Page 11 of Highlander’s Sweet Poison

And by the time he died, he was the man she feared most.

“He worshipped ye,” Graeme said, and there was a trace of bitterness in his voice.

This was not a conversation she wanted to have. Rising, she let the blanket drop. “I am going to bed. Please be considerate when ye leave in the morning. I may be a widow, but I dinnae wish the village to begin gossiping about me.”

“Ye are worried about yer reputation?” he asked wryly.

“I would like to enjoy my last few days here in peace.” Turning her back to him, she moved to her bed, thankful that a wall barrier helped hide her as she changed into her nightdress and washed her face and neck.

Climbing into bed, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the hammering of her heart in her chest. He was here, in her house, and they were both cloaked by the intimacy for the night, but he would never want her like that, and she shouldn’t want him. It was humiliating that her body would betray her like this, that she would wonder what it would feel like if his touch was meant to give pleasure, to stroke along her skin, and stoke the fires of need inside her too.

Turning over, she pulled the blankets up to her ears and tried to ignore the sensations, the seductive voices whispering in her head, and the need gathering between her legs.

Graeme MacSeaver would soon be her jailer, and she needed to remember that.

The fires crackled around her. Smoke curled in the air, and embers were raining all around her. Amidst the grey and terrifying red, her nightmare was born as they held her down and leered at her.

Bile rose in her throat. How long had she feared this moment would come? How long had the fear resided in her heart, and now the nightmare had come to life? The men would use her and either kill her or leave her to die in the fire.

The fire that she had started.

“Did ye think that ye could escape us?” one of the men sneered. “Ye? A mere woman?”

“Woman?” another asked in wonder as he reached out to stroke her hair. She tried to jerk away, but their hold was too strong. “Look at her beauty. She is touched by the fae.”

“Think she holds magic? Perhaps she will turn us into toads!” another laughed.

Taunts. Taunts she’d heard as a child, which turned into fear as an adult. Twisting, she opened her mouth and screamed, and they only laughed more.

“No one is coming to save ye, lass. Even if MacDougal’s guard does come, they will not be looking for ye, now will they? Ye are all alone.”

All alone.

All alone.

Tears pricked her eyes, and even though she knew they were right, she tried to scream again.

“Jillian!” Strong hands shook her, and she awoke, fighting. Gasping for breath and aware that someone was touching her, she swung her arm, but he captured it easily and pulled her to him, crushing her against his body as he whispered soothingly to her. “Jillian, ‘tis me. ‘Tis Graeme. Ye are all right. I have ye.”

Graeme. All she wanted to do was bury herself into his embrace, but she pushed at his arms and pulled away. Scooting to the other side of the bed, she pulled the blankets up and looked at him wearily.

His lips tightened. “Ye were having a nightmare.”

“Aye.”

“I just wanted to wake ye.”

“Thank ye.”

“Bloody hell, Jillian, ye are looking at me like I am capable of hurting ye as they did!” Pushing off the bed, he started to pace.

He was angry and hurting. “Ye misunderstand,” she told him quietly. “‘Tis not that I think ye will hurt me...like that. ‘Tis that when ye look at me, when ye touch me, I know that ye see that woman in the woods that night. The broken woman. That is the most hellish moment of my life, and ye were there to witness it. I hate that about ye.”

After a moment of silence, he reached out and gripped the opening of her chamber. “Go back to sleep, Jillian,” he finally said, roughly.

He walked out without sparing her another look, and she curled back up, knowing very well that she would not go back to sleep.

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