Devils Highlander (Clan MacAlpin 1)

“Maybe they got away. ”

“And maybe I'll be the next Stuart king. ” He looked at her, his eyes empty of emotion.

She knew better, though. His gaze might appear blank, but the flatness in his eyes stanched unbearable emotion.

He'd seen so much with those eyes, it broke her heart. A lad of fourteen had no business bearing such tragedy and such responsibility on his shoulders.

“What happened to the boys you'd hidden in the gorse?” They still hadn't gotten to the topic of his scars, and she dreaded his reply.

“The boys,” he said, his tone gone icy. “Well, I went back, of course. Straightaway. Some of Cromwell's men had found them; they were there still, rounding the Irish lads up, meaning to truss them like a drove of cattle. I lost my mind then. I'd taken the soldiers by surprise and managed to kill a few of them. ” He tried to look away, but she slid her hand around his neck, the taut column of it hot under her palm.

He held her gaze, unspeakable sadness darkening his features. “I should've let them just have the boys. Maybe they'd be alive today. But the lads saw my fight, and fancying themselves men, they joined me. They were cut down, every last one. ”

She cleared her throat, desperate for her voice not to crack. She would be strong for him. “And your arm?”

“Ah, yes, my arm. ” He held it up, examining it in the moonlight. “I got this defending a lad. I was just a scout, you see. Thankfully I had a sword, but there was no shield to hand. I did the best I could, but my arm got in the way. Grazed by a redcoat blade. ” He flexed his fist.

She took his hand and, with a kiss to the broad span of his palm, turned his arm to study the scars. “It's a stroke of luck that it wasn't sheared straight through. ”

He grimaced. “Luck. My life seems to have been luck and more luck. Or perhaps it's that I'm bad luck for the ones I come near. ”

“You can't say that, Cormac. ”

He only shrugged.

“Where did you go after it all happened? What did you do?”

“Do? You wish to know what I did next? I ran, Ree. It was chaos. I saw the boys lying dead, I saw the soldiers'

ropes, and then I saw a path through the trees. ” Words picking up pace, his story barreled on, unstoppable now. “I ran and ran. Because I didn't want to be taken. I'd thought I did. I thought I'd wanted to die. But you see, I didn't. I was too selfish. In that instant, all I wanted was to live, to be free. And it felt like a betrayal. Like I'd betrayed Aidan. ”

“But you were only fourteen. Your brother never would've wanted you to suffer his fate. ”

&nb

sp; “We'll never know, aye?”

“No, Cormac. I know. Aidan loved you. He'd never have wanted you to be kidnapped or killed merely out of your own guilt. ” The notion was preposterous. She slid closer to him on the bed, needing to convince Cormac, to make him see. “It was an impossible situation,” she insisted. “You were a child, against a troop of redcoats. You might as well have found a barn full of Irish, dead already. There was naught you could've done. ”

“No,” he said, sounding wrung out. He'd been holding his story in for so long, the loosing of it had rendered him completely emotionally spent. “I should be dead. Those boys, at least, should be alive. ”

“As forced laborers on a distant continent somewhere?”

“They could've been with Aidan,” he muttered. He shut his eyes, and only then did she see the exhaustion that had smudged them black.

She watched as sleep pulled him under, hoping it was dreamless, praying he'd exorcised his tale. It had devastated her, but rather than wanting to push it — and him — away as he'd feared she might, Marjorie wanted only to share his pain, to convince him, to absolve him.

She curled closer, longing to hold him tight. There was no shutting her out now.

Cormac had thought this was the thing that'd drive her away. Little did he know. His confession was what would bind her fast to him forever.

Chapter 24

This dream, again. Cormac's hips ground forward, his body searching for release. Marjorie's daydream hand circled him more firmly, moved with more intent. In the place between sleep and reality, he was only this: only wanting, and this hard, aching knot between his legs.

The sweetest of dreams.

An alarm sounded in a corner of his mind, how fragile this sleep. He moved slowly, carefully, holding on to his slumber. This fantasy of her hand on him was too erotic, too sweet a pleasure to forgo.