Faden, her uncle and primary guard, had been quite agitated the day they had crossed onto McTiernay lands, but Adanel had felt compelled to ride as hard as she could and had not cared about borders and the potential acrimony her presence could cause. She had just needed to feel free from the confines of her life for a little and the lands belonging to her clan were too small to provide that sense of freedom. Besides, practically no one lived out this way. The northern side of the Torridon hills were cold, rocky, impossible to farm, and provided little grass for cattle to graze on. One needed to seek the valleys to find anyone.
She had been about to turn around and heed Faden’s demands that they return back to Mackbaythe lands when a spear of sunlight from the ever-present clouds lit up the entrance to a partially hidden, narrow, rocky path. Adanel had decided God was beckoning her to see what mysteries He had created. Faden had disagreed, and Adanel had almost let him persuade her to leave for she had long learned to suppress any inquisitive thoughts or feelings due to fear of what her father might do if she learned or saw something she oughtn’t. But something pressed her to shed her inhibitions and cave to her buried curious spirit.
The path was far too narrow and steep for a horse, so she had climbed. Though not a difficult ascent, it had been farther than she had anticipated, causing Faden to have grumbled ceaselessly. But when she had seen the pristine loch reflecting the clouds in the blue sky, she had been so glad to have persisted in the climb. Adanel felt as if she had found a little piece of heaven God had carved out just for her. Every fiber of her being had wanted to shed her clothes, jump into the waters, and enjoy the tranquility, even if only for a little while.
Of course, Faden had made sure that had not happened with his demands that they return immediately or face consequences. Knowing he was not overstating what might happen, Adanel had acquiesced to leave, but only after Faden agreed to let her come back the next week. And so, she had returned, that week and all the ones that followed for the past year as long as the weather permitted. To Faden’s bafflement, the rain almost always abated the morning of their ride.
After weeks of climbing up to the little loch only to confirm that no one or animal was around or even had been near the small water refuge, Faden had elected to stay behind under the excuse of watching after the horses. Adanel fully supported the idea. She loved her uncle and enjoyed his company, but his absence offered her the opportunity to do what she had wanted since she had first spied the loch. Stripping bare, she had dived into the snow-fed waters. Cold and bearable only in the sunlight, the icy water had become the perfect remedy to stave off the sadness that threatened to overtake her sometimes.
Adanel felt a shiver go up her spine. Now, she needed the Highlander to leave for another reason. To stay warm, she had to move or get out of the water. She was starting to shudder keeping herself still with only her shoulders above the surface. Squeezing her eyes shut, Adanel wished with all her might that God would compel the handsome McTiernay to get back on his horse and leave so she could exit the cool waters. Slowly she opened a single eyelid and sighed. The man was still just standing there, hands on his hips, looking around. There was no telling how long he would remain.
Adanel considered her options: freeze to death, continue praying, or call out. The latter was the only one that led to warmth. Unfortunately, it also led to questions of why she was there alone, probable discovery that she was not wearing a stitch of clothing, and worst of all . . . him learning just who she was. The last of which she could not let happen.
Another shiver ran through Adanel’s body, and she placed her cheek on a spot on the massive rock that had been warmed by the sun. Lifting her head, she studied the smaller boulder next to it. Maybe she could find a way to climb up on it and somehow slip unseen to the shoreline.
She was just planning her escape when her head jerked at a very unexpected, very unwelcomed sound. Adanel listened, her heart pounding, hoping she was mistaken. A couple of seconds later, her heart stopped altogether upon hearing a splash of an arm hitting the water, followed by another and then another.
Adanel swallowed a groan. The saighdear was swimming. Swimming! Something she should be doing, not him. Adanel should have known the moment she saw the Highlander he would be trouble. All men were. Why would being incredibly good looking and a soldier make this one any different?
She was about to succumb to the urge to sneak a peek and see where he was when the sound of another splash made it unnecessary. The man was on the other side of the enormous boulder she was leaning against. And by the sound of it, he had stopped swimming.
Why? she asked herself, looking toward the heavens. Why me? Why now? Why him?
Dismissing the question, Adanel decided she first needed to get out of the freezing water. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she reached out with her foot to use a smaller, submerged rock to stand on. Shivering, she leaned back against the massive warm rock in an attempt to thaw herself, feeling both embarrassed at being openly nude with a man so close and thrilled to be nearly out of the cold water. Now, she just needed to think of a way she could leave unseen.
If she could just stay crouched down as she climbed up and over the smaller boulder that was adjacent to the shore, she might be able to avoid being discovered. Once safely on the beach, she would wait until the Highlander dipped below the surface of the water to run and snatch her clothes. Then, she could leave without him ever knowing she was there.
It was a great plan mostly because it was the only one that offered her a chance of getting her out of her predicament.
Adanel looked up to see where the sun was in the sky. She had perhaps a little over an hour before Faden decided to make the arduous trek and come get her. She could try and wait to learn if this McTiernay soldier was taking a quick dip or was here for a long, leisure swim, but if he decided to swim to this side of the boulder, she was doomed.
Adanel, feeling a little warmer now, began to look around for handholds or footholds she could use to pull herself fully up. She had just found one when once again, her body locked, frozen in shock.
“I know you are there, ruadh. I’ve been watching you.”
* * *
Adanel stiffened at the sound of the deep baritone voice. Ruadh, he had said. There was only one reason the McTiernay would call her the color red. He had seen her . . . or at least her cursed hair. How long had he been watching her? He had stared in her direction for several seconds. The man must have known she was there and had just feigned looking away. Adanel clenched her jaw and shook her head, suspecting that was exactly what had happened. The not-so-noble McTiernay soldier had been toying with her and now expected to have a conversation.
“Arrogant goat,” she muttered, uncaring if he heard. When he did not respond, Adanel shouted, “If you knew I was here, then why did you not leave?” She paused, hoping to hear him beg his pardon or at the very least the sounds of him swimming back to his side of the loch.
“I thought you might be as curious as I am as to who else visits this remote place for a swim.”
Adanel could hear the smirk on his face in his aggravatingly chipper tone. “I think my hiding makes it more than obvious I am not curious about you at all and prefer to bathe alone.”
“Ah, but I caught you staring.”
“If you had truly seen me, you would know that I was not staring as you put it, but merely shocked at your unexpected arrival. If I had been looking in your direction, it was just to see who was behind my bad luck of having a lovely afternoon ruined.” It was a complete fabrication. She had been staring and she had been curious, but she had not wanted to meet him. Adanel prayed that he took her strongly worded hint to quickly decide to leave.
* * *
A satisfied smile curved Dugan’s lips. His ruadh had spirit. As a commander of the Torridon McTiernays, he found that women usually either fawned all over him, eager to agree to anything he said or suggested, or cowered from him, afraid to learn if all the stories their m
other had told them about the battle-worn soldier were true. Most were.
Nearly six years ago, when he had first come to these harsh lands, he had been the leader of a small but deadly group of soldiers who had made a name for themselves fighting in the war for Scotland’s freedom. Known for his congenial temperament and deadly arm, Dugan had been one of two possibilities as a potential laird of the lands south of Loch Torridon. Many of the small clans that had littered the area had lost their lairds in battles against the English. The resulting lawlessness had made their small numbers even smaller. Without leadership, they had become nomadic, scavenging cattle and whatever else they could carry, creating problems for the larger clans in the area.
Someone had needed to take control and Dugan was seen as a neutral choice. He was affable, trusted by the local clansmen, wicked with a sword, and most of all—someone whom each nearby powerful laird thought he could manipulate. In the end, however, he had lacked one very important thing, an army.
Dugan had led a small group, but did not have either the financial means or the men Cole McTiernay had. Unsurprisingly, none of the larger clans wanted to shift a significant amount of their men and funds to an unproven leader. Still, they liked him and used their influence to press Cole into naming Dugan as one of his commanders.
Dugan had grudgingly accepted, believing the position was nothing but a temporary consolation prize and that either he or Cole would quickly decide he should move on. But it was not long before he realized that the older lairds had been correct in the decision to choose Cole over him, with or without an army. Leading a band of soldiers was considerably different than overseeing a clan, something Cole had experience doing during the times his eldest brother Conor, the McTiernay chief, traveled.
As weeks turned into months, Dugan had been surprised to find how much he grew to respect the often surly McTiernay as well as his other two commanders. Donald, Cole’s best friend and someone he had known and fought alongside for years, had been named the commander of his elite guard. Jaime Ruadh, another McTiernay with whom Cole had a long history, had been placed in charge of Cole’s sizable army, making it one of the largest and most fearsome in the Highlands. Dugan had been given the unusual role of liaison between Cole—who was merely rude on his good days—and the rest of the clan.
At first, Dugan had thought the position ludicrous, created in name only as an appeasement for not being named laird. But it was not long before he understood just how important liaison duties were to not just Cole, but to the motley clan as a whole. Outside of the soldiers, if someone had an issue, problem, question, or need, they came to him. His lack of leadership experience had meant he made mistakes, but Cole had proven to be an excellent laird and eventual friend, standing by him and providing input only when needed or asked. Now, years later, Dugan possessed the confidence he once lacked. And hearing this redhead admonish him, he was once again reminded of another reason why he stayed as McTiernay commander—he loved the perks, especially when it came to women. They loved him and he had done his best to make them all feel loved in return.
After six years of riding these hills and visiting the McTiernay farms that spotted the valley near this area, he had thought to have met all the pretty women under his purview. Most—married or not—had made it their mission to meet him. He could not count how many mothers had paraded their daughters in front of him in the hopes that she would be the one to convince him to settle down and make a binding commitment. As a result, Dugan would have wagered there was not a woman around whom he had not met. It certainly had been a long time since he had seen a fresh face. But he had definitely spied one today.
It was rare he got the impulse to make the winding journey up to the little, abandoned loch, but this afternoon he had wanted assurance that he would not be disturbed.
Twice a month, he ventured out to Cole’s eastern border to check on the welfare of those who did not want the shelter of the clan’s castle stronghold, Fàire Creachann. For the most part, his trips were uneventful. The MacCoinniches were the only nearby clan with any power and size. They were not enemies nor allies; however, both used each other’s lands regularly to travel to other Highland regions. Hamish journeyed through their territory to reach his northern home, and unless MacCoinniches wanted to add several days to venture anyplace south of their lands, they had to travel through lands belonging to Conor McTiernay or Rae Schellden, both a close friend and ally of the McTiernays.The three chiefs held a mutually beneficial agreement that extended no further than the free, unhampered use of each other’s lands. All knew not to take advantage and no one did.
The only clan that ever gave Cole McTiernay any problems was the Mackbaythes, a tiny clan whose petty laird promoted bullying tactics. They held a wide strip of land that went from the rocky peak of Sgorr Ruadh to the eastern bay of Upper Loch Torridon. The clan would be completely inconsequential except that at its heart was one of the best located ports along Scotland’s northwestern shores, Bàgh Fìon.
The Mackbaythe army was small and inadequate, but the clan’s power-hungry laird had arranged a strategic marriage in his youth with the MacLeods, a large and very powerful northern seafaring clan. Then, he had established some unknown arrangement with the MacCoinniches allowing them wide use of the port. The combination made the abhorrent laird think he was untouchable and he often liked to strike out against the more vulnerable McTiernay farmers. Cole had decided that the McTiernays were not going to start a war over the loss of a handful of cattle or farm animals each year, no matter how annoying the constant thievery was. Having been in war and knowing its nightmares, Dugan knew Cole was right and, though aggravating, agreed with his decision. Today, however, Dugan had almost changed his mind.
The weather for most of his journey had been wet, windy, and overall unpleasant. His mood, already sour, had deteriorated more so when he had arrived at a farm just in time to catch a Mackbaythe thief in the act. To the outrage of the injured McTiernay farmer, Dugan had let the culprit go, though he had truly given him a fright about ever returning. Then, he had helped the farmer retrieve his livestock to hopefully prevent any retaliation, and in doing so had become particularly filthy.
He finally had left and was on his way to the Allt Bealch Ban River to bathe, when the Finn brothers, Finlay and Finley, had intercepted him and ignored his glaring looks. Both pummeled him with trivial complaints about the trials of living near the border where it was difficult to grow things and hard to survive. After explaining that he could do nothing about the soil, the weather, or their choice of living where there was a lack of protection, Dugan no longer wanted to just bathe; he needed several hours alone. So he had ridden up to the small loch for as it was not easy to reach, it would assuredly be deserted. The peace and quiet would enable him to relax before heading back home.
The loch had not yet been in sight when Dugan first heard the soft murmurs of a woman humming. The melody had a haunting quality and for a moment he had been transfixed by the sound. Intrigued, he had slipped off his horse and snuck up to see just who was enjoying the frigid waters that kept most away.
Loch Coire Fionnaraich was not only hard to get to, it was cold, even in the summer. There were many other more easily accessible and far warmer lochs and rivers to bathe or wash clothes, which is why he normally chose them when in the area. But days like today, he preferred the little loch because its promise of solitude. Not once in six years had he ever seen any evidence that anyone else ever visited his secret retreat.
The moment he spied the redheaded woman Dugan had been riveted. She had been facing away from him with just her bare shoulders out of the water, but it was enough for him to see that she swam as he did—in the nude. It was also enough to confirm that the melodic sounds were made not by an innocent female just outside her youth, but by a woman who looked nearer to his age. That meant she was either married or incredibly homely in either behavior or in the face. Dugan had only two rules when it came to sex and women, and dallying with a mar
ried woman broke one of them.
Her humming had caught his ear again as if to remind him that looking did not break either of his rules. So he had and soon afterward cursed himself for doing so.
The woman was breathtakingly beautiful. Tangled waves of copper-colored hair cascaded down her back and floated all around her in the water. He had never seen anything like it. The confused mass encompassed every shade of red from darkest to lightest, made even more vibrant by the pale cream color of her skin. He longed to run his fingers through the fiery locks and have them wrap around his arms and ever-hardening body. If such perfection was as soft as it looked, he would be an addict to its effects.
He had almost gathered enough willpower to break his stare and return to his mount when she had risen out of the water and turned just enough so that he could see the silhouette of her curvaceous form. He knew instantly that, married or not, she was not a mother. Her perky breasts confirmed her tight stomach had yet to birth any babes. Once again, Dugan had to remind himself that there was no way such perfection had not already been claimed by some man and forced himself to look away.
With a sigh of regret, Dugan had slunk unnoticed back to his horse and mounted, feeling his temporarily forgotten headache return in full force. He had headed back down the mountain unable to control his wandering thoughts. Was her demeanor as fiery as the color of her hair? Or was she the type to yield and cower when confronted? Were her eyes blue like the sky? Or were they as green as grass? Perhaps they were dark with promises of unforetold pleasures. Was she playful or sharp? Intelligent and amusing, or dull and dim-witted?
Dugan had tried unsuccessfully to force his body to relax and answer each question with the negative. But it had been months since he had been with a woman. Every eligible McTiernay female who met his criteria he had met long ago. It had not taken long for him to lose interest in those who had initially captured his attention, usually because they had nothing in common. Since then, Dugan had only sought relationships with women who knew how to pleasure a man as well as refrain from excessive talking. Unfortunately, his latest “regular” had come to believe that the longevity of their relationship meant more than it did and he had yet to find a replacement. He had been surprised by her demands, thinking his reputation as a bachelor had been thoroughly rooted. Dugan was never going to commit to anyone—ever.
How to Marry a Highlander Page 2