The Highland Laird Read online

  As the last note rang through the hall, his chest swelled. His mouth went dry.

  Please don’t stop.

  Suddenly the hall erupted in applause. Ciar stood, sure he was clapping the loudest, until Lochiel rose beside him. “Good Lord.”

  “She’s unbelievable,” said Ciar.

  Emma carefully set the harp upright and rose. Smiling with her eyes downcast, she curtseyed to the audience. Though her lips moved, not even Ciar could hear her over the ovation.

  “They’re standing for you, lass!” hollered Robert, ascending the stairs with Janet on his arm.

  Within a minute, the dais was full of people all swarming around Emma. She was laughing and smiling. Ciar waited and watched for a time. But before he could press through the crowd, Betty escorted the beauty away.

  Ciar shook Grant’s hand. “Why have you kept your sister’s talent a secret all these years?”

  Robert grumbled under his breath. “The Highlands abound with superstitious fools. Who kens what would happen if some lout decided to declare her a witch.”

  “Surely you’ve enough influence to put such rumors to rest.”

  “Aye, but only after the damage is done. Och, three years past a mob in Inverness put a blind man’s cottage to fire and sword for no other reason but mindless fear.”

  Ciar had heard the story, and the recollection of it made his blood hot, just as it had then. “I understand they were tried for murder.”

  “Tried they were, but not convicted.” Robert clapped Ciar on the back. “’Tis why I shall never allow her to perform outside of small recitals among trusted friends.”

  “Wise of you. If I had a sister such as Emma, I’d want to protect her as well.” He gestured toward Lochiel. “Come, your father-in-law has invited us for a tot of whisky and a round of cards in the library.”

  * * *

  “Are you awake?” Emma asked softly, even though she knew from Betty’s light snores the woman was fast asleep.

  Not a cock crowed, not a bird sang. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Emma quietly slipped out of bed, tiptoed thirteen steps to the hearth, and ran her fingertips along the clock’s hands. Gracious, it was only two in the morning and she was famished.

  She’d skipped the evening meal because she’d been too nervous to eat. And then after her recital she’d been so wrapped up in answering questions, the idea of eating hadn’t crossed her mind.

  Now that she’d been at Achnacarry a few days, the castle had grown somewhat more familiar. She was sure she could find her way to the kitchens without having to wake Betty.

  Once Emma donned her robe and found her cane, she slipped out the door, but didn’t quite close it all the way. By leaving it ajar, she would be certain to find it on her return and not make the mistake of wandering into some unsuspecting person’s chamber and crawling into bed with them.

  Heaven forbid.

  After crossing through the passageway, she found the winding stairs and headed down, around and around, tapping her cane and counting. Certain she’d arrived at the main floor, she stepped out into a dank, chilly cavern. The walls were cool. Something scurried in the distance.

  Emma didn’t dare imagine what creature had made the noise. Not when she had no idea how she had ended up in the cellars.

  I’m certain I counted three flights. She tapped her cane on the stone floor. Or was it four?

  Quickly, she retraced her steps, expecting to recognize the great hall on the floor above, but the next landing was unfamiliar as well.

  Resolving to bear her hunger pains for a few more hours, she climbed two more flights of steps, quietly tapped her way down the corridor, and nudged her door. At least she thought it was her door. However this one was not ajar.

  Had it closed on its own? She stood for a moment, rubbing her fingertips together. If she knocked she’d wake Betty. If she didn’t knock and this wasn’t the right door, she might end up doing as she feared and crawling into bed with a stranger.

  Trying not to wake everyone in the adjacent rooms, Emma tapped lightly. “Betty?” she said barely above a whisper.

  When no reply came, she cracked open the door. “Betty?”

  A clock ticked—a familiar sound. Was this the right chamber? “Betty,” she said louder as she stepped inside. “I went below stairs to find something to eat but ended up in the cellars, hopelessly lost.”

  Behind her, the door creaked and slammed shut. “Oh, dear.”

  Emma didn’t recall the door creaking before. “Betty?” she asked apprehensively.

  “There’s no Betty here,” said a deep, husky voice accompanied by rustling. “Emma, is that you?”

  She froze for a moment, clutching her cane over her chest.

  Dash it all, this is a disaster!

  “Ciar?” she squeaked. The voice sounded like the Dunollie laird but didn’t at the same time because of a gravelly undertone she’d never noticed before.

  He cleared his throat simultaneously with the sound of flint striking iron. “Aye. Are you lost?”

  “I am,” she said as her eyes stung, welling with tears. “I-I’m so sorry. Please do not tell Robert. He’ll be furious!”

  Good Lord, this was an atrocious state of affairs. She rapidly blinked and swiped a hand across her eyes. “What if someone sees me here?” Her heart raced. “Goodness, my brother would insist you marry me…and of course you cannot…and then he will challenge you to a duel!”

  “Wheesht, lass. Not to worry, there’s no one here but me.” He stepped near and pulled her into his arms and rubbed his palm around her back. “Easy now,” he soothed. “You’ve nothing to fear, nothing at all.”

  Her head spun. It felt marvelous to have Ciar’s arms surrounding her, yet it was terrifying all the same. Had anyone heard her in the corridor?

  His big palm continued to circle around her back, making her head whirl in tandem. “Now tell me what happened,” he asked softly.

  Placing her hand on his chest, Emma took in several breaths to calm herself enough to explain. But his chest was anything but comforting. Beneath a single layer of linen, a strong heartbeat thrummed against her fingertips. Warmth radiated through the cloth, his chest rising and falling with his every breath.

  “I…ah…” She slid her trembling hand to his arm. A very muscular and solid arm clad in the same thin linen, making her no less nervous. “I-I missed supper because of the recital. A-and Betty was asleep, so I tried to find the kitchens, but I ended up in the cellars.” She rubbed her hand up and down his enormous, incredibly well-defined arm. “I have no idea how I came to be here. I counted the landings as I passed them. I’m so sorry to have troubled you, but I must be completely turned around—”

  “Och, Achnacarry is so vast anyone could find themselves lost.”

  “Anyone?”

  His hand paused. “Aye, so you missed the meal, did you? And why didn’t Betty bring you something after your performance?”

  Her bare toe turned inward as she scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “I suppose I wasn’t hungry after.”

  “I see.” He stepped back and grasped her shoulders. “Give me a moment to don my kilt and I’ll take you to the kitchens myself.”

  “You?” She rubbed her outer arms to ward off a sudden chill. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you any more than I already have. Mayhap if we found Betty.”

  “Not to worry.” Ciar’s bold strides padded the floorboards. “Besides, I’m already awake. No use waking your lady’s maid. We might end up rousing the entire household, and then there truly would be hell to pay.”

  She gulped. Aye, in the form of an outrageous scandal.

  Clothing rustled. Emma gulped. Had he just mentioned donning his plaid? What on earth had he been wearing before?

  Merely a shirt? Saints preserve me!

  She tapped her cane against the door. “I hate being an imposition.”

  “Not at all. After your performance this…er…last eve, I ought to do somet
hing to express my gratitude.” He stepped beside her, lightly brushing his fingertips down her arm, letting her know where he stood. “Are you ready?”

  “Aye, but please check the corridor to ensure no one will see us.”

  “At your service, m’lady.”

  Emma chuckled. “I’m no one’s lady.”

  “I’m certain Robert will see that rectified one day.” He opened the door and stepped out, then returned and grasped her hand. “’Tis clear.”

  Together they proceeded down the same steps she’d just ascended—she was positive by the echo. “If we keep on this way, we’ll end up in the cellars for certain.”

  “The stairwell splits three ways on the ground floor. It can be tricky for anyone. If you take the wrong turn, you most certainly will end up in the cellars.”

  “All right, but how did I arrive at your chamber door rather than mine? I ken I retraced my steps.”

  “You must have wandered up the wrong set of spiral steps. The one on the right leads to the south wing, the one in the middle leads to the west wing, and if you continue downward you end up in the cellars.”

  “Why in heaven’s name did Betty not tell me to mind which stairwell I was using?”

  “Perhaps she reasoned you wouldn’t be wandering about alone.”

  “My chamber is in the west wing, then?”

  “The south, I believe, given your explanation.”

  “Och. If I hadn’t found you I might have ended up wandering Achnacarry’s corridors for the rest of my days.”

  “I don’t know.” He chuckled. “Once they realized you were missing, Robert would have sent out a search party.”

  “Aye, knowing my brother, he would have put up a reward for anyone who had information on my whereabouts.”

  “A reward? That sounds tempting. How much of a reward?”

  Emma thwacked his arm. “Oh, stop.”

  “Very well, if I must, but it is always ever so fun to pull your brother’s leg.”

  “When it comes to me, his sense of humor is lacking.”

  “Though I am quite fond of Grant, I must say the good Lord made him a wee bit over-serious.”

  Emma chuckled. “Truly.”

  As soon as they stepped into the kitchen, she took in a deep breath. Had she wandered past on her own, she would have recognized the redolence of burning wood from the hearth’s fire mingling with the heady odor of a simmering lamb pottage. Warmer air bathed her face. “We’ve arrived.”

  “Indeed we have.” He ushered her to a table. “Sit on the stool, and I’ll put together a snack.”

  “You?”

  “Why not me? I’m no stranger to castle kitchens in the middle of the night.”

  Emma tapped the seat with her cane and sat. She’d merely hoped to find a bit of bread or a brick of cheese. “Thank you.”

  “Let’s see. A loaf of bread…and what’s in this pot?” He sniffed. “Elderberry jam. How would you like slices of bread and butter with jam?”

  “Delicious. And here I thought you’d dish up a bowl of the pottage over the fire.”

  “Would you prefer pottage?”

  “When there’s jam and fresh bread in the offing?” Emma rubbed her hands. “You cannot tempt me with a tasty treat and then suggest something as bland as pottage.”

  “I thought as much.” Plates and silverware rattled. “Who taught you to play the harp?”

  “The vicar’s wife took me under her wing when I was quite young.”

  “I’ll wager you were drawn to it like a duck to water.”

  “I suppose. It wasn’t always easy, but music touches the soul in a way nothing else can.”

  “After hearing you play, I believe you are right.”

  Emma rocked back as a bubble of happiness filled her. “Did you enjoy the recital?”

  “Very much. I was disappointed when it was over. I would have told you, but the dais was swarmed by admirers.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “I am merely an honest man.”

  He set a plate in front of her. “A bit of bread with your elderberry jam, m’lady.”

  “Thank you. Are you having some as well?”

  He sat across from her. “I’d never forgo a sweet.”

  Emma took a bite. Bursts of flavor both sweet and tart swept over her tongue. “Mm. ’Tis divine.”

  “’Tis nearly as good as plum tart.”

  “I love plum tart.”

  “It might possibly be my favorite, though I’m partial to strawberry, apple, raspberry…”

  “Elderberry, of course,” she added. “And we cannot forget blackberry.”

  He smacked his lips. “Who needs anything else?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Agreed. Plum tart for breakfast, raspberry for our nooning, and what say you for supper?”

  “Hmm. Perhaps a variety?”

  “Perfect.”

  Trying not to laugh with her mouth full, Emma pressed her fingers against her lips. “Och, chatting with you is always so diverting. If it weren’t so mortifyingly improper, I would become lost every night just to eat sweets and engage in riveting conversation with you.”

  “Anytime—as long as ’tis after midnight, lass.” His sniggering grew infectious. “I suppose there is something daring about spiriting into the kitchens when no one else is about.”

  “Agreed.” She delicately licked the jam off her fingers, even though doing so was quite brash. “Perhaps a bit mischievous as well.”

  “Then we must ensure this excursion remains our secret.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  Of course. Holy Moses, Emma would die if Robert found out about this!

  Chapter Five

  Emma’s expression grew intent while Ciar led her down the passageway dimly lit by a wall sconce. “Five, six, seven—”

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Counting the paces from the stairs to the door. I intend to never be lost in this monstrous castle again.”

  “I think it was a boon that you were lost. After all, that was the best elderberry jam I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Please. What if I’d walked in on Lochiel or any of the other guests?”

  “That would have been a disaster.”

  “Have you ever been lost before?”

  “Many times, though Livingstone usually manages to set me back to rights.”

  “He’s your man-at-arms, is he not?”

  “Among other things. He carries out my bidding, and he’s a trusted ally, friend. He’s all those and more.”

  “I’m glad of it. In these times, a chieftain must have men nearby whom he can rely upon.”

  “Is that what Grant says?”

  “Aye.”

  Emma stopped. “Seventeen steps. I think. Talking can make me err, but this should be my chamber.” She pushed on the door and whispered, “’Tis still ajar, just as I left it.”

  “Well, then you had everything right except for the wing.”

  “One small error led to one enormous mistake.”

  “I wouldn’t say that at all.” He grasped her shoulders, admiring the way her bottom lip was fuller than the top, pouting and begging for a kiss. “Any time you have a yen for a late-night snack, I do hope you’ll end up at my door.”

  She curtseyed, and with her movement, long, thick tresses swung forward. “Thank you for being so kind, m’laird.”

  Ever since she’d appeared in his chamber, her hair had beguiled him. Brushed out and flowing to her waist, it glistened like copper in the lamplight. “I must bid you good night,” he said, his voice suddenly husky.

  He dipped his chin to kiss her cheek, but she turned, and her lips skimmed his. That full bottom lip swept across his and along with it came a wee gasp that made his heart melt like sweet cream butter in the afternoon sun.

  Within the blink of an eye, he captured that alluring mouth, closed his eyes, and kissed her. Emma’s delicate fingers slipped to his waist. Unable to stop, C
iar moved one hand around her back while the other cradled her head. Ever so gently, he swept his tongue inside her silky warmth, asking permission to take more. Her sigh whooshed through him as she returned his kiss.

  “Emma? What on earth are you doing?” asked a hushed but shrill voice.

  “Betty!” The lass jolted from Ciar’s arms as if she’d been seared by a red-hot brand. “You’re awake?”

  Holding a candle, the lady’s maid stared at Ciar, her eyes wide, her shoulders back as if she were ready to thrash him with the candlestick. “I most certainly am.”

  “Forgive me.” Ciar made a hasty bow and shifted his attention to Emma. “If there’s nothing else you require, miss, I’ll leave you.”

  Betty moved in front of the lass. “What else would she require? And why—”

  “I lost my way, and Dunollie came to my rescue just like a knight in shining armor.” Facing the empty corridor, Emma dipped into another curtsey. “Thank you for coming to my aid, sir.”

  “’Twas my pleasure,” Ciar choked out as he started away. What the hell had he just done?

  “Quickly, into the chamber afore someone sees.” Betty’s curt whisper resonated through the passageway.

  Good God, there would be hell to pay come morn.

  * * *

  “What, exactly, were you doing with Dunollie—at all hours, if I might add?” asked Betty as she closed the door.

  Heavens, Emma was two and twenty years of age, and her lady’s maid saw fit to scold her? After the most passionate kiss she’d experienced in all her days? The only other time she’d been kissed was when the vicar’s son stole an unpleasant, hard-lipped peck in the vestibule of the church. But Ciar’s kiss was nothing like that. His lips were warm and soft and…practiced. Oh, she could kiss him all night if given the chance. Moreover, when would she ever again have the opportunity to be daring and kiss a man in a passageway in the middle of the night?