Seduced by the Highlander (7 page)

“You expected me to be jealous,” she said, referring back to Angus and his beautiful wife. “But how can I be, when I have no recollection whatsoever of the time we spent together?”

Lachlan considered the question thoroughly. “I’ve never heard of anyone losing all their memories before, and I’m still not sure I believe it. So don’t get too comfortable, thinking I’m convinced.”

She scoffed. “Trust me, I am not the least bit comfortable with you.” How could she be, when everything about him overwhelmed all her sensible thoughts? “Clearly I did not make a good impression on you,” she added, “when we knew each other before.”

“Nay, you did some appalling things.”

“Like what, besides the curse?” She realized in that moment that without the benefit of memory, there were no regrets. There was nothing to feel guilty about. It was like living in a constant state of innocence and purity.

And it was so very empty.

“Tell me the worst thing I’ve done,” she said, for she wanted to know the truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be. She wanted a real life. “Perhaps it will trigger a memory.”

Though nothing her grandmother told her had ever triggered anything. Not even the return to her childhood home had brought back her past.

But maybe that was because Lachlan was right: she was not Catherine and never had been.

God, help me.
She was so confused and desperate to learn the truth. Desperate enough to go off into the night with a dangerous, unpredictable Highlander who despised her …

“Can you not answer the question?” she asked, growing almost frantic. “Or have you lost your memories, too?”

“I apologize, lass, but I don’t know where to begin. The choices are endless.”

She shook her head with derision. “You are a cad.”

“All right, all right,” he said at last. “I’ll start with how you followed Angus back to Kinloch after he said good-bye to you in the Hebrides. But you better brace yourself for the whole story, because you were a villain like none I’ve ever known. You won’t like how the tale ends.”

“Enough with the suspense,” she said, her heart pounding. “Please tell me what I did. I must know.”

He inhaled deeply, and she found herself leaning into the warmth of his broad chest.

“You followed him to Kinloch to tell him that he had less than a month to live, and that he’d die by the noose.”

She frowned. “Was it true?”

“Nay, he still lives. But you also told him that his wife—who you called a manipulative slut—would betray him, and it would be her fault that he would end up in the noose in the first place.”

“Good Lord! Was that a lie as well?”

He hesitated. “It was partly true, but it’s a long story. All you need to know is that you tried to lure him back to your bed when he was happily married and expecting a child, and you were the one who told his enemies that they should hang him. You were responsible for the near fall of Kinloch Castle, and another Scottish rebellion—when all Angus ever wanted was peace.”

God in heaven
 … She swallowed hard, trying to manage her composure. It was a lot to take in, and if she truly was Raonaid, the oracle, she would not be proud of these things when she recovered her memories. How would she ever live with herself?

“Did I do these dreadful things because Angus jilted me?” she asked. “It sounds like I was very jealous of his wife.”

“Aye, you were, and you were bitter toward me for the loss of him. That’s why you cursed me.”

She turned in the saddle. “What part did you play in it?”

“First, I was the one who found him with you in the Hebrides, and encouraged him to return home and reclaim his castle. That’s when he left you. And when you followed, I helped convince him that you would wreak havoc on his marriage if he let you stay, and that he should banish you from the castle for good.”

Evidently, she had been jealous and spiteful on more than one occasion, if she had further retaliated by placing a murderous curse on Lachlan.

“You don’t suppose I have purged all my memories because of an overwhelming sense of guilt? Perhaps I could not bear what I had done, and therefore tried to erase it, or block it all out.”

“That would make sense, I suppose, if you felt the least bit guilty, but I’m not sure you are capable of that.” The deep scorn in his voice left her shaken. “I never met anyone more vengeful than you.”

She could not accept this. She simply could not.

“And yet, your powerful clan chief lived with me for more than a year,” she argued, “and we were lovers. Surely, Raonaid—or rather
I
—must have had
some
redeemable qualities.”

He considered that. “Your ability to predict the future, I suppose. And you’re a beautiful woman.” He spoke the words in a velvet murmur and rubbed his nose across her hair. “Not even I, who hate you most, can deny that, Raonaid.”

Their tempestuous kiss in the stone circle came flashing back at her suddenly, and she experienced another persistent spark of arousal, deep and heavy in her belly.

She should have been angry with herself for such a response, after he just admitted how much he hated her, but instead, she decided to accept these sensations, for at least they were proof that she was alive. She existed as a passionate being.

A light breeze blew through the canopy of autumn leaves overhead, and the moon shadows rippled like waves across the ground.

“Perhaps Raonaid is not all bad,” she suggested, grasping for some hope that she could somehow redeem herself. “Did you ever really talk to her, like we are doing now?”

He laughed. “Nay! You and I despised each other with a passion. And stop calling yourself
her
. You are one-and-the-same, and when you say things like that, you sound a bit mad.”

“Like a lunatic. Isn’t that what I am?”

He paused. “I don’t know. But I don’t like it, lass, because it makes me forget who you really are.”

She considered that. “I rather wish you
would
forget. Then perhaps you would be gentler with me.”

“Gentler?
Me?
With
you
?”

Just then, a light drizzle began, which quickly turned to a heavy downpour.

Lachlan uttered an angry oath and steered them deeper into the forest. “This curse of yours knows no mercy,” he growled.

“You can hardly blame the weather on
me
.”

He grumbled something in Gaelic, then kicked in his heels and told her to hang on.

Chapter Six

Lachlan raised his tartan over his head, but nothing could keep the water out, nor could anything be done for Raonaid, who was seated in front of him, dressed in heavy silks and velvets that were quick to soak up the rain.

Her hair—piled on top of her head in a great mountain of curls and powder—tumbled onto her neck and shoulders in a hopeless avalanche of chaos.

Not unlike what was going on inside his body at the moment.

Obviously, if he wanted the curse lifted, he’d had no choice but to bring her with him, but it was no easy task to ride behind her, with his legs straddled around her sweet, warm bottom while she swayed back and forth in the saddle, rubbing up against the insides of his thighs.

He was in a constant state of arousal and was half-tempted to stop everything, dismount, and take her heartily up against some arbitrary tree, while the rain poured down all around them and drenched them both to the bone.

It seemed his careful plan to bully and coerce her was now a crashing wreck. She had turned the tables on him, and was now partly in control, after having set the rules in the library.

It was utter madness. He couldn’t imagine how it could be worse.

And then the wind began.

“I’m freezing!” Raonaid shouted.

He wrapped his tartan around her and held her close in the saddle to stave off the chill, while he hissed a few unsophisticated oaths inside his throbbing head.

“There’s a village not far from here,” he said in defeat. “We’ll go and dry out, and I’ll get us a second horse.”

He couldn’t ride with her anymore. Not like this.

She turned in the saddle to look at him through the driving rain. “Are you not worried the magistrate will catch us?”

“We won’t stay long.” He urged Goliath into a gallop.

By the time they rode into the village, splattering through puddles of muck in the street, they were both soaked and shivering.

“Take the pins out of your hair,” he said as they trotted to the stable and paused under the dripping overhang. “Let it fall loose, and give me your jewels.”

“But these belong to the Drumloch estate,” she replied, teeth chattering. “I am responsible for them, and they are worth a great deal.”

“If you walk in there wearing them, lass, I promise you’ll leave without them. Hand them over. I won’t let anything happen to them.”

She hesitated, then removed the pearl and emerald necklace and surrendered it. He dropped it into his sporran while she removed the earrings and handed them over as well.

Lachlan swung out of the saddle and held out his arms. She accepted his assistance without complaint, and a moment later was standing before him, letting down her hair. It fell wetly onto her soft, ivory shoulders while rainwater glistened on her lips and forced her to blink away the silvery drops of moisture pooling on her eyelashes.

Ah, fook, but she is lovely
.

It was too bloody much. He wanted to hit something.

“What now?” she asked.

He removed his hands from her tiny waist and let them fall to his sides. “We go inside and get warm.”

“Will we take a room?”

“Aye, but just until the storm passes.”

She turned away from him and began walking toward the front door while he handed Goliath over to a stable hand.

“We’ll use false names,” Lachlan told her as he caught up. “And it’s a good thing you look like a drowned cat. No one would take you for an heiress, looking as wretched as you do.”

It would help him if he could believe it.

“Thank you so very much for the generous compliment,” she curtly replied as he strode ahead to lead the way.

They entered the inn, which housed a taproom on the main floor, with dark paneling and hunting portraits on the walls. Lachlan took hold of Raonaid’s hand and approached the red-bearded barkeep.

“We need a room and a hot meal.”

The giant Lowlander waved a barmaid over. “Abigail, take these soggy travelers upstairs and ask them what they want to eat.” He wiped a cloth over the bar. “There are only two choices,” he added under his breath. “Stew and stew.” He lifted his eyes and regarded Lachlan steadily. “I’m Bill Anderson, and I’ll require payment in advance.”

Lachlan dug into his sporran and dropped a handful of coins onto the bar.

The innkeeper’s bushy brows furrowed as he counted the money. “You plan to stay more than one night, stranger?”

“Nay, but I don’t want to be bothered. Do you understand my meaning?”

The innkeeper peered over Lachlan’s shoulder at Raonaid, who stood behind him, wringing the water out of her hair. It splattered onto the floor.

“Someone’s going to have to wipe that up,” Anderson said, sounding offended.

Lachlan tossed him another few coins. “Will that cover it?”

“Aye, friend, it will. Now go with Abigail up the stairs. She’ll see to all your needs.”

Lachlan tossed his hair out of his eyes and waved a hand at Raonaid, who followed him across the taproom.

Upstairs, the corridor was narrow and dimly lit by a single candle in a wall sconce. The floor slanted sharply to one side, but the roof was sound, which meant they would at least stay dry.

The barmaid slipped a key into the lock and took them into the spacious room. It had a window overlooking the stable yard below, and a fireplace opposite a table with four chairs. A clean blue and white quilt covered the brass bed. It was big enough for two.

Abigail lit the lamp and soon a warm golden glow filtered through the room. Lachlan’s eyes turned to Raonaid. She, too, glowed like fire with that mass of wet hair sticking to her gleaming white skin.

“You’d like two meals sent up?” Abigail asked as she moved to the bed and folded back the covers.

“Aye,” he answered gruffly, turning away from the sight of that soft, welcoming mattress, and moving to the window. “And a bottle of something. Wine, claret. Doesn’t matter.” He needed to numb his passions.

She nodded and left them alone.

Raonaid crossed to the bed and sat down, but Lachlan refused to look at her. He could do nothing, however, about the sounds she was making. His ears were attuned to everything—the bed creaking under her weight, her soft breathing, the rustle of her skirts. With an exhausted sigh, she removed a shoe, dropped it onto the floor with a careless
thunk,
then removed the other one.

“I was never so happy to see a bed.” She flopped backwards onto it.

He did not share her joy, however, for it had been ages since he was alone in a bedchamber with a woman. And with this particular one, who was so bewitching to him in every way, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to make it through the night without doing what he’d promised not to do.

*   *   *

Within minutes, Lachlan had an impressive fire blazing in the hearth. He dragged a chair across the floor for Catherine.

“Come and sit closer,” he said. “Dry your clothes.”

Pulling another chair forward for himself, he sat down and held his hands out to warm them.

Catherine watched him for a breathless moment, wishing he were not so …
wet.
His long hair gleamed strikingly in the amber firelight, and his shirt was clinging to his massive arms and shoulders, his kilt hugging his strong, muscular thighs. Ah, sweet Lord, he was a beautiful thing to behold when he was so shiny, dripping, and drenched.

He leaned back and propped both booted feet up on the opposite chair, which he had pulled forward for her. With a sigh, he crossed those big, sinewy legs at the ankles.