Highland Arms

by Cathie Dunn

  She made her way to the dining parlor where the table was set, and a fire roared in a large stone fireplace built deep into the wall. Crossing the room, she went to the tall, narrow window and pulled the thick brocade curtains aside. With dusk settling, the view across the loch took her breath away. Low light shimmered on the water’s surface, reflecting the last glimmer of the evening sky. Across the water, she watched the shadows sink deeper down the hills.

  When the door behind her creaked, she jumped. Hastily, she dropped the curtains back into place and turned, expecting her brother. But it was not Angus who closed the door and faced her. Her pulse began to drum in her ears, and her hands shook from the unexpected surprise. She grabbed the curtains behind her for reassurance.

  He leaned against the door, his dark blond hair washed and tied again at his neck. This time, his muscular frame was clad in worn trews and a fresh linen shirt, loosely fastened. A trace of mud clung to his black boots. She looked at his face and held her breath, caught as she was by a now familiar set of piercing green eyes. Her throat went dry. The last time she saw those eyes, at the Drovers Inn, they’d been friendly, even flirtatious. Now they were cold, dark, and as forbidding as a loch in winter, bereft of the warmth of the sun.

  Rory Cameron.

  Chapter Three

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice croaked, and her clammy fingers fidgeted with the curtain tassels.

  He remained silent, staring at her, the storm in his eyes relentless.

  Her throat constricted in shock, she only managed a whisper. “I’m so sorry. How rude of me. I’m Catriona MacKenzie. From Edinburgh.” Why was she so nervous? After all, this was not their first encounter. But who was Rory Cameron that he wandered freely around Auntie Meg’s house?

  As if he lived here.

  “I know who you are. Now.” The tone of his voice held none of the humor he’d shown at the inn, none of the flirtation. Instead, the chill in it sent icicles down her spine. His Highland lilt was strong, deliberately so, marking the difference to her accent. “Auntie Meg told me about you when she received your father’s letter. Catriona, the fallen angel from the city.” He snorted and let his gaze rake at will over her curves.

  Heat shot into her cheeks, setting her skin on fire. What gave him the right?

  “I’m sorry but you are misinformed.” She crossed her arms under her breasts. The move did not escape his attention. He raised a fair eyebrow as his gaze focused on her décolleté. Quickly she lowered her arms again, entwining her fingers.

  “Don’t you worry, Miss MacKenzie.” He laughed, though the humor never reached his eyes. “There won’t be any temptation for you out here. Highlanders learnt a long time ago not to mess with Lowland ladies.” He abruptly turned to the fire, grabbed a poker, and stoked the flames with fierce thrusts. The hissing of embers filled the room, and the rich scent of peat drifted to where she stood.

  “Who are you?” Catriona stood rooted to the ground, her mind in turmoil. As far as she knew, her godmother had no close relatives, yet he called her Auntie Meg.

  He put away the poker, and bowed to her in mock salute. “I’m Ruairidh Cameron. Just in case you’ve forgotten.” He spoke his name with a Gaelic lilt, which he lost when he said: “Rory to those who don’t have the Gaelic.”

  “I remember your name, Mr Cameron. You offered it at the inn last night.” His eyebrow went up again. Damn! Why had she admitted it? She squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips, her gaze meeting the challenge in his. After a long, silent battle, she blinked. “Are you related to Auntie Meg?”

  A spark of surprise lit his eyes for an instance. Good. He should realize she was not a silly girl.

  “Aye, my late stepmother was Auntie Meg’s cousin. Distant relations, no blood ties, but out here family means everything, however far removed. Not like in the city.” He spat the last word.

  He must hate the Lowlanders. Catriona found that fact curious. “Well, you are wrong. City families stick together too.” She raised her chin, daring him to contradict her.

  He chuckled before settling into an armchair by the fire, stretching his long legs. A dark smile played on his lips. “Aye, that’s why you’re here, and not with your loving family.”

  Catriona balled her hands into fists. “You—”

  The door opened and Auntie Meg poked her head in. Seeing both of them, she beamed. “Oh, you two have met already? Wonderful.” She came over and hugged Catriona before leading her to a sofa opposite the armchair Rory Cameron chose. She pulled her down with her, leaning back into the soft cushions.

  “I didn’t expect you back so soon, Rory.” She graced him with an indulgent smile. “This is perfect timing. I wanted to introduce you to Catriona personally but clearly you’ve acquainted yourselves already. I’m so glad to finally have my two dearest relatives with me.”

  Catriona watched in fascination. Auntie Meg must love him. Perhaps he worried her presence might endanger his inheritance. After all, Auntie Meg must be in her eighth decade, with a large estate to call her own, and no heirs.

  Rory Cameron smiled at the old lady. “Yes, Miss MacKenzie and I have indeed met. Last night, in fact.” His face transformed, the cold in his eyes replaced with deep affection. “And as you’ve asked, the last transaction was completed early, so I have a little time to spend at home.”

  This is his home? Dear Lord!

  His words made Catriona feel like an intruder. Well, she was an intruder. Auntie Meg patted her hand as if she guessed her discomfort.

  “That’s wonderful, Rory. No doubt you’ll have time then to show Catriona the estate. Perhaps you can even take the boat out onto the loch?” Auntie Meg beamed, not noticing the tentative look between her and Rory. “And you must call each other by your given names. No airs and graces here.”

  Rory’s eyes bored into Catriona’s. Contempt lurked in them, quickly replaced by something else. A challenge? Just what went on inside that man’s head? Her mind whirled, sent into a dizzying spin by the intensity of their locked gaze.

  They were saved from a reply when the door opened once again. Angus strolled in, his expression sullen as always. When he spotted Rory Cameron he stopped in his tracks. His frown deepened as his complexion darkened. “You?”

  “Hello, Angus,” Catriona said sweetly.

  “Sister.” He barely acknowledged her, and completely ignored Auntie Meg. Instead he stared at the man looking too much at ease in his chair by the fire, intentionally so, no doubt. “What are you doing here?” His hands clenched into fists by his side.

  Rory Cameron looked at him with eyes the hue of slate. “As I told you last night, my name is Rory Cameron. I also happen to be a distant nephew of Auntie Meg’s.” His body appeared relaxed, yet his eyes were alert, his gaze not once leaving Angus’ face.

  Catriona realized Rory Cameron had not even attempted to use his Gaelic given name, nor spoken in the soft drawl he used earlier. His English now sounded upper class. This man was full of surprises.

  “Angus, come sit with us.” Auntie Meg rose and took his arm. He shrugged it off, ignoring the look of shock on her face and slumped onto the settee next to Catriona, taking Auntie Meg’s space.

  Catriona glared at him. Her brother seriously lacked good manners. This was the side of him their parents never saw, his true self. She shuddered. She was about to rise from her seat when Rory jumped up and offered Auntie Meg the armchair, which she gratefully accepted. Slowly, she let herself sink into its depth while Rory went to stand by the side of the fireplace, his quizzical gaze resting on Catriona. She inched away from her brother.

  Angus stared at Rory Cameron. “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?” To Auntie Meg’s affronted stance, he replied, his voice defensive, “We were assured this house was a safe haven for my sister. The presence of a strange man is quite unacceptable.”

  Meg Cameron Macdonald sat upright, eyes blazing. “Listen to me, laddie. I’m delighted to offer Catriona a
home—something your father refuses to do. You didn’t even help her when she needed a brother, yet you dare make assumptions on the virtue of my house?” She tapped her fingers on the mahogany arm of the chair. “Let me tell you one thing, Angus MacKenzie, I can assure you by the end of her stay, that is whenever your dear papa decides to have her back, Catriona will feel more at home here at Taigh na Rhon than she ever did in Edinburgh.”

  Angus laughed nervously, holding his hands up. “I do apologize, Aunt Margaret. I did not mean to insult your person or your home. I’m sure it’s all, erm, in order.” His hesitation said more than his words, yet he continued in a smooth voice. “But you must understand my concern.”

  He grabbed Catriona’s hand. “My sister is young and impressionable. The presence in this house of a grown man, who shares the company of cattle thieves, as he did last night, might prove to be her undoing. A man has needs, and in the absence of any distraction out here, Catriona may lead herself into thinking she’d developed feelings for him. In her naivety she wouldn’t know when to stop giving in to her passion. That’s how she ended up entertaining her former betrothed—who was understandably horrified by her wanton behavior—that fateful night.”

  Catriona pulled her hand free from his grasp and slapped him. “How dare you! You make me sound like a brainless tart. You know exactly what John tried to do. Well, I’ll tell you something, brother!” She stood facing him, her hands on her hips, while he held his reddening cheek. “The sooner I see the back of you the better. Because finally I can have a life. Something you’ve always done your utmost to ruin.” She sat again, tilted her face toward him, and crossed her arms. In her haughtiest voice she demanded, “Now apologize to Auntie Meg. Sincerely.”

  Her brother’s face turned scarlet and his hands shook. He balled them into fists again, as if poised to strike her.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Rory Cameron take a step forward, positioning himself next to Auntie Meg. He put a hand on her godmother’s shoulder. Catriona felt strangely comforted by the move.

  Angus’ gaze went from Catriona’s to meet the old lady’s icy stare. He swallowed. “I do apologize. I meant no insult to your person.”

  “Nor your house,” Rory Cameron challenged him, eyebrow cocked, mocking. Angus scowled at him.

  “Nor your house,” he repeated and rose. “Now excuse me. I seem to have lost my appetite.” He banged the door shut behind him.

  Auntie Meg’s labored breathing echoed across the room. Her brother’s mindless words wounded her. Ashamed for being so closely related to him, she knelt by Auntie Meg’s feet, taking a bony hand between hers. Her eyes met Rory’s and a silent understanding passed between them. Whatever their differences, they would never allow the old lady to be hurt. She squeezed the cold fingers.

  “I’ve heard you offer up quite a meal, Auntie Meg. Is that so?”

  Auntie Meg’s eyes began to sparkle. A slow smile spread across her wrinkled features. “Aye, and it must be nearly ready.”

  ***

  The house was still, and the first light filtered through the gaps in the shutters when Catriona woke the next morning. Her mind returned to the previous night. It had been a quiet affair. Despite all her attempts at cheering Auntie Meg up, Angus’ callous remarks left her godmother in shock, her bubbly nature subdued. Neither was Rory Cameron in a mood for chat. Several times that evening she felt his gaze linger on her, any thoughts of his safely locked away behind those impenetrable eyes. Did he regret having her in the house? He might even convince Auntie Meg to send her back.

  She could not allow that to happen. Not yet. One day, she had to return home—just not yet. Her father planned to find her a new suitor, someone willing to overlook her indiscretion. Pah!

  Once he found such a paragon of society, he’d send for her. Most likely, the chosen suitor would be a rich man, but what else? Old, grizzled, and frail? Or young and arrogant, cast in the same mould as her brother? She liked neither option but then, it was not her decision to make. One thing was certain—love did not feature in her marriage contract.

  What if her father let Angus have a say in it?

  The notion froze her to the core, and she sat up. Despite her fondness of Edinburgh, and its array of entertainments, the longer she remained here in the Highlands the safer she was from such a fate. Perhaps she’d even be allowed to stay on as her godmother’s companion? Growing old without having to wed anyone. Remain a spinster for the rest of her days. It was not the most appealing option, but preferable to whomever Father or Angus might choose. Yes, she’d just have to convince Auntie Meg—and Rory Cameron—that she simply had to stay.

  Her mind made up, she rose and wrapped a thick blanket around her shoulders. As her bare feet touched the wooden floor, she hissed at the chill. With no maid to call upon, she left her room and went downstairs in search of the kitchen. The thought of a warming cup of tea raised her spirits. Then she’d continue to set her plan into motion.

  She pushed the kitchen door open and stopped short. Standing by the mullioned window, in front of a large bowl overflowing with water, was Rory Cameron. He turned as he heard the door. Catriona caught her breath and grabbed the handle, letting go of the blanket.

  Water dripped over his head and down his torso, trickling in small rivulets over his kilt held by a broad belt with a round silver buckle in a Pagan design of interlacing swirls. The light curls of hair on his tanned chest glistened with moisture. His shoulder-length hair was unbound, falling softly over taut muscle. A dry smile told her she was staring at him. Again.

  She swallowed hard. “I...” She stuttered. “I’m so sorry, Mr Cameron.” She averted her gaze to her feet. “I was just going to heat up water for my tea. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  The insufferable man laughed as he grabbed a piece of cloth and began to pat himself dry. “I don’t think you did.” He shook his head, sending strands flying before rubbing it vigorously. “And it’s Rory, remember?” He grinned. Catriona stood rooted to the spot. Words failed her. Her mouth went dry.

  “But tell me,” he went on, “do you always venture into the kitchen so early? If so, you’d better get dressed next time.”

  Transfixed by his mocking gaze, her cheeks heated as she became aware of her own state of undress. What an impression was she giving him, with her hair falling loosely over her shoulders, and the blanket only barely covering her modesty?

  Oh, dear God, the blanket!

  She pulled it back over her shoulders with shaking hands and wrapped it firmly around her. With a mumbled excuse, she turned and fled back upstairs into the safety of her bedroom. Still shaking too much to calm down, she slumped onto the edge of the bed.

  Never had she seen her brother or father without proper attire, nor did John Henderson have much of a chance to remove his layers that fateful night—and now here, at the first glimpse of a bare male chest, she reacted like a silly maiden. She took a deep breath. My, he was magnificent. What would his chest feel like if she let her hands roam over it? Her fingers itched at the thought.

  Catriona shook her head. What on earth was she thinking? With determination, she pushed Rory and his tempting body from her mind and began to dress. Not an easy feat with trembling hands.

  A knock on the door startled her. Quickly, she slid into a gown and held it in place with her arms. “Who is it?”

  The door opened a couple of inches. A young female face, covered in freckles, peered through the gap. “I’m Mairi, Miss. Lady Meg’s maid.” She hesitated. “I’m here to help you dress.”

  “Oh.” Catriona sent a silent prayer of thanks Auntie Meg’s way. The wilderness showed signs of civilization after all. She smiled and waved Mairi to enter. Today she’d look her best in weeks. The thought cheered her immensely.

  ***

  Rory watched the door bang shut behind Catriona MacKenzie. Shaking his head, he dropped the cloth onto the shelf and slid into his shirt before draping his plaid over his shoulder. A plain silver clasp, swi
ftly attached, held it in place. He picked up his dirk, sheathed it at his belt, and glanced back at the door where only moments earlier this vision stood. Catriona.

  Her thick black hair spread over her shoulders, framing her pale face, eyes wide in shock. A glimpse at her full cleavage, half-exposed by the blanket slipping from her grasp, left him with unholy thoughts of running his hands over her generous curves. Bare, pale toes peeked from underneath a thin, sheer nightgown, an item so out of place here; it made him want to rip it off her. Or was that just an excuse?

  Mad! He shook his head and opened the door to the yard at the back. Carrying the bowl outside, he drained the dregs into the long grass. I must be out of my mind. The girl is trouble. He knew the moment he spotted her at the inn.

  Oh, he had met her kind before. Edinburgh was full of them. Playing innocent while at the same time leading the most steadfast of Highlander to their downfall. No doubt, she’d start poking her nose into his life, and his activities. And she was bound to end up in Auntie Meg’s will. No doubt about that either. Best for her to return to the city where she belonged. To play with some half-wit heir who would rush forward to wed her, compromised or not.

  He must forget the vision of her slim thighs lurking underneath the fabric of that nightgown, her parted lips when she stared at him, her exposed, slender neck, the length of which his lips itched to explore inch by inch. Rory swore and dropped the trough with a bang. Stop it!

  In the pantry, he ripped off a still warm chunk of bread, and cut himself a thick slice of cheese. Never do business on an empty stomach.

  Then he set off.

  Striding across the grass behind the manor, he took a bite as he mulled over his next move. He hoped that dandy Angus returned to Edinburgh soon. He could not risk any strangers to uncover his affairs. That included the lass. He’d have to make sure she stayed far away from his usual meeting places.

  Rory stopped short. Yes, that was the idea. Make her want to leave. Then when she returned to her city, life would go on as before.