To Steal a Highlander's Heart(34)

His legs chafed hers and she fidgeted in the saddle. Not that the man was entirely unappealing. The determination and focus he displayed was something she never saw in him before. Potentially Morgann MacRae was the most amazing man she'd ever met. If only she could see but a bit of how he was before.

Alana stared at the horizon as she drew in deliberately long breaths. She looked forward to seeing the Old Castle again but knowing she'd be in such close quarters with Morgann for who knew how long made her skin prickle and her mind reel. Why hadn’t her father come for her yet? Even if he hadn't received the message, he surely must have figured out what had happened. With the tension between the two clans as strong as ever, his first assumption would be that the MacRaes took her.

And now Morgann was taking her away. Finn would negotiate with her father and send him onto them, as long as he brought no army. This much she'd at least managed to get Morgann to reveal. But the thought of the two men confronting one another made her stomach churn. She wanted neither of them harmed. For all his flaws, Morgann didn't deserve death and neither did her father. Though he was admittedly just as flawed, if not more. But the years mellowed his warring, greed-driven ways and he was still her father. Blood counted for everything. Her mother had always reminded her of that. Family was the only thing you could rely on in the Highlands.

Sore muscles and stiff thighs soured her mood further as they travelled on. Morgann remained taciturn, barely responding to her gibes. She longed to have some kind of response from him. A shout, an angry grunt, anything! Even a kiss, mayhap. The memory of his scalding kisses made her lips tingle. If only the man would open up to her.

She snorted. He had opened up to her. The memory was still muddled but he'd begged her not to leave him. What had she done to force him to close up again? It twisted at her heart. That man, the one that had sat at her bedside, believing she was dying, was the one she wanted. While her desire wanted the brooding warrior and her mind wanted the friend, her heart longed for the one that so briefly revealed himself to her. That man, she concluded, held her heart. As she lay in bed, listening to his words, she knew she had fallen for him. She loved that man. But if he never came back, then she was loving nothing more than a vague memory.

A strong hand brushed at her cheek, drawing her attention. "The keep is over that hill."

"I remember."

Aye, she remembered the times they used to play there. The Old Castle had been a place to play and, for the men, to train. Their fathers spent much time training their men there, the keep having been abandoned several years past. It was still looked after by the steward of the nearest village for the MacRaes but Alana hadn't returned since the fighting began.

The Old Castle's crenellations peeked over the hill, jagged against the smooth grass of the mountain behind it. Really it was an old manor house. The previous owners built upon it, turning a simple home into one of pretension. The keep had two wings, one jutting forward and one to the side, facing out over the loch. The surrounding walls had long since crumbled and greenery crawled up the side, slowly covering the shutters but the building itself remained strong and sturdy.

Morgann navigated the stone rubble surrounding it easily and brought them up beside the keep. Alana stared up at the building, happy memories mingling with apprehension. She glanced around at the barren scenery. They were truly alone.

And now she was well and truly ruined, she thought with an inward laugh. For what woman would spend time with Morgann MacRae alone and not give herself up to him?

Not that she intended to. Nay, the only man she'd even consider giving herself to was hidden under layers of anger and control.

She twisted around only to find Morgann directly behind her, less than a pace away. As if reading her thoughts, Morgann’s intense expression made her throat constrict.

His gaze never left her face as she stumbled back and peered around him at the loch that glimmered in front of the keep. She studied it with more interest than necessary, unwilling to glance at Morgann. She felt his gaze still on her and her pulse fluttered. Stealing a sideways peek at him, a shudder caused her to wrap both arms about her waist. Windswept dark hair, the permanent stubble and that long nose stood out in profile as he too looked over at the loch. Sweet Mary but he was handsome. So rough and wild. She longed to skim her hands over that that bristled jaw, place a finger to his lips and bury her head into his neck to inhale the masculine scent of him. She burned to tame the Highland warrior. If only he would reveal himself to her once more.

"We used to swim in the loch," he said quietly.

"I remember," she replied again.