Page 7 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

That was the thought that allowed Arran to ignore the scandalously low lacings of Sierra’s blouse, far more suggestive than anything a real peasant girl would wear. When pretty but poor women wore that kind of thing, instead of the laird’s wife, they often had cause to regret it. These clothes were made for working women, practical yet ugly.

Of course, someone like Sierra could add beauty to even the ugliest of gowns, and this one was no exception.

She tossed back her hair, the dull light glinting off her blue-black ringlets, loose and tumbling around her shoulders. Her eyes sharpened; those blue-grey eyes that had snagged Arran’s soul all that time ago, and she took another assured step forward. Arran had nowhere to go to step away from her unless he climbed on the bed, which seemed like a singularly terrible idea at the moment, and was clearly exactly what Sierra wanted. He turned his back firmly, praying in vain that she would tire of her game and go and harass some poor stableboy or footman.

“Go away, Sierra.”

She giggled. “Is that the way to speak to your laird’s wife?”

“You said it. My laird’s wife.”

Sierra’s fingertips brushed against Arran’s back, and he stiffened. She grew bolder, flattening her warm palm against his spine, sliding her hand up and down, slowly and assuredly.

“I missed you,” she murmured. “You left me for a whole week. I thought you’d never come back to me.”

Arran stared down at the contents of his pack as if he’d never seen anything quite so interesting.

“I didn’t come back for you. I came back because Laird Stewart has a task for me,” Arran said, as firmly as he could muster. He knew he should do something; he should push her away. Of course, he knew he wouldn’t. He never did.

Sierra stepped close enough for Arran to feel the heat radiating from her body. She curved herself around his back, resting her cheek on his shoulder blade with a sigh.

“You’ll stay with me tonight, though, won’t you? Arran?” she whispered. “Just this one night, then you can go away again.”

“I’m leaving tonight.”

“Well, you’re not leaving right now, are you?”

Sierra’s hands slid around Arran’s waist, moving up to rest on his chest. He longed to take her hands in his, to feel her soft hands and slender fingers that had never done a day’s work. She liked his rough, calloused hands and scarred body, and he liked…well, he liked her.

“I won’t if you’ll agree to come away with me when I do.”

Arran hadn’t decided to say that; the words had just slipped out. Behind him, Sierra stiffened.

“Arran…”

“No, I mean it.” Arran gently disentangled himself from her grip and turned to face her. “Come with me. I’ll leave tonight. We’ll go, just you and me. Damn Laird Stewart, and damn his feud. Enough blood has been shed over all this, and I’m tired of fighting. Let’s leave this place behind. We can go to Ireland, or England, or just to the Lowlands if you don’t want to leave Scotland. I’ve a bit of money, and you could take your jewels. We could have a nice life, you and me. We could even get on a boat and go to France, or Spain, or anywhere you like. It won’t be like what you have here, but it’ll be ours. And you’ll be free.”

Arran spoke quickly, desperately, trying to fend off the miserable resignation in Sierra’s face. He had to stop for breath eventually, and Sierra spoke.

“I can’t.”

Just that. I can’t. No explanation. Well, why would she need to explain herself again? She and Arran had talked about this over and over again. Sierra’s reasons wouldn’t change, and Arran wouldn’t stop hoping in vain for a better life with her by his side.

He gave a harsh, mirthless laugh and stepped aside, pushing her hands away. “No. No, you won’t, will you? It’s too much of a risk. You won’t give up your comfortable life here. You won’t throw away a laird for a common-as-muck Highlander.”

“Arran…” Sierra ran a hand through her black curls. “You’re thinking too much about this. It is what it is, you and me. I can’t give you up any more than you can give me up, but I can’t leave James. Besides,” she rallied, “you shouldn’t ask it of me. It’s cruel.”

“Fine. Then I won’t. But don’t come slinking down here when your husband’s not paying you enough attention. I’ve had enough, Sierra.”

She laughed. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And I’m leaving now, so you’d better get back into your fine clothes before Stewart notices you’re gone.”

“Arran…”

“No. I mean it.” Arran pulled the drawstring on his pack closed with an angry tug.

Sierra was beginning to look a little wrong-footed now. Her seduction plan had clearly not gone as she’d imagined it, and her handsome Highlander was packing up and getting ready to leave.

“You can’t. You mustn’t. I won’t let you.” Sierra reached out for him, and Arran neatly stepped out of the way of her grasping hands. “I love you!”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Arran shouldered his pack, feeling bone-tired and miserable. “You’ll just find someone else to warm your bed once I’m gone. I’m the fool here, thinking I was different. Goodbye, my lady.”

He left her standing there, quite alone. Arran did not look back, even when Sierra whispered as loudly as she dared after him. Not even she would dare to openly call after him, alerting others to her presence in Arran’s bedroom. For a moment, Arran thought that she might run after him after all and tell him she would come with him. They could leave there and then, and Sierra would never put back on her fine clothes.

But there were no running footsteps after him. When Arran finally risked a glance backward, the hallway was empty, and there was no sight or sound of Sierra.

She had made her choice.