The Highland Chieftain

by Amy Jarecki

  “But you should be home with your father, not holed up in a lair with the likes of me. Your reputation might be ruined because of my thoughtlessness.”

  “My reputation?” She guffawed. “Seaforth saw to it my reputation was soiled. It may as well weather a bit more bruising.”

  “Seaforth’s blunder was his error to bear alone. It did nothing to diminish your virtue.” He looked up, the intensity of his stare bringing on a shiver starting in her breast and rattling her teeth. “But disappearing into the Highlands with a man is something different altogether.”

  Letting out a deep breath, Mr. MacRae rocked onto his haunches and looked away. Then he picked up a fur and moved beside her. “Put this over your shoulders, m’lady.”

  “My thanks.” She reached out to take it, but he leaned over and tucked the fur around her. She closed her eyes as his warm fingers brushed her cheek.

  “I must send word to Cromartie. Let your father ken you are well. The lookouts might be searching for me, but I’ll wager one of Grant’s men will have no problem traveling through the barricade with a missive.”

  Mairi pulled the edges of the fur closed around her. “I suppose Da would be less likely to do something rash if he knew I was unharmed.”

  “Indeed.” He returned to his seat across the fire.

  As her shivering subsided, Mairi’s insides warmed. “To be honest, I’m glad the soldiers blocked the road,” she whispered, wanting him to hear, but hoping he didn’t. What would Mr. MacRae think of her if he knew she wasn’t ready to go home? Was she behaving like a harlot?

  He glanced up—those haunting eyes were too disarming. Aye, he’d heard her for certain. The man didn’t need to ask why; the expression on his face was clear enough to read his question, though he allowed her to volunteer the reason.

  “I-I’m not ready to return home as of yet,” she admitted, throwing caution aside. Let him think what he may. At least she was being plainspoken.

  The faintest of smiles turned up his lips…right before he frowned.

  Mairi’s insides twisted. Was he upset with her? Goodness, she hadn’t thought of the inconvenience she posed to him. And with a purse of fifty guineas on MacRae’s head, her father had obviously assumed the worst. Of course, MacRae was angry with her. She must be a burden to an important chieftain. He had a clan to look after, and Seaforth’s affairs to manage, and Lord knew what else.

  “I was…” Her cheeks burned. He undoubtedly didn’t give a farthing about her feelings or how she’d found herself again, if only for a short while.

  Moving around the fire, he pulled over another fur and sat beside her. “You were what, m’lady?”

  Groaning, she rolled her eyes. “I should not have bothered you with my woes.”

  He shrugged. “’Tis raining outside. There are countless dragoons chasing us, and we’ve naught to do but stay here. You may as well tell me what’s gnawing at you, m’lady.”

  Taking in a deep breath, she brushed a strand of hair from her face. “After Seaforth broke off the engagement, I felt quite sorry for myself. In fact, I was so gripped by melancholy, I wanted to hide for the rest of my days.”

  “That isn’t like you.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Hiding your bonny face from the world would be a travesty. I certainly would have missed you a great deal. I deeply regret how Seaforth’s stupidity must have cut you to the quick.”

  “You are kind, sir.” She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “But I kent it all along, no matter what Da told me. I only lied to myself—convinced myself the earl would open his eyes and see me as worthy of his…”

  “Love?”

  Mairi nodded, the old anguish threatening to grip her heart.

  “Och, Seaforth did not deserve you. Never did, if you ask me.”

  A sad smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “Do ye ken he eluded me at every gathering we ever attended? I swear, over the years I’ve probably danced more with you than Reid MacKenzie.”

  “That so?” Dunn scratched his beard. “Well then, I reckon he did you a favor.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “’Cause now you can find a better man. One who puts you on a pedestal where you deserve to be. One who might grow jealous if any other man asked you to dance.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say, Mr. MacRae.”

  “I reckon when we’re alone together, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t call me Dunn.”

  “Not Duncan?”

  He shook his head. “No one ever called me Duncan. It sounds awkward to my ears.”

  “Very well. Dunn it is.” However, the shortened name didn’t sound respectful enough to her. Mairi would need to think on his request before she completely relented.

  He pulled the flask from his sporran and shook it beside his ear. “This is empty.”

  “There’s not much remaining in the saddlebags, either.”

  “Then that settles it. I must slip down to Glenmoriston tonight and gather supplies—find out what’s going on as well.” He reached for his musket. “Do ye ken how to shoot one of these?”

  She shook her head. “Da only allowed me to learn archery.”

  “I ken you cannot wield a dirk.”

  “Oh?”

  “Do you not recall? I saw you at the loch with the soldiers.”

  “Curses.” Her shoulders fell with her huff. “I’m afraid I am not much of a warrior woman.”

  “Mayhap we can remedy that when I return. In the meantime, if you hear a sound, you’d best climb into the alcove behind the curtain and hide.”

  She craned her neck and peered around him. “There’s an alcove?”

  “Aye,’tis a secret I only share with my closest friends.”

  “But why can I not go with you? It will be frightening to be tucked away in this dark cavern alone.”

  “You’ll be fine. Believe me, lass. It will be safer for you to remain here—not to mention warmer. And I’m no healer, mark me. If you fall ill, only God can save us.”

  Mairi opened her eyes wide. “What do you mean by us?”

  He eyed her like he did when he wasn’t about to withstand a rebuttal. “’Cause you’ll be knocking on death’s door and I’ll be skewered by the pointy end of your father’s dirk.”

  * * *

  In all honesty, Dunn would have preferred to bring Mairi along, but she’d slow him down. Aye, she was an accomplished horsewoman, though she rode aside—not to mention her fear of the cliff. And to be forthright, he knew of no highborn lady able to negotiate treacherous cliffs and wet conditions without both legs firmly straddling her horse’s back. The lass was safer in the cave where her clothes would dry and she’d be toasty warm by the fire. He wouldn’t be distracted by those enormous blue eyes constantly staring at him from a visage of pure beauty. If nothing else, he needed a respite from the painful twisting of his heart.

  With the low cloud cover overhead, it was darker than a mire and the going wasn’t easy. But he made it to Grant’s manse in Glenmoriston. Given the late hour and not being one for formalities, Dunn climbed the trellis to the laird’s bedchamber and slipped in through the window.

  Robert crouched near the hearth with a sword in his hand, snarling like he was ready to fight to the death. But as soon as Dunn flashed a grin, his friend lowered his weapon. “Good God, MacRae. Do you not ken there’s a door?”

  Dunn moved into the room with a swagger, noting his friend was sleeping alone this eve. “Seeing there’s fifty guineas offered for my head, I thought I ought to be less conspicuous to your servants.” He stopped at the sideboard and pulled the stopper off the whisky decanter. “Fancy a dram?”

  “Please.” After sheathing his weapon, Grant walked to the window and peered out. “Where is Lady Mairi?”

  “Where nary a man can touch her.” Dunn poured two glasses and set one on the side table beside the laird’s chair.

  “Had that mongrel Ewen Cameron not informed the garrison that we were
plotting a Jacobite rebellion, none of this would have happened. The pox on Cameron and his spawn,” Robert spat. “He’s a thorn in my side. Always has been.”

  “What the blazes are you going on about?” Dunn chopped his hand through the air. “The bleeding redcoats boasted to Lady Mairi it was a Sutherland spy who informed on us, albeit falsely. That, however, I can believe.”

  “Sutherland?” Grant spewed the name with distaste. “If you ask me, they’re both backbiters. Though I swear the Earl of Sutherland licks his lips every time he thinks he can cause a stir. I’ll wager he’s colluding with Cameron.”

  “I disagree. Cameron is Highland folk clear to the bone. I’d fight beside Ewen any day.”

  “Well, you can have him and his shifty sons.” Grant raised his glass and drank.

  Dunn followed suit and drank thoughtfully. There was no use telling Robert Grant he was wrong about the Camerons. Feuds between their clans were always either on or off, and Dunn had stopped trying to keep track. “I tried to take Mairi home to Castle Leod today and we ended up chased by a mob of bloody dragoons. They’ve set up a blockade at the confluence of the River Conon and the Black Water.”

  The younger laird wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Christ, if anyone has a way of finding trouble, ’tis you. Troops are searching for you everywhere. Ye ken they’re burning crofts, behaving like a mob of riotous hellions.”

  “Good God, ’tis worse than I thought.” Dunn paced in front of the fire. “What news of Eilean Donan Castle? Are my kin safe?”

  Grant retreated to his chair. “’Twas the first place searched.”

  “Have the dragoons posted guards?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ballocks.” Dunn took a healthy swig of whisky, then strode to the writing table and took up the quill. “I must send word to Cromartie that Lady Mairi is safe and well. Can your runner deliver a missive?”

  “Aye, but the earl will not like it. He’s the one footing the fifty guineas—the bastard wants your head. He thinks you stole away with the lass.”

  “I thought he may have been behind the reward, but bloody hell, stealing away? With three dead dragoons in my wake? Can the news grow worse? I was saving Her Ladyship from harm, dammit. Did he not see those rutting soldiers?”

  “He saw them all right, and drew the wrong conclusion. I’ll have my man deliver your letter, but in the meantime, you must remain hidden until things settle.” Grant picked up his glass and joined MacRae at the writing table. “Cromartie didn’t specify whether you were to be delivered alive or dead.”

  “Bastard,” Dunn growled, the quill jerking with the movement of his hand.

  “You’re not wrong there. He’s as much a snake as Sutherland.”

  MacRae wrote furiously, read his prose, and sanded the parchment. Once satisfied, he rested the quill in its stand. “Jesus Saint Christopher Christ, If I hadn’t intervened, Lady Mairi would have been pillaged and ruined for life.”

  “And what now? You have her hidden somewhere in the Highlands? Do you believe the gossip isn’t running rampant?”

  “It may be, but Lady Mairi’s reputation ought to weather such a storm. I’m Seaforth’s protector. That alone should explain my actions—as well as ensure Her Ladyship’s virtue remains unscathed.”

  “So say you.”

  “Aye, I do say, and I do stand by my word.” Shooting Robert an angry glare, Dunn dipped the quill, signed the letter, and folded and sealed it. “May I impose upon you for stores?”

  “My larder is yours for the picking.”

  Dunn offered his hand. “My thanks, friend. And let no one speak ill of my intentions. I will deliver Lady Mairi to Castle Leod as soon as the earl retracts his offer for my head—a point I clearly expressed in my missive.”

  “I shall send word of the earl’s reply—to where?”

  “Send it to my lieutenant at Eilean Donan. Ram will ken where to find me.” To be honest, the only man Dunn would trust with his whereabouts at a time like this was Ram.

  After Dunn collected supplies, he hastened back to the Cavern of the Fairies where, by God’s grace, he found Mairi wrapped in furs and sound asleep. He stoked the fire and watched her slumber for a time. Facing the flames, she looked like a fairy come to life, complete with wings and stardust sparkling about her ruby locks. To watch Her Ladyship at rest was akin to enjoying a dram of fine whisky—one aged for a century—one that slid down his gullet like silk.

  With a sleeping beauty like the lass, Dunn needed no spirit to help him slumber. He only needed more of her. If only he could touch her, pull her into his arms and cradle her.

  I will protect her with my life until…

  He slammed his fist into his palm.

  Until bloody Cromartie marries her to some dimwitted arse.

  Sighing, he made himself a pallet and waited until sleep took away the pain of having his love trampled by the nobility of the lands he’d pledged his sword to protect.

  Chapter Nine

  Directly onto Dunn’s face, an unwelcome ray of light shone through the vines hanging over the cave entrance. His body craved another hour of sleep, but the bright light was too overbearing even with his eyes closed. As he stretched, his aching bones punished him from sleeping on the rocky cavern floor. Mornings in the wild reminded him that age had a way of creeping up on a man. Bloody oath, when he was a lad, he didn’t need a fur to sleep upon, and now at thirty, one fur wasn’t enough.

  He stretched again and rolled to his side, shading his face with his hand.

  I’m growing soft.

  The thought vanished when he blinked. Something was off.

  Dunn jolted awake.

  He pushed up and stared across the coals. A shot of alarm surged through his blood. Mairi’s pallet was empty. Casting the fur aside, he leaped to his feet. “Lady Mairi?” he croaked, his voice filled with morning gravel.

  Hastening to the rear of the cavern, he checked the alcove. Blast, she wasn’t there, either.

  A shrill scream came from outside.

  Dunn’s heart flew to his throat. He swooped down and grabbed his dirk. Breaking into a run, he charged through the archway, forgetting to duck. Stopped by immobile and craggy rock crashing into his head, he stumbled, fighting to keep his balance. With no time to lose Dunn gave his head a shake and forced himself to ignore the pain. Ducking this time, he bounded outside while he clapped his hand to his forehead. Warm blood oozed through his fingers. Blast it all, he wasn’t about to worry about a wee knock on the head when a woman was in peril. Gritting his teeth, he raced across the stones in bare feet. “Mairi!”

  Near the waterfall, the lass floundered in the lagoon, her hands splashing erratically.

  “Hold on, I’ll save you!” he bellowed. Sprinting, Dunn raced for the shore and dived. Frigid water attacked like prickling needles as he paddled through the pond with forceful strokes, swimming on a path directly for Her Ladyship. The cold all but froze his muscles solid, but Dunn powered through. He would walk across the snows of Ben Nevis barefoot in winter to ensure Lady Mairi’s safety. He sucked in one more deep breath and kicked with all his might until he reached her. In the blink of an eye, he wrapped her in his arms. “I have you, m’lady!”

  “You do not—” Mairi’s head went under, garbling the sound. Dunn swiftly raised her up while she thrashed and kicked. Once he had her firmly secured, he swam with powerful strokes, hauling her toward land.

  But she still fought him. “I—”

  “Save your breath,” he growled. “We’re nearly to dry ground.” Once he found his feet, he cradled her in his arms, carrying her through the water until he could set her down on soft grass. Odd, the lagoon seemed shallower than he’d remembered, though he hadn’t taken a dip in her icy water since he was a lad.

  As soon as he placed the lass on her feet, Her Ladyship gave him a solid push. Her face was as angry as a wildcat’s. “I cannot believe you interrupted a lady’s bath, you boorish oaf! I had merely dropped the soap. I am q
uite an accomplished swimmer, mind you.” She jammed her fists into her hips. “And the water wasn’t even over my head.”

  Dunn stood dumbfounded—staring. Hardly able to speak. “Soap?” he managed.

  “Aye. I found a cake in one of the saddlebags. Bless it, I’ve had dirt in my hair and grime under my nails since being attacked by the dragoons.”

  MacRae was too stunned to form words. The wind blew, making his wet clothes feel like ice sticking to flesh, but he stood motionless. Dumbstruck. Unable to form a rational thought in his thick, bull-brained head. Aye, Mairi wore a linen chemise, but the woman might as well have been totally nude. If he’d been lovelorn before, no one in all of Christendom could save him now. The holland clung to every curve, every feminine detail. The thrum of her pulse beat at the base of her neck. Ample breasts, gloriously round and too large even for his palms, curved toward him as if presenting an invitation to be fondled. Taut nipples pointed at him—hard pebbles that demanded to be licked and suckled and worshipped. But the beauty of her breasts was only the prelude.

  Heaven help him, Mairi’s waist was tiny, curving delightfully as if she did not need constricting stays. Dunn’s loins tightened as his gaze moved lower to widely flared hips—women’s hips. Hips that announced this was one feisty lady not to be trifled with, but to be idolized. As the lass stood nearly naked before him, Dunn beheld the curves he’d admired so often when watching Her Ladyship dance. But the most blessed gift of all was the shadow at her apex—dark, but he knew her treasure was concealed by curls as red as the soaking wet tresses falling about her shoulders.

  “Mr. MacRae, did you hear a word I said?” she shouted, stamping her foot.

  He gulped and made himself swipe a hand over his eyes. “You dropped the soap?” he asked, snapping to his senses, but without a clue whether she’d said anything else while his mind was in paradise. He couldn’t let on that he’d just stood there like a simpleton, ogling the lass. “Jesus Saint Christopher Christ,” he barked with a scowl. “From the sound of your shriek, I thought you were drowning.”