The Highland Chieftain

by Amy Jarecki

  She looked as if she were about to deliver an angry retort but, as she drew in a breath, concern filled her eyes. “Good heavens, Mr. MacRae, your head is bleeding.”

  He touched the tender spot where he’d hit his noggin, and let out a wee hiss. “Och, when I heard you scream, I ran out of the cave so fast, I forgot to stoop.” He looked at his fingers, and they came back covered with blood.

  “Daft Highlander, now you’re the one who needs tending.” She grasped his arm and led him to the lagoon, as if oblivious to the fact that her chemise was wet and sheer as glass.

  “Pay no mind to me,” he groused. “You’d best go inside and remove your wet garment—put on some dry clothes afore the cold chills you to the bone.”

  “And what about you? I can hear your teeth chattering, sir.” She tugged his arm. “Now kneel down so I can have a look at your head.”

  “Bloody, bleeding hell. If you insist, m’lady.” Feeling like a clod, he dropped to one knee and leaned forward.

  “’Tis difficult to believe you can sustain such an injury, as hardheaded as you are.” Mairi stood over him and examined his head. She tore a bit of cloth from her hem and leaned close, swabbing the blood. The neckline of her chemise dropped open, giving him a much undeserved eyeful of creamy swells. Dunn moaned aloud.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  Jesu, how could a man feel pain when presented with such beauty? “Nay,” he said, rubbing his fingertips together, sensing the petal softness. “But I reckon you’d best heed me and don your kirtle, Mairi.” His voice was deep and soft and filled with want, and he’d called her her familiar name for a reason. “You may not ken, but you’re tempting me something fierce. I’ve sworn to protect you and your clan, but I’m still a man, flesh and blood, and the damp chemise clinging to your—ah—clinging to so very much of you is driving me to the brink of insanity.”

  Mairi’s hand stilled. Straightening, she took a step away. Looking down and back up, her eyes filled with shock. She dropped the cloth. A gasp squeaked from her throat as she quickly snapped her arms across her chest.

  Dunn dropped to his arse as he watched her dash back to the cave, a knot the size of his fist spreading in his chest. He balled the cloth and pressed it against his skull. Christ, when it comes to Lady Mairi, why must I always shove my goddamned boot in my mouth?

  * * *

  Mortified, Mairi dashed into the cave, grabbed a fur, and pulled it tightly around her shoulders. Of course she didn’t make a practice of bathing in her chemise, but it was what she wore when she swam in the loch at home—though never in the company of men. Curses. At least she was wearing something. She’d even thought it a prudent precaution.

  And why had he awakened? The man should have been fast asleep. It had been nearly dawn when he’d returned. By all rights, he should still be slumbering wrapped in deer hide. Besides, Mairi would have finished bathing before he’d run to her rescue if it weren’t for the slippery soap.

  My daft butterfingers.

  The bar had flown from her hands like a frog leaping from a lily pad into the water.

  I shouldn’t have cried out. That’s what woke him, no doubt.

  Mairi didn’t mean to scream, the noise just blurted from her throat.

  And now Mr. MacRae thinks me a harlot.

  She bit her knuckle and paced around the fire. How could she ever face him again? How could she look him in the eye?

  And why did he not say something sooner?

  He was looking straight through her chemise the whole time she tended his head wound. No wonder he appeared so out of sorts. He was too busy staring.

  And then I was too daft to notice.

  She looked outside.

  I hope he’s all right.

  It was odd that while she’d been pacing in the cave, she hadn’t heard him mulling about…or cursing. Mr. MacRae had proved quite adept at cursing. Should she head back out to the loch?

  A shudder coursed across her skin. She’d tempted him, for heaven’s sake. She absolutely should not go outside until she was good and dry.

  After fanning the hem of her chemise over the fire, she sat in the chair and pulled the fur tighter around her shoulders. Mairi needed to think—needed to sort out the hundreds of thoughts swirling around in her head, and there was nothing more soothing than staring at a fire while one tried to piece her feelings together.

  She wished she could run home—hop on a horse and gallop for Castle Leod, but then she’d have to cross the terrifying rock shelf with the mortifying drop. If lucky enough to make it over without falling to her death, she’d then have to face at least one barricade of dragoons, possibly more—vile, disrespectful ravagers of helpless maids. Nay, running was not an option.

  Mairi would need to swallow her pride—pretend nothing had happened. As the daughter of an earl, she could play the part of an aloof noblewoman. She’d been bred to it. All she needed to do was follow her father’s example and the whole debacle would be forgotten. Truly.

  No doubt Mr. MacRae would be a gentleman and not mention it again.

  Mairi cringed and looked out through the vines. Even if she pretended to be aloof, she knew. He knew. And the whole incident was humiliating.

  The flames danced while she conjured his face in her mind’s eye—the one filled with pain when he said, I’m still a man, flesh and blood. And that she was driving him to the brink of insanity.

  Him? Gruff Mr. MacRae with the brooding eyes is affected by me?

  All this time, Mairi had believed he had taken pity on her and offered his hand in marriage because of Seaforth’s actions. Never once did she think he liked her. Heavens, he always looked at her with a scowl. If anything, she assumed he disliked her. Come to think of it, he always looked serious, no matter to whom he was speaking.

  Mairi drummed her fingers on her lips. Mr. MacRae was rather attractive in a rugged sort of way. His hawkish eyes never missed a thing. Always shifting, watching, calculating. Midnight blue, so dark they were almost gray. His heavy eyebrows made his appearance all the more menacing.

  Deep in his heart, I believe he’s kind.

  Suddenly, Mairi clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Poor Mr. MacRae had looked so bewildered when she’d insisted she wasn’t drowning. The look on his face was delightfully amusing, though she’d never admit the fact to him.

  “Mairi?” She jolted as his deep burr rumbled from outside.

  Chapter Ten

  I wish you would allow me to take another look at your head. You might need leeches,” Lady Mairi said as she followed Dunn on a brisk walk through the forest. They’d soon need more food, and they weren’t going to find any game splashing around in the lagoon.

  “I don’t need bloody leeches,” Dunn groused.

  Och aye, the last thing he could tolerate was having Her Ladyship hover over him again. He doubted he’d ever be able to withstand her being so near without going mad while he tried not to look into those shiny blue eyes. Tried not to inhale too deeply lest he breathe in her intoxicating fragrance, a scent that made his hands itch to touch her, to pull her into his body and devour her with kisses.

  Kissing. The mere thought made his knees buckle.

  God bless it, Lady Mairi is not for the likes of me!

  Dunn surged ahead, pushing branches out of the way and holding them so they wouldn’t whip back and smack the lass in the face.

  “But the healer says—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse what the healer says. And you ought to stop worrying about me and pay attention to the task at hand.”

  “Hunting?”

  “Aye—we’re setting a snare.” He glanced over his shoulder. Mairi’s hair was mussed with a wee twig sticking out the side. Even then, she was as adorable as a pixie. “Have you ever set a snare, m’lady?”

  “I cannot say that I have.”

  He didn’t think so. “How on earth have you survived one and twenty years without learning? ’Tis a basic skill for survival.” />
  “Oh?” she asked shrilly. “Oddly, I have never seen a snare in the halls of Castle Leod.”

  “My oath, you have been cosseted, have you not?” he asked, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  “I suppose.” She stopped, her voice filling with hurt. “Why wouldn’t I be? Ye ken my da. You’ve been to my home. What on earth do you expect of me?”

  Dunn stopped and ran his knuckles across the itchy stubble on his face. It wasn’t the lassie’s fault she was protected from the ways of the world. He’d seen it time and again. Highborn ladies were bred for a life of privilege and not taught a damned thing about how to care for themselves. Aye, they could read, sew, and embroider. Some were good at archery—when shooting at a target. But he’d never met a noblewoman who knew how to prepare oatcakes over a fire, gut a fish, set a snare, or wash clothes in a river. Not that he expected Lady Mairi to do any of those things, but it would behoove her to know how.

  Still, he’d been abrupt with her. He knew it. He was always abrupt when it came to Her Ladyship. If he behaved in any other way and let his true feelings come through, she might laugh at him—shun him again. Grousing, he softened his tone. “Forgive me, m’lady. There aren’t many things you need to concern yourself with, but I believe that it is important for anyone to ken how to survive in the wild. What if you were riding in a coach that threw a wheel, and you had no food and were subsequently forced to sleep in the open?”

  She moved her hands to her hips. “Believe it or not, that did happen once on the way to Inverness.”

  “And what did you eat?”

  “Well, Cook had packed a basket.” Mairi dropped her hands to her sides. “But by the time we reached Inverness there was nothing left and I was hungry.”

  “You see? Snare setting is a skill everyone should learn. You ran out of food, and if you hadn’t reached Inverness, you would have needed sustenance. Just like now—the morsels remaining from those I brought back from Mr. Grant’s larder will not last.”

  “Like defending oneself from attack?”

  “Indeed.” That was another thing he’d promised Her Ladyship—teaching her to defend herself from a knife attack. How could he manage such a task without touching the lass?

  Moving along, he spied a rabbit warren with plenty of fresh droppings to indicate wee bunnies must be milling about. “Look there.” He pointed. “What do you see?”

  She bent down. “Holes…rabbit holes for certain.”

  “You are correct.”

  She turned in a circle. “Is this where we set the snare?”

  “Nearby.” He led her into the scrub a few paces, pulled a leather thong from his sporran, and handed it to Mairi. “Hold this.”

  He found a sapling, bendable enough for the spring. He found two sticks, carved notches in both, and made a spike out of the end of the thickest one. Using the butt of his dirk, he drove the spike into the ground. “Now hand me the thong,” he said, reaching for it.

  “What will you do with it?” she asked.

  He tied a knot around the second stick while he gestured to the sapling with his head. “See the wee tree?”

  “Aye.”

  “It will act as our whip.” Grabbing it about five feet up, he tied the thong around the trunk, then pulled the strip down and secured the notches of the two sticks. Once sure the trigger would hold in place, he gestured to the remaining length of leather. “Make a slipknot at the end.”

  “I can do that.” Mairi smiled as if thrilled to be of help—aye, no matter how much Dunn wanted to believe it, the lass was not an unbending noblewoman. When finished, she held up her handiwork. “There.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Truly?”

  “Aye, m’lady. I never say anything I do not mean.” He grinned. “Now pull the cord through the slipknot you made and make a circle about eight inches in diameter.”

  Biting her bottom lip, she quickly complied.

  “All right then.” Dunn gingerly released his fingers from the trigger. “Let us see if it works.”

  Mairi clapped her hands. “How?”

  He picked up another stick and handed it to her. “Tap the inside of the circle ever so slightly.”

  When she did, the sapling snapped up so fast, the lass must have jumped five feet. She gaped at him with eyes as round as silver sovereigns—eyes as bonny as a midsummer sky. “It worked!”

  His damned heart fluttered. “Did you doubt me, lass?”

  She glanced at the stick in her hand. “Nay…I, well, I might have done something wrong.”

  “Not at all.” Hiding his smile, Dunn busied himself by resetting the snare and picking a handful of dandelion leaves, which he placed inside the ring. “Rabbits cannot resist these.”

  “You are knowledgeable in a great many things, Mr. MacRae.”

  He’d asked her to call him Dunn, but given the incident at the lagoon, it was best that she continued to address him formally. “Perhaps,” he said. “Though the older I grow, it seems the more I realize how much there is I have yet to learn.”

  One thing Dunn did know was how to behave like a gentleman. After all, he was a laird and educated at the University of Edinburgh. He owned lands and sea galleys. His kin operated the largest herring and haddock business west of Inverness, and Eilean Donan Castle had been in his family’s care for centuries.

  A wee voice in his head told Dunn to do the gentlemanly thing and take a step back, but before he moved, she brushed her fingers along his jaw.

  “Your beard is so thick.”

  Taking in a sharp breath, Dunn tried to steady his thumping heart. “Aye, and it grows in faster than weeds in a wheat field.”

  She raised her other hand and caressed the second cheek. “’Tis softer than I’d imagined.”

  Good God, strike me down now and take me to heaven. She’s making it bloody difficult for me to keep my hands to myself. “If only I had a mirror, I’d shave my whiskers, so I wouldn’t be so unsightly.”

  She sighed and lowered her hands, but didn’t step away, nor did she lower her gaze. Did the woman have any idea how bold she appeared? An unmarried maid alone in the wood with a man, albeit a man sworn to protect her—but a man all the same, who only that morn had clearly expressed his inappropriate yearnings. “I do not think you unappealing, sir.”

  Dunn spun on his heel, his heart thumping so fast, he was certain Mairi could hear it. “Mayhap we should go. If we stand here, we’ll never catch a rabbit.”

  She hastened along behind. “I have a splendid idea,” she said far too cheerfully.

  “What’s that?”

  “I shall shave your beard.”

  * * *

  Goodness gracious, convincing Mr. MacRae that she was completely competent to use a razor had all but taken an act of God. Of course Mairi had used a razor before—once. She’d shaved her brother Alasdair’s face. She’d been twelve at the time and he seventeen, but she hadn’t nicked him. Not even once.

  While the Highlander sat on a log by the lagoon, she expertly lathered his face with another cake of soap she’d found in the saddlebags. “At least it hasn’t rained today,” she said, trying to sound exuberant. Mr. MacRae was always so serious; he needed to be surrounded by cheerful people—at least that was Mairi’s conclusion. Besides, she was feeling much better about her own lot as of late—mayhap because she’d put it out of her mind. Her spirits were a hundred times more pleasant than the creeping, evil, horrible melancholy she’d endured only days past.

  “Agreed,” he said. “Though I don’t expect the fine weather to last.”

  “Whyever not?”

  He raised his eyelashes and met her gaze, making Mairi’s insides flit about like moths to a flame. She leaned in to study his lashes more closely. Dark brown, they were thicker than hers and longer. Perhaps they were what made his eyes always look so intense. With a shift of his expression, he glared at her, arching his bold brows. “Are you planning to use that blade, or just stare at my bonny face?” />
  “Ah.” Snapping her gaze away, she tapped her fingers to her lips. “I was just noticing your eyelashes.”

  “What about them?” he asked, sounding gruff, but Mairi discounted acrimony. In fact, she was quite certain he was not as coarse as he let on.

  “They’re lovelier than mine.” She raised the razor.

  He frowned, making a deep crease between his eyebrows.

  After taking a clean swipe, she wiped away the foam on a cloth. “Why do you always frown after I pay you a compliment?”

  “I don’t frown.”

  “You just did.”

  “No, m’lady. I did not frown.”

  Pursing her lips, she took another swipe, this one faster and harder. “I beg your pardon, but when I said your eyelashes were bonnier than mine, you frowned whether you realize it or not…and you have done it many, many times in the past.” Mairi thought back. “You did the same when I said I wasn’t ready to return home as of yet.”

  “Hogwash.”

  His response made heat flash across the back of her neck. He was deliberately denying his own expressions. Why? Why would he do that? Furiously, she shaved his face with quick flicks of her wrist.

  He always spoke the truth about other matters. She knew this to be true by reputation and by experience, but something was preventing him from being honest with himself. If only they did have a mirror. The next time the corners of his mouth pulled down and those eyes grew dark as coal she would shove it in front of his face and show him exactly what he looked like.

  Sighing, she stood back and examined her handiwork. “I need to push up your nose to reach your mustache.”

  He nodded. “Very well.”

  “How is the knock on your head?” she asked, gently nudging up the end of his nose.

  “Barely ken ’tis there.” He winked. “With a head as hard as mine, it is difficult for a man like me to notice such things.” Now he was feeding her chaff.

  She giggled. Truly, she’d behaved badly. Though he had as well. “I’m glad you’re not afflicted with a megrim.”