A Rogue's Heart

by Debra Browning

  “You’ll not have him, I heard you say it.” His hand inched its way down her spine and splayed across the small of her back.

  “I…I didna mean it,” she said, and tried to look away. He wouldn’t let her.

  “Aye, you did.” He kissed her, hard.

  Her lips parted of their own accord, her arms slipped ‘round his waist. Mairi closed her eyes and lost herself in his scent, a heady fusion of sweat and leather.

  His tongue mated with hers, then plundered her mouth as if it were a treasure trove. She knew she should stop him. Jesu, why didn’t she? She was vaguely aware of Jupiter barking. Conall seemed oblivious to the dog’s displeasure.

  Heat consumed her as his hands kneaded her backside. What was happening? She let out a whimper. Conall groaned in response and ground his hips against her.

  Her eyes went wide. “Nay,” she breathed, and tried to pull away.

  “What’s wrong?” Conall nuzzled her cheek, his eyes catlike slits.

  “Ye must stop. I…I must—” She spun out of his arms and crashed headlong into a—

  “Good God, Geoffrey!”

  Chapter Six

  She was right. He had no sense at all.

  Conall unsheathed his dirk and locked eyes with Geoffrey Symon. “Let her go.”

  “Conall, don’t,” Mairi begged. “Geoffrey—”

  “Shut up, ye little whore.” Symon eyed Jupiter, then pushed Mairi away.

  Conall stepped in front of her and raised his weapon. Jupiter growled low in his throat.

  “What did ye call me?” Mairi slipped past him and the dog, and lunged at Symon.

  “Mairi!” Conall grabbed her by the only thing within his reach, her hair.

  “Ahh! What are ye—”

  He yanked her back.

  “Ow!”

  “I’m trying to protect you,” he said. “’Twould be far easier if you helped.”

  She looked at him as if he were daft.

  “Christ,” he breathed. He was daft. He let go her hair and gripped her firmly around the waist. Jupiter moved in front of her. “Good dog.”

  “I had wondered at this little arrangement,” Symon said. “’Tis clear what’s included in the bargain.”

  “What d’ye mean by that?” Mairi struggled to free herself, but Conall held her fast.

  Symon raised a brow in response.

  “’Tis no’ what ye think, Geoffrey,” she said.

  “Isn’t it?” Symon lowered his own dirk and fixed his gaze on Mairi. He was breathing hard, and Conall knew from experience the chieftain worked to control his rage. “I didna see ye struggle.”

  “I…I…” Mairi wrestled against Conall’s grip. He took a chance and let her go. She shot him a surprised glance, but didn’t move from his side.

  “No matter. Ye’re more trouble than ye’re worth.” Symon sheathed his weapon. “As for you, Mackintosh, I fear ye’ve bargained poorly.”

  Mairi bristled. Conall was tempted to restrain her again.

  “Ye dinna know her like I do.” Symon grinned at him. “Or do ye?”

  “Ye bluidy—” Mairi shot forward and tripped over the dog. Conall grabbed her to keep her from falling.

  Symon laughed. “She’s a handful, is she no’?”

  “I hate you!” Mairi cried.

  Symon’s expression turned to stone. His eyes, which had burned with rage just moments ago, grew dull and lifeless. “Aye, I can see that,” he whispered. “And it cuts me like a knife.”

  Conall watched her reaction, and didn’t like what he saw. Could it be that she loved Symon after all? He reminded himself why he’d ridden out in search of the man. ’Twas the thievery.

  Or was it?

  An unfamiliar sensation bloomed inside him, gnawed at his gut as he watched the two of them stare at each other. He gripped his dirk tighter, then abruptly sheathed it.

  Christ, he was jealous.

  He shrugged it off. “Symon, you and I have business.”

  “Aye? What business?”

  “It concerns an anchor chain.”

  Mairi frowned. “What anchor chain?”

  “Hewn timbers,” he continued, “and a goodly length of rope.”

  “What are ye talkin’ about?” Mairi narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Your neighbor knows well of what I speak.”

  Symon grinned. “I canna say that I do, Mackintosh.”

  Conall flexed the muscles in his back and felt the comforting weight of the broadsword strapped there. In a flash, ’twas in his hand. “Perhaps I need remind you.” He pushed Mairi behind him and shot her his most threatening look, a silent warning not to intervene. Jupiter barked.

  “Conall, watch out!” she cried.

  He whirled. God’s blood! Three of Symon’s henchmen. Mairi bolted to the safety of a small copse. ’Twas the first sensible thing the bloody woman had done all day.

  Two of the warriors unsheathed their swords, but ’twas the third who startled him. He was a Chinese. Conall had seen such men in his travels abroad, yet this man sported Symon’s colors. The man pulled an arrow into an intricately carved crossbow and aimed directly at Jupiter. The dog growled but held his ground.

  “Loose that arrow, heathen, and ’Twill be the last thing ye do,” a voice called from behind them.

  Dougal!

  Conall exhaled in relief as Harry and Dougal stepped out from behind two trees.

  “We thought ye could use the help,” Dougal said, eyeing Symon’s men.

  Harry nodded and flicked his sword at the bowman.

  A string of curses drifted from the copse beside them. “Ow!” Mairi’s red head poked out from the bushes. Her eyes blazed. “Are ye happy now?” she asked, and wrestled herself free of the vegetation.

  “Mairi,” he said. “Go back.”

  She ignored him. Why was he not surprised?

  “Three against four,” she said. “Ye’re matched well enough, methinks.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “So d’ye want to kill each other now and get it over with?”

  No one said a word.

  “Fine. Then we’ll be gettin’ on home. Fare ye well, Geoffrey.” She pushed her way past Symon’s men, ignoring their weapons, and took Conall’s arm.

  He was at a complete loss for words.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ve docks to build, or had ye forgotten?”

  He hadn’t forgotten. Well, not entirely.

  “I wish ye luck, Mackintosh.” Symon backed toward the hunter’s camp from which he’d come. “Ye’ll need it.” He nodded to his men, and they followed.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Mairi jerked her hand from his arm. “Idiots, all of ye. What did ye think ye were doing?” She stormed toward the loch.

  Conall had had enough. He grabbed her arm and spun her ‘round. “Dinna ever call me that again.”

  Mairi’s eyes sparked fear.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  “B-back to my boat.”

  Remorse shot through him. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. Controlling his anger, he released her.

  “Ah, so that’s how she beat us here,” Harry said, joining them.

  Conall arched a brow at the scout. He’d have words with Rob over this.

  Mairi took off. He called to her, but she kept walking. “Damn the woman!”

  Five minutes later they were both mounted on his horse, trotting south toward the village. Mairi was not happy about it.

  “I dinna…l-like…r-riding,” she sputtered, as she bounced up and down in the saddle in front of him. “W-what about m-my boat?”

  “I’ll send someone back after it,” he said.

  “I st-still dinna ken why I must r-ride.”

  “Squeeze your knees together and try to stay put. That bloody bouncing is making me seasick.” He wrapped an arm around her waist to still her, and she promptly removed it.

  “B-bluidy horses.”

  He had refused to allow her to take the boat back. ’Twas far
too risky. He didn’t trust Symon. Jilted lovers were dangerous. Who knew what the chieftain might do to her?

  The fact that Conall gave a whit disturbed him greatly.

  Mairi bounced along holding on to the pommel and swearing under her breath. Conall grinned. She was unlike any woman he’d e’er known.

  He glanced down at her bare feet and golden calves. Riding astride, as she’d insisted, her wet gown barely covered her knees. “They’re freckled,” he said absently, “like your face.”

  “What?” She turned in the saddle and frowned at him. “What are ye talkin’ about?”

  Conall didn’t answer.

  As they rode, he recalled their kiss. Her response had both delighted and surprised him. She’d been ardent, more than willing, but it seemed a virgin’s kiss all the same. He wondered whether he’d been wrong in his first assessment of her.

  “Bluidy swivin’ horse,” she muttered.

  Conall grinned. Nay, he’d been right. Mairi Dunbar was an experienced woman. Symon had alluded to it, as well. He bristled at the thought of them together. If Geoffrey Symon so much as touched her again—

  “Did the dog no’ alert ye?” Harry called back to him.

  “Hmm?”

  “Jupiter. He would have known Symon was there long before ye did, aye?”

  Mairi snorted. “Aye, he was barkin’ up a bluidy storm.”

  “Then why…ah, well.” Harry caught Conall’s glare and spurred his white gelding ahead along the path.

  Conall swore silently to himself. He’d let his guard down in the most dangerous of situations. ’Twas her fault, the vixen. He stared at the sunlight dancing in Mairi’s hair. If she’d not looked so damned tempting.

  “What was all that about the anchor chain and the timbers?” she asked.

  “Dinna forget the rope,” Conall said. “He thieved them in the night.”

  She glanced back at him. “Geoffrey? Nay, he wouldna steal from me. Ye’re wrong, and ye were wrong to go lookin’ for him, startin’ trouble.”

  “I’m never wrong. And he’s the one who started it, not me.”

  “Ye sound like a ten-year-old. Methinks ye’ve been spending too much time with Kip.” She turned her back on him again and redoubled her grip on the pommel.

  “Mairi, you trust too easily.” He chanced resting a hand on her arm. “Geoffrey’s not to be—”

  “Take your hand off me!” She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “Ye’ve pawed me once today, already. Is that no’ enough?”

  Conall recalled the feel of her in his hands.

  Nay, it wasn’t enough.

  “I should trust you, a man I dinna know from Adam?” He started to speak, but she cut him off. “A few things go missing and ye blame it on my neighbor without even speakin’ to me about it.”

  “Geoffrey Symon was there, above the village, watching us.”

  “Ye’re jealous is all.”

  “Ha! Dinna flatter yourself. I’ve no more interest in ye than—”

  Without warning, Mairi grabbed the black’s reins and jerked hard. “Ye miserable son of a—” She wrenched her leg over the horse’s neck and leaped to the ground.

  “Get back on this horse!” he ordered her.

  She stormed down the path, thumping Jupiter on the head as she passed him.

  “I said, get back on the horse!”

  “I’ll walk,” she said without looking back.

  Dougal and Harry nudged their mounts off the path to make way for the hellion bearing down on them. Both looked to him for instruction. He ought to have them strangle her.

  “Let her go,” he said, and kicked the black forward.

  Jealous.

  Ridiculous.

  She was naught to him but a temporary amusement. Very temporary. The moment they returned to the village, which might not be till Christmas if she was hell-bent on walking the whole bloody way, he’d step up the work schedule.

  The sooner she was out of his life, the better.

  The sooner he was out of her life, the better.

  The cad.

  Mairi didn’t stop until she reached the camp outside the village. ’Twas nearly dark. Dora’s children were on the beach helping Kip collect bits of leftover rope from the construction site. ’Twas strange. Dora usually had them abed by now.

  “Kip!” she called to him. “Where’s Dora?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno.”

  Blast! Where was the woman when you needed her? She took off toward Dora’s cottage, ignoring the fact that Conall had tethered his horse at the camp and was now following her.

  Mairi breathed in the familiar smells of the village at twilight—burning peat and wood smoke, and suppers simmering on the hearth. Her stomach growled. Perhaps Dora would ask her to stay and eat.

  Even before her hand closed over the door latch, Mairi knew something was amiss. Dora never covered the cottage window this early, yet the deerskin shade was in place. She tripped the latch.

  Locked?

  ’Twas never locked.

  Good God, something was wrong. “Dora?” She knocked on the door. No answer. “Dora!” Perhaps she was ill, or…She pounded this time, and jiggled the latch again. “Dora, are ye all right?”

  “What is it?” Conall’s voice sounded behind her.

  She didn’t want his help, and bristled at the concern in his expression. All the same, something was terribly wrong, and this one time she’d ask his assistance.

  “’Tis Dora,” she said. “Something’s amiss. The door’s locked. ’Tis never locked. She could be hurt or—”

  “Stand aside,” Conall said. The second she moved, he kicked the door in.

  Dora’s scream pierced the air.

  Mairi flew across the threshold, her heart hammering. “Dora, good God, what—” She stopped short, and Conall crashed into her. She blinked her eyes, trying to adjust her vision to the dim firelight. And blinked again.

  “Um…I was just…” Dora stammered. “We just thought…”

  “Ye’re abed? So early?”

  Dora yanked the bedcovers up around her neck, her eyes big as saucers. Perspiration sheened her face.

  “Are ye ill?”

  Conall started laughing.

  Mairi glared at him, and he laughed harder. “I see naught of amusement here,” she said.

  “Oh, nay?” Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes, and he nearly doubled over cackling. She’d give him something to double over about—her fist. “Me…methinks we’ve interrupted,” he sputtered.

  “Interrupted what?” The bedcovers shook, seemingly of their own accord. Conall snorted, and this time she elbowed him in the ribs. “What in God’s name is going on?”

  Rob’s head popped from beneath the bedclothes.

  All at once, truth dawned.

  “Uh…good evening, Mairi, Conall,” Rob said, and grinned stupidly.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Dora shrugged.

  Mairi was vaguely aware of Conall’s voice, his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, lass. Let’s leave them to their sport.”

  “But…” Conall guided her to the door. Her feet moved against her better judgment. At the threshold they paused. The moon was up, and in the half-light she spied Conall’s devilish smile. “Sport?” she said.

  He ran his thumbs lightly down her arms. “Aye, sport.”

  Her blood ran so hot she thought her head might explode. She burst like a raging bull from the cottage and made for the loch. A torrent of raw emotion bombarded her—fury, embarrassment, confusion. And something else. Something she was not prepared for.

  Envy.

  Conall’s laughter followed her out onto the water. Mairi put her hands to her ears and raced down the pier to her sanctuary, the lake house.

  She slammed the door and collapsed on her pallet by the hearth. Tears flowed hot and unbidden from her eyes, only serving to fuel her rage. Slow, deep breaths. Aye, that’s it. She wiped at her eyes and tried to get a grip on herself.


  Why was she so angry?

  She rocked herself on the straw mattress. ’Twas unusually warm. Only then did she notice the crackling fire in the hearth. She moved closer to warm her chilled limbs, and saw it—a covered pot set carefully in a bed of coals. Supper. ’Twas Dora’s doing. She’d laid a fire and had brought her food.

  Her friend, Dora Dunbar.

  Mairi eased back onto the mattress and pulled a fur coverlet over herself. She’d been wrong to be so angry, and felt shame at her reaction. Who was she to judge Dora, a woman who’d been to hell and back?

  Dora’s husband had up and left two years and some months ago. No great loss there. Like Mairi’s father, the man had been a drunkard. He’d beaten Dora on occasion, and the children. She shivered at the memory.

  Nay, who was she to begrudge her closest friend a moment of comfort in an otherwise comfortless existence? Dora had been like a mother to her, after her own had died. The least Mairi could do now was rejoice in her happiness. And if Rob Mackintosh was the man responsible for that happiness, Mairi would do everything in her power to see the two of them together.

  She closed her eyes, and Conall’s laughter still echoed in her mind. “Sport,” she hissed. That’s all it was to a man like him. She needed his help to preserve her clan, but that was all she needed from him.

  He was just like her father—and Geoffrey. Shallow and uncaring. ’Twould not surprise her if he had a weakness for the drink, as well. And for women. Aye, she’d seen it in his eyes in the moonlit doorway of Dora’s cottage.

  No one had ever treated her so vulgarly. No man had ever dared to kiss her the way he had that afternoon. Certainly not Geoffrey.

  She hated him.

  And Geoffrey, too, for thinking her a whore.

  She drew the furs up around her head and burrowed into their warmth. She wasn’t hungry anymore. Just tired. So very tired. Her mind drifted, and she let her anger drift with it, though she could not sleep.

  Conall’s accusations burned inside her. What if he was right about Geoffrey? She didn’t want to believe he’d steal from her. Only a fortnight ago, Geoffrey had told her he loved her. All men say that, though few mean it. That’s what Dora had told her.

  Mairi smirked under the covers. She could never imagine Conall Mackintosh saying it to any woman. The man didn’t have a heart. Though neither did she, not anymore.