Then, if fate had an ounce of mercy, he’d kiss her again. She could spend the rest of her life kissing Dougal Drummond and count the years well spent. His kisses took her flying up to heaven, although he’d brought the embrace to an end far too soon.
"We have to stop."
Kirsty frowned, not understanding. The words were too far removed from the declaration she prepared to hear, longed to hear. "No, we dinnae. There’s nobody to see."
A low sound emerged from deep in his throat. Not, to her regret, the growl of pleasure that had made her senses vibrate. No, this sounded…angry.
"That’s no’ the point. I’m a guest in your father’s house. I’ve received nothing but kindness from him. And from ye. You deserve better than to be mauled by a man who sails away on the next tide."
She gave her head a small shake and managed a tremulous smile. Dougal was such a knight in shining armor. "I dinnae feel mauled. I feel…wanted."
Then the haze in her mind cleared enough for her to register his expression. He didn’t look like a man who achieved his dearest dreams. He looked unhappy and ill-at-ease and worst of all, guilty. She finally made sense of what he’d said, and the heat pulsing in her blood turned to razor-sharp ice that sliced her silly illusions to ribbons.
"The next tide," she repeated slowly.
Dougal frowned down at her. "Ye ken I have to go, lass."
"I ken that was your plan when ye arrived," she said in a flat voice.
How could all that lovely warmth just disappear into nothing? When he’d kissed her, she thought she’d never feel lonely again. Right now she felt more lost and alone than she had since her mamma’s death.
And worse, she felt ashamed.
Dougal released her with an abruptness that made her heart cramp and stepped back as far as he could, which on the Kestrel wasn’t far. "I’ve never hidden my intentions."
"No," she said. "Ye havenae."
Blindly Kirsty reached out to curl her trembling fingers around the mast. Pleasure might have seeped away to leave only bitterness behind, but the physical effects of his kiss lingered. Her legs didn’t feel sturdy enough to support her.
"I’m so sorry." His voice was as flat as hers. "I dinnae ken what came over me."
"Nae harm was done." If she discounted a broken heart and this horrible, horrible aftermath to the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.
Dougal not only looked disconcerted, he looked disgruntled. "Are ye saying this is nothing out of the ordinary for ye? That ye go around kissing people all the time?"
"Ye have no right to ask that," she snapped, welcoming the cleansing heat of anger. The problem was that once anger receded, she’d still be devastated and rejected, and blast it, still in love with this magnificent blockhead.
The heat in his face became chagrin, rather than passion. It had been passion. She’d wager her rights to Askaval it had been. Surely she couldn’t be wrong that for a few moments there, he’d forgotten his quest and enjoyed kissing Kirsty, no matter how determined he was to deny her now.
"I beg your pardon. No, I dinnae."
She told herself to stop talking, to climb out of the boat and go back to her father’s house. But some devil had her facing up to Dougal with a defiance she wasn’t really feeling. She’d been humiliated enough, but it appeared she was ready to ask for more, God help her.
"It would make ye feel better if you could blame what just happened on me, would it no’?"
A muscle flickered in his cheek, and his eyes narrowed on her. "No’ at all."
"For your information, I’ve never kissed anyone but ye. And if it’s always like this afterward, I heartily hope I never get kissed again."
He flinched and went back to looking guilty. She hated that he clearly wanted to turn back the clock so that they’d never kissed at all. "Kirsty, I beg ye to forgive me. I’m no’ handling this well."
"No, you’re not."
"You must despise me for forcing my attentions on ye in such a brutish fashion."
Anguish squeezed her heart even tighter. He hadn’t been brutish. He’d been glorious. The fact that he refused to admit that stabbed at her soul.
"No, I dinnae despise ye," she mumbled, wishing at this moment that she did. Everything would be so much easier if her heart didn’t churn with eternal love for him.
"I’m glad." He didn’t sound like he was. "Would ye rather I sailed straightaway?"
She should, but the idea of him going like this made her feel sick. When she raised despairing eyes, she met his gaze for the first time since he’d started to apologize.
The blue eyes were opaque and dull as she’d never seen them before. She’d become accustomed to basking in the warmth of his friendship, if not his love. But that unreadable blue gaze put their earlier affinity way out of reach. She only now realized how his company had enriched these last days, separate to the endless ache of her unrequited love.
"No."
"Are ye sure?"
Of course I’m sure. I never want ye to leave me. Even when you’re looking at me the way you’d look at a cockroach inside your shoe, I’d rather be with ye than without ye.
Love made a mockery of pride. Or at least partly.
She retained enough pride to resist confessing the mortifying truth of how susceptible she remained. Even now, if he took her in his arms, she’d yield just as willingly as she had to the first kiss. More willingly, plague take it. After last time, she knew what delight that stern, expressive mouth could conjure when it met hers.
So she cast around for some other reason to stop him going and found it easily enough. "Papa will ask questions if ye leave so suddenly and without an explanation."
He nodded without smiling. "You’re right. If ye can bear my company through dinner, I’ll leave at sunrise."
"Ye willnae even stay for breakfast?"
"It’s an early tide. Your father will understand." He pulled himself up to his full impressive height. "And it will be easier for ye if I go."
Kirsty wanted to protest that he made her sound like the wronged party, when her swift yielding must have told him she was more than happy to kiss him whenever he felt in the mood.
To her sorrow, it was clear that he’d never feel in the mood again.
"Perhaps we should go," he said, and she realized that she must be staring at him in dumb misery.
She struggled to summon more of her brief, strengthening anger, but it had moved out of reach. All that remained was the bleak knowledge that she was helplessly in love with a man who didn’t love her back.
"Perhaps we should," she echoed, her voice reedy.
She ground her teeth together and told herself she wouldn’t cry. That would be the last straw.
Perhaps she had a wee bit more pride than she’d reckoned on after all.
Kirsty turned to step off the boat as Dougal held out his hand to help her onto dry land. Even now, her perfect knight couldn’t abandon chivalry. It would have made her smile, if she wasn’t quite so heartsick.
"No," she said, the word no louder than a breath, but still loud enough for him to hear.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his mouth tighten, before he bent his head in acknowledgment and retreated.
Then all her good work went for nought, because in her hurry to get off the Kestrel and away from him, she stumbled on the first step. For one dizzy moment, her teary gaze filled with the sight of rapidly approaching dark green water.
A strong hand curled around her arm and hoisted her to safety. "Watch your step, Kirsty."
Dougal was standing on the stairs beside her now. She wanted to pull away – more pride – but he released her before she could. Clearly kissing her had given him a distaste for close contact with her. He moved as far away as he could without falling in the water himself.
When he kissed her, she thought all her dreams had come true. Right now, she wished she’d never met him.
"Thank you," she said sullenly and turned to stumble
up to the road. Acid tears stung her eyes, and a great boulder of wretchedness blocked her throat.
"Kirsty?" he said after her, but she gestured for him to stay back.
Thank every angel in heaven, he obeyed.
Chapter 8
Out of habit, Kirsty woke to darkness. Out of habit, she stumbled from the bed and lit a candle and dragged on her breeches and shirt, and the thick fisherman’s jacket that kept her from the worst of the cold. The wind rattling the windowpanes told her that the spell of good weather came to an end.
Perfect timing for Christmas tomorrow, she thought gloomily.
Just what she needed, when the house would be full of islanders for the ceilidh. Not that she felt at all festive as she picked up her boots and crossed to the closed door. Sour memories of Dougal’s reaction to kissing her had kept her awake for most of the night.
A bitter smile curved her lips. A girl should be in alt to receive her first kiss – and from the gentleman she’d set her heart on, too. But remembering that humiliating scene yesterday afternoon made her queasy and angry. Although whether at herself for inviting such a disappointment or with the stubborn, boneheaded, gorgeous Mr. Drummond, she wasn’t sure. Both, she suspected.
Dinner had been awkward, although her father, bless him, had been so excited about Christmas only a day and a half away, he’d chatted happily through the meal. At least his blithe disregard of the tension between his daughter and his guest had saved Kirsty from having to explain why she was so subdued.
Dougal had done his best to pretend he was his usual self, but she could tell that the kiss had upset him as much as it upset her. And when her father invited him, as he had every evening so far, to stay for Christmas, for one bleak moment, Kirsty glimpsed Dougal’s emotional turmoil. He looked hunted and guilty, before he masked his disquiet. Her father didn’t seem to notice Dougal’s unconvincing smile, and her beloved’s refusal emerged as polite as ever.
He’d arrived determined to sail away. He remained determined, curse him. More so.
That passionate kiss had poisoned the air between Dougal and Kirsty. The prospect of escaping the evidence of his sin – because that was clearly how he classed his actions – must be devilish appealing.
She hadn’t eaten much of Ruth’s lamb stew. Neither had Dougal. Given he ate like a starving giant most of the time, that spoke volumes about his state of mind.
Kirsty paused at the door, hopelessness slumping her shoulders. She was deathly tired, and the night would be freezing, once she set foot outside.
And what had her deceit achieved? If this afternoon’s kiss proved anything, it proved that Dougal remained set on rescuing Fair Ellen and he was no closer to falling in love with Kirsty Macbain than he was the day his boat limped into the harbor.
Why force herself out into the weather to damage the Kestrel? This evening had been pure misery. Wouldn’t it be better to let him go?
But how could she? Even if every night she’d sneaked down to the quay to commit mayhem, she despised herself a little more. Tonight she recognized that she was utterly wrong to try and compel Dougal to care.
Wrong and wicked and false.
And still she meant to do it, heaven forgive her.
With a sigh, she pushed the door open and crept down the steps.
Once she was outside, the wind was worse than she’d expected, and she had trouble keeping her lantern lit. If the gale continued to worsen, she wouldn’t need to drill a hole in the Kestrel’s keel. No sane man would set out at the height of the storm.
When she reached the village, she closed the shutter on her lantern. At this hour, well after midnight, all the islanders were asleep and no light shone from the cottage windows. But Kirsty remained careful of being discovered. Luckily there was a fitful moon, although the wind chased the clouds across the sky in a wild dance.
She pulled her knitted cap down over her forehead and flitted from shadow to shadow until she reached the steps down to where the Kestrel was moored. Once she got below the level of the quay, she could risk using her lantern, but not before.
Even in the harbor, the water was rough. Stepping onto the boat, she nearly lost her balance. She fumbled for the mast that had already suffered her dastardly attentions.
This couldn’t go on. She ran out of places where she could plausibly cause havoc without arousing suspicion. At that instant, she made a decision. If Dougal hadn’t changed his mind about staying by Christmas Day, she’d give up her scheming and let him go. His arrival on her island had seemed like fate. But perhaps her fate was to spend her life yearning in futile misery for Dougal Drummond’s heart.
It was dark down here in the shadow of the stone harbor wall. Gingerly she made her way up to the stores cupboard. The darkness and the rocking boat made progress treacherous. With a clink, she set down her bag of tools and set her lantern on the shelf at her elbow. After three nights of her depredations, not to mention working beside Dougal to repair her nocturnal efforts, she could find her way around the Kestrel blindfolded.
She reached up to push back the shutter. When light spilled across the hull, she almost wondered if it was from her lantern.
"Kirsty…"
Horrified, she made a distressed sound in her tight throat and staggered aside from her lantern as if she meant to hide. But the narrow space offered her no concealment. When she raised shocked, guilty eyes to the man sitting in the bow, she wanted to be sick.
"Dougal, I can explain," she said, which was a blatant lie. Another lie on top of the hundreds she’d already told him.
"Can ye?" he bit off. Usually the deep rumble of his voice made her senses expand with pleasure. Not tonight. Tonight, that harsh tone made her want to cringe away. "Because devil if I can."
He, like her, had brought a lantern. It hung suspended from the spar beside his head. The angle of the light and the way it swung wildly with the boat’s rocking cast terrifyingly sinister shadows over his remarkable face.
She’d always thought he looked like the Archangel Gabriel in a painting she’d seen at her cousin’s castle on the mainland. Now, any angelic resemblance was purely to the avenging kind. She’d feared this. If he produced a flaming sword and brandished it at her, she wouldn’t have been one bit surprised.
Still, she was game, even if any chance of wriggling out of her dilemma was slim indeed. She licked lips as dry as a desert and swallowed to moisten a throat that was even drier.
"When the wind came up, I was worried the Kestrel might break free of her moorings, so I came down to check." The brightness struck a false note in her ears. Clearly also in Dougal’s, because that stern expression didn’t ease.
"Stop lying to me." He rose to his feet, and she’d never been so aware of his daunting height. "Ye brought a bag of tools."
Blast, he had to notice that. The leather satchel had opened when she set it down, and her drill was visible. "I might have needed to fix something."
His eyes narrowed. "I’ll bet, like another hole in the hull or a crack in the mast."
"The storm…"
His sweeping gesture made her flinch. That muscle jerked in his cheek, and temper flared in his eyes.
"Dinnae worry. You’re safe. I’d never hit a woman. Even a deceitful wee besom like ye, Kirsty Macbain."
She felt ashamed, although she hadn’t flinched from fear of a blow. She’d flinched from the contempt in his face. After his reaction to this afternoon’s kiss, she’d thought he could never make her feel worse. She’d had no idea.
"I’m no’…" she began in a thin voice.
"I know everything."
"What do ye know?" She wanted to sound innocent, but the words emerged shaky and fearful.
Another of those blistering blue glares that threatened to sear the skin from her body. "I know that you’ve been damaging my boat every night since I arrived." He paused, and the bewildered disappointment that thickened his voice was somehow worse than his outrage. Because while they were never sweethearts – and aft
er this, never would be – they’d been friends, and she’d betrayed his trust. Only now she lost it, did she recognize what a rare and valuable thing it was, to gain the trust of a man like Dougal Drummond. She also had a queasy feeling that once that trust was broken, he’d never offer it again.
"Why, Kirsty? I knew something odd was going on. I knew someone had to be deliberately crippling the boat. I assumed it must be Bill or Jock or Johnny. This madness seems something they’d take into their heads as a great jape. Especially as they had some lunatic idea that I’d stay to court ye. When I saw it was you…"
She flinched again and opened her mouth to defend herself. When what she’d done was indefensible. But to her mortification, what emerged was something altogether different.
"Is it so lunatic?"
Those marked red brows lowered over his haughty nose. He looked so fierce and indomitable, she shivered. "What in blazes are ye talking about?"
Struggling to keep her balance, she stepped into the light and spread her shaking hands in a pleading gesture. "Is the idea of courting me so lunatic?"
He jerked as if she’d struck him, and the gaze he settled on her blazed with hostility. "Aye. I’ve pledged myself to saving Ellen of the Isles."
Now it was Kirsty’s turn to give a contemptuous snort. "Wake up to yourself, Dougal. She doesnae exist. She’s just mist and rumor and fantasy."
"What if she is?" His scowl deepened. "That doesnae give ye the right to cheat and lie."
Kirsty blinked back tears. She’d cried more in the last half day than she had in the last ten years. She had a grim premonition that her crying days had only just started.
The space around Dougal vibrated with rage. His rage sucked all the air from the boat. Kirsty felt as if she suffocated. She drew in a deep breath to beat back the fog rising in her mind and spoke the words she had to, really the only words she could in the circumstances. "I was wrong. I’m sorry."
If she’d meant her apology to soften his attitude, she was to be disappointed. "Aye, ye were." His voice turned puzzled. "What on earth were ye trying to achieve?"
The Highlander’s Christmas Quest: The Lairds Most Likely Book 5 Page 7