Possessed by the Highlander

“Mama.”

Duncan left the horse tethered to the tree and stood by the saddle. He lifted his foot and placed it in the stirrup to give her something to leverage herself up. Surprising him with her ability, Mara stepped on his foot and climbed into the saddle. Patting the horse’s neck, she seemed as much at home on the animal as he might be. After a moment of adjusting her skirts around her, she held her arms out for her daughter.

And she smiled.

The corners of her mouth curved up and the whole countenance of her face changed. Her appearance brightened and he discovered another woman instead of the stern one he’d met. This one seemed younger than the other and there was a mischievous glimmer in her eyes that made him question his first, second and third appraisals of her.

“You have ridden?” Although a statement, it came out as a question.

“Aye, sir. But, it has been many years since then.”

Her body adapted to the horse’s shifting as though she were born to it, regardless of her claims. Duncan reached down and took Ciara up in his arms and then handed her to Mara, who settled the girl before her. Their heads bent together and they whispered words he could not hear, but could guess. He stood back and watched them for a few moments and the tightness in his chest returned.

Marian dared not meet his gaze, for his eyes had taken on that soft look of yearning that she’d glimpsed before. He stepped away from them and, after a few minutes of letting the horse accustom itself to their weight (though together they did not weigh as much as he did) and presence, he tugged the reins free of the tree and turned to face her.

“Shall I walk you or would you like the reins?” he asked.

It was a quiet question but it caused a yearning of her own to creep into her heart.

When she lived here those years ago, a daughter of the laird surrounded by all the honor and comforts of such a position, riding had been her passion and her talent. Her brother told her she rode better than any man he knew and that had been a source of pride to her. Now, though, owning or riding a mount such as the one she’d had or one such as this would bring too much attention to her and would remind too many of her past. So, she exercised the self-control that had served her this long and wrapped her arms around her daughter.

“We would be pleased if you would control the horse, sir,” she said softly.

“Oh, yes, Duncan,” Ciara said. “Please?”

Her daughter knew nothing of her past, and she intended to keep it that way now. ‘Twas safer for all involved. Mara held on to her and watched with a feeling of pride as Ciara sat confidently before her, reaching out to pat the horse’s mane and to ask the Peacemaker an unending string of questions. So many in fact that he finally laughed a loud at them.

When they reached the end of the lane to her door, he turned, thankfully, not toward the rest of the village, but away and down the path that led to the bridge and off into the forest. He walked quietly at their side, guiding the horse to a slow and even gait. He continued across the bridge and down the road and then stopped just out of sight of the bridge.

“How was that, Ciara?” he asked. “Did you enjoy riding my horse?”

“Oh, yes,” she said in that soft, childish tone. “And Mama did, as well.”

“Did she now?” he asked her daughter while shifting his gaze to hers.

Marian swallowed and then swallowed again, trying to clear her throat of the tightness that had taken control. She did not understand the how or why of it, but a glance from this man made parts of her feel alive and awake. Parts that had never been tempted to feel anything, now pulsed with some sense of anticipation. Regardless of her past, regardless of her lack of experience in such things, she had the urge to touch her mouth to determine why it tingled so. Finally she blinked and freed herself from his gaze.

“Aye, sir. And my thanks for such a pleasant ride.” She smiled and kissed the top of Ciara’s head before handing her over to him. “‘Twas an uncommon treat for us.”

Ciara babbled on to him as he lowered her to the ground, nodding or shaking his head in quick succession as the questions and comments flowed unabated. Ciara, as much as she, was unused to the presence of such a man in her life. Pretending to be a widowed cousin of the laird extended a certain protection and excuse to their lives and, except for the occasional incursion of someone like Laren, the men of the clan gave them no troubles or even attention. What Iain had said, or what orders he’d given, she knew not. But, the result was that Ciara knew very few men at all.

Duncan stood and held out his hand for a moment before dropping it to his side. Marian shook her foot free of the straps on the other side of the horse and was preparing to climb down when his words stopped her.

“In spite of his sometimes-brutish behavior, the horse is usually well-mannered,” he began, reaching out to stroke the horse’s head. He held out the reins to her. “If you would like to ride him down the road a bit, he wouldna mind.”

Of all the things he could offer, this one was truly temptation. She forced her hand to stay on the edge of the saddle and shook her head.

“I could not do that, sir. But I…” She was about to thank him when he interrupted.

“You have the skills. Any man with eyes in his head could see that.” He held the leather straps up closer. “I will keep watch on the lass while you go a bit down the road and back.”

How could she fight this? How could she resist such a simple and innocent pleasure? Ciara, once more, decided her answer before she could.

“Oh, Mama!” she exclaimed from the ground, where she stood safely at the man’s side. Marian noticed that he kept her close enough to shield her from any such movements by the horse. “Ride the horse, please!” That expression of awe filled her face again and Marian was unable to refuse and make that look go away.

“May I?” she asked, just to be certain she did not misunderstand. “And you will wait here with Sir Duncan for a moment or two, Ciara?”

Her daughter, fearless as she was, slipped her hand into Duncan’s larger one and nodded. “We will watch you.”

Marian nodded and took the reins from him. The two of them stepped back, still hand in hand, but now her daughter stood silent. Wrapping the leather straps around her hands, through her fingers and on her wrists as was her custom when riding, Marian brought her knees forward and leaned down to gain a better balance. With a touch on its sides, the horse began to trot down the pathway.

It felt familiar within scant moments: the feel of being atop of horse and using her legs to control it and the motion as they moved along the road. Glancing back, she saw the two standing there, waving to her and a wild thought entered her mind.

But, did she dare?

She laughed then, something of the old Marian filled her and then, with more pressure and a flick of the reins, she gave the horse its head and held on as the black stallion took it. The trees raced by her. The wind tore her kerchief from her head and loosened her hair from its bonds, but she cared not. Leaning down closer to the horse’s head, she whispered words of encouragement as it sped up even more. It was a glorious animal.

Marian soon realized she must go back. The daylight was dwindling and tasks lay before her. And she should feel guilty about leaving her daughter with the MacLerie’s man, but she knew down deep inside that he was trustworthy or would not be who he was.

Still, this small pleasure would sustain for years. Now, she must return before anyone witnessed her behavior. Gathering the reins in and drawing the horse to a slower speed, she guided it back toward the bridge and her daughter. Retrieving her kerchief from the branch that captured it on her passing, she returned a bit slower than she’d ridden away.

Marian arrived at the bridge and slowed the horse to a walk, allowing it to cool from the run. Looking around, she could not find either the Peacemaker or her daughter. Tamping down the urge to panic, she guided the horse back toward her cottage, looking ahead as she rode. When she saw them standing at the edge of the trees, she slowed the horse to a walk and approached them slowly. Once more Ciara surprised her by waiting at Sir Duncan’s side and not running up to the horse.

Her cheeks held color now, whether from exhilaration or the pleasure of the ride, he knew not. Duncan watched as she changed before his eyes, from a vibrant young woman who obviously enjoyed riding to someone much older and more staid. As she wrapped the kerchief back over her hair and tied it, Mara became a different person.

He’d only seen glimpses of it before and those had heightened his curiosity about the woman. Ranald would give no more information about her than that she was a widowed cousin of the laird’s, recently returned to live there with her daughter. His reticence gave Duncan pause and now, after watching this, he knew there was much, much more going on here.

Mara tugged the horse to stop and he walked over to help her down. Her waist was slight in his hands, narrower than her clothing gave the appearance it would be. He guided her to her feet and would have let go, but she stumbled and he grabbed her to keep her from falling. This time, his hands did not land on her waist, but higher, where he could feel the fullness of her breasts.

Breasts she hid from the rest.

Breasts that would fill his hands, if he but moved them a wee bit higher.

His body shivered then and he grew hard at the feel of her womanly curves in his grasp. Mara stilled in his hold and he knew that she felt the growing hardness positioned between them. In that instant, an awareness of her as a woman took hold of him that shocked him in its simplicity. He’d been intrigued by her, amused by and interested in many things about her. But, now, on a more visceral, more primitive level, he was aroused by her.

It may have only been a moment, but it stretched on for a piece of forever, broken only when the girl’s voice called his name. Releasing her from his hold, Duncan stepped away from Mara and turned to her daughter.

“Mama, look what Sir Duncan gave me!” Ciara squealed. Holding her hand out, she showed her mother the horse that Tavis had carved at his request.

“What is this?” Marian asked. Her gaze met his and he saw a myriad of questions in it. Then she took the horse from Ciara and examined it.

The sight of her fingers following the smooth curves of the wood sent alternating waves of heat and ice through his body now, which seemed to recognize the pleasure that would be gained if such a caress slid over it instead of the wood. Duncan inhaled sharply trying to break the growing spell that surrounded him now.

“One of my men makes them for his wee sisters and brothers. I thought Ciara might like one,” he offered.

“You are kind, sir, but we cannot accept this.”

Her eyes hardened in that moment and she shook her head. Ciara gasped and then reached out for the toy.