The Highland Chieftain

by Amy Jarecki

  Draping his arm over his eyes, Dunn let out a deep breath. He’d brought Her Ladyship to the Cavern of the Fairies to keep her safe from the soldiers, but it didn’t take a seer to know Cromartie would be angry. The sooner Dunn returned Lady Mairi to Castle Leod, the better chance there was to keep relations amicable between Clan MacRae and Clan MacKenzie.

  Had there been another way, or were my actions selfish?

  True, he’d started out doing the right thing by taking her back to Urquhart Castle grounds, but the dragoons had made chase. If Dunn had tried to face them—or even reason with them, there was every chance Lady Mairi would have been in even greater danger. If Dunn hadn’t acted swiftly, they both might be lying dead beside those rutting bastards who had tried to force the lass.

  Dunn groaned.

  Blast Cromartie. If he calls me out, then so be it. I acted in the lady’s best interest. Soldiers made chase. I had no option but to run.

  And no matter how much he wanted to rise from his pallet and cradle Lady Mairi in his arms, he would remain in his place and carry out his duty for the MacKenzie, just as his family had done for centuries. Her Ladyship was kin to Reid Seaforth and therefore under the protection of his sword.

  Honor. I will act honorably toward Her Ladyship and I will see her home safely. I vow it on my father’s grave.

  Chapter Seven

  Lady Mairi slept soundly, her breathing barely audible as Dunn stood over her. He hated to wake the lass, but they had a long day’s ride ahead. He also loathed leaving the Cavern of the Fairies, but no matter how much he wanted to keep Her Ladyship with him, it was time to take her back to her father. She wasn’t Dunn’s woman and never would be. He needed to go back down the mountains and face his lot. Up in the Highlands, it was too easy to lose sight of reality.

  Dunn clenched his fists at his sides. “M’lady,” he said with authority. “’Tis time we set out.”

  She stretched with a wee moan and then opened her eyes. “My heavens!” Startled, she clutched the blanket under her chin. “Do you always loom over people when you wake them?”

  Blast it all, he’d spent the better part of a half hour trying to think of how best to rouse the woman. God forbid if he’d bent down and touched her shoulder. But then again, he was a large man, perhaps a bit beastly looking, especially with the beard that had grown in overnight. He moved toward the mouth of the cave. “I’ve left some oatcakes and a flagon of water near the fire. Once you’ve seen to your…ah…needs, we’d best set out on our journey.”

  She gave a nod, still watching him from beneath the bedclothes—rough as they may be. The daughter of an earl should not be sleeping on a pallet in a cave, of all places. Dunn strode toward the horses, admonishing himself for not finding an inn.

  But that would have been perilous.

  He tightened the girth on the lead mare’s saddle.

  Perilous for me or her?

  Unsure, he moved to the gelding he’d chosen for Mairi to ride. There were too many unanswered questions, and the only way to learn about the outcome of the skirmish at Urquhart Castle was to go down to the glens and ask. Had the government dragoons been victorious? Surely their captain had been informed by someone who wanted to cause a stir—possibly smear the name of the nobles present. There were Jacobites and royalists alike at the games. The soldier had told Mairi the Earl of Sutherland’s man had informed the garrison of a Jacobite gathering.

  Why? Who’s feuding with Sutherland?

  Perhaps Sutherland held everyone in low esteem. He was a flaming royalist. The earl made clear his politics at every gathering—which is why Dunn steered clear of the man.

  Nonetheless, when they rode down to the glens this day, he would need to be vigilant, especially with Her Ladyship in his care.

  By the time Dunn had the horses saddled and the remaining food packed and stowed in the saddlebags, he was in more of a quandary than he’d been when he started. Things between royalists and Jacobites had been relatively amicable since Queen Anne’s ascension to the throne. Though not the true male heir, Her Majesty was still born from the Stuart line. But with her declining health and failure to produce an heir, tensions between the two factions were growing, and Dunn had no doubt they would come to a head upon the queen’s death. Nobles like Cromartie who played the fence would soon be forced to choose a side.

  And Dunn feared civil war. Honestly, he preferred the company of nobles like Seaforth who were sound in their politics, who didn’t change with the whims of whoever assumed rule in London.

  With the horses saddled and ready to ride, Dunn paced outside the cave. And paced. Just when he was about to head back inside to offer assistance, Mairi made an appearance. She’d braided her hair and smoothed out her skirts, and carried her head high. Heaven help him, she looked like a princess.

  He smiled to himself. If anything, this mishap had reignited the fire in her breast. She’d appeared so melancholy at the gathering, Dunn had worried. He’d prayed Seaforth hadn’t extinguished her spirited nature for good—Dunn never should have doubted. Lady Mairi had a spine of steel. She would bounce back from any adversity. It was just a matter of time.

  “You look lovely this morn, m’lady.”

  She patted her hair. “And you are very good at stretching the truth, Mr. MacRae.” Blessing him with a smile, she continued, “If my father were here, he would be aghast at the state of my gown and my disheveled locks.”

  Then thank God the earl isn’t present.

  Dunn stooped to help her mount.

  Taking in a sharp breath, she placed her hand on his shoulder. “Would…?”

  “Are you troubled?” he asked, straightening.

  “No.” She covered her mouth. “Aye…ah…” Blushing, she cringed.

  Oh, how the rose in her cheeks made his heart flutter. “Do you not like this mount?”

  “’Tisn’t that.” Gulping, she looked toward the path. “Must we ride out along that dangerous cliff?”

  Dunn frowned to prevent himself from smiling. The lass was afraid of heights. “Och, some of the toughest of men grow a bit anxious when riding along the ledge.” He swiped his hand across his mouth. “Would you feel more content making the crossing with me? I’m as steady as an iron rod.” Now he was probably turning red, as an entirely different picture filled his mind. Jesu.

  After he mounted behind her and took up the reins, his mind totally ran amok. Having the crescent of Lady Mairi’s hip nestled against his loins made his blood thrum while he studied the woman’s delicate, slender, undeniably kissable neck.

  Good Lord, as they ambled along, the woman’s fragrance alone drove him mad—sweet, floral, and sensual. Every eager part of his body touched her. Strands of hair that had come loose from her braid danced around his face. Her back nestled into the cradle he made by reaching around and holding the reins. His arm rested in the arc of her waist and, though she sat aside like a lady, her shapely buttock rubbed him in the most sinful place of all. Dunn ground his teeth, recited sums in his head, tried to remember the twenty-third psalm, but nothing stopped the surge of desire making him hard, making him want her with every fiber of his being.

  She shifted her seat, and a tortured moan came through Dunn’s throat.

  Turning her face toward him, she looked up with the purest, most ethereal blues he’d ever had the pleasure of gazing upon. “Are you uncomfortable?”

  Aye. I’m bloody well losing my mind. He cleared his throat. “Not at all.”

  If he dipped his chin a mere six inches, he’d be able to capture that bow-shaped mouth with a kiss. A bone-melting, fire-igniting, passionate kiss. A kiss that could lead to so much more. Hands touching, caressing. The discarding of clothes. The erotic sensation of flesh against flesh, of taut nipples, of heady, steamy, wet—

  “Mr. MacRae?”

  He blinked. “Aye,” he said, his voice sounding like the lowest note from a pipe organ.

  She gestured to the path. “We’ve crossed the perilous shelf. Would y
ou be more comfortable if I shifted to my own mount?”

  Again, he regarded her eyes, though this time too many inappropriate words came to his lips. Licking them, he pondered. “It is not my comfort that is in question, m’lady. But I am sure you will appreciate the freedom of commanding your own reins.”

  ’Tis confirmed. I have gone completely mad.

  For the second time since they had started out on their journey, a hint of disappointment flashed across her face, though she looked away before Dunn could be sure. Regardless, his musings had been entirely inappropriate. Her Ladyship needed to shift to the other mount simply for his sanity. Besides, by dusk they would part ways, and it might be eons until he saw the lass again. In fact, Cromartie could have her married off to a duke or a foreign prince by then.

  Curse him to Hades.

  Having plunged into a foul mood, Dunn reined the mare to a stop.

  * * *

  They’d been riding for at least two hours when Mr. MacRae took a detour up another crag. The man knew of more lookouts than a hawk. At least he was being careful and, if Mairi’s luck hadn’t run its course, it would be dark before they reached Castle Leod. She sincerely hoped there would be a cave filled with comfortable furs nearby. Mairi was still unable to believe she had spent an entire night alone in a cave with a man. Not just any man, but the champion of the Highlands. A laird. The great and powerful chieftain of Clan MacRae.

  How scandalously delicious.

  The wee scandal was almost juicy enough to make her forget being cast aside by Seaforth. In fact, she’d managed not to feel sorry for herself for an entire day. Who cared what the gossips might say? By the queen’s knees, Da would be irate, even though nothing untoward had happened. As Mairi expected, Mr. MacRae had behaved as a gentleman ought. That rough, rugged man who looked like a dastardly scoundrel had protected her virtue and saved her from ruination by those vulgar dragoons. He’d fought for her and fed her, and had provided her with a comfortable night’s sleep—and in a cave, atop a pallet with a fire crackling at her back.

  The past day had been akin to living in a fairy tale.

  If only it didn’t have to end. She sighed. How can I set Da’s mind at ease? He would never understand how gracious Mr. MacRae had been. Her father might even go so far as to hold an inquisition.

  “Blast,” Mr. MacRae cursed, cuing his horse to a halt.

  “What is it?” Mairi trotted her horse beside him.

  “A blockade of government troops—right at the river confluence, the bastards.” He pointed down the slope, then cringed. “Pardon my language, m’lady. I reckon they’re looking for us.”

  “Do you think they mean to do us harm?”

  “Do me harm, aye.” He glanced her way. “Most likely not you.”

  “They certainly tried to harm me just one day past.”

  He gestured east to a crofter working a scythe in a paddock around the river bend from the soldiers. “Perhaps the farmer can tell us what the dragoons are up to.”

  Though the crofter looked to be miles away, once they arrived at the bottom of the hill, it didn’t take long to reach him.

  “Hello, friend,” called Mr. MacRae. “We saw a blockade at the crossing. Do ye ken for what the dragoons are searching?”

  The man leaned on the handle of his scythe and squinted at them with a severe expression. “They’re looking for hellions from yesterday’s gathering at Urquhart.” His lips pulled back in a semblance of a smile, revealing two missing front teeth. “I reckon they’re leading the bastards straight to the gallows, beg your pardon, miss.”

  Mairi pursed her lips. The crofter was vile.

  Mr. MacRae pulled a coin from his sporran and held it up. “Are they searching for anyone in particular?”

  “You’ll need a lot more than a half crown.” The man’s fingers tightened around his scythe. “There’s a purse of fifty guineas on the head of the MacRae laird.”

  Mairi’s jaw dropped. “That is absolutely absurd.”

  “Ye ken MacRae?” the man asked, his gaze narrowing and darting back and forth between them. “You’re Lady Mairi, are you not? Aye. They said the lass has red hair—and you.” He pointed to her savior. “Ye look like the rogue they described.”

  “You are mistaken,” Mr. MacRae said as he sidled his horse closer to Mairi. Good Lord, he had a murderous glint in his eye.

  Snarling, the man lunged toward the chieftain, raising the scythe. “And I reckon you’re the bloody bastard!”

  Dunn’s horse reared. Dodging the weapon, he pulled the mare’s head around. “You’re mad!”

  “Soldiers,” the crofter shouted, running for the river. “I found him. I won the fifty guineas! He’s here!”

  “Damn him to hell.” Snatching Mairi’s bridle, MacRae slammed his heels into his mare’s barrel. “Gallop for the hills!”

  Mairi’s heartbeat raced while she kicked with all her might and slapped her horse’s rump. She was a skilled horsewoman, but Dunn rode like a man possessed. His mount gained ground as they galloped for the shelter of the forest.

  Crack! A musket fired from the rear.

  Mairi flattened her body over the horse’s mane. “Help!”

  The big chieftain glanced back. “Jesus Saint Christopher Christ!” With a flick of his reins, the horse spun in a half turn. He circled in beside her. “Kick,” he bellowed, reaching for the bridle.

  “I am.” Mairi bore down and rapped her heel while using her reins as a whip. “I cannot ride as fast as you. Not when my legs are aside.”

  Crack! Another musket fired—farther away this time.

  Together they plunged into the concealment of the wood while Dunn demanded more speed. About a mile in, he released his grip on her bridle. “Can you handle your mount from here?”

  She glanced back, listening for muskets and shouting. When she heard none, she gave a nod. “Aye.”

  “Keep pace. If you fall behind, give a shout.”

  “Where are we heading?” A clap of thunder boomed above, making her blood run cold. Holy Moses, they were on the run from dragoons and now the heavens decided to open?

  “The only place the English will not find us.”

  Unable to help herself, Mairi grinned while her heart fluttered. They might be caught in a storm. There might be an entire army making chase, but she was still with Dunn MacRae. And if anyone could evade disaster, be it man or weather, it was the big Highlander. Rain began to pelt her face, and yet she remained in high spirits. Och aye, Mairi trusted this man to her very bones.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time they arrived at the dreaded shear-faced crossing, Mairi was soaked through. It seemed as if they’d been riding in circles for ages. Worse, she was completely lost—didn’t even know north from south. That was until she spied the cliff face. Her teeth chattered as she pulled her mount to a halt. “Surely y-you don’t mean to cross in this horrible squall,” she said, blinking rain from her eyes.

  Mr. MacRae shot a dark-eyed look over his shoulder, one she was growing accustomed to. “It will be fine. Besides, we must reach shelter. You’ll catch your death if we do not stoke the fire and dry your gown.”

  She didn’t care if it started snowing. Mairi wasn’t about to ride across a narrow shelf in the pouring rain. “I hate that there’s no other path to the cave. Please, I can’t make that crossing again.”

  He turned his horse to face her and rested his arms on the mare’s withers. “We can climb up and around, but ’tis an hour’s ride.”

  She ran a hand over her face. Goodness, she was cold, but being miserable for an hour trumped tumbling into the black abyss. Not even a wildcat could keep its footing on that narrow shelf in the rain. “Why did you not tell me that in the first place?”

  “Because taking that route makes no sense at all.”

  “Well, it makes sense to me. Not falling off the cliff to my death is a very good reason.”

  With a grumble, he led her into the thick wood along a route that was no
more than a game trail. True to his word, the ride around took a good hour. All the while the storm grew worse with rain pelting down in sheets. It poured so hard, Mairi was scarcely able to see Mr. MacRae in front of her, and God forbid she lose sight of him. She would be lost forever.

  When they finally descended the wee hill by the waterfall, a chill cut through Mairi’s flesh all the way to the bone. Barely able to grip the reins, her entire body shook. Her teeth rattled with incessant chattering.

  As soon as they stopped, Mr. MacRae dismounted and strode straight to her side. “I kent it wasn’t a good idea to ride around. Look at you, m’lady. You’ll be lucky not to catch your death.”

  “I-I’ll be right,” she said through freezing lips while he pulled her into his arms. “F-f-fire.”

  “We’ll see you warmed in no time. I just hope ’tis not too late.”

  Mairi curled into Dunn’s warmth. Goodness, he was as drenched as she, yet he felt warm as a brazier.

  Cradling her as if she weighed nothing, he hastened inside the cave and set her on the seat of fur. “’Tis a good thing we have dry wood to burn.” He stirred the coals, coaxing up a wee flame, then added a stick of wood and blew like a bellows until the fire leaped across the timber.

  Mairi rubbed her hands. “It feels warm already.”

  “Och, you ought to be reunited with your da by now,” he said gruffly, looking angry. “I should have thought back at the river. If I’d left you with the soldiers—”

  “I beg your pardon?” she interrupted. “It was soldiers who attacked me in the forest just one day ago. Vile, corrupt dragoons.”

  “Jesu. I ken, but I do not reckon the soldiers at the roadblock would have behaved so improperly.” He stacked more wood on the fire.

  “You think not? The crofter said there were fifty guineas on your head. What would they have done if they’d caught me? Beat me until I showed them how to find this cave?” She shook her head vehemently. “I would have followed you. Not them.”