Highlander Assassinated (Highlander In Time #16)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

I t took a few dizzy moments to remember where she was when they finally parted. She was consciously smoothing her breathing, her whole body tingling with a mixture of delight and impatience for more contact, more kissing, more of him… it was shocking, how quickly her libido had come online. With all the men she’d dated before, it had taken a while for the sexual side of her attraction to them to awaken fully — but not with Niall. Could that have something to do with the magic? she wondered. Was that her connection with his lost wife, this strange feeling that she’d already known him for years?

The distant sound of voices brought her out of her reflections, and the two of them both sat up straight, for all the world like guilty schoolchildren, as a handful of men emerged from the nearby guardhouse. They were carrying equipment toward the stables, and with a sudden jolt, Lissa realized they were making preparations for the ride down to Weatherby’s manor tomorrow. The conversation had so thoroughly distracted her that she’d almost forgotten what was happening tomorrow — and one look at Niall’s rueful smile told her that she wasn’t alone in the experience.

“I wish we could just focus on one thing at a time,” she said, grimacing — he chuckled wanly in agreement, reaching out to take her hand in his. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment then, the warmth of his hand reassuring in the growing chill of the evening as it darkened towards night. “Can I admit something?”

“Of course,” he said immediately.

“I’m worried about what’s going to happen at Weatherby’s manor.” It felt so good to say stuff out loud, she realized. More importantly — to say stuff out loud to someone she knew she could trust. “I think — something’s telling me it’s going to get rough.”

“I wish I could disagree, but I’d be bluffing,” Niall said after a slight pause. “It goes without saying that you don’t have to come with us.”

“I’m glad it goes without saying,” she said darkly, “because if I suspected for even a moment that you were suggesting I stay at the Keep while you and Amelia and Hamish risk your lives?—”

“Understood, understood, I retract the comment,” he said quickly, raising his hands.

“I’m coming with you. If there’s some wider reason that I’m here — here in Scotland, I mean, back in time — then it’s this.” She exhaled. “I just — I have a feeling it’s going to go beyond diplomacy, you know? I just hope I’m ready.”

“I think you are,” Niall said simply. “You’re an impressive woman, Lissa — and I mean that as someone who’s gotten to know you better over this past week. You’re one of the most gifted beginners with a dirk I’ve ever seen — you’d give half those men a run for their money in a fight after barely a week of training,” he added, nodding at the group of guards making their way across the courtyard. “As for your wits, your insight — well, you’ve already saved a man’s life without ever setting foot on Manor grounds. I’m more glad than I can say to have you on our side.”

She was grateful for the darkness around her, and hopeful that it went some way toward hiding the flush in her cheeks. “Thank you for saying that,” she said softly. “And for what it’s worth — though I hope it won’t come to that, I can’t think of anyone better to go into battle with than you.”

“That means a lot,” he said softly, squeezing her hand affectionately. They sat for what was either a very long time, or only a few minutes — she had trouble keeping track. She felt torn, hesitating on the brink of speech, wanting to explain a thousand more things, a million — but some instinct kept holding her back, kept telling her that he understood everything he needed to right now. He probably understood some aspects of the situation better than she did, honestly. And so they let the quiet rest between them… and by the time the chilly night air chased them back inside, Lissa felt a strange new peace between them.

The quiet persisted as they made their way up the stairs, and Lissa didn’t need to wonder if Niall intended to walk her all the way back to her room — it was obvious just from the feeling of the air between them. They moved quietly through the halls as though they were the only two people alive, everyone they passed seeming to fade into insignificance. Lissa didn’t even hesitate when they reached the door to her quarters — just pulled the door open and walked in, knowing without a fraction of a doubt that Niall would follow. She turned, then, not to check whether he had followed her — because of course he had — but to draw him down into the scorching, passionate kiss that they had both been thinking about for the entirety of the walk up here. If not longer, she thought, feeling his arms tighten around her and the electric heat of his body pressing against hers. Some part of her had been thinking about nothing but this since the moment she’d met him there on the side of the road… since he’d touched her hand and burned through her with those vivid blue eyes and showed her, once and for all, that her life was never going to be the same.

And right now, there was no need to think about the past or the future — there was only the two of them, the crackling of the fire in the hearth, and — of course — Lissa’s bed. It wasn’t long before they were under the covers, wrapped in each other so tightly that there could be no thought of anything but each other. And when they were finally exhausted by the effort of their lovemaking, they lay awake for a long time, murmuring drowsy half-sentences to one another as they fought back the encroaching blanket of sleep for as long as they could.

Lissa woke slowly, aware before she even opened her eyes of the delicious warmth of Niall’s body against hers. She was curled against his chest, every inhalation drawing in the scent of him, and it was only the realization that dawn had come and gone that made her sit up — albeit reluctantly. Niall was stirring from his sleep, too, and she allowed herself one indulgent moment to drink in the sight of him there, bare-chested and tangled in the bedsheets, his strawberry blond hair wildly askew and those vivid blue eyes still half-lidded with sleep. One moment to ponder the profound injustice that something in this world required her to leave this room, to do anything other than lying in bed with this man all day — and then, reluctantly but decisively, Lissa climbed out of bed and set about getting dressed.

A low groan of protest from the bed, and she couldn’t help but chuckle, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “Duty calls,” she observed.

“Duty,” he repeated with disgust, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

He flopped theatrically back against the pillow and pulled the blanket up over his head, revealing his feet at the other end of the bed — then, with another groan of protest, he sat upright and joined her in the reluctant effort of dressing. It was a good thing they’d already made their preparations the previous afternoon after Baldric’s letter had arrived — they were able to hasten down to the stables straight away, where they discovered that, thankfully, they were just on time. Amelia and Hamish were only just mounting their horses, and Lissa took the opportunity to take a few steadying breaths. Niall was smiling down at her, clearly aware that this was a point of pride for her — and when one of the grooms brought out a horse for her, he knew better than to offer her any help getting up onto its back. It was time to redeem the embarrassment of her first night here.

She’d definitely seen people mount horses more gracefully — including, to her intense dismay, small children of the Keep — but still, as she settled triumphantly into the saddle, she had to give herself credit for improvement. She looked up to meet the watchful, smiling face of her horse-riding teacher — Amelia dropped the reins for a moment to give her a gentle little round of applause. It was nice to share a moment of laughter, given the seriousness of the situation they were about to ride into.

The Laird was already mounted and ready to go, his horse shifting impatiently from foot to foot by the gates to the Keep as Fiona murmured something about her and the others doing what they could to help from the cottage in the village that had her curious and wanting to know more, but decided now wasn’t the time. Behind him were a dozen guardsmen, also mounted, all proudly wearing clan tartan. Whether they were dressed for ceremony or for battle, she couldn’t quite tell — something told her that the answer was most likely both. She closed her eyes for a moment, reminding herself where her own weapons were stored. There was a dirk strapped to her leg — she and Amelia had identified the best place to hide a weapon, where it wouldn’t impede movement or be seen distorting the way the fabric fell, and where only a thoroughly inappropriate search would be able to locate it. She had an extra blade, too, stashed in the bodice of her dress. It was a small blade, barely the size of a letter opener, but it was reassuring to know she had a backup plan in case anything went awry in close quarters.

Diplomacy first, she reminded herself firmly. The weapons were only there in the event that they were absolutely necessary. And as they rode out through the gate, and she glanced sidelong at the splendid MacClaran men in all their finery, she was hopeful that diplomacy would be sufficient to resolve the whole situation — especially backed up by the show of force represented by the small but ferocious army riding behind them.