Desiring the Highlander (12 page)

She was right, but the last thing he was going to do was admit it. The woman was already impossible. He reached for her bliaut, pretending to pull it off the bush. “Shall I throw these wet ones back in?”

The hard splash of hands hitting the water’s surface echoed throughout the air, indicating his barb had hit its mark. “If you are going to be insufferable, then yes, toss it back in. But when I become ill and am miserable company over the next few days, I don’t want to hear a word.”

Damn, if she didn’t somehow win every argument. Even when she shouldn’t
. “Woman, you could try the patience of a saint,” Cole mumbled in Gaelic. Louder, he asked, “Don’t you have another gown in your bag?”

Ellenor clenched her jaw, betraying her deep frustrations. Her other chemise, dirty and foul-smelling, was dry, but now that she was clean, the last thing she wanted to do was don a soiled garment. Unfortunately, there was nothing else. She was just about to agree to the suggestion when Cole threw his hands up in the air and growled, “Women! I’ll get you a blanket.” Then just before he marched off, he turned and pointed. “Stay near the shore and don’t go under the water until I return. Understood?”

Ellenor beamed him a grateful smile and nodded dutifully. Grunting one last time, Cole turned and headed for camp.

When he arrived, he saw Jaime, alone, relaxing against a tree trunk, staring into the fire. His expression made it clear
who
was on his mind. The English minx was putting a spell on all of his men, not just him. If she returned wrapped in nothing but a blanket and Jaime was still here, there would be trouble. The mysterious feeling of possessiveness was growing exponentially.

“Jaime.”

Jaime stirred and responded, “Aye, Commander?”

“Get your things. You’re sleeping with Donald on the perimeter.”

Jaime furrowed his brow. He didn’t say anything. The commander’s business was his own, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy with the suggestion or hide his disapproval.

Cole shook his head. Jaime had jumped to the wrong conclusions, but there was no way Ellenor was returning here, undressed, with any man present besides himself.

Cole gathered the softer of the two blankets and returned. As she promised, Ellenor was staying near the shore, and while her shoulders were barely below the surface, she had not resubmerged her head.

He tossed the blanket on the grass close to the river’s edge. “Wrap yourself up in that until we get back to camp. Then get dressed in the shift you had on yesterday, I don’t care if it does stink. And do it
without argument
.”

“Aye, Commander,” Ellenor teased, imitating his authoritative bur, and began to head toward the bank.

Cole was dumbfounded. The woman was completely unmoved by the seriousness of his tone and she should have been at least mildly terrified. His men certainly would have been. But then Ellenor Howell was as far from a man as one could get.

Ellenor hurried out of the water and wrapped the tartan around her shivering body. It had been a reckless decision to jump in the water and then undress. Reckless and wild and carefree. And it felt wonderful. It felt like her. She was Ellenor Howell again. Fearing nothing and no one.

The caution she had been exercising was not a genetic trait, it had been a learned one. She had been living in fear for so long, she had forgotten what she was like when unafraid. She had forgotten what it felt like to be happy. And it was all because of one large, scowling Highlander.

“Cole? I think I’m about ready.”

Cole turned around and was suddenly swamped once more with desire. He had not been prepared for what stood before him. Swaddled in his tartan, only her neck, ankles, and feet were visible. Pale auburn hair cascaded around her shoulders like a velvet cape of soft waves. Her slim neck revealed creamy skin. He could almost taste her on his tongue, soft and wet and woman-sweet. But it was her eyes, dark, green, and large with golden flecks, that made it difficult to breathe. She was watching him beneath lowered lashes, and with every second that passed, he felt the lower half of his body tighten only further.

He had never been one to flirt and carry on with women. His brother Conor had teased him mercilessly about his inability to read a woman’s thoughts, and that it would get him in trouble one day. That day had finally arrived. More than anything, Cole wanted to know what she was thinking.

“Can I have my slippers?”

“They’re wet.”

“I know, but I need them to walk.”

Cole knew she was waiting, but there was no way he could come near her. Not right now. If she got even one step closer, she would be in his arms, finding out just how honorable he was. Suddenly, he needed the cool of the water and fast.

“My turn,” was all he could grit out and began yanking off his shirt.

Ellenor’s eyes shot wide open as his words registered. His leine began to ride up his thigh and she whipped around, causing the tartan to catch on a bush. Forced to turn back around to pull it free, she accidentally glanced up. What she saw, she would never forget.

There were men, and then there were men whom God fashioned to be perfect. Cole was made of the latter. He had tossed his leine on the riverbank and was slowly marching into the water, completely naked. Once he reached thigh level, he dove in.

Ellenor stood transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away. As a curious child, she had once hidden in the stables to find out what men and women did when they met in secret. She had learned much that evening, and until now, had a very low opinion of the male body. Grace and beauty were not words she would have attributed to the masculine physique, especially one of Cole’s size, but then, she hadn’t seen him move through the water.

There was a subtle power in the smooth, muscled contours of his shoulders as Cole stood against the strong current. His dark hair, now wet, gleamed in the moonlight, conforming to the firm, unyielding lines of his back. He looked like a sculpture brought to life.

Her eyes couldn’t get enough of him, and then suddenly they had too much. He had unexpectedly twisted in the water and caught her staring at him.

Ellenor knew she should have turned back around or at the very least closed her eyes, but she was mesmerized by the intensity of his blue gaze. She shivered with heat, unaware the tip of her tongue was moving along her lower lip. He was watching her. And then suddenly he was gone.

The moment his head dipped beneath the cool dark waters, the spell had been broken. Ellenor sank against a dead log no thicker than her thigh. He hadn’t even touched her, but in those few seconds, Cole had awakened a sense of awareness within her she couldn’t explain. The blood was pounding in her temples. Her emotions were swirling out of control, and among them was a deep sense of shame.

Of all the idiotic, brainless things to do
, Ellenor muttered to herself.
Why did you have to stare? Why did you have to look at him at all?
But even as she asked, Ellenor knew that if she could reverse time and redo those few moments over again, she would not.

Cole popped his head back out of the water and wished for the frigid temperatures of the winter Highland lochs. The tepid river water was doing nothing to relieve the masculine hunger in him. He had almost lost all control when he caught her looking at him. She had been captured, helpless to look away, just as he had been. A maelstrom was brewing in her bright hazel eyes, drawing him into the heart of its storm.

He had been seconds away from marching out of the water and pulling her into a kiss that would not have ended until they were both spent and fully satisfied. Instead, he had sunk deep into the water, letting the current take him downstream.

He was somewhere between joy and agony. His body demanded physical release but he knew it could only be achieved one way…and with one woman. Whatever was connecting them, drawing them together, was not going away, and pretending otherwise was not helping.

Cole reemerged and glanced toward the riverbank, hoping this time Ellenor would be looking away. His wish had been granted, but it did not bring the solace he needed. She was huddled in a ball, unmoving.

“Are your clothes still wet?” Cole asked. The question was inane, as the sopping garments had only just stopped dripping, but he needed to say something, and it was that or would you like to join me?

Ellenor heard the question and reacted automatically, relieved for something to do. She stood up and moved a step to her left to reach out and finger the outstretched garments; neither was close to being dry. She would be lucky if they would be only damp by morning. “They’re still wet,” she rasped out, wondering why he asked a question to which he already knew the answer.

Unwilling to chance even snatching a glimpse of him, Ellenor took a step backward to where she remembered tossing her slippers near the river’s edge. Pain shot through her as a prickly thorn poked into the arch of her foot. Biting her bottom lip to keep from screaming, she plucked the tiny thorn from her flesh. She then reached down, grabbed her shoes, and slipped them on, grimacing at their soggy state.

Looking around for somewhere to sit, she opted for where she was standing as good a place as any other. Ellenor pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped the dark plaid of blues and greens tightly around her.

Silence filled the air. Only the light lapping of the water behind her could be heard. Panic flooded her. She hadn’t heard any movement let alone sarcastic comments for several minutes. Was she alone? “Cole?”

Silence.

“Cole, answer me!”

“I’m here,
abarach
,” came a deep burr.

She jumped, vastly relieved. Then as the meaning of his new nickname for her—brazen woman—broke through her conscious thoughts, her blood began to boil once again. He loved mocking her, and jumping into the river fully clothed had provided him plenty of new ways to continue. Sitting naked, wrapped in his tartan, wasn’t exactly the ideal situation to argue back.

Nevertheless, Ellenor wasn’t about to let his gibe go completely unchallenged. “I may be bold, Scot, but unless you want
me
to be watching
you
, then you, too, will have to sing so I know that you are all right.”

Cole rolled his eyes. The woman obviously wanted to pretend that her earlier blatant stare had never happened. Fine with him. It wouldn’t work, but it was better than discussing it. “I can’t sing,” he answered in Gaelic.

“Can’t or won’t?” she returned in his tongue.

“Doesn’t matter.”

The resolute tone was unmistakable. He was right. It didn’t matter. She didn’t necessarily need to hear him sing, she just needed to hear his voice. “Then talk, Highlander. Tell me of Fàire Creachann, your clansmen, and this man Dugan.”

“They aren’t my clansmen.”

“Then you shouldn’t be their laird.”

Her counterstatement startled him. Cole doubted there was another person alive, save his older brother Conor, who would be as honest…and maybe not even him. Worse, she was right.

“But let’s say you didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Ellenor continued. “That you
do
feel an allegiance to these people, a desire to protect them and see to their welfare. Could this Dugan also lead these people?”

“In some ways.”

“But not in all?”

“No, not in all.”

“And could you? I mean, could you lead them in all ways?”

Cole thought about the question. He had never really considered it before now. His brother had tried pointing out some of his flaws, but he had only considered them as impediments to being
selected
, not as aspects of being a good leader. “I don’t know,” he finally answered.

The deep timbre of his voice spoke far more than his words did. Cole was a complicated man. “You may not believe this,” Ellenor began, “because he was English—but my father was a great baron.”

“Was?” Cole questioned.

“Yes. He died almost two years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Cole murmured, and surprisingly enough, he really was. “Tell me about him.”

“When I was young, I thought he was invincible and would have defied anyone who thought otherwise. No matter what occurred, in my eyes, he could do no wrong. My father was and had always been a great and caring leader our people adored.”

“And was he?”

Ellenor bent her head and studied the dark threads woven tightly against each other. “He was.”

“Then why…” Cole gulped, wondering if he should ask such as a sensitive question. “Then why are you so sad when you remember him?”

“Because while I knew he was a wise man, I didn’t appreciate him. I didn’t listen to him when he asked me to.” She pulled the tartan even tighter around her. “But that is not the point of this conversation. Visitors were not uncommon to my home and I was silly and often flirted with anyone showing me any interest. Then one day, my uncle stopped by to meet with my father. I hated it when he came. He was…” She shivered.

“Not a nice man,” Cole finished.

“No” was her simple reply, but it was enough to convey everything Cole needed to know.

“He was especially vicious one day. My father and he argued and he became very angry. He exploded, calling my father a liar and just as guilty of treason as he. I was hiding in the vestibule—listening. Unable to stand hearing any more, I jumped out, screaming how wrong he was. My uncle laughed and then told me that my father was dependent upon him for protection and funds. Without him, my father was nothing. Ashamed, I ran away.”

“It’s a rough day to learn your father is not perfect.”

“Indeed. But just like you, he found me.” Ellenor smiled against her knees and fought back a yawn. “And he
was
a great leader, partly because he believed all of his people—whether soldier, baker, or even daughter—could contribute and he found ways to make use of their best skills. He
could
have had a large army, but he didn’t feel like he needed one. And the money he took from my uncle…he felt was of better use for his people than anywhere else.”