Hamish gave a small shake to his head and slid off his horse. The ground was soft from last night’s rain and hissed a squishy sound. It was immediately followed by the feel of cold mud oozing between the seams of his shoes and along his toes. He looked down and grimaced. He was already filthy from the morning’s activities, but he had been able to keep his feet somewhat dry until now.
This time of year meant rain, which in turn meant mud and a choice of a daily bath or dirty feet at night. He was tired of the latter and the feeling of sludge between his toes was something he particularly disliked. Luckily, at Foinaven he could replace a frigid dip in the river with a bath of heated water in a fire-warmed room. It was probably the only perk he would actually enjoy while at Foinaven.
Giving a small tug on the reins, he led his horse through the castle entry and began to weave his way toward the stables. The stable boy spied him and after several seconds finally ambled his way over to get the horse.
Hamish again told himself to hold his tongue—that any lack of responsiveness regarding Robert’s staff was not of any importance to him. “Is the courtyard always this crowded?” he asked the lad.
The stable boy scrunched his nose in confusion. “It’s market day,” he grunted, and took the reins Hamish was extending. The bandy-legged lad was older than Hamish originally thought. He had long, straggly, ginger hair and bloodshot eyes, which indicated that his lack of speed was not due to lack of will or pride but lack of sleep.
Hamish untied his saddle bags, swung them over his shoulder, and pulled free his sword. “Get started on cleaning my horse and giving him something to eat. After I get something to douse my own hunger, I’ll come back to help you.”
Red-streaked eyes stared incredulously at Hamish for a minute, but then realizing that he was serious, the young man straightened his back and produced a wary half smile. “Aye, sir.”
“Your name?”
“My name?” the lad asked as if no one had ever done so before. “It’s, uh, Adiran.”
Hamish turned to leave. “Feed my horse first, Adiran,” he said over his shoulder. He knew the boy did not really believe he would return, and Hamish doubted the young boy had the energy to clean and attend to his horse properly.
Stepping back into the bustling, overly packed courtyard, Hamish looked up into the sky and flexed his foot. The mud between the toes of his left foot included small pebbles, which were extremely annoying. It looked like the clouds were going to pass, taking with them the possibility of rain—at least for the next several hours. Others must have realized it as well for it seemed all in the vicinity had come to haggle and buy and sell. There was very little room to maneuver in the crowded bailey, making it difficult to get back to where the kitchens were located, assuming they were still at the north end adjacent to the great hall. There Hamish hoped he could find not just food, but also the chance to remove a layer or two of grime from his body.
The layout of Foinaven looked to be unchanged since when he left. Its rugged inland landscape was formed from isolated sandstone peaks forcing the castle walls to conform to the undulations of the hill. The flattest parts of land, and therefore easiest to build large structures, were against the northern and western walls. That fact had not changed in twelve years. What had was the increased number of structures, the replacement of wood with stone, and the sheer number of people both in and outside of its walls.
Hamish began to maneuver his way through the throng, taking full advantage of his size and height to motivate people into moving out of his way. All types of merchants seemed eager to sell or barter every type of good from leather, woven material, candles, soap, stuff for horses, to tools for work or home. Hamish even spied several people next to a cart looking at what appeared to be basic furniture. His stomach, however, was far more interested in finding good food.
Dried meat was all around him, but after days of such fare, he wanted something different. His nose was telling him that somewhere nearby was fresh bread. His stomach rumbled again and he was about to stop and ask just who was selling the bread, when a small stall caught his attention.
Along the stall’s corner wall hung leathers, tools, and various items used to erect the temporary structure. An L-shape bench completed the merchant’s stand. Propped into a hole at the corner and each end was a long, thick stick that stood three feet into the air. A thin rope connected the sticks, upon which hung sparrows, a couple of herons, a rabbit, and one very large goose. The merchant was most likely an archer or a falconer, but he was also married, for small game and fowl were not all he sold. Three loaves of bread were on the bench, just below the trussed birds. And more important, they smelled fresh and their golden crusts proved they were not overbaked. But the best indication of their quality was the number of spaces between the loaves. Several had already been sold.
Hamish readjusted the bags on his shoulder and stepped sideways to avoid being clobbered by two people jostling a barrel down the narrow path. He was about to make his way to the merchant when he stopped cold. The falconer was not alone. He was talking to a woman, who was leaning over the bench, giving Hamish the perfect view of the lower half of her profile. Suddenly food was the lesser of things his body craved.
Hamish twitched his lips, surprised at the unexpected jolt of desire. It had been a long time since he had craved a woman’s touch and he had truly begun to wonder if he ever would again. Maybe time did eventually heal all wounds. Then again, maybe time had nothing to do with it. Hamish could not recall ever seeing a female body with luscious curves so perfectly proportioned.
Angled the way she was, it was hard to guess her height, but envisioning the long legs hidden beneath her bliaut, he suspected she was slightly taller than average. Hamish flexed his fingers as he watched the play of the green gown over her curved buttocks as she swung her hips slightly back and forth. Unlike tall females who possessed a thin, willowy shape, the lady before him had breasts and hips ample enough for a man to thoroughly enjoy. If a pretty face and a quick mind came with that shapely body, she would be his vision of a perfect woman.
Mo chreach! What was wrong with him? Of course it would be here, at Foinaven of all places, for his body suddenly to return to life and demand attention. Hamish took in a deep breath and exhaled, reminding himself that the most he had time for was to learn the woman’s name. He certainly was not going to remain long enough for anything more.
Hamish closed his eyes and fought to regain control. He had spent months without a woman and his body could wait another few more weeks until he was back home to seek a female’s company. Besides, had he not painfully learned that women—especially the kind who looked that good from the back—were nothing but trouble?
He opened his eyes just as a ray of rare sunlight caught her dark gold hair as it fell down her back in loose waves. Unbound meant she was most likely unwed and available. Hamish looked up to the sky. He had long suspected God was not vengeful or fearsome as some priests would have their followers believe, but instead quite mischievous. He was certainly having fun now. The woman probably had a high-pitched voice that could make vultures fly away in terror.
Feeling somewhat barely back in control, Hamish walked toward the merchant, trying unsuccessfully to keep his eyes from looking at the delicate arch of the woman’s back. The thought of her sinful curves and how they moved was going to keep him awake tonight, and probably a few others.
Hamish blinked as his toe came into contact with something. He righted himself just in time, barely avoiding stepping on a young girl sitting just underneath the falconer’s bench with her legs outstretched. Seeing him and how he almost crushed her limbs, the child pulled them up to her chest and hugged them. Her huge, fear-filled brown eyes traveled slowly up Hamish’s body, taking in the large weapon in his hand, until they met his green ones. He smiled, but her expression remained unchanged as she stared at him. Hamish realized why and could almost hear Laurel yell at him to shave his beard.
He put away his sword
and then winked at the child, pointing at the colored pebbles she had dropped near her leg. The girl glanced down and, seeing the rocks, grabbed them in her hands. Within a couple of seconds, she forgot he was even there and began to play, with her legs once again stretched out to hamper those walking by.
Hamish slightly parted two of the game birds so he could gain the falconer’s attention, and hopefully sneak a look at the woman. Unfortunately, the man was standing right in the line of view. Hamish bit his bottom lip and fought the temptation to move down a little. Why let reality disturb the fantasy? He didn’t need to know she had an overly large pug nose between two wide-set uneven eyes.
Hamish was about to ask the man about the bread, but before he could utter a word, the falconer said, “I tell you I have not seen Hamish within these castle gates.” The man’s tone was weary as if he had given the same answer several times that day.
“Thanks, Davros, but if you do see him, please let me know.” Hamish felt his jaw drop. Her voice was just as lovely as her figure. Rather than drive men away, it had a lilting quality that could lure a man’s soul and more astonishingly, she had been looking for him. “Oh, and tell your lovely wife I said hello and hope to see her soon.”
“I’ll tell her, and I’ll also tell her about you being so gussied up today. Jeán’ll be interested in knowing why. Though it’s not hard to guess.”
Hamish heard a fake gasp of shock. “Davros, I have no idea what you are talking about. ’Tis a dress I have not worn in some time, but all else needed to be washed,” she said emphatically, but Hamish could tell the merchant did not believe a word. Neither did he.
Hamish closed his eyes. Their conversation indicated she was indeed not married, and hoping, of all things, to attract his attention.
“Can I help you?”
Hamish reopened his eyes as the merchant slid the birds farther apart on the string. Brilliant blue eyes spied him and immediately sparkled with recognition. Hamish, on the other hand, could not ever remember seeing the man before.
The falconer was on the short side, but his hands were large and calloused and looked like they belonged on a man much larger. The wrinkles on his face were evidence of hours squinting and made him look much older than Hamish suspected he actually was. With the exception of a few gray strands near his temples, the man’s hair was still a vibrant jet black, hinting at his true age.
Hamish pushed forward a coin and glanced to see if the woman had left. She had not, but God definitely had a sense of humor, for she had turned around and was now leaning back on the makeshift counter looking out at the crowd. “I was hoping to buy a loaf.”
The man took the coin and with a chuckle said, “Your eyes are not on the bread.”
Hamish raised his gaze to study the man. Seeing only friendliness reflected in the man’s blue eyes, he returned the falconer’s smile. “’Tis bread I’m wanting, but I’ll admit that I cannot imagine it being as tasty as that.”
Davros picked up a loaf and handed it to Hamish. “Take the bread, but beware. That over there,” he said, pointing to Mairead with his thumb over his shoulder, “may look like a sweet morsel, but most find her to be a bit sour.”
Hamish took the bread and immediately pulled off a piece. “Perhaps she’s just been waiting for some sweet words and a pair of strong arms, friend,” he said, popping it into his mouth.
Immediately the woman’s back went rigid. She then stood straight up, indicating she had not only heard but also understood Hamish’s comment. He expected her to quickly walk away, but instead, she turned the corner to address him face-to-face. Hamish looked at the falconer. The man just grinned and gave him a shrug that said he had given him fair warning.
Hamish turned and all thoughts of appeasing flattery vanished with nothing in their place. He should have known. He could practically hear God’s laughter. Of course she would be gorgeous. The one time not a single McTiernay was within miles to challenge him for a beautiful woman’s attentions would be here at Foinaven. A place he was soon to leave and never return to again. And not even the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was going to change that.
It also did not seem to matter what he felt about her because it was clear she did not return his sentiments.
When she had turned the corner, the woman had her finger up and her mouth was open, no doubt in preparation to release a scathing comment. However, one look at him had stopped her.
She finally closed her mouth and lowered her hand. Hamish could tell the moment she remembered just why she had turned to face him. Her hands curled into fists, which she placed on her hips. “Why is it that men desire their women to be attractive but never think to make themselves more appealing in return? Do you think we are so desperate that it only takes a few sweet words for us to fall into a pair of strong—and filthy—arms?”
Hamish opened his mouth to reply, but she waved a finger to stop him. “Do not bother to speak. I would not be able to hear a word you say. I am too distracted by that nest you are wearing on your chin. It looks like it has been out in the rain and the snow for the past two months and I can smell you from here.”
Instead of being affronted, Hamish leaned back and started to laugh. The woman had spirit. “True, but unlike you, I am not aiming to catch another’s eye.” He let his eyes travel down her form and back up, blatant appreciation shining in their green depths. “In my experience, when a woman puts on her finest gown, she has one goal. She is out to catch a man.”
Davros coughed and with a chortle said, “He has a point.” Mairead turned her head and glared at him. Davros just shrugged. “But in your case, it’ll take more than a dress.”
Hamish found the merchant’s assessment hard to believe and was about to say so when the woman hissed, “I do not need a dress to find a man to marry.”
Hamish smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “Probably not, but I suspect you are hoping it will help capture a certain man’s attention.”
Mairead’s hazel eyes shot wide open and Hamish knew he had assessed the situation correctly. She took a step forward. Her eyes crinkled as she studied him, which surprisingly accentuated her other facial features. Next time Father Lanaghly preached about how God loved everyone and they were all created equally, Hamish fully intended to relay the cruelty of this moment. He may have been visually disappointing to Mairead, but he could not say the same about her.
She did not possess the classic features of beauty such as high cheekbones and porcelain skin, but she was breathtaking all the same. Sprinkled along her small upturned nose and pink cheeks were faint freckles. Her gold and green eyes were rimmed with long dark lashes and the fire that sparkled in their depths spoke of a quick mind and fiery, irrepressible spirit. It was her mouth, however, that was most appealing. Made for kissing, it looked soft and supple with the lower lip slightly fuller than the upper, begging to be suckled. Altogether, she was the kind of woman a man went to war for. In another time, place, and circumstance, Hamish would have even fought a McTiernay to have the chance to win her.
“Hamish?” she asked softly, taking another step closer.
“That is the name I was born with,” he said teasingly.
Mairead pointed a finger at him and started shaking her head. “No. You cannot be him. Hamish is . . . a fearsome warrior. He is courageous and kind and . . . handsome. You”—she paused to lick her lips—“are only large . . . rude . . . and dirty.”
Hamish looked down and made a show of inspecting himself, examining the nicks and scrapes along his outstretched arms. “Aye, I am not as pleasing to look at as usual. It’s hard for us courageous warriors to be handsome all of the time. But then”—he paused to give her a wink—“maybe I just need the help of a woman’s touch.”
Mairead’s mouth fell open. She glanced at Davros, whose blue eyes momentarily widened at the suggestion. But after a second, he only shrugged, eager to discover what was going to happen next.
Her eyes snapped back to Hamish as her shock morphed into anger
. “First my sister and now me?”
Sister? Hamish stared at the woman. He could not remember being with a woman from this far north ever visiting the McTiernays. Just who was she?
His puzzlement must have been obvious for she announced crisply, “I’m Mairead. Selah’s younger sister. And you . . . you bearded eyesore,” she stuttered as she marched up to him, “are nothing like how I remem—” Mairead’s eyes opened wide and her arms flew in the air.
Upon hearing just who had stirred his body to life after being dormant for so long, Hamish had frozen with shock. He realized too late that Mairead had failed to see the little girl’s outstretched legs. He instinctively reached out just as she tripped, but Mairead was too far away. He was unable to catch her before she fell—face-first—into the cold mud.
Mairead pulled herself up on all fours. Hamish bent down to help her up, but when she looked at him, he decided against the offer. Raw fury poured out of her hazel eyes, making them incredibly appealing.
Hamish swallowed. He needed to get control of his growing desire and remember just who was glaring at him. And more important, just who her sister was.
“I might be nothing like you remember, but you, little Mairead,” he said with a chuckle and a wink, “are exactly the same!”
* * *
Mairead shook with fury born mostly from embarrassment. She may not have been sweet and docile like her sister, but that did not mean she was prone to losing her self-control—and that was exactly what had happened. And it would happen again if she ran into anyone before she was able to duck into her chambers.
Mairead reached her floor and peeked out of the stairwell to the narrow hall. Thankfully, no one was in sight. She ran to her room and closed the door, sighing with relief. Then, without warning, the emotions associated with every mortifying moment hit her again. Her shoulders slumped and she slid down the door, letting the tears begin to fall once more.
Never Kiss a Highlander Page 6