Highland Rogue
Page 10
“You’re a composer?”
He almost laughed out loud at the astonishment in her voice. “Aye,” he said, laying the pipes aside. “Though I wasn’t able to stay long enough to learn all I wanted.”
“What happened?” she asked softly.
Quinn stared into the fire. “Back at home, my father couldna make his rent and had been turned out, he and my mother and my brother. They asked Montrose for help, and he said he had enough burden with just one MacIntyre to support.”
“Bastard,” Maggie said, with fire in her voice.
“Aye. I realized, finally, that the only reason he took me on in the first place was that he thought I had a rare talent and that I would be the best piper in all of Scotland one day. It would give him great stature in the eyes of his peers if his piper was the best. My father and brother, angry at his hard-heartedness—my mother was verra ill at the time—began to reive the duke’s cattle. They were caught. They were hanged.”
“Quinn, I’m so sorry.”
He blinked over at her. Somehow she had moved from the fire to his side, her warm hand upon his arm. He gazed into her blue eyes. “After that, I couldna stay at MacCrimmons,of course,” he said, noting the smoothness of her skin and the arch of her brow. “I would no longer take Montrose’s sponsorship.”
“Where did you go?”
He shrugged. “Ian and I—”
“Ian was with you? How did the two of you meet?”
A slow grin spread across his face as he remembered the first time he’d ever seen Ian MacGregor. “Though we are distant cousins by birth, I first met Ian at MacCrimmons.He was a scrap of a lad, skinny and frail. All the lads there, it seemed, wanted to beat him up.”
“Except you,” Maggie said knowingly.
He glanced at her, surprised. “Aye. How did ye know? I defended him, and he will never let me forget it. We have been friends ever since.”
“Did he want to be a piper, too?”
“Aye. We both shared a passion for the pipes.” Quinn leaned his head back and laced his fingers over his chest, fighting the urge to reach for her. “All either of us ever wanted was to be the piper of a clan. I begged him not to come with me when I left, but he wouldna hear of it. I’ll never forget. He said, ‘I am yer brother now.’ ”
For a moment he could not talk, but the silence between them, there in the misty moonlight, was not uncomfortable,but gentle and thoughtful. Her silence encouraged him to continue.
“That is why I must save him, lass. He is all the family I have left.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “We lived where we could for a time, and then Ian suggested we work for his uncle, Rob Roy MacGregor. We were drovers of cattle until my twenty-fifth birthday and then . . .” His voice trailed away.
“What happened then?” she whispered, her words edged in concern.
He frowned slightly, shaking his head. It was still a mystery to him, how it had happened. “I was sitting on a hillside, just like this, playing the pipes. ’Twas the anniversaryof my father’s death and I had composed a new tune in his honor. As I played it, suddenly a rage filled me like none I’d ever known. And just as suddenly, I wanted revenge on Montrose.”
“Shock,” she said. “You were in shock, and eventually the way you really felt pushed through the grief and the numbness and you had to look at it.”
Quinn frowned and turned to stare at her. He’d never met a lass who spoke with such assurance as this one. And her words rang true, though he had never considered that the anger had been inside of him all along.
“Perhaps so. Ian was ready for anything—his father had disowned him when he left MacCrimmons—and so we beganplaying merry havoc with the duke.” He shook his head. “Only the more we have robbed him, the angrier I seem to have become.”
He blinked then and sat up, feeling Maggie’s hand slip away from his arm. What kind of fool was he, to sit and confide his innermost secrets to a lass he scarcely knew, like some schoolgirl? He’d never shared such things with anyone in his life.
“I will check the meat,” he said, rising and moving towardthe fire. He knelt down beside the burning peat and plucked a bit of meat from the spit and tasted it. Almost done.
“How long ago was it that your father and brother died?”
He thought about it. It had been a long time since he’d shared this story with anyone else. “I was nineteen at the time. I am twenty-six now, so—”
“You’re twenty-six?” Maggie asked, her voice filled with surprise.
“Aye. Did ye think me younger?”
She shook her head, looking vastly disturbed. “No, I thought you looked about your age, I guess.”
“How old are ye, lass?”
Her mouth dropped open for a moment and then she closed it and smiled, warily.
“Old enough to know better,” she murmured, and then straightened. “I’m a little, er, younger than you.”
“I thought so. I pegged ye for three-and-twenty. Was I right?”
Her face brightened and her hesitant smile grew into a beautiful beaming gesture. “Yes, you were exactly right,” she said.
“The rabbit is exactly right as well,” he said, lifting the spit from the fire and moving to sit beside her. “Just pull the meat off as ye will, but be careful, ’tis hot.”
She nodded and then peeled a layer of meat and put it in her mouth, chewing tentatively. “It’s better than I thought it would be,” she said. “Sort of like chicken.”
“Now, ’tis yer turn. Tell me about the colonies.”
She glanced up at him, and once again, he felt desire curl in his loins, felt the need to reach out, to take her in his arms. He’d bedded enough women to know that she wanted him, too. Her body fairly shimmered with desire whenever she drew near him, but she had remained very demure and somewhat shy. Perhaps she was a maid, and not knowing him well, was a little afraid.
“Oh, Quinn,” she began, and he blinked, for a moment thinking he must have spoken his feelings aloud, but as she continued, he released his breath in relief. “Can I tell you about the colonies tomorrow? I’m so tired.”
“Of course, lass,” he said. They ate in companionable silence then, until all of the hare had been eaten. Maggie sat licking her fingers, the gesture making him wish he could take her hand in his and do the licking for her.
He arched one brow. And why not? The perfect way to test the waters. He reached over and took her hand, preparedfor the startled look on her face as he did. It seemed that most things he did startled Maggie.
The realization made him slow as he brought her hand to his lips, taking his time, letting his tongue slide across her palm and then capturing first one finger and then the next, the taste of the hare mingling with the salt of her skin.
“Wha-what are you doing?” she whispered.
“I have no cloth to cleanse yer skin,” he said, watching her from beneath his lashes. “And so I offer myself to ye.”
“You—ye do?”
“Aye,” he said, his voice rumbling with pleasure as he painted a wet path around each knuckle of her wee hand. He glanced up at her and pointed to her neck. “And I believethe grease from the cooking must have splattered ye.”
Her hand moved to her throat, but before she could touch her skin, he’d moved closer, slid his arm around her waist and put his mouth to her neck. She shivered at the touch of his lips and then his tongue, and when she did not protest, he kissed the sweet curve of her jaw before moving to possess her mouth.
Ah, it was like nectar, the sweetness of her lips, the gentlesigh that escaped her as he slid his hands to cup her face. Her hands curled around the back of his neck and he grew bolder, parting her lips with his tongue and delving into the warmth she offered.
“And what have we here on this bonny fine evening? A lovers’ tryst?”
Maggie gasped at the sound of the low voice and clutched at Quinn’s shoulders. He whirled as a man stepped out of the shadows of the castle ruins.
The stranger stood
with his hands on his hips, glaring down at them, as one by one, more men appeared on either side of him. As their leader stepped closer, Quinn saw it wasn’t a stranger at all, but an old friend, with anger burningin his eyes.
Carefully Quinn rose from the ground, bringing Maggie with him. He pushed her behind him protectively, keeping one hand clasped in hers. She was trembling with fear and his temper flared.
“Do ye have to scare the lass half to death?” he demanded.
The tall man took another step toward the fire and his face was illuminated, revealing a craggy countenance and a mane of auburn hair lit by the flames in front of him and the rising sun behind.
“So it is ye, Quinn MacIntyre,” he said, his voice rough, taut. “Sitting here twiddling a lassie while my cousin lies dead and unmourned.” His gaze flickered from Maggie back to Quinn. “From what I have heard, ye turned yer back and left Ian to take his chances with Montrose’s men.”
“You’re wrong!” Maggie cried, stepping around Quinn. “That is not what happened.”
“Maggie, stay out of this,” Quinn warned, one hand lifted to keep her back.
“Wrong, am I?” MacGregor shifted his gaze to her, and Quinn tensed. “And who might ye be to question whether I am right or wrong?”
“I’m Maggie Graham,” she said, her voice quavering. “Who the hell are you?”
“Graham?” His blue eyes narrowed.
“She has naught to do with this, Rob Roy MacGregor,” Quinn said, feeling suddenly protective. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to his side. “She is from the colonies and has no knowledge of Montrose.”
“Rob Roy?” Maggie pushed forward again, her eyes wide in the firelight. “You’re the Rob Roy MacGregor?”
The man frowned at her. “Aye, I am Robert Roy MacGregor.”
“Rob Roy,” she said faintly. Quinn frowned and wonderedwhy she had the look of a dazed deer. “Are you real or am I imagining all this?” she asked.
MacGregor glanced at Quinn. “What is the lass talking about?”
“I never know,” he admitted. “I dinna turn my back on Ian,” he went on, keeping his voice steady. “Ian’s horse threw him, and before I could reach him, Montrose’s guards shot him. I thought I would be of more aid to him outside the Tolbooth than inside with him—if indeed, he still lived.”
“And does he live?” MacGregor asked.
Quinn looked away. “In faith, I know not.”
“But it wasn’t Quinn’s fault,” Maggie said.
“Hush, lass,” he admonished. “We were just on our way to the manor to learn if Ian is being held or is—” He broke off.
“Dead,” Rob finished for him.
A pain laced through Quinn’s chest at the thought. "Aye,” he said.
“And so why are ye still standin’ here?” Rob Roy said. “When ye learn the truth, come to me at Craigrostan and we will say what shall be done.”
“What will you do if Ian is dead?” Maggie asked.
Rob Roy smiled down at the woman, but there was steel in his eyes. “Ye have courage, lass, but dinna think that courage will always carry ye, especially when ye are outnumbered.” He turned back to Quinn. “Come to me when ye find out.”
He turned on his heel and strode away. One by one, his men followed him, disappearing into the night until all were gone.
“I think I need to sit down,” Maggie said, and promptly collapsed to the ground.
Quinn knelt beside her. “Are ye all right, lass?”
Maggie nodded, feeling numb. She dragged herself to her feet, leaning on Quinn. “I need to ask you something, and it’s going to sound crazy,” she said. “I mean, daft.”
His brows darted up and a smile played about his lips. “More daft than what ye have said to me already?”
She nodded again. “More daft. Tell me what year this is.”
Quinn frowned. " ’ Tis the year of our Lord, 1711.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt her body start to sag again. Quinn caught her in his arms, and suddenly she knew he was all that lay between her and insanity.
“Lass, are ye ill?”
Maggie opened her eyes. This was impossible. Absolutelyimpossible. But she’d seen Rob Roy MacGregor with her own eyes. Now it all made perfect sense—Quinn’s clothing and his strange speech—yet it made no sense at all.
“Seventeen eleven,” she whispered.
He frowned, and for a moment, she thought she saw real concern in his beautiful green eyes. “Aye,” he agreed.
Maggie nodded. “Of course it is,” she said. “I knew that.”
“We need to ride, lass, if ye are able,” Quinn said.
“Sure,” she agreed faintly. “Whatever.”
Hysteria threatened to overwhelm Maggie as they rode toward the manor house. She was no stranger to panic. During the first months after her parents died, when the realityof it all sank in, she began to suffer from severe anxietyattacks. Luckily, she’d found a therapist who had taught her how to use slow, deep breathing to calm herself.
She used those techniques now, filling her lungs with the moist morning air, letting the scent of wild roses on the breeze waft over her as she slowly released her breath and then inhaled again, and again, until she had stopped shaking.
Okay, this was all still supposition. She had no real proof she had somehow traveled back in time. Back in time. She began to laugh and the hysteria threatened her once again, hovering like some kind of ghostly apparition.
“Lass, are ye all right?”
She couldn’t speak, but she nodded and that seemed to satisfy Quinn. Maggie slowed her breathing again and tried to focus on something that would help ground her— something else the therapist had taught her.
Maggie closed her eyes and pictured the faces of Ellie and Allie, and the small house they had all grown up in near Austin. She thought about Ellie’s dry humor and Allie’s matter-of-fact personality, and her friend, Rachel, dying her hair a different color every other week. They were her family, and her family was her foundation. Just thinking about them gave her a more concrete sense of reality, something she was holding on to with everything inside of her.
The horse beneath them continued to rock Maggie gently as she gazed at the beautifully stark countryside now beginning to glow in the morning’s light. It looked much the same as it had every morning since she had arrivedin Scotland, but not exactly the same: She realized that during the last few days, she’d been so caught up in her “adventure” she hadn’t seen the subtle differences in the world around her. For one thing, there were no paved roads. None whatsoever. And no phone lines, or road signs, or modern buildings of any sort. On her bus ride to the site of the cairn, she’d seen such things, even in the Highlands.
And don’t forget that you just met Rob Roy MacGregor last night.
She closed her eyes against the proof she didn’t want to see. If only she had never come. If only her sisters had never had the crazy idea of sending her on the dig at the cairn.
The cairn.
If she’d traveled back in time, it was logical that no one from the group would have been there, and there would have been no indication of the dig. Perfectly reasonable. She swallowed hard.
Quinn shifted in the saddle behind her, and Maggie realizedshe had placed a large amount of trust in this man. He’d seemed sincere about Ian and his family, but everythinghad changed now, and she didn’t know what—or who—to trust.
Maggie lifted her hand to her lips, remembering the kiss he’d given her. He had rocked her to the core of her being with that kiss. Was it real, or like the Scottish countrysidearound her, just a surreal imitation of life as she had once known it to be?
She reined in her overactive libido. Quinn’s kisses didn’t matter. What mattered was finding a way to get back home again! Her first instincts had been correct—she needed to get back to the cairn. But first, she would make good on her obligations to Quinn. To Ian.
The future wasn’t going anywhere.
As he kept Saint to the shadows and tree line on the edge of the property, he pondered how Maggie had begun to get under his skin in such a short time. Why did the lass affect him so? She was nothing to him, nothing but a means to an end. He tightened his jaw. That was all. Still, he sensed he would need to handle her gently.
The thought of handling Maggie gently brought images to mind that sent a rush of heat through his veins. The kiss they had shared had set up a throbbing in his blood, a need that intensified every time he came near her. He didn’t think he had imagined that the lass felt something for him in return.
Maggie was still asleep when Quinn finally guided Saint into the stables, situated some distance behind Montrose’s home. His friend Bittie would hide them for the night, and at least they would have the warmth of the hay in the loft above the animals. He was taking a big risk, actuallyhiding in the duke’s stables, but the sooner Maggie could begin her work as a servant, the sooner they would learn if Ian was alive.
Bittie didn’t ask questions when Quinn helped the strangely dressed woman off the horse and then bundled her up the ladder to the loft. He laid his extra plaid upon the hay, and she collapsed upon it, dead to the world again before he finished lapping it over her. He sent Bittie on an errand, and when the man returned, he carried a flour sack filled with cheese and bread and a bottle of wine, and a bundle of clothes for Maggie.
Quinn sat down beside her, and the desire he felt every time he looked at the lass flared again. She lay on her side, her legs pulled halfway up to her chest, her small hands folded beneath her chin. Lit by a lantern hanging from a nearby post, her face was like porcelain beneath the dark lashes brushing her skin. Her long red hair was pulled back in a loose braid, but one tendril had escaped and curled across her cheek.