by Amy Jarecki
She took a healthy swig, but the fiery liquid slid down her throat like a burning stream. Slapping her chest, her eyes watered while she tried not to cough. “Water!” she squeaked.
Dunn snatched a flagon and handed it to her. “Och. Whisky is a potent brew.”
Unable to speak, she guzzled the water, her eyes tearing. Then she wiped her mouth while he hovered. “That’s better,” she finally said, looking up and making herself smile. He reached for the flagon, but she tightened her grip. “I think I’ll keep it for a bit.”
“Very well.”
Taking sips of water, Mairi managed to control her cough, though even with the furs covering her, she shivered. The flames danced across the cave walls, making them come alive. Across the fire, Mr. MacRae worked swiftly, cleaning the rabbit and removing the pelt. Though his fingers were thick and strong, they were deft as well.
Mairi watched him thoughtfully, keeping her observations to herself. Dunn MacRae was a man of many talents. He could be brutally savage and incredibly opinionated, though he often withheld his opinions. What surprised her the most was his capacity to be unutterably passionate. A man as coarse and rugged as this braw Highlander expressed more emotion in a wee kiss than she’d ever seen from Seaforth—or anyone else for that matter. Not that she had a great deal of experience with men, but Mairi considered herself a good judge of character, and Mr. MacRae topped the list for the most passionate.
Her tongued slipped to the corner of her mouth. Who would have guessed?
He glanced up, bringing on a new bout of shivers. But this time they weren’t caused by the cold. Mairi held his gaze, filled with deep, unspoken emotion. Only yesterday she’d thought those eyes were brooding, but she was wrong. They smoldered. They posed as windows into the complex thoughts and mechanics of a man with a great deal of responsibility. A good man who not only protected his clan and kin, but wielded his sword for Clan MacKenzie as well. She’d only just begun to understand the depth of Mr. MacRae’s character, and God save her, she wanted to learn more.
Chapter Fourteen
The sound of raucous coughing stirred Dunn awake. He rose on his elbow and peered across the fire. “Lady Mairi?” he asked softly.
A soft moan slipped through her lips. He leaned closer for a better look. Her eyes were closed, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her face.
“Lady Mairi?” he asked again. Louder this time.
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled.
Sitting up, he stared at her. Something was wrong. Should he try to rouse the lass? But what of propriety?
She moaned again.
He pushed to his feet. Bless it, if it were Seaforth across the fire lying in a pool of sweat, coughing and moaning, Dunn wouldn’t hesitate to rush to his side.
Ballocks.
Resolutely, he marched around the fire and kneeled beside her. “Lady Mairi.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and gave her a nudge. “Are you ill?”
She coughed, but didn’t open her eyes.
He pressed the back of his hand to Her Ladyship’s forehead.
Good Lord, she’s hotter than a griddle.
“Lady Mairi, you’re fevered,” he said more urgently, patting her hand repeatedly.
She opened her eyes. “My throat hurts.” With a cringe, she closed her eyes. “My head feels like it has been bludgeoned.”
He fished in his sporran for his pocket watch, then turned the face toward the fire.
Midnight.
Leaving the sanctity of the cave bore such a risk. Swiping a hand across his mouth, he looked to Mairi while his heart ached. I am no healer. And remaining here for another moment bears more risk than facing a mob of dragoons.
If he headed out now, with luck they might be able to slip into Eilean Donan Castle without being detected by the government scouts.
Making a decision, he moved quickly to collect their things and saddle one of the horses. Once ready to ride, he again kneeled at Mairi’s side. “’Tis time to go.”
“Go?” She barely opened her eyes.
“I’m taking you home, m’lady.” Where I should have taken her all along. Bless it, if he had to summon all of Clan MacRae to make a stand, he would do so. The Earl of Cromartie had no grounds upon which to declare Dunn an outlaw. It was time to take matters in hand. Good Lord, he’d ridden beside Seaforth for so long, perhaps it was time to call in a well-earned mark.
Dunn was always the man who solved problems. He’d fought and cajoled for the MacKenzie. Aye, he alone had helped Seaforth out of more situations than he could count. For the love of God, Dunn and his men had risked their necks creating a ruse to break Seaforth out of Durham Gaol. They’d run for their lives for days, fleeing to Scotland.
Well, Dunn happened to be the one in trouble for a change, and it was high time the earl came to his aid.
Once he had Her Ladyship wrapped in a pelt, Dunn climbed aboard the mare and headed out. A heavy mist shrouded the mountains as he cradled Mairi in one arm while guiding the horse through the byways at a steady walk. The rain had subsided, but the mist made visibility near impossible. Though Dunn knew these hills like the halls of Eilean Donan, the going was perilous. On the other hand, the fog gave them the cover they needed to move without being spotted.
Following the wee burn, he rode down the mountain and turned northwest at the River Shiel. At the bridge, he found Jimmy MacGowan’s skiff right where the crofter kept it, thank God. Gingerly, Dunn slid down from the hackney, holding Her Ladyship firmly in his arms. He rested her in the hull of the skiff. Seeing to her comfort, he smoothed his hand over her hair—soft as silk.
“Where are we?” Lady Mairi mumbled.
“Nearly there, m’lady,” he whispered, wishing he were the one fevered and not she. “How are you feeling?”
“Throat. Sore.”
In payment for the skiff, he hobbled the horse and left the mare where the beast could feed and drink until Jimmy discovered her.
Now entering MacRae lands, the chances of being spotted grew tenfold. The mist in the mountains had cleared a few miles back, but it was still dark, and the thick cloud cover overhead made the river look inky.
Dunn pushed the boat, wading through the water until it grew too deep to walk as it opened into Loch Duich. He was so close to home, he could taste it. Resisting the urge to hop into the skiff and row, he swam beside the boat where he’d be hidden by the hull. With Lady Mairi sleeping on the deck, anyone who might happen to be awake would be far less apt to suspect an empty skiff.
The cold water made his teeth chatter, but Dunn had weathered worse. From a young age, he’d been trained by his father to steel his mind against pain and suffering, and swimming the waves of Loch Duich was not foreign to him. Da had even pushed Dunn to swim in winter—to turn his mind to achieving his goal—to believe in his ability to conquer any adversity and win.
Sitting between peaks called the Five Sisters of Kintail, the loch was long and narrow like most Highland waters. Eilean Donan stood at the confluence of Loch Duich and Loch Alsh—a strategic stronghold for centuries. For countless generations, Dunn’s kin had held and safeguarded the castle for the MacKenzie barons and the earls who had followed.
On and on Dunn swam, ignoring the fatigue of his muscles and the cold threatening to sap his strength. He noted each landmark on the loch as he passed. The wee village of Inverinate and the Toad’s Croak Alehouse, and finally when he passed the schoolhouse nestled in the wood along the shore, he looked ahead for the dark outline reflecting the rigid lines of his beloved home.
Braziers flickered in two corners her battlements, though Dunn knew four were lit. The other two were not visible from the loch. As he neared, he heard the guards’ voices shouting orders. The skiff had been spotted for certain.
He ground his teeth, willing his men to quiet. Their excitement may alert any government scouts who might have a spyglass trained on the castle.
He navigated the boat to the sea gate. As soon as his feet touched, he crouched lo
w, pulling the skiff through the shallows onto the shore. Two guardsmen slipped out the gate, their muskets at the ready. “Who goes there?”
“Sgurr Uaran.” Dunn growled the MacRae battle cry as well as the name of the tallest of the five peaks surrounding Loch Duich. “’Tis your laird and master.”
“MacRae?” one asked.
“Keep your voice down and hide this skiff.” Dunn lifted Mairi into his arms. “Where’s Ram?”
“He has been summoned, sir. He’ll be here anon.”
Dunn hastened through the gate and up the incline into the courtyard.
Ram, his lieutenant, strode from the keep while fastening his belt. “Good God, MacRae, is that Lady Mairi?”
“Keep silent,” he hissed. “And I am not here. Ensure every soul who has seen me understands that he speaks of my presence under penalty of death.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Tell me true, have you received word from Robert Grant? Anything from the Earl of Cromartie?”
“Not a word.”
“Ride immediately to Glenmoriston and tell Grant I need a response.”
“Straightaway, sir.”
“Thank you, and see to it my mother’s chamber is prepared.”
“Your mother’s?” Ram’s voice shot up.
“Are you deaf?”
“Nay, sir.”
“Wait,” said Dunn. “Where is my horse?”
“Beastie’s growing fat in the lower paddock. God’s bones, there’s no chance I would have left him behind whilst you were on the run.”
“My thanks. Now haste ye.”
Cradling Lady Mairi’s head to protect it from being bumped, Dunn proceeded up the wheeled stairwell. “And send up Mrs. Struan with a tincture for fever,” he bellowed, the sound reverberating like he’d struck the church bell.
Not waiting for a response, he continued up until he stepped out onto the third landing. His clothing dripping across the floor, it was a relief to be home, regardless of the danger. Damnation, he’d taken every precaution possible to conceal his arrival. There was very little chance he’d been spotted by redcoats or the earl’s men. Dunn opened the door to the chamber that adjoined his. Already a serving maid crouched by the hearth, striking a flint.
Startled, she quickly stood and gave a curtsy. “Sir.”
“Good evening, Lilas. If you please, quickly turn down the bedclothes.” Dunn moved to the bedside and gazed at Mairi’s face. “Are you able to remove the lady’s stays and kirtle?”
“I am.” Lilas slipped in front of him and prepared the bed.
His jaw twitched. No matter how much he wanted to tend to Her Ladyship, it was proper for the maid to do it. “This woman needs a clean chemise as well. Are there any of my mother’s remaining?”
“I believe so—in the cedar chest.” While Lilas moved to the trunk at the end of the bed, Dunn rested Lady Mairi on the mattress.
“Mm,” she moaned, draping a hand over her forehead.
“Rest, m’lady. You’re safe now.”
Lilas moved beside him with a chemise in her hands. “Is that—?”
“Do not ask. And if anyone inquires, I have sworn you to secrecy. There is no one in this chamber. I am not here, and you have not seen me since I left for the gathering.”
She curtsied. “Yes, sir.”
“Have you seen Mrs. Struan?”
The door opened, and the head housemaid who also served as healer entered. “I’m here. I’ve brought the medicine basket.” Concern etched the timeworn lines on her face as she held up a vial. “You needed a tincture for a fever?”
He gestured to Mairi, repeating the same orders to Mrs. Struan that he’d just relayed to Lilas.
The older woman gave him a deprecating once-over. “Have you been up all night, Duncan?” Good Lord, Mrs. Struan was the only person alive who still called him by his given name.
“Do not concern yourself with me, matron.”
“Nay? If you have forgotten, sir, you were my care when you were a wee bairn. I believe that gives me the right to intercede when I see you behaving like an unmitigated mule. You are wet and, by the dark shadows beneath your eyes, I’ll wager you’ve hardly slept in the past sennight.”
Lilas sniggered and slapped a hand over her insolent mouth.
“I am fine,” Dunn insisted. “Do not concern yourself with my welfare. Your patient is on the bed.”
“I beg to differ.” Mrs. Struan shook her finger. “You are soaked to the bone, and if you do not change into dry clothes, you will be as fevered as this wee lassie.”
“Bless it, contrary to what you may believe, I do not aim to continue standing here dripping water across the floorboards.” Throwing up his hands, he groaned. “Change Lady—ah—the lass into a clean chemise.” He strode across the floor to the door that adjoined his chamber. “I will return anon.”
“I implore you, Duncan. You need a good meal and a full day of rest.”
He stopped with his hand on the latch. “Enough, woman. This lady is in my care, and tending to her is more important than anything. I trust you will address her ills with the same concern which you have for me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Reluctantly, Dunn left the chamber that had once been occupied by his mother, allowing the women time to tend to Lady Mairi. One of the servants had ensured the fire in the laird’s chamber was lit, which he welcomed. He stood in front of its warmth while he stripped off his wet clothes and hung them on the drying rack. Moving to the washstand, he poured water into the basin. Everything was ready and waiting as if he’d been there all along, but he knew Ram would have awakened the servants as soon as he’d been spotted. God bless them.
Naked, he lathered the soap between his palms, then made quick work of bathing where he stood, cleaning the loch weed from his hair and scrubbing away the mud between his toes. He stared at his reflection in the mirror while he used the silver-handled brush from his shaving kit to lather his face.
Aye, Mrs. Struan was right. The dark circles under his eyes made him look like death. But he’d gone without sleep many times before. He’d neglected himself more often than he could remember, and this night would be no different. No one would protect Lady Mairi except him.
He’d taken a risk bringing her there. And now he was duty-bound to remain by her side and protect her at all costs. Her Ladyship would not succumb to the sweat, the ague, the plague, or to whatever illness ailed her.
He opened his razor and shaved a swath through the foam.
I am responsible for Her Ladyship’s illness. I am solely at fault.
Though Mairi had ordered him to remain behind while she checked the trap, at the first sound of thunder, Dunn should have hastened to find her and take her back to the cave. Good God, the lass had stayed away far longer than needed, and he’d been bull-brained enough to allow it while he’d worried.
Dunn methodically shaved while he glared at his image in the mirror.
Aye, ye bastard. You just let her stay out in the squall, even though you had noticed her cough afore.
If anything happened to Mairi, he’d never forgive himself.
After splashing his face, he dressed in clean clothes and cracked open the door to the matron’s chamber. “May I enter?”
“You should be abed,” said Mrs. Struan from a chair beside the sleeping maid, tucked beneath the bedclothes. She pointed to the mantel clock. “’Tis nearly dawn.”
He stepped inside. “I shall sleep when I am convinced of Her L—ah—the wee maid is feeling well.”
“Surely, you can take your rest. The lass is sleeping comfortably.”
“Very well.” He crossed his arms. “That the maid is contented means you may take your leave and return to your bed.”
“But you—”
“I am the laird of this castle and you are dismissed, madam.”
Mrs. Struan stood. “And you are as hardheaded as your father…sir.”
He gave her a steely-eyed glare—the one that always
worked on the servants. “I consider that a compliment.”
With a shake of her head, a grin spread across the matron’s lips. “I see I cannot dissuade you.”
“You are correct.”
“I suppose I never have been. You’ve been obstinate since the day you were born.” Sighing, she gestured to the bedside table. “There’s willow bark tea in the cup and in the vial is a tincture of comfrey. Spoon what you can between her lips on the hour. The tea will help her fever, and the comfrey will help whether she has the corruption or the ague.”
“Both on the hour?” he asked, studying the cup, the vial, and the wooden spoon.
“Aye.” She gave his shoulder a pat. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”
“Good-bye, Mrs. Struan.”
“I’ll send up a tray.”
He nodded and, before the matron slipped out the door, he thanked her.
Once alone with Her Ladyship, Dunn took Mairi’s hand in his palm and lightly brushed his fingers over her delicate skin. His heart twisted as he examined her slender fingers. Lily white, her skin was as supple as a rose petal.
A blessing from the Father.
He lifted her fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply. She smelled sweet as honey and magnolias—too sweet to be ill, too sweet to be caught in the middle of a mindless feud. A feud so baseless, he still wasn’t sure how it came about.
I must write to Seaforth straightaway.
Dunn closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Damnation, he was the cause of this. “Och, m’lady, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. It seems no matter how much I try, I always make a muddle of things. I never should have taken you to the Cavern of the Fairies. ’Tis a place for rugged Highland men to take refuge in times of battle.” Holding her fingers ever so gently, he raised them to his lips and kissed her with reverence. “Though I ken my adoration is not returned, I cannot deny my love for you, bonny lass. Did ye ken I’ve loved you my whole life?”
Nodding, he smirked. “Aye, but in my heart I’ve always kent I could never win a lady as fine as you. I’ve always kent a woman of your stature would nay look twice at a hardened man like me.” He sat and watched her for a long while, admiring her, praying she would open her eyes and smile at him.
