“As ye can see, signorina, I have plenty of room, and the prospect of some fresh company at dinner is welcome.”
“That’s so kind,” she said in a firm tone. When was the last time a woman had spoken to him with that peremptory note? “But I can’t possibly accept. I need at least six weeks to complete my work, and I’ve been told September is the last month when I can rely on the weather. Not that the weather here ever seems reliable.”
He ignored her disrespect for the mercurial Scottish weather. “That’s all very well, lassie, but your father has a broken leg. It would be dangerous to move him. Ye willnae want to risk permanent damage.”
“Of course not, but Maggie said it was a clean break.”
“Aye. But he’ll only heal if he stays in one place and lets the bone knit.”
Displeasure tightened that luscious mouth to a pout and made Fergus think of kisses. Fearing that his lustful thoughts must show in his eyes, he devoted his attention to his soup.
“Poor Papa.” She paused. “Could I take advantage of your kindness and ask you to keep him here, while I hire someone from the estate to take me on to Skye?”
Let her go when he’d only just found her? Not while he still drew breath. “Ye wouldnae rather stay and see how he recovers?”
The gesture she made was strangely helpless. It was clear that she was a woman who didn’t like to give up her plans. Fergus understood. He didn’t like it either.
“You know I would, but I’ve accepted a substantial sum of money to deliver a dozen Highland scenes to His Grace by next Easter, and I can’t break my contract.”
“Highland scenes or scenes of Skye?”
She paused in eating her soup. “I beg your pardon?”
“Did the duke specify that he wants pictures of Skye, or did he ask for views of Scotland?”
“Highland scenes are what he ordered, but everyone I spoke to said that Skye offers the best variety and the most typical landscapes.”
He spread his hands. “Then why not paint the scenery at Achnasheen? You’ll find as many lochs and mountains and eccentric rustics on my estate as you will on Skye. Not only that, but from the hills behind the castle, you can see across the sea to Skye, so you can include a few views of the isle if you’re so determined. This way, you can stay with your father. You can recover from the accident—I daresay ye were being brave when I asked how you feel. And you can complete your assignment. Even better, ye can give the duke views that have never been painted before.”
She still looked doubtful. He waited while Jenny appeared to remove their soup bowls and bring around the platter of roast mutton and vegetables.
Once they were alone again, he refilled the wineglasses and leaned back in his chair, watching her. “I cannae see how—or why—you’d say no.”
“You’re being extraordinarily generous.” She began to eat, but her expression said she was turning his offer over in her mind. “You must think I’m both foolish and ungracious to object.”
Actually he thought she was a smart woman who suspected her host’s invitation might conceal another agenda.
She’d be right, the canny lassie. He was determined to have her in his bed. He couldn’t manage that if he was at Achnasheen, and she was painting somewhere between Armadale and Portree.
He didn’t underestimate the challenges of an affair with his attractive guest. Even if he convinced Signorina Lucchetti to take him as her lover, the people on the estate wouldn’t much like him flaunting a mistress. His clan subscribed to a strong moral code, so he’d have to be discreet.
“I’ll be disappointed if you say no,” he said calmly. “I can arrange a guide to take you out, someone who knows every rock on these hills. You’ll be safe and comfortable and productive, and on hand to observe your father’s recovery. No need to travel any further on our atrocious Highland roads.”
As she lifted her wine, her rich red lips curved. Signorina Lucchetti looked good in his dining room, as if she fitted. “There’s that.”
“So will ye agree?”
A frown creased her brow. In the flickering light, the olive tinge to her skin was more marked than it had been outside in the rain. She looked very exotic to him. How he hungered to explore that mystery before she returned to Italy.
When had he found a woman this interesting? He wasn’t likely to encounter anyone like her again.
“I’ll be taking advantage of you.” Candlelight turned her eyes to dark pools.
They’d be taking advantage of each other, if he had any say in it. Hell, this was Achnasheen. He had a say in everything. “I’d enjoy your company.”
“I can’t feel it’s quite proper for me to stay. After all, you’re a single man and I’m a single woman.”
He cut into his meat and shrugged. “We have your father and a house full of servants to chaperone us.”
“A man who can’t leave his bed and people bound to you in clan loyalty.”
He drank more of his wine, letting the smooth claret tease his senses, although nothing could compare with his pleasure in watching the lovely woman sitting at his elbow. “Why not stay for a couple of days, then make up your mind? You can see the country and decide whether it meets your requirements.”
She stared down at her half-empty plate and pushed a piece of potato around as she considered his suggestion. “You must think I’m hypocritical to worry about my good name, when I proclaim my independence with such fervor.”
“Och, you’re just being practical.”
“I told you it’s difficult for a woman to make a career as an artist.” She raised those remarkable eyes, and desire hit him so hard, he wondered why he couldn’t smell the sizzle of lightning striking. “I’ve worked too long and hard to let scandal destroy everything I’ve built.”
“I understand,” he said.
He did. Which didn’t stop him from scheming to bring them together.
Fergus wanted her now, but it was too early to invite her into his bed. He hadn’t yet convinced her to stay past tonight. He couldn’t risk his sinful intentions frightening her off.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered why he was so determined to have her. He’d always liked compliant women. Compliant was the last adjective he’d apply to Signorina Lucchetti.
But while his common sense warned him she was likely to be nothing but trouble, he couldn’t deny the heat swirling like a whirlpool in his blood. Whatever the future held, he’d made his decision. He wanted her, and it was too late to turn away.
She set down her cutlery and nodded, as if she reached a conclusion after a long argument. “Very well, Mackinnon. Thank you. I will accept your offer to stay, at least for the next few days.”
* * *
For an overbearing male, the Mackinnon proved surprisingly good company. Marina enjoyed hearing about the clan’s long history. It sounded like something out of a romantic novel, full of feuds and battles, forbidden love and revenge.
Every word he spoke conveyed his love for this wild and dramatic landscape. Over the last days as she and her father had wended their way further into the Highlands, she’d been impressed with the magnificent scenery. Yet only as she listened to tales spun over a candlelit dinner table did she at last feel the powerful lure of this land.
Her artist’s soul burned to capture something of that untamed spirit. She was far from convinced staying at Achnasheen was wise, but wisdom lost its battle against increasing fascination. A fascination not with the turbulent history alone, but with the man weaving the magic.
She realized that despite its beauty, this was a harsh country and only the strongest survived. Perhaps the Mackinnon had reason for being such an autocrat. It became clear that the fortunes of the entire clan had always hinged on the chief’s strength.
When he caught Marina stifling a yawn, he interrupted a story of a beautiful girl kidnapped from a nearby glen. “Och, lassie, I’ve kept ye up too long, maundering on about long ago.”
“It’s still earl
y.” As if to confirm that, the clock on the mantel struck half past nine.
“Time for all good lasses to seek their beds.”
“I must check on Papa. He was sleeping when I left him.”
“If Maggie’s given him one of her potions, he’ll sleep until morning.”
“That will do him good. But I’d still like to look in on him.” She lifted her hand in appeal. “At least finish the story. Did the Drummonds besiege your castle and demand their kinswoman back?”
Humor lifted the corners of his lips. So far tonight, he’d smiled fully just once, when he’d told her she had to stay at Achnasheen. For the sake of her heart rate, she was grateful for that. These half-smiles were appealing enough. “They did, but too late, I fear.”
Marina’s eyes opened wide in horror, and her hands curled into the arms of her chair. “The Mackinnons murdered her?”
He shook his head in mock disapproval. “You’re a bloodthirsty wench.”
“Given some of the stories you’ve told me this evening, it’s a possibility,” she retorted.
One tale had the Drummonds trapping a band of Mackinnon raiders in a cave and setting a fire at the entrance, resulting in mass suffocation. That would probably give her nightmares tonight.
“Aye, I suppose so.”
“So what happened to Fair Mhaire?”
That smile still flirted with his lips. “By the time her kinsmen organized themselves to mount a raid, she’d fallen in love with the Mackinnon. We’re such braw laddies, ye ken.”
“Is that so?” Marina said, unable to deny the statement, although she knew he teased her.
“The bonny wee lass stood on the battlements and told her family to take themselves away home, as she was quite happy where she was and intended to stay. She’s my great-great grandmother.”
“What a nice story.” Relief flooded Marina, although these people were strangers and meant nothing to her. “I think that might be my favorite.”
He came around to pull her chair out as she rose. “Aye, a wee romance for you to dream about.” He crooked his arm in her direction. “Let me escort you to your room.”
She wanted to accept the gesture as simple good manners, but when she curled her fingers around his elbow, a wash of sensual heat enveloped her head to toe. Astonishment stopped her from moving straightaway. Her attention usually focused on her work, on pigments and outlines and perspective. Until now, no mere male could compete with her devotion to her art.
Yet all night, awareness of the Mackinnon had kept her on edge. Now his touch ignited that stirring attraction to wildfire. His command to go to bed took on suggestive overtones.
“Thank you for a delightful evening,” she said, meaning it. She’d imagined he’d have her hackles raised all night, while the discussion had been—mostly—harmonious. And her fears of a dreadful dinner to match the other dreadful dinners she’d had in the Highlands hadn’t come to pass. The fish soup had been delicious, and the mutton had been cooked to perfection.
“Better than ye expected?” he asked in a wry tone.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, especially once you controlled your impulse to tell me what to do.”
“I made sure I approached you with due care.”
With an unpleasant shock, she realized that over the course of the evening, she’d yielded to everything he asked of her. She’d had dinner with him. She’d agreed to stay at the castle. She was even, blast him, going to bed on his orders. “Very clever, Mackinnon.”
“Do ye mind?” He drew her into his side.
More of that cursed heat radiated through her as their hips brushed. She’d never in her twenty-eight years been so conscious of her body.
“I might once I’ve had a chance to think about it.” When she shifted, she felt stiff after sitting for so long, but her legs soon started to work properly. They strolled toward the great hall and its staircase up to her room. She wondered where the Mackinnon slept, then told herself to behave.
“Och, you’re not the sort to bear a grudge.”
She was tall enough that she had no trouble matching her steps to his. “Tomorrow I’ll be too busy climbing around the hills on your estate to worry about anything else.”
“Not tomorrow, lassie.”
She told herself “lassie” wasn’t a term of endearment, despite it sounding like one. Now. It hadn’t when he’d called her lassie down by the bridge. “Mackinnon, I have work to do and—”
“Dinna get your feathers all puffed up. I’m not laying down the law. There’s more rain on the way. No weather for hill walking. So stay in. Talk to your father. Talk to me. Rest. Maybe do a few sketches inside the castle. Or if ye like, we can do our tour of the house.”
“You’ve got it all sorted out,” she said with a touch of resentment, although after her wait in the cold with her father this afternoon, she had no wish to be out in the weather again.
“Aye, I’m the Mackinnon.” They started to climb that impossibly impressive staircase. “Sorting out is what I do.”
Her laugh was soft. “I’m not one of your clansmen. I can sort myself out.”
The glance he cast her was disconcertingly penetrating. “Isn’t it nice when ye don’t have to?”
A weak, feminine part of her agreed. It had been a difficult day. Cold, wet weather and long hours of travel over appalling roads, culminating in that terrifying crash when she’d been so certain she and her father were doomed. Then on top of that, her fears about Papa’s injury. Not to mention the tumult of finding herself so suddenly, so completely in thrall to an arrogant stranger.
The part of her that had carved out her career fought back. If she ceded her will to this man, it might be easy in the short term, but afterward her lonely path would only prove more difficult.
Lonely path? What was this? She loved her life. She loved that she was in charge of where she went and what she did. If after mere hours, the Mackinnon had her questioning such a fundamental truth about her existence, he was even more dangerous than she thought.
“I’m fine.” Perhaps because the idea of leaning on him remained so appealing, her answer held a touch of tartness.
“You’re a prickly lassie,” he said easily. “I don’t know why I put up with ye.”
He sounded as if he was fond of her. Which was ridiculous, when they’d known one another for a single evening.
She summoned a light response, although the warmth in his tone made her wayward heart wobble. “And to think you’ve invited me to stay as long as I wish.”
They’d reached her father’s door. Flickering light from the candle the Mackinnon carried cast shadows across that striking bone structure. Her fingers itched to draw him like this, a man half lost in the world of the past.
“Aye, well, madness runs in the family.”
She shook her head. “Not madness. Vengeance. Passion. Power. Violence. All those. None of the stories you told me tonight indicated anyone on the family tree was out of his mind.”
When he moved closer, she gave a start. On unsteady legs, she faltered back until she bumped into the door behind her. Although she generally wasn’t nervous around men.
“Perhaps I’ve saved the stories about the mad Mackinnons for next time.” That deep voice with its alluring lilt played glissandos up and down her backbone. “Or perhaps the first mad Mackinnon is going to be me.”
The words echoed between them with the force of thunder, although they weren’t precisely a threat, and he’d spoken in a murmur, as if he didn’t want the shadows hearing.
He leaned in closer and every tiny hair on her skin stood up in expectation. Per l’amor di dio, was he going to kiss her? If he did, did she mean to kiss him back? Or send him away with a flea in his ear?
And if he did kiss her, did that change her decision to remain at this isolated castle?
Hurriedly she turned and pushed open the door with a shaking hand. Candles lit the room to gold. Her father snored softly. Maggie lifted her head from wher
e she sat knitting beside the bed. She smiled as Marina stepped inside and ventured close enough to see that some color returned to Papa’s cheeks. Sleep smoothed away the deep lines of pain that had marked his face since the accident.
“He’s peaceful as a Sabbath morning, lassie,” Maggie whispered.
Marina stared into her father’s relaxed features and said a silent prayer of gratitude that they’d both come through the accident. Hiding a wince, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Bending over reminded her yet again of her bone-jarring arrival in the glen. “Buona notte, Papa.”
He didn’t stir. She glanced up at Maggie with a smile. “Thank you for looking after him.”
“Och, it’s no trouble,” the old woman said. “No trouble at all. Now away with ye to bed, my bonny.”
Marina said goodnight and crept out of the room, although Papa was so deeply asleep, she doubted a brass band could wake him. The Mackinnon was waiting in the corridor.
“Oh, I didn’t think you’d stay.”
“I said I’d walk ye to your door, signorina.”
Those warm fingers closed around her arm once more, and the blast of heat made her stumble. He regarded her in concern as they walked the short distance. “I really have kept ye up too late. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been in a carriage accident,” she said drily. “But it’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
“I hope so.” The breath caught in her throat when he leaned in again, but he merely stretched past to release the latch so her door opened behind her. He frowned when he glanced into the dark room. “Didnae Peggy wait up?”
“I told her not to. I’m used to looking after myself.”
Her eyes clung to the derisive quirk of that expressive mouth. “More of your blasted independence?”
“Probably,” she said, telling herself it was silly and dangerous to be disappointed at the lack of a kiss. If he kissed her, her situation at Achnasheen would become impossible.
The Laird's Willful Lass Page 6