by Paula Quinn
Damn it, he’d ponder it all later. Now, he wanted to eat.
Mailie stood at the trivet, filling bowls. When she filled two, she returned them to the table and set them before Ruth and Lily.
“Ladies before gentlemen,” she told Will with the tenderest smile.
The lad looked up and found Lachlan standing at the trivet, watching.
Lachlan knew it might not seem fair to the boy, but it would teach him patience—and things weren’t always fair.
He gave Will a slight nod of approval for keeping his mouth closed and not arguing, then reached for two more bowls and handed them to Mailie when she returned.
She thanked him and offered him a quirk of her mouth that tempted him to carry her off somewhere.
He restrained his thoughts quickly and turned for a fifth plate. “I’ll serve myself.”
He didn’t look at her, lest he be tempted to revel in the glorious emerald facets of her eyes, the slight upward curve of her nose.
“Verra well.”
He watched her sit and then filled his bowl and stood by the window. He listened to Ruth gush over the fig and honey porridge, saying all sorts of things that made Mailie beam. He tasted it and decided it was one of the most delicious dishes he’d ever eaten. Even Lily was working on her fourth spoonful.
He smiled, watching them at the table, and then realized what he was doing and flicked his gaze out the window. Perhaps Mailie was correct and being a father could help him regain what he’d lost of himself. But Will and Lily weren’t his bairns, and Mailie wasn’t his wife.
And Annabel could be alive somewhere out there, waiting for her father to come find and rescue her. Annabel or Mailie. He couldn’t have them both.
As if it had a will all its own, his gaze found her again. Even if he could get Annabel back with her, even if her kin weren’t an obstacle, Mailie would never wed a man like him. She’d likely never wed at all if she continued to wait for one of Malory’s knights.
Pity. She could make a man damned happy with her saucy mouth and swaying hips. Images of her russet waves falling over his face and neck while she straddled him invaded his thoughts. Her lips parted on short, shallow breaths as they glided over his taut muscles, his rolling her over and pinning her under him—
“What do ye think of that, Lachlan?”
“Of what?” He blinked at Mailie.
“Were ye no’ listenin’?”
“I was—”
“I want to teach the children to read while we’re here. What do ye think of that?”
While they were here. This was temporary. She couldn’t stay. His gaze shifted to William, who looked miserable. He couldn’t stay. Mailie would teach him to read. Another man would teach him to fight and hunt. Lachlan swallowed back a rush of emotion that threatened to drown him. They weren’t his, but he’d do what he could to help Will now, while they were here.
“Reading is fine after they spend time outdoors.”
William cheered. “Will ye teach me to hunt like ye, Laird?” He turned back to Mailie with wide eyes and an exuberant grin. “A few days ago the laird killed a buck that was bigger than Ranald Fraser. He left a good portion for everyone at the church while we slept.” He turned back to Lachlan, who was doing his best to avoid Mailie’s warm gaze. “No one else knew ’twas left by ye, Laird.”
“Did ye tell them?” Lachlan asked, guessing they already knew.
“Nae. I figured if ye wanted them to know, ye woulda told them.”
“Aye, I would have,” Lachlan agreed quietly. The lad kept surprising him. Lachlan liked him. He wasn’t rash or foolish like many lads his age. He was eager to please and not altogether unpleasant to have around.
“We’ll need to strengthen yer arms before ye can use a bow,” Lachlan muttered.
“I dinna have one to practice with.”
“I’ll make ye one.”
Will looked about to leap from his chair and fly across the kitchen and into Lachlan’s arms. Both looked relieved when Mailie didn’t object.
“Can we go oot now?” Lily asked.
Lachlan studied both their small faces filled with anticipation and thought about how none of this was their fault. He nodded. “I dinna see why not.”
Cheering ensued, which brought Lachlan’s shoulders up around his ears. But he didn’t scowl.
“I’ll prepare some food fer ye to take along,” Ruth offered, and hurried from her seat to begin.
“Will we be gone that long?” Mailie turned to ask her. “We just ate.”
“He likes to keep movin’, gel,” Ruth told her, then wagged her finger at him. “Ye’ll keep in mind they’re not familiar with yer rigorous routine.”
“I’ll carry whoever falls behind,” he assured her, scanning his gaze over the children, and then over Mailie. She blushed. He smiled.
Ruth’s mouth fell open and then, to Lachlan’s horror, she sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye.
What was that supposed to mean? Did she think he was falling in love with a MacGregor? Was he? He didn’t want to think about kissing her, moving his hands over her milky skin, taking her into his mouth. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking of it though. She was fiery, intelligent, and compassionate, even offering him her pity and her tears when they’d spoken of his scars. The delicate cadence of her voice—even while she reviled him—drove away darker thoughts, thoughts filled with fire and blood.
What was he doing? What was he allowing her to do to him? Why hadn’t he immediately bound her to a chair and locked her in the study with her dog and his books?
His eyes followed her while she helped the children clean their plates, refusing to let Ruth do it.
She was kind. The children around her skirts and the loyal hound at her feet testified to it. If she was strong willed with him, it was because she didn’t like him.
Did she? What about Hannah and Annabel? Could he replace them so easily? They deserved more. Mailie and the children weren’t his. They weren’t staying. He could not have Mailie without giving up finding Annabel. There was no point in falling in love with any of them. It would only bring heartache later and leave him either dead or living with three more ghosts. He didn’t want that. He wanted to run from it and never stop.
Before she left the kitchen, herding Lily and Will out before her, she turned, catching his eyes on her, and smiled at him.
Hell. This wasn’t good.
Chapter Sixteen
Dinna go too far!” Mailie called out to the children running ahead of her and Lachlan.
They’d left the castle a quarter of an hour ago and had been walking west ever since. It was nothing Mailie wasn’t used to. The vale of Camlochlin was vast, and no one ever used a horse to cross it to visit a neighbor. She’d climbed the giant slopes of Sgurr na Stri and the craggy bulk of Bla Bheinn more than once in her lifetime. She had no issue keeping up, though Lachlan’s strides were long—and most of the trek so far had been on a slight incline.
She’d suggested a more scenic stroll along the sunlit bay below, but he’d refused. There were too many people who would see her, ask questions, he’d explained. If anyone (like her kin) came looking for her, people would point straight to the castle.
So they walked toward more slopes and vales and a forest in the distance, alone but for the birds overhead.
Ettarre was enjoying herself, bounding across the vast open landscape and barking in her return to the children, who filled the brisk air with shouts of laughter.
The man at her side had hardly spoken a word since telling her he didn’t want to go to the bay. Carrying the bags Ruth had prepared over his shoulder, he seemed quite determined to keep to his path, but every now and then she caught his gaze softening on the children. While she enjoyed sneaking side-glances at him—and who wouldn’t when he had the profile of a roman god beneath his hooded mantle—she wanted to know what he was thinking.
“Ye’re verra quiet.”
“Aye.”
When he offered no
other explanation, she looked heavenward, then turned her head to stare at him. “What are ye thinkin’ aboot?”
Angling his hooded head, he stared back at her. One corner of his mouth curled with an indulgent smile that made Mailie forget what she’d asked him.
“Will ye demand yer way into my thoughts too?”
She remembered and nodded. “If ye dinna share them on yer own, I most likely will.”
His smile deepened, and then he shook his head and looked ahead again. “If I shared all my thoughts with ye, ye’d run fer yer life from me.”
“Nae,” she argued. “I told ye that I’m no’ unfamiliar with the lust fer blood and what it—”
“I wasna speaking of a lust fer blood.”
“Then”—she looked up at him while he turned to her again—“what thoughts do ye mean?”
“Thoughts of…ye.”
Her heart accelerated and thumped in her ears. “Me?” She stopped walking and waited for him to do the same. “What kind of thoughts do ye have aboot me that would make me run from ye?” she asked across the short distance between them when he turned to her.
“Dark ones,” he answered while the wind picked up and pressed his hood to his unscarred cheek. His gaze held hers captive, trapped within silver webs, awaiting her demise. “Scandalous, wicked thoughts that even my wife did not stir up in me the way ye do. Thoughts of how I want ye, and how I canna have ye.”
Mayhap she should be afraid. Lachlan was a big, sturdy man. If he decided to act on his thoughts, she couldn’t fight him. But she wasn’t afraid and she likely wouldn’t resist. He stirred things in her as well.
“What should we do aboot it?” she asked, remaining in her spot. Her drumming heart mixed with the howling wind in her ears. What they wanted was too dangerous. Their desire betrayed their families. They both knew it was hopeless.
“We?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to bring herself to speak about her own desires so openly. She felt her face go warm against the cool breeze when his eyes darkened on her, like a predator that just spotted its prey.
“There’s nothing we can do,” he finally said, and started back in the direction of the children. “It’ll pass.”
Would it? How did he know? What if it didn’t and these base desires they had toward each other continued to grow stronger? It wouldn’t stop being hopeless after a month, would it? It would be worse. If her family hadn’t found her by then, he’d give her to Sinclair.
Mailie knew enough about her family history to know that MacGregors didn’t let obstacles keep them from the ones they loved. If she loved Lachlan and he had more than just dark desires for her, she would be more willing to present him to her kin.
Dark desires. A chill coursed through her blood as she caught up to him. What kinds of dark desires? she wondered. Why did the thought of being bedded by a beast thrill her breathless?
“Ferget I mentioned it,” he muttered while she kept pace beside him.
“Impossible,” she told him, then hurried on toward the children.
Forget he’d mentioned that he had scandalous, wicked thoughts about her? That he wanted her and knew she could never be his? How? How was she supposed to forget that? Just knowing he had those thoughts made her thoughts about him go dark as well. She was a virgin, but she knew, thanks to sewing with the merry married lasses of Camlochlin, what men liked in their beds.
She thought about climbing atop his hard naked body and strapping her thighs around his waist to hold on while he did scandalous, wicked things to her.
“Mailie, look at all the trees!” Lily called, running to her.
“Are we goin’ there?” Will asked, turning to set his eyes on Lachlan catching up.
“Aye, we are,” the laird answered, and bent to pick something up off the ground.
The children cheered. Ettarre barked.
“Ye’ll stay close,” Mailie told them amid the clamor. “There’ll be no runnin’ off in the forest.”
Lachlan agreed and threw what he’d picked up, which turned out to be a stick, far into the distance. He set his eyes on Ettarre, most likely intending that she retrieve it and bring it back. Ettarre didn’t even watch where it landed.
Lily did though and ran off for it. Lachlan laughed, calling after her. Mailie turned, filled with the sound of his genuine mirth. She thought him the most handsome man she’d ever seen when he brooded. Laughter suited him even better. What had changed? He seemed less guarded. Had the children—had she broken through his defenses? What would he do without them when she was gone?
Continuing on, they passed the outskirts of a large village and finally came to the tree line.
“Why have we come here?” Mailie asked, staring into the dense trees.
“There’s something inside I want to show ye all. Come on, then.” He stepped forward with Ettarre close at his side. Will followed with Lily behind him. Mailie took the rear, keeping her eyes alert while they walked over the soggy, leaf-covered ground. Shafts of sunlight broke through the high canopy creating golden columns where migratory dragonflies darted and small critters paused to gather warmth.
The call of a lark echoing through the trees made Lily reach for Mailie’s hand. Mailie took it, letting feelings of protectiveness and attachment fill her. Whatever else happened, she wasn’t leaving Lily or Will behind.
After a few more steps, they came to the brow of a hill from which they could see the reason for their visit. On the far side of the hill was a spring, below which was a stone trough where water collected. Tied to a few of the bare tree branches close by were strips of rag.
“’Tis a clootie well!” Mailie had never seen one before, as there were none in Skye. But she’d read about them from her grandmother’s book on ancient Celtic traditions.
“What’s a clootie well?” Will asked.
“Some believe ’tis a place where they can come if they suffer an ailment. They dip their ‘clootie,’ or rag, into the water and then tie it to a tree with the hope or prayer that as their rag rots away, so will their affliction.”
“But none of us are ill,” Lily pointed out.
“Aye,” said Lachlan, “but some also believe ’tis a place to make wishes fer anything.”
Lily’s eyes opened wide on him. “Anything?”
He nodded and led them to the well. When they reached it, he pulled back his hood and slung the sack off his shoulder. He went through it and pulled out three strips of wool.
“Where’s yers?” Mailie asked him after he handed them out.
“It must have fallen oot,” he told her, looking inside one more time and then dropping the sack to the ground. “I can return another day.”
But he was the one who needed the wish most of all! He had to wish that Annabel still lived.
“Have mine.” Mailie offered hers to him. “My wish is in yer hands anyway. I believe ye’ll see it come to pass.”
He stared at her, his gaze going soft and warm, but he didn’t take the rag.
“Ye can have mine.” Will stepped forward next. “I already got my wish.”
Mailie felt as if her throat were closing up. How could she ever take William away from Lachlan? Would Lachlan want him after he got his daughter back? And what about Lily? Mailie wouldn’t separate her from her brother. She looked at the gel and wanted to weep.
Probably thinking Mailie’s look was a silent way of getting her to give up her clootie, Lily clutched it to her chest. “I want mine.”
“Lily,” Lachlan said in a soft tone, still appearing uncomfortable when he bent to her and looked into her eyes, “’tis yers to keep. Dip it into the well and make yer wish, lass.”
He turned to William next, and Mailie choked back a sob at the way the lad looked at him with such worshipful admiration.
“’Tis verra generous of ye to offer me yer cloth, William. But there must be something else ye want to wish fer.”
“It canna bring my mum back,” William told him, holding out the rag. “
The only other thing I want is to be friends with ye, and I have that, aye?”
Mailie watched for Lachlan’s reaction to what he’d just heard. That was the kind of thing that rescued men from the pit. Could Lachlan be rescued?
“Aye,” he told Will, setting his hand on the lad’s shoulder, their gazes level, “ye have that.”
Will smiled. “Then I dinna need this.” He offered the rag to Lachlan again. This time his laird accepted.
“Thank ye, lad.”
He stood to his full height and turned to offer Mailie the remnants of his smile. “Do ye have a wish ready, lass?”
“Aye.” She nodded. She knew what she was going to wish for.
More of his smile returned, and he gave it all to her. “Let’s be aboot it, then.”
She watched him crouch beside Lily at the well and joined them in dipping her clootie into the water. When they reached the nearby tree to hang their rags, Lachlan bent to lift Lily in his arm so she could reach a branch.
Lily closed her eyes. “I wish—”
“Shhh, lass,” Lachlan whispered. “Dinna speak it oot loud if it hasna happened yet.”
She began again, this time staying silent. When she was finished, she wound her clootie on the tree and turned her brightest smile, one Mailie hadn’t even seen her give to Ettarre, on Lachlan. “Thank ye fer bringin’ me here.”
“Ye’re verra welcome,” he said, finally meeting her gaze full on and sounding as affected as Lily.
“’Tis yer turn, Laird,” William directed when Lachlan set Lily down.
“Ladies,” Lachlan reminded him, cutting a side-glance to Mailie, “before gentlemen.”
“Ye’re verra thoughtful, my lord,” Mailie told him with a curl of her mouth. “But why dinna we do it together?” Why should he have to wait longer to have his wish?
“Verra well, then,” he agreed, and lifted his arms to a branch level with his face.