by Pamela Clare
It had been his father’s dream to see his sons turn the farm into a new homeland for the MacKinnon Clan. Instead, Iain had overseen its demise and the besmirching of the MacKinnon name.
Nothing to offer a woman.
He glanced down at Annie again, and he wondered what kind of life awaited her now. Her kin had been slain, her home destroyed. Where would she go? Who would provide for her? Who would protect her?
The only thing Iain knew for certain is that it could not be him.
And that’s why you need to keep your breeches tied and your hands to yourself, you randy bastard.
He glanced over his shoulder at the eastern horizon, saw the faintest hint of dawn.
’Twas time.
He pulled in the oars, sat beside her, drew her into his arms.
Annie was so tired. Someone was trying to wake her. But her entire body ached, and she needed so desperately to sleep. She let herself sink deeper into darkness and dreams.
And it was a good dream. A man was kissing her, his lips full and hot against hers. He kissed her gently at first, brushing his lips over hers as if to tease her. Then he took her mouth with his, and pulled her against him.
Her lips tingled, and she found herself kissing him back, wanting more, reaching for him.
“Oh, Annie, I knew you would taste sweet.”
It was the Highlander. Major MacKinnon. Iain. He was kissing her, and she wanted him to keep kissing her. ’Twas, after all, only a dream.
His mouth closed over hers again, and his tongue traced the line of her lips, parted them, and thrust—
Annie’s eyes flew open, and she might have screamed had her tongue not been entwined with his. She meant to push him away, to slap him soundly, but her arms were already wrapped around his neck, her fingers clutched in his hair.
’Twas he who ended the kiss.
He clamped a hand over her mouth, held a finger to his lips. Even in the darkness she could see the intensity of his gaze.
She heard the gentle lapping of water, felt a rocking beneath her, and remembered.
The boat. The lake. The attack.
Her heart, already racing, lurched in her breast.
He leaned close, whispered in her ear. “’Tis almost dawn. We must go ashore and hide the boat. We are goin’ in blind, wi’ no idea who might be encamped there. Be silent. Do exactly as I tell you, aye?”
She nodded.
“Sit up. Keep a sharp eye. Listen. But no matter what, dinnae make a sound.” He released her, then moving silently, he sat back on the bench and slipped the oars quietly into the water.
Her outrage at his boldness momentarily forgotten, Annie slowly sat, peered forward into the inky blackness, but saw nothing beyond the prow. How did he know where they were or which direction to row? The stars perhaps? But stars could not help him see sharp rocks or know where it was safe to land. What if he rowed straight up to an Indian encampment or blundered into a pack of wolves?
She glanced back at him, saw a look of concentration on his face, his brow furrowed. He was listening. And so she listened, too.
At first all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. But then, gradually, the night revealed itself.
The whisper of oars in water.
The hoot of an owl.
A creaking sound.
The lapping of water against . . . something. Was that the shore?
She looked up at Iain, realized he’d heard it, too. He pulled the oars in, let the boat glide, his gaze focused straight ahead.
And then out of the darkness—a cough.
Annie gasped. The cough sounded as if someone were standing just beyond the prow.
The boat jerked backward, Iain already rowing away fast and hard.
One stroke. Two. Three.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” An angry whisper.
And she knew. With her gasp, she’d given them away.
Chapter 6
Her blood froze. Unable to move, unable to breathe, she sat and listened as another voice joined the first. She did not speak French, did not understand them, but she knew they’d heard her.
Gradually the whispers faded, and Annie let out a shaky breath.
And then a light pierced the darkness. It came from where they had been moments ago, and it revealed the figure of a man standing not on the shore, but on the deck of a large ship. He wore a French uniform and held up a lantern.
Iain whispered in her ear. “Easy, lass. He’s a fool. He cannae see us wi’ that light blindin’ his eyes.”
Annie turned and glanced at Iain’s face, saw there a look of determination, not the fear that assailed her. How could he remain so calm? Did nothing frighten him? They had almost collided with a French ship.
Mercy!
Trembling, she huddled deeper into his coat, the darkness pressing in on her with dangers she could not see. She’d known the frontier was perilous, but she’d no idea how brutal or dangerous until yesterday. How did the common people endure this constant fear, this constant peril? She supposed most faced each day as it came, did what they had to do to stay alive.
And so must she.
Lulled by the rocking of the boat and the renewed silence, she felt her fear began to lessen and found herself remembering her dream. Only it hadn’t been a dream. It had been real. Iain MacKinnon had taken her into his arms while she lay sleeping and had kissed her.
He had kissed her.
What was she to think of that? He had saved her life, but did he now expect to profit from it? Was he the sort of man to demand payment in kind for helping a woman in need? Her uncle had been that sort of man.
Well, she would not trade her virtue for safety. She would rather be left out here alone in the wild than made to serve a man’s lust. And as soon as it was safe for her to confront him, she’d tell him just what she thought of his actions. It had not been proper of him. It had not been right. It had not been honorable.
It had been . . . astonishing.
Annie had never been kissed before. She hadn’t imagined it could be so . . . stirring. She found herself touching her own lips, remembering the way they’d seemed to burn and tingle when pressed against his. She remembered more: the rasp of his beard against her skin, the velvet glide of his tongue against hers, the way her very blood had seemed to quicken.
Her gaze was drawn to his face.
He was watching the faint glow on the eastern horizon.
And she understood. If the sun rose while they were still on the lake, the men on the ship would spot them.
His muscles aching with fatigue, Iain rowed harder. Dawn was but moments away, and then they would be visible. They were nearing the other shore now. He’d planned to cross the lake and camp on the western side. It would have put the lake between them and that Abenaki war party—not an insurmountable barrier, as the Abenaki probably had canoes somewhere, but enough to slow them down.
Of course, the Abenaki had no idea whether he’d crossed over or not—that was part of the reason for traveling by night. But if he didn’t get this boat to shore before the first rays of light hit the lake, anyone who was watching would be able to see them. That included not only the war party, but also the French on that ship and anyone else with a view of the water.
Annie sat stiff-backed, her eyes searching the darkness, his overcoat bundled around her. Her surprised gasp had nearly given them away. ’Twould have earnt any Ranger a stiff punishment. But she was not a Ranger, and he had no desire to punish her. He’d much rather go back to kissing her. Still, he would have to do something.
He’d tried to wake her with words and a gentle shake, but she’d been so deeply asleep she hadn’t responded. And so he’d done what he’d been thinking of doing all night—he’d kissed her. He’d meant to take just a taste, but he’d found her too sweet to resist and had taken more. And although his kiss at first had not roused her, it had certainly aroused her.
Her lips had grown warm and pliant, and she’d begun to kiss him back, ar
ching softly into him, meeting his mouth with hers.’Twas clear kissing was new to her, but still he’d been taken aback by her responsiveness. If she was that passionate in her sleep, what would she be like in the heat of desire?
Mother of God, he couldn’t afford to think about that, especially not now. He’d been a witless idiot to kiss her. He had at least one more day alone with her in the wild and would pay a cruel price if he woke in himself a hunger that could not be sated.
Ahead in the distance he heard the lapping of water against shoreline.
“Quiet, lass. No’ a sound.”
She nodded, determination and fear playing across her face.
Already there was enough light that he could see the water’s edge and the dark shapes of trees beyond it. Against that backdrop, something moved.
He drew in the oars, lifted his rifle, cocked it. Then he let out a breath of relief. Five does had come down to the water’s edge to drink. There were no war parties encamped here.
Annie watched as he tied off the boat, then came back for her. He set her down at the base of a tall cedar and strode back to the boat. Then he reached over the bow and, as the first rays of light hit the lake, slowly dragged the little craft into the shadows.
By the time he’d concealed the boat, Annie was aching for breakfast. She hadn’t eaten since the night before the attack. But if she’d expected him to unpack a cook pot and boil them some creamy porridge and perhaps a blessed cup of tea, she was mistaken. Rather than unpacking, he put on his snowshoes, picked up his gear, and trudged over to her.
“Put this on.” He dropped his tumpline pack with its heavy broadsword behind her.
Though she’d never worn a tumpline before, she’d seen Master Hawes do so. She took the thick, beaded band and drew it over her head. But it had been made for shoulders much broader than her own and fell to her waist.
“Like this.” He bent down and lifted the band over one shoulder so that it stretched diagonally across her chest from shoulder to hip. Then he adjusted the heavy bundle at her back and took her hands. “Can you stand?”
Confused as to why she was carrying his heavy gear while he carried nothing, she accepted his hands, gritted her teeth, and let him pull her to her feet. The pain was terrible, and she bit back a moan. “I’m sorry . . . but I fear I cannae walk.”
“I dinnae mean for you to walk. Stand but a blink.” He turned his back to her, then knelt down. “Wrap your arms around my neck, lass.”
He meant to bear her again.
She bent down, slipped her arms around him, felt him begin to stand.
Then, all at once, he reached down and scooped his arms beneath her knees and lifted her until her thighs wrapped around his hips. ’Twas awkward and more than a wee bit embarrassing to be pressed up against him like this, her gown hitched almost up to her hips, her legs embracing him thus. Was this how he’d carried her before?
“Mercy!”
He chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. “Hold on tight.”
“Are we no’ goin’ to make camp?”
“Aye, but no’ so near the water.” With no further explanation, he turned away from the lake and began to hike uphill, leaving the boat behind.
He did not seem hindered by her weight on his back, but moved almost silently, picking a clean path up the hillside, his gaze focused ahead. His breathing was slow, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her palms.
Pressed so close like this, she could feel the hard planes and valleys of his muscles bunching and shifting as he walked. It seemed so intimate to feel the workings of his body, to be pressed against the heat of his skin, to be wrapped around him. He smelled of pine, leather, and sweat, a strangely pleasing combination. And though she labored not at all, she found her own heart beating faster.
Why had he kissed her? Would he try to do it again?
She must not let him. She’d lost everything to protect her virtue. Now it was all she had. She would not trade it to some barbarian Highlander for his protection.
But more than that, she could not chance his finding her brand and turning her over to the sheriff. She had a chance at a new life now. ’Twas nothing like the life she’d lost, but at least she was free. She would not risk her freedom for anything.
The sun was well up by the time he stopped, lowered her to the ground, and took his gear from her shoulders. They had come to a sheltered clearing near the top of a hill. On one side stood an outcropping of rocks, on the other a steep ravine. To the east below them stretched an immense forest. Downhill through the trees to the west was the lake, its surface glittering in the sunlight.
She watched, fascinated, as he quickly cut branches from nearby trees with his hatchet and used them to create a wee lean-to, in which he laid a pallet of pine boughs. Then he pulled out his water skin, drank deeply, and handed the skin to her.
The water was icy cold and tasted strange.
He grinned. “Ginger root. It helps to ward off scurvy.”
At the mention of scurvy—perhaps the water was to blame—her stomach growled so loudly that had an enemy been near it would have given them away. Annie pressed a hand to her belly, felt her cheeks flush crimson.
He reached inside his pack and tossed a leather pouch into her lap. “Take as much as can fill your hand, chew it, and swallow it with water. It will swell in your belly and make you feel less hungry. I’m going to have a look at that ship.”
She opened the pouch, saw only parched cornmeal inside. Ravenous, she took a handful and put it in her mouth. ’Twas not unlike eating . . . sand. She ground the dry, crushed kernels between her teeth, then washed them down her throat. This was breakfast?
She tried not to think of eggs, bacon, and bread with butter. Or bowls of thick porridge. Or pots of hot tea with milk and honey. Or clotted cream. Or fresh strawberries. Or any of the things she’d been accustomed to eat for breakfast in Scotland.
She tried—and failed.
When she finished, she found Iain lying on his belly a few feet away and looking through a spying glass to the lake beyond. For a moment he was silent, training the glass this way and that. Then he spoke. “Come, lass. I want you to see this.”
She crawled on her hands and knees to where he lay. She’d never used a spying glass before, and he had to show her.
“No, the other way. That’s it. Do you see them?”
Amazed, she found herself staring at the surface of the water far below as if it were just before her. She shifted the glass but a little and found herself staring at the opposite shore. If she moved it again, she could see where they’d come ashore far below. “See who?”
“Here, let me.” Iain put his arm around her to hold the glass, pressed his beard-roughened cheek to hers, guided the glass for her.
And then she saw.
Not just one French ship, but four.
Annie nearly let the spying glass slip from her fingers, the danger they’d been in suddenly horrifyingly clear to her. For a moment she could say nothing. “What would they have done to us?”
He took the glass from her hands. “If they didna shoot us outright, they’d have taken us prisoner and interrogated us both. If their captain were an honorable man, he’d have protected you from his men until you could be traded back to the redcoats for a French prisoner. If no’, I suspect they’d have passed you around like a flask of rum. After that, lass, I dinnae think it would much have mattered.”
A wave of nausea rolled through her belly, and she wondered what kind of man this Highlander was that he could speak of such horrors so calmly. “What would they have done wi’ you?”
“They’d have tried to break me, to pry secrets from my mind. Then they’d have given me to the Abenaki, who would have tortured me to death wi’ great delight and merriment.”
The images his words conjured sickened her, and it pained her to think she’d come close to repaying his kindness with such suffering and horror. “I’m sorry, Iain. In my foolishness, I almost cost you your
life.”
He held the glass to his eye once more. When he lowered it, his blue eyes were hard, his voice cold. “If you were a Ranger, you’d be punished. You could have cost us both our lives. But you are no’ a Ranger, nor even a soldier, nor are you used to livin’ on the frontier.”
A frisson of fear shot through her. “Wh-what will you do?”
“I’ve a mind to take a strap to your backside, Annie Burns.”
Annie was too infuriated to speak. Take a strap to her backside like Mistress Hawes? She was not a child. Nor was she his to do with as he saw fit. She hadn’t yet found her tongue when he took her chin between his fingers.
There was no mistaking the threatening edge in his voice. “Hear me, lass. I risked more than you ken to save your life. If you wish to get out of this alive, you will obey me! You will do exactly as I say at all times. Rarely does the frontier give second chances.”
Leaning so close to her, Iain was strangely tempted to seal his rebuke with a kiss. The taste of her was yet on his tongue, and he could still feel the soft surrender of her lips beneath his. But their plight was grave, and he could not afford to think with his cock. He released her.
He could see she was furious with him—and more than a little afraid. Good. If he frightened her now, it might well save both their lives later.
She lifted her chin, fear in her eyes. “’Twas no’ my intent to disobey you. I was startled. I am truly sorry. You saved my life more than once, and I would rather you’d never found me than see you suffer on my account. I will obey you in all things—save one.”
Her last words took him by surprise. He thought he’d made himself clear. “And what would that be?”
She took a breath as if to steady herself, then looked him straight in the eye. “I willna trade my virtue for survival. If that is the price for your aid and protection, then I ask you to leave me here.”