by Paula Quinn
Mailie reached for a branch that was considerably lower, and closed her eyes. She wished that Lachlan would find his daughter and true, lasting happiness.
When she finished, she opened her eyes and found him watching her.
They knew it was hopeless, but if there was some way to make a wish come true and this was it, Mailie wished he could find his happiness with her.
Chapter Seventeen
Are ye not hungry?”
Mailie looked at Lachlan sitting opposite her on the hill above the clootie well. “No’ too much,” she told him, pushing her food away. “Ettarre can have mine.”
They sat in a circle eating the food Ruth had packed, with Ettarre resting at the perimeter. Lachlan sat sideways to avoid hitting anyone with his boots.
Mailie gave the conversation around the circle half her attention. The other half was occupied with thoughts of returning home and never seeing Lachlan again. She worried about Sinclair and how far he’d gone to have her. But she knew her kin would find her and bring her home eventually. She wouldn’t think of what might happen before or after that. Would Lachlan haunt her? Would there ever be another man in her life whom she would consider for a husband? She was a score and two and she hadn’t found him.
Mayhap…perfect wasn’t what she wanted after all.
She was still thinking about it all when they packed up the leftover food and began the journey home.
What would she do about William? If Lachlan wanted him, would she have to give up Lily as well? As siblings, they would need to see each other at least once a year. Would Lachlan always be in her life as nothing more than William’s foster father?
“What troubles ye?” Lachlan asked, appearing at her side and dipping close to keep the children from hearing.
“Nothin’, why do ye ask?”
“Ye’re brooding and ’tis scaring the children.”
She began to look around to see if he was correct, but then he smiled and she had no choice but to smile back.
“I’m tired, that’s all,” she assured him. There wasn’t any point in telling him her feelings or fears. He needed to find Annabel, and he needed her to do it. She didn’t blame him, so she said nothing else to deter him. “’Tis a long way back.”
Ruth was right. Lachlan liked to walk. Mailie thought keeping up with him wouldn’t be difficult. But that was over two hours ago.
He bent suddenly and scooped her off the ground. He looked into her eyes while he cradled her in his arms. If he was waiting for her to resist, he could stop now. She smiled up at him, happy to be off her feet.
He reacted with a short, strangled-sounding laugh, as if he were trying not to react at all.
“Who else is tired?” he asked the children, turning to them with the edge of Mailie’s arisaid dangling at his knees.
When both children admitted to fatigue, Lachlan went down on one knee and invited Will to climb up on his shoulders. He directed Lily to lie atop Mailie.
Mailie smiled, kissed the top of Lily’s head, and closed her arms around her.
“William, hold on to my hood and keep yer legs tight around my neck. I willna let ye fall. Ready?” he asked them when they all seemed settled.
Mailie knew the strength of Lachlan’s legs when he stood up with them attached. It made her insides go warm.
Will gasped at the height at which he looked out over the earth, but he held on tight. Lily rested her cheek on Mailie’s bosom and remained quiet.
Surely he liked them. The children were breaking down his walls. Was she? Her kin remained at the back of her thoughts. The longer Lachlan kept her—the more she came to care for him, the worse it was going to be when her father found him. How could she ask him to take her back and give up getting information about his bairn?
She didn’t want to think on it now as Lachlan picked up his steps and began to run. They bounced and shook against him, held securely in his arms, high above his shoulders, and they laughed together.
It was amid all that laughter that Mailie knew she was lost to him, hopeless, foolish as it was. She was in love with Lachlan MacKenzie, in love with this life. She’d voiced her faith in him, seeking only his help. But the closer she’d grown to him for the wrong reasons, the more she fell in love with him for the right ones.
She tried to fight it, but it felt too much like her and the children were his, like they belonged to him, and him to them. She liked the feeling. She was familiar with it. It was like being with her kin, but different because the man and the children were hers.
But it was just a feeling. When real life came knocking, things were going to change. She had to find a way to stop her kin from killing Lachlan, not only for his sake, but for William’s. He would never forgive them. He’d likely grow up and kill them all.
She hated that their futures looked so grim on such an enchanting day.
She was thankful when he slowed his pace and walked. She was beginning to feel a little ill with all the bouncing. He carried them for another hour until Ettarre began to bark.
Lachlan stopped moving save to slip her and Lily out of his arms and behind his back in one fluid movement.
“Who’s that?” Will called out and pointed to a stranger garbed in plaid breeches and more than one jacket beneath his wool mantle. His face was smudged with dirt, and his grin revealed two missing teeth. He held a pistol in his hand and lifted it to point it at them.
Ettarre hunkered down and growled, but Lachlan’s command that she stay put quieted her.
“Get Will doun slowly and stay behind me,” he told Mailie, then held up his hands in surrender. “Take all the coin I have, just lower yer pistol.”
“How much d’ye have?” the man asked, trying to get a better look at Mailie.
“’Tis all in here.” Lachlan slipped the bag off his shoulder. “A month’s wages.” He tossed the bag at the man’s boots. “’Tis quite substantial.”
“Is it, now?” The would-be thief only glanced at the sack for a moment—exactly how long Lachlan needed to reach him.
He moved so fast Mailie had no time to react. One instant he was there shielding them, and the next he was putting an end to the threat.
In the time it took to blink, Lachlan’s elbow smashed into the man’s temple. As the stranger went down, Lachlan plucked the pistol from him and broke it with his hands. There was no pistol ball inside the chamber.
With the thief passed out or dead at his feet, Lachlan turned to them and readjusted his hood. “There, now.” He forced a controlled smile. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”
“I wasna afraid!” Will shouted enthusiastically. He punched the air and then cheered. “Ye struck him once, Laird! Once, and he sank to the ground as if he’d been struck by lightnin’!”
Aye, Mailie thought, he was fast, strong, and well skilled. Where had he learned to fight, to hunt, and to be so self-sufficient?
“Ye were a soldier,” she said with a sinking in her guts.
“Aye,” he said, picking up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder, “a colonel in the Royal North British Dragoons fer six years.”
Her blood went cold. A colonel in the Scots Greys! He was better equipped to fight her kin than she had thought. She had to think of something that would stop any bloodshed on either side. “Why did ye no’ tell me?”
“Ye never asked. Come, ’twill be getting dark soon. We’re almost home.”
Mailie took Lily’s hand while Will slipped his into Lachlan’s. They left the unconscious thief where he’d fallen.
There was no more doubt in Mailie’s mind that Lachlan could take down at least two, mayhap three of her kinsmen before they could stop him.
“Is there anything else aboot ye I dinna know that I should?”
He cut her a glance from the corner of his eye while they walked, each with a child on the opposite side. “If there is, I’m certain ye’ll discover it.”
He was correct about that.
“Where did ye fight?” she asked
, too curious now to stop. How good of a colonel had he been? How had he earned his high rank? Exactly how big of a threat was he to her kin?
“I began my service in the colonies when I turned ten and eight. I fought in the Netherlands for three years in four battles. I met Hannah there, had Annabel, returned home, and fought against the Jacobites for another two years.”
No wonder he was so confident.
“Do ye know the queen?” she asked. Did he know her cousin Abby’s husband, General Marlow?
“No.” He turned to look at her. “Do ye?”
She blinked. No one had ever asked her before. Was it still unknown outside of Camlochlin that the queen, and the king before her, was kin to the MacGregors by marriage? There was already so much fighting between Anne’s and her half brother James’s supporters. What would happen if it were discovered that her aunt Davina was King James’s true firstborn daughter and the current queen’s sister? “Why do ye ask?”
“Because I recognized General Daniel Marlow with yer kin. The queen’s fondness fer him was spoken of many times. What is he doing with the MacGregors of Skye?”
“He is my cousin Abigail’s husband. Does he know ye?” Her heart leaped too soon. She’d hoped if Daniel knew Lachlan, he’d see him spared.
“No, he doesna know me.”
“My mum used to say,” William told them as the sun began to set and Avoch Castle could be seen in the distance, its turrets piercing the clouds, “that ye didna want people to know ye, Laird. But I know ye.”
“Yer mother spoke of the laird often?” Mailie leaned forward and asked. It would explain why William looked up to him without knowing him.
“Aye, she said he was lonely and he needed a friend and that I should be kind and befriend him.”
Mailie smiled. “Yer mother was a wise woman, and I think she would be verra proud of yer kindness. Do ye no’ agree, Lachlan?”
“Aye.” He let his mouth curl into a wry smile. “Save that I wasna lonely.”
“Ye were,” she disagreed with a tender smile that faded as she looked into his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to bring down his defenses only to leave him alone again. “Ye just didna know it. This time,” she said softly and wiped a tear falling from her cheek, “ye will.”
Chapter Eighteen
Her words haunted Lachlan while they ate what could have been a nice pot of fish soup left hanging on the trivet by Ruth. He couldn’t enjoy it though. He would miss them, and Mailie knew it. Aye, she’d gone out of her way to draw him into their company, to attach him to the three of them. The more time he spent with them, the more time he liked doing it. Why would she do such a thing to him? He couldn’t keep them—or her! He should have stayed locked in his study. How could he raise three children alone? And what in damnation was he to do about Mailie? She couldn’t wait to get back to her kin. She sure as hell didn’t want to stay here with him. He was moody, and heartless, with little honor. He didn’t blame her, but it still pierced him in the guts.
What if she did want to stay?
Hell, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want this.
But he wasn’t sure if he believed that anymore. He wanted to stop and face his demons. He had to if he wanted to be a good father again to Annabel.
He barely ate and when supper was over, he walked them up to bed—to his bed. He didn’t wait for them to undress and climb beneath the blankets or wait for Mailie to read them a story. He bid them good dreams and left the room.
He’d been just fine before they pushed and shoved their way into every instant of his life—with Mailie MacGregor leading the charge.
He went to his study and shut the door. He needed time to reexamine his plan. He poured himself a cup of whisky and sat in his chair. Waiting to hear from Sinclair meant she—they would be here for at least another three weeks. Who knew what pathetic shape he’d be in by then? He was opening up to them, to her, baring himself to the pain of loss again. No. It scared the hell out of him. He couldn’t go through it again. The only way not to lose her was to bring her back to her kin, give up Annabel…No. There had to be another way to gain the information possibly leading to Annabel without Mailie.
“Lachlan?”
He closed his eyes at the sound of her voice.
“I knocked but ye didna answer.”
He would have come at her with a dry retort about the meaning of a closed door, but he found a smile creeping over his face instead. Nothing would keep this lass out of anywhere. He was growing accustomed to it—which made him scowl again.
“Come in.” He didn’t know why he bothered. She was already coming toward him.
“They’re both asleep! I barely made it through one verse of Shakespeare.”
“’Tis the walking. They should sleep through the night,” he supplied, watching her lean against the window ledge. “We went far today. Tomorrow we’ll shorten the walk considerably and then ye can begin yer reading lessons.”
And he would keep a safer distance away.
“Why are ye broodin’?”
His scowl deepened on her. “I’m not.”
“Ye’ve been broodin’ since we entered the castle,” she corrected. “Are ye goin’ to tell me why?”
“Actually, no, I’m not going to tell ye,” he told her, rubbing his forehead, which was beginning to ache. “I’ll be allowed my own thoughts.”
Now she frowned at him. “Ye’re verra stubborn and moody. I dinna like it.”
“Is that all?”
“Nae, ’tis no’ all,” she told him, straightening on her feet and folding her arms across her chest. “Ye’re guarded and sometimes quite unfeelin’.”
“How will I ever live with myself?” he drawled.
Her pink lips tightened. He tried to give them little attention.
“And ye’re uncouth,” she added to the list. “Ye dinna care if I grow fat with Ranald Sinclair’s brats!”
Damnation, he did care. He hated thinking about Sinclair touching her. How would Sinclair treat her? He likely wouldn’t tolerate her fiery tongue and quick hands. Would he strike her?
Lachlan rose from his chair as a wave of possessiveness washed over him.
“I dinna know how I thought I could care fer ye!” She bolted past him, but he reached out and grasped her wrist.
“What?” he asked and stepped toward her. He couldn’t give her to Sinclair. He’d find another way. He had to. “Ye care fer me?”
“Nae!” she cried out and tried to break free. “I said I thought I could, but I was wrong! Ye are—”
Before he could stop and think about what he was doing, before logic had a chance to tell him all the reasons to step away, he pulled her close, molding her body against him, reveling in her yielding surrender. He should stop, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think about Annabel, or Sinclair, or the MacGregors. Just her. The woman in his arms who was dragging him back to life.
His nerve endings burned, and his blood rushed through his veins like raging thunder. He had the urge to bite her to keep her close.
He closed one arm around her small waist and traced the curve of her chin with the other hand while he bent her over the crook of his arm and hovered over her. He wanted to kiss her, but he fell captivated by her face, her heated, hooded gaze. He’d made certain to guard himself with fortified walls, but she broke through them. How could he let her go?
Sweeping his hand behind her nape, he supported her head while his lips covered hers.
Her hands rested on his shoulders and then coiled around his neck. He couldn’t think straight. He needed to stop. Nothing could come of this.
He deepened their kiss, his heart pumping like war drums in his ears. He slipped both arms around her and dragged her closer while he parted her lips with a swipe of his tongue. He wanted to ravish her—take her the way he did in his mind. He wanted to make her his. Take her from Sinclair. He fought the beast and its primal urge to claim her and hunt down anyone who thought to take her.
He
felt her body and her resolve weaken when he closed one hand around her buttocks and drew her up his hard angles. He wanted to feel the heat burning at her crux. He wanted to rip away the layers separating them and impale her to the hilt with his eager lance, to carry her to his bed or fall into the chair and set her atop him.
He broke free with a growl that began like a blow to his guts. The consequences of this were too great. If he fell in love with her and lost her— Ah, God help him. He also couldn’t forget that the dragon raged on. He was afraid of what he might do to keep her with him. He’d lost who he was. He’d come back to Avoch alone, and he had remained that way for two years. It was safer for him, for everyone.
He had to return her untouched to her father as soon as he could, and the children with her. Then she’d have a chance at a future with some peacock knight.
Loving her could cost him everything—his daughter and possibly his life.
“Mailie—”
She fell into his chair and closed her eyes. Her breathing was quick and shallow. “Ye must never kiss me like that again. I canna— I dinna think I can— I canna think straight.”
Neither could he. He couldn’t help but be glad his kiss had affected her as much as it affected him. He wasn’t alone in this madness then.
“’Twas foolish,” he said with gritted teeth, fighting the gnawing desire he felt for her.
“Aye, ’twas,” she agreed, sounding just as miserable. “I dinna know what came over me. I must be more exhausted than I imagined.”
“Come.” He held out his hand to her. “I’ll walk ye to the stairs.”
She nodded and slipped her hand into his much larger one. As their fingers touched, they looked into each other’s eyes, unable to deny the fire sparking between them.
He watched a scarlet stain streak across the freckled bridge of her nose, but she still told him, “Ye kiss verra well. I feel drunk on wine.”
He stared at her and then smiled. She looked disheveled, like she’d been kissed, and kissed thoroughly. Despite the madness of it, he wanted more of her, all of her. She wanted more too. Her languid gaze and parted lips were driving him mad.