by Amy Jarecki
Niall stopped and pointed to the brook. “They’ll not be able to follow our tracks if we wade upstream.”
Merrin grasped her skirts and glanced back to Ian. He’d see her ankles.
His gaze dipped to her hem. “Your father’s right.”
For everything holy, Ian had probably seen hundreds of ankles. Hers were most likely hideous compared to Lady Janet’s—and he could take his ogling eyes and look the other way if she offended him.
Her reasoning did nothing to allay the rush of heat to her cheeks. “If it cannot be helped.” She tugged her kirtle to her knees and carefully stepped into the stream. Ice-cold water filled her boots. “Merciful mercy, ’tis colder than…”
“A witch’s teat?” Ian suggested behind her, playfully tugging on her hair.
She shot him a frown. “I was going to say snow on Hogmanay.” How could he jest about witches at this time? Would he be so bold with Lady Janet?
Ian splashed into the water. “Bloody hell. Ye weren’t wrong there.”
Gar took a running leap. A spray of water drenched the front of Merrin’s kirtle. “Och, ye mangy mutt, did ye have to barrel in like a mad bull?”
Gar wagged his tail and bounded ahead of Niall.
Ian lumbered beside her, leaning heavily on his walking stick. “Are ye all right?”
“Better than the likes of ye, I’d reckon.”
Ashen, he couldn’t hide his pain from Merrin. Still, his eyes slipped to the white linen shift that puckered above her scooped neckline. The wet cloth clung to her breasts, showing far more than was proper. Yes, even Merrin knew something about being proper, thanks to Friar Pat’s lessons. She looked like a harlot. Curses, curses, curses.
She glared back at him. Was that a blush she saw in his cheeks? It should be—a witch’s teat—how could he even think that?
Ian swiped a hand across his eyes. “Apologies. It’ll be dry soon.”
By the time Niall stepped out of the water, Merrin could no longer feel her toes—or her feet. Gar swirled his wet dog body around her and shook. Merrin skittered away. Her toe caught on a rock, sending her stumbling backwards. Her arms flung out. Her mouth opened to scream. Unable to stop, she closed her eyes to an inevitable icy drenching.
Two large, very strong hands plucked her from midair. Fighting against the forces of gravity, they levered her upward. In the blink of an eye, Ian held her cradled to his chest. His heart thudded against her arm. His body was so incredibly warm and he smelled so good, decidedly male—intoxicatingly so. She rested her head on his chest and inhaled. Heaven.
“Are ye hurt?” His deep voice vibrated.
Merrin met his pale blue gaze. Only Ian could manage to completely jumble her mind merely by looking at her. “How…how did ye do that?”
Ian dipped his head, his lips ever so close. But she was mad at him, was she not? He lowered his lids, his eyes shuttered by lashes so long they had no business being on a man. Would he kiss her right in front of Niall? Though the thought mortified her, the flutterings inside went for a merry romp. She raised her chin and pursed her lips. Mayhap one wee kiss?
Ian grinned. “I couldn’t allow ye to fall. It would take forever for that woolen kirtle and cloak to dry without a fire.”
Niall marched in. “That’s the second time I’ve seen ye put your hands on me daughter.” He tugged Merrin’s arm. “Ye should have listened to me and left the dog.”
She folded her hands into her chest. “I couldn’t do that.”
With an agonizing grunt, Ian set Merrin on her feet. Somehow, her arms ended up around his neck. Ignoring her father’s frown, she gave Ian’s cheek a peck. Bless it, she couldn’t stay mad at him. “Ye’re right. I could have caught me death had I fallen in. Thank you.”
Merrin ran her fingers down the length of his arm. Saints preserve me, he’s got bands of iron for arms—so thick and strong. Ian caught her hand and squeezed before he let her go. A corner of his mouth ticked up.
Niall stepped between them. “Come. We’re nearly there.”
Merrin hurried along. Single file, they made their way through a dense forest. Niall led, Merrin followed, Gar stayed on her heels and Ian took up the rear. Her lips burned. Ian’s stubble had grown in. She liked the roughness of it—how his coarse skin contrasted with her soft. If only she could run kisses along his jaw line. But this was not the time.
She glanced back. The sallow pall in his cheeks had returned. “Are ye hurting?”
Ian tossed aside his walking stick. “A man grows accustomed to it after a time.” He still had a hitch to his step. Merrin thought it foolish of him to forgo the crutch so soon—besides, heroically saving her from a drenching would have caused unimaginable pain. Ian swiped the sweat from his brow. Stubborn Highlander.
Roaring water filled the air when Niall held up his hand and stopped. “We must ask permission of the fairies before we enter.”
Merrin swallowed the lump in her throat and peered under the thorny yellow gorse. Beside her foot was a clump of primrose in full bloom. No fairies at her feet, thank heavens.
“Oberon, King of the Fairies, we seek sanctuary from Ruairi’s evil henchman. Please allow us entry into this spiritual place.” Niall turned to them. “Wait here.”
Ian scoffed. “He really believes this malarkey?”
His breath brushed her ear. Merrin didn’t need to turn around to know he was close enough to touch. All she needed to do was lean back a tad, and his warmth would soothe her. She inclined her chin. “Aye.” What else could she say? All her life, her father had held on to the old ways. He’d ensured their cottage had every magical deterrent known—all because of her mark.
Ian’s hand slid into the curve of her waist. Worries of her father’s superstitions melted. Shivers of pleasure coursed across Merrin’s skin. How could she still react to him with such strong feelings? She should shun him and never speak to him again. They took Ian in and look what had happened. But it didn’t seem to matter to her heart. Ian’s touch not only made shivers course across her flesh, it filled her with confidence and power. True, she’d never seen the slightest sign magical folk existed, but her father believed it so fervently, she hadn’t doubted.
She smiled up at him. “I’ll never let them take me. Mark of the devil or no.”
“That’s my lass. Ye’re a strong-willed fighter. No meddling sprite stands a chance against you.”
Though there was humor in Ian’s voice, the only thing Merrin could focus on were the words “my lass.” Surely he hadn’t meant she was his. Surely he meant something like “good lass.” She stole a glance at him. He grinned. Merrin’s knees wobbled. Holy fairy feathers, why does he have to be so handsome? Why couldn’t a haggard old man have washed ashore?
Ian’s released his hand as Niall trudged back up the path. “’Tis clear. Come.”
Merrin stepped lightly as she peered through the moss that hung from the trees. Her breath caught. If magic did exist, this place undoubtedly was enchanted.
Niall pointed to a gap at the root of a tree. “Keep your voices down. That’s a fairy house.”
Merrin bent closer to study it. Strewn with moss, the dark, cavernous hole led beneath the root of the tree. It didn’t seem very inviting, nor could she imagine fairy folk trying to pull her through a burrow no bigger than her head. She simply wouldn’t fit. Odd.
Ian grasped her elbow and encouraged her along. Green surrounded them. The rushing water sang a soothing tune that took her sorrow and washed it away. Up ahead, a waterfall cascaded into a pool. Gar bounded to the edge and lapped greedily. Merrin stepped beside him and ran her fingers over the dog’s damp, wiry fur. She took in a deep breath. The fresh air spread through her body like a fast-acting tonic. If nothing else, the tranquility of this place eased her mind.
She pointed at dark shadows moving beneath the water’s surface. “Look. The water’s so clear, ye can see the fish.”
Gar’s ears pricked up. He looked hungrily at the darting trout and wagged
his tail. Everyone else completely ignored her.
Ian turned full circle. “This doesn’t look like a good place to hide. ’Tis wide open once ye clear the trees.”
Niall pointed to a flat-topped crag. “There—the Castle of the Fairies.”
Ian scoffed. “The way ye carry on about the fairy folk, I’m beginning to think Ye’re daft.”
“Wheesht.” Niall pressed his finger to his lips while his eyes darted side to side. “Keep your voice down, else Merrin will be in more danger than she already is.”
Ian folded his arms. “Very well. Ye want us to climb that rock? We may as well flash a beacon.”
“Nay, nay. If ye lie flat, no one will ken we’re here.”
Ian scratched his chin and frowned. “Hell of a shelter ye’ve brought us to.”
Merrin tugged his hand. “Come. ’Tis growing dark.”
“Aye.” Niall led them up a strip of grass that cut through the middle of the flat-topped rock. “Ye’ll see. There’s no place safer on all of Skye.”
“Unless it rains,” Ian grumbled.
***
A thorny bramble snagged the hem of Merrin’s cloak as she climbed. Bending down to release it, a thorn pierced her thumb. She jerked back, but the nasty vine swiped under her dress and across her leg. “Ouch.” The vine then grew a mind of its own and grabbed her kirtle as well.
Ian grasped her hand. “It’s bleeding.” He covered her thumb with his mouth. His tongue moved across her flesh smoothly, his eyes closed as if he were kissing her. She could have swooned. Her lips parted and her breathing became labored while she watched him tend her thumb as if she were a princess. His cool mouth soothed the sting—actually, there was no longer a sting on her leg either. She could have floated to the top of the butte.
Merrin stared at Ian’s rugged profile, imagining he was kissing her mouth and not her silly thumb. But he took so much care with such a trifle as a pricked finger. Niall had never shown her that kind of tenderness. As a man, Ian was different from her father in so many ways. She never imagined a man could be so desirable. It almost frightened her.
Ian grinned and stood straight. “Put pressure on your thumb and I’ll release your skirts…if ye’ll allow me.”
Merrin pinched her thumb with her forefinger and nodded. “But I do no’ think ye should lick me leg.” Heaven help her reaction if he did. Besides, Niall would skewer him.
With a chuckle, Ian knelt. Carefully, he released the thorns from her gown and cloak. Merrin considered stopping him when he lifted her hem and peered at the scrape just above her ankle. “We’ll need to cleanse your leg when we reach the top.” But he was tending her, not ogling her. That had to make it acceptable—she thought.
When his fingers brushed her calf, Merrin gasped, her heart thumping like Gar’s paw when he scratched. His hardened calluses stroked roughly against her tender skin, his touch gentle yet powerful. For some strange reason, she suddenly craved him to run those strong hands further up her leg, caress her thigh. She closed her eyes and moaned.
Niall called over his shoulder. “What’s got ye dallying?”
She jumped only a fraction, but the jolt from her heart made it seem like she’d hopped fifty feet. She smoothed her skirts. “Just got snagged by a bramble.” Her voice sounded far too chipper. What on earth was wrong with her? She cleared her throat and lowered her tone. “We’re right to go now.”
“A bramble?” Niall scurried to her side. “That gives me an idea.”
Merrin puzzled. “What?”
“You and Ian keep going. I saw a clump of petty morel under a group of ferns—’tis fairly rare this far north. Mayhap the fairies are on our side.”
Ian planted his fists on his hips. “Are ye serious? Rewan and his men are probably right behind us. Do no’ risk being caught for the sake of a few berries.”
Niall held up a finger. “Ah, but ye do no’ understand. A salve made of the plant and berry soothes inflamed joints, but the juice of the berry will bring on drowsiness and a pounding headache if it mixes with your blood—’twill even cause vomiting.”
Ian narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”
“Ye see, if I rearrange the brambles across the path and drip juice from the berries on them, it will only take a small scrape to slow a man down.”
“How fast does it take hold?”
“If it mixes with the blood?” Niall twisted his face. “Not long.”
Ian smirked. “Aye, so after they slit our throats, their heads will be pounding?”
“Ye got a better idea?” Niall brushed past him. “Merrin, sprinkle oats in a circle atop the Castle of the Fairies.”
She clutched her fingers around the satchel strap. “But we need the oats for eating.”
“Do no’ argue with me, lass. I ken what I’m on about.”
She watched Niall patter down the path and then turned to Ian. “Sometimes I think he’s losing his mind.”
“He’s a superstitious fellow, but he means well.”
“Aye, he protects me sure enough.”
Ian continued up the path. “He may no’ be a warrior, but he’s smart. I never would’ve thought about putting poison on bramble vines.”
“Da kens everything about healing and herbs.” Many a time Friar Pat had told Merrin her father was the most talented healer he knew.
“’Tis a valued skill. Have ye learned much yourself?”
“Aye, I help him most days—learned a lot, though I’m no’ as knowledgeable as he. Not yet, anyway.”
“Did ye ken about the petty morel?”
“I did, though never considered using it for a trap.” Merrin grasped her satchel cord and pulled it tighter over her shoulder. “Come, I need to apply a new dressing to your wound while we still have some light.”
Merrin heaved a big sigh when she slid the satchel from her shoulder. Ian took it and rested the bag beside the two he carried. Gar flopped down alongside them in a heap. Ian clasped his hand to his forehead and groaned. “I cannot apologize enough. I’d set out on me own if I thought Rewan would leave ye alone.”
Merrin tugged his hand in a silent command to sit. “What’s done is done. It cannot be helped. Da and I are in this with ye now. We’ll see it through together.” Merrin blinked. She could no sooner think of Ian heading out on his own that she could handing him over to Rewan and his band of murderers.
Ian removed the claymore from his back. “You’ve lost your home because of me.”
A hollow void filled her chest.
Her home. Gone.
She’d tried to block it from her mind. What would she do? She and Niall could rebuild, but with what? That didn’t frighten her as much as the prospect of what might happen when they ran into strangers. She fumbled inside the satchel. “Blast it all, I ken your salve’s in here.”
Ian placed a calming hand atop hers. “Let me have a look.”
Merrin handed over the leather bag. Ian reached in and effortlessly pulled out the stoppered pot. “Is this what Ye’re looking for?”
“Ye ken it is.” Merrin took it.
“What about your leg?”
Heaven help her, she couldn’t allow Ian to touch her leg again. What if Niall came up and saw her exposed to the knee with eyes rolling to the back of her head? What if she lost all sense of propriety and actually asked Ian to run his fingers up her thigh? The fact that she’d even thought about how delightful his touch would feel made her swallow hard. Was she wanton? Were the fairy folk playing tricks on her mind? Could they do that? “It does no’ hurt in the slightest.” She cleared her throat. “Now pull up your shirt.”
“I should be making arrows. One will no’ help us.”
Merrin glanced around the crag. There was nary a tree within a hundred paces. “We should have collected sticks when we were in the forest.”
Ian tugged his shirt from his waistband. “Aye, we must make it a priority on the morrow.”
Merrin shuddered. His bandage was saturated with blood. “Ye should
still be abed the way this is bleeding.”
“’Tis hardly paining me.”
Merrin glopped salve on her fingers and rubbed. “Ye expect me to believe that?”
Ian winced. “It grows a bit better every day. There’s no use whining over it.”
Merrin applied a fresh bandage. Her nose lightly touched the exposed part of his back as she reached around and unwound the roll of cloth. The way her head swooned, she had to be starving. But his warmth drew her in. She rested her cheek against his back and closed her eyes. She could rest like that for hours. The stress of the day fled.
Ian grasped her hand. “Let me do it.”
Merrin sat up and tightened her fist around the roll of linen. “I can.” She unrolled the bandage and tied it off, completely aware he watched her every movement. She liked his attention—liked it too much. Her thighs shuddered. Blast her wandering mind.
Merrin met his gaze. His pale eyes turned dark, his lids heavy. He must be awfully hungry as well.
He ran his finger along the inside of her shift—the part that ruffled along the neckline of her bodice. “’Tis nearly dry.”
Merrin shivered. She should pull away, but something deep inside screamed, more.
Chapter Twelve
Ian thought he could resist Merrin, until the back of his finger caressed her breasts. Merciful Lord of lords, her pliable flesh rendered him a complete and utter lovesick fool. Of course he wasn’t in love, but for everything holy, he could not deny his infatuation. Sooner or later a woman always managed to seize his heart, and Merrin had worked her magic tenfold—in record time.
Ian slid his finger back along her feminine ruffle. Silken skin made the ache under his kilt throb. With a guttural moan, he closed his eyes and inhaled her intoxicating scent.
He completely lost his mind when Merrin was around, but today had him behaving like an adolescent lad. When Gar splashed her shift, it was all he could do not to stare at the paper-thin fabric that clung to the tops of her breasts. He continually glanced sideways, willing her bodice to slip down just an inch and expose delectable pink nipples. If Niall hadn’t been there, Ian would have unlaced her kirtle and tore it off the lass.