Desiring the Highlander (9 page)

“And what if I don’t make such a promise?”

“Then you and everyone else will regret it. That is a promise I will not only make, but will keep.” Ellenor stared him dead in the eye, hoping he understood this was not a flighty vow made in the heat of an argument, but an earnest one. Whatever she needed to do, she would do it. She had killed and would kill again to keep a man from forcing himself upon her.

Cole returned her stare. He never flinched, but he must have understood because after several silent, tense seconds he said, “Then calm yourself,
babag
, for I doubt anyone will
want
to marry you, but you will not be forced into any man’s bed without your consent.”

“Do I have your word?”

“Are you sure a mere promise is enough to satisfy you?”

Ellenor gulped. “Anyone’s…no. Your word, however, will satisfy me, Scot. Do I have it?”

Cole must have seen her growing nervousness for he suddenly became serious. “You have it. No one will force you to marry, be with, or tend any man not of your choosing, lass. You have my word of honor.”

Ellenor felt rattled and she should have felt relief. Cole had just promised her the very thing she had thought only a monastery could provide. She gave her head a small shake and squeezed her eyes shut.
Remember
, she told herself.
Remember and see the world as it is, not the way you want it to be.

Cole was not her friend. He wasn’t even her ally. He was a Highlander who despised all things English and that included her. Pretending otherwise would only bring her pain—a lesson she refused to learn again.

Ellenor took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Brilliant blue pools framed in dark, deep brown lashes bored into her. She could detect no malice in their reflection, only a deep interest. Her beloved father used to stare at her with the same quizzical expression, as if she were a complete mystery he was unable to solve. He had often mentioned a desire to know what she was thinking, what motivated her, and most of all, the knowledge of what she would do next.

And that was how the Highlander was staring at her. Not as a woman, but as a puzzle to be solved…which bothered her most of all. For she was most definitely aware of him as a man.

Cole McTiernay was a Highlander full of pride and arrogance. He possessed an infuriating wit and she was tired of underestimating his cunning and ability to think ahead. His constant insults made him far from likable and he took no effort to disguise how much he enjoyed having the advantage. So why she cared what the massive Scot thought about her was beyond her comprehension.

But she did.

Before her father’s death, she had been innocent of the evil lurking in some men. More than once, she had felt the harmless pull of attraction to a handsome or skilled knight who was paying a visit to her father. But those weak sparks had been nothing compared to the jolts that went through her moments ago when Cole had said her name.

Ellenor blinked and realized Cole was waiting for her to say something. Rallying, she licked her lips and asked, “If it is not for marriage, then why? Why are you bringing me with you?”

Cole shrugged. “You may ask, but I have no answer.”

“Are you trying to be evasive, or do you really not know?”

“I have no idea,” he said, and without another word, he turned and started marching back toward the campsite.

Ellenor stared at the disappearing figure in astonishment. For a brief moment, she thought to have seen a flash of the same discomfort in his eyes and wondered if maybe she was wrong. That perhaps he had seen her as something more than just a mystery.

She leaned down to pick up her bag and he saw the bottom of her bliaut. It was soiled and most of the hem was in shreds. Wrapping her hand around the sack, she swung it over her shoulder. She moved to smooth back the tendrils already coming loose from their braid when the palm of her free hand caught his sight. It was rough and callused from years of riding. Just like the rest of her, it lacked feminine grace. She was tall and awkward and, despite her efforts, still dirty.

Whatever she thought she saw in Cole’s eyes, it wasn’t desire. More likely disgust.

Cole jerked the reins sharply to the right to avoid another cluster of thistles. The purple-topped thorns littered the hills they were traveling, making the ride slow and unpleasant. Ellenor sat quietly in front of him, moving only to evade the tall bushes, but he had seen one or two scrapes where she hadn’t been able to raise her legs fast enough. Unlike yesterday, the woman didn’t say one word of complaint.

Proof he was in hell.

He had seen hell and experienced its many forms—loss, pain, horror, but never had he known torture in this particular form.

He had encountered many beautiful women in his life. A few were witty and some even endearing. They were also easy to ignore and forget.

Ellenor Howell, on the other hand, was impossible to dismiss.

At first, she had compelled his attention simply because she wasn’t afraid of him. Intrigue had gradually set in during her attempts to gain freedom and the woman had actually shocked him with her unexpected moonlight bath. But it wasn’t until this morning that he realized exactly how much trouble he was in.

The moment he had broken through the bushes and had seen her smiling at him, he should have turned around and returned to camp. Instead, he had stood dumbfounded, mumbling nonsense until building frustration had finally caused him to threaten her. But by all that is holy, how was he supposed to react?

He had suspected she would be somewhat pretty without the grime and crazy hair. But if he had known how pretty, he would have stopped last night’s makeshift bath before it had even started. Hearing the water ripple and her moan in delight, he—like any normal man—had imagined her. The image had been of a typical woman of medium height, brown hair, and green eyes, pleasing to look upon, but far from compelling. Ellenor Howell was neither pleasing nor pretty. She was extraordinary.

She was tall, yet her face and body were formed with delicate bones. Her pale complexion, no longer hidden, only accentuated her green eyes, making them appear so large a man could feel his soul get lost in their loch-colored depths. Pale brown hair, the color of dark honey, hinted at a softness that begged to be touched. Together with gently lilting lips and a slim, but curvaceous wild beauty, Ellenor possessed all the features that drove a man wild. And he had been no exception.

He had forgotten everything. Her being English, his promise, her fears. Standing there, smiling at him with defiance and amusement shining in her eyes, she had been the most beautiful, desirable woman he had ever seen in his life. His whole body had come alive, yearning to kiss her and make her respond to his touch. Honor be damned.

That scared him the most.

He had been dead inside for a long time, taking comfort in not feeling anything. Having an emotional connection with someone—especially an Englishwoman—was not something he desired or enjoyed.

Jaime and Donald had also come under her spell. She had returned to the campsite with her hair brushed and in a new, much cleaner chemise, and both men had immediately reevaluated their unexpected travel companion. Her apologies for her behavior and promise for future restraint and cooperation had gone a long way in winning Jaime’s favor. Donald, while not nearly as enamored, had softened noticeably.

Without a doubt, Ellenor Howell was trouble.

Unfortunately, that made Cole
in
trouble.

Home never seemed so far away. For the next four days, he needed to find a way to protect himself.
Four long days.
He doubted he could deal with any more than that and even those would be a torture he had never known.

Yes, he was in hell. And it was one of his own making.

Ellenor adjusted her position again for what had to be the tenth time in just as many minutes. All morning she and Cole had rode in silence with only the noise of the constant lifting of her legs breaking the monotony. Her body ached from the repetitive movement, but the pain caused by the thorn bushes covering the hills was enough to keep her doing it time after time. The burning sensation in her lower back from sitting rigid and so far forward that she was practically atop the saddle’s pommel was so great she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from moaning aloud.

The leather seat was large and unusually slender, but it had been made with the idea only Cole would be riding in it. Yesterday’s experience had proved that the only way she could sit comfortably was pretty much on his legs, either mimicking his straddle or sitting across them. After her reaction to him this morning, comfort was not an option.

Yet it was not her physical situation causing her the most turmoil…it was her emotional one.

Cole McTiernay had seen her greatest fear, and through a single promise, removed it…and then he had walked away. His oath should have given her a sense of peace. His indifference should have only added to it. Instead, it had only intensified Ellenor’s confusion. Old instincts screamed to flee. Common sense warned her about the follies of reacting on primal desires, especially with this particular Highlander.

Still, she had to get control over her destiny. This required patience. By the time they reached their destination, she needed to have convinced not just Cole, but his two companions, of her cooperation. Then, she could exploit their resulting trust.

Ellenor had apologized for her outburst and received a chilly reception. Jaime’s head nod had not been as cold as Donald’s, but they both seemed to believe she regretted her actions. That gave her the hope she needed and Ellenor was positive that, by night’s end, both men would feel significantly warmer toward her. That is, if she could pull off the next part of her plan.

Hunting, trapping, and catching food were not skills she possessed, nor ones she wanted to learn. However, she did have one secret talent that never failed in gaining admiration. She may not be able to find food, but very few could match her skills once it was caught.

Unfortunately, there was one flaw in her strategy. Her. It was not only Jaime’s and Donald’s trust she needed to gain. It was Cole’s. And to get it, she would have to become vulnerable. The problem was, when it came to Cole McTiernay—she already was.

Nothing about him truly bothered her…and that bothered her the most.

His shoulder-length hair had once again been pulled back into a ponytail. He had not shaved this morning, which made his facial features appear more rugged and more what one would expect when conjuring the image of a warrior. With every breath, she inhaled the scent of wood smoke and leather that clung to his skin and envisioned herself being able to touch him, feel him, and know just what it was like to be held by a man.

“Elle.”

Cole’s name for her was deep and soft, sending shivers down her spine. She almost thought she imagined hearing him when he spoke again.

“Elle, stop it.”

Immediately, her slumped back went rigid. How could she have been so stupid? Her mind had been totally consumed on him that she had not realized the slackened state of her body. She had been seconds away from sliding into his lap when he made her aware of what was happening.

Ellenor licked her lips. “Stop what?”

“Stop pretending that pommel is comfortable and sit back and relax. You’re making
Steud
nervous.”

“Oh, really?” Ellenor quipped. “I find that highly unli—”

Without warning, a large arm wrapped itself around her waist and pulled her back. The warmth from Cole’s chest and legs seeped into her skin. Despite her best efforts not to, she relaxed against his body.

“Aye, really,” Cole chuckled.

Watching her discomfort these past few hours had been difficult. At first, he was glad she was trying to keep the distance between them, but he had changed his mind as she silently endured what had to be a painful ride. He had reacted on instinct and told himself he would have done so for any woman.

And maybe he would have, but he hadn’t been this close to a female in longer than he cared to remember, and he doubted if there was another woman in the world who could have made his pulse race the way Ellenor Howell did. It was like thunder in his veins.

Cuddled against him, her body seemed to mold itself perfectly to his frame. Her cheek was nestled intimately in the hollow of his shirt, and the heat surging between them set his teeth on edge. His loins tightened, and any moment, she would know just how much she was affecting him.

“Ha. I have no doubt you selected a horse that is just like you,” Ellenor scoffed, but she didn’t move. She was finally where she had wanted to be all day. In his arms.

“And just how am I?” Cole asked, barely successful at keeping a moan from escaping. Something in her bag had to smell of lavender, for whiffs of the clean chemise she had donned this morning was driving him slightly insane.

Ellenor drew in a breath and then answered, “Impervious to nervousness.”

It was only a partial truth. She wanted to say
unlike any man I have ever met
.

Cole possessed a hard and potentially ruthless element in him that made anyone nearby wary and on edge. Ellenor suspected he often tried to enhance the effect with a scowl. She had known him less than two days, but already his glowers seemed commonplace and easy to ignore. What was harder to overlook was the side of him that he kept hidden away. She had only gotten glimpses to his gentility, and each time, there, nestled in the act of kindness, was a sadness to him. It pulled at her heart. Whoever had hurt this Highlander had done so deeply. Worse, she knew whoever was behind the pain had been English. All men could be cruel, but she had witnessed firsthand just how unfeeling her own people could be.

Cole shifted his mount to the left without warning to dodge a hidden thorn bush and Ellenor instinctively grabbed his leg for balance. She reached down to lift her skirts and legs out of the way but it was too late. Cole’s quick maneuvering had avoided most of the bush, but one prickly arm still swiped her leg and grazed her hand.