by Nicole Locke
She couldn’t stop staring at him. She seemed uncontrollably fascinated by the width of his shoulders, the broadness of his chest and his earned injuries, both past and present. But those weren’t what held her eyes, or made her toes curl. It was remembering how his body had felt against hers at the river and what happened afterwards...what would have happened—
‘I thought you’d be different,’ she said, trying to mask her erratic feelings.
He raised an eyebrow.
She kicked herself on her choice of words. ‘We’re sitting when the jewel’s out there. I thought you’d be more impatient.’
‘I’d thought that, too,’ he said. But he didn’t elaborate. Instead, his eyes were doing that searching thing again. The look he gave when he thought more than he said.
‘Tell me of your family,’ he said.
‘My family?’ she asked, surprised at the subject when there had never been anything but animosity between their families. ‘Why, when you’re soon to meet them? We should think about how we’ll capture the jewel.’
He shrugged.
She sighed exaggeratedly. ‘This journey has only been about the jewel. I do not ken why we talk of something else. It’s sudden.’
‘I’m curious.’
It was her turn to lift a brow.
Tension thrummed through him and she could feel him waiting for her to talk, but he hadn’t answered her last question.
‘The jewel is important...’ he began, looking at her with dissatisfaction for making him talk. ‘But other things are as well.’
She waited, but he didn’t tell her what other things were important and she knew he’d keep his silence.
Sighing in defeat, she said, ‘I live with two sisters and my mother.’
‘And Ailbert?’ he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
‘He was the eldest,’ she said. ‘I was born just after him.’
‘Twins.’
She looked startled. ‘I’m a girl.’
‘It can happen. Like the Grahams. Did you look alike?’
It hurt to think of her brother. Her brother, with the dark eyes and curly hair. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘We did, although he could eat without it doing him any harm.’
Caird huffed.
It sounded like he was disagreeing, but she couldn’t guess with what. ‘My father died when we were young. Losing him was hard on Ailbert and my mother never quite recovered.’
He tilted his head, his eyes telling her he was waiting for something.
More answers, no doubt, but she didn’t know what to say about her family.
‘Who taught you to use your elbows and fists?’ he asked.
‘Ailbert.’ She felt lightened by that question. Her fighting was a happy memory of her brother. ‘I didn’t want him to be the only one to protect our family.’
He frowned. ‘He didn’t teach your sisters?’
She shook her head. ‘My sisters were too young when Father died.’ She could barely remember her father, but she remembered the grief. Her mother’s collapse. Ailbert’s increasing recklessness.
How quickly this conversation turned to pain and how much she wanted to avoid it. Too many times, Ailbert gambled, took risks and harmed the family. Yet, with the last risk Ailbert had taken it was she who had irreparably broken the family.
Her heart clenched, suddenly, violently. Grief reminding her of its presence. It was dangerous talking of her family and she didn’t know why she told Caird anything. No doubt his silences encouraged people to talk.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, ‘Who do you have beside Malcolm?’
He opened his mouth, closed it and gave a slight shake of his head.
‘Secrets?’ she said.
‘You will not like it.’ Holding up the snares, he said, ‘We need to set them.’
They rose together, his protection of his injuries putting them in too-close proximity. One step and she’d be against him.
From the look in his eyes, he’d noticed their closeness. The gown she wore covered her, but it was still torn at the top and only held together by her hasty tucking.
‘I have an older brother.’ His eyes travelled from her cheekbones, down her neck to the fine bones across her shoulders. It was indecent that they were bared to him, but even if covered, she knew she would have felt his gaze. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t felt this way around him. He was altogether too much there.
Taking a step back, Mairead tried to remember the conversation. Families.
She thought of Malcolm as she had first seen him. Emerging from the room with a wide smile and jests. ‘What is this other brother like?’
Looking for animal trails, Caird walked towards the trees. When he found one, he stopped. He carried the snares, but she’d have to set them. He risked injury just by walking, but he refused to rest.
Bending a sapling over, he tied a part of the snare to it. ‘You’ll need to anchor this to the ground with a stick.’
She took the snare, bent the sapling even further and secured it.
When she was done, Caird, with uneven gait, walked further down the trail. She followed until he found another spot and stopped. ‘My other brother,’ he said, ‘his name is Bram.’
She’d asked what the brother was like, not his name. It wouldn’t matter what his name was unless—
‘Bram?’ she asked, kneeling down, feeling a cold dread in her stomach. There was no sapling this time, so she pounded a thick branch into the earth and covered the base with leaves before holding out her hand for a snare. ‘That name’s significant.’
‘Aye,’ he replied, his movements slow as he handed her another trap.
He was hurting, but from his confident tone she knew he was also smirking. She was afraid she knew the reason why. ‘Is it the same Bram?’ she asked, tying the snare to the branch. It wasn’t easy because, trembling, she suddenly felt caught in a trap.
‘He’s laird, Mairead. My brother is laird.’
They were the ruling Colquhouns. She should have known, should have guessed. She had heard of the Colquhoun laird. Bram was rumoured to be diplomatic, but absolutely ruthless. And the man had two brothers...
How could she have missed it when every arrogant, autocratic order Caird gave indicated exactly who he was.
‘You are surprised?’ he asked.
Standing, she gave a quick shake of her head. She didn’t feel surprised. She felt foolish. She had been so blind in all of this. Trying to sell the dagger and entering the wrong room at the inn. How many mistakes did she have to make?
‘I had two sisters.’ He continued walking, turning right to find different trails. ‘The youngest died in April.’
Mairead almost stumbled. Still following him, she couldn’t see his face, but she heard the pain in his voice. Caird adding to the conversation was unexpected. But what was more unexpected was that he mentioned something that obviously hurt him. There was now a slight stiffening to Caird’s shoulders. She didn’t know if it was regret that he’d told her or if it was grief.
Mairead now had questions. If his sister had died in April, it could have something to do with the English. But as much as she despised the English, she understood grief and pain more.
‘The sister, who is having these wedding celebrations, is she fierce?
He hesitated slightly before he answered, ‘Very.’
What else could she be? ‘With red hair?’
‘Like a poppy with freckles.’
Mairead could see the tension ease from Caird’s shoulders; she also heard the surprise in his voice. Suspicion instantly laced her stomach as she realised Caird was watching her again. Had Caird shared something of his family because he’d read her feelings of unease so clearly?
‘What a
bout your sisters?’ he asked, heading around some grouse. She looked at the yellow of the flowers and was reminded of the colour of the other gown. She doubted she had looked any better in it than the straggling shrub.
He wanted to talk of her sisters. It was a familiar conversation. On Buchanan land, her sisters were famous and not for making mistakes. In appearance and temper, they were as opposite from her as possible.
‘They are my sisters. They giggle.’
‘Descriptive,’ he murmured, his hand drifting to his injury before he lowered it.
‘You’re hurting,’ she said. ‘We should return, you need to rest. What if you collapse on me?’
‘I need food,’ he replied, pointing to another spot. ‘And you’re changing the subject of your sisters.’
She didn’t feel like describing her sisters to him. They could flirt and fit in gowns properly. ‘I doona think you should be complaining of my conversational skills.’
‘I’m not,’ he replied, but his look implied he wanted to hear more.
Of course, her lack of description intrigued him. As if they needed any extra endowment. She grabbed another snare and set to work.
‘Their hair’s lighter than mine and straighter,’ she said grudgingly. She couldn’t lie to him; he’d soon see for himself, but that didn’t mean she was telling him everything.
‘That’s not what I’m curious about,’ he said.
He wanted more than their hair colour? She’d heard her sisters described often enough. Entire poems were dedicated to them. ‘Their golden hair cascades down their back like sunshine,’ she mimicked, pounding a stake into the ground with a rock. ‘Their eyes are like cloudless summer skies and their lips? The ripest of berries.’
‘Hmmm,’ he answered. ‘What of their manners?’
She fumbled with the snare, almost tearing the stalk. ‘Dainty and refined.’
‘Their laughter?’
She concentrated on connecting the stalk to the stake. ‘Like heavenly bells.’
‘Are their feet like flower petals?’ he added.
‘As a matter of fact—’ She quickly stepped away from the trap, so as not to make it completely useless. ‘I’ll not describe them any more to the likes of you.’
‘But I’m still a wee bit curious,’ he said.
Caird knew he was more than curious. This was a Mairead he hadn’t seen before. Her chin jutted out just so; her cheeks were flushed from the walk and from her annoyance. She was ireful and all too tempting.
He knew what she felt like, what her lips tasted like and he wanted more. Much more. He took a step closer to her. ‘Aren’t you asking whom I’m curious about?’
‘Nae,’ she answered primly.
Caird chuckled, which earned a scathing look from her.
She was jealous of her sisters’ beauty, though he felt no interest in them at all.
Not when Mairead showed honour and bravery. Not when he wanted to laugh and kiss her. Not when he was ensnared by her hair, and the scathing look in her dark eyes. If it wasn’t for the danger they were in and Malcolm’s grief, he’d be on his knees before her, begging her, he’d—
He shook his head. Fanciful thoughts. Changing thoughts. He’d said they were different together, but until that moment, he hadn’t realised how different.
She stood before him with her hands on her hips and he didn’t care how much conflict was still between them. He wanted her.
Mairead couldn’t move. Not when Caird stepped closer. Not when her annoyance and anger kept her stubbornly still, and certainly not the moment Caird touched her cheek.
Then Caird crooked his finger under her jaw and lifted her lips to his. His kiss was nothing more than the feel and heat of his body against hers. It was slow and gentle, though she could feel his desire for more. She wanted more. Wanted to press against him, to wind her hands around his neck and pull him tighter against her.
But Caird never moved his fingers from her chin, never increased his kiss. Instead, he pulled away and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
‘Ah, Mairead,’ he whispered, his eyes warm.
The kiss wasn’t just a need to bed her. Caird kissed her as if he cared.
The anger and annoyance that had kept her feet firm to the ground flared and propelled her away from him. The feeling increased until her hands fisted at her sides and she stood almost on her toes.
She didn’t want gentleness. Didn’t deserve caring. She wanted this nightmare over.
‘Never do that again, Colquhoun.’ She spun on her heel to return to the fire.
Chapter Twenty-One
Caird strained his eyes to look further into the darkening sky. They rode steadily and had travelled all day, but manoeuvring the horse was difficult since the Englishman had taken the bridle. Now night was upon them and they still had not found a village or the Englishman. They moved too slowly and it was taking too long.
Mairead’s lies had bought them time. But he wasn’t even sure they went in the right direction, and he could find no tracks to follow.
As if to make the horse go faster or maybe because she was still angered, Mairead leaned forward.
Yesterday, describing her sisters had hurt her. He couldn’t help but kiss her, to let her know her beauty far surpassed anything she described.
Her response hadn’t been what he expected. He’d still been reeling from her anger when she stormed off. So he didn’t return to camp, but went in the opposite direction and waited until the traps worked. Catching and skinning the hares had given him something to do with his hands, but eventually he’d returned to the fire.
By then hours had passed and she was still angry with him.
When he put the hares on the fire, she had only wanted to talk of the jewel. No family, no sisters, no confessions. Just anger. Just the jewel. It had to be her anger that faulted her mind. For when she’d told him her irrational plan to recapture the jewel, he’d become angry.
‘We’ll have to stop or risk this horse,’ he said. With the hills and the light, it was getting foolish for them to keep travelling.
‘Can we walk?’ She turned, her hands gripping his thigh. From the look in her eye, he knew she focused only on gaining the ground they’d lost. She didn’t know what her body did to him, or where she gripped his thigh. But he did.
‘Aye.’ He stopped the horse. With the moon full, they could make another mile or so. It wasn’t time for them to stop. He wasn’t hungry...at least not for food.
She accepted his assistance and, with his hands on her waist, he was rewarded with a brief feel of her body.
It did nothing to relieve his wanting.
‘With our noise. We’ll nae catch him like this, you ken?’ he said.
‘I’ll take the horse to keep your hands free in case we do.’
Caird grunted, but he moved away from the horse. His gait was the only indication his injury pained him.
‘How is your side?’ She lightly gripped the horse’s mane.
Caird shrugged.
She was getting used to his silences. Knowing the way to understand him in any conversation was to look at him.
The dimming light created shadows which covered and revealed the rugged planes of his face. She remembered that first night at the inn. Then, the dim light could not hide his comeliness, but now—
Now, she knew what colour his eyes were, how they stormed and swirled from grey to green when he looked at her. She knew what his lips felt like against hers. How his kisses could punish or coax.
She should be thinking of catching her brother’s killer, or of her family on the cusp of banishment.
But the end of the day was too still, she could see nothing of her brother’s murderer and Caird was walking by her side, silent, strong and purposeful. Ignoring him was li
ke trying to avoid a mountain that needed crossing. He was just there.
‘Have you thought of another plan for the jewel?’ she asked.
‘’Tis nae plan,’ he answered, his voice tight. ‘A plan needs facts and strategy. Your notion has none of those.’
Caird hadn’t liked her idea and still didn’t like it. But she didn’t expect an overbearing rule-orientated Colquhoun to agree with a Buchanan.
‘If you cannot think of another way to capture the jewel, we’ll have to use mine.’
He remained silent.
‘It’ll work. He knows our clans argue, so he wouldn’t expect us to co-operate. He thinks you’re dead, so he won’t expect you to sneak up on him.’
‘We doona know how we’ll find him.’
‘The plan will work in any situation. A field, a village street, an...an inn.’
‘And leave you exposed in front of a madman before I come up from behind?’
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
‘Never,’ he said. The same word he had used the last time she’d suggested this.
She understood his reluctance; she had the same unease. If Caird couldn’t get to her in time, or if he died, she’d be standing before the Englishman, whose only thought would be to kill her.
No, she wouldn’t be in the Englishman’s thoughts. Now that she’d met him, she knew killing her would be of little consequence to him.
How different her regard of her brother’s murderer from just a few days ago. Before when she’d crept into the inn to retrieve the dagger, she hadn’t been thinking. Grief and anger had fuelled her, but now she knew what she faced: the Englishman’s empty eyes, his lustful pleasure at acquiring the jewel. Now, he terrified her.
‘Stop,’ Caird whispered and pointed to the trees ahead.
Mairead tightened her hand on the horse as Caird walked towards the trees. She saw nothing, heard nothing, but she didn’t know what to listen for. A sword removed from a sheath? Soft footsteps sneaking about in the dark?
Caird waved her forward, but did not change his position from the trees. Walking ahead, she stumbled sharply and the horse butted her with its side. Quickly sidestepping its hooves, she got behind Caird as they walked through the shallow line of trees. They quickly reached the clearing on the other side and she breathed a sigh of relief.