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

  She was Tess Munro, spawn of the man who had destroyed his life, and as such, should have been treated accordingly, or at the very least, as Conall would have expected of Sir Arthur had he any of Conall's kin within his grasp.

  But he couldn't. He looked at Tess and saw barely beyond her beauty. He was aware of the thin veneer of fragility hovering about her, ready to crack at any moment, yet she was curiously strong in the face of his oft-seen fury. She'd witnessed his rage, had withstood his brutality, and still she refused to accede to his wishes.

  This determination of hers was something to be envied, something laudable even—but not when she stood in defiance of him. This only caused him to wonder what sort of person rallied to loyalty for the likes of Sir Arthur Munro. True enough, he was her sire, a fact which might elicit the required amount of devotion, he imagined. Conall questioned only how she could muster such enthusiasm for the task of holding true to loyalties never before tested. Loyalty in word and deed were entirely two different animals, and loyalty to Sir Arthur must prove difficult under the best of conditions.

  Conall shook his head, weary for answers which refused to come.

  He needed more time with her. His current method was unsuccessful but there had to be a way to gain what he sought. Every person had their price, every soul its breaking point. But to break Tess. Could he do it? Could he obliterate all that he presently found so captivating about her? Aye, he thought her captivating, had been quite put under her spell the very moment he'd touched his lips to hers. And it was lessened not a whit by her present bedraggled condition, for in truth her beauty, though he perceived there was none to rival it, 'twas merely half her allure.

  She was possessed of a rather quiet dignity, even in the face of harsh provocation. Conall pictured the stubborn set of her delicate chin, unaccustomed to showing such resolve, he guessed. He brought to mind her eyes, that soft liquid green that brewed to fire as he ignited her temper or tamped to pools of shimmering emerald when drenched in fear.

  As often happened when he began to think on her, Conall found himself possessed of a need to seek her out. 'Twas madness, he knew that much and was never fearful of admitting at least this to himself. What was it about her that had so completely fascinated him? Surely beauty and bravery alone could not ensnare him so fully.

  All the same, he could not resist the pull toward her.

  Cursing so foully even his captain raised a brow, Conall dismounted and made short work of the distance to the tower, leaving several men to stare after him in conjecture.

  He took the stairs three at a time and continued to curse as he climbed, feeling foolish for such sure folly. He was supposed to be the one to subjugate her, not the other way around.

  The door to the tower was open, he noticed as he neared. Frowning in alarm, he quickened his pace and then breathed in relief as he saw Serena exiting, an empty tray in her hands.

  "Oh, laird," Serena cried in a whisper, trying to balance the tray and close the door at the same time. "I didn’t think to see you this afternoon."

  "Clearly," he said dryly, his gaze enveloping both her frightened stance and the well eaten tray. "Sharing your vittles again?"

  "But, laird, 'tis not right to starve her so," Serena argued.

  "I would no ken, as you've yet to allow me to try. ‘Tis the second time, Serena." He had watched her steal away from Tess’s chamber two days ago, the sun not yet risen. "Dinna disobey me again."

  "Yes, laird," she capitulated meekly, lowering her head as she left.

  Conall entered the tower room, finding Tess leaning listlessly against the wall beside the only window. From this corner of the castle, she had a view only of a small portion of the western outer bailey, the hills of Godit's Rise, and the forest beyond. Perhaps at dusk she might enjoy the sunsets, but Conall could not know this for sure. She sighed and Conall wondered if she only ignored his presence. He was content just to watch her. He saw only her profile, for she kept her eyes focused on the horizon. Her recently washed hair—another boon provided courtesy of Serena unless he missed his guess—hung in damp, curling waves of dark auburn. When it dried, it would shine with rays of amber and gold, tinged minimally with hints of red, enticing him to touch, to seek the softness each curl promised.

  He watched as she inhaled deeply of the fresh afternoon air. Her brow, swept bare of hair, wrinkled as if 'twas not enough. She faced the window fully then, palms pressed flat against the cold stone on either side of the opening, leaning her head outside.

  This was Tess in supposed privacy, unguarded, her face wistful, not wary. Her stance portrayed longing, not desperation.

  Like everything else about her, Conall wanted in on this.

  "What do you think on when you stare so pensively out that window, Tess of Marlefield?" He stepped fully into the room, coming near enough behind her to touch.

  She did not startle, and she did not turn to face him. In a melancholy voice, she spoke words best saved for her dreams.

  "I imagine that I can see Father or Alain charging over that hill to save me."

  "They may yet try," Conall responded, his own voice clear and low. "But they would no find success."

  Tess finally turned around, lifting her head to stare without trepidation at him.

  "You are so very sure of your prowess in battle and that of your men?"

  "Aye." He crossed his arms over his chest and might have laughed out loud at her expression then, falling a bit at his certainty. "Rescue will no come from that end, lass."

  "From where then?"

  "Only from yourself."

  "By my marriage to you?"

  "'Tis the only way to save yourself."

  "A high price to pay for a life I'd not wish upon my enemy."

  Conall chuckled and was aware of those green eyes watching him curiously. Her fear of him had lessened—since he'd yet to murder her as she'd originally dreaded—but now in her eyes, so very expressive, he read something else.

  Tess of Marlefield was intrigued by him. Or at the very least, simply curious about the man who held her life in his hands. Conall would give some thought to press that to his advantage.

  "Since you've been so kindly treated to a bath and a meal," he said pointedly and noted that she had grace enough to blush—obviously Serena had confided to her that these benefits did not come complete with the laird's approval. "I will now take you to the kitchen where you will spend your days until you change your mind."

  "You think to make me a slave?"

  "I can make you whatever I want, lass."

  Now it was Tess’s turn to proclaim the upper hand. "But never your wife."

  He frowned, which seemed to enliven her momentarily. "'Tis only a matter of time. Soon you will think of Inesfree as your home."

  "This will never be my home," Tess said stiffly. "Not willingly."

  Conall moved closer to her, inhaling the fresh scent of Serena's lilac soap which surrounded her. He leaned in, his face a hand's span away from hers. Her eyes widened and she backed against the wall.

  "Aye, lass, I beg to differ. There are many things you will claim never to do or say willingly. And I think it will take an embarrassingly little amount of time to prove you wrong."

  "You cannot know that—"

  "Would you kiss me, lass?" He asked, his breath on her face.

  "Never!" She shook her head, visibly unnerved.

  "Never willingly?" He taunted, a crooked grin lighting his face.

  He moved yet closer, relieving her of the ability of speech. Tess shook her head.

  Conall kissed her. Not as he had on that first occasion, with tenderness and ease. His mouth moved against hers with calculated fierceness and a sense of ownership, as if he'd kissed her a thousand times before. She struggled and gasped, which allowed his tongue to enter and tease her own. Huge hands encircled her, drawing her small form against the power of his. As she was so small, one arm could wrap entirely around her, leaving the other then to explore the heretofore unto
uched softness of her hair, delving deep through the damp curls, finding her scalp, holding her to his kiss. She continued to struggle against him, pounding at his arms, twisting her face away, an impossibility with his hand at her head. He persisted in his assault, never harshly but with a measured assuredness. He was aware of the shiver that racked her body, exactly when the fight in her ceased. He did not crow with glee for his own tremor shook him, reveling not in her response for truly there was none, but in her acceptance. At the taste of her, the very real feel of her softness in his arms, Conall groaned aloud in pleasure, then realized that her hands no longer pushed but clung to the plaid across his chest. Her manner had changed, and while not yet exploring, her lips no more thinned in unwillingness but grew pliable with interest, but not daring enough to reciprocate.

  Remembering the reason for this kiss, though more reasons he did not need, Conall lifted his head and regarded her closed eyes and parted lips. He watched with keen curiosity as her eyes slowly opened and her teeth worried her bottom lip in consternation. She knew what would come next, he imagined. Though while she continued to resist meeting his eyes, indeed persisted in staring at his mouth, Conall had quite a time of it trying to recall the next part of his little lesson.

  Ah, yes.

  "Never willingly, sweet Tess?" He now did gloat, not of a mind to mask his wolfish grin.

  "You beast!" Was all she could muster presently. And perhaps she might have struck him but Conall, still grinning like the very devil, staring at her lips to see if their proven softness was so obvious to the eye, took up her raised hand to lead her from the tower room. For the briefest span of a second, he considered her hand in his and the strange new heat that crept up his arm.

  "Let us see to your duties."

  CHAPTER 6

  Tess followed Conall in mortified silence. He was right. It had indeed been embarrassingly easy to disprove her claims.

  My God, what else might I give to him under such persuasion? she wondered with a sinking heart. She had determined that she might suffer many assaults to her pride while under his captivity. She had also determined that this she could accept, knowing her pride would be easily made whole again once she was rescued. But this assault on her mind, body, and senses—how would she ever recover from that? Even now, her anger heightened at the memory of his callous boasting, Tess could think of little else save the feel of him, what exactly he had done to her resolve and more importantly, how mere touch alone could accomplish this. His kiss had been drugging, tempting her beyond reason to seek out that which her body craved, more of his seduction.

  What a horrible, dangerous man.

  All thoughts of the MacGregor's nefarious deeds ceased as Tess, unaware of their destination, was led into the bright sunshine of the inner bailey. She stopped and was surprised when he allowed her hand to fall from his. Tilting her head to the sky, she breathed deeply of the fresh air she'd not encountered in over a week. Lost in her exultation, she closed her eyes and was totally unaware of the brilliant smile that lit her features.

  When she opened her eyes finally, Tess found the MacGregor considering her with a pensive frown.

  "Come," he said abruptly.

  She didn’t move, but dared to say, “I’m sure the kitchens can wait for me.”

  He grinned but there was no humor in it. "Aye, princess, but I've more to do than see to your fancies.”

  Tess opened her mouth to refute this but quickly thought better of it. Let him work her if he desired. She would then be allowed out of the tower. She was unlikely to escape if she remained locked away.

  Tess chose to ignore the fact that the beast was laughing at her. She glanced around the bailey, a huge courtyard filled with milling and working serfs and servants, the tall, thick walls lined with a score of warriors.

  All staring at her.

  It was unconscious, but she stepped nearer to the beast as she met the eyes of several of the MacGregor people. They were of various shapes, sizes, and ages, but all confronted her curious glance with eager animosity.

  I am the victim here, she wanted to shout, but dared not. Glumly, she realized that she might actually be safer in the company of the beast and followed where he led, wondering all the while at the peasants’ obvious loathing of her. She did not know them and likewise they knew her not at all. Were they upset because she'd foiled their laird's plans by refusing to wed him? Tess wondered that they could not understand her rejection, for would they not have balked at being spirited away from their home? Carried off by monstrous fiends intent on God only knew what? Locked in a tower with barely enough food save for the scraps provided by the only person who was not of a mind to reject her outright? Knowing this, would they not then concede that she was acting not unfairly or cowardly or without reason?

  Tess sighed, still trailing behind the beast.

  "Come," he threw back at her as she lagged. "'Tis no the chapel stroll we're about."

  "I've seen your chapel stroll," Tess answered pertly. "I've not the speed for it."

  The beast then lanced her with that ferocious scowl of his, but Tess had by now determined that she was not to die by his hand, at least not for any small infraction. Hence, her daring was greater and her skin a bit thicker. But she increased her pace, if only to be farther away from the damning glowers of his people.

  He led her around the side of the castle, into the large kitchen area at the rear. Tess imagined this large and bustling room could also be reached by walking straight through the main hall and she wondered why the MacGregor had not taken that more direct route. She was not allowed to ponder this for she was hastily put into an apron and curtly introduced to Cook, a robust man who was, unlike the beast and his warriors, more round than tall, with two close set eyes and many extra chins. But he did not glower at Tess and she breathed a small sigh of relief.

  "Eagan," the MacGregor said to the cook, “Lady Tess is losing interest in our fair Inesfree. I think it is boredom. Let us keep her busy." Conall turned on Tess and pointed beyond her.

  Tess swiveled around, aware of the enormous amount of activity in this kitchen. Marlefield had a regular staff of about ten kitchen people. There were at least twice that number here, all hard at work in a room that might fit twice into Marlefield's kitchen. Along the inner wall, which backed against the main hall, a long hearth stretched the length of the room. Tall enough for the beast himself to stand inside, it consisted of several different heating sections, including racks for spits, hooks by which to hang kettles, and long stone shelves where meat pies might be baked.

  Tess felt the curious glances aimed her way. She raised her chin, intent on hiding her trepidation from these judgmental people. But there was little obvious hatred here, just curiosity, save for one man. As large and broad as the beast, he stared with downright malevolence from across the room. He was dressed not as these kitchen serfs, but as a soldier, with a dreadful looking ax dangling from his leather belt. Tess met his dark eyes, black as evil, and again found herself drawing nearer to the beast for safety.

  She stepped back unconsciously, near enough that the beast's hands settled on her upper arms as she bumped into his chest.

  But Tess did not startle at this close encounter for the evil black eyed man was moving toward her, his eyes locked with hers.

  "’Tis Ezra," the beast said at her ear. "He’ll be at your side whenever you are about your duties. I would advise you no to displease him."

  Tess drew a fortifying breath as the soldier stopped before her. "Good day, Ezra."

  His lips thinned but he said nothing.

  Undaunted, for Tess imagined he could not kill her without his laird's say so, Tess ignored him and likewise Conall, and approached Eagan, the man in charge of the kitchen.

  "What shall I do?"

  She'd caught him off guard, his expression said. With small humor, she watched the fat man look from her to the beast and back again. Obviously, he'd not expected much work from her but quickly had her set up at a wooden pl
ank counter, washing and dicing vegetables for tonight's dinner beside a young girl who could barely control her giggles as her eyes strayed every other second to the handsome MacGregor.

  In short order, the beast left the kitchen with a reminder to Tess that Ezra would be watching her. Tess looked up, found the disgruntled soldier propped against the wall nearest the door which led outside, an ale in hand, and disregarded him as untroublesome, so long as she kept about her work.

  For the next several days, Tess’s schedule was consistent. She was escorted by the never pleasant Ezra to the kitchens every morning at dawn and remained there until sundown, with spare time only to eat her meals—which she was now allowed twice a day—and to see to personal business. Tess did not mind the kitchen duties as she had been unaccustomed to lazing about Marlefield. What this work did to her hands and her back, was another matter altogether. Standing still, about one chore, sometimes for hours, quite often Tess retired immediately after the last meal with an achy back and dry, cracked and peeling hands. However, there were advantages to be had by such work. On the third day in the kitchens, Tess absently wondered to Cook if he planned to use marjoram in the stew over which he labored. When he offered her no more than a blank stare, Tess went back to her work. But not ten minutes had gone by when Cook was at her side, asking if she used marjoram in her stews.

  "Well, not me personally," she answered with a laugh. "I had little to do with the running of the kitchens. But I do know marjoram was always used for stews and broth. It enhances the broth as well as the flavor of the meat. Surely, Inesfree's garden grows marjoram."

  Cook looked perplexed. "I'd not ken that, Lady Tess," he said, for he was one of the few people that addressed her directly and perhaps the only one, aside from Serena, to apply the 'lady'. "I’m still working off last year’s dried herbs. Old Felix died this past winter—he’d a been the one to keep the gardens. Perhaps you wouldn't mind taking a look. Maybe a stray plant grows."