The Highland Chieftain

by Amy Jarecki

  “Aye.”

  “Good. Because you need to be able to act even when frightened. Standing frozen with your eyes wide will do ye no good at all.”

  She gave a tsk of her tongue. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I am accosted.”

  He resumed his foot-planted, fists-on-the-hips stance. A posture that made him look like the king of the Highlands. “Search for the opportunity to surprise. Strike with speed, then retreat. Do not remain in harm’s way any longer than you absolutely must.”

  “Do you do that?”

  “If I’m attacked in the wood by a mob of highwaymen, then aye. Though most anyone who has ever made the mistake of trying it is no longer breathing.”

  Tapping her fingers to her lips, Mairi sniggered. “I would have thought no less.”

  He held up a finger. “Bleating bloody murder is a good tactic as well, especially if there are people nearby.”

  “I’m quite good at that.”

  “Most lassies are.” He gestured to the dirk. “Now, show me how to hold a knife.”

  She picked it up and, holding it firmly in her hand, pointed straight at his chest.

  “Well then, come at me.”

  She lowered her hand to her side and shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “You can and you will.” He beckoned with his fingers. “Come, lass. Do not go easy on me.”

  Gnashing her teeth, she lunged. Mr. MacRae stepped to the side, grabbed the hilt above her fingers, and twisted the knife right out of her hand. Mairi’s jaw dropped. “How did you do that?”

  “Simple mechanics.” Turning sideways, he raised the dirk and demonstrated. “You held the knife like most everyone else, with the blade coming out the top of your fist. Your thumb is the weakest part of your grip. I merely grasped the hilt and bent it toward your thumb.”

  After he showed her exactly how his maneuver worked, he had Mairi do the same as he held the dirk in his beefy fist. Determined, she took hold of the exposed hilt, shoved it against his thumb with all her might. His grip broke. Astonished, she examined the dirk in front of her nose. “Did I really take it from you?”

  His eyebrows shot up with a hint of laughter in those midnight-blue eyes. “’Tis in your hand, is it not?”

  Mairi couldn’t help but smile. Truly, she wasn’t daft enough to think the big laird hadn’t allowed her to succeed, but she’d disarmed him all the same. Perhaps lassies weren’t completely helpless. After she disarmed him five more times, he took the dirk and turned it around so that the blade pointed downward when he held his fist straight out.

  “Try to disarm me now.” He didn’t even bring the weapon into his body, he just stood there holding it out. Mairi attacked like she had before, and the hilt wouldn’t budge a fraction.

  “Why can I not disarm you?” She shuffled away and crossed her arms.

  “This is a stronger grip. And remember what I said about striking swiftly and with surprise?”

  “Aye.”

  “Always grasp your hilt like this.” He swung it across his body, close and tight. “One slice to the neck, and it is all over.”

  Mairi mirrored the strike. “Goodness, that even looks deadly without a weapon in my hand.”

  “That’s ’cause ’tis the same motion as a jab across the jaw.”

  She held out her hand. “May I give it a try?”

  He turned the dirk around and presented her with the hilt. “Grow accustomed to the feel of the grip in your hand, the weight of your weapon, and allow it to become an extension of your arm.”

  Mairi took the weapon and shifted it backward, forward, up and down. In her hands it felt savage and primal, and so much more secure than the grip she’d been using.

  Mr. MacRae moved to a tree with an exposed trunk—one with so many slashes through its bark, the oak looked as if it had been on the receiving end of a year’s worth of duels and lost. “Take a few jabs. Imagine your opponent’s neck or his belly. Feel the power in your arm.”

  Mairi’s first few swings were rather unimpressive, though MacRae said nothing, just looked on with his fists on his hips. Clearly, he missed nothing and, no doubt, watched with a critical eye. Och, it would be but a matter of time before he launched into a litany of her errors. Her shoulders tense and throat dry, she lunged and took another swing, slicing an anemic line through the bark. She stopped and dropped her arms. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “You are doing well. One doesn’t pick up a weapon and immediately become proficient with it. Mastery takes time and hours upon hours of practice.”

  Lunging, Mairi took another swing at the tree, this time making a pronounced gouge.

  “See? You’re improving already.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll wager you wouldn’t want me to come at you when holding the blade like this.”

  He leveled his stare and a dark-eyed challenge. “You could give it a go…if you dare.”

  A dare? How impossible to resist.

  However, Mairi didn’t want to cause any damage. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. “A glancing blow?”

  “Give it your best, lass.”

  “But I might hurt you.”

  “We haven’t all day.”

  She gulped. If she aimed for his flank, at least she wouldn’t kill him. Her decision made, she planted her foot, whipped around, and struck with a forceful swing of her arm.

  Everything blurred.

  Instead of suffering her glancing blow, Mr. MacRae moved like lightning. He seized her wrist and bent it down so her arm seared with unbearable pain. The knife dropped from her grasp as his grip strengthened. The pain blinded her. Continuing to control her wrist, he levered Mairi’s arm up her back while she spun into a headlock. Her back arched and pressed flush against his chest—a hard unyielding wall of a chest. Unable to move, she rose up on her toes to relieve the crushing pressure on her throat.

  Gasping, she bore down and jolted her entire body in a futile attempt to break free. “Release me, you brute!”

  He moved his lips to her ear, his hot breath making a shiver course down her spine. “Where are my weak points? Even a wee lassie like you can overcome me.”

  She struggled again. “Weak points? You’re as hard as granite. There’s not a place on your body not hewn from stone.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he growled in her ear—a menacing, thrilling, bone-melting growl. “Stomp on my arch, use your elbows—you have one free arm. Ball your fist and take a swing at my cods—the softest, most vulnerable part of any man.”

  Mairi stopped struggling while gooseflesh spread across her skin. His grip eased ever so slightly. “I beg your pardon, but did you just instruct me to strike your nether parts?”

  “I did.”

  “That is barbaric.”

  “Fighting is barbaric. Skill is important, but the most savage and determined man wins. If you engage in a fight, you must commit to seeing it through to the end.”

  Licking her lips, she clenched her fist and shifted her gaze downward. “If I try to strike, you’ll counter, will you not?”

  “I’ll admit, I will avoid such a strike at all costs.”

  “All costs?”

  “Aye.”

  Her mind rifling through options, she turned her head toward his face—toward those full lips whispering in her ear. Panning her gaze up further, she met his stare. Good Lord, she’d never been this close to his face. True, his eyes were a deep blue, but flecks sparkled through them like crystals—mysterious and fathomless pools met her eyes with a challenge, waiting like a predator for her next move.

  There’s only one thing that will arrest him.

  She did step on his foot, but she didn’t stomp. She used it to gain height. Rising, she pursed her lips and kissed him—planted a smooch right on those menacing, pouty lips—those lips that sneered and frowned and seldom smiled. Lips that made her blood stir and race through her heart like a raging torrent.

  Before she drew away, h
e’d released his hold, grasped her shoulders, and pulled her into him. A powerful embrace surrounded her while her knees turned boneless. Ever so gently, the Goliath holding her in his arms cradled her head while the softest, most delicious lips imaginable plied hers.

  Floating, Mairi never wanted the kiss to end, wished to remain wrapped in those brawny arms forever. Her breasts pressed flush against Duncan MacRae’s masculine chest, craving something more, more touching, more closeness, more of this man who confused and discombobulated her and, right at this very moment, had her wrapped in his tangled web.

  Her eyes flashed open when he brushed the parting of her lips with his tongue. She tried to pull away, but his hand held her firmly. A soft moan rumbled in his chest, making her breasts swell all the more. And then it happened again. His tongue brushed her lips, making a flood of need pulse through her body—a need so intense, she feared she might swoon. Timidly, Mairi opened her lips, praying this was what he wanted, hoping her actions were not too bold.

  Dear God, what if he pushes me away?

  But as soon as the question formed in her mind, his tongue swept into her mouth. Boldly entered and brushed her tongue. Swooning? Och aye, Mairi had surpassed swooning. Her entire body soared as if carried away on a summer’s breeze.

  She let him lead while together they danced, their mouths joined in the most intimate kiss imaginable.

  And then her feet touched ground. His hands moved to her shoulders as he drew his head away. Deep concern filled his eyes and etched in the furrow between his eyebrows. “I-I am sorry, m’lady. I lost my head.” His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  She gaped at him, unable to form words. He was sorry? For kissing her?

  “’Twas a mistake.” He bowed. “It will not happen again.”

  Tears blurred her eyes. A mistake? Never again? She drew her hand over her mouth.

  A refusal was absolute and as final as death. How could she forget? Holy Moses, she would regret turning down this braw man’s offer of marriage for the rest of her days.

  “I must check the trap.” Unable to face him any longer, she started for the trail.

  He fell in step behind her. “Aye, we must.”

  She turned and thrust out her palm. “No, sir. I will go alone.”

  “But—”

  “I am the daughter of the Earl of Cromartie, and thus you will obey my wishes. There is no other human soul for miles who might wish to do me harm and I will check the snare without your assistance!”

  She turned and ran before a tear streamed down her cheek. That boorish oaf of a man. How dare he turn her into a melting, swooning, floating mess? And then apologize for it? Did he not realize no man had ever kissed her thus before? Did he think because she rejected him, he had the right to take her heart and squash it in his gigantic hands?

  Lightning flashed above followed by an earsplitting boom. Clouds opened with a deluge, the wind picking up to a gale. But Mairi kept running while icy droplets of water soaked through her kirtle. How could she face him again?

  Does that brute feel nothing?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dunn stood clenching his fists while Mairi disappeared into the wood. Why on earth, when it came to her, did he always end up acting like a complete and utter fool? Why the hell couldn’t he keep his hands to himself? He knew better than to challenge her—to draw her in so close, their bodies touched.

  Jesus Saint Christopher Christ, as soon as her lush curves had molded into his body, he was lost—a rogue on the prowl, ready to conquer his quarry.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  He’d behaved contemptibly. How dare he allow himself a moment of weakness. He was Lady Mairi’s sworn protector. Responsibility to clan and kin was his creed. As soon as he’d pulled her into an armlock, his smoldering desire had boiled to the surface and overtaken the sensibilities he always tried so hard to keep in check. He should never—not ever—show his emotions to Her Ladyship and, furthermore, last eve he should not have indicated how deeply her refusal had injured him. Regardless of her recent disappointment, Lady Mairi would learn soon enough how desirable she was to men.

  Dunn groaned. Aye, it went against every fiber in his body not to chase after Her Ladyship, but doing so might only serve to make her angrier. And she was right. There wasn’t another living soul for miles—especially in the direction she was traveling. She could walk for five days and not meet up with another human.

  She’ll check the traps and be back in no time.

  Thunder rumbled overhead, bringing with it a squall. He looked toward the wood, the tightness in his chest returning tenfold. They’d set the snare only a few dozen yards in. She should have been back by now. I must go after her. Half out of his mind, he started down the path, but stopped himself. Dammit, I have no choice but to give her some time alone—time for her ire to cool. She had pulled rank and ordered him to obey her wishes. Besides, a few drops of rain never hurt a soul.

  He stared through the trees, searching for movement. She will not linger in the rain for certain.

  Returning to the clearing, Dunn busied himself with gathering wood for the fire and stacked it in the cave while it was still dry enough to burn. All the while, a hollow chasm of pain spread in his chest. When they’d run into the barricade of dragoons and were forced to return to the Cavern of the Fairies, he’d secretly been overjoyed—relieved to have an excuse to spend a sennight or more with Her Ladyship. But in truth an entire sennight might kill him. Hell, it had only been three days and she’d already driven him to the brink of madness.

  No. His damned feelings had led him to ignore his better judgment. Only he was to blame. Lady Mairi had done nothing wrong. She had been a victim—time and again.

  Outside the cave, the rain poured down in sheets.

  Dunn watched the water drip from the vines and willed her to appear.

  Where are you, my dear lady?

  * * *

  The rabbit in the snare was dead. Aye, Mairi had seen many a dead animal, but something about looking at the small creature twisted her heart all the more. The weather fit her mood ideally. After the cloudburst, instead of subsiding, the rain poured down harder. She was soaked through, her teeth chattering. For pity’s sake, it was August and yet felt cold enough to snow. Wet, freezing, and miserable, Mairi sat staring at a dead rabbit. How had she ended up in such a befuddled mess? The daughter of an earl was hiding out in a cave because vile dragoons had attacked her. Where was the justice in that? And why had her father been so daft as to put a price on Mr. MacRae’s head—the one man who had raced to her rescue? Da should be rewarding the laird, not accusing him.

  Duncan MacRae, the hero of the Highlands.

  Why did she have to like him so much? And how had they ended up kissing? She’d only meant to give him a wee peck. Certainly, as soon as they rode down from the mountain, Dunn would resume his vast responsibilities and forget about the kiss they’d just shared.

  But Mairi would never forget.

  She hid her face in her palms. “Arrgh!” I’m so confused.

  If only she had someone with whom to talk—another woman who was wiser in the ways of men. Why had Mr. MacRae kissed her so passionately? And then he’d pushed her away—apologized as if he’d committed a mortal sin. Heaven help her, she wanted more. And yet she knew that wanting more would lead nowhere good.

  Sooner or later she would have to return to Castle Leod and face her father…What if she told Da she had reconsidered Mr. MacRae’s proposal?

  He’d lock me in my chamber for a fortnight.

  But a fortnight of solitude would be little price to pay.

  If only.

  Mairi sneezed. Goodness gracious, there wasn’t a dry fiber on her body. Resolutely, she picked up the rabbit and trudged back along the trail, her skirts heavy and wet. Her nose ran, her throat started to burn, and as she walked, the black abyss of melancholy spread through her chest like an evil spirit. She had no choice but to go back and face MacRae. Once again, she mus
t pretend nothing had happened between them, play the role of noblewoman and sit with her back erect.

  Before entering the cave, she took a deep breath.

  I am Lady Mairi MacKenzie and I shall hold my head high. I have nothing to be ashamed of. That wee kiss will never be mentioned again.

  Sneezing, she stepped inside and held out the rabbit. “A wee beastie for our evening meal, sir.”

  Concern filled his eyes as he snatched the rabbit from her hand. The big man stood back and gulped, looking her from head to toe. “You’re soaked to the bone, m’lady.”

  Shivers coursed across her flesh as she nodded, unable to control the chattering of her teeth.

  “Come.” He reached for her shoulder, but stopped himself before he touched her. Turning up his palm, he gestured toward the chair. “Please. Sit by the fire whilst I prepare the rabbit.”

  She pulled the wet kerchief from her sleeve and wiped her nose while she stumbled for the chair. “I’m so c-cold.”

  “I ken. We’ll see you warmed straightaway.”

  After she sat, he draped a fur across her shoulders, then stoked the fire. “It will be toasty warm in here in no time.” He reached for another pelt and held it up. “May I place this across your lap?”

  “Thank you.”

  “I should not have allowed you to fetch the rabbit. This is all my blasted doing. Why did you stay out in the rain so long?”

  “I—” What should she say? I couldn’t look you in the face? You tore out my heart when you insisted our kiss was a mistake? Did he know that no man had ever held her in his arms so tenderly? Did he know no man had ever kissed her so passionately? She coughed, making her throat burn. “I like the rain,” she said feebly.

  He pursed his lips, narrowing those dark eyes. “Let us pray your fondness for the weather doesn’t result in illness.”

  Nothing else was said while he set to preparing the rabbit. Mairi’s shivers eased, but the tickle in the back of her throat brought on another fit of coughing. She swallowed hard. “May I have some whisky, please?”

  He looked up. “Ah…aye.” Setting his work aside, he wiped his hands on a cloth and pulled the flask from his sporran. “This ought to warm your insides.”