Authors: Hannah Howell
Highland Hunger (30 page)
Dorian watched from the battlements as Moirae rode into the bailey at a full gallop, slowing just before she reached the stables. In one effortless move, she slipped off her mount and then escorted the animal inside. Less than a minute later she reappeared, and directly underneath the light of a scone, she removed her hooded mantle, hooking it over her arm. Immediately he felt his throat tighten.
Instead of the hose and short kirtle that revealed her shapely legs and played havoc with his desires, she had donned a dark blue corset. The fitted fur-lined winter gown laced in front and hid much of the floor-length kirtle beneath, but it did not hide the elegant train, or the long fitted sleeves that reached her knuckles. But what held him spellbound was her hair. For the first time, her tawny locks were not captured in a snood or hidden within braids, but long and flowing. His blood roared in his ears as it raced like liquid fire through his body. God, why had he ever agreed to this?
Just before Dorian moved to go down the stairway and meet her in the study, Moirae turned and looked up so that her gaze was fixed upon him. He was standing in the shadows and out of sight, but nevertheless, she knew he was there. Once again, he was reminded that there was much more to Moirae Deincourt than appeared.
The woman had uncommon reflexes, made only faster since she had learned to properly compensate for her bad leg. Her lithe, feminine frame belied her true strength, for the broadsword he gave her to practice with should have been almost too heavy for her to lift, let alone wield like she did. But it was not just Moirae’s physical abilities that mystified him, but her mind.
She had picked up the basics of swordplay within the first week, and often times he found himself having to resort to more and more complex attack sequences that should have had her flustered and frustrated. Instead, she would summarily decipher them and then attempt to execute them herself. Soon, there would be nothing left he could teach her beyond that of practice so that combat became a natural response and not a conscious one. He had completed one of the two things he had sought to do. Moirae would now most likely live if attacked, something that would undoubtedly happen if she returned to her role as the Guardian.
Releasing him from her stare, Moirae turned and glided across the bailey with regal certainty, her gown masking the unusual gait. Moirae’s beauty was now complete. She exuded all the qualities men coveted. She was delicate but strong, enjoyed a vivacious spirit that was tempered with self-control, and possessed a mixture of youthful features and shrewd green eyes that sparkled with a lifetime’s experience. Moirae Deincourt was a mystery beckoning him, and he no longer had the will to prolong his agony.
Tonight he would end the anticipation. He would claim her and then prepare to leave Scotland. Ionas be damned. He had been here nearly two months, and for the past handful of weeks he had been focused on Moirae, not his nephew’s plots against some old woman. And in truth, it no longer mattered. Tomorrow, he would seek distance between him and Kilnhurst and he would not return until after Moirae’s death and her bones had become dust in the ground.
Dorian pivoted and hurried toward his study, wondering how he was going to refuse when Moirae begged him not to leave her.
Chapter Six
Dorian stepped behind his desk just in time before Moirae sashayed into the study. “You’re late,” he said, with feigned boredom.
Moirae tilted her head and a secretive smile softened her lips. “I know and I apologize. My cousin believes in enjoying his role as laird with numerous celebrations. I think he believes it engenders those of his clan to like him when, in truth, they have no more affinity for him than I.”
“Then why do you stay with him?”
Moirae shrugged her shoulders. “Like everyone else, I take advantage of his hospitality. The only price I must pay is to make an appearance at his parties. I avoided the past two festivities, but he refuses to excuse me from another. So I shall be late every Saturday night forthwith,” she finished with a sigh, tossing her cloak over one of the chairs.
Dorian studied Moirae. Her expression and demeanor had changed. Focused determination had been replaced with gaiety and a touch of whimsy. “Have you been drinking?” he asked as the possible reason just occurred to him.
She nodded and bestowed upon him a radiant smile. “I have. And dancing. For the first time I actually joined that pompous group. You should have seen the shocked, jealous looks of the gossips. I doubt I will be asked to sit with them again.”
“I see. I’m surprised you made it here at all,” Dorian muttered under his breath, as unfamiliar and possessive emotions swirled within his veins.
“Me, too! I thought I would never be released to leave. I was dancing so much that my snood fell off. But don’t worry, I brought it so my hair won’t interfere with practice,” she said, dangling the jeweled net that was in her palm.
Dorian stared at the waves of her chestnut locks daring his fingertips to touch its silky strands.
Later,
he promised himself. “I’m less worried about your hair than your dress.”
Later,
he promised himself. “I’m less worried about your hair than your dress.”
Moirae’s eyes opened wide and then sparkled with laughter. A fission of anger ripped through Dorian. Until now, he had never seen her this lighthearted. He had always known she would be irresistible with a buoyant spirit, but
he
had planned to be the reason behind the sheer happiness beaming from her face.
he
had planned to be the reason behind the sheer happiness beaming from her face.
“I’ll just take this off.” She giggled and started unbuttoning the dark blue corset to reveal the off-the-shoulder parti-colored kirtle beneath.
The dress was made of two patterns of brocade. One half was of sky blue patterned with small fleur-de-lis and the other was of rich navy velvet. The sleeves were long and tight fitting, each matching their half of the dress. The expensive, modern ensemble was breathtaking on her and further proof that she was not a mere cousin to a laird from a small, unimportant clan.
To fight in a dress was foolish, but Dorian needed the activity to calm the desire raging through him. Otherwise it would not be a seduction but an uninspired taking of the flesh he would be performing. “Maybe it is well you wore a gown,” he stated coolly. “You might not always be suitably dressed when you meet your foe.”
Moirae’s eyes sprang open with surprise, but she did not argue and followed him across the hall to the training room. She unsheathed the broadsword from its scabbard and turned toward him, her soft and jovial features now hard and resolute.
Not waiting until he was ready, she bounded forwarded aiming down to make him think she was going to strike in one area while attacking another. Dorian quickly righted his katana and deflected the tip before it could glance his shoulder. “Eager, are you?”
Moirae shook her head, oblivious to her long mane flying about her. “I am merely at a disadvantage in this garment and intend to use all means available to distract you.”
Dorian circled the tip of her defending blade, but no longer did it disorient her or make her loosen her grip. “Remember, an enemy will use more than just his weaponry skills to gain an edge.”
“I’m ready,” she replied and Dorian decided it was time to remind her just who was the master.
He lunged, striking his katana across the weak inside line of her blade and drove his sword straight downward in an attempt to snap her wrist and disarm her. But her grip held, once again proving that her true strength remained unknown to him. Then, with implausible speed, she took her blade and landed it along his own. The threatening pressure was so unexpected and the force of the impact was so significant, it almost worked.
Determined not to underestimate her inhuman strength again, he extended his arm to its full length, using his height and size to prevent her from returning the thrust. Then he moved the tip of his blade around her bell guard in a tight circle, trapping her blade before swinging it away.
“Damn,” Moirae cursed in English.
Before she could retake her weapon, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. The joyful fire that had been shining in her eyes was now an inferno. “The Highlands are not your home and whoever your ‘cousin’ is, he is not your family.”
“I am no more a Highlander than you are,” Moirae spat back, wrenching free to retake her sword. This time she stood still, eyeing him, letting him take the initiative.
That evening she had come to Kilnhurst happier than she had been since childhood. She had renewed hope and confidence in herself as a woman. The men at the party had flocked to her, and the women, who had once pitied her, could only look on with envy. There had not been a man present she couldn’t have conquered, but Moirae had not wanted any of them. Ignorant and self-serving, they thought about nothing except their next meal and their perpetually aroused loins. She wanted someone who made her heart race and her body ache with need.
Tonight, there was to be no training, no fighting, no swords. Just Dorian and his promise. Only he had failed to understand what she was offering.
Only a fool could have mistaken what she wanted with her dress and her hair. She had pasted on her most enticing smile, which she knew from experience could warm even the coldest of hearts, and yet Dorian had been unaffected. He was not a man. He was something cold, hard, and without passion or physical desires.
Unwilling to wait any longer for him to make a move, Moirae lunged. “You may look like the giants that live in these mountains, even talk like them, but you are certainly not one of them,” she huffed. “The only Gaelic thing about you is your name—
Doireann,
which you mispronounce, making me doubt it is even your real name.”
Doireann,
which you mispronounce, making me doubt it is even your real name.”
Dorian stepped back from shock. The accidental accuracy of Moirae’s comment struck Dorian off guard. He studied the dissipating rise and fall of her chest, trying to decide what he should or should not reveal about himself. Since he first came to these mountains, no one had ever guessed he was not a Highlander. His physique, fighting skills, and ability to speak flawless Gaelic were too much evidence otherwise. But he had not fooled Moirae any more than she had him.
Moving quickly to the right, he swung his blade in an arc until it connected with hers underneath, but again she held on. “You are correct. My birth name is actually Dorus,” he answered, twisting around to try the same move but in the other direction. “I later changed it to Dorian, thinking it more fitting to whom I am now.”
Moirae reacted quickly to his change in strategy and aimed her broadsword upward, deflecting the force of his katana’s impact. “If one lived long enough, I could see the desire to change their name,” she mused through gritted teeth, “but you are not yet of an age to be tired of anything. Losing interest in a place or a type of food or even another person is commonplace enough, but it takes years to become bored of one’s name.”
Dorian blinked. He knew Moirae was not as young as she looked, but he’d seen enough women to know she could be no more than a handful of years past the age of twenty. And yet her understanding of people was far greater than that of a spawn who had lived an extended life.
Moirae spun around, and the frustration that once had filled her was being slowly replaced with another emotion—the enjoyment of an honest challenge. “Where are you really from?”
“Greece,” Dorian answered truthfully, relieved to see by her expression that she had never heard of his home. “It is a mountainous land that at its end breaks into islands, which spread out into three seas.” Spinning on his left foot, he swung his tip toward her weak side. She had not been prepared for the unorthodox move, but her reflexes enabled her to avert his attack. “And where are you from, Lady Destiny?”
“I’m unsure,” Moirae answered, matching his movements so that they were slowly going around in a circle, waiting for the other to make their move. “My mother and grandmother moved around a lot when I was young.”
“And your father?”
“Died when I was an infant. Supposedly the sea took him,” Moirae said acerbically, moving just in time to avoid his downward thrust.
“You sound doubtful.”
Moirae regretted letting him hear her sarcasm. How could she explain that she did not know who she was. That one night, her life, both past and future, changed in an instant as her grandmother whispered her last words.
Moirae changed the topic to one she hoped would be just as unsettling. “Have you ever been in love?”
Dorian stood upright in surprise. Taking advantage of the mistake, Moirae lunged with more deftness and speed than he thought possible given the heavy garment she was wearing. He darted to the left, barely missing the point of her sword, which was not nearly as sharp as the katana, but dangerous nonetheless. It would take several dedicated years before Moirae would have the skill set to match his own, even at her accelerated learning rate, but the woman was clever, and her size falsely represented her strength. He would have to pay more attention.
He gave a quick bob with his chin, acknowledging the cunning maneuver, and then resumed a defensive position. “Many times, my lady. Have you?”
Moirae smiled enigmatically. “Once.”
“You are too young to have ever been truly in love,” Dorian replied, rejecting the idea that her heart already belonged to someone.
“I will admit that my youth played heavily into my feelings,” Moirae admitted.
“Then what happened? Why are you not married?”
Moirae glided left, and coming off a high arc, she attempted to push his blade aside. “We saw life differently.”
Ahhhh,
Dorian thought to himself,
the fool had not understood her.
But then, who besides someone like him, could? “This man, it sounds as if he didn’t love you in return.”
Dorian thought to himself,
the fool had not understood her.
But then, who besides someone like him, could? “This man, it sounds as if he didn’t love you in return.”
Moirae’s jaw snapped shut. The truth stung. She pretended to disengage his halfhearted thrust and swung around to attack the opening he had left by stepping in close in an effort to remove the advantage his height gave him. Instead, he surprised her by looping his arm around her waist to bring her even closer.
“You give your heart too easily, I think,” he murmured with barely checked passion.
Moirae’s eyes sprang upward to meet the superheated gleam of his gaze, and a slow, powerful wave of lust washed over her. Feeling powerless, she tried to pull free. “That is where you are wrong.”
Dorian held tight. “I think you have given it to me.”
Her green eyes clawed him like talons. “My heart is my own.”
His left hand plunged into her hair, keeping her head near his. “I don’t believe you,” he whispered.
Moirae swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly held on to his gaze. “I assure you that my heart is safe. I may desire you physically, but that is all.”
Dorian clasped both swords in his right hand, and bringing them out from between them, he released the handles. The resulting clatter filled the room, but he ignored it. “And I desire you, Moirae. More than I have desired a woman in a long, long time. But understand this, if I have you, make no claims upon me and weep no tears, for we will share nothing more. Promise me.”
He heard her make a small hungry sound deep in her throat, and she pressed her body against his. “Promise me,” he repeated with barely controlled restraint.
“I promise,” she whispered, and upon hearing the words, Dorian swooped down and hungrily captured her mouth, his tongue delving deep inside, fervently tangling with hers.
He drew his thumb across her bottom lip, and as her mouth parted under the gentle pressure, he retraced the path of his thumb with his tongue. His hands moved of their own accord, lightly over her shoulders, following the smooth curve of her back, stroking, caressing. The innocent playful tip of her tongue brought him back, and Dorian realized the passion growing between them was truly new to her. Tonight, he would guide her into a world few ever experienced, for the art of making love required exquisite restraint and consummate finesse. And in return she would take him to a hallowed realm where there were no words, only ecstasy and pure pleasure. A realm he had almost forgotten existed.
Pulling her tightly to him, he pressed his hips firmly against hers. She let go a soft moan as he let his need for her be known. “Kiss me,” he demanded hoarsely.
Immediately Moirae obliged, teasing his mouth with her lips, awakening every dormant nerve in his body. He groaned, lost in the innocent beauty of her touch, forgetting his promise to make tonight about her. His Lady Destiny had arrived. Their meeting, their inevitable mating, had been fated. Nothing could touch them, neither her past nor his future, only the awareness of the present that enclosed them.
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