The Touch 0f Her Hand (Highlander Heroes Book 1) Read online

  "You startled me.”

  Conall grinned, glancing down between them at her hand. Tess yanked it away with a look of horror about her that suggested she'd not known she'd placed it there.

  Tess shook her head. "You scared me, that is all."

  Thoughtfully, Conall took a bit of his plaid into each of his hands, rearranging the folds over her shoulders. "You’re wearing my plaid," he observed, hardly able to contain a crowing grin.

  "To keep away the chill.”

  "But I like the way you wear it, lass," he said, his hands still upon her. "I like the look of you bearing the essence of me." He was enjoying the goading, enjoyed tremendously the near rolling of her eyes.

  "Make of it what you will, MacGregor," she said with a shrug. "If cow dung would keep me warm and was readily available in this length, I would wear it."

  Conall laughed. She hated to so much as give an inch, she was that stubborn.

  "Aye, Tess, you do entertain me." He watched her eyes, never comfortable when he was this close, flicker again and again to his lips. When he said no more but only waited, she finally raised her eyes to his. And still he said nothing, waiting.

  "Don't kiss me," she breathed after a long while.

  "Then stop staring at my mouth,” he warned and was quite delighted when she did not. Well, she tried, but as soon as he'd said the words, her gaze had guiltily switched to his mouth, only for the briefest of seconds before she looked again to his eyes, her cheeks pinkening.

  Conall lifted a brow, as if to say that she had been warned and lowered his head, his hands tightening on his plaid. She whimpered, he heard that, barely audible but he was attuned to the smallest reaction from her and quickly silenced her mewing with his lips. Reminiscent of last night, as softly, as experimentally as he'd pursued her then, he touched her now. Still as stone she was beneath him now, frightened, he was sure. And Conall knew well the fear. Relinquishing the power you thought you held, giving it up to this. Just touch. But he cared not—he would later, but not now. Just for now, Tess.

  He slanted his head, accustomed now to the size of her, exactly the angle her height required of him. It was not uncomfortable, despite the differences in their size. He pulled her closer by way of the plaid, where still his fingers held. But they itched. To touch more, to feel more. Start with this, he told himself, tasting Tess with his tongue. She tried to shake her head. He would not let her escape this. But when he tasted a saltiness upon her, he groaned and pulled away.

  Why did she cry?

  "Please don't do this to me," she begged, burying her head in his chest, not to find comfort there, not because she wanted to be there, but to hide her face from his.

  Conall stared over her head, releasing the plaid, putting his hands on her upper arms, solidly but not with the intent to soothe or console.

  It was sinful, what she did to him. He no longer felt the need, the urge as the aggressor, to scare or seduce his victim into compliance. He wanted her response to be spontaneous and impulsive, as his need of her appeared to be. He wanted her to need him, need this. He consoled himself only with the sure knowledge that she truly hadn’t any idea of the power she held in her tiny hands.

  "Let's go," he said, bringing her head up. Before she could ask—indeed, having no clue why he should still entertain such plans—he told her, “I have business to attend in the village. Since you seem to be quite taken with places outside these walls, I thought you might wish to accompany me."

  After an initial expression of great guilt, she offered a cautious yet wondrous smile, which served as some consolation since he was not still kissing her.

  THEY LEFT THE GATES of Inesfree behind them and were confronted with an intimidating expanse of green. Tess sat eagerly before Conall atop his great steed, relishing the feel of the breeze upon her face, which was strong enough to hike her skirts up to her knees. It had been a long time since Tess had ridden like this. At Marlefield, Sir Arthur did not approve of her ability to ride, a knowledge her mother had insisted upon, which had seen little use as her father rarely allowed her the opportunity. But never had she been capable of handling one of these huge destriers; presently she liked the feel of the solid animal beneath her. With his size, one did lose a bit in speed, but this was easily countered by appreciation for his sheer power. The mare she’d appropriated almost a week ago was not nearly so large as Conall’s beast and that terrifying ride, she scarcely recalled.

  He inquired of her knees, and her injury, and if this riding was perhaps causing more harm to her.

  It was not, actually. “And I wouldn’t care if it did. I want to ride.”

  Conall had taken a path to the west, onto a well-beaten trail, which was extremely narrow in sections. They skirted round a small loch and soon came into the village, not unlike any other village of a great castle, being a cluster of thatched cottages with small pens attached to many. They stopped before the largest of these homes, nearly twice the size of any other.

  A woman stepped from the dim interior, her hand across her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun, a child of no more than one straddled on her hip. "Chief MacGregor," she called. "Good day to you."

  "And you, mistress. Is Evan about?"

  "Gone to field, I fear. He'd not known you were to come or like as not, he'd be waiting. Please, come inside," she offered, her eyes curiously on Tess.

  "Thank you, no," Conall declined. "I'll find Evan, for I've matters to discuss with him." He turned the horse, steering him between two smaller cottages across the way and up a slight incline which leveled off to reveal a field of chestnut brown dirt, as far as the eye could see. He’d tightened his arm around Tess as they climbed, and her hand clung to his at her midsection. “Might the riding be too rough for your knees?’ He asked yet again.

  “Not at all,” she told him, and raised a thin brow at this consideration from him.

  Conall stopped for a moment, his eyes scanning the horizon until he spotted several groups of men and boys, at the farthest corner of the field. He directed the horse across the freshly turned earth, great black and brown clumps of soft mud, until they reached the laboring men. Several turned and greeted their laird, tipping their hats or raising a tool in salute. Conall reined in beside a man of middling years, whose eyes were a kindly brown, as pretty as Tess had ever encountered.

  Leaving Tess in the saddle, Conall dismounted and greeted the man. They stood a bit away from Tess and as there was little need for raised voices upon this vast but quiet field, Tess was left to hear only snippets of their conversation. This man was Evan, she knew, extremely small and wiry, coming only to the height of Conall's shoulder but of a great intellect, his eyes told, and feared not of physical labor it seemed, the sweat and flush about him telling all he'd been active this day.

  Conall spoke to the man for almost ten minutes, in which time Tess was left to handle the prancing steed. Amazingly, an entire five or more minutes had gone by, while Tess stared at the MacGregor's back and listened to the hypnotic timbre of his voice, before she realized that beneath her sat an opportunity for escape.

  Immediately, she glanced around with a guilty expression, as if she feared someone might have actually read her thoughts and determined her debate.

  Escape.

  She contemplated kicking the animal into motion. Just go, ride away. She looked up, beyond the beast, across the field to the rolling hills that might lead to freedom. Something paused inside her. She would never know what stayed her hands from flicking the reins.

  Conall turned and squinted up at her. Their eyes met, hers a pained expression as she tried to keep her thoughts hidden. But Conall's expression undid her. He gazed at her with something akin to pride, the smallest quirk of his lips beginning a slow satisfied smile, as if he simply enjoyed that she was near. His eyes, that heated glow warming her, showed a growing gladness.

  Tess understood at once. She had not fled, and Conall was pleased.

  She had pleased Conall.

 
Conall turned around again, giving his full attention to Evan.

  Her stomach somersaulted. She had found favor with Conall and this, in turn, pleased her greatly. His simple, content smile had sent something warm and sunny to course within her and Tess had neither the will nor the desire to make it go away.

  The horse began to prance in agitation of waiting, or perhaps in response to Tess’s heightened emotions. He was a huge beast and without Conall, Tess was considerably dismayed at having to settle the animal herself. He snorted and pawed the earth, dancing now in growing impatience.

  Conall turned again, noticing Tess’s increasing efforts to calm his horse. Still conversing with Evan, he made his way back to Tess, while Evan followed, as if they only strolled while they talked. He took the reins from Tess’s hands, his eyes on the animal, telling Evan that he expected supplies to be brought within the next few days and perhaps repairs might begin in a week. His horse stilled instantly with Conall at his side. And then, as if they were friends or lovers of long-standing, Conall placed one hand, which held the reins, upon Tess’s thigh, the other upon the big horse's flank, calming both. But he listened still to Evan, who stood on the opposite side of the horse, telling Conall that things were proceeding as planned.

  "Fine, Evan," Conall said and climbed up behind Tess, an arm sliding around her waist to draw her near. It seemed involuntary really, almost a natural reaction—she had to hang on to something—to place her hand upon the back of his again. "I'll see you in two days’ time at Inesfree with the complete list," Conall said.

  "Yes, laird," said the small man. "Good day to you."

  Effortlessly, Conall turned the horse around, now controlled under his master, carrying the pair back toward the village.

  "Evan is somewhat of a steward," Conall explained as they rode away. "A liaison, if you will, between the villagers and me. He makes all the arrangements for repairs to the cottages, which need to be finished before the May Day feast."

  "That is only a month away," Tess commented.

  "To expedite the necessary repairs, we set aside one day, and everyone comes together, from the village and Inesfree. The men work, the women feed us and chatter, everything finished in one day."

  "Very productive," Tess decided.

  "The work gets done and we celebrate our good deeds at the May Day festival."

  Tess had heard talk of this festival during her time in the kitchens, and more recently from Serena. Indeed, the very air around the keep seemed to vibrate and crackle with the excitement of the forthcoming event. She might have assumed it was as similar as any castle's May Day feast, but she had been happily corrected, informed that no castle’s spring festival compared to Inesfree's.

  Conall and Tess passed again through the village and soon it began to fade behind them. At the loch which they had earlier skirted, Conall stopped and dismounted.

  "Let us walk," he said and pulled Tess to the ground, and she found herself not unhappy to remain away from the keep yet longer. They walked sided by side, along the small rocks that braced the loch, the horse ambling along behind them as Conall held the reins in his hands.

  CHAPTER 12

  "Why did you no bolt whilst I spoke to Evan?"

  She'd known he would ask. She had no answer, other than to say, “I feared that I might fail again.” That wasn’t entirely true, she admitted to herself.

  "Then stop trying, lass," he suggested simply.

  She smiled without humor. "Would you?"

  Conall nodded, not in answer to her question, but in recognition that it was a fairly put query. "Nae, Tess. Like as no, I would escape—or die trying."

  "Then you must accept my need to do this also," she insisted.

  "To return to what?" asked Conall as he bent to select a flat stone, which he skipped expertly across the water. "What, or who, at Marlefield do you miss the most?"

  "My freedom," she answered without pause. "If I had nothing to return to, I would yearn still for freedom."

  "And were you free there, Tess?" He turned his head to consider her, but Tess stared straight ahead, her hands clasped before her.

  "Freer than here."

  "But no completely," he guessed.

  Tess shrugged. "Are any of us, at any time, completely free?" she wondered.

  "Every person, I suspect—those no burdened by captivity—creates his own chains. Responsibility, loyalty, expectations—all deterrents to true freedom."

  "Is that how you feel? Does being laird restrict you?"

  "No at all. I am respected and needed. Inesfree is no a burden. It is an honor."

  Tess sighed. "While I am quite without purpose—aside from your plans for me. At Marlefield, I have no responsibility at all, nothing to do save that what I wish," she said and bit her lip, as if wondering for the first time why this was so.

  "You are the daughter of a laird. Surely, you ran the household, cared for the serfs."

  Tess shook her head. "I've only lived at Marlefield this past year. The system of management within the keep was already in place."

  "Where were you before then?"

  Tess did not look at Conall, but she heard the frown in his voice.

  "At Craignairn Abbey, near Haltwhistle. My mother and I lived there for as long as I can remember. She'd miscarried so many times my father sought a divorce as he needed legitimate sons."

  "He was granted the divorce."

  "Yes, after several years of lobbying for it. He remarried twice. Both died in childbirth, having produced no living heir." Tess sought to change the subject, never comfortable talking about herself. "So why have you not married?"

  "No reason to," he answered simply.

  "Could you possibly expand upon that vague reply?" She liked the feeling that had come over her, not of attention to Conall, though this was always in her, but of her ease with him now. Without the pressure of seduction and being outside the keep, which seemed to detach them from their assigned roles of captor and captive, Tess felt quite comfortable walking and talking with him, even bold enough to pursue this new topic.

  Conall chuckled. "Aye, I can. I've found none I could live without and none with something I needed. Until you, that is,” he clarified with a wry smile in his voice.

  "None you could live without?" Tess turned her head to frown at him. "But you don't believe in love," she challenged, ignoring the last part of his reply, which she knew referred only to Marlefield.

  "I speak no of love, but of need."

  "Is there a difference?"

  "Mighty."

  "Please explain," Tess laughed, "as someone who does not believe in love, how you can compare it to anything."

  "I ken love. I have loved," Conall said firmly. "I just dinna think it needs to be an all-consuming thing, that makes you become someone you are no, trying to please a person you can only hope is worthy of it."

  “Did you not have love from your mother? Or your father? Surely, a parent is worthy of our love.”

  He threw a glance at her, a brown arched. “Is your sire worthy of your love, lass?”

  Tess considered this. Not her response, but the way he asked the question, as if he knew her father was difficult, as if he knew there was no love.

  “I was asking of your parents.”

  Conall nodded, an acceptance of her unwillingness to answer his query. “My mother died when I was very small. I barely remember her, only snippets and aye, a sense of love.” He shrugged. “Perhaps I dinna actually remember, perhaps I only ken what John tells me about her. My da loved me, I ken.”

  “My mother loved me. ‘Tis the only love I have known, I suppose. You were right about Alain—my betrothed—he didn’t seem very interested in...”

  She felt him staring at her. She'd said too much. Tess stared at her hands and made a show of swiping nearly undetectable wrinkles from her kirtle.

  “Interested in what, lass?”

  Tess lifted her shoulders, waving a hand, searching for expression. When she said nothing, Co
nall spoke. She could feel his eyes on her.

  "In loving you?”

  She stopped walking and gave this some thought, not the question but her reply. "He wasn’t interested in me, actually. Seems odd, that you wouldn’t want to know someone you were about to marry." She pointed into the woods. “Look.” There a handsome doe stared warily back at her. “Oh, she’s beautiful.” She moved toward it, happy to put this conversation behind her. Leaving the rocky shore of the loch for the short grass of the incline, Tess lifted her kirtle and hiked upward. She struggled a bit, as the angle of the incline was steeper than she had suspected, using her hands upon the earth to assist her efforts. Here, she felt the effects of the recent trauma to her knees. But then Conall was beside her, taking up her hand, seeming not to struggle at all, still holding the horse's reins, guiding her effortlessly toward the ridge.

  She reached the top to find the deer had fled. She might have continued along the short grassy path but Conall stopped, releasing her arm. He turned and stared at the view offered by the ridge. Tess turned, too. She gasped at the sight before her.

  Atop this rise, one could surely see forever. Hills and mountains and valleys were covered in new spring grass and sharp gray rock, some peaks shrouded by mists, the view endless. Below was the loch and to the left, the village. Conall directed her gaze to the right, where rose Inesfree, its very majestic presence proclaiming all the land in sight its own.

  "’Tis Godit's Rise," he said. "The first MacDonnell to come was said to have stood at this spot and proclaimed, 'God, it's—' but was left speechless by his awe. Thus, it has ever been known as Godit's Rise."

  "A clever tale," said Tess with a suspicious crinkle in her brow.

  "And truth." Conall surprised her by collapsing onto his back on the ground, now releasing the reins to allow the animal to graze. "I've a mind to rest a while."

  Tess searched about in consternation, glancing at Conall, his legs stretched out, one foot crossed over the other, eyes closed, arms under his head. What was she to do now?