Donna Grant: Forbidden Highlander

“Damn,” he murmured.

Fallon ran a hand down his face and sighed. He would seek out Thomas MacDonald during the evening meal. MacDonald’s name had been mentioned as someone who knew what the king planned. Maybe Fallon could find out once and for all what the king planned to do. The thought of staying in the castle another hour made him ill, but he would do it for his brothers.

He wished it was Lucan here instead of himself. Lucan knew how to charm people to do whatever he wanted. But Lucan had done too much during the last three hundred years while Fallon had stayed drunk. This was the least he could do for his brothers, and he would see it done. One way or another.

The soft scent of lilies drifted on the air, halting his thoughts. Fallon turned to find none other than Larena Monroe standing behind him. For a moment she looked unsure of herself. Then, she smiled, and he noted the hands clasped in front of her shook a little. Was she nervous? The woman everyone wanted?

Fascinating .

She had changed from her burgundy gown to one of the deepest blue that brought out the color of her eyes. And he couldn’t look away.

Her hair was different as well, softer, with more curls framing her face. One hung alongside her cheek to land near her mouth. He wanted to reach over and tug on one of the strands to see if it was as soft as it looked.

“This may seem unforgivably ill-mannered,” she said, “but I was hoping you could tell me if you are the MacLeod everyone is speaking about?”

Her voice was as smooth as honey and as rich as the finest wine. Her smoky blue eyes searched his, as if she sought more answers than the one question could provide. He could easily drown in her almond-shaped eyes and lose himself in her scent.

His body reacted with alarming speed at the sight of her. Heat and blood centered between his legs as his rod thickened, and the lust he had pushed aside earlier returned with a vengeance.

“Aye,” Fallon answered after a moment, when he knew his voice would work. “I am Fallon MacLeod.”

She let out a breath as her eyes briefly closed. “Fallon. An unusual name.”

“I suppose so.”

“I am’”

“Lady Larena Monroe,” he finished for her. He had to force his gaze from her lips, lips that he ached to kiss, to taste. “It seems as though your name is just as well known as mine, though for a different reason, my lady.”

Her brows furrowed for the space of a heartbeat. “It is the castle of the king, sir. Gossip abounds. You shouldn’t believe anything you hear.”

There was truth to her words. Still, too many whispered their lust for her. Could it be true none of them had sampled her?

“I was hoping I might have a moment of your time?” she asked.

Fallon was intrigued. Too damned intrigued. What could she want with him? He was no palace dandy, and as much as he found himself attracted to her, he didn’t have time for any kind of affair, however short-lived it might be. He had to stay focused on his task.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I doona have the time.”

Her smile faltered. “I assure you, sir, it is important.”

Fallon frowned. “Then tell me now.”

She glanced around them, noting the people in the corridor before she stepped closer to him. “What I have to say is not for others’ ears. I would prefer a moment alone. Please.”

Fallon was tempted to take her up on her offer, just to see what she had to say. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I must decline. My business is short, and I wish to return home as quickly as I can.”

He turned on his heel and walked into the great hall before she could say more. It had been the right thing to do to walk away from her, although the scent of lilies followed him, reminding him of the exquisite woman that had wanted him, even if it was just to talk.

It wasn’t talking Fallon wanted to do though. He sank onto the end of the first bench he came across and fisted a hand beneath the table. He had been more than rude to Larena, but he hadn’t trusted himself with her.

Just one look at her and he was ready to fall to his knees and beg her to let him touch her, kiss her. The desire consumed him, making it difficult to breathe or think of anything other than her. Larena Monroe.

Fallon needed to keep his sights on why he had come to Edinburgh despite the tightening of his balls and the racing of his heart at the nearness of a woman. There would be time enough later to slake his lust.

But never with one so lovely .

As true as it was, Fallon inhaled deeply and turned to the man beside him. “Can you point out Thomas MacDonald for me?”

Larena stared at the closed doors, her blood pounding in her ears. She couldn’t believe Fallon had refused her. Though she didn’t think her face any prettier than others’, she had learned not long after reaching Edinburgh that a simple smile could make men do just about anything.

Fallon MacLeod, however, was proving to be different. And she liked that. He guarded himself well. It could be because he was a Warrior, or his name could be mere coincidence and the legend of his clan caused him to be cautious.

She understood cautious all too well, but she would wager the Scroll that Fallon was a Warrior. Once Malcolm spoke with Iver MacNeil they would know what Fallon wanted in Edinburgh. There wasn’t much a person couldn’t procure in Edinburgh Castle, and she would make sure she was the one who would give Fallon what he wanted.

Then, he would listen to her.

She lifted her chin and walked into the great hall.

Fallon nodded to the man across from him. After learning that Thomas MacDonald was expected in Edinburgh that evening, Fallon had sat through the meal only half listening to the conversations. All it did was make him miss his brothers and his castle more.

He would talk to MacDonald as soon as he could, then he would leave Edinburgh and use his power to arrive back at his castle. Just being there would help to calm the itch in his blood, although not for long. With Quinn held by Deirdre, Fallon would have that same prickle.

Fallon reached for his goblet, wishing it were wine instead of water. Just as he brought the cup to his lips his eyes clashed with smoky blue ones. For a moment Fallon was held by Larena’s gaze. Finally, he tore his eyes away.

She sat at a table to his right and was surrounded by men, each hanging on every word she spoke. But her eyes were riveted on him. Fallon got perverse joy out of the dark looks the other men threw his way.

Despite his wish to quit the hall, he couldn’t stop watching her. Every time she took a bite of food or drank from her goblet his eyes found her mouth, a mouth he wanted to taste desperately.

Fallon cursed and rose to his feet. He had to leave or risk going to Larena and kissing her in front of everyone. He might have stayed away from people for three hundred years, but even he knew that would be frowned upon.

No sooner had he started toward the doors than he saw her exit in front of him. Too curious for his own good and powerless to control his desire, Fallon followed her. As he let the great hall doors close behind him he saw her walk down the long corridor. Alone.

Unable to help himself, he pursued her. Her strides were long and purposeful as she moved through the castle. Fallon kept to the shadows, not wanting her to see him. He wanted to learn more about her. He tried to tell himself it was in order to discover why she wanted to speak with him, but Fallon knew it for the lie that it was.

He simply wanted to know more.

And so he hid in the shadows and listened as a man blocked her path. The man was dressed not in a kilt, but some revolting extravagance of velvet and stockings with padded breeches that stopped at his knees. In short, he looked ridiculous.