by Stobie Piel
Nathan hesitated. "Yes."
"Is that why you came to Scotland?"
"I came to Scotland to establish my inheritance."
"So you say." Miren resumed dusting, and added a calculated hum. "Of course, several times you've referenced leaving, that your stay is temporary. So I can only conclude that you plan to leave at some point." She stopped dusting and fixed her gaze upon him. "When, for instance, Kenneth MacCallum's murder is explained?"
Nathan's mouth was open. He looked stunned. Miren had never known such satisfaction. He tried to speak, failed, then shook his head.
"If you were honest with me, I might be able to help you."
Nathan stood facing her, his expression dark. He was tall, and his shoulders were broad. Miren felt smaller than usual. She straightened her back and lifted her chin.
"Miss Lindsay, your curiosity isn't in your best interest. The circumstances of my arrival in Scotland are, by necessity, a private matter."
"What do you think I'm going to do? Trot up to Lady MacCallum, nudge Muffin from her lap, and say, 'Oh, by the way, did you know your handsome usurper is fishing around to find out why your husband died?'"
"My experience with the Scottish people proves that nothing, however odd, is beyond them." Nathan paused, his eyes narrowed. "Handsome?"
b "You know . . ." Miren refused to allow her slip to set her off course. She seated herself on a stool, crossed her legs, and folded her hands over her knee. "I will tell you what I know about Dr. Patterson, for a start." She didn't wait for his approval. "He is . . . was an Englishman, from Yorkshire. He served the British Army in India, where he became a surgeon. He came to Scotland only a few years agoI'm not sure why. He fancied himself a practitioner to the upper classes here, but he also took smaller jobs. Tending my father, for instance.''
"Did you like him?"
"What has that to do with your investigation?"
Nathan smiled. "Not much. Go on."
"Well, then . . . No, I didn't like him particularly. He made me uncomfortable, though I wasn't sure why at the time. He wasn't unattractive, and he had worldly experience, which I know because he mentioned it often."
"Boasting to impress you."
"I was not so very impressed, because all his good fortune seems to have come by his ability to manipulate situations and people. He never acted from conviction, but from how it might profit him."
"Those seem qualities likely in a murderer."
"He must have thought killing your father would profit him in some way, but it is a big risk to take. Dr. Patterson had no lack of money. That is another thing. Dr. Patterson wasn't a man of courage. He became a surgeon because he feared becoming a soldier, not for a desire to help others."
"A noble man."
"He presented himself as noble, but his actions didn't bear this out."
"You don't seem distracted by surfaces, Miss Lindsay."
Miren rose from her stool and studied Nathan's face. "No, I'm not." She paused, allowing her gaze to penetrate his until he squirmed in discomfort. "Which is why I know you're not who you say you are."
Nathan's jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide. Miren smiled her sweetest smile, and aimed for the doorway. She positioned herself on the stairs and waited.
Nathan stared at Miren Lindsay's small, straight back as if she'd come from another world. Which was probably thecase. A gust of soft wind sped from the loch to ripple her loosely bound hair. Even the wind seemed her ally.
Nathan looked around her cottageeverything neat and tidy. Charming. Simple. As he first imagined Miren Lindsay to be. "Where did I ever get the idea that woman was simple?"
She was waiting, there on the steps. Knowing he couldn't ignore her shrewd comment, yet content for him to crumble first. She wouldn't press. She'd just look at him with those too-knowing, dark blue eyes. Her lips would curve in that half-smile that sent his pulse racing. Maybe she knew that, too.
Miren Lindsay was like a wolf. She smelled prey, and she went after it with single-minded glee. Indians . . . "Where do they live?" "What do they look like?" "Do you know any?"
Nathan reflected on where he'd gone wrong. He was led by his lust. He considered her a lively and beautiful diversion. A distraction from more important matters. He wouldn't coerce her, as Drew Patterson tried to do. He would seduce her.
And she'd eke her way into his heart, learn all his secrets, and turn him into a fool.
It seemed a strong reaction. She might be innocent. Just perceptive. Because she wasn't "distracted by surfaces." Nathan fixed his gaze on her back. She hadn't turned, not even to glance his way. Still waiting.
The solution was simple enough. He'd tell her she was crazy, presumptuous. Rude. No, that would incite further suspicions. He'd laugh, and make her look silly.
Miren's sheepdog hopped down from its position on Miren's bed and surveyed Nathan with calm, thoughtful attention. It glanced Miren's way, as if debating the wisest action. Nathan didn't suspect anymore. He knew that dog was scheming. He had no idea what it wanted, especially from him, but it wanted something.
"So, tangled with Muffin, did you?"
The dog's eyes actually narrowed. It knew Muffin's name.
"Enemies come in unexpected places, don't they?"
Nathan's gaze shifted back to Miren. Annoying, how she stood so perfectly still. So confident that he would cave at any moment and offer some weak explanation, some tactic to lead her from the truth.
The dog looked at Miren, too. It went out to sit beside her. She spoke gently, but still didn't turn. The dog glanced back at Nathan. It hopped up, entered the cottage again, and nudged his leg with its long nose.
Nathan stared, aghast. "You're not a dog . . . you're a familiar." A creature as knowing as this one could only be a witch's companion. "No wonder you don't herd sheep."
The dog sighed. Sighed. A cool chill swept down Nathan's spine. Maybe he wasn't so far off. The Scots were obviously capable of magic, and dark arts, too. Molly. Probably a vastly powerful, supernatural being.
Molly cast him a pertinent glance, walked halfway to Miren, and seated herself between them. Get moving. Now!
"All right, all right. I'll handle it."
Nathan spoke aloud, answering a dog's imagined command. He clasped his hand to his forehead. "I have lost my mind."
He filled his lungs with air, exhaled, and joined Miren on the steps. He glanced down at her. Yes, the faint smile remained. She gazed calmly, sweetly, out over the loch. Her eyelids drifted shut as the breeze caressed her soft, exquisite face.
He wanted her.
Molly took a position on Miren's other side and sat down. Molly's eyelids drifted shut, too.
"I knew, of course, because you have brown eyes." Miren spoke casually, pleased with herself.
Nathan attempted to seem casual, too. "Brown eyes? Why would that tell you anything?"
She peered up at him, still casual. Maybe a little condescending. "Two blue-eyed persons cannot have a brown-eyedchild. I saw Kenneth MacCallum once. He had pale blue eyes."
Perfect. An old wives' tale threatened his entire plan. "My mother might have brown eyes."
Miren's chin angled in superiority as she turned her gaze back to the water. "Yes, but she didn't."
That smug little voice with its rich, Scottish burr began to annoy him. "How . . ." His own voice came too low, threatening to rumble with anger. That betrayed too much. He forced a smile, and controlled his voice with inhuman effort. "How do you know what my mother looks like?"
She turned to face him. Nathan had never seen, on anyone, so superior an expression. "You have just revealed two things. First, that she is your mother, and second, that she is alive. I wondered about that." She didn't let him respond. "I know what she looks like, Mr. 'MacCallum,' because Scotland is small. Argyll in particular."
"That clarifies everything."
"My father spoke of Kenneth MacCallum's wife often. You see, she and my mother were friends."
Nathan sighed and
turned his gaze heavenward. "Of course."
"My mother was a Malcolm, from Islay."
"And this signifies what?"
"Glenna was a Reid by birth, and they were affiliated with the Malcolms."
Nathan nodded. "All useful information, Miss Lindsay. Bearing relevance to nothing."
"We'll see . . . You mother and mine were both orphans, and they grew up together on Islay. Anyway, my mother was hand-picked to marry Kenneth MacCallum."
"Your mother?"
"That's right. But she had fallen in love with my father. Glenna wasn't in love with anyone, so she took my mother's place. She could do this because she and my mother looked so much alike. Kenneth had only seen my mother once, whenshe was fourteen. He had to wait until she was seventeen to marry her. So they switched places."
Miren paused, waiting for Nathan to absorb the story. "My mother had blue eyes."
Nathan sought for a response. None came to mind. "You could be wrong about my mother's eye color."
"I'm not."
Nathan fell silent. He had no idea what to say. If the story contained a single hole, one loose thread, the little wolf would find it and dive in for the kill.
"Is Nathan your real name? I've wondered about that, too."
"Nathaniel."
"Close enough." The more pleased with herself she became, the more her Scottish accent turned toward a rolling burr. "Your real father must have been dark. And tall."
Nathan stood immobile, refusing to answer as Miren scanned his appearance thoughtfully. She tapped her finger to her lip. "Kenneth MacCallum was fairly short. My mother wasn't tall, either. I gained height from my father."
"Fascinating."
"I thought so."
Nathan glanced at her. She looked impossibly smug. His reaction didn't fit the gravity of the situation. He should threaten her. Lie. Instead, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
"You, Miss Lindsay, are entering dangerous waters."
She nodded as if his remark clarified something. "I wondered if you might be a pirate."
Her smug, chipper response had the annoying effect of fueling his arousal. Her long, heavy hair fell over one shoulder, falling just above her left breast. Small, but firm, round.
Nathan affected a dangerous leer. "Pirate, sea captain. It depends on your point of view."
Miren wasn't impressed by his display. She just smiled slightly, as if pleased to be right. Her eyes darkened, andNathan realized with a fiery rush that their exchange aroused her, too. Her sensuality, layered with her smug self-assurance, threatened far more than danger.
"You look more like a pirate."
"I warned you . . ." He couldn't stand it anymore. Her eyes glittered, her lips curved . . . No man could endure this. Her brows arched as he clasped her shoulders. Her lips parted as he cupped her chin in his hand. A small breath of surprise touched his face as he bent to kiss her.
She didn't resist. Nathan brushed his lips over hers, he buried his fingers in her hair and removed the loose tie. He ran his tongue around the line of her soft mouth until her lips parted.
She hesitated, then wrapped her arms around his neck. Her eyes closed, and she kissed him back. It wasn't a simple kiss, but it didn't surprise him. Her soft mouth gently explored his; she found the corner of his mouth and dipped her tongue between his lips.
Nathan deepened the kiss and pulled her close against him. The wanting turned demanding, but she moved back to look into his eyes. For an instant, he thought she saw everything he was, and everything he ever would be. For an instant, he thought he could be anything.
He remembered who he was, a man with no past, a man with nothing to give beyond desire. If he took her, he couldn't promise more than pleasure. She would become his, and he knew too well how easy it was to fail someone's need.
Miren gazed into his face, her arms still around his neck. She didn't seem shy or disturbed after the passion of their kiss. She accepted it as natural. Maybe pleasure was enough for both of them.
"Do you know, Nathaniel . . ." A trace of humor infected her voice when she spoke his name. Nathan realized with a cool shock that it was he who felt shy after their encounter. He who feared disappointing her with reality. "You don't look like anyone I've ever seen. Sometimes I see the Highlander in you. I can see you wielding a claymore, fire in your eyes. But there's something else, too. Something I've never seen before."
"You, little Miren, see too much."
"I do." She traced a line along his cheekbones, down the plain of his face, across his lips. Nathan stood spellbound. He had no idea what she saw. From his mouth, her finger trailed along his jaw, down his neck. She fiddled with his hair and eased it back behind his ear.
Her small probing fingers examined his earlobe, then stopped. Nathan endured her careful inspection with a tremor of apprehension.
"What happened to your ear?"
"My ear?"
"There's a hole in it."
"Is there?"
"I expect you know."
Nathan smiled. There was no hiding from a wolf. "An Indian needs a place to hang his earring."
Chapter Five
Things are finally looking up. The young mistress has her Nathan hoveringquite closely. I have observed an interesting ritual. Rather than scenting each other, they taste each other's mouths to display affection.
We'll be transferred to the mansion on the hill in no time. That poses a bigger problem than I at first imagined, however. Muffin is in residence already. If my life with Blossom has been a trial, sharing an abode with Muffin would be worse. Deadly.
So not only must I secure the young mistress in the manor, but remove Muffin at the same time.
Blossom might come in handy after all . . .
Miren peered up into Nathan MacCallum's face, into his warm, brown eyes. "An Indian." His kiss lingered on her lips, and it affected more than her lips. Her insides tingled in a way that incited further exploration. "Do all Indians kiss when they're cornered?"
Nathan relaxed visibly. Maybe he had worried about her reaction to his revelation. "I can't speak for all native peoples. My blood is but half Seneca." His dark eyes sparkled. "Maybe they do more than just kiss."
"It is your Scottish half that refrains." Miren kept her arms around his neck. She liked the feel of his hair, she liked his nearness. "So you are an Indian . . . pirate"her smile grew wide as she considered the irony"Scottish laird."
Nathan smiled, too, but she saw sorrow in his eyes. "I'm none of those, Miren. I'm a half-breed sailor pretending to be something I'm not."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you doing this? It's not for yourself, I know. You're doing it for someone. Who?"
Nathan sighed. He released his hold on her waist and seated himself on the top stair. Miren sat beside him. "You'll pry it out of me eventually. True, we might end up in bed afterwards . . ."
Miren's cheeks felt warm. She puffed a quick breath. "You assume much."
He smiled and her insides turned liquid. "I know that when you and I converse it has a substantial effect on us both."
She couldn't argue with that. She liked edging her way inside him, knowing she affected him. "You divert the conversation, Nathaniel." She paused, her brow knit. "Do you have a last name, other than MacCallum?"
"I have a Seneca name, Deganawidah, if it's any help to you."
"Nathan it is." Miren chuckled. She rested her elbows on her knees and watched his face. "Tell me why you're here."
"I'm here to right a wrong."
"That much, I guessed. But it's not Kenneth MacCallum's death, nor Dr. Patterson's. I don't believe you would grieve over those losses."
Nathan turned his gaze to the dark water. "Another diedin that fire, Miren. My brother."
Miren closed her eyes. His words echoed deep pain. Pain, and remorse. "Then Kenneth MacCallum did have a son, after all."
"He did. My mother was pregnant with David when she escaped from MacCallum."
>
"I have heard rumors of MacCallum's abuse. Glenna married him at sixteen. She thought her life would improve, and my mother thought so, too. She told MacCallum the truth about who she was, and that my mother had eloped with my father. He kept her as his wife, but he resented the trick played upon him. My father told me they saw nothing of her after he took her away, but they both heard that he drank too much, and took his vengeance out on her."
"That is true." A dark frown tightened Nathan's lips. "My mother suffered at his hands, beyond measure and endurance. He brought her to America with him, because he refused to let her out of his sight. When he drank, he accused her of taking other men to her bed, and he beat her."
Miren's eyes puddled with tears. "When she didn't come back with him, people here said he'd killed her. It's strange to me that they can believe this, yet still accept him as a laird."
"It's strange to me, too."
"How did she escape?"
"Simon MacTavish took pity on her and helped her reach a place where MacCallum would never find her."
"Simon? Do you mean your manservant?"
"I wish he were my manservant. Then I could fire him. But unfortunately, Simon is more than that."
"Why would you want to fire him?"
"That man and I do not get along."
"I observed that when I first met you. You were both difficult in each other's company."
Nathan braced, and Miren repressed a smile. "Simon is difficult. I am long-suffering."
''He saved your mother. He must be a good man."
"'Good,' Miss Lindsay, doesn't preclude annoyance."
"The same might be said of 'handsome.'"
Nathan started to frown, recognized a hidden compliment, and smiled instead. "You still admire my looks despite my ignoble heritage."
"Your heritage has nothing to do with your body." Her voice came unusually husky. Miren's cheeks flamed as she realized how brazen this sounded. Nathan's brow rose, but she cleared her throat. "You were telling me how Simon saved your mother. Where did he take her?"
Nathan's brow angled a little more, so she knew that her alteration of the subject hadn't eluded him. "He had dealings with the Iroquois in New York, and became friendly with the Seneca chieftain. Apparently, MacCallum had a terror of Indians, so Simon knew he'd never dare search for her there."