Highlander's Touch (15 page)

His anger was all his own doing. More from irritation at what he’d let himself believe than at her for her own actions. Who was he to say what she did or didn’t do? And what did it matter? Married women had been known to take lovers. She was no different. And yet, he’d wanted to think she was. But most of all, he’d wanted to believe she was alone. Free to be with him.

Unable to look at her as a large tear spilled down her cheek, Ewan marched toward the chest, determined not to stare at the bed where they’d shared a magical moment the night before. He wrenched open the carved lid, half fearing what he’d see inside—another man’s things.

But there were no other man’s things. He refused to think of the implications of that as he sifted through a few linens to find his weapons, minus his dagger. ’Haps he’d lost it during his battle with the bloody MacDonalds.

Ballocks, but he’d wasted too much time here already. He didn’t even know how many of his men had made it through the woods, and if Flynn had ever been found. Logan would have likely gone back out to look for him, and he’d never forgive himself if his laird was hurt.

Blast it all, but he had her to thank that he was even still alive. If she’d not killed the one bastard with her bow and warned him about the horse, he’d have been more seriously injured—probably killed.

And he was a real bastard for not at least thanking her. For taking advantage of her sweet, passionate nature. No matter how bruised his ego, she deserved his gratitude.

Ewan turned around to apologize to Shona, but he was alone. The door stood slightly ajar as though she’d just slipped out. He was at the door in two steps, yanking it open. But she was not visible outside, either. She’d probably ignored him—as she should have—and had gone into the barn to help him with Bhaltair. His gut twisted, making him feel sick.

Why had he lashed out at her when she’d been nothing but be kind to him? Share herself with him. Opened up to him. Looking back, either she was a very good liar, or she’d shown him her true self.

Was it jealousy, perhaps, that made him act the way he did?

He’d begged her to make love to him the first, second and third time. He’d barely given her a choice, even if she had encouraged him with her sexy whimpers and heated body.

This was his fault.

He was an arse.

Ewan made his way across the lawn to the barn, but when he stepped inside, she wasn’t there, either. Bhaltair greeted him with a nicker, but the pig and goat seemed to stare at him accusingly, as if they’d already heard of his crude behavior.

Hands on his hips, Ewan looked around the barn, puzzled. Where could she have gone?

Back out in the clearing before her little cottage, he called out to her. “Shona!”

But there was no reply, and a quick walk around the cottage did not turn her up, either. She’d simply disappeared.

And he didn’t blame her.

“Shona, come back to me! I need to speak with ye.”

The lone bleating goat from the barn answered him.

“I’m sorry,” he called out. “Forgive me, lass. Please come out.”

But the only answers were the whisper of the wind against his cheek, and Bhaltair’s annoyed whinnying from his stall.

Served him right for acting like a first-rate bastard.

“I…” What? What could he say? Confess that he’d only ever been selfish when it came to the lasses and that she’d finally opened his eyes to what it could be like if he weren’t such an arse? Ewan shook his head.

“Ye should nay be out here all alone,” he called again. “There are many dangerous beasts in these woods.”

But she’d seemed to disappear into thin air—or at least she was doing a damn good job of ignoring him. And aye, there were dangerous beasts, one of which was he.

With a frown on his face, and his mood blacker than a raging storm, he returned to the barn to ready his horse. With one last fruitless search around the cottage for Shona, he took off toward where he thought he might find the road to Castle Gealach.

FROM her haven in the trees, Shona watched Ewan ride away.

She swiped away the tears tracking down her cheeks.

“Strength,” she whispered.

Strength was what had gotten her as far as she was, and strength was what would keep her going.

All the painful words he said still bounced around inside her skull, ratcheting off her bones. But she pushed them aside, wiping her mind clean just as she wiped at her face. Ewan was not the man she thought he was. Whatever she’d thought him to be was a figment of her imagination. She’d been dreaming of something she’d wanted for so long, and it just so happened that she’d pushed that dream onto him. From his flowery words, his whispered sentiments when they’d made love the first time, she’d thought it was something he wanted, too. But he wouldn’t admit that he was lying to himself, to her.

Only that he wanted no part.

And who was she to make a man love her? To make a man want her?

Had she forced him somehow to make love to her? To cherish her and worship her body? To give her pleasure? Mayhap she was the witch they’d all accused her of being.

The man had been clear that he wanted to part with her, and still she’d kissed him and let him touch her until she cried out. And what she’d done to him in turn… it had been explosive.

Yet, he’d shown his loathing at what they’d done.

Except, now he had looked contrite. He had come looking for her. He had asked for her forgiveness. Well, she’d let him trick her once, she couldn’t allow it to happen again. Though, could she truly say he’d tricked her? It was her own fault. She’d wanted him, desired him. Had practically thrown herself on top of him when she should have been taking care of him.

Well, ’haps she’d taken care of him in more ways than one.

Nay, nay
! Shona refused to let herself think that way, to let herself be the one to ruin such wonderful memories. No regrets. That was how she had to feel about it, because deep down, she didn’t regret it. She treasured it. Those brief moments when he’d held her in his arms had been magical. Beautiful. Shattering.

Mayhap that was the saddest part of all—that she’d let herself be swept up by him and the emotions he elicited. She’d fallen hard for a fantasy that would never be a reality.

As soon as the sound of Bhaltair’s hoof beats no longer echoed on the wind, she climbed from her perch and smoothed her skirts.

A flash of memory took her breath, and she found herself falling against the tree, her hand pressed over her heart. The woman in the vision was practically a stranger. Did not look like her, did not speak like her, did not dress like her. Nothing like her at all, except she knew in the bottom of her heart—it was
her
. This stranger who wore bizarre clothes and spoke oddly and smiled at a man who passed her by without a second glance—that was her. She stood among buildings taller than a castle and made from a material other than stone. The roads were paved with a seemingly endless black stone. Fast-moving, loud objects whipped past her, making her dizzy.

But where could the memory have come from?

The tears started anew and she sank to the ground filled with sorrow and confusion. The past several years she’d felt like she had to relearn so much. Like a bairn just born, but a woman grown, and she didn’t know why. She would be forever grateful to Rory for finding her and protecting her some five years before. Without him, she’d likely have died of starvation or been rounded up by one of the savages who brutally harmed Ewan.

When Rory had found her cowering behind a tree, dirt-stained and crying, the only thing she’d known was her name. He’d smiled down at her, held out his hand and offered to help. Had told her that the land around Gealach had a tendency to draw various wary people to them and that he had once been in her shoes.

Before now, she’d never thought about what he meant when he’d said it, other than he’d been down on his luck. Now, she wondered if he, too, had memories of another time and place where he looked like a stranger to himself.

Is that what happened to Rory? Had he returned to wherever it was he was from? Had he decided she was able to fend for herself?

Shona gazed up at the bits of sky that were visible through the branches of the tree she leaned against. All the grayness of the storms had disappeared and blue peeked between the leaves. At least Ewan would have a decent ride back to wherever he was headed.

With a soft sob escaping her throat, she crawled to a stand, her shoulders slouched with the heaviness of her heart. But she had to move on, had warned herself that this would happen with Ewan.

Even that stranger who sometimes sent her memories, she could not recall had been destined to be alone. This was what Fate had in store for her—no matter the lifetime.

She trudged back to the cottage, finding it as dark and gloomy as her mood. Ewan’s scent lingered. So did the words he’d whispered to her. They floated in the air like ghosts, haunting her. Too tired to eat her stew, Shona barred the door and then collapsed on her bed. She curled up with the pillow and blanket Ewan had used, breathing in the scent of him, the scent of their lovemaking and pretending that he lay behind her, cradling her.

Awareness of her loneliness had been on the forefront of her mind for two years at least. Even when Rory had been here with her, she’d never truly been his. He’d never opened up to her, even when she tried. His heart had always belonged to another, and to him she’d always been a long lost sister returned.

But it wasn’t until now that she realized she could drift away and no one would be the wiser. That she’d not made any memories in this new life that she could share with anyone. Except Ewan. And he’d thrust her aside, accused her of being a harlot.

The stark truth of the matter was that if anyone had lied, it was she. Shona had lied to herself.

Was
still
lying to herself.

Because even now, she wanted Ewan with a stunning desperation. Still wanted everything he’d not been willing to offer her. Wanted to run toward the road and call out for him to return to her. To beg him to… what? She couldn’t change his mind. She couldn’t make him love her, or even want her.

And sadly, she’d likely never see him again.

THE ride to Castle Gealach was painful.

Aye, Ewan’s injuries throbbed with a dull ache, but what hurt the most was unexplainable. A part of him, deep inside, stung with regret.

For the seventh time, he pulled Bhaltair to a stop and turned around, though he didn’t urge his horse forward. Muttering a curse, he clenched his jaw tight. Inside, his conscience warred with the need to return to his laird, ensuring that his men were all accounted for, and the intense need to return to Shona. To make sure she knew he was sorry for the words he’d said. To thank her for saving him. To tell her that the moments they’d shared had meant more to him than a simple few moments of fucking. That he didn’t want to take away the pleasure he’d given her and that if he could he would have given her more.

The feelings cascading through him were wholly new—and goddamned irritating.

Life was so much easier when he didn’t have to worry about anyone’s feelings. When he went about his duties protecting Gealach, training the men and having Logan’s back. That came naturally to him. He was an instinctive protector. Had been from the moment he could remember—up until meeting Shona.