Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (20 page)

“Rowan, we must not,” he said, his lips barely moving against her own. “If we do not stop…” He rested his forehead against hers but did not move away. “You tempt me beyond reason.”

Rowan smiled. “I could say the same about you.” She shifted enough to rest her head against his shoulder, turning her face into
his neck, letting the spice and musk of the man soak into her, letting the wonder of the moment enfold them in this time apart from everything and everyone else.

“I did not mean to let that go so far.” He ran a hand up and down her back, slowly, as if comforting her… or himself.

She could hear the smile in his voice. She kissed his neck and he tilted his head to rest against her crown. An unexpected joy spread through her.

“I did not intend for that to happen,” she said, “but I do not regret it.”

“I could never regret it, love.”

The endearment slid into her heart, warming her.

She looked up at him and laid a palm against his cheek. “I meant only to thank you for helping my aunt yesterday. I don’t know what we would have done if you had not been there.”

“You are all strong women, Rowan.” He smoothed her hair back from her face, the warmth of his hand lingered against her skin. “I doubt not that the three of you would have managed quite well without me.” He stopped her reply with a finger to her lips. “But I am glad I was there to help.”

The lightness of the past moments fled, leaving only the flicker of Nicholas’s desire deep in her heart, protecting her from the darkness of the grief to come. He pulled her back into his embrace. She rested her head over his heart, the quiet thump-thumping soothing her.

“What was so important yesterday that she had to go up the mountain?” he asked quietly.

She stared into the nearby woods, yesterday’s trek dominating her thoughts. “ ’Twas the future of the clan at stake,” she said, more to herself than to him. “But it was for naught.”

A man-shaped shadow in the edge of the woods shifted, drawing her attention. She stepped out of Nicholas’s embrace and moved toward the edge of the wood.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

N
ICHOLAS PEERED PAST
her into the deep shadows. Archie stood next to the downed tree that still hid the fishing gear, barely in the shadow of the trees. His head was cocked to one side, his arms crossed, and a knowing sneer sliced across his face.

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. The man had seen too much, he was sure. Nicholas had let his feelings for Rowan cloud his mind. He knew Archie was likely lurking somewhere nearby, yet the need to touch Rowan had made him careless and now his weakness had been revealed. As much as he wanted to believe Archie would not exploit that knowledge, he knew better.

The ginger-haired man gave them a leer thinly veiled by a grin. “I am Archibald MacGregor of Keltie, mistress,” he said, stepping out of the shadows and into the sunlight. “I did not mean to interrupt your tryst”—he winked at her and Nicholas fisted his hands to keep from dragging the man back into the woods and thrashing him—“but then I heard you speak and you sounded so sad. I thought to see how you fared and if this man had aught to do with it.”

“You heard us?” Rowan’s voice wobbled. Nicholas desperately wanted to throttle the man, for he could well imagine the embarrassed flush that washed across Rowan’s fair face even though he could not see it. Unable to stop himself, he reached for her hand and pulled her away from Archie, putting himself between the two of them.

Archie’s mouth was a straight line, the jovial-stranger act gone. “Aye. It would have been hard not to hear. Before and after such a fervent kiss.”

Nicholas scowled. He did not like the tone Archie took. He would have needed to be barely concealed by the forest to overhear their conversation, to know just how much Rowan meant to him. That was a weapon he had never meant to give anyone.

“She is fine. There is nothing you are needed for here,” Nicholas said, hoping to convey his ire at this interruption with his expression, if not his words. “I would ask that you not embarrass the lady by speaking of what you saw or heard.”

“I would not dream of embarrassing Mistress Rowan.” Archie moved slowly closer to them. “I’m sure her family would not think well of such wanton behavior… oh, but there is another in the
family that is just as wanton. Or perhaps the fair-haired one would be interested in trysting with me.”

Rowan growled behind him. “You will leave my cousins alone, Archibald of Keltie.” She stood beside Nicholas. “You will leave this land lest I send my uncle after you.”

“Oh, I think not, mistress. I think your uncle would be most interested to learn of your behavior with this man, this
spy
who dallies with you to learn your secrets in order to find the Highland Targe.”

Nicholas couldn’t move. He dared not look at Rowan. Why would Archie expose their mission like this? He put everything in jeopardy, including the mission and the growing feelings between himself and Rowan. Never again would she trust him. Never again would she look upon him softly, laugh with him, tease him.

Archie’s betrayal struck him in the gut like a newly shod horse’s kick, knocking the breath out of him. The man clearly had no intention of working with Nicholas to find the Targe. When had that changed? Understanding came to him in an instant. It had changed when Nicholas had gone to rescue Rowan and Scotia from the falling wall. Everything had changed in that moment even though he had not realized it until just now. He had chosen sides, at least as Archie saw it. Whatever trust Nicholas thought the two of them had shared after so many years of working together had been an illusion.

And now that Archie had found a weakness in Nicholas, his feelings for Rowan… A cold sweat trickled between his shoulder blades.

“I am sorry,” Nicholas said, turning to find her staring at him as if he were something she had never seen before. His dream, that bloody, bloody dream, punched into his mind. It wasn’t enough that King Edward would rip this clan to pieces, and with it this woman. Archie would start without their monarch.

“This is true?” Rowan’s voice was flat, hollow, matching the look in her eyes, and it tore at him. “You do not deny it?”

It was a measure of how far he had fallen for this woman that he had not even thought to lie to her, to claim that the story Archie wove was a fabrication. He shook his head.

“You are working together?”

“I would not hurt you, Rowan, not if I could help it.”

“That is a lie,” she said, looking away from him, toward Archie, as if looking for verification from him.

“It would have been a lie a sennight ago, but not now.” He reached out to touch a lock of her hair and was grateful she didn’t flinch. “Not now.”

She slapped his hand away. “No. Lies! If what this man says is true, then you have come to harm my clan and that will hurt me, no matter what.”

“I would change this if I could, Rowan. You must believe me.”

“I could never believe you.” She was looking directly at him and the anger and hurt that he found in her eyes were profound, but so much better than the flatness of a moment ago. “I was a fool to think I could trust you. I am no better than Scotia after all, letting my head get turned by a little attention from a braw man. I thought…” She shook her head. “It matters not what I thought. I was wrong.”

“And yet you told him much we need to know.” Archie was beside them, grabbing her arm, pulling her away from Nicholas.

“Release her, Archie!” Nicholas took hold of Rowan’s upper arm in an effort to wrest her away from this man he once thought of as a friend, but Archie yanked her harder, drawing a stunned cry from her as she was pulled out of Nicholas’s grasp.

“I think I shall keep her close, Nick. There is much at stake here and I am beginning to think you are not as clear in your duty as you once were. Yes, I will keep her here, close.” He pulled her against him in a mockery of the embrace Nicholas and Rowan had shared minutes ago.

White-hot rage burned through Nicholas. No matter what he had to do, this man would not hurt Rowan.

Rowan struggled but Archie had her pinned to his chest, her arms caught between them.

“Now one of you will tell me: Is Lady Elspet the keeper of the Highland Targe?” He looked at Nicholas, a rusty-colored eyebrow raised.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

F
URY GRIPPED
R
OWAN
even tighter than Archie did. She had to warn Kenneth, warn the clan about the English rats in their midst.

“Let her go, Archie. She knows nothing useful.”

She could see naught but Archie’s chest but it sounded like Nicholas was moving closer, circling around them.

“That is not what I heard,” Archie said, pulling her around, keeping her between him and Nicholas, she was sure. “She would not tell you anything useful. It does not mean she does not have the information we need.”

“Rowan, tell him nothing.” Nicholas’s voice was a low growl behind her.

“Answer me, girl. Is Lady Elspet the keeper of the Highland Targe?” Archie demanded, stepping backward and dragging her with him. “Answer me!”

He loosened his hold on her enough for her to look up at him but when the only answer he got was her glare, he shook her so hard she bit her tongue and the metallic tang of her own blood trickled down her throat.

She took the moment to lift her knee hard, but he shifted quickly, taking her knee in his thigh with a grunt.

“Bitch!”

He spun her in his arms, so her back was to him, and once more pinned her in his iron embrace, backing them up. Nicholas followed them, step for step, his face a mask of concentration, his eyes focused on Archie as if she weren’t even there.

Archie stopped at the edge of the loch. “You have been keeping this feisty wench all to yourself, Nick. You used to share.”

Silence. She could tell Nicholas’s teeth were clenched by the way a muscle jumped in front of his ear. His mouth was hard, his eyes flinty. He stood a few feet away, his hands fisted by his sides, clearly poised for a fight. This fierce man was a stranger to her, so unlike the charming, gentle man she’d thought him to be.

“Perhaps I should tup her, see if she is worth turning your back on the king.” Archie ran a hand down her stomach, shocking her as he cupped her between her legs hard. “I hope she likes it rough.”

The menace in his words was clear, accented by the tightening of his arm around her waist and the pull of his other hand between her legs. She wanted to retch.

“Let her go, Archie.” The fire in Nicholas’s eyes and the determined set of his chin promised retribution and for a fleeting moment she thought perhaps he did care for her as she thought.

“Nay, that I will not do. How many times have you interfered with me and my fun? How many, Nick? Too many. Tell me what I want to know or she’ll suffer the consequences of your betrayal.”

Archie shoved Rowan’s head down, bending her over his arm, and began to pull at her gown. Rowan struggled, screaming, unable to see anything but her own feet, even as she heard the thud of fist on flesh. Archie spun, but did not release her.

When she caught her balance the edge of a cold blade rested below her ear.

“I would rather bed her than kill her, Nicholas, but I will not hesitate to slice her pretty neck if you do not tell me what I wish to know.”

“ ’Twould be best you kill me, then,” she said between clenched teeth, feeling an increasingly familiar headache building rapidly. “He knows not the answer.” Instinctively she reached for the power she had experienced during the blessing, pulling it into her, almost laughing as it rushed up her legs, pooling under her skin, pulsing with her headache as if it were a living, breathing thing awaiting her command. “And I will not tell you anything.” She flung the power from her with her final word.

Archie roared, pulling her backwards, but releasing her at the same time. She stumbled, not realizing at first that she was free.
There was splashing behind her and a string of words so foul even Uncle Kenneth had never uttered them. She whirled to find Archie struggling to his feet in knee-deep water, his nose streaming blood. She finally understood why men got such pleasure out of beating each other up.

Nicholas charged past her, shouting, “Run, Rowan! Run!” as he tackled the ginger-haired man, the two of them going down in the icy loch.

Every hair stood up on Rowan’s body as the two men clashed, Nicholas’s command echoing in her head.

She scrambled out of the clearing and into the familiar woods as fast as she could, running without stopping, as if her feet had wings. Her years of experience in these woods lent speed and direction to her flight—up the ben into the thickest part of the sheltering forest.

Only when she began to stumble over the downed trees and slippery, moss-covered rocks did she slow. She searched for a cave that she knew was nearby, but then thought twice about hiding in a place with no escape route. She pushed into a thicket of juniper crouching low in the deep shadows as she desperately tried to quiet her breathing and slow her heartbeat. It was only then that she discovered tears flowing down her face, leaving wet trails over the top of her gown. She wiped them away, stemming the flow immediately. She would not cry. She’d not give English spies the satisfaction of seeing a Highlander laid low by their betrayal—by his betrayal.