Tallchief: The Homecoming Page 7

  After Liam had gone, Elspeth called Duncan. “Duncan the Defender, you are not to tuck Michelle Farrell under your wing. A battle is brewing between her and Liam and you are not to interfere.”

  She listened to him rumble a protest, and smiled. Elspeth hung up the telephone and set her mind to the task of studying the letters from her mother to Tina Tallchief, Liam’s rightful mother. When the wreck occurred, Liam’s parents were coming to visit the Tallchiefs, to discover their heritage, just as their son would do now. Elspeth opened Una’s journals and held the letters close, trying to see into the past. “It’s the flint and the fire,” she said finally, too drained to move. “Liam’s time has come, and he’ll find more pain before he finds peace. He’s not a man who can burst into a new world, and each step will take him closer to more of what he has lost—a family torn apart by a selfish man. Liam is methodical, taking in one piece of the puzzle at a time. He was so humble accepting the Tallchief plaid, I could have cried.”

  She ran her fingertips across the small tooled copper box—the mountain symbol and the stick man and woman—and the flints. “Aye, flint and fire.”

  Liam made his way up Tallchief Mountain, across the tiny lush meadows filled with August sunflowers, the jutting rocks high above him. The path was worn, but he felt it call to him, driving him upward. A chipmunk chattered, running up the red bark of a pine, the scents of earth and woods circling Liam, coming inside him. Whatever rode him now was instinctive, and he shivered, tearing a wild rose from the briar, ignoring the slight burn of the thorns. He sucked the clean air into him, felt it surge through his body, then tore away the shirt he’d worn for the lady called Elspeth.

  The plaid unfurled in the breeze and he swung it under one arm and over the other shoulder. He pressed the woven length over his pounding heart, woven by a woman whose senses and heart told her more than her eyes—Elspeth Tallchief Petrovna had claimed him as one of her own, a brother to tend and love. She terrified him—a man of shadows. “Aye,” he whispered softly, testing the Tallchief word upon his lips. He knew that at last his son was safe, and should something happen to him, Elspeth would love J.T. as her own.

  That terror lifted, he opened himself to feeling.

  Who was he? Why did the Rocky Mountain sky seem bluer, more free than before? Why did his blood pound, his senses come alive?

  He tore his shirt, pushing away the echoes of Reuben’s harsh, stingy training. Liam made a sash for the sweat upon his forehead, then scanned the highland meadows that must have called to Una, the Scots bondwoman captured by Tallchief. Free, Liam thought. I’m free. This is what I am. He listened to his heart, his senses alive, in tune with the mountain. A slight noise took his stare to the deer grazing in the meadow decked with daisies and sunflowers. A scent took him crouching beside a fragrant plant. In the tumbling stream, the rocks were round and dull in reds and blues, and fish waited to be caught. The sun stroked his body, the slight breeze curling around him, enveloping him. Lavender scents clung to the plaid draped around his body, and he smiled at the thought of his legs in a kilt. “Not a chance.”

  But he was a father, too, and Liam’s head jerked toward Amen Flats and to the rented house where J.T. would be napping under Emily’s care. His son needed this—the scents and colors and the wonderful sense of freedom.

  He walked slowly around the meadow, startling the deer, brushing his palm against the thick grass and taking into him what he had lost. Then, settling upon a rock, he opened Elizabeth Tallchief’s small journal, and let himself step into the past. “That fine beast of a man came after me and his son. He crossed the ocean, and he dressed like a gentlemen at court, but I knew what he was—a savage, set upon me and claiming his son. I could have killed him, and I dearly tried. Hard as flint he was, and angry, too, for me taking his seed as he lay staked upon the ground, and making our beautiful boy…. But one look at those fierce, stormy eyes and I caught fire, testing myself against him—”

  Liam smoothed his big hand over the woman’s beautiful cursive writing, uncertain of the emotions riding him. Uncomfortable with reading Elizabeth’s story, for he had found too much in another woman’s letters, Liam forced himself to read on—to understand for his son’s sake. “When a man and a woman, equally matched, strike against each other, fire will fly—just as two flints strike sparks off each other. ’Tis a game, finding the strength of a man and challenging that truth. I am a woman used to having my way, and being captured by a man who had fathered my child was no easy matter. How I battled with him—that great hard man, Liam Tallchief, scarred by life. He did not yield to me, nor would I have him be less than he was. But in the end, he filled my heart, and a softness grew between us. I knew no other would make me feel so alive. No other could take my heart as Liam Tallchief. When he held our son and that gentleness came upon him, I knew—I claimed him with a ring and marked him for my own. For his part, he gave me two flints, the tinderbox marked with the Tallchief symbol, and a love that burns true.”

  Liam carefully placed the journal inside the folded tartan, treasuring both. The tinderbox design in his wooden chest matched that of the Tallchief brand, a mountain with a stick man and a woman. The cradle that Tallchief had made Una to replace the one she’d brought from Scotland, had those same designs. Liam, his namesake, had fought through guards, kidnapped the woman who had kept his son secret. He kept Elizabeth stewing on the voyage back to Tallchief land and—

  Liam rubbed his hands over his face—He’d lost so much, his son had lost so much…. “Gentleness came upon him” was exactly how he felt when holding J.T. As if all the world settled into peace, wrapped in a child’s love.

  The woman who had leaped into his mind and hardened his body was another matter. Michelle ripped peace from him and tore it apart with those slender, elegant fingers. He wanted to bury himself in her, taking her mouth—but those dreams were dangerous for a man who found more comfort in silence and being alone. Michelle wasn’t for him—and he didn’t believe in love, other than his son’s. All that he asked of life was to safely raise his son—more than that seemed too much.

  His fist clenched upon his knee. What would he know of treating a woman as she deserved? What would he know of the soft sweet night talk that women were supposed to love? What did he have to offer a woman—the icy hard ways he’d learned too early?

  He’d tried hard to change with Karen, but he’d been paying bills for Reuben’s garage and medical expenses. He’d been too harsh with his wife, when she’d wanted a few dollars for kitchen curtains—Liam squeezed his eyes shut and hated the words that came so freely to his mouth— “I’m trying to make a living, dammit. There’s no money for silliness….”

  He scrubbed his rough hands across his face. He’d regretted the words instantly, and Karen had loved him just the same. But he had steel for a heart, and it was better he kept to himself where women were concerned….

  Then a sound took his narrowed eyes to the trail and across the lush meadow, to the beautiful witch with her fascinating green eyes shot from the forest’s shadows. Her long, waving hair caught the sun and the wind, and Liam’s gaze took in her body, the breeze pushing her clothing tight against her. His instincts told him to take her, to fuse his mouth to hers, to hold her and to grasp the fire that only she could give him.

  Michelle glanced at the lengthening shadows and kicked the rock in the worn path. “He’s up here somewhere, and I want to tell him exactly what I think of him.”

  A noise in the thicket turned her, and Liam’s broad chest gleamed in the half-light. She looked the long distance up into his steely eyes, that hard face. “You need a haircut,” she said, forcing herself to slash at him, when she wanted to fist that shaggy black hair and shake him for frightening her.

  The arrogant tilt of his head and the flashing steel of his eyes told her he was in a fighting mood—well, so was she. “I hate you,” she said simply, to deny the fiery kiss they’d shared and give him no room to take another. “I’m a top executive of a
major company. I’ve fought my way up a male-entrenched ladder. I didn’t appreciate being thrown over your shoulder and toted back to the Tallchiefs. You’ve embarrassed us both.”

  “So you followed me for a private mauling—to keep our dignities.” A woman who controlled her business meetings, she didn’t understand the warm, dark mockery in his tone. Those smoky gray eyes slowly stroked down her body, a sleeveless cool cream linen top with matching loose slacks. In her struggle up the rugged path, she’d freed the top buttons and ruined another pair of sandals. She jerked her head away from the big hand that reached for her hair, plucking away a twig caught in the strands.

  Then Liam’s arms surrounded her, and he lifted her up tight against him, her feet off the ground. For a big man he moved quickly, and Michelle tried to think while her fingers dug into solid muscle and Liam’s dark gray eyes stared across the inches to hers. “You like to start battles, now finish this one before you run away.”

  She’d never been handled so easily, most men fearing her reaction—she could scald them with a word—but she sensed Liam would only hold her tighter and flash his heart-breaker smile. “Put me down,” she managed shakily.

  “When I’m ready. I don’t like being hunted, or tracked down.”

  “You knew I’d be coming after you. You could have made this easier.”

  “Ah. For you to reprimand and bully me. Is that what you like to do to the men you like to kiss?” he asked with a soft teasing kiss at one corner of her mouth. “I’ve told you that I’m not a game player, Michelle. You’d better leave me alone. There’s daylight enough for you to make it down the trail. I advise that you do just that and keep to your pretty little life, away from mine.” Then Liam lowered her to her feet, shot her a steely look and turned to stride through the thick grass, sending waves through the daisies and sunflowers. A distance away, he unfurled a length of cloth. The shades of blue and green caught the slight breeze that riffled his shaggy hair the color of a raven’s wing. He draped the tartan around him, claiming it as his birthright, his male cloak of arrogance.

  She couldn’t let him get away, set the terms and tell her how to lead her life. Michelle tromped through the grass to him. She pushed away the warning sirens—a woman alone with a big strong man, aware that she was nettling him and he wasn’t liking it. Oh, wasn’t he? Too bad. “J.T. should have a dog and pets, and a proper yard to play in,” she began.

  Her anger flicked higher as Liam looked up to the jutting rock cliffs, ignoring her, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “Busybody,” he murmured finally and strode away from her, making his way to the path and moving upward through the rugged forests. He moved like a hunter, body alert, eyes slashing up at the hawk in the sky.

  Michelle searched the shadows falling upon Tallchief Mountain. She could safely go down the mountain and catch Liam another time. But temper and pride drove her to follow him. She passed the grazing deer to find Liam standing quietly. Intent upon a small cemetery set amid the tiny heather blooms, he didn’t seem to notice her standing near. Liam looked so alone, his head bent, studying the stones marking Matthew and Pauline Tallchief’s graves, the other markers, no more than large stones. She couldn’t resist placing her hand on that broad back, the warm tartan covering it.

  He turned to her suddenly, eyes flashing like steel, his fists wrapped in her hair. “You want to know, don’t you? You want to dig into my life—Well, it isn’t pretty. I don’t know much. I don’t know that I qualify to know who I am, because until a year ago I thought I was the son of a bitter, harsh man. I’m like Reuben Cartwright—hard clean through. And then when he died, I found a letter from his wife—she’d died earlier. He’d dragged me from a riverbank, from my parents’ wrecked car and replaced his stillborn son with me.”

  He flung her away, turned his back upon her and rubbed his hands over his face, the sound of his evening stubble raking in the soft night sounds. “I don’t know who I am, not really. Elspeth will help, I know—so I can pass a heritage on to my son. But inside I have too much happening now. I’m raw now, lady, and I don’t understand what’s happening to me up here—”

  He tapped his forehead, sucked in the mountain air and glared at her in the evening shadows. “I want to feel your breasts against my chest. To feel the scrape of your nipples against my skin, to taste your skin, to kiss you until we both forget who we are and why we’re fighting…. To lay you down and love you, to burn away whatever I feel when I catch your scent, when I look into those witch’s eyes. I don’t feel gentle now, and I could hurt you—but I won’t, because you’re not driving me that far. You want to play? Find someone else. You don’t belong here, any more than I do. Go back to your penthouse or estate or whatever, to your spas and servants and tennis in the afternoon at the club.”

  “Beast,” she managed too quietly and softly, rage running through her, plastered with images of Liam’s big body entering hers, demanding— “How dare you!”

  “I dare. You’re wanting to play, to experience a mechanic, to lower yourself on the wild side and then go back—”

  Her slap on his hard jaw rang through the chatter of the night birds and frogs and crickets. Horrified that she had let her temper rule her, she shivered and found Liam’s big hand wrapped around her wrist. His expression was too savage, honed by fierce need and by his anger as he tugged her to him and found her mouth with his.

  She fought her needs and lost, pitting her hunger against his. She soared into wild freedom, locking her arms around his neck, her fingers diving into that thick shaggy mass of his hair, keeping him close. The rough catch of his breath hit her hot cheek, as she caught his bottom lip with her teeth.

  His hands caressed a hot path to her hips, fitting her tightly against his hardened body. One hand kept her locked to him, the layers of the cloth burning between them. His other hand slid to flatten between her breasts. Then with a tug tore away the buttons.

  He stilled, their heat rising in the cool mountain night, then slowly looked down at her breasts, nestled in lace against his chest. Electricity raced within her as his hot gaze—the color of steel in fire—stroked her softness and his hand rose to tear away the lace. Rough and dark against her skin, his palm enclosed her, and the ragged groan that ran through Liam’s big body more than pleased her—She’d been waiting for this hunger, for this man to feed upon, a match to her own needs. Her thighs trembled against his as she placed her hand along his cheek, savoring the wildness and the gentleness of his touch. He seemed to calm at her touch; the storms lashing him eased. In that moment an unexpected softness rose in her, the need to comfort him. He turned slightly, holding her eyes, and brought his lips burning against her palm. Liam Tallchief wouldn’t hurt her, not even aroused as he was now—

  A methodical woman, Michelle dissected her sensuality and knew that she’d never really been open to desire, that sex with her husband was more duty than fire and need. She fought to keep balance, not allowing Liam to think he was in command when the needs ran equal between them and she could hold her own with him. She’d trapped Liam and now he was hers—

  His slow grin kicked up her heartbeat and tossed it into overdrive. Liam stilled, barely breathing, his eyes locked with hers, searching—Then he scooped her high against his chest, walking easily with her through the night, across the meadow. He carried her as if he had the right to hold her, to take her, and Michelle would wonder later why she’d placed her head upon his shoulder, why her instincts told her that this moment, with this man, was right. She could trust him, give herself to being a woman for just this night.

  He lowered her to her feet and, with a dark look, flung the tartan at her and took the small book from his waist, handing it to her. He walked toward the creek bubbling in the night, and she stood, the tartan in one hand and the book in the other. Clearly, she could make her decisions, and carefully placing the book upon a nearby rock, she spread the tartan upon the lush, sweet grass and sat upon it, her blood pounding and hot and her body needing—


  With Liam she was alive, not the machine her parents had bred for a business wife—

  “You should have gone.” He came down upon her so quickly she barely had time to see the fierce look honing his face, his hands lightly shackling her wrists beside her hair. His hard body pressed down upon hers, and his desire left her aching and soft and damp. They kissed, a playing battle of lips and tongues and teeth, fierce desire awakening with the sound of their fast, uneven breaths, the heat rising between them. “You can go,” he whispered against her ear, tugging it gently with his teeth.

  “Or you can go. I’m staying,” she whispered back, and dug her fingers into his back to lock him close.

  Filled with discovery and need and hunger, wanting Liam, Michelle pushed him gently down and moved over him, holding his wrists to the ground. “Michelle—” he warned roughly. “We’re going down the mountains now.”

  “Are we?” she smiled down at him and reveled in the sultry, hungry and frustrated look at her breasts, half-draped in the torn cloth. Liam Tallchief thought of her as a woman, not office equipment, and the heavy, thrusting desire beneath her was honest, not a rushed once-a-week duty. “I’m staying. You go. I took survival training, you know. I can manage to stay as long as I want.”

  He tugged a hand free to run it through his hair, his expression clearly frustrated. “Bet that cost a pretty penny, but you’re not staying up here alone. It’s dangerous, no matter how many fancy degrees you have.”

  Her summer youth camps had cost more than most people made in a year, but then it was fashionable for her group to play at hardships. Liam was pointing out the differences between them, taking control, and she didn’t like it. She liked frustrating him, nudging him when he seemed too secure. “If I wanted an itemization of the differences between us, I’d have asked for it…. I have a few college degrees. I’ve paid some prices for choosing my career, and I could make life very difficult for you, if I tried.”