At the same time, they seemed immensely loyal to each other, for they scouted together every day, and Darach did appear to be protective of Logan.
Although, from her vantage point, Logan was hardly in need of anyone’s protection. He was a highly skilled and formidable warrior all on his own. She knew this because when they stopped for lunch at the river, Logan ate quickly, then politely excused himself to practice swordplay on a flat patch of grass a short distance away.
While Larena removed her stockings and dipped her feet into the fast-flowing water to cool them, she couldn’t help but watch Logan move through the exercises with tremendous strength, speed, and agility.
Of course, there was no opponent taking part in the exercise, but Logan was clearly well trained in the arts of hand-to-hand combat, and if there had been an opponent, she suspected he would have been quite thoroughly bested.
Logan’s footwork was sublime. He was fit, trim, and lean. Incredibly virile and in top form.
As she watched him, the noonday sun beat down upon her head and the heat caused her to perspire beneath her snug bodice. Growing uncomfortable, she was reminded of her injuries. Soon her head began to ache.
Taking in a deep breath to fight off a sudden unexpected queasiness, she lay down on the grass, closed her eyes, and covered them with an arm to block out the sun. Her heart raced but she strove to focus on the sensation of the cool water rushing past her feet and the sound of birds calling out to one another overhead.
Before long, a voice cut through all the sounds and sensations of the natural world. “Are you feeling all right, lass?”
Sucking in a breath, Larena removed her arm from her face and squinted up at Darach, who stood over her, silhouetted against the sun. He cast a cool shadow across her face.
“I have a headache, that’s all,” she replied.
“Can I do anything for you?”
Surprised by the first evidence of kindness on his part, she managed to form a polite reply. “No, thank you. I don’t believe there’s anything that can be done. I must simply endure it.”
He gazed down at her for a long moment. “We’ll make camp early tonight so you can get some rest.” Then he turned and walked away.
Once again, the hot sun beamed down on Larena’s face. It was accompanied by a sudden feeling of unease over this uncomfortable situation, so she sat up to make sure Rupert—and her saddle bags—were still in sight. Thankfully they were. Everything appeared to be in order.
Larena lay down again, shaded her eyes, and focused her attention on the fresh, clean water at her feet.
* * *
“Are you absolutely certain, lass?” Logan asked with raucous laughter, nearly tipping over sideways onto his elbow. The moon was high in the night sky. They had just finished eating supper by the fire in a small glade in the forest—but clearly Logan had consumed too much wine, and perhaps so had she. “Maybe he was just confused.”
“I am positive!” Larena replied, laughing. “The groomsman walked straight into that big pile of steaming manure and stomped on it like it was a barrel full of grapes.”
“But why?” Logan asked, still laughing.
“I don’t know,” she told him. “Maybe he enjoyed the warm, squishy feel of it between his toes. It was a cold night, if I recall.” She laughed again. “Oh, Logan, stop. My stomach hurts!”
“I’m not the one telling the story!” he shouted. “You only have yourself to blame for that belly ache, lass.”
Fighting to recover from her indelicate convulsions of laughter, she sat up. “Oh, that rabbit was delicious, by the way. Where did it come from?”
With grinning eyes that twinkled in the firelight, Logan glanced across the fire at Darach. “My brother got lucky this afternoon. Isn’t that right, Darach?”
“That’s right,” the dark Highlander coolly replied as he reclined against his saddle packs with one knee raised. He’d been keeping himself occupied for the past hour by using the blade of his knife to shave the bark off a number of sticks, which he then simply tossed into the fire.
Larena felt the silliness drain out of her body as she regarded him intently, for he was watching her and Logan with his usual dark and broody eyes.
“It was very good,” she told him.
He shrugged a shoulder, as if it were nothing. “How’s your head?”
“Much better tonight. Thank you for asking.”
He offered no reply.
Suddenly drawn in by his apparent boredom, Larena sat forward and asked curiously, “Did you not find that story about the groomsman amusing?”
“It was bloody hilarious,” Darach replied flatly, reaching for his flask and tipping it up. He kept his eyes fixed on hers the entire time.
For a long moment Larena stared at him, then something peculiar bubbled up inside her. For some reason she couldn’t begin to understand, his drab response wrenched at her funny bone. She lowered her gaze and began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Darach asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“It must be the wine,” Logan mentioned to Darach, “because we both know you’re no jester.”
“I apologize,” Larnea said, looking up. “I think it must indeed be the wine. If you will excuse me.” She gathered up her skirts and rose unsteadily to her feet, realizing that the wine must have been stronger than she’d thought because she felt sillier than a tipsy goose. “I must make use of the necessary—if only there was one.” She swayed slightly to and fro as she looked around. “If I can put one foot in front of the other, I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine.”
Staggering away from the fire to a nearby thicket, she found a private spot in the darkness to take care of business.
An owl hooted somewhere in the treetops. She looked up, wondering if she could see it in the moonlight, but it remained out of sight.
When she finished, she began to make her way out of the bushes, but had to stop a moment to search for her bearings while the ground swayed beneath her feet.
Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, she shook her head, for she should have known better than to drink that third glass of wine. Or was it four? Heaven help her. Her nerves were stretched tighter than the string on her best bow. Not only did she have her father’s fate to consider, but she was struggling to navigate through a tricky situation with two MacDonald scouts who were both handsome and alluring and terribly dangerous in different ways. One was dark and full of lethal loathing for her because she was a Campbell, while the other was far too charming for anyone’s good.
Oh Lord… She truly had consumed too much wine. It would be best if she went straight to bed with no supper. Except that she’d already eaten supper…a delicious meal of roasted rabbit, provided by the surly one who looked at her as if she were a creature he’d like to trap, skin, and cook over a hot fire—then devour her whole.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel so well.
Approaching the moonlit glade, Larena dropped heavily to sit on her heels on the grass. The world spun circles in front of her eyes, whirling so fast she couldn’t keep the dizziness at bay.
She strove to focus on the campfire which was in sight, but it appeared to be duplicating itself, so she wasn’t sure which one was the real fire. Squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again only made the world spin faster.
Eventually she became aware of a dark figure prowling toward her in the shadows then kneeling down in front of her.
“Are you feeling all right, lass?”
She peered at Darach, who placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I think I’m drunk,” she said.
For the second time that day, she saw a spark of compassion in his eyes, and she was strangely befuddled by how it touched her.
“I know that you are,” he replied. “But at least you’re a funny drunk.” He began to rise. “Up we go, now.”
“Do we have to?” she asked dizzily. “Can’t we just stay here?”
“Nay, lass,” he replied, stand
ing firm on the issue. “I must keep an eye on you. Come with me now.” He held out a hand.
Larena finally took hold and couldn’t help but notice how large and warm his hand was, also callused and rough. Her own hand felt very small and fragile inside his.
“Where did Logan go?” she asked as he drew her to her feet and she followed him to the fire.
“He’s taking the first watch. He went to look around, but I suspect he’s also taking a very long piss.”
Larena’s eyebrows lifted. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Darach. It’s vulgar.”
“Did I offend you?” he asked, sounding sincerely apologetic.
She thought rather drunkenly about her answer. “I suppose it’s no more vulgar than my story about the stomping groomsman. And that makes me a pot.”
“I beg your pardon, lass?”
“I am a pot calling the kettle black,” she explained.
He gave her a small, barely perceptible grin that thrilled her in the most astonishing way.
They reached their bedrolls and he let go of her hand. Larena decided she wasn’t ready to lie down yet, however, for the world was still spinning. Instead, she moved to sit up against the saddle packs—but not before digging around inside them, in search of the King’s pardon.
“You needn’t worry,” Darach mentioned at the precise moment she laid her hands on it. “I’ve been keeping an eye on it for you.”
She pushed the rolled up document back down to the bottom of the pack, lowered the flap, buckled it, and leaned back against it.
“I wasn’t worried,” she lied. “I just drank too much wine tonight and I couldn’t remember where I’d put it.”
“You’re just anxious, that’s all,” he replied, forgivingly.
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “I suppose there is much to fret about, with my father sentenced to death if we don’t arrive in time to deliver his pardon.”
“I’ll make sure that we do,” Darach said. “But that can’t be the only thing you’re anxious about, lass. You’re also facing a lifelong sentence of marriage to a total stranger.”
Larena opened her eyes, lifted her head, and stared at him. “You make it sound as if that were an equally perilous fate.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I don’t believe so,” she said with a whisper of indignation, even though she’d been tossing and turning over the idea ever since she’d left Fort William. “I see it as a very small sacrifice to save my father’s life.”
Darach inclined his head doubtfully, as if he could see through her, straight into her soul. “It’s your whole life, lass, until you draw your last breath. I respect your sacrifice, truly I do. Clearly you are very loyal to your family, but I wouldn’t call it a small sacrifice, because I’m sure you must have had other plans for your future. Happier ones.”
Yes, I most certainly did have plans. I once imagined myself falling madly in love with a handsome, devoted Highlander who would adore me from the first moment we met and love me until the end of time.
Perhaps Gregory would turn out to be that man. Larena had whispered a silent, wishful prayer to that end when she’d agreed to the arrangement in Lord Rutherford’s chambers.
Nevertheless, breathing deeply, she attempted to explain herself to Darach. “Whatever I had planned doesn’t matter anyway, because I couldn’t very well refuse Rutherford’s proposal and allow my father to die.”
Darach poked at the fire with a stick. “Nay. That, you could not do.”
“Unfortunately,” she added, staring into the fire, listening to it snap and crackle while sparks flew about wildly, “alternatives become scarce with so little time to explore other potential courses of action. Believe me, when I watched them drag my father down to the prison, I tried my best to think of anything I could do to stop it, but the British army can be very intimidating.”
“And you’re about to marry one of their officers,” he reminded her.
She pondered that reality. “It is my hope that I won’t be intimidated by Gregory. From what I remember of him, he was a gentle-hearted boy.”
“He cannot be that gentle if he rose to the rank of colonel here in the Highlands,” Darach warned her. “Are you sure you’re remembering the right person?”
“Absolutely. Look.” She dug into her cleavage to withdraw the locket that hung around her neck on a long chain. “Rutherford gave this to me when I accepted his proposition. It shows that Gregory is the same boy I remember—only quite a bit older, of course. Come and see him.”
Darach stood and circled around the fire to sit down beside her. He took hold of the locket, which was still strung around her neck, and examined the miniature portrait inside.
“He’s not bad looking, I suppose,” Darach casually commented, then he snapped it shut and lifted his gaze to meet hers.
She was unnerved suddenly by his nearness, transfixed by his dark features in the dancing firelight, his face so close to her own. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the elegant line of his nose, those soft-looking, full lips, and that strong, unshaven jaw.
Letting her eyes wander down to his broad shoulders and the tartan draped across his shoulder and chest, she focused on the MacDonald clan badge at his belt as it reflected the firelight.
“Still,” she added, lifting her gaze to his face rather than letting it dwell on his magnificent lounging form, “it’s going to be strange to marry a man I barely know. I have to keep reminding myself that women do it all the time. Political marriages are hardly uncommon.”
Darach frowned, then he faced the fire and leaned back against Logan’s saddle. Reaching into his sporran for the flask he carried, he uncorked it and offered her whatever was left inside.
“No thank you,” she replied, holding up a hand. “I think I’ve had quite enough for one night.”
“I won’t argue with you there.” He raised it to his lips and sipped. “But I must warn you, lass. Be careful not to lose your head around my brother.”
“What do you mean?”
Darach scanned the perimeter of the glade and listened carefully for a moment, then he spoke in a low voice. “When it comes to the lassies, he’s a flirt. He knows how to charm them, so don’t fall for it.”
She inclined her head at Darach. “Are you implying that he might try to seduce me?”
“There is a danger of that if you’re not sensible.”
Larena’s head drew back in surprise. “Not sensible… Darach, I am insulted. I may have had too much wine tonight, but I am pledged to another man and I do not take that promise lightly, especially when my father’s life is at stake.” She looked away in the other direction. “Besides, your brother has been a perfect gentlemen since the moment we left the castle, which is more than I can say for you.”
“How have I not been a gentleman?” Darach asked, taking genuine affront at her tone. “Didn’t I help you back to the campfire just now when you didn’t think you could get up?”
Yes, he had indeed come to her aid, so she had no choice but to reconsider what she’d just said. “I suppose that was courteous of you. But that’s not what I was referring to. I was talking about before.”
“Before what?” he asked, still sounding offended.
Larena wondered uneasily if she had overstepped her bounds, but it was too late now. He was demanding clarification and she couldn’t simply say “never mind.”
Turning her face toward his, she wet her lips and spoke frankly. “I am referring to how you marched into my prison cell with my father’s pardon which you refused to hand over to me, even though it was my property. Then you dragged me through the castle to speak to your laird. If I am to be perfectly honest, Darach, you were boorish and mean.”
“Boorish.”
“Don’t you remember how you were?” she asked, turning her whole body to face him more squarely. “You reminded me countless times that I was a dirty Campbell and not fit to lick your boots—”
“Now see here
, lass, I never said that.”
“Well, perhaps not exactly that…but the implication was there. And ever since we left the castle, you’ve been quiet and moody, almost as if you’re sulking about something. Probably the fact that your brother is far more charming than you could ever dream of being, and the fact that you don’t know how to laugh.”
“I do know how to laugh,” he argued in that quiet, husky drawl that made something inside her tremble. He sat forward slightly and turned his body to face hers as well. “And I told you before, lass. I can be charming when I wish to be.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” she replied, realizing that sometime during this conversation, she’d sobered up completely. She felt entirely clearheaded and sharp-witted enough to recognize that her heart was racing with exhilaration. “And please be informed that I have no use for your so-called ‘helpful’ warnings about your brother. I suspect you’re just jealous because he’s more pleasant than you are, and you simply can’t keep up. And I am not foolish enough to be taken in by a charming seducer—if that’s what Logan is. As I mentioned before, I think you’re just jealous, and may I remind you again that I am betrothed? The way I perceive it, Logan is merely fulfilling his duty to your chief. I see nothing untoward in his attentions. If I drank too much wine tonight and behaved out of turn…that was my own fault because it’s been a difficult time…with all that’s happened lately.”
Darach stared at her intently. “I’m not jealous.”
He continued to look into her eyes, then down at her lips, his face mere inches from hers. Eventually, she could do nothing but stare down at her lap.
“Of course you’re not jealous,” she conceded. “I don’t know why I said that. Clearly I’m still a bit inebriated.”
Although it had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with the dangerously intoxicating way his voice slid over her like soft velvet, rippling across her skin.
“Just keep your head on straight as far as my brother is concerned,” Darach said in a commanding tone. He rose to his feet and returned to the other side of the fire. “Get some rest, lass. Tomorrow will be a long day. We’ll be spending many hours in the saddle.”
Return of the Highlander Page 5