“Ye promised to teach me to fight with a sword.” Kip’s lower lip trembled, and as Conall watched the boy fight back tears, a wave of emotion welled inside him.
“Christ.” He inhaled slowly and hardened his heart. “Dougal will teach you, when you’re older.”
He suspected both scouts would jump at the chance to stay. Judith’s and Elsbeth’s charms had bewitched them both beyond all reason. ’Twas for the best, after all. He’d need to leave someone in charge here after he was gone.
“I dinna want Dougal,” Kip said, and tugged on Conall’s plaid. “I want you.”
He gritted his teeth and yanked himself out of the boy’s grasp. Kip’s eyes widened in pain. Saint Columba, he’d done it now. He should have never allowed himself to get so involved with the lad.
“What about Jupiter, then?” The mastiff had lain down beside them, and now Kip grabbed him around the neck and hugged him tight. “Let him stay with me. I’ll take good care of him, I promise!” Jupiter panted happily as Kip climbed all over him.
“Aye, I dinna doubt it, lad, but methinks your mother wouldna like it much.”
Jupiter rolled onto his side and Kip scratched the mastiff’s huge belly. “She’s dead, she wouldna care.”
Conall’s heart stopped.
“And Mairi likes him. Please say he can stay.”
He blinked a couple of times.
“She’s over there.” Kip pointed to the lake house pier. “Ye can ask her.”
Mairi stood on the pier, barefoot as usual and skirts rucked up, one hand fisted on her hip, the other shading her eyes against the sun. She watched them.
The truth hit him like a brick. “She’s not your mother, is she?” He was a fool not to have seen it before. Her chaste kisses, that virginal blush she fought so hard to control.
“Who?” Kip asked.
“Mairi.” He fixed his eyes on her.
“Nay, o’ course not. Me mam’s dead. Now I take care of Mairi. She needs me.”
Conall nodded absently. “Aye, she does.”
“She needs a husband, too, o’ course.”
He snapped to attention and met the boy’s innocent gaze. “A husband?”
“Aye,” Kip said, “like you.”
Geoffrey slammed his fist on the table and leveled his gaze at the Chinese. “So soon?”
Tang nodded. “I have seen it with my own eyes. The piers are complete, the docks in place.”
“Damn them! The both o’ them.”
“Their work is easily destroyed.” Tang pressed his brown leathered hands together in a gesture that betrayed his eagerness.
“Aye, but that doesna serve my purpose. The trade boats shall come whether or not there are docks to receive them. What Mackintosh has built is only a convenience, no’ a necessity.”
“The boats, then.”
Geoffrey smiled at the wisdom of the Chinese. “Exactly. Docks or no docks, if she canna get the goods, she canna pay the debt. That’s that, then. The land shall be forfeit to me.” He rose and paced the floor, his thoughts racing.
Tang arched a brow.
“What?” He stopped and studied the tiny man’s ever-cryptic expression. “What is it?”
“My father once said, ‘There are often many ways to skin a cat.’”
Geoffrey snorted but caught his meaning. “Mackintosh. Aye. If Mairi asks him to help her, he will.”
She’d kissed him. She’d liked it.
He fisted his hands so tight his nails dug into his palms. Mackintosh had pawed her, crushed her body to his. He only wanted the land. Couldn’t Mairi see that? She was a fool to trust him.
“Kill him, lord, and all his kinsmen.”
“Aye, ’twould be something Fraser would notice, would it not? A thousand Chattan warriors defeated by my hand.”
“A thousand?” Tang frowned. “Lord, they are but a score.”
Geoffrey shot him the kind of look he reserved for weaklings and fools. “A score at Loch Drurie, and a thousand more just like them, no’ two days’ ride from Falmar.”
Aye, that’s all he needed. If he so much as touched a hair of Mackintosh’s red head, every bloody clan in the alliance would beat a path to his door. He’d not live to see the end of the week, let alone the new year. “’Tis folly,” he said, and gnashed his teeth in frustration.
Tang rose from his seat. “If I may be so bold, lord.”
“Go on.”
“Perhaps it would be better for everyone if the Mackintosh warrior simply…disappeared.”
“Aye, but that’s no’ likely, now is it?” He saw how Mackintosh had looked at Mairi. The man wasn’t going anywhere.
Tang shrugged. “Many things are likely. They feast tonight, with Alwin’s ale. ’Tis easy for a man to forget himself and have too much to drink.”
Aye, and well Geoffrey knew it. How many times had he awoken with his head splitting, his gut roiling from a night in Alwin Dunbar’s house?
“Such a man would be unsteady, dull witted. Any number of things might befall him.” Tang fixed black eyes on him. “An accident, perhaps.”
Geoffrey grinned. He knew there was a reason he kept the Chinese in his employ. “Aye, an accident.” ’Twould solve all his problems. With Conall Mackintosh out of the picture, and the trade boats diverted, Mairi would have no recourse but to submit. “Arrange it.”
“Consider it done.” Tang smiled and turned to leave.
Geoffrey could barely contain his elation. He strode to the window and looked out on his demesne. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air crisp as an autumn apple.
’Twould be a boon, would it not, to bring Fraser the lake trade? The Symons would become powerful again, respected—feared even. Aye, and there was a bonus. A terrible accident would befall Conall Mackintosh. Mairi would be his again. His. As she should have been from the start. Alwin had lost her to him. He’d won her fair and square.
Geoffrey bit back a curse, bristling at the memory of his wedding day. He’d waited for hours with the priest, who’d come all the way from Inverness to hear their vows. Mairi had never shown up. The embarrassment it had cost him, the ridicule.
“Bitch,” he breathed. She deserved what would happen. She’d had plenty of chances to come to him willing. His patience was at an end. “Tang!”
The Chinese paused at the door.
“What d’ye plan? How will ye do it?” He wanted Mackintosh dead so badly he tasted blood.
“Something sudden, spectacular, perhaps.” Tang had a flair for murder. “Have you a preference, lord?”
“Nay.” He waved him on. “Just kill him.” The sooner ’twas done the better. Tonight was perfect. They’d be in their cups, the lot of them. Mairi would be…“Tang, wait.”
“Lord?”
“Ye willna harm Mairi.” Remorse licked at him. Aye, the vixen had treated him outrageously. No man in his position would have put up with it, but he loved her all the same. “If she’s touched, I’ll have your head.”
“Aye, lord.” Tang bowed low, hands clasped together at his chest, then slipped through the door and closed it soundlessly behind him.
The smells of pitch and wood smoke and roasting meat drew him from the house long before he intended to join the celebration. Conall angled his way down the forested hillside toward the beach, allowing his eyes to adjust to the moonless night. Torches winked at him like stars through the trees, and the sounds of merrymaking waxed on the wind as he approached.
He stepped out onto the sand and blinked. “What the devil…?”
Children ran laughing along the brightly lit shoreline, snaking their way through small knots of revelers—Dunbar women and elders, Mackintosh and Davidson warriors—who sang and ate and lifted their overflowing cups skyward.
Dozens of torches blazed a path of gold along each of the three new piers, casting waves of fiery light to dance on the black waters of Loch Drurie.
“Ho, laddie!” Rob called to him from one of the bonfires crackling on the beach. �
��Come and sample a bit o’ Alwin Dunbar’s special brew.”
He grinned and walked toward Rob’s beckoning wave. The elfin warrior lounged in Dora’s lap on the sand, cradling the largest cup of ale Conall had e’er seen. And he’d seen a few.
“What’s all this?” he said, and arched a brow at each of his kinsmen in turn.
Rob hiccuped in response. Dora squeezed him and giggled. Dougal sat beside them, draped in Judith, whose once-pale cheeks blazed hot as the bonfire. Elsbeth sat beside her, Harry’s head lolling comfortably in her lap.
“What fine warriors I’ve chosen to accompany me on this most important of missions,” he said.
“Aye,” Judith and Elsbeth breathed in unison.
“Ye didna choose us,” Rob said, and swallowed another hiccup. “We just came.”
Dougal nodded dreamily, his dark eyes wide and unfocused. Harry began to snore.
Conall laughed and felt the weight of the past weeks slip from his shoulders. They were good men, all, and deserved to celebrate their success.
His grin broadened as he recognized old Walter kneeling before another of the bonfires, bathed in sweat, his sinewy muscles straining to turn a huge spit. Roast pork, from the look and smell of it. Conall had wondered whether the elder would ever butcher those pigs. Aye, they’d all have full bellies tonight.
His gaze drifted from face to face, up and down the beach, but Mairi’s was not among them. He glanced at the lake house and its darkened pier, black and cold as the night. ’Twas just as well.
“She’s there.” Dora’s voice rose over the throng. “Ye just canna see her.” When he met the older woman’s eyes, all the hairs pricked on his neck. ’Twas as if she read his thoughts a moment before he had them. It unnerved him, and he looked away. “Aye, she’s there,” Dora said, “sittin’ on the pier in the dark, watchin’ ye.”
His bare feet moved toward the lake house pier, though he willed them not to. One step, another, scrunching the cool, damp sand between his toes. He stood at the end of the floating timbers and gazed into the blackness.
“I thought ye might not come,” a voice called out from the dark.
Her voice.
He stepped onto the pier and started toward her. The night swallowed him in pitch. Timbers rolled gently under his weight, but he paid them no mind. He stopped when he sensed her near, though he couldn’t see her, so black was the night.
“’Tis like a faeryland, is it no’?” she said.
He gazed at the flickering reflections of the torches on the water, and the eerily illuminated faces of the revelers on the beach. “Aye,” he said, “anything might happen on such a night.” He dropped cross-legged beside her, accidentally brushing her bare knee with his. Mairi repositioned herself, but the sensation of her skin against his stayed with him.
“Ye’ve had naught to drink as yet,” she said.
“How do you know?” He could just make out the features of her face contrasting against the blackness surrounding them.
“If ye had, I’d smell it on ye.”
“Ah. Is your nose so good, then?”
“For the drink, aye, ’tis.”
He considered what Rob and Walter had told him of her history. “So that’s how it was with your father.”
She didn’t respond, and he wished he hadn’t broached the topic.
“My father,” she said. “Alwin Dunbar.” She snorted. “Aye, that’s exactly how it was.”
“Is that why you won’t live in his house?”
“Nay.” She shot to her feet, and he felt the pier undulate beneath them. “Aye. ’Tis just…I have my reasons.” She brushed past him and he blindly grabbed for her hand.
“Mairi, stay.”
“Nay.” She eluded his grasp. “I must join my kinsmen.”
He scrambled to his feet and dogged her steps. “Why, then? Why will you not live in his house? Has it to do with your mother? Her death?”
She stopped short at the end of the pier, and he nearly crashed into her. She whirled on him, and for the first time that night he could see her eyes. Tiny bonfires blazed in their centers, gold against midnight-blue.
“And what of you?” she snapped. “Why are ye no’ wed? No wife, no bairns, no home. The wealth and comfort of the Chattan lie at your feet, yet ye choose to drift from place to place.”
He shrugged. “I do as I wish. I’m a free man. Besides, how I live is not your concern.”
She arched a fire-gold brow at him and smirked. “So, prying and prodding ’tis good for the goose but no’ the gander, eh?”
She was right. He’d had no business asking her such personal questions. Besides, what did he care? He shrugged it off and followed her along the beach.
She moved with an air of power and determination. A woman with a plan. Did she ne’er relax and just enjoy the moment?
He noticed her hair was tied back between her shoulder blades with a strip of plaid, dark blue flecked with ocher. It stood out against her wild red tresses. She had on a gown he’d ne’er seen her wear before. It, too, was blue, and belted at the waist. Her feet were bare, as always. He grinned as he marched along behind her.
She greeted her kinsmen and his as she passed them, stopping briefly to inspect Walter’s culinary masterpiece roasting on the spit. When she spoke to his men, she had an easy grace about her he’d not seen in many women. She did not fear them in the least, as would other maids. ’Twas as if she were completely unconscious of her sex, and what effect she might have on them.
Or him.
He wanted her, even more so now.
He was fascinated by her innocence, which flew in the face of her hard-edged demeanor and outrageous behavior. He shook his head, as if to snap himself out of it.
All at once, the sound of the pipes and a drum rose over the raucous din. His men, Gerald and John. Nary a night passed that the duo didn’t make music. ’Twas a dance they played, and on impulse Conall grabbed Mairi’s hand and spun her into a throng of revelers.
“Let me go!” She tried to pull away, but he held on tight.
“Give it up, Mairi,” he said, “for but a night.” She frowned at him. “You have all day the morrow for work and more serious pursuits.”
She continued to frown, but allowed him to draw her closer and move her into the dance. She was awkward, uncomfortable in his arms, and her freckled cheeks blazed.
Her discomfort stirred him, and he grew bold. He splayed his hand across her back and drew her closer, spinning her with him. Once, she stepped on his toes, and he laughed.
“I dinna like this,” she said, and glared at him. “Let me go.”
“Nay, Mairi Dunbar.” He grinned, enjoying his physical power over her. “I’ve no mind to let you go.” The venom rose in her expression. “Just yet,” he added quickly.
“I…I’m no good at dancing,” she said.
“Nay, nor at riding, either.” She tried to pull away, and he pressed her body to his. “You’re an excellent swimmer, though. Like a silkie on the water.”
He risked a quick kiss, and immediately felt her knee jerk upward between his legs. Lightning-fast, he jumped back, narrowly escaping her vengeance.
“Ye’re daft!” she said. “Silkie, indeed.” He let her wrestle free of his grasp, and she stormed off toward the bonfire where Rob and Dora and the others lounged.
He watched her, laughing to himself. God, if she wasn’t the most fetching thing he’d seen in…well, ever.
Without warning, Kip exploded out of the wood and onto the beach, Jupiter right behind him. “Mairi!” he cried. “Mairi, look what I’ve got!” He spotted her with Rob and the others and bolted toward them, kicking up sand and knocking ale cups from the hands of the revelers in his path. “Mairi, look!”
Conall joined them. Tiny alarms went off in his head when Kip spilled the contents of an unfamiliar saddlebag onto the sand. “What the devil are those?” he said.
“Fireworks,” Kip gasped, breathless from running.
�
�What do you mean? Where did you get them?”
Harry, who’d jolted awake seconds ago, grabbed one of the black sticks and studied it.
“From Tang, no doubt,” Mairi said, and arched a brow at Kip. “What were ye doing in the wood alone?”
“Who’s Tang?” Conall asked.
“I wasna alone,” Kip said. “Jupiter was with me.”
Conall shot the mastiff a nasty look, and the dog dropped his head. “Who’s Tang? What kind of a name is that?”
“Chinese,” Mairi said. “He’s one of Geoffrey’s men. He’s been with the Symons forever.”
Conall recalled the unflinching, steel-cut expression of the Oriental who’d leveled his crossbow at Jupiter in the wood that day.
“I know a bit about black powder,” Harry said, fingering the stick. “I’ve seen it light up the sky in Inverness on feast days and festivals. ’Tis made of saltpeter and other strange things.”
Dougal nodded. “Aye, I’ve seen it, too.” He plucked one of the sticks from the pile. “But no’ the likes of this. Rob?”
Rob merely hiccuped and grinned from his nest in Dora’s lap.
“I dunno,” Conall said. He had a bad feeling about this. “They may not be safe.” He’d seen fireworks on occasion in Brittany and in Spain. But never up close, and he had to admit, he’d no idea exactly how they worked.
“They’re fine,” Mairi said. He knew from her expression she disagreed with him just to be difficult. “Tang lights them up for us nearly every celebration.”
“Aye, but how did he know we’d have one tonight?” Conall scanned the trees for signs of Symon’s men.
“Oh, he didn’t,” Kip said, catching the worry in Conall’s expression. “And he was no’ here. I was in the wood, on the forest path. I happened upon him some leagues to the north.”
“What were ye doin’ so far from home?” Mairi grabbed the boy’s narrow shoulders. “How many times have I told ye—”
“Och, I’m sure ’tis fine,” Dora said. “’Tis a celebration. Let the lad have his fireworks.” Conall could tell from her relaxed demeanor she’d had a sip or two from Rob’s ale cup.
“All right,” Mairi said, though her frown told Conall she was as suspicious as he was about this chance encounter with the Chinese. “But ye’ll no’ light them alone. Get Walter to help ye.”
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