Chapter 6
"Damn it, this makes nae sense!"
Kirsty looked up from where she packed supplies into the hold of the Kestrel. Dougal must have discovered where she’d loosened the rowlocks.
The boat had spent two days on the beach while Dougal worked on it. But he’d been so pleased with progress that yesterday evening, he’d rowed it around the headland and tied it to the quay in readiness for an early departure. Now he stood in the stern, staring with dismay at the offending damage.
"What is it?" She stood up and tried to look both concerned and innocent. The innocent part in particular was becoming more difficult to maintain by the day.
"I could swear I checked these rowlocks yesterday. Yet now they’re broken. And I’ll swear those boards were flush, too, yet now they’re out of alignment."
"It was a bad storm ye went through," she said, hoping she didn’t sound as disingenuous in his ears as she did in her own. "It’s nae wonder your boat needs work."
With a growl of frustration, he ran one large hand through his thick red hair.
Every morning before she met up with Dougal Drummond, Kirsty told herself she imagined his beauty, and he couldn’t possibly be as spectacular as she remembered. Then she saw him, and her heart turned cartwheels in her chest, and her knees dissolved to water, and she knew the man who filled her dreams each night hardly did justice to his glorious reality.
At this moment, with his hair ruffled and annoyance sparking in his blue eyes, he looked more like an angel than ever, if perhaps an avenging one. Kirsty hid a shiver as she wondered what he’d do if he discovered her treason. The idea didn’t bear thinking about. That rich red hair hinted at a temper, although he’d been the best of companions. She almost wished he had been bad-tempered. Every moment in his company just pushed her deeper into this morass of love.
"It’s been three days. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. And the Kestrel has always been a reliable wee boat. Brendan MacNeill is a fine craftsman. He wouldnae build a vessel that gave up the ghost after a spot of dreich weather."
"Is it really so bad to stay here?" she asked in a small voice.
For three nights in a row, she’d sneaked out of the house to cripple the Kestrel. She’d been careful only to do minor damage, but she was running out of time. And places where she could cause trouble without making it obvious that she was trying to keep Dougal on Askaval.
On his second day on the island, he’d told her he admired her. She’d wondered if he was ready to admit that they were meant to be together. For a fleeting instant on the quay, he’d looked at her as if she was the answer to his every prayer. Even thinking back to that enthralling moment made her heart perform acrobatics.
But since then, he’d retreated into a careful friendliness that had her aching for some sign that he thought she was special. They’d worked together in an amity that left her feeling like she starved to death within reach of a nourishing meal. They fixed the boat; they prepared the big house for Christmas; they ate every meal together; they sat with her father in the evenings. They couldn’t be together more, unless she scandalized her parent and the islanders by crawling into Dougal’s bed.
Kirsty had a bleak feeling that if she took such a shocking step, Dougal would just give her a cool, uninvolved smile and tell her to roll over and go to sleep while he did the same.
That same cool, gorgeous smile he’d been giving her for the last three days.
Now he turned to her, smiling as if she was nothing more than a casual acquaintance. Her ardent heart cramped with excruciating yearning as she searched his face for something beyond mere friendliness. She searched in vain. "The hospitality here couldnae have been warmer."
"But ye want to go," she said, wondering why she pursued the subject. When she talked about his departure, she always felt like she punched on a bruise.
She already knew he wanted to go. Every day, he spoke of sailing on the next tide, and she was yet to catch the faintest note of regret in his tone.
No, he saved all his regret for the moment he rushed out to launch his boat, only to discover it was no longer seaworthy.
Kirsty really should hate herself for deceiving him so egregiously. One thing was for sure, if he learned of her midnight activities, he’d hate her. It was a frightening thought, but not frightening enough to make her change her ways.
He sighed again. "Aye, I want to go. But if that storm taught me anything, it’s that I need a reliable craft."
If she had an ounce of conscience, she’d stay in bed tonight and save herself a trip out into the cold December darkness. It was clear that Dougal was no closer to falling in love with her today than he’d been on the morning he arrived. It was mean to keep him from his quest.
But already her busy mind settled on the idea of putting a few small holes behind the cupboard that held his supplies. Easily missed, so he’d have no idea anyone schemed to detain him on the island. The day after tomorrow was Christmas. Surely he wouldn’t want to travel on the Lord’s birthday.
Perhaps after that, this spell of unseasonal good weather would break and keep him here even longer. Then…
Kirsty, you’re wicked. The angels despair of ye.
"Ye dinnae want to risk sinking." She was pleased that her tone struck just the right note of amiable concern.
Kirsty watched him put away his frustration and face the job at hand with the stalwart determination she’d noted from the first. Fair Ellen – if the besom existed at all – was a lucky wench.
"No, I dinnae. So let’s get to work."
Was it progress that he assumed she’d stay at his side all day? She really should be helping with the Christmas baking. In fact, she was surprised that Ruth hadn’t chased her down and insisted on her playing her part.
"Aye, aye, Captain," she said smartly, which roused a smile just as she’d intended.
She loved his smile. The way his face creased with amusement and his bright blue eyes glittered. Every time he smiled at her, she fell another fathom deeper under his spell.
If fate didn’t intend this beautiful man for her, what the devil business did it have bringing him to her doorstep? Dougal was perfect for her in every way. Except for one thing. He was a wee bit slow on the uptake when it came to seeing that Kirsty Macbain was perfect for him, too.
"That’s what I like to see," he said. "Immediate obedience."
When she moved past him, she brushed against his body. The boat offered restricted space, although to her regret, so far Dougal had been a perfect gentleman. She paused to hitch her skirts higher, securing them in her belt so they were clear of the water dribbling into the hull, courtesy of her efforts with a drill last night. A prickling at her neck told her he watched as she revealed her ankles and calves in pretty blue embroidered stockings. But when she turned, he was still staring at the damaged rowlocks.
He hadn’t been looking at her. Clearly wishful thinking. She bit back a sigh and climbed out of the boat to fetch more supplies for the voyage she hoped he never took.
Her shoulders slumped, as she couldn’t help wondering if all her nefarious efforts might come to nothing. She yearned for Dougal Drummond more than she yearned for heaven. Yet she did him wrong every time she opened her mouth.
***
Dougal stifled a curse as the hammer banged on his thumb for the second time in half an hour. It bloody stung. But not as much as it stung to recognize that even a pure knight on a sacred quest had as much old Adam in him as any blockhead who hadn’t left home with great causes in mind.
Plague take it, it was damned difficult to concentrate on repairing his boat when he couldn’t banish the image of sky-blue stockings and two trim ankles from his mind. He couldn’t see the nails he was pounding into the smooth oak sides of the Kestrel. He only saw plaid skirts rising to reveal Kirsty’s legs. The memory dried every drop of moisture from his mouth.
The craziest thing about this was that he already had a fair idea of exactly how Kirsty was shaped. After all
, he’d seen her in skin-tight breeches that left very little to the imagination.
It was his imagination he wished to Hades. Even when he wasn’t with Kirsty, his imagination nagged him with pictures of what she might look like wearing nothing at all, with that magnificent black hair drifting over her bare skin. He couldn’t even escape this torture when he slept. During the past nights, heated, restless dreams of Kirsty sharing his bed tormented him. Each time he poised to take her, she disappeared, leaving him with empty arms and a cock stand of painful proportions.
Dougal needed to leave Askaval, but as long as his boat was damaged, he was caught here. And with every day, the charms of this place wrapped themselves tighter around him, until they smothered his grand purpose.
When he’d arrived, the island had seemed an unpromising landfall. Small, dull, isolated, if undoubtedly prosperous. But after spending most of a week here, he thought it was one of the bonniest places he’d ever seen. The beaches and headlands were breathtakingly lovely. The gentle hills and rich green fields soothed an eye accustomed to the wild and rugged northern Highlands.
It was the same for the people. His host, Gus, was affable and charming and full of entertaining stories. The islanders he’d met were proud and forthright and offered him a warm welcome. His daily interactions with Johnny, Jock and Bill never failed to make him laugh.
And then, there was the laird’s daughter.
Like the island, her charms had worked on him slowly. He hadn’t even thought her particularly pretty when he first met her. Now his day didn’t start until he saw that vivid, expressive face and heard her low, husky voice wishing him good morrow.
He started to think she was the loveliest girl he’d ever seen. Which made him feel like he was cheating Fair Ellen.
But Fair Ellen wasn’t sharing the cramped space of a boat hull with him. Fair Ellen wasn’t driving him mad with the scent of crushed wildflowers. Fair Ellen wasn’t bumping up against him every time she had to reach for a rag or a tool.
Even worse, low tide meant that the boat was well below the level of the quay, so they were completely unobserved here as the afternoon verged toward evening. Right now, Dougal would give a hundred guineas to have half a dozen pairs of curious eyes fixed on the Kestrel, to keep him on the straight and narrow. He and Kirsty had far too much privacy for his peace of mind.
"Are ye all right, Dougal?" Kirsty asked from behind him.
"Of course I’m bloody all right," he growled, turning to face her.
"You dinnae sound it." Those damnably perceptive eyes like silver mirrors studied him. "And ye keep making snarling sounds under your breath."
He felt his color rise. Nobody in creation made him blush like this wee lassie. "Och, I’m sorry."
She looked unhappy. "I ken how difficult it must be for ye, stuck here when you have other places you want to be."
Dougal couldn’t bear to see Kirsty’s bright spirit oppressed. She was born for smiles and joy. He burned to dedicate his life to ensuring that she was never sad, when the agonizing truth was that he’d already dedicated himself elsewhere. Once he left Askaval, it was highly likely he’d never see her again.
Which carved a strip off his heart and made him want to howl into the wind.
God help him. He was in real trouble here. What in blazes was wrong with him?
Dougal only just stopped himself from taking the girl into his arms and telling her everything would be all right, because he would make it so. The sorrow deepening those translucent gray eyes made him want to smash something with the hammer he still held in his hand.
"Dougal?" she asked uncertainly, and he realized he was staring at her like a lunatic. He gave himself a mental shake and reminded himself he had great deeds to perform and great renown to win. He could achieve neither on tiny, charming Askaval.
"I have nae right to take my temper out on ye, lass," he said huskily. "Have ye nearly finished there?"
She glanced down at the sail in her hands and nodded. She still seemed strangely downhearted. Since the day he’d met her, the air around her had vibrated with life. But this afternoon, that vitality seemed muffled.
He didn’t like it.
"Aye, it’s ready for your voyage tomorrow."
He frowned. "I’m grateful for all your hard work, especially as it’s turned into a major project, instead of an afternoon’s repair. Without your help, I doubt I’d be ready to go even now."
That didn’t appear to lift her spirits. "I’ve enjoyed it."
"So have I," he said, not altogether pleased to realize it was the truth.
Kirsty had been wonderful company. Cheerful. Intelligent. Interesting. Just talkative enough. If he’d spent all this time with his sisters, his ears would be ringing. They never shut up, and they generally chattered about things he couldn’t give a rat’s arse about, much as he loved them. Kirsty hit the right balance. The man she eventually married was a lucky sod.
Now Dougal wasn’t feeling too happy himself. Of course, the girl would marry. Even if she wasn’t so bright and pretty, she was the heiress to Askaval. Some rotten fortune-hunting bastard would woo her and win both the island and the lass.
"I’ll miss ye," he said, even as he told himself to button his lip. What was the point of harping on his regrets, when he had every intention of leaving in the morning?
Her remarkable eyes darkened as she studied him. "I’ll miss ye, too." Before he could identify the emotion thickening her voice, she went on quickly and in a more cheerful tone. "Ye fitted in so well with everyone on the island."
Is that all? Dougal wanted to ask the question, but this time discretion won out and he returned to finishing his task. The early winter evening drew in, and the light in the hull was bad. But he had a nasty suspicion that wasn’t why he had trouble seeing what he needed to fix.
"Should I light the candles?" She was still too close behind him.
He set down the hammer and turned to face her. "No, I’ve finished. I want to…"
Damn it, she was even closer than he’d thought. Mere inches separated them. He sucked in a jagged breath, and his head flooded with the evocative scent of Kirsty. Crushed wildflowers. Warm female. A hint of the fresh salt air that always seem to swirl around her, so she became part of the wild sea and sky, here on her beautiful island.
"Ye want to…" she echoed, leaning closer.
Dougal swallowed to loosen a tight throat, as his heart leaped around in his chest like a grasshopper.
"I want to…" He sounded strangled. His hands formed fists at his sides, and his head swam with a hundred impossible longings.
I want to take ye in my arms.
I want to kiss ye.
I want to steal ye away across the waves and take you back to Bruard.
I want to…
He couldn’t speak any of those forbidden wishes aloud, but as Kirsty stared at him, her eyes widened as if she heard the words anyway.
"Aye?" she whispered. Although there was nobody but him to hear. Even the old men who sat outside the inn had packed up and returned to their own firesides an hour ago.
The day was nearly done. Dougal had one more night on Askaval before he left forever.
That had been his aim since he arrived. Why now did that seem a punishment worse than death?
Kirsty’s lips parted. Those full, red lips that in his profane dreams, kissed him over and over. He caught a glimpse of straight small teeth in the dark interior. The silvery eyes turned as soft and misty as the fog that swept in from the sea.
"Kirsty?" he forced out in a choked voice and realized he’d shifted even nearer.
"Aye?" she said again, gazing unblinking into his eyes.
"Oh, hell," he muttered and reached out to catch her upper arms in shaking hands. For one blazing, lost moment, he stared into that unforgettable face.
Then God help him, he kissed her.
Chapter 7
Kirsty’s gasp of shock turned into a long, shuddering sigh of pleasure. She leaned in
and surrendered to the kiss. Dougal’s arms encircled her, and her heart crashed against her ribs then set off on an excited race. He made a low sound of appreciation against her lips and lashed his arms more tightly around her, hauling her close into his body.
More heat. More excitement. She felt like her bones dissolved into hot honey, and she pressed against him, desperate for more. Desperate for this never to finish.
For days, his tangy masculine scent had tormented her, had wafted through her dreams. Now his scent turned into the air she breathed.
Instinctively she parted her lips, wanting more of his delicious taste. Another of those wordless mutters of encouragement. Then shockingly, delightfully, she felt his tongue slip through into her mouth. A muffled sound of surprise escaped her, even as she fluttered her tongue against his. The game turned rapturous.
This eager, rapacious meeting of mouths made her quake and crave. A deep pulse of desire started to throb between her legs, and a great hot weight of arousal settled in the pit of her stomach. She’d never felt like this before. And still his mouth plundered hers, claiming her as his.
By the time he drew away, her head was swimming from lack of air and the swift onslaught of overwhelming need. Her knees felt like wet wool, and her heart galloped faster than a wild horse. His powerful and tender hands around her upper arms were all that kept her upright. In these days hungering after Dougal, she hadn’t until now recognized that love could be so carnal.
"Kirsty…"
"Aye?" she whispered, staring up at him dazzled.
She’d always thought him beautiful. Now, with his eyes burning blue fire and ardor vivid in his sculpted features, his beauty seemed incandescent.
His hands kneaded the flesh of her arms, and she strained closer. Elation flooded her as she realized what this meant. At last, it had happened. Surely all her prayers were answered. Dougal would acknowledge the unbreakable bond that united them, the bond she’d recognized from their first meeting. He’d tell her he loved her. He’d tell her she was the only woman for him. He’d tell her he was going to stay.
The Highlander’s Christmas Quest: The Lairds Most Likely Book 5 Page 6