Abigail couldn't get the mysterious highlander out of her head, and as she dazedly stepped through the door, the evening’s events buzzing through her mind, she almost missed the stern gazes awaiting her on the other side.
Almost.
Broken out of her stupor, she turned her attention towards the two figures standing in her path. Her parents, had already been, as they’d put it, “overly generous” in allowing her to work. As they’d illustrated in the past, both at every possible moment and at great length, they’re being one of the wealthiest and influential families in the village—hell, in all of Scotland, it seemed—made working something of a “petty indulgence.” Again, their words. Money was easy to come by in that household, so Abby’s employment was seen as more of a hobby; a hobby that already had her standing on thin ice regarding the hours she kept and the risks tied to them. Coming face-to-face with them after the evening she’d had, knowing what sort of lecture she was already in for, she readied herself for the inevitable wave of guilt that always struck her in those instances.
But none came.
Even in the condemning face—faces—of her tardiness and the myriad of risks that tardiness represented, she couldn’t bring herself to regret any of it. Even the part where she’d nearly died. Especially the part where she’d nearly died! Because, without that perilous moment, she would never have—
“Where have ye been?” her father asked calmly. Too calmly.
“I was at Ross’”—she knew better than to call it “work” with them—“and then I happened across Tarah on my way home. We got to talking, an’ I guess I lost track of the time,” she shrugged, trying to act as noncommittal as she could. Then, knowing better than to let it hang in the air like that, she added, “I’m sorry for being so late.”
She wasn’t sorry, though. Not one little bit. Why should she be? Why should she feel guilty for a mere curiosity? They may have been her parents, but she was an adult and she was allowed to do whatever she damn well pleased!
Right?
Abigail found herself stunned by her own mind as what would normally have been a guilt-and-nerve riddled moment was shaping into one of blatant lies and defiance. Where was all that coming from? And why did it feel so good?
And why did it seem to be working? Studying her father, Abigail realized that, though his brow was furrowed in its usual skepticism, he didn’t seem to be doubting a word of it. Usually he could sniff out one of her lies as easily as a bloodhound tracking a juicy steak, but now… now he actually seemed stumped. She could see that he wanted to call her out on the lie, but he didn’t.
Which meant he couldn’t.
And that meant that the strange confidence the highlander had instilled her with was more than just boastful thoughts and defiant plans.
“I see,” he sighed and shrugged, finally accepting the story and nodding to Abigail’s mother that the matter was resolved. Seeing this, she let out a heavy breath, obviously already braced for a greater lecture from her husband. Clearing his throat, he added, “Just be sure to check in at home before getting carried away with Tarah, alright? We can always send someone out to pick ye up so that ye’re no’ wandering the streets alone so late.”
Abigail felt a flare of anger at that—at the idea of not even being able to walk home at night without having the threat of a carriage rattling through the streets in her name—but decided to stifle the urge to argue. Her newfound confidence, effective as it had been so far, would likely only go so far, and she was certain that her father was still eager for an excuse to reawaken the argument. And if he decided that Abigail’s “phase” of working for Ross had run its course then she wouldn’t have an excuse to leave the house. Certainly not for as long as she’d need to go back; as long as she’d need to see Broden again.
Brash or not, confident or not, Abigail couldn’t risk her new plans like that. She had to take the victory she’d earned and know when to accept defeat to keep the war at bay. Besides, it was more than likely an unwinnable battle, that one. There was no convincing them of her safety—just being their daughter was risk enough without the threat of great beasts out there—and there was no way to make them understand that not all things could be solved by throwing money and servants at them.
So, much as Abigail wanted to tell them to let her be and leave her to her own decisions, she only nodded and agreed to be more considerate next time.
It was all she could do to not vomit around the word “considerate,” but if the strain showed on her face her parents’ were too content to notice.
Turning away from them, she made her way towards the stairs and promptly ran up them. When she got to her room, she grabbed the brass doorknob, startling herself at how chilled it felt in her palm, and realized that the heat in her belly had consumed her. Between the intensity of the interaction with her parents, the anger (and subsequent stifling of) from their concern, and, of course, her time in those hills, however, she wasn't surprised. Any one of those things would be enough to light a fire in a girl.
Deciding, for now at least, not to dwell on her actions or her parents’ strict rules, she shifted her focus to the only remaining source of the warmth coursing through her: the highlander. Slipping into her bedroom and letting herself fall into the plush comfort of her bed, she giggled at the notion—a big, strong, carnal man wearing all the signs of masculinity and burring like a great and powerful storm after saving her from certain death. She wasn't necessarily a romantic, but, she supposed, it was hard to not harbor some sort of fantasy of just that sort of thing. She certainly knew that Tarah, who would otherwise not seem the sort to harbor any fantasies, had her fair share. Granted, it took a few pints to get her to confess that fact, but it was confessed all the same. Afterwards, whenever Abigail brought it up, she’d see her friend’s face first go ghostly pale before going redder than the devil’s arse. Then, following a bout of stammering, Tarah would typically find a way to change the subject.
Wouldn’t she be jealous to know how I spent my evening? she mused to herself, grinning at the thought that her chance encounter with Broden was exactly like something from one of Tarah’s closeted fantasies. Considering this, she wondered how Tarah would react if she met him for herself—would it be enough to tear her from her obsessive working and finally take an interest in someone?—and, flinching at the thought, felt an immediate pang of jealousy. This, more than anything else that night, stole the breath from Abigail’s lungs. The idea of her friend—of anybody, for that matter—wanting to make Broden theirs bothered Abigail immensely. Shaking her head at this—at herself—she turned around onto her back and stared at the ceiling, whispering that, no, she wouldn’t let such a thing happen.
Broden was her highlander, after all.
She nearly threw herself into a coughing fit with the sudden inhale she took at that thought.
“Hers”?
“HERS”?
Shite, Abby, get a grip!
Not once—not once!—had Abigail genuinely looked upon any of the men in the village with a sense of attraction. Sure, when she and Tarah had a bit of the creature in them and their words were a bit too eager to be spoken, she’d admitted that so-and-so was handsome or that on-and-on might make a suitable husband, but never had the thoughts been anything more than a wandering possibility. No more dedicated or committed than the passing fancies one of them might have expressed towards a pretty dress or a particularly well made set of shoes. Did that mean that Abigail stopped her life and hurried to buy whatever momentary trinket caught her eye? No—no, that was more something one of her parents might do. But not Abigail; she was no more committed to the men she mentioned in passing than she was to the things she lingered on in shop windows. It was never enough to make her buy, though; never enough to make her commit. It was why, despite all the offers and prospective suitors, she’d never known a man’s touch; why she’d never even wanted to.
And now, after a chance encounter and but a few moments, she was suddenly considering a strange man—a strange highlander!—to be hers?
What in the blazes is wrong with me?
Testing herself, she catalogued a few of the men around the village who she could admit were at least handsome. Nothing.
She considered Broden. The heat swelled in her belly like a furnace.
Gasping and stifling the effects, she considered how she might react if one of those men were to express any sort of interest. Almost immediately she found herself coming up with excuses to refuse their offers politely.
Then she considered how she’d react should Broden confess such feelings to her. Her heart thrummed like a hummingbird’s wings and she felt her thighs press together as a gentle tickle grew.
Abigail exhaled and convinced herself she hadn’t just heard herself moan, moving forward with the bizarre experiment; imagining an outing—a picnic, perhaps—with any of the other men. Calmness; stillness; boredom.
She considered the same outing with Broden, and suddenly the scene—a crisp blanket for them set out under the shade of a tree with all manner of food and drink—shifted, the contents of their basket cast aside and her on her back upon that blanket and staring up into the intense green gaze of…
The heat became a fire and crept from her belly to lower regions and she forced herself to sit up and stifle the fantasy before her body betrayed her any further.
Then, cupping a hand over her chest and panting, she thought it again:
What in the blazes is wrong with me?
She scolded herself and resigned to absolute control when she came face-to-face with Broden again. There was no denying what she felt, and she knew that it would be foolish (and futile) to try, but the way her body was reacting to these thoughts she’d be liable to attack him—immediate visions of her jumping into his arms and bringing her lips upon his with a ferocity that felt almost violent in her own mind—and, in doing so, risk driving him off. He’d already had to pull her from the brink of death, after all; she was just a daft flatlander with a silly obsession in his eyes. That he’d agreed to help her at all was likely an act of charity to make sure she didn’t march off a cliff again. Throwing herself like a wanton harlot at him upon their next meeting… well, there was only so much insanity a man would be willing to deal with, right? No, she couldn’t risk driving him off. Especially since, if the way his eyes shifted at the mention of the beasts was any indicator, he knew something about them.
And since these new feelings she was having for him would require more than just a little of her attention, she knew that she had to get the closure her mind craved regarding these beasts once and for all.
Find out the truth, she committed, and then deal with… she glanced down at her still-heaving chest and the chilling dampness that was making itself known between her legs and sighed, well… all of that!
Shifting against this, she issued a series of mixed curses and praises to Broden for what he was unknowingly doing to her in the wake of their encounter. The man who oozed sexuality and strength…
His massive frame.
His broad, strong torso and the intoxicating blend of runic tattoos and deep, mysterious scars that littered its surface.
And the faint trail of hair that trailed down his chest, across his toned stomach, and slipped beneath his dark red kilt, urging both her eyes and the rest of her to follow it to…
“Stop it!” she scolded herself aloud.
But there was more to him. Beneath all the layers of power and masculinity and strength and certainty was something… not so certain. A flicker of doubt? No, not doubt. Because there was hope there, too. It was more like… more like somebody who’d given up—resigned to something cold and awful—but been given a new reason.
Or at least, that’s what she thought.
It’s what she hoped, in fact.
Abigail wanted to believe that, somehow, she’d given Broden something like that. After the impact he’d clearly had on her, she could only hope that she’d instilled something in him. And if that something was a newer, more positive outlook, then she’d be content. However, glad as she’d be to know that Broden had found some new reason to drive him through that possible cold and awful something, she secretly wished that she could be that reason.
Foolish as it sounded in her mind, Abigail wanted to believe that she was what Broden wanted; what he needed.
Finally, finding some peace in her thoughts, she allowed her body to relax, the heat beginning to fade over her as she finally fell into a deep sleep filled with dirty dreams.
* * *
Abigail jolted out of bed, covered in sweat and on the verge of orgasm. Catching her breath, she looked around her room and realized she felt disappointed that her—that the—highlander wasn’t there beside her. Sitting there, she worked to catch her breath and calm her body down. Every bit of her was tingling, and visions of the man’s touch—his hands and his mouth and… she blushed and shivered again—on the most sinful parts of her body continued to flash in her mind.
She really had lost it, hadn’t she?
Haven’t even touched him yet, she let her head fall back, defeated, and he’s already making me come…
Letting out a long, slow exhale, she was relieved to feel some of the tension leaving her body. It was still dark out, which meant that she still had a little time before she’d have to get ready to help Ross with the morning’s preparations, but all of it felt like small bursts of eternity—one separating her from her job and then that many more before she’d be able to leave—that existed between the now and the moment she was aching for. The moment she could meet…
The highlander.
She sighed again, catching herself nearly thinking “my” again and decided that, no, she wasn’t about to get any more sleep that night. Dragging herself out of bed and assessing the “damage” between her legs, she hurried to peel off her nightgown and went about getting ready. Though she was never one for overly planned or intricate displays, she found herself, without even meaning to, picking out her clothes in a “noticeable enough to be noticed but not enough to appear obviously noticeable”-mindset. While this fact embarrassed her, it was when she caught herself in the midst of spritzing herself with the perfume that her father had given her two birthdays ago—perfume that she had otherwise never worn except to prove to him that she did—without even meaning to. Did she really have it that bad for the highlander that she cared that much what he thought of her? The thought jolted her and she froze, looking down at the clothes she’d picked out. All of it unpractical and most of it outright dangerous for a hike in the mountains. Groaning, she put the selection away and started again, this time trying to keep her wits about her.
She was on her third pass for a decent outfit before she realized (again) that she was still worried about whether or not Broden would like it. Growling, she threw the blouse to the floor and cupped her face in her hands; she was never this unfocused! She was losing it over a man she hardly knew. Still, a part of her felt a connection it hadn’t felt… well, ever. As strange as it all was, she couldn’t bring herself to fully discredit all the things she was feeling. To this, however, there was a clear and obvious sign of hope: she’d be seeing him again soon enough, and, upon that meeting, she’d be able to more clearly think on all of it.
She hoped.
Thought hadn’t been exactly an easy process the night before, and while she attributed this to the near-death experience she knew that it wasn’t the only factor. Hopefully, between not being in such a precarious situation—again, she hoped—and being better prepared for his arrival, she’d be able to keep her wits about her.
Again, hopefully…
* * *
Work went by in a bizarre haze. Neither fast nor slow, the day was a blur of misheard orders, clumsiness, and, more than anything else, daydreaming. Ross’ patience for all of it was no more forgiving than any other day, but the frequency of the problems made it seem like she was encountering his temper for the first time all over again. By the end of her shift, Abigail was certain that she’d been docked enough of the day’s pay that she’d wind up owing him for her time there. In either case, however, the work day did—FINALLY!—come to an end, and Ross was barely three slurred words into his demand for her to go home before she was practically running out the door. Eager as she was to head out and begin what she’d been impatiently awaiting since turning away from Broden the night before, she still had one more thing to do.
As she made her way to the clinic, she stepped through and frowned as she saw that Tarah, as usual, was the only one in the office.
Moving her hands on her hips, she let out a sigh. “He did it to ye again?” she demanded.
Tarah shrugged absentmindedly as she adjusted her lenses, “Aye, but I doona mind. Honest. Him not being here is helpful, actually.”
“For who?” Abigail glared. “Tarah, it’s no’ right what he does! How do ye not see it?”
Tarah’s dark gaze moved to hers and she almost wished she kept her mouth shut at the icy gaze that was casted her way. But she was too far in at that point. Before she might have stood down, let her friend’s decision to allow her ongoing mistreatment go unchallenged, but, like with her parents the previous night, Abigail was feeling empowered.
“Maybe ye should take all yer research and send it to—”
“Leave it, Abby,” Tarah shook her head. “If ye persist in discussing this matter, I will ask ye to leave.”
Abigail paused at Tarah’s persistence and held up her hands, forfeiting the argument. “Fine,” she offered before giving a grin. “What if I offer to leave if ye do me a favor?”
“What kind of favor?” her friend eyed her warily.
“I have a… well, let’s just say I’m meeting somebody tonight, and, as ye know, my parents…” Abigail shook her head. “I’d jus’ they rather not know. They would forbid it, and I doona want to miss this chance.”
“Meeting somebody?” Tarah’s look turned from wary to downright suspicious. “What kind of somebody are ye meeting?”
Abigail shrugged and felt a grin betray her. “A man,” she admitted.
Tarah’s expression shifted.
“What? Is it that impossible?” Abby glared down at her.
Tarah didn't say a word, instead she just continued to look suspiciously at her. She couldn't blame Tarah, not really. It wasn't as if she ever showed much interest in men. However, now she really did have a real interest in someone and she wasn't going to lose out on an opportunity to see him again. She knew her parents trusted Tarah, and if she could provide her with an alibi to get away then she wouldn’t have to worry about carriages (or worse) taking to the streets to track her down.
“Please, Tarah!” Abigail pleaded. “I need to get going, and I need to know that I won’t have to worry about Ma and Pa getting crazy that I’m out late. Please! Just tell my parents I’m spending the night with ye, an’ I won’t complain about ye working all the time or about the doc using ye ever again.”
Tarah’s eyes widened at that. “Spending the night with… ye mean ye plan to be with this man all night?” Tarah shook her head. “Abby, that is NO’ a good idea!”
“Och! No! It’s no’ like that! I will’na stay the night with him! He’s jus’ taking me sightseeing, an’ I doona want my parents worrying if we’re late in getting back! Then I will come back and spend the night at yer place. See? Ye’re no’ even lying that way.”
Tarah took a deep breath, shaking her head. “An’ ye promise me ye willna be in any danger?”
Abigail nodded.
Tarah sighed, rolling her eyes, and nodded. “Alright, I’ll send the message to yer parents,” she finally agreed before aiming an accusatory finger at her, “but if shite goes wrong and ye get yerself into trouble, I willna feel an ounce of remorse in telling them that ye snuck out of my home in the wee hours of the night and got yerself into…” she shrugged, “… whatever it is ye could get yerself into.”
Abigail grinned brightly and hugged Tarah tightly, “Thank ye, Tarah! Thank ye so much!”
Tarah laughed and pulled away, “Alright, alright! Just this once though, okay?”
“That’s fine,” she grinned, though she wasn't sure if that was true or not.
If she needed another alibi, Tarah would be the only person she could go to for help. Pausing at that, Abigail quickly pushed away that thought. Who knew if she’d even be seeing the highlander after today? The thought sent a chill through her gut and she frowned, realizing she was actually upset about that idea. Tarah, always the attentive one, was quick to catch onto her friend’s mood change.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I just…” she started before thinking better of it and shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”
Smiling, she gave Tarah another tight hug before turning away and heading out the door. As she made her way to the outskirts of the village, she took a deep breath.
“Alright, Abby, ye can do this,” she whispered to herself as she took the first step away from the village.
Hopefully, he would be there…