Finally, she placed the bowl on the railing and reentered the cabin. Apparently, she didn’t know what to say to him either.
A spoon poked up over the rim of the bowl she’d left, and it pleased him that she’d brought him some food. The stew was an olive branch.
He watched the woods for a few minutes, methodically checking for movement or the glint of steel as Gregor had taught him to do, and when he was convinced no one was out there, he jumped down and strode to the porch. Picking up the bowl, he sat beside the rain barrel, which afforded him more cover. After rewrapping himself in his plaid and laying his sword across his lap, he tried the stew.
It was good.
He must have eventually dozed off because when he opened his eyes, alerted by sounds within the cabin, the moon was behind the building and darkness stretched across the ground. The door creaked open a moment later and Isobel stepped out. She was backlit from the fire burning in the hearth—her hair mussed and her clothing rumpled as if she’d been asleep.
She peered toward the tree he’d sat in earlier, lines forming across her brow. Her eyes looked soft and drowsy.
Vulnerable.
“Isobel,” he said quietly.
She gasped and spun toward him, her hand rising to her chest. “Oh, you startled me.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intent.”
“I know…” She opened her mouth as if to continue, but then she closed it again.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Come inside,” she blurted out.
“Why?”
“Because I…I…come inside. Please. I canna sleep. I want—I need—you in there with me.”
He closed his eyes, savoring her words. Then rose without saying anything. After sheathing his sword, he picked up his empty bowl from the top of the rain barrel and followed her into the cabin. Barring the door behind him, he then crossed to the table and laid down his sword.
She took nervous steps to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge. Then she pushed backward to the far side against the wall.
There was room for him to join her, but instead he dunked his bowl in the wash water, pulled out the chair, and sat down.
“Kerr!” she protested.
He raised his brow and saw that same hint of vulnerability in her eyes he’d seen earlier…as well as her mouth forming into a stubborn moue.
“What?”
“I want you to sleep beside me.” She pointed to the side of the bed nearest to him.
He sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Isobel? We discussed this earlier—you didnae seem to want me near your bed.”
“Well, you canna sleep there.” She pointed toward his chair. “You’ll end up falling asleep the next time you need to protect me.”
He snorted. “I would ne’er sleep if you were in danger.” But she had a point. If he was drowsy during the day, he wouldn’t be as sharp as he needed to be. He drummed his fingers on the table—once—and then pushed back his chair and stepped to the side of the bed.
When he hesitated, she took his hand. “Doona you want to sleep beside me?” She’d jutted her chin up in what he now knew was a defensive gesture, and he could see the uncertainty in her eyes.
“Of course I do.” He squeezed her fingers as he said it. “’Tis only…we’re getting into dangerous territory.”
“Nay, we’re not. We’ll sleep, naught more. I trust you in this, Laird MacAlister.”
He rubbed his jaw, undecided, and then reached behind him for his sword and leaned it up against the bed.
She handed him the plaid she’d been using earlier and then fluffed the pillow, moving it to a more central position.
“The stew was good,” she said, attempting to ease the tension.
“Aye. You did a great job.”
“I was nervous. I thought I was stirring it too much.”
“It was perfect.”
She laid back on the bed with a pleased smile. Her hair spread out on the pillow like a bright halo, and his breath stopped. He squeezed his eyes shut…
She trusts me not to take advantage. That means keeping my hands to myself.
He would do this if it killed him.
He laid down beside her, but he was too big and his entire side pressed against hers. He glanced over, hoping she had more room, but she was squeezed tight between him and the wall.
“I’m too big,” he said, sitting up. “I’ll sleep on the floor beside you.”
She sat up too, and he could feel the softness of her breasts against his arm. “Nay, it’s too hard down there. We’ll sleep on our sides.”
He almost groaned at her words. Aye, he was definitely too hard down there.
She laid back down, shifting onto her side toward him, and then tugged at the crook of his elbow. He resisted, his palm squeezing his nape. It would be a challenge being so close to her, but it would also weave them more tightly together. And hopefully build her desire for him. He’d already set it aflame when they’d kissed in the boat. Maybe he could set the embers burning, waiting for him to kiss her once more.
He turned away from her and laid down. He was still too big, and her body curved tightly against his back and arse. Her breath puffed warmly on his neck, setting his skin on fire.
Hell, he was already on fire—every part of him aching, even his teeth. He turned his face into the pillow, not knowing whether he would laugh like a madman or howl like a cat in heat.
Her hands rested between his shoulder blades, and her fingers moved restlessly against his shirt. Then she slowly glided her palm up and over his side until it rested across his chest.
“Is that all right?” she asked. “’Tis a little more comfortable.”
He had to swallow before answering. Still, he sounded gruff. “Aye. ’Tis good.” He raised his hand and clasped hers, weaving their fingers together, and then pressed her palm over his heart.
She sighed quietly, and her body softened against him, causing warmth to spread through his chest. At this moment, with him, she was happy. He bent his head and kissed her knuckles.
For now, that was all he needed.
Fifteen
“You’ve got one!” Kerr yelled as Isobel yanked on her fishing rod and pulled a wriggling fish, caught on the end of her line, out of the water. She swung it toward them with a whoop, and the fish landed with a splat at her feet.
Its speckled body, a dull brown on top with a yellow underbelly, flopped on the creek bank as it gasped for air. She took a quick step back, her hand clamped over her mouth as her enthusiasm waned.
The hook was still caught in the poor creature’s mouth, and she couldn’t help thinking about how much it must hurt.
She’d been so excited this morning when Kerr had woken her to go fishing. It was a beautiful day, and the walk to reach the creek had been invigorating. Once there, she’d impatiently watched and listened as Kerr had shown her how to make a fishing rod.
Finding a worm to bait the hook hadn’t been a problem—she liked digging in the earth and getting dirty, especially when she made one of her traps—but when it came time to push the hook through the worm, she found herself squeamish. The worm had fallen off three times before she succeeded.
Still, that hadn’t prepared her for this…this…horror she felt watching the poor fish suffocating to death at her feet.
Without thinking, she kicked the wretched thing back into the creek.
“Why did you do that?” Kerr asked, grabbing her rod from her. He lifted it and pulled the fish out of the water again. But this time it wriggled loose and fell back into the creek with a splash.
Kerr lowered the rod and shot her a dark look. Guilt swirled through her belly, making her squirm.
“Are you hungry, Isobel?” he asked, his brow pulling low over his eyes.
“Aye.”
“Do you want fish for breakfast?”
She lifted her thumb to her mouth and chewed on her nail, thinking about it. “Is there any stew left?”
“Nay.”
“Do you have oats? Maybe we could have oat cakes?”
“Aye, or maybe we could have trout. Have you ever had brown trout freshly caught and pan-fried over the fire with a touch of salt?”
She shook her head.
“I didnae think so. Otherwise, you would ne’er have kicked that fish back into the water.” He handed her the fishing rod. “If you want to eat, find another worm.”
She wrinkled up her nose, and when he turned back to the creek and cast his own line into the water, she barely resisted making a face at him like she was twelve years old.
Why did I think fishing would be fun?
She sighed and moved to the pile of dirt they’d already dug up to look for a second worm. Behind her, Kerr grumbled, “That was a big one, too.”
“What was I supposed to do…let it suffer?” She pushed her hands into the soil and sifted her fingers through it.
“You could have whacked it on the head. What do you think happens to all the animals that grace your table?”
She didn’t answer. When she found another worm, she stabbed it onto the hook without looking and ended up poking her finger.
“Ow!”
“What happened?” He glanced over at her.
“Nothing.” She rose and recast her line, feeling that same sense of excitement rising again when it plopped into the water. Apparently, she liked catching fish and eating them, just not killing them.
She had thought to ask Kerr to teach her how to hunt too, but if her reluctance to kill a fish was any indication, she doubted she could shoot a deer.
“What other things did you learn to do when you were out in the woods?” she asked.
He shot her a quizzical look. “You mean like hunting?”
“Nay, like…foraging for food or treating an injury. What kinds of things did Gregor teach you?” A familiar mix of wistfulness and resentment sparked in her belly at her question, and she tamped the feeling down.
When she’d been growing up, every year after harvest, Gavin and the other foster brothers had gone to Gregor’s to learn exciting things, useful things, while she’d been expected to stay home and master needlepoint.
The unfairness of that still hurt.
When her mother had died, she’d sworn to never pick up another needle again. Now she learned that darning socks was one of the skills the lads had had to learn. Well, she’d sooner pick up a needle to darn a sock than to decorate a pillow.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Izzy? Are you planning to run away again?”
“Of course not. ’Tis just…there are so many things I doona know. So many things my father and brother failed to teach me. Things my mother didn’t know…like how to make a fire or cook fish.”
“You’ve ne’er laid a fire before? Even with the amount of time you spent in the woods?”
She shook her head, feeling useless again, the same as she had the night before. “The fires at the castles were always pre-laid, and I only had to light them with a candle. I know you use kindling on the bottom to start it, but…is there a trick to it?”
“Sometimes, depending on the wood.” He glanced over at her with an encouraging smile. “At least you know how to use a flint and striker, now.”
Somehow that made her feel worse, and she dropped her chin so he wouldn’t see the shame in her eyes. “I suppose.”
“How about after this, you build the fire and cook the fish for us…if we catch any,” Kerr said.
“Are you certain? What if I burn it?”
“I’ll keep watch. Then afterward, we can walk through the woods and I can show you some other things you should know. Maybe find some berries or apples to eat too.”
“I saw a nest on the way here. I can climb up and look for eggs.”
“Aye, but only if it’s safe. It’s not worth the trouble of falling and breaking a leg.”
She sniffed dismissively. “I’ve had many tough climbs in the woods to lay traps for people. Believe me, it was well worth the danger.”
“You also had your guard with you who could step in if you fell. ’Tis not the same when you’re deep in the woods. Injury is a big concern in the Highlands.”
She felt chastised, and her resentment rose again. “I know that.”
“Do you? Because it took me a long time to learn that when I was a lad.”
“Well, maybe if someone had taught me when I was a lass I would know it by now too.”
She dropped her eyes to hide her anger. She hadn’t been afforded the same training as the men because she was a woman. She hadn’t been afforded a lot of things because she was a woman, and the exclusion still hurt.
Finally, she glanced up and found him watching her.
“Just ask, Isobel,” he said.
“Ask for what?”
“For me to teach you. When you were a lass, you used to beg me and Gavin to take you with us to Gregor’s. I couldnae do it then, but I can teach you whate’er you want to know now.” He reached out and squeezed her chin gently. “Let go of the resentment, dearling, and ask.”
He turned back to the creek, pulled up his line, and then cast it again in another spot. After a moment, Isobel did the same.
He’d said something similar when they were at her trap site—she could ask him anything. Her mind filled with questions and she wanted to blurt them out, but at the same time she didn’t want to seem too eager…as if that would lessen her somehow.
She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. Maybe she needed to delve into her own head before she delved into Kerr’s head.
She scrunched up her brow and decided to start with an easy question. “What else is a big concern in the Highlands, besides injury?”
“Getting lost,” he said without pause. “It’s easy to lose your bearings and end up going in circles for weeks or longer. That’s a much bigger worry than other dangers like wolves or wild boars or coming across brigands.”
She snorted. “Aye, Siv was terrifying as she lay sleeping in my lap.”
A bemused expression crossed his face. “I have ne’er seen a wolf as big or as friendly as her. But doona be fooled if you see another one. Climb the nearest tree as fast as you can. Callum’s wife, Maggie, was lucky to survive when she encountered a pack of wolves on her own. And I’ve seen a boar rip through a hunting dog and almost take off a man’s leg. They’re smart and unpredictable. Unfortunately, brigands can be even worse—especially toward a woman.”
She swallowed and was about to respond when her rod pulled hard in her hands and the line tugged downward. “I’ve got another one,” she yelled excitedly. “Kerr, I’ve got one!”
“Pull it up gently,” he said, but she’d already yanked on the rod.
The fish, also a brown trout, came flying toward her. When its tail flapped right next to her face, she squealed and dropped the rod. The trout hit the ground at her feet, the same as the other one, and flopped around, gasping for breath. Horror and pity seeped through her again.
“Doona even think about kicking this one in.” Kerr quickly put his rod aside and scooped up the wriggling fish. Pressing firmly on the corners of its jaw, he opened its mouth and freed the hook from inside.
He gripped the tail, but then he hesitated and looked up at her. “Do you want to turn around?”
“You’re going to kill it?” she cried.
“Of course I am. We canna eat it alive.”
“Do it quickly, then.”
He crouched down and lifted the fish into the air. But instead of killing it, the trout slipped out of his hands and flew over his head. It landed, flopping on the ground behind him.
Isobel di
dn’t think. Instead, she darted toward it, but Kerr twisted around and grabbed it first, only to have it slide out of his hands. He fell forward as she stepped past him and grasped the fish to throw it back into the creek. But the poor thing was like a greased pig and landed on the edge of the embankment.
Kerr reached for it, but she threw herself over top of him, knee in his spine, to get there first.
He grunted and rolled onto his back, holding her by the waist. Neither one of them could quite reach the fish without dislodging the other.
But Isobel had done enough to save the poor thing, and it flopped over the edge on its own, landing with a splash in the water.
Silence reigned, and then she burst out laughing.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” Kerr grumbled. But she knew he wasn’t angry. She’d heard him use that tone of voice many times when he pretended to be mad at wee Ewan. ’Twas a favorite game they played.
“I should throw you into the creek like that bloody fish,” he continued.
She laughed harder, her elbows digging into his chest as she struggled to get free. He smiled up at her. His hands still clenched her waist, and their bodies were pressed together. Her hair had fallen forward, enclosing them in their own private grotto.
Slowly, her laughter dissipated, and her eyes drifted down to his mouth. They hadn’t kissed—really kissed—since they’d been on the boat, and it became clear by the way his body had hardened beneath hers that he was thinking similar thoughts. She bit her lip and raised her eyes back up, but he was staring at her mouth now.
“Kerr.”
“Aye,” he answered hoarsely.
“You said I could ask you anything.”
He slowly looked up…held her gaze. “Aye, Isobel.”
She let the moment draw out, let the tension in the air build between them. Then she leaned down so her mouth was inches from his. “What’s a lass got to do to get some breakfast around here?”
He sat up with a loud, indignant roar, and she burst out laughing again.
***
Kerr banned Isobel from the creek after that and sent her to find firewood so he could catch their breakfast in peace. She went off happily, Diabhla wandering along behind her, and foraged for berries along the way.
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