How in God’s name had he gotten himself involved in this? Involved with her. Swimming in the black of night toward a secret entrance to the castle of some lessor chieftain who’d likely kill him on sight were he to catch him. He must be daft. His teeth chattered uncontrollably.
He told himself he had to get her back to ensure the integrity of their agreement. The Chattan were counting on him. His brothers were counting on him. Och, ’twas a load of shite.
The Dunbars were all but extinct. He could have taken the land from the very start—and her. So why hadn’t he? Even now, why did he risk his life to bring her back to Loch Drurie? He didn’t need her, not for the trade agreement.
For all he knew she could have come here seeking Symon’s company. She could be here willing. He treaded water for a moment, catching his breath, and gazed up at the coppery glow radiating from the narrow castle window far above him.
Her kisses still burned on his lips. Her flesh still seared his hands. Nay, she might have come willing, but Dora was right, she’d not stay here past dark of her own volition. Symon kept her, and by God, if he’d so much as touched her…
He kicked forward with renewed strength, and fixed his eyes on the sheer rock walls and timbered battlements of Falmar Castle. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime in the frigid water, his hand scraped along the slimy stone foundation. He turned in the water to get his bearings. This was exactly the spot to which Dora had pointed. He felt along the sheer wall. Nothing. No opening of any kind. Where in bloody hell was it? He kicked out with his foot and connected with—
That’s it!
An iron grate, three or four feet below the surface.
He felt along the moss-covered grating with his foot. A handle of some kind protruded from the bottom. The water in the moat must have risen since Mairi had last braved this route. Dora had said nothing about the hatch being submerged. Aye, and she’d said naught about the moat, either.
But he’d not come this far only to turn back. He sucked in a breath and somersaulted under the water. The hatch was rusted shut, from what he could feel. He came up for air and unsheathed his dirk. “Christ, I canna believe I’m doing this.”
On the third try he finally pried it loose. The hatch cover flew up and he propelled himself into the black opening. ’Twas narrow and angled upward, and there was no way, once in it, to turn ‘round. Panic seized him. His lungs were bursting. He kicked for all he was worth and shot unexpectedly to the surface on the other side of the wall.
Where in the hell—?
Why, ’twas a kitchen! Just as Dora had said. He’d swum up into some kind of a drain. Bits of cabbage and vegetable peelings floated ‘round him. The stink was not so bad here. He pulled himself out onto the stone floor and adjusted his weapons.
No one was about. He’d been damned lucky. His dirk was still in his hand, and he redoubled his grip on it. Voices carried from somewhere else, down the corridor to his left. He moved into it cautiously, dripping wet, leaving a telltale trail of rank water in his wake. It couldn’t be helped.
He had to move, and move fast. Dora had described the castle’s basic layout, and he knew that Symon’s private chambers were on the second floor. If Mairi was here, he’d wager that’s where he’d find her.
He crept along the corridor past a number of closed doors. The great hall was just ahead off to the right, radiating a warm fire glow. A cacophony of voices, music and laughter echoed off the corridor’s stone walls. One of the voices he recognized.
Symon’s.
He itched to kill him and be done with it.
To his left were steps leading to the second level. He pressed himself against the rough, cool wall and listened for a moment. Perhaps Mairi was in the hall with Symon. From the smell of it, supper had just been laid. Any second, someone was sure to enter the corridor and discover him. He’d be dead before the next course was served.
He had to choose.
A minute later he was stealing along the dark second-floor corridor, listening at each closed door for some sign that Mairi was within. He felt his way to the end of the hallway until his hand closed over the latch of an intricately carved wooden door. He tripped it and waited.
The only sounds were the pounding of his heart and the echoes of the diners in the hall below. Water dripped from his nose, and he wiped it away. He swung the door inward and froze.
“Conall!”
Mairi lay sprawled across a huge pinewood bed heaped with the furs of every kind of forest animal he’d e’er seen. Her hands were tethered above her head to a stout bedpost.
“What are ye doing here?” she cried.
“The question is,” he said as he moved quickly to her side, “what are you doing here?” His eyes roved over her, instinctively checking her for injury. “Are you all right, Mairi? Did he…did he harm you?”
She struggled against her tethers and shot him a nasty look that he was wholly unprepared for. “That’s all the both o’ ye have on your minds, isn’t it? Whether or no’ the other one’s harmed me.” She struggled harder. “Dinna stand there like a fool! Cut me loose.” Her freckled nose wrinkled. “Lord! Ye stink like one o’ Walter’s hogs.”
“Aye, and so will you before the night’s out.”
“Ye’re wet. How the devil did ye get in here without Geoffrey catching ye?”
“The moat,” he said. “Your secret entrance, though I dinna think much of it. Dora showed me. She and Rob are waiting for us just outside.”
“What? What are ye doing here? Are ye mad?”
“Aye, I must be.” This was not the welcome he had hoped for. But with Mairi Dunbar, nothing ever turned out as expected.
“Cut me loose!”
He decided to let her struggle a while longer. She looked damned lovely all helpless and trussed up like a game bird, her breasts straining at the fabric of her gown. Her eyes blazed murder. God, she was beautiful.
“Ye have no business coming here like a thief in the night!”
“So,” he said, and ran a finger along her thigh. “You don’t want my help?”
“I dinna need your help. I never asked ye for it, and I dinna want it.”
He sheathed his dirk. “Fine, then. I’ll leave.” He turned on his heel.
“Dinna toy with me, Conall Mackintosh!”
He choked back a smile, and reminded himself they were both in a damned dangerous situation. He leaned over the bed and, with one quick jerk, freed her from the tether. The black cording came away in his hand. “Hmm, silk.”
She looked at him, her mouth gaping.
“I told you I was good with knots.”
She glared at him and scooted off the bed, rubbing her wrists.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve not much time. They’re still at supper. If we’re quick we can get out the same way I got in.”
“What d’ye mean? I’m no’ going anywhere.”
Now ’twas his turn to gape. His face grew hot, and it wasn’t just the hearth fire that was responsible. Steam rose from his dripping hair. “Are ye mad? I’ve just risked my life to save ye, and now ye dinna want to go?”
“Ye’re doin’ it again,” she said, and smirked at him. “Your speech.”
He fisted his hands at his sides for fear of grabbing her, and a litany of silent curses spewed from his clenched teeth.
“My business with Geoffrey is no’ yet finished,” she said, and tipped her chin at him in a manner that made him want to slap her.
“Aye, and by the look of things here—” he glanced around what was obviously Symon’s bedchamber “—his business with you is not finished, either.” He arched a brow at her and she swore under her breath. “Come on,” he said, and grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Mairi gawked at the greasy-looking water filling the drainage chute and shook her head. “I’m no’ going that way.”
“Aye, you are.” Before she could protest, Conall lifted her off her feet and dropped her into it.
“Och
, ’tis foul!”
“Aye, and cold as the devil.” His powerful hands lit on her shoulders. “Now take a breath and I’ll push you down.”
“But—” She went under and scrambled a few feet down the narrow chute before her skirts tangled around her torso. She shot to the surface and picked a soggy cabbage leaf from her dripping hair.
“What’s wrong?” Conall whispered. In the dim light she could barely make out his features.
“We must go headfirst.”
He pulled her out of the water and steadied her on her feet. Voices and laughter carried from the great hall not twenty paces along the dark corridor off the kitchen.
“Be quick about it,” he said.
“You first.”
“Do you think I’m a complete fool?”
Well, ’twas worth a try. She took a deep breath and, ignoring the debris floating in the water, scrambled headfirst into the drainage chute. ’Twas smaller than she remembered it. Then again, she’d been a child the last time she’d used it. It amazed her that Conall had negotiated it at all.
The water grew colder the deeper she swam. Just as her lungs began to protest, she felt the walls of the chute fall away and the icy water of the moat.
She broke the surface and drew the chill night air into her lungs. A moment later Conall surfaced beside her, gasping for breath.
“This is insane!” she hissed, and immediately started to shiver. “Where’s the boat?”
“W-what boat?” His teeth chattered.
She spun around in the rank, black water, searching for Rob and Dora. “Where are they? They’re no’ here!”
“Nay, they’re waiting for us on that ridge over there.” He pointed across the water into the blackness. She could just discern the outline of the craggy promontory.
Suddenly it dawned on her. “Ye swam out? All this way?” He was treading water remarkably well.
“Aye.” He propelled himself forward. “Now c-come on, before we f-freeze to death.”
She tried to keep up with him, but her woolen gown weighed her down. He had to stop and tread water several times, and wait for her to catch up. Finally she slipped below the surface and wrestled out of the garment altogether. She retained her light shift for modesty’s sake, but would have preferred to jettison it as well.
They swam for shore—’twasn’t far now. Thank God, for the moat stank and chilled her to her very soul. She was amazed by Conall’s skill in the frigid water. Long, powerful strokes. Easy, measured breaths.
“Ye’ve practiced,” she said between strokes.
“Aye.”
Her foot grazed the rocky bottom. “We’re here.” She scrambled onto a flat rock and began to wring the water from her shift, which clung to her like an icy shroud.
“Mairi!” a voice called down to her from above.
She squinted into the darkness. “Dora? Is that you?”
“Aye, ’tis us,” Rob’s voice carried on the light breeze. “Hurry up!”
Conall grabbed her arm and together they scaled the craggy promontory, both of them dripping wet and shivering uncontrollably. When they reached the top, Dora threw a dry plaid ‘round her shoulders.
“Christ, ye stink to high heaven,” Rob said.
Conall snorted. “Aye, and the next time that bloody moat’s to be crossed, I’m sending you.”
“There willna be a next time,” Dora said. “What in God’s name were ye thinkin’, Mairi?”
Mairi pulled the plaid tight around herself and ignored the question.
“I know exactly what she was thinking,” Conall said. “Why didn’t you come to me, Mairi?”
She ignored Conall’s question, as well, and turned to look back across the moat. Pale light glimmered silver off its dark, fetid surface. No one had followed them. Apparently Geoffrey had not yet discovered her absence.
“Come on,” Rob said. “Our steeds await in the wood below.”
They scrambled down the ridge into the thin stand of trees. ’Twas black as midnight, but a soft whinny and the comforting smell of lathered horse told her where their mounts waited.
“There are only three of them,” she said, once her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Aye,” Conall said. “You’ll ride with me.”
She’d do nothing of the kind. While he was busy adjusting his plaid and his weapons over his soaking shirt, she pulled herself onto the black’s saddle. The horse reared.
“Oh, Jes—” She threw her arms around the beast’s neck and clung for dear life.
“Mairi!” Conall grabbed the reins.
Her heart pounded in her throat. She took a couple of deep, calming breaths as the horse quieted under Conall’s sharp command.
The next thing she knew, he had mounted behind her and pulled her practically onto his lap. She was squashed between the pommel and his hard thighs. Water seeped through their newly donned garments. Both of them were soaked to the skin.
“Let’s away,” he said, and snapped the black’s reins.
They rode for a time in silence, and all the while she wondered exactly how much Conall knew. She would never reveal her suspicions about the explosion. The last thing her clan needed now was more trouble.
If Conall thought for an instant that Geoffrey was behind it, there’d be wholesale carnage for certain. Nay, she couldn’t allow that to happen. The Symons were good people. ’Twasn’t their fault Geoffrey was a reckless fool.
Nay, she’d not tell him. And what he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.
“Did you think I wouldna have figured it out?” he whispered in her ear, startling her. “Or that no one would notice you’d gone?” His arm tightened around her waist.
“W-what d’ye mean?” What was he, a mind reader?
“The explosion, Mairi—the accident.”
She gripped the pommel tighter and started to shiver. “What about it? Had ye and your men no’ been out o’ your heads with drink, ’twould ne’er have happened. ’Twas your fault a man is dead—yours alone.”
Her words frosted the chill night air, and he stiffened behind her. Remorse washed over her. Shame heated her face. Why had she said that?
“I had nary a drop and you know it,” he said. “As for Harry and Dougal…” He leaned closer so that his lips brushed her ear. “’Twas no accident, Mairi. ’Twas not their fault.”
She jerked away from him. The obvious question hung there between them, unasked and unanswered. He knew. Or if he didn’t know, he suspected.
“What will ye do?” she breathed, afraid of his answer.
The sounds of the forest around them intensified—crickets, the hoot of an owl, wind rustling autumn’s crisped leaves in the trees overhead.
She repeated her question, and he goaded the black faster along the forest path.
Finally he said, “Symon shall be dealt with later.”
A chill fingered its way up her spine. Then something else occurred to her. “Why did ye come, then?”
He didn’t answer.
“Ye came for me, alone in the dead o’ night, one man against a hundred. Why?”
The path before them opened onto the lonely northwest shore of Loch Drurie. A silvered moon floated above its glassy surface. Water lapped gently along the beach. The standing stone was just ahead and loomed up like some ancient pearly sentinel in the eerie light.
He drew her close, both arms fitting snugly around her waist, as if they were always meant to be there. She felt his breath hot on her face and she knew why he had come.
She’d always known it.
“Mairi,” he breathed, and grazed her cheek with his lips.
Nay, this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t happen. His hands on her body, his warmth, his strength. ’Twould be so easy to succumb. So easy.
She grabbed the black’s reins and jerked to a stop beside the standing stone. Her boat lay beached beside it, and before Conall could stop her, she threw her leg over the horse’s withers and dropped to the ground.
; “What are you doing?” he said. “I’ll send someone back for the boat on the morrow.”
“Nay, I’ll row it back now. Besides, ’tis faster.” Her heart beat erratically, her palms sweating even though she was wet to the skin and cold as ice.
“I’ll come with you.”
“Nay, I—”
In a flash he was beside her in the boat, wresting the oars from her hands. “Rob, Dora,” he called to their companions. “Take my mount, we’re rowing back.”
Mairi could barely make out their shapes in the dark, but she heard their soft laughter and Rob’s intimate whispers. The boat sliced through the water, and their silhouettes faded into the night.
In no time Conall had rowed them nearly halfway across. He did not speak, but she could see the set of his jaw and the moonlight reflected in his eyes.
He’d come for her.
When she could finally discern the rounded lines of the lake house, she threw off the plaid Dora had given her and jumped from the boat in her soaking shift.
Icy water shocked the breath from her. Ah, but ’twas clean and washed away the stink of Geoffrey’s moat. She made for the lake house in long, easy strokes. Just before she reached the pier, she heard a splash.
Conall was right behind her.
She pulled herself onto the floating timbers as he swam up beside her. What was he doing? Surely, he didn’t think to—
Dripping wet and chilled to the bone, she raced to the safety of the lake house and slammed the heavy door behind her. Her breath escaped in a long, trembling sigh. Too tired to make a fire, she shuffled in the dark toward her pallet, then nearly jumped out of her skin as the door crashed wide.
Conall loomed in the doorway, breathing hard, water sluicing from his body—a silver shadow in the moon’s pale light. “You forgot to bolt your door,” he said, and shut it silently behind him.
Chapter Twelve
He’d have her and be done with it.
Perhaps then he’d come to his senses. Conall unbelted his weapons and set them on the table. As he felt his way to the hearth he heard her scramble toward the pallet in the corner.
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