by Amy Jarecki
Footsteps crashed through the trees, snapping twigs, branches rustling. “Merrin!” Ian roared.
He barreled into the clearing, sword drawn. Stopping, he looked from Merrin to Gar to the pig. His panicked expression turned to a grin. “Ye caught a boar?”
Merrin lowered her dagger. “Aye, but I cannot kill it.”
Ian cupped her cheek. “Ye’re too kindhearted, lass. Avert your eyes and we’ll feast tonight.”
No matter what, Merrin couldn’t stay upset with Ian. He looked so dangerous, charging through the woods to her rescue—so ruggedly male.
Niall tromped up and gasped for breath. “Thank heavens, ye snared us a big fella.”
Merrin blinked, pulling her mind away from its conjuring of Ian’s display of a raw warrior in motion, ready to fight for her. “Aye.” She cleared her throat. “And Ian’s finishing him for us.”
Niall licked his lips. “Very well, I’ll go throw some more wood on the fire.”
Ian made quick work of gutting and cleaning the boar and then carried it back to the shack. Good thing he was there, because the carcass must have weighed at least seven stone. How Ian managed it with his wound still angry raw, she couldn’t fathom, but Merrin gave up worrying about his back. The wound was gradually healing, even though he kept making it bleed.
Merrin fashioned a spit by using two Y-shaped branches and suspended the pig on a long stick between them. They all had a go at turning the beast above the fire. All the while, Ian never took his eyes off the Sound of Raasay. Once daylight faded into darkness, he gave up his search. “I think we’re safe for the night at least. We’ll need to keep the fire to coals.”
“Good.” Merrin cut a piece of meat and took a bite. The juices spread across her tongue and made her mouth water. “Mmm. Because I reckon the pork is ready.”
They all dug into the meat as if they hadn’t eaten in a sennight. Aside from a few soggy, smashed oatcakes, bulrushes and dandelion leaves, there had been nothing since the meal of chicken they’d had night before last. Dumping the food in the hull of the skiff to bail water forced them to live on anything they could scavenge.
“I’d bet there are clams aplenty on the beach,” Niall said.
Ian rubbed his belly. “Aye, but we’d be seen for certain.”
“I could go down,” Niall suggested. “Rewan has no idea what I look like. No one would suspect an old man clamming on a beach.”
Ian smiled, the flames dancing in his eyes. “All right. I wouldn’t complain about adding clams to me diet.”
Merrin dabbed her mouth with her fingers. “And crab, if ye can find it.”
“Always count on a woman to make your task more difficult.” Niall pulled a small wooden flute from his sporran. “Ye fancy a tune, Ian?”
“Music? Had I known we were going to have a fete, I would have brought me pipes.”
Merrin gaped. “Ye play the bagpipes?”
“A second son needs to be of some use at all those gatherings.”
Would Ian never cease to amaze her? “Ye mean ye’ve played in the castle with people dancing?”
Ian gave her a quizzical look, and then his face softened, taking on the sultry amber glow of the flames. “Aye, lass.”
Niall’s lyrical flute floated over the campfire and swirled around as if swaying to a dance of its own. Ian stood and sauntered to Merrin’s side. Placing an arm across his waist, he bowed deeply. He shot a quick glance to Niall, who blinked his eyes with a nod. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, m’lady?”
Though no kin to nobility, for the first time in her life, Merrin felt like a princess. It didn’t matter that she was sitting on logs alongside a campfire. Ian’s powerful frame looked so gallant in the plaid she’d woven. As was customary, he wore the length of it draped across one shoulder. With his ermine sporran and bejeweled dirk hanging from his waist, he could have passed for a prince—if only he could be her prince.
Ian offered his hand. Her fingers trembled when she placed them in his callused, much larger palm. “I dunna ken if I can do this.”
“Have ye danced with your da?”
“Aye.”
He lowered his gazed and met her eyes. He smiled—so warm, so friendly, but more. “’Tis no different.”
He pulled her close, but not quite touching. Butterflies swarmed inside her belly. “I daresay it is.” Something about this night made Ian even more handsome. There had been fires in the hearth at home, but the firelight dancing across his face made him dreamy, intoxicating.
He took her hands and danced slowly to Niall’s ballad. She looked down at his feet. He caught her chin with the crook of his finger and encouraged her to gaze upon his face. She relaxed into the lyrical flow of his footsteps. She floated, as if they danced upon a cloud. She could hear the soft call of the flute, though distant, like in a dream.
Merrin hummed a bit and Ian pressed his hand into the small of her back. He pushed against her right hand, which she instinctively took as a cue for a turn. When she executed it without stumbling, he did it again. Ian’s eyes flashed wide and he spun her around the fire. “I like it when ye sing.” His deep voice rolled like honey. “I remember your singing in the cottage. ’Twas beautiful.”
Merrin knew she was blushing. Ian had a wonderful way of making her feel beautiful—though she knew she could never be.
Niall suddenly switched to a reel.
“Ha!” Ian picked up the pace with scarcely a hitch to his step and locked his elbow with hers. Together they danced in circles, laughing—just as she did back in the cottage with Da. Except it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Ian had not a line on his handsome face, not a grey hair in the flaxen locks that hung to his shoulders. Ian looked at her with hungry eyes, as a man would a woman he wanted for more than a simple dance.
Though she didn’t always understand Ian’s actions and how they sometimes conflicted with his words, Merrin allowed herself to enjoy every moment. She desperately wanted to experience everything, and forced herself not to ponder upon the future. Her time was now. No, Ian would not be swinging her in a reel forever, but she would take all she could reap and lock it away. She’d savor it for the lifetime of loneliness—which, no doubt, would return.
***
Ian lay awake listening to the rush of the waves melodically rolling onto the shore below. Nights were the worst, listening to Niall snore whilst Merrin slept on the other side of her father. Ian’s fingers itched to run through her hair, to explore every inch of her supple flesh.
She’d been so full of life when they danced. Her face glowed with the excited anticipation of a child seeing and doing things for the first time, yet she was nothing of the sort. An attractive and alluring woman full grown, dressed in a gown of silk, Merrin would be the center of attention at any gathering in the Highlands. And when she hummed, her voice confident and tantalizingly sweet, Ian’s loins stirred to life. If things were different, he’d ask Niall for permission to court the lass. Yes, him, the lover of all women, wanted only one.
Ian groaned. He always desired that which he could not have.
He stared at the patchy ceiling. He needed to focus his mind on how he would get Rewan off his trail. He could try to enlist the help of the MacRaes, who bore arms at Eilean Donan for the MacKenzies, but that would be unlikely. Why would they stick their necks out for a chieftain’s second son, a healer and his daughter? Though being the son of a chieftain had its pull, Ian doubted he could convince an army to stand beside him and fend off Rewan and his men. The possibility turned over in his mind—he wouldn’t discount it, not yet.
Asking for transport might be a better idea. He’d need to think of a place he could take Merrin where she’d find acceptance. Perhaps they could steal away to the Americas—news had reached the Hebrides the new continent had land aplenty. Ireland, Wales, mayhap the Americas. There were numerous options, but the one Ian prayed for the most was to return to Raasay. He knew the land and belonged to the clan. He wouldn’t set
sail for a foreign shore unless there was no other option.
A sharp jab shot through his wound and Ian grunted at the discomfort. Though the pain in his back had lessened, it still weakened him, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.
Ian tried to close his eyes and clear his mind. The only thing he was sure about was they needed to keep moving. Staying put wasn’t taking them any closer to Eilean Donan or safety. He’d give Niall a day, then his pitch had better work.
***
Merrin opened her eyes. Light streamed in from the window and the section of caved-in roof. A nasty rock jutted into her hip. It felt like she’d grown another appendage. She must have slept upon it near all night. She sat up and rubbed her backside, willing some feeling to return.
Merrin swiped a hand across her eyes. Neither Ian nor Niall were where they’d bedded down for the night. Even Gar must be outside. A thud resonated in through the window, followed by a grunt and another thud. Merrin stretched and crept to the doorway.
Her heart fluttered. Any sleepy cobwebs her head may have had when she opened her eyes completely dissolved at the sight of Ian half naked, swinging the claymore in a deadly battle with a tree. Chiseled perfection.
Gar slept, curled under a sycamore a safe distance away, but Ian had cut the limbs from the hearty oak. The tree shuddered with each pummeling blow. The muscles in Ian’s back rippled and bulged. The sword hissed through the air in a deadly but graceful rhythm.
Merrin glanced at Ian’s bandage. It seeped with blood, yet he seemed not to be affected by any pain. Doubtless it needled him, but with Rewan MacLeod out there somewhere, Ian had no choice but to push himself.
Pulling her gaze away, Merrin spotted Niall on the beach, bent over with a satchel in his hand. He scooped through the sand and picked something up, then tossed it into his satchel—a clam for certain.
Ian’s breathing increased with the speed of his sword. He thrust at the tree, side to side while his feet danced, keeping tempo. Ian spun and sliced the claymore into the trunk. A clap rang out across the clearing.
Ian dropped to his knee. “Arraugh!”
Merrin ran and dropped beside him. “Ian! Are ye hurt?”
One corner of his mouth grimaced and he held up a palm. “Do no’ worry. The hard wood of this oak is a fair bit less forgiving than the flesh of a man.”
Merrin cringed. “I do no’ think I’d like to see your blade in a fight against another man. He’d be bested for certain.”
Ian stood and helped her up. “I’ve trained beside Ruairi’s men. They’re all skilled with a blade, and daily practice builds hardened warriors.”
Merrin fanned herself. Ian’s glistening chest rose and fell with his breath. She imagined a courtyard filled with shirtless Highlanders and forgot to breathe.
“Merrin?”
Her gaze shot up to his eyes. “Aye?”
“Did ye break your fast?”
“Nay.” She cleared her throat. “Why did Da no’ wake me? I’ve never slept this late.”
“I thought ye needed rest.” Ian planted the tip of his sword in the dirt and leaned on the pommel. “Besides, ye looked too peaceful to disturb.”
Merrin snuck her hand to her backside and pinched. No, she wasn’t dreaming. Yet another day had come and Ian was still there paying her compliments. How could a young man be so daft? But she enjoyed his attention. So much so, she wasn’t about to discourage it. Her gaze slipped down the length of his body and back up again. She’d lost everything, and right now she couldn’t bear the thought of losing Ian. “When do ye think ye’ll see Janet again?” she blurted. She could have kicked herself.
Ian pulled up his sword and addressed the tree. “I dunna ken. I haven’t really thought about it.”
Merrin puzzled. She assumed he thought about Janet a great deal. “What will ye do when ye see her?”
Ian slashed at the oak. “I might not ever.”
“But what if ye did?”
“I guess…” He lunged in with a downward thrust. “Things would be different.”
“How so?”
He grunted and stretched his spine. Clearly, sparring caused him pain. “She’d be back in her father’s care, for one.”
“Would ye dance with her?”
He pointed the sword at the blasted tree, not looking her way once. “Mayhap—if there was a gathering. That’s what people do at gatherings.”
Merrin’s chest burned. Of course she was painfully aware of what people did at gatherings. Dancing with Ian last night only strengthened her desire to be a part of it—to go to Brochel Castle and dance into the wee hours. But the image of Ian dancing with anyone but her tore Merrin’s insides into tiny pieces and set them afire.
She turned and ran. Tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t let Ian see her cry again—besides, she was the one being completely daft. He mustn’t know how deep her feelings had become. Merrin clenched her fists until her nails cut into her palms. The son of a chieftain, Ian could go anywhere or do anything he wanted once he resolved this mess with Ruairi. She could never be more to him than a bit of amusement. Why did she melt into his arms every time he touched her? Why did she let herself swoon when he looked into her eyes? She must find the strength to resist him.
Barely able to catch her breath, she stopped beside a clear running brook and rested her hands on her knees. Dipping her head, she shook the anguish from her mind. She must close her heart to Ian. That would be the only way for her to maintain her sanity.
The water tinkling over the stones brought a soothing melody. She hadn’t had a bath in days and days. Merrin untied her laces and pointed to Gar. “Stay.” Cleansing the grime from the trail might help wash away more than dirt.
***
Ian finished sparring with the tree and stood still. Aside from the breeze rustling the leaves above and the call of a willow warbler, an eerie silence spread through the clearing. Merrin had just been there. Where had she gone? He checked the shack and found it empty. Ian peered down to the beach. Niall was still alone, hunting clams.
Ian didn’t like it when Merrin set out alone. Even with Gar at her side, it was dangerous. Rewan wasn’t the only predator they had to worry about.
He spotted Merrin’s freshest set of footprints and followed the trail. The last conversation they’d had, she’d asked about Janet and dancing. Had he upset her? As far as Ian knew, they were having a casual conversation about dancing at a gathering. Ian stopped and looked toward the sky. Was Merrin jealous of Janet? Wispy clouds sailed above. Ian exhaled. He hadn’t thought much about Janet of late. Funny. At one time he’d thought of her often.
A splash of water caught his attention.
Ian headed through the brush until he passed a break in the thicket. His mind registered something unnatural at the fringes of his vision. He backed up and peered through the gap. His heart stuttered, completely knocked from its rhythm.
May God have mercy on my soul.
Ian should have pulled his gaze away, but how could he hide his eyes from a glimpse of perfection? Merrin’s long, dark tresses contrasted with the smoothest, creamiest skin he’d ever seen. Completely naked, she stood knee deep in the stream, scooping water with her hands, quickly splashing it against her body.
She grasped her locks and pulled them to her nape, tying them in a knot. A rush of heat swelled beneath Ian’s sporran. A completely naked, unobstructed goddess bathed twenty paces from him.
Ian stretched his fingers, longing to cup her exquisitely formed breasts. Succulent pink buds stood proud, made rosier by the cold water. Ian’s gaze trailed to her waist—it was even smaller than he’d imagined. Would his fingers meet if he wrapped them around her? Merrin’s hips flared in a captivating arc. Ian’s breathing sped. Her dark mound of hair formed a perfect triangle, as if her womanhood was wrapped in a package of silk, waiting for him to open her treasures.
Tapping his tongue to his upper lip, he had an overwhelming urge to taste her. He not only lengthened under his
kilt, a painful erection pushed into his sporran. He slid his fingers beneath his hem and wrapped them around his cock. He moaned with his need for release.
Gar’s ears pricked.
Damn.
The dog jumped up and barked. Ian eased his grip and crouched behind the thicket. Gar bounded up to him and licked his face.
“What are ye doing here, big fella?” Ian said it loud enough for Merrin to hear. She mustn’t think he’d been standing there gawking at her lusciously naked body.
“Ian?” Merrin nervously called.
“Aye.” He popped his head through the gap. “I was wondering where ye got to.”
She had her cloak wrapped around her shoulders, pulled tight across that bewitching body. “I needed a bath, but with no soap ’twas nothing more than a rinse off.” Her voice warbled. “I-I must dress.”
Ian covered his eyes. “I’ll wait here with Gar, then.”
“No. Ye’d best go back…Gar, come.”
The dog obediently trotted to her side. Merrin gave Ian a curt nod.
He hesitated.
She flicked her hand. “Go on, then.”
“If Ye’re not back at the shack in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I’ll be coming right after ye.”
Dismissed, Ian marched on. Heaven help him, he was going to hell. No man should desire a woman so fervently without first bending his knee.
***
“Sir Rewan from Lewis, m’laird,” the man-at-arms announced.
Roderick, the newly appointed chieftain of Dunvegan, stood and offered his hand. “Rewan? What business does Ruairi’s henchman have on my island?” He went pale. “Do no’ tell me something’s amiss with the old laird.”
“Nothing like that.” Rewan removed his feathered bonnet. “Surely ye’ve received word of his issues with his former wife, Janet?”
“Ah, yes. Her, shall we say, departure from Lewis was mentioned in his last missive.”
Rewan eyed the jug of whisky on the sideboard. “Do ye mind if I pour meself a tot?”
Roderick rolled his hand through the air. “By all means, pour one for me as well. Ye must be parched after your journey.”