Page 25 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

“Oh, and what a fine ball it was, eh?” Aleck rolled his eyes. “They take over our lands, dethrone our kings, make it a crime for any Scotsman to don tartan, but use it as costumes for their grand parties. And ye,” his mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust, “ye are so grateful to the English highborn lasses and lads for accepting ye. Ye’ve even changed yer tongue.”

“Have not!” Evanna slapped a hand on her mouth as she heard what she had said. Her eyes widened. It was true. She had been trying on the English accent without thinking, and it was as much a shock to her as it must have been for Aleck.

That, however, was not the point. The point was that Aleck Bryce was a disagreeable, uncouth, and incorrigible man, and Evanna had just about enough of him. The things she had long admired about him—his sense of duty, his bravery, his stubborn head, and his unquestionable love for his land and Laird –were now attributes that stung her.

While these thoughts had been racing through her head, Aleck had gotten closer. He knelt down a little, so his face was inches from hers. He was gazing deep into her eyes with an intensity that burned a path right to the small of her spine.

“Are ye so ashamed of yer roots that ye had to come miles away to find a husband?”

Tears stung her eyes. So, this is what he thought of her, some desperate wench looking for any man to wed her. He must think her a right fool with a head and heart empty of everything but selfish desires.

“Curse ye, Aleck Bryce. I wish I never had to see yer face again.”

She turned away from him. Her foot caught in the roots of the tree she had found the snails in earlier. Crying out in pain, she lurched forward but strong hands held her in place. Aleck pulled her to him, her back slamming into his broad chest. His arms held her tight, one hand neatly tucked around her waist while the other cupped her breast.

Winded, she looked up at him, her own arms anchoring around his. Her mouth was slightly open, just a hair’s breadth away from his. A short distance, yet a universe away. His hand on her breast tightened, and his eyes grew a deeper green, like mossy lakes. She gasped as a thrill shot through her, her breast aching for the touch of his bare skin, her back arching a little to fill his hand up.

His jaw tightened, and he slid his hand away from her breast, grazing her taut nipple underneath. Warmth flooded her stomach, and her knees grew weak. What was happening to her? She hadn’t known pleasure like this existed. It was alien, unknown, and dizzying.

John’s caress was a light drizzle, Aleck’s touch was a storm at sea. The limbs were hers, but they were puppets in Aleck’s hand. He controlled her, body and soul, and she had no control over herself.

“Be careful, lass. Ye might hate me, but I dinnae want to see you break yer pretty neck.”

His voice was full of stones, churning against each other, giving them a flinty edge. It brought her back to where she was and the situation they were in. He stepped away from her, and Evanna didn’t know what to do with herself. She felt empty, abandoned. She wanted to sit down and cry, but dignity wouldn’t allow it.

Testing her foot, she walked a few steps away from the tree. It was a little bruised but not seriously damaged. A hot bath would fix it right up. Her ego, and spirits, would need more mending before they could go back to their buoyant self.

“Let me help.”

Aleck touched her elbow, but Evanna pulled herself away. His touch did things to her that she couldn’t begin to unravel.

“I got to London without yer help. I can manage a few yards.”

Aleck’s mouth compressed into a thin disapproving line. He stepped behind her, letting her lead the way. Evanna yelled curses in the cavern of her head as she made steady progress towards the house. Her foot began to throb by the time they were out of the woods. A whole garden was left to traverse.

Evanna gulped down the moan of pain and kept walking. Tears of agony stung her eyes, but she could be just as stubborn as Aleck Bryce, if not more.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, lass!” Aleck groaned in frustration. Evanna yelped as her feet were swept from under her and she was lifted in Aleck’s strong arms. “Yer as stubborn as a mule.”

“And yer a brute.” Evanna shot back.

“Aye,” Aleck sighed. “I suppose tis true.”

Evanna glanced up at him. He looked weary and resigned. She felt the same. The constant bickering took its toll. She loved him so much it turned to bitter hate when he revealed just how little he thought of her. And she was sure he didn’t dislike her as much as he disliked being told to mind her by his Laird. Aleck must have better things to do than chase after a slip of a girl across the country. It must irk him that his promise to his dying father had resulted in this, rather than honor and glory in battle.

Feeling as weary as he looked, Evanna surrendered to being carried home. She laced her hands around his neck and rested her head on his shoulders. It was nice to be in his arms. They were warm and secure. When she breathed, it was him she inhaled. Soap and horses. When she listened, it was his heart that beat a steady tattoo in her ears. There was a rhythm to his movement, a steady lulling swing that she could learn to match if only he gave her the chance.

That was impossible. Aleck Bryce would never love her. So, she must find the next best thing in marriage—friendship. It broke her heart to think it, but wasn’t that exactly why she had come to London in the first place? To get away from Aleck and the heartbreak he caused every time she looked at him.

“Evanna!” Clara’s clear high voice broke her reverie. “What’s happened?”

“I’m alright,” Evanna reassured her. “I just twisted my ankle.”

“Are you hurt? Is it serious? Where’s John?” Ashton asked, his thin face white.

“He had to leave.” She shot Aleck a glare.

“He wasn’t there to help you?” Ashton asked, frowning.