A Rogue's Heart

by Debra Browning

  “I’m…Conall…Mackintosh,” he said between huge gulps of air. He started to shiver, and she realized she was trembling, as well. ’Twas the cold water, nothing more.

  The little man on the pier cleared his throat. “And I seem to be a bluidy fisherman. Now get yer arse out o’ that water.”

  “Oh, this is R-R-Rob,” Conall said, teeth chattering, as he grabbed his friend’s extended hand.

  Mairi pulled herself easily onto the pier and came face-to-face with the huge mastiff. “This is your fault, ye ill-mannered mongrel.”

  Jupiter flattened his ears back and looked at her with plaintive brown eyes.

  “That’s his way of apologizing.” The warrior struggled to his feet and offered her a hand. She eyed it suspiciously and drew her knees up close to her chin. “Come,” he said, “I’ll help you up.”

  “I need no help, especially from you.” She was shivering now, soaking wet, and the sun nearly set. What foolery. She struggled to her feet. “What d’ye want? Why have ye come here?”

  He stared at her, silent. What a trio they made: the huge, sodden warrior—plaid twisted and dripping, weapons askew—his short, bright-eyed companion, who seemed vastly amused by the whole ordeal, and then there was the bloody dog.

  She was suddenly aware of the warrior’s mouth. He chewed on his lip as his eyes drank her in. No man had ever looked at her that way. Not even Geoffrey. A flush of heat consumed her, and she was at once conscious of her breasts beneath her wet shift.

  Her shift! She snatched her gown from the pier and held it protectively in front of her. She wasn’t used to having men around. Her eyes darted to the shoreline. There were more of them! Twenty warriors at least, and horses laden with goods. Why hadn’t she noticed before?

  Not one of her clan was about. Where in God’s name was Dora? Even Kip, who usually trailed after her like an orphaned pup, was nowhere in sight.

  She backed toward the lake house, her thoughts racing as she tried desperately to recall where she’d left her father’s sword. Conall stepped toward her. Her pulse quickened and she clutched the gown tighter to her body.

  “We mean you no harm,” he said. “Dinna be afraid.”

  There was one thing she’d learned from her dealings with both Geoffrey and her father—never show fear. Never. She tipped her chin at him and arched a brow. “Afraid? Of you?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a boyish half smile. In truth, he looked more drowned sheep than warrior.

  She mustered her courage. “What d’ye want here? State your business, I’ve work to do.”

  He glanced at the ramshackle cottages lining the shore and the sunken, rotting timbers of the ancient docks. “I can see that.”

  Cheeky sod. She pursed her lips and waited for him to continue.

  “I wish to see the man in charge. I’ve come to propose a business arrangement.”

  This she did not expect. News of her father’s death must have spread far. ’Twas not every day a Mackintosh appeared on Dunbar’s doorstep offering business arrangements.

  He was after the land. She was sure of it.

  “I’m in charge. Just what kind of arrangement?”

  “Ha!” The warrior shot his companion an amused look that set her blood to boil.

  Something flashed in the water behind them. The dog noticed it, too, and his ears pricked. Sweet God, ’twas Kip! The reckless lad must have swum from the shore, undetected, under the pier. Mairi watched, transfixed, as he grabbed the edge of the timbers and drew himself out of the water, a short dagger between his teeth.

  Before she could react, Conall Mackintosh whirled and grabbed the boy by his shirt. Kip went for the dagger, but the warrior was too quick. He sent the weapon flying, then hauled the boy, dripping, from the loch. Kip kicked and struggled, but ’twas no use. Conall was too big. He held him aloft like a drowned kitten, and grinned.

  “What have we here, your bodyguard?” The warrior flashed her a smile.

  “Let me go, ye bluidy whoreson!” Kip flailed madly in midair.

  “Kip, that’s enough,” she said. “Put him down, Mackintosh, he’s just a boy.”

  “I’m no’ a boy, I’m a man! A Dunbar warrior.” To Mairi’s horror, Kip drew his fist back and landed a solid blow to Conall’s tautly muscled abdomen.

  “Unh!” Conall winced, and sucked a breath. “Christ, laddie, that’s the second time today a Dunbar’s tried to deck me.”

  Mairi dropped her gown and reached for Kip as Conall released him into her arms. She shot the boy a hard look, then drew him back protectively against her chest. She’d save the scolding for later. Conall stepped toward them, and her heart leaped to her throat.

  “Dinna hurt him,” she said. “Please.”

  Conall snapped his fingers, and Jupiter bounded forward, Kip’s small dagger dwarfed between huge canine teeth. “I would return this to him.” To her astonishment, he took the weapon from the dog and offered it to Kip. “Go on, lad, take it.”

  Kip ripped it from Conall’s hand and brandished it in front of him.

  “Put it away now,” Conall said, “and later, if you promise not to slit my throat, I’ll show you how to use it.”

  Mairi was stunned. She felt the tension in Kip’s small shoulders ease a bit. “D’ye mean it?” he asked.

  “Aye. Now off with you, I’ve got business with your mother, here.”

  “Oh, she’s no’—”

  “Kip, hush! Go on now. Find Dora and send her to me, quickly.” She pushed him toward the shore, and he took off running.

  “I thought ye didna like bairns, particularly?” Rob said. He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Conall.

  “I don’t, particularly,” Conall said as his gaze strayed over her body. “Now, where were we?”

  Mairi retrieved her gown and pulled it quickly over her head. She smoothed it as best she could over the wet shift. Instantly the water began to soak through. “Blast! The gown’ll be ruint as well.” She glared at the warrior. “What is it ye want then? Be quick about it.”

  He arched a brow. Like his hair, and hers, ’twas fiery copper in the setting sun, and made his eyes look all the more green. She pushed the thought from her mind and waited for his reply.

  “I’ve come on behalf of the Chattan.”

  “Aye, the alliance. I’ve heard of it. What of it?”

  “We’ve arranged for trade boats to bring supplies from the south. We’d like to borrow a bit of your land for docking—loading and unloading—and for storage, too.”

  ’Twas as she’d suspected. He wanted the land. Hmph. They were all the same. Her father. Geoffrey. Now this one. Greedy cads without a thought for her or her people. “And what makes ye think I’d allow such a thing?”

  He glanced back at the dilapidated collection of cottages along the shoreline. “It seems to me you could profit from the enterprise.”

  Several of the younger Dunbar women had ventured outside to speak with Conall’s men. Mairi watched in alarm as one of them allowed a young warrior to take her hand. Idiots! What were they thinking?

  “And there might be other, well…benefits I hadna considered.” Conall grinned at her.

  “Bluidy men! Go on, get out of here.” She turned on her heel, but he grabbed her wrist.

  “’Twas the kiss made you save me,” he said. “Admit it.”

  She jerked her hand away, her pulse racing.

  “I expect you want another.”

  “I’d as soon kiss the dog!”

  Rob snorted in the background.

  Conall stepped closer. “Methinks Jupiter would like that. He’s not been ‘round many women.”

  She fisted her hands at her sides and shot him a cautionary look. “Touch me again and ye’ll get another dunkin’.” He stood there dripping, grinning like a bloody fool. Her nose twitched as she caught his feral scent. “’Twould do ye some good, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She blinked and crinkled her nose. “Ye smell
worse than that mastiff.”

  “What?” The smile slid from his face.

  Jupiter let out a low whine, and Rob dissolved into laughter.

  “Go on. Get off my land.” She backed toward the lake house, then nodded toward the men on the shore. “And take that roguish lot with ye.”

  Before he could answer, she ducked inside the house and bolted the door behind her. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she leaned back against the cool timbers.

  “Now there’s a fine-lookin’ man.”

  At the sound of Dora’s voice, Mairi jumped nearly out of her skin. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she focused on her friend crouched at the small front window. “Who, that big, sodden lout?”

  “Nay, no’ him.” Dora giggled like a bride and flashed her a toothy smile. “The short one!”

  Conall rubbed himself down with a dry plaid, sniffed tentatively at his underarms and frowned.

  “She’s right, ye know,” Rob said, and thumped him on the shoulder as he passed, on his way to the camp they’d made at the edge of the wood.

  Conall smirked in the dark and finished dressing.

  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d bathed. Summer, most likely. Aye. He’d just arrived home, and Iain’s old housemaid refused to allow him at table until she’d had him up to his ears in a tub of hot water. He shivered at the memory of the old woman’s scrub brush.

  “Come and eat,” Dougal called out from the campfire, “afore there’s nothing left.”

  Conall pulled on his wet boots and squished over to the fire ring. Most of his men had already eaten and were bedded down for the night. Rob and Dougal sat cross-legged by the fire, picking at the remains of some roasted meat. He joined them.

  “Where’s Jupiter?” He scanned the camp for signs of the dog.

  “Over there.” Rob nodded to a small copse just outside the bright ring of firelight.

  Jupiter lay on his side, snoring lightly, surrounded by a scattering of picked-clean bones.

  “Aye, he’s had quite the day.”

  “Haven’t we all,” Rob said, and arched a brow at him.

  Dougal poked at the fire, then settled back against a tree.

  “So, what will ye do now?” Rob asked.

  “What do you mean? We’ll build out the docks, of course.”

  Rob and Dougal swapped glances.

  “Why the look? What are you thinking?”

  “Well, she didna agree, if memory serves,” Rob said.

  Conall snorted. “Aye, but she will. She has no choice. Look around you, man.” He nodded toward the group of dilapidated cottages just beyond the fire’s comforting glow. “They’ve little enough to eat now. When winter’s full on them, they’ll likely starve.”

  “I hear there’s a fine ham lyin’ at the bottom o’ the loch,” Dougal said, straight-faced. After a second of silence, during which Conall was tempted to slug him, Dougal and Rob burst into laughter.

  Conall smirked at them. “Aye, verra funny. I’ve not seen a man fit to bear arms amongst the lot. What do you make of it?”

  Dougal’s expression darkened. “Ye’re right about that. Some of them died, but most just up and left. The old man told me. Dunbar drove them off—gambled away what little they all had.”

  “Aye, well whatever the reason, the result is in our favor. Mairi Dunbar will take what I give her, and be grateful for it.”

  His spirits brightened. Iain had been right, after all. ’Twould be an easy task, this dock-building. One he was determined to complete quickly, and move on.

  “She’s damn vulnerable,” Dougal said. “Any man with a mind to could take the land.”

  “And her,” Rob added.

  An image of Mairi Dunbar, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing as she fought Jupiter for the ham, flashed in Conall’s mind.

  “’Tis a fair piece o’ land,” Dougal said. “The right man could make something of it, what with the loch trade and all.”

  “No’ to mention the lass.” Rob arched a tawny brow. “Mairi Dunbar, no simpering virgin there.”

  Conall shot him a hard look, but recalled how Mairi’s wet shift had clung to the lithe curves of her body. His gaze drifted across the water to the lake house. ’Twas eerily dark. He could almost feel her watching him from the window.

  “All the same,” Rob said, “she needs a man’s protection—whether she’ll admit it or no’.”

  Conall grunted and tossed another fagot onto the fire. So what if she did? What was it to him? He was charged with securing the land and building out the docks. Nothing more. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a ragtag band of Dunbars. Women and children and old men.

  A branch snapped in the wood behind him. Conall’s hand shot to the hilt of his dirk.

  “She’s got a man’s protection,” a thin voice called out. “Mine.” The boy Kip stepped from behind a stout larch, his small hands fisted on narrow hips. His eyes bore into Conall’s.

  Dougal started to laugh, but Conall silenced him with a look. “Come here, then,” he said to the lad. “Let’s have a look at your weapons.”

  Kip approached the fire cautiously, his dark eyes darting to the small clearing where their horses were tethered and where twenty-odd Mackintosh warriors slept. He unsheathed his small dirk and waved it in front of him.

  The boy had courage. Conall sized him up as he would a rival, then nodded approval. “Aye, you’ll do.” He held out his hand. “Let’s have a look at that wicked dagger.”

  Kip’s eyes met his and, for a moment, neither of them moved a muscle. Then, slowly, the boy placed the weapon into Conall’s open palm.

  “’Tis fine, if a bit dull.” Conall ran a finger over the notched and pitted blade. “Rob can hone it for you, if you like.” The boy frowned. Without waiting for his agreement, Conall tossed the dirk across the fire ring. Rob caught it and nodded.

  “Now, ’tis late…Kip, is it?”

  The boy squared his shoulders. “Kelvin Francis Dunbar. But aye, most call me Kip.”

  “Well, Kelvin Francis Dunbar, find your bed and on the morrow I’ll show you some tricks with that dagger you’ll not learn from women and old men.”

  Kip held his gaze, and Conall could tell the boy struggled to repress a smile.

  “Off with you,” he said, and watched as Kip disappeared into the cover of the trees, as quiet as he’d come.

  Rob weighed the small dagger in his hand. “If ye wish to win a widow’s heart, win her bairn’s first.” He grinned and pocketed the weapon. “Ye’re smarter than I thought, Conall laddie.”

  Mairi frowned and let the deerskin cover fall back into place over the window.

  “I told ye they’d no’ leave.” Dora arched a brow at her in the dark.

  “Hmph.”

  “Strike the bargain. After all, what choice d’ye have?”

  Mairi peeked out again and her eyes fixed on the Mackintosh warrior. He sat cross-legged before the campfire his men had built earlier that evening. The fire’s glow lit up the angular features of his face and sparked gold from his hair. She could almost make out the curve of his smile as he laughed at some remark.

  “I saw how he looked at ye,” Dora whispered as she knelt beside her.

  “What d’ye mean?” Mairi slapped the deerskin cover back in place.

  “Och, dinna go pretendin’, now. Ye know exactly what I mean. Strike the bargain while ye still can.”

  “While I still can?”

  Dora snorted. “Are ye as big a fool as all that? The man’s made ye an offer of business, and God knows he didna have to. What’s stopping him from just taking what he wants—the land and you?”

  Mairi frowned again. She hadn’t thought of that. Well, she had, but…“Nay, he’s no’ that kind of man.”

  “They’re all that kind of man.”

  Dora was right. In her limited experience, Mairi had known few men well—her father, Geoffrey, a few of her kinsmen. But there was something different about Conall Mackintosh. Sh
e read it in his eyes when he thanked her for saving his life, and again when he returned Kip’s dagger and allowed the boy to go free.

  “Consider the alternative, is all I’m saying.” Dora rose stiffly and started for the door.

  “What alternative?”

  “Wedding Geoffrey Symon, o’ course.” Dora shot her a pointed glance then tripped the latch. “I’m off. My bairns will be wantin’ their supper.”

  Dora closed the door behind her, and Mairi watched from the window as her friend made her way along the pier in the dark. They’d been through hard times together, she and Dora. ’Twas not the first time, nor the last, Mairi would think on the older woman’s advice.

  When Dora reached the shore, Rob called out to her from the campfire set just outside the village. Dora curtsied briefly in the little man’s direction, then bolted toward her cottage. The sound of men’s laughter drifted across the water. One man’s in particular.

  Strike the bargain, indeed. Hmph. If she did, ’twould be on her terms. Mairi turned from the window and stared into the comforting glow of the hearth fire. She was certain of one thing—she’d never marry Geoffrey, or any man, not as long as there was another way to pay the debt and keep her land. Dora was right. ’Twas the smartest choice.

  Later, as she burrowed under the thick pile of furs that made up her bed, Mairi recalled more of Dora’s words…

  I saw how he looked at ye.

  Conall Mackintosh, indeed.

  She would see what he was made of on the morrow. He’d come looking for a business arrangement, and that’s exactly what she’d give him. Nothing more.

  Her eyes closed and she hovered a while at the edge of sleep, listening to the warrior’s laughter floating across the water in the dark.

  “Get up.” Mairi kicked at the pile of plaids.

  Jupiter barked, then tugged on the laces of his master’s boots, which stuck out from the bottom of the pile.

  “People die in bed,” she said.

  “Huh?” Conall stirred and poked his head out from beneath the plaids. His sleepy eyes focused on her. “Who so says?”

  “My father. He was right, too.” A vision of the great Alwin Dunbar flashed in her mind: sprawled fat and naked in his bed, quite dead, drowned in his own vomit. Her nose twitched as she recalled the stink of spirits, and worse things, wafting from his bloated body.