Loving the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  She tried to pull away again, but Morgan wouldn’t let go. “I’m not jesting, Mercedes. The Dolan brothers are not to be trusted. You need to be just as guarded as I am.”

  “You expect me to trust you without question, don’t you?”

  He grinned and spread his fingers to encompass her entire face. “I expect obedience, gràineag, when it comes to your safety.”

  She suddenly leaned forward, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him off balance. They both ended up on the ground, Mercedes stretched full-length on top of him. She kissed him, her tongue slipping inside his mouth as she sensually wiggled her sexy body against his.

  Morgan immediately placed both of his hands on her luscious bum, pulling into his erection with a groan of frustration. He wanted her again.

  But not like this, with nothing but dirt for a bed.

  Going against every urge he possessed, Morgan took hold of her shoulders and lifted her away. His teeth clenched in restraint and his gaze locked on her swollen lips, he set her on the ground beside him.

  “Tonight, wife, we will finish what we began last night.”

  She blinked at him, then scrambled away. With another curse, Morgan stood up and walked into the forest without looking back.

  And Sadie couldn’t decide if she had just been rejected or threatened. Or if she should be insulted or scared.

  And she couldn’t decide if Morgan kept calling her wife to rile her or if he thought she needed to be constantly reminded of that disconcerting fact.

  She would like to be his wife. Maybe. She could imagine what it would be like waking up beside Morgan every morning for the rest of her life, her in her nightgown buttoned up to her neck, him buck naked and beautiful.

  Sadie snorted, went back to the fire, and stirred the soup. She was weaving a dream fantasy for herself. But she hadn’t felt this alive, this excited about what the future might hold, since before the house fire.

  And that was the one thing keeping her from realizing her dream. That stupid fire. She had killed two people she loved. Her carelessness, her inattention to detail, had resulted in a tragedy so horrific she could never be forgiven. Her scars were nothing compared with their deaths. She deserved every horrible one of them.

  What she didn’t deserve was a husband as beautiful as Morgan MacKeage. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t at least love him, couldn’t be married to him if he continued to insist on it.

  It didn’t mean he couldn’t eventually love her back.

  Sadie caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see a canoe come into sight, two men paddling it toward the shore where her kayak was beached. She stood up, scanned the woods for signs of Morgan, then slowly walked over to greet Harry and Dwayne.

  Morgan began to limp the moment he was out of Sadie’s sight. He rubbed his throbbing thigh and cursed his bad luck for getting hurt.

  But then, better him than Mercedes. His chest tightened at that thought. She could have been in the lead boat, battling the moose, and him not able to reach her in time.

  Or she could have been out here all alone, as she had been this past summer. Anything could have happened to her. She could have fallen during one of her ribbon-planting hikes, have drowned running some of the more violent rapids on the river, or simply have taken a fever with no one to tend her.

  He knew from experience that Mercedes was reckless. She didn’t always think before she acted. Hell, what if it had been some other guy she’d taken pictures of, instead of him? What dangers might she have faced?

  The woman needed a keeper.

  Morgan stopped at a stream that ran into the river and looked down into the crystal-clear water that slowly disappeared into the slightly brackish Prospect River. He turned and started upstream, lifting his gaze to the mountains ahead.

  He knew where he was, and he didn’t like it. This was the same stream that flowed from the cliff, through his gorge, then eventually into this valley. And he and Mercedes were camped not half a mile away.

  He didn’t want her to see this stream. Didn’t want her to realize that it was special. Once he had her allegiance, then he could show her the waterfall.

  Faol silently stepped into his path, planting his feet and curling his lips into an almost human smile.

  “You scavenging dog. You leave that moose alone, or I’ll have your hide tacked on the wall beside it.”

  Faol dropped his head, stepped into the stream, and began to lap the water, not the least bit bothered by the threat. Morgan remembered he was supposed to be looking for drinking water himself. He moved above Faol and knelt on the bank, submerging the bottle and letting it fill. He capped it, set it on the grass, then leaned down to take his own drink.

  A sharp, crackling sensation shot through his body the moment his lips touched the water. Morgan grabbed the burl dangling from his neck into the stream that was now vibrating with the force of a thousand bees taking flight. He straightened abruptly as heat seared through his body and sparks of green light danced in his eyes.

  The wolf gave a yelp of alarm and shot past Morgan, knocking him backward onto the river bank. The tingling lessened, and the burl settled into a soft hum.

  Morgan lifted it from his chest to see it better. The cherrywood was swirling, pulling against his hand in the direction of the stream.

  Well, hell. The magic was seeking its own. It felt the lure of Daar’s old staff coursing through the water. Morgan lifted the burl over his head, gripped it in his fist, and touched his hand to the water again.

  Needles of energy shot up his arm, through his chest, spreading to every inch of his body. The wound on his thigh throbbed as heat gathered around it like the touch of a hot poker.

  He pulled his hand back, and it stopped.

  He opened his fist and stared at the swirling, vibrating burl that glowed with intense light. What had the drùidh said? That this burl carried the magic and that Morgan must find a way to add to its strength?

  Well, it seemed he just had.

  Not that he understood it. He’d gotten the burl wet many times since receiving it, but this was the first time it had touched this particular water. And that was the secret. This magical stream that the towering trees drank from, that grew big fish, and that now sent energy coursing through his body.

  Morgan slipped the burl back over his head and stood up. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the ground, then stripped off his boots and pants and tossed them beside the shirt. He ripped the bandage off his thigh and examined his wound.

  The skin around it was pulsing, pulling against the stitches he’d set. The jagged edges of flesh were tingling, swelling, throbbing together as if trying to become one again. The knots of thread suddenly snapped, sending pain shooting all the way to his teeth.

  Morgan waded into the stream up to his waist, then sat down until all but his shoulders were submerged. The burl dangled in the water. Sparks shot from it in every direction, scattering bubbles of light around him. He closed his eyes and let the energy course through him, leaning back until only his face remained exposed to the air.

  Color swirled through his mind. Warmth wrapped his skin in a blanket of heat so intense that breathing was difficult. The humming grew louder. The water boiled, bubbles exploding around him like sparks from a bonfire.

  Morgan sank below the surface, twisting and kicking his feet in an attempt to outswim the chaos. He felt as if he had the strength of a legion of men, as if he possessed the power to bend the laws of nature.

  And the ability to heal himself.

  He twisted again and sat up, brushing the hair from his face and letting the water cascade down his back. He grabbed the burl into his fist and pictured his wound in his mind’s eye, sending the heat there, willing his flesh to seal itself up. He flexed his left knee, pulling against the skin on his thigh.

  And he suddenly felt no pain.

  Nothing but the warmth of pliant flesh.

  Morgan opened his eyes and looked around. The s
parks had disappeared. The water was calm again, gently making its way down to the river. His body was cool, his breathing even, his muscles relaxed.

  And he felt wonderfully alive.

  He opened his fist and looked down at the burl. It, too, was calm, softly humming in his hand. But it felt different to his touch now. Smoother. Smaller.

  Dammit. It was smaller. He’d used up some of the magic.

  Morgan stood up, let the burl fall back against his chest, and waded over to the bank. He threw himself onto the ground and lay face-up, staring at clouds colored red by the lowering sun. He stayed there motionless for several minutes, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

  He sat up suddenly and looked down at his thigh. There was no wound, no stitches, not even a scar. He rubbed the balls of his fingers over the smooth, hair-covered flesh.

  Well, hell. How would he explain this to Mercedes?

  Faol came slinking out of the brush much more silently than he had left and nudged Morgan in the back. The wolf let out an agitated whine and trotted several paces down the stream bank.

  The animal stopped, turned back to him, and growled, his head lowered and his hackles raised in an aggressive posture. He lifted his nose in the air, sniffed, and took several more steps toward the river before he stopped and let out a bark.

  Morgan grabbed his clean clothes and quickly dressed. He snatched up the water bottle and his sword and trotted after the wolf. Keeping in the shadows of the tall brush that lined the stream, he stayed alert to whatever was making Faol travel with the stealth of a hunter.

  They both worked their way back upriver to where he’d left Mercedes, and Morgan heard the voices as he neared camp. He hunkered behind the protection of an outcropping of ledge, behind a dense bush, and watched as his disobedient wife strolled to the river and warmly greeted the very men he had told her to avoid.

  “Why, if it ain’t Sadie Quill,” Harry said, waving his paddle at her. “Haven’t seen you in a year of Sundays. I thought you’d gone off to the big city to be a weather girl.”

  Sadie grabbed the bow of their canoe to keep it from hitting a rock, then stepped back when Harry stepped out. Together they pulled the heavily packed boat halfway up onto the beach, pulling a grinning Dwayne with it.

  “Hi, Sadie,” Dwayne said, nodding and smiling and shaking a finger at her. “You trying to beat us to Plum’s gold?”

  “And I’m winning, too,” she shot back. “I’m a full day ahead of you two lazy prospectors.”

  Dwayne giggled and scrunched his shoulders. “Not this time, missy,” he said with another giggle, his eyes nearly disappearing into his grin. “We got something better than a map this time.”

  “Dwayne,” Harry snapped. “Get out of the boat before you roll it.”

  Dwayne scrambled up the length of the boat until he found himself unable to get past their gear. He solved his problem by simply stepping into the water and wading ashore. Sadie moved back, worried he might shake himself dry like a dog, and smiled when she saw his gaze drift down the shore and his eyes suddenly widen in surprise.

  “You got a dead moose!” Dwayne said, pointing at the moose. He started running toward it. “You killed a moose, Sadie!” he yelped as he ran, stopping at it so suddenly he almost fell. He looked back at her and pointed his finger again, this time waggling it like a mother lecturing a naughty child. “You ain’t supposed to kill these, missy. It’s illegal.”

  Sadie ambled after Harry, who had followed his brother to view the moose. “I didn’t kill it,” she told Dwayne. “My husband did.” Now what on earth had made her say that? “The moose attacked his boat, and he was defending himself.”

  “You got a husband?” Harry asked, first looking at her in surprise, then scanning the campsite for signs of the man. He looked at her again, his eyes narrowed. “You bring back one of them city fellows from Boston?”

  Sadie slowly shook her head, still reeling from the thought that she had just told these men that she had a husband. “No. He’s a local. Morgan MacKeage.”

  “We heard of them MacKeages,” Harry said, his eyes still narrowed. “They own the ski resort.”

  “They’re an odd bunch,” Dwayne piped in, though he appeared more interested in the moose than in the conversation. He suddenly stopped handling an antler and looked at her, his grin still in place. “What made you go and get hooked up with one of them, Sadie?” he asked. “I heard they’re a big, mean-looking group of fellows that keep to themselves.”

  “They are big,” Sadie agreed, unable to keep herself from grinning back. Dwayne’s unflappable cheeriness was always contagious. “That’s probably why I married Morgan. He’s taller than me.”

  Dwayne’s gaze scanned her from head to toe. He suddenly straightened to his nearly six-foot height, puffed out his chest, and shot her another crooked-tooth grin. “Well, hell’s bells, Sadie. If I’d known you was looking for a husband, I would have offered to marry you. I don’t even care about your scarred hand or nothing. I think you’re right pretty just as you are.”

  God save her, Sadie could feel her heart melting at his sincere offer. “Thank you, Dwayne,” she replied, nodding with gratitude. “But Morgan beat you to it. You’re going to have to let a girl know sooner that you find her pretty.”

  Dwayne bobbed his head, his face flushed red as he nervously darted a look around the perimeter of her camp. “I hope your husband didn’t hear that,” he whispered. “I don’t want him thinking I was poaching on his property.”

  Sadie waved Dwayne’s worry away, then tucked her arm through his and led him toward the campfire. “He won’t take offense,” she assured him as they walked. She guided him to a rock and sat him down, then motioned for Harry to take a seat on the log. “Now, how about a trade, gentlemen?” she said.

  “What you needing, Sadie?” Dwayne asked. “You running low on supplies?”

  “No,” she told him, shaking her head while she quickly scanned the woods herself, looking for Morgan. She hoped he had walked a fair distance to find a spring and that he wouldn’t suddenly come barging in waving his sword like a heathen. All she needed was another twenty minutes, and then she could send Dwayne and Harry safely on their way.

  “I was thinking of trading you two some supper for a peek at what you’ve got that’s even better than a map,” she said, hunching down and stirring the soup, sending the delicious smell toward them.

  Both sets of eyes staring at her narrowed, and the smile finally disappeared from Dwayne’s face. He waggled his finger at her again. “We ain’t telling you spit, missy.”

  “Why you still looking for the gold, anyway?” Harry asked. “You don’t need it none. Them MacKeage fellows are rich.”

  “They are?” she asked, lifting one brow.

  Both men nodded. “They own most of the land in these parts, all the way up to Canada,” Harry continued, waving toward the west side of the valley. “And they got that fancy resort.”

  “I’m still after the gold,” Sadie told them, “because it never was for me. You know that. Dad was hunting for it only to prove the legend. He intended to donate the gold to a good cause.” Sadie lifted her other brow. “What are your plans for it?”

  Dwayne was suddenly smiling again, rubbing his hands together. “We’re going to buy ourselves some wives,” he said, nodding to show he was serious.

  “Some what?” Sadie asked with a gasp. Of all the things she’d been expecting—like a new truck or maybe fixing up their house—wives were the last things she thought these two old bachelor brothers would want.

  “Wives,” Harry echoed, frowning at her shocked expression. He resettled himself on his log and gave her a defensive glare. “We found this catalog where you can buy women. They even sell trips to Russia, so you can meet them.”

  “We get our pick,” Dwayne added, leaning forward, excitement lowering his voice to a whisper. “They throw this fancy party, and all the women come, and we get to meet them and then choose.”
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br />   “But you gotta marry them,” Harry explained, also lowering his voice in reverence. “They ain’t whores or nothing. They’re respectable women.”

  “They’re down on their luck, is all,” Dwayne added. “And so they’re wanting to marry rich men and move to America.”

  “And once we find that gold,” Harry said, straightening his back, puffing his chest, and running his thumbs under his suspenders, “we’ll be rich Americans. We’ll have enough money to go to Russia, buy our wives, and bring them here to look after us in our golden years.”

  “And we’ll get to diddle without having to pay for it,” Dwayne interjected, only to slap a hand over his mouth suddenly and turn beet red, realizing what he’d just said to her.

  Sadie snapped her own mouth shut, realizing she was gaping like the village idiot. She felt heat rush into her cheeks. These two old goats were buying wives? From Russia?

  “All this time…you’ve been hunting for…? You think to actually buy wives?” she finished with a squeak.

  She snapped her mouth shut again, took a deep breath, and fought to hold her composure.

  “We’ll make good husbands,” Harry said defensively. “We’ll take right good care of them women.”

  Sadie held her hands up in supplication. “I don’t doubt you will,” she quickly agreed. She looked from Harry to Dwayne. “All these years you’ve been searching for Plum’s gold,” she started again. “This has been your reason the whole time?”

  Both men nodded, but it was Dwayne who spoke. “We never could stomach our own cooking,” he admitted. “And we get lonely sometimes, especially in winter.”

  “And that’s why we ain’t sharing our secret,” Harry said, drawing her attention again. He shook his head. “We ain’t getting any younger, and we need to find that gold this fall.”

  “Why now, after all these years?” she asked.