Devil of Kilmartin by Laurin Wittig

ymon sensed a change in the lass, a spark in her eye that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Elena?”
    “What do you offer me for my help?”
    Surprise whipped through him. “What do you wish?”
    “My safety.”
    He watched her square her shoulders, as if she braced for a fight, and was startled to realize she was nearly as tall as he. “Did I not offer you hospitality?” he asked, circling around her.
    “Aye, but ’tis not what I wish.” She turned to face him. “If I help you, and I am not saying I will, you must ensure my safe passage to wherever I choose.”
    “Wherever?”
    “In Scotland. I do not wish to venture beyond theHighlands.” She looked away, twisting her hands nervously. “Just away from all who know me.”
    “Why does your clan hunt you?” He watched as she glanced back at him, and the determination in her eyes wavered, then burned even brighter than before.
    “That has naught to do with this, Symon. Will you give me what I ask?”
    He thought it over for a moment. How could he see the prophecy fulfilled and promise her what she asked? “Where do you plan to go?”
    Confusion slipped into her eyes, and fear. “I have not decided as yet.”
    “You have nowhere to go,” he said quietly, sensing an opportunity.
    “I have not decided.”
    Symon nodded knowingly. Perhaps he could convince her that Kilmartin Castle was where she wished to be, in that way he could gain the time to unravel the rest of the prophecy. He needed time, but the only way he would get that was to accept her terms. “Very well. But you must stay until my affliction is gone.”
    “Nay. I told you. I cannot cure your affliction, but I think I can dampen its effects, at least for a while. I stay only until I deem it time to go. I will not be bound to you, no matter what Auld Morag’s prophecy has to say.”
    Symon moved toward her slowly, indirectly, weighing her strengths and weaknesses as if he faced her in armed combat. “Yet the clan expects you to stay until all is well.”
    “That is due to your own folly. I care not what your clan expects of me. I will help you as I can, but you must assure me of safe passage when the time comes that I decide to go.”
    “Very well. But for now, we will allow the clan to believe you will stay.” She started to interrupt, but Symon, close now, stopped her with a finger to her lips. The heat of her breath seared his skin. “My clan needs hope for the future.”
    “You’ll not tell of my gift?” Her lips moved softly against the pad of his finger sending trails of fire up his arm. “Nor force me to use it on any other person?”
    “Only Ranald knows of my suspicions.” He was close enough now to feel her breath on his face, to measure its rapid pace. “I will instruct him to say nothing. You have my word.”
    “The word of a madman.” Her voice was husky, a whisper. “The Devil of Kilmartin?”
    “Nay.” He moved closer now, the urge to place his lips upon hers overwhelming. “The word of Symon, chief of Clan Lachlan.” He dipped his head to hers and sealed his promise with a chaste kiss. At least that’s what he had meant to do.
    Rapidly the simple kiss heated, and instead of Elena stepping back and slapping him soundly, as he had fully expected, she leaned into him. ’Twould be good for the clan if she found him attractive. ’Twould be good for the clan. Yet it wasn’t the clan that wrapped his arms about the lass and deepened the kiss. Symon gave himself to the moment and the pleasure of this woman, allowing his hands to roam her back, pulling her closer. Heat swelled in him, along with a curious feeling of lightness. Elena moaned just as the door flew open, startling the lass out of his arms.
     
    E lena felt her cheeks heat as Ranald entered, ushered in by the buzz of many voices still in the Great Hall.
    “My apologies,” he said to Symon as he glanced at her. “I did not mean to interrupt your . . . discussion.”
    Symon looked at her with a heat