, waving her fist in front of her. “Come near me again and I will slit your throat.” With her chin, she pointed to the empty, wadded blanket on the ground and said, “See him? See that nasty beast. He tried to rape me and I did that to him. I doubt even the animals will want his rotten entrails. Come one step closer and I promise I will do the same to you.”

Cole put both hands out in front of him. He needed to wake her up. In her struggle, she had ripped some fingernails and somehow gashed her wrist, causing blood to flow freely down her arm. “Elle. It’s me, Cole. I won’t hurt you.”

Ellenor jumped back, still waving her fist. Her long hair slid off her shoulder and started swinging. “You’re damn right, you won’t. How could you?” she wailed. “How could you do that to your own baron? He was my
father
!”

Her sorrow-filled cry tore at his heart. Now he knew the nature of her demon. No wonder she trusted no one, not even her own people. “I would never hurt you, Ellenor. You know that. I am your friend. We are soul mates, you and I.
Shonuachars
. I understand your pain and would never add to it.”

She had first mistaken him for one of the English soldiers who had attacked her so this time he had spoken in Gaelic. It seemed to have stunned her for several seconds. Then her eyes grew large as the glaze from sleep slowly disappeared and Cole knew she was once again awake, with him and in the present.

Her brows furrowed, and for the first time, Ellenor looked completely unsure of herself. She looked down at the blanket, the place she had dreamt killing the man who had attacked her, and then back at Cole. “You…you now know. You know what I did. What I am.”

“Aye, I know.” His voice was deep, soft, and without judgment.

“No, you don’t,” she whispered, still staring at the twisted plaid. “You can’t possibly.”

“You defended yourself. An action I happen to admire.”

Ellenor’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “You don’t understand a thing. For if you knew all of what happened—what I did, you couldn’t stand to see even my shadow,” she said in a choked voice. “Do you know what it is like to loathe yourself? Could you possibly understand what it feels like to carry the burden of knowing that, because of you, someone you loved, adored, respected, was murdered?”

Cole stood there, mesmerized by flashing green eyes that challenged his comprehension of the very thing that ate at his soul. For the first time since Rob died, he had met someone who just might understand what he felt. The personal anger, the terror, the utter sadness that lived with him reflected in two shimmering pools staring back at him. “I can. That is the one thing I can understand.”

She looked at him, and if possible, her green eyes became larger and she realized he had spoken the truth. Then suddenly, her rigid form went limp. Before she hit the ground, Cole grabbed her and held her close.

With her cheek pressed against his shoulder, Ellenor felt all the loss, the pain, the guilt explode within her. Tears began to fall, and for the first time since it happened, she cried. Slowly at first, and then in torrents, clinging to Cole as if he were the one safe place in a raging storm at sea. He never let her go.

When she could cry no more, he bent down and picked her up. Kicking her blanket back open, he sat down, cradling her in his arms. Scooting back a couple of feet, he leaned against a small boulder and settled her across his lap with her head on his chest. He could feel the soft, wet flutter of her lashes when she blinked. She was no longer crying, but her mind was in the past, remembering whatever had happened.

“Tell me about it, Elle. I promise you. I will not judge.”

His request met with several minutes of silence before she finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even know I could cry like that. When I should have wept, I couldn’t produce even one tear. It was as if a piece of me—the piece that feels—had died along with everyone else.”

“Was your father part of everyone?”

Ellenor nodded against his chest. “I found him, along with his murderers. They were in his room, robbing him of anything valuable. My father was on the floor. A dagger was in his chest. His eyes were open. Shock and pain stared back at me. His mouth was open, too, from when he had called out. That was what brought me to his room. But when I got there, he was already dead.”

Cole forced himself to unclench and relax his jaw. Stroking her hair, he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Elle.”

“I did it. It was my fault.”

His initial impulse to her declaration was to refute it. Cole was positive it was not true; however, for some mysterious reason, Ellenor obviously imagined it to be so. “How so?” he asked softly.

“My father knew they weren’t good men. He knew from the beginning. They were forced upon us by my uncle. My father didn’t have many soldiers, but the ones he had were very loyal. When my mother died, they became fiercely protective of the rest of the family. My sister hated it. Said she felt like someone was watching her every move and pressured father into letting her marry. He finally agreed and Gilda selected Ainsley, someone very like herself. He’s the greedy sort who is never happy with what he has. He enjoyed living well and demanded a dowry—one that my father could not afford. Gilda had made sure she was compromised, forcing my father to use the money my uncle gave him, not for soldiers as they had agreed, but on my sister.”

“Unfortunate,” Cole said, prompting her to continue.

“All was well, for a while. Then somehow, my uncle must have found out. He was furious. I couldn’t understand why he cared so much. All my life I saw my uncle use people to get what he wanted, and he most especially liked using my father. And before you think badly of my father, he knew what his brother was about.”

“Then why did he allow it?”

“He said it was because it suited him. My mother said my father was appealing to his brother’s envy and that as long as my uncle believed himself to be better and more powerful than us, there would be peace. So, my father let him.”

Cole scooted a couple of inches down into a more comfortable position and took a deep breath. Exhaling, he said, “Excellent strategy. Your father found a clever way to protect what he truly valued.”

“I told you that you would have liked him. You think as he did. I only wish he could have fought like you,” Ellenor said, her voice so small and weak she wasn’t even sure she spoke aloud.

“These…men that killed your father, they came from your uncle?” Cole questioned. She had been sidetracked and he wanted her to fully explain what had happened, more for her sake than his. He was curious, but until she unburdened herself completely, she would forever have nightmares.

“A few weeks after my uncle left,” Ellenor began, “he sent us three soldiers. I didn’t realize why he was being so generous, but my father did. My uncle was cheating the king by skimming taxes.”

“That explains why your uncle was willing to give your father money.”

“I later discovered they had a standing agreement. Some of the money was to recruit soldiers who would eventually serve my uncle…”

“…saving him the burden and expense of training,” Cole finished as understanding finally dawned on him.

“My uncle came to see why he hadn’t gotten his new recruits.”

“That was the argument you overheard.”

“Yes, but I didn’t make all the connections until later…much later. When I started pretending to be crazy, I just wanted everyone to leave me alone. Then they did, leaving me only memories.”

Cole knew exactly what she meant. Nightmares robbed one of sleep, but in the day…it bled one’s sanity.

Unaware of how she touched him, she continued, “So when my uncle sent soldiers to ‘support’ my father, he of course wanted to order the men back, but I was naïve. I liked them. I was bored. They were fun. So I was relentless in begging my father to change his mind and he finally agreed, saying maybe it would be wiser to watch the fox, rather than wonder where it was. I didn’t understand his meaning and I didn’t care. I was just glad they were staying. One of them, Seth, the leader of the group, was enormously charming and funny and he flattered me continuously. After a few months of his company, I had actually imagined myself in love. My father must have realized I was being foolish and confronted Seth, ordering him and his two friends to leave. And they
would
have left,” Ellenor scoffed.

“
Would
have? They didn’t?” Cole asked.

Ellenor shook her head in shame. “I ran after them. I found Seth just as he was prepping his mount. He was eager to leave, mumbling how a knight of his caliber deserved a rich lord with a pretty daughter. I told him that I would go with him, that my father was wrong. I put my heart out there and he cruelly threw it back at me, calling me the least womanly, most unappealing female creature he had ever been forced to spend time with.” She bit the last words, remembering the menacing way in which they were said.

Cole sat stunned for several seconds.
Had the man been blind? Could anyone be so foolish to spend time with this woman and fail to appreciate all she had to offer
? As soon as he asked the question, he realized he was just such a fool. Then again, Ellenor was not his to claim.

“Of course Seth was right,” Ellenor continued, “but that just made his verbal onslaught even more painful. I wanted to hurt him—hurt him as he had hurt me. So, I lied. I told him my father was rich, much richer than my uncle, with hidden stashes of gold that would be given as a dowry to the man I chose to marry…a man that would never be him. Then I left, foolishly believing I had won.”

Ellenor paused, remembering. “That night I went to apologize to my father. Just as I reached the door, I heard a scuffle and him calling out. It was one time and not very loud and his voice had been full of fear. I opened the door to see one of Seth’s men collapsed in a chair with my father’s sword through his back. Then I saw my father. He was on the ground with a knife in his chest. His eyes were facing towards the door, but I knew immediately there was no life in them. He was dead.”