“Do you need help?”
“Apparently, I’m all thumbs when it comes to boy’s clothing.”
He crossed to help her, brushing her hands aside and quickly lacing her up. She stood quietly as he worked, although her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.
“Thank you,” she said in an adorably gruff tone when he finished.
“My pleasure.”
It was an automatic response, but he couldn’t fail to catch her wince.
“Hopefully not,” she muttered when he turned back to his packing.
Logan didn’t know whether to laugh or curse.
“Did you actually see our pursuers?” she asked.
“Yes, when I went out to use the necessary. I was about to cut across the yard when three men rode in, their horses lathered up. It seemed suspicious this early in the morning, so I lurked about to see what they were up to.”
“You’re rather large to be lurking. Are you sure they didn’t see you?”
“Lass, I excel at lurking. No one saw me.”
She grabbed her boots and socks. “And are you sure they actually referred to me by name?”
“Miss Haddon, I hear as well as I lurk.”
She grimaced and went back to dragging on her boots. “What time is it?”
“Going on seven. Hamish is still on duty, and he’d just commenced a gabfest with our unwelcome visitors when I snuck back here.”
“Oh, that’s not good.”
“Yes, the old boy doesn’t strike me as discreet. He’ll be happy to describe who arrived at the inn last night.”
Donella stomped her foot down into her boot and straightened. “So, what do we do?”
“Since we can’t go waltzing out the front door, I’m off to do a little more skulking to see if we can make it out through the back. If not, we’ll have to use the window to make our escape.”
She regarded his proposed exit with a dubious eye. “Are you sure you’ll fit? You are rather large.”
“I’m aware of that.” It would appear that large men were not her type, which he found rather irritating.
She was a nun. She doesn’t have a type.
“I’ll manage it,” he added, “but I would prefer the back door.”
“How are we going to get to our horse?”
“We’re not.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “We’re walking?”
“Yes. We’re going up into the hills.”
“But—”
“Donella, we can discuss the plan once we get out of here, all right?”
Her lips thinned, but then she gave a terse nod. “What do you want me to do?”
“I suggest you take the chance to use the chamber pot, since we’ll be leaving as soon as I return.”
She winced. “I must say this is turning out to be the most embarrassing episode of my entire life.”
He flashed a smile as he headed to the door. “Chin up, lass. Just think of it as a grand adventure.”
“I hate adventures,” she muttered.
He slipped out into the hall. For a woman who hated adventures, she’d done well, displaying both strength and character. Most girls of her class would have succumbed to hysterics long ago. And though she had a tendency to argue, she’d followed his orders when it counted.
Logan had the impression from her family that Donella was a biddable, even shy woman who retreated into the background. Yet he’d found her quite the opposite, which probably accounted for her dismissal from the nunnery. Donella might not be the sort of girl to flirt or talk the ears off a man, but biddable or shy? Not a chance.
He’d only known her for a few days, but there seemed to be more to Donella than her family realized.
The inn was stirring. Dishes clattered in the taproom and footsteps thumped on the floor above. The entrance hall was empty, but that meant Hamish was likely still out gabbing with the mysterious riders. If those men had a particle of brains, they would soon deduce that something was off about Mr. MacDonald and his strange little brother.
Logan risked a careful look out the window. A stable boy washed down the cobblestones, but otherwise the yard appeared deserted. But that did them no good since they needed to head up into the hills, not back on the road.
Retreating, he paused to leave some coin on the desk, then quickly made his way back down the hall to the door at the end of the wing. He’d just cracked it open when he heard a shout from the direction of the stables. Feet pounded across the cobblestones, followed by more shouting and a call to search the inn.
Dammit to hell.
Under normal circumstances, he’d have no qualms about confronting the blighters but wouldn’t take any chances with Donella’s safety. He had to get her out of harm’s way as quickly as possible.
Moments later, he was back in the room. Donella was fully dressed and folding up a small bundle into a makeshift sack.
“I thought we might be able to use the blanket and extra candles,” she explained.
“Good thinking.” He shot the bolt across the door.
“I see it’s the window.”
“Aye.”
Donella followed him to the window. Logan slung his kit over his shoulder and yanked back the shutter, then pushed the latticed window open.
“I hope you made use of the chamber pot,” he said as he hoisted her onto the sill.
She swung her legs over. “If you mention that one more time, I will clobber you.”
The drop to the ground was a little high for his liking. “Careful, now. We don’t want you—”
Donella kicked off the sill, landing in a neat crouch before looking up at him. “You were saying, sir?”
He snorted and dropped his kit and her bundle to the ground. When he started to climb through the opening, he discovered it was quite a tight fight.
“Don’t get stuck,” she warned.
As if he’d let that happen.
Logan pulled back and stripped off his greatcoat, tossing it down to her. Then he grabbed the top of the window frame and pulled himself up, then swung through in one go. He managed to tear a sleeve on the way down, but otherwise was unscathed.
Donella blinked at him. “That was quite impressive.”
“I might say the same about you, lass.”
Her smile was shy. “Thank you. I was rather athletic as a young girl.” The smile faded. “For a while, anyway.”
There was a story there, and he found himself wanting to hear it. For now, he had other things to worry about, like getting their arses out of harm’s way.
He shrugged back into his greatcoat. “Athletic is good right now.”
Donella had already slung her bundle over her shoulder, so he grabbed his kit and guided her toward a farmer’s field behind the inn. They dodged through a kitchen garden, having to crouch at one point below a low hedge when they heard some more shouting, but they were able to skulk away without incident.
A few hedgerows and a field of oats later, they were safely away. Repeated glances over his shoulder told Logan that no one had yet thought to check behind the inn.
Miracle of miracles, they’d pulled it off. Now, all they had was a stiff day’s climb up to a crofter’s cottage. There he hoped they would find shelter and a hopefully not-too-long and not-too-cold wait for rescue. He trusted that Davey and Foster had gotten through with his message to Lord Riddick. If not, he would have to devise another plan to get Donella home.
They splashed through a little creek that separated the field from the first set of foothills. Logan glanced at Donella, who seemed unperturbed by their narrow escape.
“Ready for a climb, lass?”
She shot him a wry glance. “‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills.’”
Then she set off briskly up the narrow track, leaving him to follow in her footsteps.
* * *
Logan glanced back, checking Donella’s progress. She’d fallen considerably behind him now, grimly making her way up the narrow track. He’d offered several t
imes to take her bundle, or even haul her up the steepest bits by the hand. Each time, she’d politely declined with the reminder that she too had grown up in the Highlands and was sturdier than she looked.
She didn’t look particularly sturdy, though, with her willowy build and pale complexion. While he couldn’t help but worry, Donella was both stubborn and proud, and he’d not insult her again by insisting she needed help.
Thankfully, they’d evaded their pursuers—more Murray clansmen, presumably. He suspected it might not occur to them that he would take a gently born lady into the mountains. The blighters had probably headed back out onto the highway or gone haring off down the blessedly large number of country lanes.
If their luck held out, Logan and Donella should reach the rendezvous point before nightfall.
Alec Gilbride probably wouldn’t be there. Donella’s cousin was resourceful, but it would still take him a full day to reach the remote crofter’s cottage high in the hills above Loch Katrine. And that would only be if Foster and Davey had made it back to Blairgal Castle in good order. While Donella was right to feel anxious about the well-being of Riddick’s men, Logan continued to downplay her concerns. For one thing, she didn’t need the additional worry. For another, Foster and Davey would feel honor bound to protect their laird’s niece by any means necessary, no matter the cost.
Logan reached a level stretch of trail with several large, flat rocks by the side of it. Thank God the weather had cooperated. Even though it was almost the end of November, the skies were sunny and the breezes fairly mild. But dusk would be upon them soon, and the temperature would plummet. Climbing these narrow, rocky paths after dark would be treacherous, and spending the night outdoors would be challenging. He’d done it hundreds of times over the years, both in Scotland and in Canada. He would survive just fine.
But Donella wasn’t dressed to spend a night on a cold mountain, even with a fire and huddled under a ratty old blanket. For all that the convent had toughened her up, she was still unused to conditions like this.
She huffed as she trudged up the last bit to join him, starting to limp. They’d been climbing for hours, with only brief stops and yet the lass hadn’t complained once. She’d even completed the first part of the climb with serene good cheer, but the last few hours, when they’d moved out of the foothills into proper mountains, she’d fallen silent, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
Donella looked up as the path leveled out, stumbling to a halt as if surprised to see him there. “Why are we stopping?”
“I thought we could both use a rest. That last stretch was rather steep.”
She rolled her eyes. “You mean you think I could use a rest. You’d be miles ahead by now, if not for me.”
“Nonsense. You climb better than any woman I’ve ever known.”
She sank down onto a nearby rock and dropped her makeshift pack on the ground beside her. “Do you actually know any women who climb?”
“A few.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Back in Canada,” he clarified. “The trappers’ wives often travel with them. They were as capable of surviving in the wilderness as their husbands.”
“Uncle Riddick mentioned once that you had established a fur trading business in Canada. He said you’d done quite well.”
“Furs and timber. My business is based in Halifax, but I’m in the process of expanding in Scotland, too.”
She stretched out one of her legs and began absently rubbing her knee. Clad as she was in close-fitting breeches, it was impossible to avoid noting that her legs were long and shapely.
“My uncle also has interests in the timber trade.” She flashed him a smile that looked more like a grimace as she worked down to the muscles of her calf. “You should talk to him about it sometime. Uncle is always looking for ways to improve his businesses, and I’m sure you’d have much in common.”
Logan made a noncommittal noise. Uncle, in fact, had a reputation for being rather cutthroat when it came to business. And since he’d only just started talking to Riddick about possible joint ventures, he wouldn’t mention it to her. Experience had taught him that displays of eagerness in the early stages of negotiations were never a good idea.
Besides, he made it a point not to discuss business with elegant Scottish ladies. They were rarely interested, for one thing, and some had an alarming tendency to gossip. Not that Donella seemed the gossiping sort, but she was a Haddon. Anything he told her would likely make its way back to her uncle.
He glanced across the valley at the rugged hills. The sun was rapidly setting and would soon fall behind Ben Venue on the opposite side of Loch Katrine. Best they get a move on, or they’d never reach the cottage by nightfall.
“It’s grand, isn’t it?” Donella said.
Logan followed her gaze to the vista of woodland pastures topped by the craggy hills of the Trossachs. Flashes of blue in the glens hinted at the small lochs and streams that dotted this part of Scotland. In the distance, the setting sun glinted off the watery shield of Katrine, which they might have to cross to reach the safety of Donella’s ancestral home.
The loch was his back-up plan. If Alec failed to show by midafternoon tomorrow, he’d get Donella down to Katrine, find a boatman, and cross to Blairgal by water. It was risky, since it would involve going into one of the local villages, but it would also be the quickest way to get her home.
“Those years in the convent . . . I’d almost forgotten how beautiful it is here,” Donella dreamily added.
He studied her face, with its high, elegant cheekbones and proud nose, both softened by a whimsical splash of freckles. The lines were splendid, befitting an ancient Celtic princess. With her long neck and straight-backed posture, one might think she’d just stepped off the dance floor instead of trudging up a mountain path. Even the tousled hair and rumpled cap couldn’t detract from her natural beauty. In fact, he rather liked the effect. It made her seem almost raffish, like a tomboy, but one who, in an instant, could transform into a beautiful, graceful woman.
It was a silly thought that made his heart hurt like hell. Because in a way that made no sense at all, Donella had suddenly reminded him of his wife.
He stared out at the splendid view, forced to blink several times to clear his vision.
“Yes, it’s quite grand,” he said gruffly. “Nothing like the mountains around Loch Long, of course, but the Trossachs will do nicely.”
Donella made a derisive sound. “The Trossachs are miles better than your part of Scotland. We have Loch Lomond, after all, and Rob Roy’s cave, and Ben Venue, and Loch Katrine—”
He held up a hand to stop her, stifling a chuckle. Castle Kinglas and Blairgal Castle were only a day’s ride from each other, and yet she displayed the bred-in-the-bone loyalty to hearth and home that typified the Scottish clansman or woman.
“You have them, but we have Loch Long,” he said.
“What’s so special about Loch Long?”
“It’s long.”
Donella laughed. It was the first, full-throated laugh he’d heard since meeting her, and it was warm and sweet and comforting, like a bowl of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s morning. He and his brothers had drunk the stuff by the jugful when they were lads. In those days, when their family had been happy and whole, life had seemed like a wonderful adventure just waiting to happen.
The sound of her laugh was entirely unexpected, and it eased the ache to his soul when he thought of his wife and all he’d lost with her passing.
“On that ridiculous note,” she said, rising and peering up the trail, “I suppose we’d best be on our way. How much longer, do you think?”
“Only about an hour to the top, and then a wee jog down to the crofter’s cottage. We’ll spend the night there and hopefully join up with Alec in the morning.”
“Are you sure he’ll be able to find us? Alasdair was away from home for over ten years. He might not be familiar with these parts.”
&
nbsp; Logan picked up her bundle and handed it over. “I gave Foster very specific instructions.”
Donella nodded before starting up the trail, her limp more pronounced than before.
“Hold up, lass.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“I’m worried about that limp.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just a blister. I’ll be fine.”
Blisters were anything but fine. They could quickly go raw, or even get infected. Then they’d be in trouble.
He dropped his pack. “Sit down and take off your boot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. As you’ve already noted, darkness is fast approaching, and we need to reach that cottage before nightfall.”
The prissy, almost-nun had returned. Bizarrely, he found her even more adorable when she was scolding him.
“You don’t have to prove your mettle to me, Miss Haddon. But it’s foolish for you to suffer if there’s something I can do about it.”
“My boots are too big, so they’re rubbing. I’ll soak my foot when we reach the cottage.”
Logan adopted a glower that sometimes caused women to shriek and men to wobble at the knees. “Take your damn boot off. I will not have you suffering, nor will I allow your foot to become infected.”
When she rolled her eyes, he could only deduce that he was losing his touch.
“I’m not exactly suffering the trials of Job,” she retorted. “It’s simply a blister. I will be fine.”
She marched on, defiantly limping up the trail. Short of holding her down and wrestling her boot off, there was nothing he could do until they reached the cottage.
“Very well. It’s your bloody foot.”
“That it is,” she responded, not looking back. “Now, get a move on, Mr. Kendrick. Night will be upon us soon enough.”
She was full of grit, that one. Again, she reminded him of his wife. Deceptively fragile looking, Marguerite had embodied the resilience and strength of her people. And like Marguerite, Donella had the blood of warriors running through her veins.
Tragically, Marguerite’s strength had been no match for the illness that had ruthlessly drained the life from her body. Foreigners like Logan had brought that disease to the colonies. In the end, it had killed the woman he’d loved, who’d given him life and hope after all the disasters that had befallen him and his family.
The Highlander's Christmas Bride Page 8