by Paula Quinn
Mailie wanted to stay and watch them but there were things to do. “Stay with them, Ettarre,” she whispered, and left the room.
She met a big brooding beast in the hall.
“Ruth told me where ye’ll be sleeping with the children,” he said deeply.
“Aye, well, I canna stay in yer bed.” She realized how it sounded as soon as she said it and tried to keep herself from going red. “I willna put ye oot another night. As ye’ve said, I’ve disrupted enough of yer life.”
She could almost see his thick muscles tightening beneath his léine. “That isna what I said.”
“’Tis close enough,” she said, waving his defense away. “Because I can see this from yer advantage, I’ve only taken one room rather than three.”
“The room ye chose was my marriage chamber.”
Och, damn it, she should have realized that. Contrary to what she just told Lachlan, who was still glaring at her, she’d only been thinking of Lily and Will’s comfort at being together.
“I’m verra sorry fer that,” she said sincerely. “I didna know, but ’tis the best room fer—”
He shook his head. “No.”
She stared at him with a spark of challenge in her eyes. “They should not be alone in a room in a strange castle the first night they are here.”
“Put two beds together from different rooms,” he suggested with impatience straining his voice. “And bring them somewhere else.”
“Verra well, I’ll go fetch two beds,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “While I’m at it, ye go wake them up and carry them from the only cheerful room in the castle!”
He didn’t move, or even seem to breathe. He simply stared at her. The power in his gaze was startling at first, but she held fast and didn’t look away. His jaw tightened, and Mailie knew he was battling himself before her eyes.
She stopped her heart from clattering through her stays. She’d heard stories of men and the dragons they brought down, but she’d never witnessed the battle for herself.
“Five nights, Miss MacGregor,” he finally relented, holding up his large hand.
“I have found them a permanent home,” she told him. “I’m taking them to Camlochlin with me.”
He grumbled something under his breath, then turned away to go back down the stairs. He didn’t look at his daughter’s door when he passed it.
But Mailie did.
Chapter Eleven
Lachlan finished his letter to Robert Graham. He stared at it after he sealed it. It had been even more difficult to pen than he thought it would be. It had taken him three tries of wasting ink and parchment before he felt he had it right. He’d hand her over and get the truth about Annabel. That was all that mattered.
Then why did he feel like hell? He had imagined his reaction to getting rid of Miss MacGregor several times. It had never been downcast or somber before. He discovered that making plans for her departure was different from actually considering her absence. His head was pounding, and his jaw hurt from clenching. He almost tore the letter in half. Twice. He didn’t know who he was right now, what she’d done to him, and it scared the hell out of him. It wasn’t that he’d miss her fiery tongue, even though it made him feel alive for the first time in two years. Or the way her gaze could suddenly go soft and misty on the mere face of a child.
Hell, he shouldn’t have stood by the door watching her bathe the gel. He shouldn’t have let the sight of her so gently tending to the child weaken his resolve.
It appeared Miss MacGregor not only believed all her talk about honor and goodness but she lived it as well. She didn’t belong with a man like Sinclair…or one like Lachlan.
What could he do to help her? This might be his only chance of finding Annabel, besides riding through every village and town in Scotland. What the hell would become of Will and Lily? She wanted to bring them to Skye, but what about when he delivered her to Sinclair? He sure as hell couldn’t keep them after Mailie was gone. Despite the empty pit in his belly, he’d have to pay a visit to Charlie Fraser, Avoch’s tanner and village messenger, and have the letter delivered to Graham in Caithness.
He went to the window of his study and looked out. It wasn’t as if she were leaving tomorrow. He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He had at least a month with her and her children before Sinclair met with him. God only knew which part of his life she’d barge into next. He thought of his marriage chamber turned into Mailie’s private orphanage and shook his head. For the past two years he’d avoided going abovestairs. Today, thanks to her, he’d been forced to make the climb. Everything felt wrong.
The door opened, and Lachlan turned from the window to see Mailie enter the study as if the castle were hers. He waited while she stepped into a puddle of golden light streaming in from the window. He thought he might miss looking at her and noting the way firelight captured different shades of autumn in the curls of her hair. He watched her turn her face toward him, counting his breaths until her eyes found him.
“There ye are!” She offered him a pleasant smile he found so appealing it made his muscles ache. He thought about never seeing her again. If he wasn’t pleased with the idea of it now, how much worse would it be in a month?
“Do ye have Le Morte d’Arthur by Malory?” She turned toward the bookshelves. “I saw something by Monmouth here yesterday. William is all done with his bath, and Lily is already awake. I thought I’d read to them.”
She was going to read to them.
She stopped scanning the books and looked over her shoulder at him. “Unless ye would like to.”
“No.” He couldn’t read to another child. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t think he would ever be. “Malory is on the third shelf there.” He pointed with the letter and then drew in a deep breath. “Aye.” He looked away from her disappointed gaze. He was a monster, and the sooner she got that fact through her head, the better they would all be. “’Tis done. He should be here in three weeks to a month.” It was for the best. He told himself that over and over, but he wasn’t convinced he was right. What if he was doing all this for nothing, and Annabel was really dead?
She found the volume she’d come for and slipped it from the shelf. “Three weeks to a month is a long time.”
“I know.” He also knew what she wanted him to do, but he wasn’t certain her kin would suspect Sinclair and go to Caithness. Her men had been distracted. Anyone could have taken her. “I willna risk being oot in the open with ye by going to Caithness in the hopes yer kin will not kill me if they’re there. The exchange will take place as I’ve planned in the letter.”
“Do all yer plans come to fruition, then?” She held the book to her breast and moved toward him like a flame. “Things can change in a month, Lachlan. My kin will find us by then.”
Hell, he knew she was right, but her family wasn’t an immediate threat. His going completely mad was. Staying strong began now, before she upset any more of his life. “My mind will not change,” he said, looking into her wide, beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry. If my daughter is alive, I must find her.”
She stared at him, and a thousand emotions played across her face. She chose a stiff smile when she spoke. “I understand. Do what ye must.”
He heard her sniff as she left the study, and he suddenly knew which part of his life was in danger of invasion next. He didn’t want to care…to love. It had cost him his soul. The thought of it happening again terrified him and turned his blood to ice. If Mailie MacGregor and her orphans were staying for the next month, he needed to avoid them as much as possible.
There was no better time than the present, he thought, leaving the study. He passed Ruth in the hall.
“Where are ye goin’?” she asked when he snatched his coat and cloak from the hook by the doors. “Will ye be back fer supper?” she pressed before he left.
“No.”
“Should I—”
“No!” he shouted into the brisk outside air, and let the door swing shut. Damnation, she was
getting as irritating as Mailie.
Hell, Mailie was more than irritating. She was braw and bold, undaunted by his most fearsome threats, his deadliest glares. She was compassionate—even toward him—intelligent, and completely loyal to her kin. She was beautiful with a plump pink mouth made for kissing and flinging insults.
He wanted nothing to do with her, and yet the desire to protect her, to be near her, grew stronger every hour.
Pulling up his hood, he made his way down the hill toward the village. He frowned the whole way down, pounding his boots to the ground.
He’d kidnapped her from her MacGregor kin. She was the only way to get Annabel back. There could never be anything between them. He didn’t want there to be anything between them—that’s why he was off to see the messenger. To get rid of her.
He knocked at the door and waited for it to open. He didn’t smile at the man who appeared on the other side. He didn’t need friends. He didn’t want to be needed, to make promises he could not keep. He was no good at needless small talk. He was here for one reason, and he would see it done.
“Laird MacKenzie!” Charlie Fraser was a man of medium stature with hair several shades more orange than Mailie’s. His family had lived here as long as Lachlan’s. They had played together a few times as children when Ruth took Lachlan to the village. “Come in!”
“Another time, perhaps.” Lachlan produced his letter and a small pouch of coins. “This needs to be in the hands of Robert Graham, emissary to Ranald Sinclair, Earl of Caithness, with haste. Here’s payment fer yer trouble.”
“Of course, my lord,” Charlie said, accepting both. “I’ll leave tonight.”
With their dealings over, Lachlan turned to go. When Charlie’s hand on his wrist stopped him, he pushed his hood farther back on his head and looked at Charlie, dreading more conversation. He didn’t want to speak of his family or his past, or what he had done.
But Charlie didn’t say anything while he turned Lachlan’s heavier hand over, exposing hard, rough calluses, same as on his own hand. He lifted his gaze and offered Lachlan a smile of deep respect.
“Ye’re a good laird, Lachlan, just as yer faither knew ye’d be.”
Lachlan imagined Charlie knew about the food and everything else he sometimes provided. They all knew. He didn’t care, as long as they didn’t depend on him. As for being a good laird, he’d hardly spoken to his tenants in two years, and before that he’d been in the army for six years. He did for his tenants what he needed to do and nothing more.
It was because he lowered his gaze, away from the admiration bestowed on him, that he saw a young lad about Will’s age at Charlie’s side. His son. Lachlan didn’t remember seeing the child since he was a babe.
Fraser.
Ranald Fraser?
Lachlan gave him a good looking-over. He wasn’t overly tall or broad shouldered, but he was bigger than Will. He was a bully, this one. Lachlan narrowed his eyes on him. Will needed someone to teach him to fight.
“By the way,” he said, returning his gaze to Charlie. “I’ve…ehm…” Hell, he couldn’t believe he was about to say it. He was mad. Mailie was making him mad. “I’ve taken in Alice Monroe’s children. Until other arrangements are made”—he set his cool gaze on Ranald again—“William and Lily are under my protection. Tell the others.”
Ranald nodded, his eyes wide, his lips parted and dry.
“Of course, my lord,” Charlie said. “’Tis kind of ye.”
Lachlan adjusted his hood and turned to go. “The letter, Charlie. See it done swiftly and I’ll be in yer debt.”
The sooner this was over and Mailie and her children were out of his life, the better.
Mailie heard him return to the castle early the next morning. Lily had awoken four times during the night, so Mailie hadn’t gotten much sleep. She knew Lachlan had left the castle. When he still hadn’t returned in the middle of night, she wondered if he’d gone to fetch Sinclair—or if he was in a woman’s bed. She wasn’t sure which thought kept her up long after Lily fell back to sleep.
Did he have a lover? He hadn’t mentioned one. Why would he? Why did the thought of his big broad hands on another lass’s breasts, his carved mouth hovering over hers while he poured out words of love and devotion, feel like she’d been struck in the guts, brought to her knees?
By the time he returned, she was spitting mad. She threw down her carving knife and stormed out of the kitchen.
When she saw him shedding himself of his outer garments, his shoulders sagging with the weight of so much, she stopped for a moment to watch him in silence. It struck her in the deepest chasms of her heart how alone and weary he looked, and how privileged or cursed—she couldn’t decide which—she was to be among so few to see him so vulnerable. He greeted Ettarre with a word or two and the slightest of smiles.
Mailie realized she was glad he hadn’t been hurt. She doubted anyone could take him down, but nothing would shock her. She used to think she was safest surrounded by her kin. She didn’t want to greet him softly, turn to jelly at his scantest attention.
When she moved toward him, she caught his eye. His slight smile deepened for an instant before his scowl returned.
“Ye left us here alone all night. Tell me ye didna put us at risk fer a tumble in a woman’s bed.”
“Ye were at no risk,” he told her, stepping toward the kitchen. “I was not far off and my eyes didna leave the castle.”
If he was telling her the truth, then he hadn’t been with a woman. Sinclair? “Where were ye?” she asked, following him.
“I dinna recall having to report my whereaboots to ye.”
“But ye will nevertheless, Lachlan.” She stopped and wrung her hands together. “William was worried aboot ye. Lily was up all night makin’ me constantly aware that it was just me, two babes, and a dog that wouldn’t hurt a mouse alone in this castle.”
When a storm blew across his gaze, looking like it was about to engulf her, she straightened her shoulders, ready for it.
“Ye kidnapped me and brought me here. Ye’re the children’s laird. Ye are responsible fer us whether ye like it or no’.”
“I dinna like it, but—”
“It makes no difference,” she snapped at him. “Ye still are. Quit runnin’ from it. If ye feel responsible fer yer family dyin’, then look it in the eye and do yer best not to risk it happenin’ again.”
He stood stunned and still as stone. She knew she’d gone too far, but she spent the night scared witless. No matter how good she was with a dagger, it had always been just practice. There was no danger in Camlochlin. She’d been abducted from her family and was being held hostage in a remote castle on a hill. That feeling of invincibility she’d felt her whole life was gone. Thanks to him. She remembered during the long hours of the night why she hated him.
“If someone else had come to take me—”
“I was watching the castle, Mailie, the whole village, from my fishing boat. ’Twas a full moon. I could see—”
“Ye were fishin’?” Images of him keeping watch over them with moonlight-filled eyes stopped her from sounding angrier than she felt.
“Aye, my catch is hanging in the yard.”
“Tell me, what if someone had come in the dead of night, Sinclair or any other band of thieves who know ye lived here alone? What would ye have done from yer boat?”
His expression darkened. His gaze met hers with the promise of his words blazed into them. “No one who tried to take ye would have gotten away alive.”
She believed him and because she did, she lost her excuse for her anger. She stepped around him and marched past him into the kitchen.
This time, he followed.
When she reached the large cutting table, she lifted the left side of her skirts and plucked two carving knives from her boot. She set them on the table, then lifted the right side, this time a little higher, and freed another knife from where it was tied to her thigh.
“Ye prepared fer the worst,” he sa
id in a slightly huskier tone. “Fergive me fer…giving ye cause to worry.”
She lifted her gaze to his and dropped the edge of her skirt. “Hell, MacKenzie, ’tis too late fer that.”
Chapter Twelve
He didn’t remain in the kitchen with her but climbed the stairs and looked in on Will and Lily sleeping soundly. He didn’t know why he checked on them. An old habit coming to life, mayhap. His heart and mind preparing for Annabel’s return. Everything was changing, moving too fast.
“I’d rather be on the battlefield,” he muttered, entering his study. Mailie was waiting for him in his chair.
She stood up when she heard him and shot him a hurt, angry stare. “Are we that horrible to have aroond, then, my lord?”
He shook his head, entering the room. “‘Horrible’ is not the word I would use.” Why was she so angry? What did she care what he thought? She’d brought the children here to shatter his peace. This was her revenge.
“What word would ye use, then?” she asked through clenched teeth.
He shrugged, coming to stand near the window. Near her. “Torturous?”
She sprang to her feet, looking at him as if he’d just slapped her. “Ye’re a coward.”
“Aye, I am.” He took a step closer to her and gave her a slight shove back into the chair, then leaned over her. “Ye dinna know what ye’re asking me to face. Do ye want to know?”
“Aye, I want to know,” she replied, staring courageously into his eyes. “Mayhap I can—”
“Ye canna,” he stopped her, and backed up to lean on the window. “I promised to protect them,” he began quickly. He didn’t know why he would talk about it now when he never had before. He wanted her to know the demon she’d asked him to stand and face. “But I wasna even with them. I’d left them to fight more of the kingdom’s enemies while my family suffered mine. After receiving word that my manor house had been set aflame…” Why was he going back? He didn’t want to go back. “I raced back to them, suffering lapses of sanity at the terrible thoughts that plagued me while I sped home.” He stopped for a moment and looked at the tears falling from Mailie’s eyes. He turned away and continued, “I remembered the blackened sky, thick with smoke rising from what had been our home, the charred remains of my wife, my little girl, my entire staff.”