Dreams of a Highlander

by Katy Baker

  Darcy nodded dumbly and allowed him to lead her from the water and onto the beach. They returned to the horses and took shelter in front of a tall hillock.

  Whilst Darcy seated herself and did her best to calm her thumping heart, Quinn collected a pile of driftwood from the beach and quickly started a fire. Even though it was a warm day, Darcy was mighty glad for the extra heat. She moved as close to it as possible, letting it dry out her sodden clothes.

  Quinn seated himself cross legged next to her. He picked up a twig and began shredding it, throwing the pieces into the fire. Darcy wished he'd kiss her again.

  Quinn MacFarlane did something to her. His calm strength, his complete confidence in his own abilities, his amazingly gorgeous body. She'd never felt like this before. It was unsettling. But exhilarating too.

  Wasn't it just her luck that she'd have to travel back to sixteenth century Scotland to find a man like him? At first she'd thought him a standoffish macho male but she'd gradually begun to glimpse the man underneath that mask.

  And she liked what she saw. A lot.

  She shivered and shifted closer to the fire.

  Quinn held out his arm. "Come here, lass."

  Darcy scooted into the circle of his embrace, leaning against him whilst he wrapped his arm around her.

  "I'm sorry. I should nae have pulled ye into the loch. That was a mean thing to do."

  She looked at him incredulously. "Where I come from it's called getting a taste of your own medicine. I started it, remember."

  "Aye, but yer not from around here and aren't used to the coldness of the loch. I should have thought of that."

  "Is this a MacFarlane trait?" Darcy asked. "Or is it particular to you, Quinn?"

  He frowned. "What do ye mean?"

  "This habit of putting everyone else before you. Of taking responsibility for everyone else."

  His frown deepened. "It's my duty to take care of the clan."

  "Yes, but that doesn't mean you're responsible for every little thing. In my experience humans are tricky things that will do exactly as they please, whether you like it or not."

  "Aye, I'm starting to realize that," he replied, raising an eyebrow at her.

  Their eyes met. Something fluttered deep inside Darcy. Before she knew what she was doing she was reaching up, running a finger down his cheek. A shiver went through him and he inhaled sharply. Feeling reckless Darcy went up on her knees, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

  Quinn went rigid for a second and then he was suddenly kissing her back. Kissing her with a wild, desperate need. His arms closed around her and with an animal-like growl he flipped her onto her back in the sand, his weight pinning her down.

  His lips traveled down her neck, sending prickles of pleasure through her body. She tangled her fingers in his hair, her eyes sliding closed. She felt her nipples stiffen, pressing almost painfully against the fabric of her dress.

  One of Quinn's strong hands reached up and cupped Darcy's breast, kneading the soft flesh. Darcy arched her back, gasping, as Quinn's kisses moved down her neck to the soft curve where neck met shoulder, trailing pure fire along her skin.

  Quinn fumbled with the laces on the front of her dress and all of a sudden they came free, exposing her breasts to the air. Quinn bent his head and took one rosy nipple in his mouth, sucking and caressing. Darcy moaned, arching her back even further, fingers tightening in Quinn's hair.

  One of Quinn's hands reached down, hiked up her gown and trailed a finger up the inside of her thigh. He nudged her legs apart and nipped at her breast hard enough to make her gasp. She reached under his plaid, running her fingers over the hard, contoured muscles of his back. She was rewarded when he shivered with pleasure. Her hands swept lower, feeling the round hardness of his backside, then underneath to where his manhood stood hard and proud from his body.

  There was a deafening snort right above them and they both jumped as if a gun had gone off. Quinn rolled off her, reaching for his sword and Darcy pulled her dress back up, looking around wildly.

  Something large loomed above them, blotting out the sun. It took a moment for Darcy's addled to brain to make sense of it but when she did she let out a relieved giggle. It was Silver, staring down at them with his ears pressed forward, his nosebag hanging askew.

  "Beast, yer timing is impeccable," Quinn growled. He climbed to his feet, took the reins and led the horse away. "Go and pester Barley will ye and keep yer nose out of my business."

  Darcy gathered her dress around her and climbed into a sitting position. Her heart was still thumping. She and Quinn had come so close to...

  Quinn flopped onto the ground beside her. His hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed. It took all of her willpower not to reach out and kiss him again. Instead, she kept her mouth firmly shut and her hands firmly by her sides.

  "I'm sorry, lass," Quinn whispered. His eyes still burned with lust but his voice was carefully controlled. "That was not wise. Can ye forgive me?"

  "Forgive you? You do have some strange notions, Quinn. I believe I was a willing partner in what we almost did."

  "Doesnae matter. I should know better. I almost dishonored ye and I canna have that. Ye deserve better."

  "Okay," she said, laying her hand on his forearm. "You have my forgiveness if that's what you need."

  He covered her hand with his. For a moment their eyes met and Darcy felt the stirrings of passion sparking between them again. Quinn pulled his hand away and cleared his throat.

  "Come on, let's get back to Dunbreggan before we both end up doing something stupid."

  In short order they were mounted and riding south again. Darcy kept Barley slightly behind Silver so that she could watch Quinn as they rode. She loved the play of the light across the muscles in his arms, the way his body swayed with the movements of his horse, the way his long hair stirred in the breeze.

  She knew they'd done the right thing by not taking things further. But that didn't stop Darcy wishing that they'd done the wrong thing instead.

  Chapter 14

  Dunbreggan was on tenterhooks. No matter where Darcy went she could sense the tension. The servants spoke in hushed whispers. The errand boys tiptoed around the place. The warriors paced with looks of concern on their faces.

  The source of the tension was upstairs right now, sequestered with her midwives, laboring to give birth to the heir to the lairdship. Rebecca's labor had started in the early hours of the morning and now, well past dawn, she still struggled.

  Darcy sat in the main hall next to Lily. Ostensibly they were working on one of Rebecca's gowns, taking it in around the waist so it would fit her better once the baby was born, but neither Darcy or Lily had their minds entirely on the task. If it was difficult for them Darcy could only imagine what the waiting must be like for Rebecca's husband.

  Darcy glanced over to the fireplace. Sure enough, Laird Robert was still pacing. He'd been doing this all morning, prowling up and down in front of the fireplace like an old wolfhound. He seemed unable to sit, even for a moment. Everyone kept their distance from the laird, even Quinn. He sat alone at the head table, watching his brother.

  Footsteps echoed on the stairs and all heads turned as one of the midwives entered the hall. The middle-aged woman wiped sweat from her brow and pulled down the sleeves of her dress which had been rolled to her elbows. She steadied herself on the wall and took a deep breath, obviously exhausted.

  She smiled at Robert. "Yer wife has given birth to a healthy baby boy, my lord."

  Laird Robert let out a whoop of joy. He bounded across the hall, gave the midwife a huge kiss on the cheek, and then pushed past her, leaping up the stairs two at a time.

  "Ye should let her rest!" The midwife shouted after him. "Don't ye go tiring her out or ye'll be answering to me!"

  "I'll be as gentle as a kitten!" Laird Robert's voice called back.

  Lily pressed her hand against her chest. "That's a relief and no mistake," she said. "I'm so pleased for Robert and Rebecc
a. I know they both dearly wanted a boy."

  "It's fabulous news," Darcy agreed, grinning.

  With a laugh, she threw her arms around her friend and held her close. Already she could hear people shouting the news in the courtyard outside. It would be the talk of the clan in no time.

  Darcy looked around for Quinn but he was no longer at his seat. She hadn't noticed him leave. She frowned. Where had he got to? She pushed back her chair and crossed the room to the warriors' table.

  "Did any of you see where Quinn went?" she asked.

  One of the men, a young lad barely out of his teens said, "I passed him crossing the bailey as I came in. He looked to be going round to the south tower, my lady."

  "Thanks," Darcy replied. "And it's Darcy, not my lady."

  She crossed the hall and hurried down the steps into the bailey. She had a good idea where Quinn was heading.

  Sure enough, as she rounded the south tower and came in sight of the tiny, fenced parcel of land that served as the MacFarlane cemetery, she saw Quinn's tall form outlined. He stood with hands clasped and head bowed.

  Darcy slowed then halted a few paces away. She didn't want to intrude on this moment.

  Quinn, though, seemed to sense she was there. He glanced over his shoulder. "Is everything all right, lass?"

  "Yes," Darcy replied. "I came to find you. Are you okay?”

  Quinn smiled wryly then held out a hand. Darcy hurried over and took it, leaning into him. Before them two wooden crosses marked the graves of Quinn's parents. Although he rarely spoke of it, Darcy knew he missed them. She knew how that felt.

  "I come here when I need to think," he said. "It's peaceful. It helps to clear my mind. And I keep hoping my parents might offer some advice. They've not been too forthcoming so far."

  "I do something similar," Darcy replied. "When I was a kid my dad would take me stargazing. We'd drive out into the hills and sit for hours, just staring up at the sky. Whenever I've got a problem, I do the same. Helps put things in perspective a little."

  Quinn smiled. "My parents would have been very pleased to meet their first grandchild. Tis a great shame they're not here. Still, I'm sure they're watching from up above."

  Darcy squeezed Quinn's arm. "I'm sure they are."

  "I'm mighty glad the bairn's finally been born. I was beginning to fear he would never make an appearance. It's a weight off my shoulders and no mistake. I've been waiting for this moment ever since Duncan died."

  Darcy wrinkled her brow, puzzled. "I'm not sure what you mean."

  Quinn laid a hand on her shoulder. His eyes gleamed with joy. "Don't ye realize what this means? I'm not the heir to the lairdship anymore. It's been a millstone round my neck fearing I might one day have to take over from Robert. I was never meant to lead. I was meant for the blacksmith's forge and it's only a twist of fate that ensured the clan had to put up with me instead of Duncan."

  "You're too hard on yourself," Darcy said. "You don't think you're a leader? Well I disagree. Your warriors worship you. They hang on your every word. And I don't know anyone who could have taken control of the situation over at Old Mac's farm the way you did. So you might not have been born to lead but you sure as hell learned to."

  A faint, almost perplexed smile crossed his face. He reached out and gently ran the tips of his fingers down the side of Darcy's face. His hands were calloused, his skin hard from the days of hard work with a sword, but to Darcy it felt as soft as silk.

  "Ye have a kind heart and the courage of a lion," he murmured. "Maybe that's why I love ye so much."

  Darcy froze. Those words hung in the air between them. She must be dreaming. Had he really just said what she thought he did?

  "Say that again," she croaked.

  "Ye have the courage of a lion."

  "No, the other bit."

  "Ah, the other bit."

  Quinn cupped her face in his hands and tilted her chin so she was forced to look deep into his eyes.

  "I love ye, Darcy Greenway. I think I've loved ye since the moment I saw ye, even though I tried to fight it, fool that I am. Now it consumes me. I can hardly breathe, hardly think, and when I'm apart from ye it's like I've left a piece of me behind."

  Darcy sucked in a breath to steady herself. She suddenly felt dizzy. She knew something had been growing between them. Something dangerous. Something wonderful. Now, at last, she recognized it.

  "I love you too, Quinn," she breathed. "God help me but I do."

  Quinn placed his forehead against hers and pulled her close. She could feel his heart thundering in his chest and realized he was as excited and nervous and terrified as she.

  He gently pressed his lips to hers, kissing her as tenderly as if she were a piece of porcelain that might break.

  "I'm so glad ye came into my life, Darcy Greenway," he whispered.

  "Me too," she whispered back.

  The breeze suddenly picked up, whirling around the castle with enough force to send Darcy's hair streaming out and her dress billowing around her knees. The wind sounded like a voice.

  Choices, it seemed to whisper. Choices.

  Darcy thought suddenly of the strange old woman who'd accosted her at the conference, Irene MacAskill. The old woman had told her she must make a choice and her heart's desire rested on making the right one.

  Had she just made such a choice?

  "Come on!" Quinn shouted against the wind. "Let's get back inside. Looks like the weather's turning. And I have a nephew to meet!"

  Hand in hand, they returned to the castle.

  ***

  The new bairn was named James Duncan after Quinn's father and elder brother. Quinn thought it a grand gesture to name him so. Right now, the two-week old James was staring up at Darcy as she gently rocked him. The lass was a natural with children, just like she was with beasts.

  "He looks like you, Rebecca," she said.

  "Do ye think so?" Rebecca asked from her seat by the window. "Most people reckon he has Robert's looks."

  "I hope not!" Quinn laughed from where he sat by Darcy's side looking down at his nephew. "Robert has all the good looks of a fence post!"

  Rebecca laughed. "I'll tell him ye said so! I'm sure he'll find a way to show his appreciation!"

  "No need," Quinn said. "I tell him all the time."

  A drum suddenly sounded outside. Rebecca leaned close to the window. "What's that? Somebody's riding up to the gates."

  Quinn was on his feet in an instant. Sure enough, a horse was speeding along the causeway with reckless abandon. The warning drum atop the battlements sounded again.

  "It's Fraser!" Quinn said, as he recognized the rider. "He's finally returned." He spun on his heel and strode to the door. "Ye two stay here. I'll send word as soon as we know what news Fraser brings."

  He strode through the door, leaving the women staring after.

  Dunbreggan was alive with rumor. News of Fraser's return had gone ahead of Quinn and the castle was abuzz with it. They all knew how important this could be. Quinn all but ran down the corridors and leapt up the stairs. Fraser had been gone for months and there had been no word. What news would he bring?

  He reached the door to Robert's solar and pushed it open without knocking. Several men were gathered around the large table inside. Robert was seated but the rest stood, except for Fraser who sat opposite Robert, a blanket thrown across his shoulders, sipping a goblet of wine.

  Their head’s turned as Quinn entered.

  "Brother," Robert said, waving him forward. "I'm glad yer here. I dinna reckon we could have waited much longer for Fraser's tale. Sit."

  Quinn took a seat at Robert's side. Fraser looked up from his drink and Quinn's heart almost stopped. Fraser's right eye was black and swollen. Both nostrils were encrusted with blood. He held his left arm cradled against his chest as though it pained him. He'd obviously been in a fight and come out on the worst end of it by the looks of his injuries.

  "Who did this to ye?" Quinn growled. "We'll see they pay dearly
for it."

  Fraser grimaced and gingerly put his cup on the table. "Ye should see the other man," Fraser said with a weak grin. "He'll nay be winning any beauty contests any time soon."

  The men chuckled at Fraser's attempt at humor but Quinn and Robert didn't join in. Robert placed his palms flat against the table and leaned towards Fraser.

  "It was a dangerous mission ye accepted, lad, and it looks as though that danger found ye. Tell us what happened."

  Fraser swallowed thickly and began his tale. "It went well to start with. I took lodgings at an inn and pretended to be a merchant, selling Lily's cloth, just like we agreed. It took a while but eventually I got invited up to the castle to show my wares." His sharp blue eyes fixed on Robert. "It's as we feared. Laird Malcolm is dead and Merith, his only child, has married John de Clare. He's seized power and is laird in all but name."

  Robert cursed softly under his breath. "This is nae the news we were hoping for. What of the clansmen? Have they accepted de Clare? Are they loyal to him? Is there any who challenge his rule?"

  Fraser shook his head. "That's what I wondered at first. Surely there must be some of the Murray clan who wouldnae accept him, an outsider seizing control through marriage? Lesser things have caused rebellions. I asked around as secretly as I could, trying to gage opinion. I couldnae find any hint of dissatisfaction amongst the clan. It seems that de Clare has won them over by telling the Murrays exactly what they want to hear." Fraser's hand tightened around his goblet. "He's been stirring up the mob and no mistake. The castle and the villages were ripe with gossip about how de Clare had bested Duncan MacFarlane and how he would lead them to victory over their long-standing foes, the MacFarlanes, who've been raiding their lands and are busy raising an army to invade."

  "That snake!" Quinn growled. "Duncan should have killed him when he had the chance!"

  "Peace, brother," Robert said.

  "Peace?" Quinn rounded on his brother. "Ye know what this man did!"

  The death of his eldest brother at the hands of John de Clare was like an open wound in Quinn's soul. The fact that Duncan's murderer had gone free and now strutted around like a prize cockerel was a knife being twisted in that wound.