Terri Brisbin - Possessed by the Highlander

“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.

“Mama!” she cried. “Please!”

He tried to figure out what had happened and how this innocent gesture had gone wrong. Then the truth struck him. A gift given to a woman who lived without the protection of a man meant one thing.

“It is only a small toy for the child, Mara. I meant no disrespect by it,” he explained in a low voice. He neither wished to make the situation worse, nor did he wish to undermine her authority in her daughter’s eyes.

Mara looked at her daughter for a moment and relented. She handed the toy back to Ciara and motioned with a tilt of her head.

“Thank you, Sir Duncan!” Ciara chirped. “Thank you!”

Before he could answer, Mara interrupted. “Ciara, take the horse in and let it meet your other toys.”

Ciara laughed aloud and left them both, as she skipped back to the cottage and her other toys, intent on introducing a new plaything to the existing ones. He watched her path for a few seconds before turning back to face her mother.

After the physical reaction his body had shown to her nearness, Duncan suspected that his gift had not been all that respectful. Not the carved toy, but the chance to ride his horse.

He’d read her desire to ride free of his presence and even that of her daughter in her face whenever she glanced at his horse. It was like seeing a secret past flitting over her features, moments and memories of pleasure and happiness now held deep inside and only let loose when she thought no one saw or recognized them.

But he had.