Enraptured by the Highlander

She came close, her expression calm but guarded. A hell of a performer you would be, lass.

“I was told you have something to tell me?”

Caelan looked pointedly over to Tybalt who was lingering at the doorway and arched an eyebrow in a silent order for him to leave. The guard huffed and turned but stopped at the doorway, “If you need anything, My Lady, just call. I’ll be at the top of the staircase.”

He was about to protest and tell him to go further when Adelaine stopped him, “That’s fine, Mr. Montfort. There is nothing to worry about here.”

His jaw stiffened but he nodded tersely. After Tybalt left, Caelan waited until the sounds of his boots faded away and then he faced Adelaine. “I don’t like or trust him.”

She cocked her head to the side and her delicate brows came together, “Why?”

“He wants ye, lass,” he said plainly. “The lad is setting his sights on ye.”

Adelaine’s lips slipped open in shock. “What? That can’t be right.”

“What can I tell ye, lass,” he shrugged, “I ken when someone’s under the throes of young love, misguided as it can be.”

“And you…” she asked, quietly, “what about you?”

Though not expecting the question, it did not bother him. His feelings for her were surprising but not upsetting. If there was anyone who could make him understand what true love was, it would be her. His admiration for her was high and his desire for her was clear. Then last night…the things he had done to her, the way she had reacted and the pleasure she had made him feel by watching her come undone had jolted his heart.

“I feel things for ye, Adelaine,” he admitted. “Lass, if there is anyone who could claim me heart, utterly and completely, it is ye.”

“You’re sure?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

He nodded in pure conviction. “Aye, Imma sure.”

Her lips slipped open and her tongue wetted them, leaving them plump and red. Caelan’s eyes slipped to the provocative move and stamped down on his arousal because he had more important matters to speak with her about. He dropped his voice to a hushed tone. “I spoke with Mrs. Hertha and she says there is a Christmastide celebration being planned.”

“Yes, there is one,” she said while pulling the lapels of her coat tighter. She had come closer and her tone had dropped too. “We have one every year, why?”

“Lass,” he said emphatically. “It is the way out for me. Ken of it, all the attention would be on the house and protecting the people inside. That is the prime time for me to run.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor in uncertainty and he felt a twinge of suspicion tickle in the back of his mind.

“Lass?”

“I’d need to get that location of that tunnel first, wouldn’t I?” she said.

“Aye,” he said and reached through the bars to rest his knuckled under her chin. “Lass, what are ye keeping from me?”

Her were brimming and her voice tiny. “I wasn’t sure how to say it as I know you were banking all your hopes on it…but he’s dead, Caelan.”

“Who is dead?”

“Robert Duglas,” she said sorrowfully. “I got a letter from the King’s Court; he’s dead, Caelan. He died from an injury at a battle in Scotland.”

Her words struck him like bullets, one after the other, and it was good that his feet felt stuck to the floor or he would have stumbled back. His hope for freedom, the same one he was contemplating to send for from his home in Scotland was dead. He swallowed over it like he was ingesting bitter medicine.

He took his hand back from her and he grasped the nearest bar. It was horrible news but the mindset of both the Laird and warrior in him, mentalities that had to deal with sudden changes, began to shift focus. He breathed out. “That is…unfortunate. It’s true, he was me hope…but I’m sure others will arise. In the meantime, I still need to see that proof of the tunnel, lass.”

She nodded but nibbled on her lip. “I may have a chance this evening. But what will you do after I do get it?”

He leaned on the bars. “Ye dae know the terrain around here, aye? Then I’ll need ye to tell me where the tunnel ends so I can arrange for me men to meet me somewhere near it. And this will take time to get me letter to me men.”

“It takes…” she paused to think of how long it would take to get to Scotland, and he could see her faltering. It made sense, she had never been out of England.

“Three days on a warhorse at best,” he clarified. “And three days back. But then they would have to get me men and find the spot where you will tell me.”