Page 17 of Highlander’s Evil Twin

Connor glared at Hiram, who was riding slightly ahead of him. He let his rage shine through his eyes like dark pools, hiding his sinister self. His time would come. He would have it all and his brother would be left with nothing. All he had to do was bide his time. Pretend to be sorry, pretend to make it up to Hiram, and even apologize to Heather. He would make them believe he was leaving and then, when they least expected it, he would make his move.

8

The battle had been short but victorious. Connor and Hiram had fought side by side battling against those almost as good with the sword as they but after hours of bloody battle, the Rebellion had been defeated. Breathing hard, they had checked their own wounded and had even shaken hands standing over the bodies of those who had dared to defy them.

“That taught them to not mess with us.” Connor had laughed as he kicked the lifeless body of one of the men.

Hiram agreed looking at the bloodied corpses. “We’ve done what we set out to do. It is time to go back. There should be no more unrest for a while. Leave the bodies here. It will serve as a warning.”

The landscape around them was barren. The attack upon them had come swiftly. It was an ambush, well-thought-out and aggressive. Although they had been caught off guard, they had responded quickly, and their own casualties had at least not been serious. Hiram took some food and water from the saddlebags, passing it around to others. He bit into the chunky bread; it was dry but edible when washed down with fresh water. They needed something to restore their flagging energy levels.

Connor moved towards him, his face clear with malice. “I meant what I said. I am going to leave. It is better that we are apart. I hope you will give me time to sort something out?”

Hiram scrutinized Connor’s features. Damn it. He couldn't tell whether he was lying or not, even after all these years, although his gut feeling told him that he was merely being manipulated to suit Connor’s wishes.

“That’s fine, but sooner than later. I think it is best for everyone, don’t you?”

Connor nodded ruefully. “Mother will be upset.”

“She can come visit you once you are settled. Best we keep some space between us.”

“I agree,” Connor admitted. “I was a bloody fool and I might as well admit it; I was jealous. I’m older than you and…”

“By minutes,” Hiram interjected.

He shrugged. “Maybe, but it felt as if I should have been the one to marry first and then, to hear about it...well, my emotions were muddied. I think I wanted to hurt you and well, it doesn’t matter now, but I wanted you to know why.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Hiram staring after him with a confused look on his face.

It was dark by the time they returned to the castle. All were weary from their travels. It had been painstakingly slow to pick their way over stony ground knowing they couldn’t push the horses faster. The moon had at least lit the way with only scurrying clouds barring the natural light at times. Hiram felt impatient. He desperately wanted to be home and to hold Heather. He’d never felt that longing for another person before, but it reverberated throughout his very being. This is love, real love, he contemplated in surprise. This is what that felt like. He felt disconnected without her. He didn’t need a woman in his life, but he wanted one...he wanted her. It wasn’t about need, it was about sharing their lives together. It was so real and so deep that at times, Hiram thought he might drown in his longing for her.

He urged the horse on a little more and those around him picked up their pace too. As they approached the clearing in between the hills, he caught sight of the castle—home—and Heather would be waiting for him. Glancing at Connor, he felt a wave of understanding rise in him. Was he lonely? Deep down, had he been hoping for love or companionship? Did he envy theirs because he was without it?

Hiram shook his head. He didn’t want to think about his brother. Anger still nestled within him and he just wanted to take his wife to bed and let their kisses make the whole world disappear for a while. He spurred the horse on, driving them forward towards the lights blinking on the hillside. Soon he would be with her and the world would be radiant again.

Heather was in bed. Her red hair cascaded over the pillow. Her face, pale in this half-light, looked so young and innocent. His heart constricted in his chest. At times, he couldn’t quite believe she was his. She was deep in slumber and although he was dirty from his travels, he couldn’t wait to touch her. He kissed her gently on the forehead, stroking back her hair, but she didn’t stir.

Smiling, he made his way to the bathroom and began to wash. The water was nowhere near hot enough but he didn’t care. He was just glad to wash away the dirt and grime and to lose the stench of dried blood. He washed quickly, scrubbing at his skin, eliminating the sorry story of that last march towards battle. As he looked at his reflection, he noticed the jagged line that rippled across his cheek. It was a reminder of his fight and would always be there. Tension gradually began to dissipate as the small bowl of water turned a murky color.

Emerging, he wrapped his naked form in a towel. He felt so much better. His muscles still ached and bruises peppered his upper body where Connor had managed to land some blows, but soon they would fade. He made his way back to the bedroom and pulled back the heavy covers. She was still asleep but as he laid down, he almost gasped as his side of the bed was cold. He moved nearer to her to steal some of her warmth and she shivered in her sleep as his cold arms wrapped around her. She smelled like heaven and he breathed in the heady aroma, drinking in her scent like a man starved of it. With his body nestling hers, he felt almost human again. Warmth emanated from her body and he lay there, contented, the coldness of his own body dissipating as he basked in the warmth from her. He didn’t want to wake her, but he couldn’t resist slipping his hand beneath her gown, finding her pert breasts, and cupping one in his hand. He just wanted to hold her close and like that, at ease, he fell asleep.

He awoke to movement on the bed. The room was still bathed in darkness and Heather was awake, sitting on top of him. Partially seductive, partially driven by the need to be close to him, she was hugging him and kissing his neck and chest. He maneuvered her body until she brushed against his hardness and he gasped. Positioning her, he thrust inside and used his hands to guide her movements. Hiram sighed in pure pleasure. He needed this. She gave it all so willingly to him. She was wanton and innocent all rolled into one.

Her hair fell back from her face as she tilted her chin at him. He tugged at her gown and she obediently pulled it upwards. Seeing her flat stomach and perfect breasts bouncing gently as they moved in unison, Hiram felt his desire grow and matched his need to his hands where he moved her so that the two were in sync. This was like nothing he had experienced with anyone else. This total desire to please and be pleased. This need that devoured him and yet, still in his mind, was the battle to hold back until she had yielded to her own pleasure. She was close. He could feel her body tense and she was moaning softly, completely lost in the moment. As she arched her back and gave a cry, he lost his control and gave in to the roller-coaster surge of pleasure that took place within. Satiated, they both slept away the hours, unaware that Connor was standing outside their bedroom door listening to their cries of pleasure.

9

Heather stretched, her body aching from their bout of frenzied lovemaking. She had slept well but it had been a beautiful realization that it was not a dream. He really was holding her. In the morning, she had wanted him so badly and he had not disappointed her. They had made love over and over, sleeping in between bouts and then, when emerging from slumber, he had taken her again. She felt alive, deliciously so. He had invaded every part of her body, touching her from head to toe and kissing all exposed skin. But he had touched her heart too. Her body still sang out a song of love as she delighted in her response to his touch. He loved her. He had told her so repeatedly as if the realization made him open and honest and needing to tell her that his feelings were so genuine. It made her so happy that he felt the same way. She realized she had fallen for him so deeply. Now it was hard for her to even remember the time when she hadn’t loved him. She smiled and stretched once more in the bed and curled up with the pillow that Hiram used. It smelled of him. Such a wonderful scent that made her miss him when he was not there.

He had ordered her breakfast before he’d left and she’d eaten in her room, and then had taken time to bathe. When she was finished, she curled back up in the bed, reluctant to leave her memories of their passion. She felt safe in this room. It was her haven against her fears in the castle. Hiram hadn’t told her what had happened on the march, if anything, but when they had been so happy, lying in each other’s arms, she had not wanted to speak about his brother. Hiram had left before she had woken again, and now sunlight burst into the room. She had no idea if Connor had even come back to the castle and couldn’t deny that she wished he had been injured or, worse, had died. If he died, Hiram could mourn his loss but they could then move on with their lives. Connor was like the shadow you saw out of the corner of your eye but when you looked, he was gone, and you were left wondering if he had been there at all. He was the conniving face at the window, the presence in the mist. He was evil. Heather shivered. She didn’t doubt his words. He meant them, but she couldn’t understand why.

The brothers were so different. Hiram made her feel beautiful, but she wasn’t sure that she was in the typical way. She was tall, taller than most women and bigger in build. She considered herself slim but curvy, perhaps athletic in that her body was toned. Her red hair had a mind of its own and tumbled down over her shoulders in waves. Hiram thought she was beautiful and that was all that mattered to her. Connor, like a precious little child, just wanted what was not his. He is jealous of Hiram, she suddenly realized. In some ways, that made sense. But it wasn’t about her. In Connor’s eyes, she was possession, a commodity to be traded or discarded. He wanted to be the Laird and he would have taken her as his wife but there would have been no real connection between them. She would have been used for her body only. Heather shivered. Thank goodness he had been away when they had arranged the marriage.

Now dressed, Heather wore a jade green dress that hinted at her curves without revealing too much. The color was a perfect contrast against the red of her hair and her creamy pale skin. She slipped her feet into little flats and left the room cautiously. There was no sound along the corridor or anywhere else. She made her way down the huge staircase, hugging the wall as she moved gracefully down it. There were no servants bustling about, no sign of Hiram’s sister, and no sign of Connor. She breathed a sigh of relief. Moving past centuries worth of old oil paintings, ancestors who glared down at her disapprovingly, she headed out the open front door and walked past the carefully-tended lawns of the brightest green even on this slightly dull day. The gardeners had been busy creating seasonal flower displays, she noted, and the colors lifted her spirits as she walked by. Heather suddenly realized she had missed spending time gardening, although it had been mainly growing her favorite plants.

Back home, at the house of her childhood, she corrected, she’d had her own plot of land, even though her father had disapproved of the idea at first. She’d grown herbs and flowers and had used tending the garden as therapy. It had just been a small plot but it had given her pleasure to work the land a little. There was something so gratifying about the feel and smell of soil and the gentle fragrance of flowers that began to bloom. Perhaps she would discuss with Hiram that she could have a little plot, although she was sure that it would be frowned upon by some. It just wasn’t traditional for a laird’s wife to provide manual labor and yet, for her, it was a labor of love, a way to relax. She could see Hiram sitting on an old carved bench looking out wistfully across the hills. She trailed a hand across his shoulders and he looked up, surprised to see her there, a mischievous smile spreading across his features.

“Oh, my word. Hiram, your face!” she gasped.