“Then ye’ll be leaving my sorry arse behind. That horse needs a break, and so do ye.”
“I do no’.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop being a child.”
He opened his mouth but no sound emerged. Child? He was being the opposite of a child. He was enduring this bloody sickness in order to get her to safety and the both of them as far from the English as he could. That was not being a child.
“I’m hungry, ye’re hungry, and the horse is surely thirsty and hungry as well.”
He could argue against his hunger because he was too weary and hurt too much to be hungry, but he’d be the worst sort of person to argue against his mount’s needs. Still, it irked him that she was right. Grumbling to himself, he dismounted, none too gracefully, and they walked the horse down some ways before coming to a break in the foliage that led to a small stream. Sinclair dug through the makeshift pouch they’d made out of a blanket and pulled out the leftover bannocks while Colin tended to the horse.
They found a patch of sunlight warming a flat rock and ate there, with the stream at their feet and the thick trees in front of them. It was as close to heaven as Colin could have gotten if not for the damn English at their backs.
He hadn’t seen any soldiers yet, but he had a feeling they were out there. They were everywhere in Scotland right now, rounding up his people to torture and kill them. There were so many wives without husbands and children without parents that it made him sick and furious. He desperately wanted to take Scotland back from the English but he didn’t know how.
Sutherland was fighting the battle in his own way. Graham, the oldest and most respected Highland chief, had called together a dozen or more chiefs in a bid to protect what Highlanders were left. They were all doing what they could except Colin. His one attempt had landed him in an English dungeon. That wasn’t much help to his countrymen.
The problem was that Colin wasn’t trained in much of anything. As a lad, he’d failed at his lessons and had driven his tutors from the manor. He’d never taken his father’s counsel seriously. He’d never taken much of anything seriously except his warrior training. He was good at smuggling. For years he’d run the biggest smuggling operation in Scotland. But bringing illegal goods into the country wasn’t much of an accomplishment.
Beside him, Sinclair looked out over the stream and chewed her bannocks. Colin watched the flex and movement of her jaw and the strong jut of her chin. He watched those lips close over the last of the bannocks and then lick each finger in turn. They were full and rosy, those lips. Her lashes were long and lush and black as midnight, same as her hair. He’d never thought overmuch about a woman’s eyelashes, but Sinclair’s were intriguing.
He pulled his gaze away and mentally kicked himself. Eyelashes. What the hell was that all about?
“Why were ye in the English dungeon?” he asked as he finished chewing.
She concentrated on wiping her fingers on her filthy breeches. She was comfortable in those breeches. So comfortable that it had never occurred to him that she was a woman. That was also intriguing. What led a woman to wear breeches so often that they became a part of her? And what would she look like in a gown? Devastating, more than likely.
“I fought at Culloden,” she said.
Chapter 7
Colin felt as if she’d truly stabbed him with her sgian dubh when she dropped that bit of information into the silence. “Ye fought at Culloden? Yer brother let ye fight at Culloden.” It was more of a statement of disbelief than a question. He’d heard of young boys fighting at Culloden, but a woman? And what brother would allow his sister to go to war? Colin was beginning to think less and less of Evan Sinclair.
Her small shoulders came up in a shrug. “He did no’ know.”
“How the hell did yer brother no’ know ye were fighting in a fierce battle?” Did the man not know how to keep track of his women?
From her silence and the press of her lips, he figured she was disinclined to tell him. “I think ye need to tell me the story,” he said.
“There’s naught to tell. I fought and was captured.”
“I think there’s a hell of a lot more to tell.” Ordinarily, he wouldn’t cuss in front of a woman, but she’d done her share, so he figured it was acceptable. Besides, he thought of her as a woman, but he also didn’t think of her as a woman. It was a strange situation to be in.
“That’s all there is to tell,” she said stubbornly.
“Ye say yer brother did no’ know ye fought. So ye snuck away from him?”
She turned her face and he knew he’d hit on the truth.
“He’s probably mighty furious with ye right about now.”
She pressed her lips together again, and he was pretty damn certain that her chin trembled.
“Did he leave ye to rot in prison?”
“No.”
“Does he think ye perished in the battle?”
“I told ye, he doesn’t know I went to fight.”
“Then where does he think ye are?”
She stood up quickly. “We should go.”
“By yer own judgment, the horse needs a rest. We should wait a bit longer.”
He leaned back on his elbows and let the sun warm his aching body. Damn, but it felt good to sit for a moment. He couldn’t forget that they were running from the damn English and that he had to keep his vigilance, but for just a moment he wanted to enjoy this peace and quiet.
“So tell me where yer brother thinks ye are,” he said.
She spun to face him, and since he was prone and she was standing, he had to look up at her, with one eye closed because the sun was behind her. And what a sight that was, with the sun outlining her lithe form. If there hadn’t been such a fierce scowl on her face, he would have thought she was an angel sent from heaven.
“I don’t know where he thinks I am. I have no’ spoken to him since before the battle.” Her voice wavered, and Colin had to wonder why. There was something she wasn’t telling him.
“Did he survive?” he asked softly.
Again her chin quivered, and sunlight bounced off the tears building in her eyes. A look of intense devastation flitted across her face. She was such a she-wolf most of the time that to see this vulnerability made him want to protect her. Of course, if she could read his thoughts, she’d no doubt have a dagger to his throat in a trice.
“I do no’ know,” she said softly.
“Ah, lass.” He sighed, his own grief overtaking him. He would forever be plagued with the images of that horrific battle and his dying brothers’ expressions.
“Do no’ ‘ah, lass’ me, MacLean. Plenty of people lost brothers and sons and husbands and friends and clan members during that battle. I’m no’ special.”
Yes, she was. But he was damned if he would say so. “True enough,” he said instead.
He wriggled around to get more comfortable. One wouldn’t think a hard rock would be comfortable, but he was outside under the sun and he was free. It was enough. And despite their interesting conversation, he was getting drowsy. It was difficult to keep his eyes open, so he closed them.
“What about ye?” Sinclair asked. Her voice was closer, so he assumed she had sat down beside him.
“What about me?” The sun was so warm and comforting. His body began to relax.
“Did ye lose anyone in the battle?”
His gut tightened. “Two.”
The silence was loud. He could practically feel her mind working.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He grunted because he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want to talk about his brothers. This time the silence was soothing, and before he knew it, he was dozing. His mind told him to wake up, but his body overruled all thought.
The next thing he knew, something was poking him in the side. He shifted away from it and slowly opened his eyes. Sinclair was leaning over him, blocking the sun, her nearly black eyes watching him with half concern, half scowl.
“I
thought ye would never wake up,” she said.
Hers were the darkest eyes he’d ever seen. His gaze slid down to her lips, which were slightly parted and rosy red. Unconsciously, he licked his own lips and watched as her gaze dropped. Her breath hitched.
Slowly, Colin raised his head. He didn’t have to move much, she was that close. By increments, she lowered her head until their lips were so close but not touching. It seemed like forever that they stayed like that, each barely breathing.
He was going to kiss her.
It could be one of the worst decisions of his life, but he didn’t care.
He wanted to kiss her.
He more than wanted to kiss her.
He moved closer until their lips were touching. Hers were cool and moist, and they tasted of the crisp clear stream water.
For a moment she leaned in to him. He had the fleeting thought that she’d never kissed another man and felt a thrill of excitement that he would be her first.
Suddenly, she pulled away, rearing back and jumping to her feet. Colin fell back with a groan and threw an arm over his eyes. He only hoped that she didn’t notice the tenting in his trousers.
“We’ve no time for that nonsense,” she said.
Nonsense? He hardly called it nonsense.
“We’ve spent enough time lollygagging. It’s time to move on.”
With a grimace at all of his aches and pains—including the one in his groin—Colin pushed himself up and stood. “Nonsense and lollygagging,” he grumbled.
Sinclair went off to fetch the horse.
With his hands on his hips, he stared into the trees and lectured himself on his bad behavior. Kissing Sinclair was bad. Wanting to kiss her was bad. Well, not bad if he didn’t act on it.
No. That was bad, too.
Instead of kissing her or thinking about kissing her or wanting to kiss her or doing anything remotely related to kissing her, he needed to think about getting her to her brother and what he was going to do next.
But that left him feeling empty.
Sinclair had her brother and her family.
Colin had nothing.
Hell, even Sutherland had a woman.
Colin had no family left.
Except his clansmen. But more than likely, they wanted nothing to do with him.
He blew out a breath as Sinclair walked the horse into the clearing.
Every time he thought of his home and his clansmen, he felt hollow. Even though he was now their chief, he was sure they hated him. He didn’t know the first thing about running a clan. But he did know that abandoning his people wasn’t the act of a leader. His father and his brothers would be rolling in their graves right now if they knew that Colin hadn’t been home in a month and the only reason he desired to return now was to check on his smuggling operation.
“Stop yer woolgathering and get up on yer horse.”
Colin turned to a scowling Sinclair. She did scowl a lot.
“Woolgathering and lollygagging. Ye sure do have a bad opinion of me, don’ ye, Sinclair?”
Her scowl deepened. “We need to go before the damn English find us and we’re thrown back in that damn dungeon.”
She motioned to the horse with an impatient wave and a lift of her brows. Colin mounted, then waited while Sinclair hopped up behind him. Her slim arms went around his waist, and he had to physically stop the tremor that ran through his body.
He barely felt her weight on the horse, but he was acutely aware of her presence, and it distracted him far more than it should have. She was nothing but a foul-mouthed, dictatorial woman. Who felt particularly nice and warm at his back.
By the time they got moving, the sun was making its descent. They’d spent far too long beside the stream, though he would rather fall on his broadsword than admit that out loud. Besides, the horse was now fresh, and that was all that mattered.
It was best to travel through the night, anyway. That would get them to Sinclair land by late morning. It would also keep them out of the way of the enemy. He was almost positive that any soldiers wouldn’t be out and about in the wee hours of the night.
It didn’t occur to him to share his plans with Sinclair, so he was surprised when, late into the evening, she demanded they stop.
“Hell and damnation, woman, but ye like to take yer time, don’ ye? I’d think ye’d want to get to yer home quick-like.”
“I’d like to get to my home with feeling in my bum, if ye do no’ mind. Besides, nature is calling.”
Colin sighed and reined the horse to a stop in the middle of the path. He rolled his eyes, then decided he’d spent far too long in her company because he was rolling his eyes almost as much as she did.
“This is it?” Sinclair asked. “Right here?”
Colin looked around in mock seriousness. “I do no’ see an available inn or tavern, so yes, this is it.” He waved toward the dense trees. “Do yer business and be quick about it.”
Grumbling, Sinclair slid off the horse and disappeared into the trees. Colin bit back a smile. Damn, but he was beginning to like the lass more and more. He’d never met a woman like her—full of sass, wearing breeches, and wielding a weapon. He wasn’t sure if Evan Sinclair had meant to raise his sister this way, but Colin was almost glad he had. Almost glad, because she could be a thorn in his side with her sharp tongue and inability to let him lead.
He was just about to wade into the trees after her when he heard voices off to his left that made him go still and cock his head to hear better. They were in the middle of MacKenzie land, almost to the border of Sutherland territory, but he was almost certain those were English voices he was hearing.
Damn.
He’d been so sure that the English were billeted for the night and that he and Sinclair could travel without issues.
Silently, Colin slid off the horse and led him into the trees where Sinclair had disappeared minutes before. A man laughed softly while another continued to speak. They were getting closer.
He bumped into Sinclair and grabbed her shoulders with one hand while putting a finger to his lips with his other. She nodded, her dagger already out. He admired her for being alert and ready at any given moment, and he found that even though he’d not seen her tested, he trusted her skills.
They slowly, quietly backed into the trees as the voices became louder.
There were four of them. Colin had never seen any fewer than four traveling together. Three were on foot and one was on horseback.
Colin froze, recognizing the one on horseback. Beside him, Sinclair sucked in an almost silent breath. Colin leaned against her in a silent plea for her to remain quiet, but he needn’t have worried. Sinclair was an excellent warrior and didn’t give their presence away.
The man on horseback was looking around, his gaze going from one side of the path to the other.
Abbott.
Colin yearned to rush him, to pull him off his horse and beat him as senseless as he had beaten Colin on numerous occasions. It was unheard of for a captain to be out in the Scottish countryside with just three foot soldiers as companions. Clearly, he was looking for Colin, relentless in carrying out his personal vendetta.
Colin knew he could easily pick them off one by one. The only vigilant one was Abbott, but he was paying no mind to the quiet one in the back. Oh, how satisfying it would be to gut the other three and watch Abbott’s realization that he was alone in the Scottish countryside. Alone and at Colin’s mercy.
Alas, what would it serve? There’d be one or three fewer English soldiers on Scottish soil, but there would also be a whole host of English soldiers looking for him and Sinclair. He didn’t need the sort of trouble that Abbott’s death would cause. Eventually, he would eliminate Abbott—Colin need only to wait him out.
Beside him, Sinclair watched the four with a calm expression, her dagger held confidently in her hand as if it were a part of her. Her gaze flickered to his, then back to the soldiers as they moved on down the path.
When they were far
enough away, Colin released the pent-up breath that had his shoulders in knots.
“We could have easily taken them,” she whispered as she sheathed her dagger.
“To what end?” Colin breathed deep. It hurt his chest, and his body still ached, but he was alive, and that was a far sight better than the alternative. He looked longingly in the direction of Abbott and allowed himself one moment of regret for an opportunity missed before dismissing it as a foolish notion. Abbott alive meant Colin alive. He looked at Sinclair out of the corner of his eye and admitted that it meant she stayed alive as well. As long as she was in his care, he had to act responsibly.
And what an odd realization that was for him.
“What the hell took ye so long?” he asked a bit abrasively. He was the biggest numpty around for taking his anger out on her, but that didn’t stop him.
Sinclair glared at him. “It’s no’ as easy for a woman as it is for a man to piss while wearing breeches.”
For a moment Colin was speechless at her raw language, and then he said, “Does yer brother know ye talk like that?”
“Who do ye think taught me?”
Chapter 8
The closer they got to the Sinclair holding, the more nervous Maggie became. What if Evan wasn’t there? What if he was dead? What if he was alive and furious with her and wouldn’t allow her back home?
The last thought scared her almost more than the alternative. Evan had always been soft when it came to Maggie, but she knew there was a breaking point, and she feared she might have hit it with this last childish stunt. If Evan turned his back on her, she would be devastated. And she would be homeless.
“Stop yer damn fidgeting,” MacLean growled.
She stopped shifting but it was difficult to keep still. Her bum had gone numb long ago and her legs ached, but she would be damned if she complained. She’d shocked MacLean with her cursing, and he’d said hardly anything since then. Part of her was embarrassed that she’d cursed, and part of her was angry that she was embarrassed that she’d cursed. Part of her wanted this damn thing to be over with, and part of her wanted it never to end, because despite their bickering, she’d grown rather fond of Colin MacLean.
MacLean's Passion: A Highland Pride Novel Page 5
