Between a Highlander and a Hard Place Read online

  The music came to a crescendo before stopping, leaving her with her hands raised toward the sky and the tail of her shirt fluttering about her knees while she arched her head back and looked at the stars.

  Pagan.

  Oh yes, it really was.

  But she laughed in a husky tone before telling herself she must return to the wagon. So she lowered her hands and head and left the firelight before temptation became too great. The drummers were starting up again as she forced herself to leave them behind in favor of the cold night.

  “So ye are no’ timid.”

  Athena jerked her head around, finding Symon leaning against a tree. Once more he blended so perfectly with his surroundings that she was only a foot from him when he spoke.

  “I wondered if ye were,” he continued smoothly. “This morning when we met.”

  He moved, straightening. A strange little awareness of him went twisting though her insides. He made her feel small, which was something she had not experienced with many men.

  “But the way that ye dance, well…that tells me ye are no’ lacking in spirit.”

  There was strength in his tone and in the way he moved.

  “Symon Grant.”

  She bit her lip, shifting away from him as she contemplated what to do. His attention was on her, and the truth was it excited her in some very odd way.

  “Athena,” she answered.

  His lips twitched. “I wondered if ye were a woodland spirit this morning. It seems yer parents named ye well.”

  Despite the dozens of people still dancing and men playing drums and couples making use of the darkness to enjoy each other’s embrace, Athena felt alone with him. But she could hear a couple kissing passionately nearby, the rustling of clothing making her blush as she realized what they were intent on doing.

  What the night seemed perfect for…

  What he seemed perfect for…

  “I should go.” A taste of adventure was one thing; discarding common sense was quite another. Uncle Henry deserved better than her returning home soiled by some need to rebel against the unkind way Galwell had treated her. “Truly, I should.”

  His lips twitched into a grin. One that told her he understood her reasoning and had been raised to be obedient to morality. And then there was the way he tilted his head, like a child intent on snatching a tart before supper. He moved and captured her hand. “Have some cider with me.”

  She was frozen once more, his touch sending a ripple of awareness through her. She had never been so conscious of someone’s flesh against her own. Never been so tempted to allow him to touch her more intimately.

  “I couldn’t.” Her voice betrayed how unsettled she was. “I simply wanted to try dancing, naught more.”

  At least the last two words came out in a firm tone. Symon stroked the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist.

  “Couldn’t or shouldn’t?” he asked intently. “Are ye promised, lass?”

  Athena shook her head before she thought how much wiser it might have been to let him believe honor demanded he find another to share cider with. She would have had to lie though, and she didn’t care for the bitter taste that filled her mouth at the idea. She would far rather maintain her honor. Galwell wasn’t going to rob her of her morality. “Yet I am not loose with my favors.” She tried to tug her wrist from his grasp, but he held tight. “A dance was all I wanted.”

  “Perhaps I might tempt ye to want more…”

  Oh could he…

  Something shifted between them. An awareness, an understanding of some sort. The truth was she didn’t really think all that long on it because she was too busy responding. Impulses were bubbling up inside her as if she hadn’t recently learned the price of following such things.

  No, nothing seemed to matter except the way his touch delighted her. He smoothed his fingers along her inner wrist, sending ripples of enjoyment through her body.

  And he knew she liked it.

  His touch.

  She watched the way his eyes narrowed as he read her reactions through their locked gazes. She’d never been so aware of Galwell. No, now she was face-to-face with the difference. It felt as though time had slowed down just to allow her the opportunity to notice how very handsome he was.

  His attractiveness wasn’t in the classical sense. No, it was in the way his jaw was tight and sporting a couple of faded scars. He hadn’t applied any powder to cover them because he was comfortable in his world, a place where strength, not fashion, was the true attractive trait.

  He drew in a deep breath, pulling her closer while stepping to the side to turn her around and put her back to the tree he’d been leaning against. The action made her gasp because he’d very neatly pinned her, his larger body between her and freedom as he leaned down and sealed her mouth beneath his.

  She’d never been kissed before.

  Sweet mercy, had she been naive!

  Symon’s mouth moved across hers, awakening a thousand more points of sensation than she’d ever imagined her lips might be capable of. He moved slowly but firmly, taking command of the kiss as he slid his hand into her hair.

  He tasted good.

  She heard a little sound escape from her as she succumbed to the moment, intoxicated beyond reason by the way his mouth moved against hers. Reaching for him was a necessity, one she couldn’t have quelled if it had meant her very life to defy it.

  Touching him was something she craved.

  She smoothed her hands along his upper arms, finding more hard muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Everything inside her was heating, warming, as she opened her mouth and kissed him back.

  His chest rumbled with a male sound of appreciation. It was a strange compliment and yet one she felt her confidence blooming in response to.

  “Tell me yer family name, lass.” His tone was husky.

  Athena blinked, trying to remember exactly why she needed to keep such information from him. He leaned down and inhaled against her hair.

  “Tell me the name of yer father.”

  There was command in his voice. Authority she realized he’d likely earned.

  “I can’t,” she muttered, trying to move away from him.

  “Ye would rather I kiss ye and make ye no honorable offer?” he demanded as he stepped into her path of escape.

  She froze, looking up into his face, so very pleased with the sense of honor coming from him. “You’re a good man.”

  His jaw tightened. “That’s another name I want from ye, Athena. The name of the man who makes ye doubt me.”

  He didn’t sound like he was going to take no for an answer either. She enjoyed the intensity for a moment, loath to leave him, even though she realized she must.

  “Ye’re English,” he muttered.

  A shiver went down her back. Disguised as a boy, she’d heard plenty of slurs against the English since she’d crossed into Scotland. They were in the Highlands now, where the English were hated.

  “Yes, so you see why I can’t have cider with you,” she said, more disappointed by the barrier between them than she should have been. “I must go now.”

  He caught her hand and stroked it. “Tell me…yer family name.” There was a flicker of determination in his eyes.

  “Boldness won’t help you change my thinking.”

  One of his dark eyebrows rose. “Are ye sure about that?”

  She heard the promise in his tone a moment before he was kissing her again. He just turned her around, surrounding her as he claimed her mouth. This time, there was more passion in the kiss. She shivered beneath it, realizing he was introducing her to the boldness she’d warned him wouldn’t help his cause.

  It did…

  She responded to his determination with a surge of need, wanting to give as good as she got. She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, enjoying the way he pulled in a hard breath and the fact that she was close enough to hear it. He pressed her lips open, teasing her with the tip of his tongue before he thrust it inside her mouth.

  “Ye bastard, Grant!”

  Symon grunted, lifting his head and turning it to look toward the fire where the curse had been flung.

  “Ye get yer filthy hands off me sister!”

  There was the hard sound of flesh connecting with flesh as women screamed and a fight broke out.

  “Stay here,” Symon ordered before he was gone, his kilt flapping up as he ran toward the fray.

  She felt like he’d been ripped from her, the night air harsh with its chill, reprimanding her for her rash behavior. Athena pushed away from the tree and scurried through the darkness toward the wagon.

  She’d dared too much.

  And yet, once she was secure beneath the oiled canvas, she found herself stroking her own hair.

  It had been good to enjoy being a woman. Life was full of so many who told her she was less for being born into her gender. Tonight she’d felt so very happy to just be who she was.

  She couldn’t lament it.

  Not really.

  But she would end it. The strip of linen she used to flatten her breasts was nearby, and she sat up, slowly winding it about her body and tucking the end in.

  Yes, all things must come to an end.

  At least the memory would always be hers to treasure.

  * * *

  Will Tinker slowly lowered a mug. He was grinning, and it gave way to snickering now that he’d swallowed.

  Alex was a girl.

  And not just a girl, a woman of rare beauty.

  His master was too devoted to his faith to realize what was right beneath their noses. Will never took things for what they seemed. He was a man who made his living by his wits alone. His clan wouldn’t welcome him back, so the life of a tinker was his lot. More than one of his countrymen had sneered at him during the day for working for an English merchant.

  Ah, but there was profit to be had in Myles Basset’s employ.

  He grinned again as he faded into the darkness to see what other secrets he might learn.

  * * *

  She was gone.

  Symon swept the darkness again, but there was no way to know which wagon she’d disappeared into, and he wasn’t going to be very popular if he started rousing the occupants in a search.

  That didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

  Symon quelled the urge. It wasn’t easy with her taste clinging to his lips. Christ, he could still feel her hair between his fingers.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have kissed her.

  The only reason he lamented his action was that it had frightened her off.

  He should have courted her more.

  But Christ! He’d felt like discovering what she tasted like was a need instead of a desire. The only time he’d ever felt so desperate for a woman had been back when he’d been a beardless lad, still at the mercy of his cock because he hadn’t yet developed the control a man learned over his lust.

  Tamhas shifted, making Symon aware he wasn’t alone this time. His men didn’t care for the times when he went off by himself. It was foolish, but tonight Symon wasn’t thinking about who might have slipped a dirk between his ribs while he was distracted.

  No, he was stuck on the thought that if he’d allowed Lyall or Tamhas to do their duty, then maybe one of them would have seen which way his woodland sprite had headed.

  He’d gone and gotten the fever.

  There was no other explanation for how agitated he was.

  And there were too many tracks for him to be able to deduce which ones belonged to Athena.

  But he’d find her.

  On that, she could be assured.

  * * *

  Will was smirking at her.

  Athena tried to ignore it, but by evening the next day, there was no way to convince herself that the tinker wasn’t taking more notice of her than he had before.

  She must have done something to make him question her.

  So she kept her chin tucked and her attention on her work. Still, the tinker was the one who brought her a plate of supper.

  “We’re going north,” he explained jovially. “Toward Sutherland, to sell our wares. I’ve a few friends who have promised us safe travel through the Highlands.”

  Athena put a chunk of bread into her mouth to keep from having to answer. Will’s “friends” were clustered about the fire: a rough-looking bunch of men who had swords strapped to their backs and filthy clothing. Their faces were smudged with dirt and grease, and she didn’t care to be downwind of them, for it was clear none of them bathed.

  Symon had smelled nice…

  The memory heated her cheeks. At last Will wandered back toward the fire and the company of his cohorts.

  “You are a good lad.” Myles surprised her by speaking directly to her. “Making no complaint. We’ll have a larger profit to split once we head home. Your dedication to duty will yield reward.”

  She nodded and kept her attention on her bowl of stew. Myles wasn’t quite finished though.

  “I rather applaud you for keeping distance from the men at the fire. They are a disreputable sort for certain. Best for you to keep your thoughts to yourself. Can you read?”

  Athena nodded.

  Myles bestowed an approving smile on her as he handed a book of common prayer to her. “Keep your eyes on the scriptures and away from Will Tinker’s associates. Their ways will leave a stain on your virtue.”

  Deceiving the man was a sin.

  Athena felt regret over it, but at least she had earned his approval. It was a small thing, and she found herself longing for home as she battled against the regret of knowing she was lying to him.

  Damn Galwell for making her do it.

  And yet there was a part of her that wouldn’t have missed meeting Symon Grant. He was burly and hard, like the men at the fire, and yet so vastly different. His chin had been scraped free of stubble and his hands were clean. There had been honor in him as well.

  “Are ye promised, lass?”

  He’d been a rogue, kissing her so boldly. Yet not before he’d made certain it wouldn’t leave a stain on her virtue.

  You must stop building him up in your imagination…

  Perhaps if she were home, Athena might have listened to her voice of reason. But here? On a lonely road in the Highlands? She had only her thoughts, so better to keep company with herself. Besides, she would never see Symon Grant again.

  And she didn’t care for how sad that made her.

  Not at all.

  * * *

  Spring and summer offered merchants the chance to take their wares into the Highlands. May Day might have been the traditional day for festivals, but in the north there was still snow, so there would be market fairs throughout the season.

  Athena was English, so she was traveling with a merchant.

  Symon took to the road. If she’d been Scottish and promised, he’d have had to accept she was beyond his reach. But English, well, that was another matter.

  He might claim her as a prize.

  That thought sobered him. He’d never been one to raid—well, not for women anyway. Athena seemed to have awakened a very odd determination in him.

  Perhaps he was just trying to find something to do other than return home and look at the offers for him.

  Now there was something he wasn’t ashamed to admit to. The letters sitting in his study were a penitence he wasn’t looking forward to facing. In other clans, there were plenty of kinsmen who would enjoy being laird. Symon grunted as he thought about how they’d find the position less grand than they’d dreamed.

  There was duty aplenty. His was sitting in his study, and he turned his horse toward the road leading to the next market day fair. He would find her and bring her home. Discovering if they suited one another would be better than looking at ink on parchment.

  At the least it would help him understand why he was so determined to see her again. His men thought he’d gone mad. They rolled their eyes when they though he wasn’t looking. Tamhas wasn’t fast enough though, and Symon had caught him.

  “I thought ye wanted me interested in a woman enough to go and claim her.”

  Tamhas rubbed his beard. “But…English?”

  “A woman is a woman. And this one is…well…I suppose we could cut east…no doubt there is plenty to do with it being planting time.”

  “No.” Tamhas was quick to interrupt him. “Ye said it yerself, a woman is a woman, and now that ye mention it, I’m enjoying running her down.”

  His men were suddenly eager to keep going. Guilt nipped at him a bit, but Symon didn’t really let it get the better of him. They’d all done their share of work. But it had been a few years since he’d ridden out just to enjoy stirring up a bit of mischief.

  Was it even about Athena?

  Perhaps. And then again, maybe he was just feeling more alive than he had in a long time. For that reason alone, he would track her down like a fox.

  They rode until the sun was gone and stopped at a tavern to see what news might be gathered from those enjoying a warm meal inside.

  Lyall joined him at a long table as serving wenches began to set bread and stew out for them. “Glad to see ye taking interest in a lass. Some of the lads, well, they were beginning to wonder if ye had unnatural tastes.”

  Symon shot his captain a hard look. “Ye know better, and I’ve bought ye plenty of cider to keep yer mouth shut about just how ye came into that knowledge.”

  Lyall slowly grinned. “Well now…back then, we were both lacking wits aplenty. But those Campbell sisters, now there were the finest pairs of tits.”

  Symon shook his head. A whistle came from ahead of them. He looked up as Craig turned around.

  “Looks like Marcus McPherson coming in just to see what we’re about.”

  Marcus McPherson was the war chief for the McPhersons. He was bastard born and well suited to his position. His retainers swept the room before they entered. Symon stood and offered the man his hand. They clasped wrists, and both their men returned to their conversations as Marcus settled down across the table from Symon.