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ping of old ways. The English policy strived to assimilate Scottish culture by distributing English titles to varied clans and making them participate in public life, like the Scottish Parliament. Those existed who refused to play this game, the infamous McDougals included.
Aileen’s grand-father had been awarded an earldom, but her family gave little importance to it. They did not participate in the Jacobite uprising, like their enemy, so the English left them mostly alone. She learned her clan’s rivals had suffered severe English retaliation after they won at Culloden. But the clan stood up to them and gained enough terrain to keep traditions as they had been before the uprise. Something to look up to if nothing else.
Gaze firm on the road, she avoided looking at the man behind her. It did little to put distance between them. The horse’s pace made her swing back and forth, the saddle not large to the point she could keep her personal space.
The bay trotted ahead, her shoulder bumped taut muscle, evident even under his shirt and tartan. A shiver ran through her as said muscle flexed with the movement of his arms. Frozen in place, she avoided looking at the McDougal. Her torso tilted to the other side in an attempt to avoid the touch, but the ride made it nearly impossible.
And when she looked down, strong, big hands held the reins one on her front and one on her back controlling the animal. Even clad in his long-sleeves, thick, bunched arms touched her middle. Spine locked straight, she tried not to feel his limbs on her. But it was almost all she felt, warm, solid biceps disquieting her already tense posture.
A pothole on the road cause the horse to sway abruptly. In a flash, those powerful arms held her to him firmly, her back meeting his broad chest, his nose an inch away from her cheek. Tendrils of something searing vibrated on her nerves. The proximity availed his scent to her. Woods, horse, man. Earthen man. Beguiling. So beguiling, her nostrils inhaled deep in it. Without thinking, her head turned to him, only to clasp on moss green stare trained on her. Those eyes darkened at the same time a hot flush suffused her delicate skin. Unable to hold his bone-melting gaze, her eyes snapped away. Not before his hold tightened a notch, to loosen her at once, and guide the horse anew. The loss of his warmth not so relieving as it should be.
Her eyes returned to the road and her mind forced to return to practical thoughts though the sensations were difficult to ignore.
Unnecessary to ask what this abduction meant. Most probably, The McDougal wanted to bargain her for some coveted asset: cattle, land or whisky trade. A woman was not worth much more than that in these remote confines. She did not fear for her life, for she proved to be more valuable alive than dead. The question being when she would be able to go back to her home. The sole thing to do now might be to find patience for it to run its course.
A big loch came into view after a road bend, placid, mirroring the cloudy skies, green surrounding it, the smell of grass in the air. So resplendent she had to stifle a gasp of appreciation. By the loch, lay a huge stone construction with countless roofs, chimneys and windows. Not a castle exactly, as it had no walls surrounding it, but it certainly had been built hundreds of years back. This building matched the landscape in such a pattern the combination took her breath away.
Hoofs clapped at the entrance of what could be an inner patio where bustling activity of servants, workmen and craftsmen took place.
The McDougal pulled the reins, and the horse stalled. Without wasting any time, she jumped from it before he got a chance to help by touching her. Their incessant physical contact unbalanced her to a point she was wired and flushed all over her person. Never turning to him, for fear of giving it away, she stood and waited.
In Gaelic, his dictatorial direction put her in the housekeeper’s hand with orders for a room, bath and food.
CHAPTER TWO
Taran stormed his studio, the memory of this afternoon dumping on him like a huge land slide rushing down a mountain. To think the whole thing got nearly lost because of one hell of a woman. He did not like the effect she provoked on him. One. Single. Bit. The ride had him steeling his body against those slight physical contacts. Small and treacherous. Too small. Too treacherous. Her plump breasts. Silky skin. Glossy hair. And her perfume. Something exotic and sweet. Like aniseed, for example. An ugly word saw the light of day through his throat. Repeated before he pressed his lips, tense.
When his mount faltered and he held her tiny waist to clasp her against him, doom menaced him, together with the feel of her curvy length on his. As her enormous eyes alit on him, blasting heat deflagrated in his guts. For no apparent reason. Not one he would heed, no.
A very defined purpose made him bring her here. Nothing would change it.
He threw his tall body on an armchair, fingers raking his ebony, sleek hair, mussing it. There should be no cause for this. He had spent last night with Shannon in the village. It was not like he went without a woman for long. Shannon understood the casual nature of their encounters and did not demand more. A way that proved to be convenient as he had been practising it for several years.
No time for these useless notions. A plan designed to see through here. Let’s go do it, he dictated to himself.
~.~.~
Shortly after she ate, a footman came to escort her to the laird. They walked vast corridors with decoration dating from various historical periods and several family paintings portraying coal black hair and green eyes of generations past hanging on stone walls.
A massive wooden door signalled their destination. Upon its opening, the footman allowed her in it. An essentially masculine study revealed before her. Dark, sturdy wooden desk and chairs. Shelves with ledgers and other material pertaining land administration, maps, papers, interrupted by a considerable gothic-like window with a view to the loch.
The man behind the desk lifted his head, his moss-green eyes landing on her like two Pharos. A shock of sensations whirled in her stomach, air nowhere to be got.
He stood his impressive height well above six feet four inches and her stomach fluttered some more. A strong effort to tamp it down demanded her full concentration.
“Lady Aileen, have a seat.” The sound neared the guttural, so deep it vibrated. He spoke perfect English, witness of a polished education, despite his clan’s attachment to tradition.
Thanks murmured in between a short breath and another, she sat. Her gaze lowered as she avoided further eye contact.
“What is it you want to bargain me for, Laird McDougal?” She started, right away.
A hint of amusement passed by his very manly features. “You are not here for a bargain.” The enigmatic answer did not calm her.
Mahogany irises snapped on him. “Then what?” There were few other reasons she could list.
The moment their stares clasped, countless shivers shocked with her. Her heart skipped a beat to start thrashing in an ungainly way. The effort to keep her breathing even a thankless task, for her lungs craved more oxygen.
“It’s time our clans make an alliance.” He paused, intertwining his fingers before him. “The rivalry has lasted too long.”
