Prologue
Lara held her breath as she pressed one finger against the secret door. Thanks to a liberal application of cooking grease—good for more than just frying—the hinges didn’t squeak as the door inched open.
The sliver of light which illuminated the passage was tinted in blues and greens from the tapestry on the wall. She wasn’t sure who had hung the piece of ancient art in the laird’s solar, but she doubted many knew it hid an entrance to one of the many secret passages honeycombing the walls of Oliphant Castle.
She doubted many even knew the passages themselves existed.
But to be certain, she froze as soon as the door opened, waiting for an uproar or for the tapestry to be pulled aside.
But as always, nothing happened.
All she heard was the labored breathing of a man intent on his task. Grunts occasionally joined the panting, and she knew she was about to see exactly what she’d snuck there to see.
Lara pushed the door open further until the wooden edge touched the tapestry, and she shifted forward. There was a hole in the fabric here, one probably made on purpose a generation ago for just this purpose.
An enterprising young woman could stand in that spot, and through the rent in the tapestry, have a fairly unobstructed view of the goings-on in the solar. Which likely was terrible for security, but lovely for someone in her position.
As the rhythmic pants turned to groans, an occasional slapping sound joined the chorus, and she smiled. This particular exercise was her favorite.
The solar was simple; a desk and chair in front of a wall of shelves and cubbyholes for storing the ledgers, books and scrolls which kept the clan running. When the Oliphant had been in charge, this place had always been untidy, but now that his son Alistair had taken over the day-to-day running of the clan, Lara was impressed by the meticulous organization.
She was impressed by many things Alistair did.
The man was so devoted to his work, he even slept in the solar. There was a small cot, spartan in its comforts, tucked behind the desk, and one trunk. When he wasn’t training, his sword hung on the wall, and the only luxury was a rug spread before the hearth.
A rug where Alistair himself now labored. Naked and gleaming.
Lara smiled.
With another grunt, the man levered himself up off the floor, using only the strength of his arms, and keeping his body straight as a board. Then he bent his elbows and lowered himself until his nose was touching the rug, then back up again. He did this twice, increasing the momentum, until his shoulder reached a height and speed that enabled him to lift his hands from the floor and clap them together before slamming them back to the rug to catch himself.
The pressures of keeping the clan running likely necessitated some way to relax, to get rid of pent-up energy, and she knew Alistair didn’t train with the men as much as he used to. The calisthenics she caught him engaging in likely served the same purpose.
Lara had no idea why he did them naked, but she absolutely did not mind.
The pushy-slappy one was her favorite, because the momentum did all sorts of interesting things to his dangly bits.
Rather like a pendulum.
She licked her lower lip, watching his muscles bulge and gleam with sweat, watching his buttocks clench and his bollocks swing. Her breaths came faster and faster until she was panting in rhythm with him, and her hands came up to cup her own breasts through the wool of her kirtle.
Blessed Virgin, he is a beautiful sight, is he no’?
With one last grunt, Alistair clapped his hands together, then lowered himself to his chest and rolled over, splaying himself on his back on the rug. He was breathing heavily, and the sweat beaded on his forehead—and other places.
Hungrily Lara’s eyes dragged over him, wishing she could step out of her hiding spot and offer to clean him.
Mayhap with my tongue.
The thought of dragging her tongue—her lips—across all that beautiful skin caused an unconscious whimper to escape her. Her hands tightened around her breasts as Alistair abruptly sat up.
“Who’s there?” he called, his gaze immediately going to the corridor door.
Silently cursing herself and her obsession, Lara stepped back into the secret passage.
She couldn’t see him, but she could imagine Alistair pushing himself to his feet and padding, naked, to the solar’s door. There was the sound of the door opening, and she imagined him poking his head out.
When his voice came, ‘twas clear he was facing the room. “I think ye should ken I dinnae believe in ghosts, drummers or nae.”
Oliphant Castle was home to the laird, his family, a dozen servants like Lara, and one ghostly drummer who was said to portend doom. But if Alistair didn’t believe in him, then he’d likely begin to investigate.
Hands shaking, Lara pulled the door shut a bit faster than she’d intended, and stood, back pressed against the stone of the secret passage, for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Part of her wanted him to find the door, find her, discover the illicit feelings she’d had for him for years.
But the rest of her knew that, to Alistair Oliphant and his brothers, she’d always just be their little sister’s best friend.
Dropping her hands to her side, Lara smoothed her kirtle, took a breath, and head held high, slipped down the dark passageway. She was needed in the kitchen, which was about as far away from the laird’s solar as a lass like her could get.
But a secret grin tugged at her lips. She had duties, aye, but this little excursion had been worth it. Very worth it. If she had her way, Alistair would soon find a way to relax every day.
With her.
Chapter 1
“Any idea why Kiergan was so keen on this meeting?” Alistair asked his brother, as they climbed Oliphant Castle’s front steps.
“Nay,” rumbled Rocque, frowning down at his boots. “But it cannae be too important, else he would’ve interrupted training.”
It wasn’t often Alistair was able to train with the other warriors. He made sure to keep fit, but there just wasn’t time to attend Rocque’s sparring practices and training sessions. Today had been an exception, as he’d finished the trade agreements the previous day.
So, as they crossed the great hall, he nudged his brother in the side. “Ye ken my twin doesnae need any sort of excuse to interrupt training, aye? Remember the time Kiergan slept late and showed up with that story about a rabid badger and the virgin?”
Rocque’s chuckle seemed forced, and Alistair frowned.
“What has ye so thoughtful? Ye were fine during training.”
Rocque was the largest of the Oliphant bastards, and the most skilled when it came to the martial arts. This was why their father, the laird, had made him the commander of the Oliphant warriors. When he wasn’t focused on his men and their skills, he was happily ensconced in his little cottage with his new wife.
Now, Alistair’s brother startled and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I’ve just been thinking.”
They were headed for the laird’s solar, which had become Alistair’s domain in the last years since Da had turned the running of the clan over to him. “Aye? About what?”
“Merewyn’s pregnant.”
The way Rocque flushed when Alistair turned, proved the big man hadn’t intended to blurt out the announcement like that.