Loving the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “Turn around.”

  “No.”

  Why wasn’t she surprised by his answer? “Don’t you have a moose to cut up or something?”

  “The job would be easier with a good morning kiss.”

  “No.”

  Unlike her, he seemed sincerely surprised by her answer. “Why not?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her.

  “Because if you kiss me, one thing will lead to another, and I’ll be flat on my back in less time than it takes to sneeze.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile. He uncrossed his arms and tucked both hands behind his back. “I promise not to lay a finger on you, lass. Just my lips.”

  “I’m not kissing you. Not until we are both fully dressed and I’ve had some breakfast to build up my strength again.” She shot him a seductive smile to let him know that she hadn’t been fooled by last night’s claim that women were weak. “Although I’d bet my boat that you’re needing the nourishment more than I am.”

  Apparently not caring to have his words thrown back at him, Morgan spun on his heel and headed downriver, disappearing into the brush.

  Sadie breathed a sigh of relief. She brushed the hair off her face and smoothed down the front of her shirt. She suddenly smiled. Well, spit. She had just survived a second night of sleeping with Morgan MacKeage.

  And she thought things had gone quite well. Heck, she was actually feeling proud of herself. She had managed to make love to the man without embarrassing them both, she hadn’t bitten him again, and she had just won an important battle of wills. She was feeling quite wifely this morning and beginning to think this marriage just might work out after all. She could survive living with Morgan.

  She could even get used to the idea that he was strange. So what if the man carried a sword everywhere? He obviously knew how to use the weapon. He had skillfully killed that moose yesterday afternoon. It shouldn’t matter to her why that was his weapon of choice, only that he didn’t choose to use it on her.

  A breeze suddenly kicked up, lifting her shirttail and sending a shiver past her bare bum and up the length of her spine. Sadie realized she was still standing on her sleeping bag, still naked but for her flannel shirt.

  There was actually frost on the ground this morning. She hurried to find her clothes, then hurried even more to get them on. Only after she was finally dressed did she straighten from tying her boots to look around the tiny meadow she was in.

  Leaves rained from the trees and wafted through the air like drunken butterflies, having given up the battle to hold on to their branches. The frost and then the abrupt heat of the rising sun had snapped their stems and left them to fall to their inevitable end, to become fodder for next year’s growth of new flora. The cycle of life was playing itself out.

  “I see breakfast isn’t looking any more promising than last night’s supper.”

  Sadie spun on her seat and shot Morgan a smile. She grabbed one of the granola bars, now frozen solid, and tossed it to him.

  “When I’m traveling I only make one hot meal a day,” she explained, her smile widening as she watched him frown at his breakfast. “Mostly I just graze on trail mix, granola bars, or jerky until supper.”

  Voices traveled in on the breeze just then, and both Morgan and Sadie looked upriver to discover the source of the sound. Sadie shot to her feet the moment she recognized her mother’s voice. Charlotte Quill was sitting in the bow of the approaching canoe, paddling and smiling and talking to Callum sitting in the stern.

  Sadie’s mood took a sudden dive into the dirt. She slapped her hands over her face to cover her gasp and could only stare in mute shock through her fingers.

  Dammit. Her mother was here.

  She spun on her heel and ran to Morgan, grabbing him by the shirt and standing on tiptoe to get her eyes dead level with his.

  “Not one word about our being married,” she whispered urgently, clutching the front of his shirt. “Understand? No kissing in front of my mother. No calling me wife. And hide that damn sword!” she finished on a whispered shout, pushing away and running to their bed.

  She quickly rolled up her sleeping bag, ran to her unused tent, and threw it inside. She went back to the ledge, kicked around the matted dry grass she’d put there for padding, and frantically scanned the campsite for any other telltale signs.

  Dammit. What in hell was her mother doing here?

  Morgan still hadn’t moved one muscle, much less done as she’d instructed and hidden his sword. She did that for him, running back to the ledge and kicking some of the dry grass over the weapon. Then she smoothed down the front of her shirt, took a calming breath, plastered a smile on her face, and sedately walked to the river to welcome her mom.

  Morgan just didn’t have the heart to tell his wife that no amount of deception would ever disguise the guilt she was feeling at the sudden arrival of her mother. Mercedes’ face was blushed red; she was embarrassed to the soles of her feet despite her efforts to appear otherwise. She didn’t seem to realize that any person in her right mind, especially her mother, would consider finding her daughter sharing a campsite with a man anything but innocent.

  Morgan mimicked Mercedes’ amble and slowly made his way over to Callum and Charlotte. He grabbed the canoe and pulled the boat sideways to the bank, then reached in and lifted Charlotte out so she wouldn’t get her feet wet.

  Charlotte squeaked much the way her daughter was prone to do and blinked up at him with eyes the mirror image of Mercedes’.

  Morgan stepped onto the bank and carefully set Charlotte down, then shot Mercedes a grin. Quickly recovering from her fluster, Charlotte ran to her daughter and gave her a motherly hug.

  “I’ve been so worried,” Charlotte whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear. She pulled back and took her by the shoulders. “Your cabin was ransacked.”

  Mercedes reversed their positions, taking her mother by the arms. “Someone broke into my cabin? When?”

  “Yesterday morning,” Callum said, straightening from pulling the canoe onto the beach. He looked at Morgan, then at Mercedes. “We were coming out to visit you, lass, when we discovered the destruction. And your mother,” he said, waving a hand at Charlotte, “would have no rest until she knew you were safe.”

  Mercedes turned her shocked gaze back on her mother. “Who would do something like that? I had nothing worth stealing.”

  “It looked to be more vandalized than robbed,” Callum said before Charlotte could respond. “It appeared as if the man was looking for something.”

  “The Dolan brothers were a half day behind us,” Morgan interjected. He looked at his cousin. “You said one man.”

  Callum shrugged. “There might have been more. I could find only one set of footprints. They belonged to a small but heavy man, maybe two hundred pounds.”

  “It was not Harry and Dwayne,” Sadie said, glaring at Morgan. “It was a stranger.”

  “What makes you so sure?” he asked. “Do you have any idea who would have done this? Other than the Dolans, is there anyone else looking for this gold?”

  Sadie shook her head. “Not that I know of. For years the only people who even believed Jedediah’s mine exists were my dad, the Dolans, and Eric Hellman.”

  Morgan walked over to her. “Now you will take my warnings seriously, Mercedes?”

  Before she could answer him, her mother was poking her in the arm, trying to get her attention again. “There’s a dead moose over there,” Charlotte whispered, pointing down the beach.

  Sadie quickly looked back at Morgan, nodded, then turned and led her mother over to see the moose. As Morgan and Callum followed, Morgan let his gaze scan the area. Morgan suspected that the danger he had seen in the drùidh’s vision was coming closer.

  Callum nudged Morgan’s shoulder and motioned with his head that he wanted to speak to Morgan alone. Morgan looked to see that the two women were deeply engrossed in a discussion over the dead moose. Satisfied that they would have s
ome privacy, Morgan walked a short distance away, and his cousin followed.

  “Tell me how I can help,” Callum said quietly, keeping a small part of his attention on the women. “I’ve brought guns if you need them.”

  “What makes you think I need a gun?” Morgan asked.

  Callum grinned. “It’s been more than eight hundred years, cousin, but not so long that I’ve forgotten that look.”

  “What look?”

  “You’re guarded, Morgan. Feeling hunted. And you’re wearing the look of a man who is about to turn the tables and do some hunting of your own.” Callum rubbed his hands together, suddenly looking downright cheerful. “And I wish to help. Nay, I demand to help. I could use a rousing fight just now.”

  “I am not hunted,” Morgan snapped, darting a look at the women to make sure they hadn’t heard him. They had moved back to the canoe Callum and Charlotte had arrived in and were rummaging through the gear. He looked back at Callum.

  “It’s Mercedes who’s being hunted. That her cabin was ransacked is proof enough. And I think the gold is the reason she’s in danger. Either that, or someone doesn’t want the wilderness park to be built.”

  “Besides you?” Callum drawled.

  “That’s different. I can stop the park from happening without endangering Mercedes.”

  “Why are you so against this park to begin with? It’s only a small part of our land.”

  “My land,” Morgan shot back. He let out a tired sigh and attempted to rub away the tension slowly building in his neck. He needed to make Callum understand.

  “That gorge is special,” Morgan told him, deciding it was time to reveal his secret to Callum. Only then would his cousin be able to comprehend the scope of the problem.

  “The waterfall comes from that mountain pond where Daar’s staff was thrown,” Morgan continued. “And everything around it has changed somehow. The trees have grown taller, the trout are the size of salmon, and even the granite of the gorge itself has been altered.”

  Callum took a step back. “By the drùidh’s magic?” he whispered, his face drawn pale.

  Morgan nodded. “Aye. From his old staff. But Daar has no wish for Grey to know this. He fears what my brother might do.”

  “Grey will likely dynamite that pond,” Callum said, nodding agreement about their laird’s determination that Daar’s staff never reappear. “So this is why you asked Grey for that land? To protect the old priest?”

  “Something like that,” Morgan muttered, looking back at the women. They were unpacking the canoe, and by the looks of the gear, Charlotte was planning to stay for a month. He turned back to Callum. “People would wander out of the park and discover the gorge. And that would bring even more people.”

  Callum could only shake his head. “If Charlotte ever discovered that something like this was connected with us, she would never agree to marry me.”

  “You don’t intend to tell her about our past?” Morgan asked.

  Callum looked downright appalled. “Hell, no,” he ground out, shaking his head again. “You saw what happened when MacBain told Mary Sutter. The woman ran away and got herself killed.”

  “Grace knows,” Morgan reminded him. “And she still married Grey anyway.”

  “Grace is a scientist,” Callum said, getting defensive. “And scientists are used to discovering wonders. They understand that there is something driving the forces of nature that can never be explained. Tell me, are you intending to tell Sadie about your past?” Callum asked quietly, turning the question back on Morgan.

  “I do not like deception,” Morgan said. He sighed and kneaded the muscles in his neck again. “I don’t know,” he said more calmly. He grinned. “I thought about getting her pregnant first,” he admitted.

  Callum looked appalled again. “And you don’t think that’s deceptive?”

  “It might be a good plan. I’ve already claimed her. A babe would only bind us together more tightly.” Morgan broadened his grin. “Are you saying you haven’t thought that maybe a bairn would hurry your courtship along?”

  Callum actually looked sick. “I could never do that to Charlotte,” he whispered. “She had to get married at sixteen when she became pregnant with Sadie. I could not force her into another marriage that way.”

  Morgan didn’t have the heart to tell Callum that it was too late, that Charlotte already carried his child. Besides, that was Charlotte’s duty.

  “I could use your help,” Morgan said, changing the subject. Telling their women they were eight hundred years old was a personal decision that each of them eventually would have to make. But not today. “I need to get that moose taken care of,” Morgan continued. “And it seems I have to notify the authorities that I killed it. If you could help me do that, I would be grateful. I have no wish to leave Mercedes unguarded right now. Not with the news you’ve brought us.”

  “You killed the moose with your sword?” Callum asked, knowing full well that Morgan rarely carried a gun. “Tell me, what does Sadie think of your weapon?”

  Morgan shrugged. “She seems to be getting used to it.”

  “I swear I’d give all my teeth to have my sword back,” Callum said. “I’ve felt naked for six years.” He suddenly grinned. “Although there is something to be said for a good rifle. You needn’t get close to an enemy to dispatch him.”

  Morgan let his gaze scan the landscape again. “That works both ways,” he said, looking back at Callum. “Neither does your enemy need to be close.” He rubbed his neck again, the tension having suddenly doubled. “Hell. Someone could be watching us right now, with his gun trained on Mercedes.”

  “Do you honestly believe there is that kind of danger?”

  “The drùidh warned me there was a presence roaming this valley. Something dark,” Morgan carefully explained without coming right out and telling Callum about the vision he had seen. “Mercedes might be in danger. This is why I’m with her now. I want that damn gold found, and then I want to settle this park thing between us.”

  “In a way that won’t expose your gorge?” Callum surmised.

  Morgan nodded. “She’s going to have to be content with just owning the land and not opening it up to people.”

  Callum gave Morgan a staggering pat on the shoulder. “For an ancient man, you can be foolishly young sometimes, cousin. Living with a woman who’s had her dream taken away does not bode well for a peaceful union. Hell, it can be downright dangerous.”

  “Yeah, well,” Morgan said, pivoting on his heel and heading back to Charlotte and Sadie. He hoped Charlotte was a better cook than her daughter. There had to be breakfast fixings someplace in all that gear she’d brought. “You’d better start putting some of your own long-lived wisdom to work,” Morgan said quietly over his shoulder as he walked off. “You’ve got your own female problems to deal with, and I’m thinking they might turn out to be just as troubling as mine.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  There was another advantage to having a husband, Sadie decided later that morning. He carried the bulk of their gear.

  Sadie slid her unusually light backpack off her shoulders, absently letting it drop to the ground as she studied the old logging camp that lay before her like a slumbering beast forgotten by time. This was it. Camp number three.

  The last place Jedediah Plum had been seen alive.

  Sadie could easily make out the remains of what must be the cookhouse. The roof was gone except for the rafters, the door and several of the windows were broken, and good-sized poplar trees were growing inside, spilling the last of their leaves like yellow flakes of unmelted snow. Rotting into the forest floor just to the right of the cookhouse, not twenty feet away, were two bunkhouses running perpendicular to the cookhouse. Both were long and narrow and set low to the ground with the rusted remains of a stove pipe jutting crookedly against the middle rafter of one of them. Several of the giant logs that made up the walls had come free of their moorings, the ravages of time and nature working them into peat dus
t to litter the ground around the cabins. Young spruce grew in the acrid peat, reaching for the sunlight filtering through the few towering trees that had escaped the woodcutter’s blades.

  The building that housed the saw was far off to the left, set away from the living and eating area. Probably so that one group of men would be able to sleep in relative peace while another group worked.

  Sadie knew from her years of studying journals and history books that the sawmill usually ran around the clock in ten-hour shifts. Maintenance was done during two-hour breaks; the saws were changed and sharpened, the machinery oiled, and the bark and debris from the previous shift cleared away to make room for the next round of sawing.

  Sometimes the trees were sawn on sight and the lumber hauled to town over the frozen ground, and sometimes the whole logs were simply driven downriver in the spring. This site, apparently, had been a portable mill. Which meant it would have been a small, self-sufficient town unto itself.

  Sadie slowly turned in a circle, studying the site, unable to believe what she was seeing, shaking her head in wonder.

  “I bet my daddy’s mill processed some of this timber,” Sadie said, finally looking at Morgan. “Only it would have been Grampy Quill who ran it then.”

  Morgan was shaking her head. “It was more likely your great-grandfather,” he corrected with a smile. “This site is at least eighty years old.”

  Sadie looked around again. “I can’t believe this has been sitting here like a ghost town all these years, its location never documented.”

  Morgan shrugged. “Why would anyone bother? They moved in, harvested the trees, then got out. There was nothing here to lure people to settle, other than the timber. And once that disappeared, so did the camps.”

  He turned her to face him. “You can properly thank me now, wife, for finding this camp for you,” he said, an arrogant smile lighting his eyes.

  Not one to deny a person his due, Sadie leaned up on her toes and kissed Morgan the way she had wanted to since morning. His tongue swept inside her mouth, his body hardened against her, and that shivering tingle returned to her chest as Sadie melted against him.