He waited for a protest, but Gus nodded. "Och, that’s braw. We’ll see what tomorrow brings, laddie. As ye discovered last night, there’s no predicting what happens in the Hebrides."
Chapter 4
Dougal stood back from the nail he’d just hammered into the gunwale and felt a weary satisfaction at a job well done. He’d avoided the call of the comfortable bed in his luxurious bedroom, although he was feeling stupid with tiredness. Instead, he and Miss Macbain had worked on the Kestrel all morning and into the afternoon. The little vessel returned to her bonny self. Even her mast was back in place. Och, that had been a big job, and he’d appreciated Miss Macbain’s assistance.
"I think that’s the lot."
Miss Macbain looked up from where she patched a sail she’d brought from Tigh na Mara. "You’ll be able to go tomorrow after all."
He watched the way her capable hands wielded the big sailor’s needle. As the day proceeded, he’d found it harder and harder to meet her gaze. Something about those shining silver eyes made his heart behave in the oddest way. Leaping. Skipping beats. Rolling over like a seal pup playing in the waves.
It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant sensation, but nor was it conducive to keeping a man’s mind on his ultimate goals. For quite a bit of the afternoon, he hadn’t thought of Fair Ellen and her plight at all. Instead earthly concerns had distracted him. The drape of blue skirts over a sweet female rump. The way a bodice tightened over the sweetest, roundest bosom it had ever been his privilege to see when a pretty girl stretched to hammer in a tack.
Once a man dedicated himself to a great cause, no lassie’s charms should divert him. But diverted he’d been, to the point where a couple of hours’ work had taken much longer than it should have.
"Aye, with luck the sea will be calm enough for sailing. Thank ye for your help. I couldnae have finished so quickly without you."
Her father hadn’t exaggerated her skills as a shipwright. And she, unlike Dougal, had managed to keep her mind on the job. She’d been good company, too. Too good, in fact. It seemed yet another subtle betrayal of his quest to relish another girl’s quick wit and interesting conversation.
"I’m happy to give what aid I can." She cut the coarse thread with a pair of scissors and held up the last of her mending to check it.
"Even though you’re convinced I’m on a fool’s errand?" he asked dryly, despite having sworn never to bring up the subject again.
She shrugged and set the sail aside as she stood. "It’s no’ my errand, though, is it?"
Dougal smiled, even as he wished his boat was as big as a galleon. That had been another of the day’s difficulties. No place in the hull offered him sanctuary from the lassie’s alluring scent. Worse, as they moved about the boat, he couldn’t avoid brushing against her. Each time, heat blasted him and threatened to incinerate all thought of Fair Ellen. He’d be damned glad when he set sail tomorrow and he could go back to thinking about how to rescue his lady.
"You’ve changed."
Kirsty smiled back, and he found himself surveying her with pleasure, before he recalled that he’d pledged himself heart and soul elsewhere.
"It’s merely good manners. I have nae right to impose my opinion on a chance-met stranger."
That was another problem. He felt less and less like that chance-met stranger. If he ignored his unwelcome physical awareness of this lass – and how he wished he could! – he felt at home in her company, as if they’d been friends for years, not a mere few hours.
If friendship could describe this strange affinity that vibrated between them.
"Although you’d like to," he said, teasing her.
A soft laugh escaped her. "Although I’d like to. Since Mamma’s death, Papa has been lonely, and while he loves Askaval, it doesnae offer a great variety in company. He was excited at the idea of a new face joining us for Christmas."
Dougal grimaced. "Now ye just make me sound like a selfish lout, which means I’ve given poor return for your hospitality."
"Ye shouldnae feel like that. We ken you’ve set your mind on finding Fair Ellen."
"On Innish or Pabbay or Scalpay or Canna," he said, and wondered why he was so quick to undermine his purpose.
"Aye, well, you’ll find her eventually." She paused. "If she exists to be found."
Before he left home, he’d never questioned the truth of the tales about Fair Ellen. Vexing that a short visit to Askaval and an encounter with Kirsty Macbain eroded his certainty. Especially as he’d brushed his family’s doubts aside with few qualms.
It really was time he left, before he convinced himself to abandon his quest altogether. But first, he owed his hosts his duty. "It’s my turn to serve ye. Point me toward the Christmas decorations, Miss Macbain."
She regarded him with a doubtful expression. "Would ye no’ rather rest? You were battling the storm all night."
With a groan, he stretched and set down his hammer. Aye, he was tired. Not to mention that scrunching himself up into a small space to work on his boat was never easy for a giant like him. But he already felt like he was enough of a parasite on the Macbains. He intended to repay their kindness with labor, even if it killed him.
"I promised to help." He stepped off the boat onto the quay steps. "I’ll sleep tonight."
"Then I’ll be happy to accept your assistance, Mr. Drummond."
Before he considered the wisdom of increasing the intimacy between them, he said, "I hear people on Askaval dinnae stand on ceremony. Ye should call me Dougal."
Her smile turned even sweeter, as she stared up at him from where she stood in his boat. "In that case, ye should call me Kirsty."
"Kirsty it is, then." He was smiling at her a lot, which seemed to put his quest in peril, too. And even more unwise than sharing names, he held out his hand to help her onto the dock.
She accepted his assistance. Of course she did. She wasn’t desperately trying to stick to a life plan that unraveled by the second.
Given how her smile made his heart surge, he wasn’t even surprised when her touch sparked another searing jolt of heat. It was as if the energy that crackled around her leaped from her body to his.
Without thinking – connected thought proved beyond his current capability – he stepped back to allow her onto the quay. He was even muddleheaded enough to feel a pang of regret when she released his hand the moment she was safely on land. It made no sense, but the idea of holding Kirsty’s hand for the rest of the day was deuced appealing.
And it was so much more muddleheaded to resent her lack of reaction to his touch. Instead she climbed the steps with a swift, confident stride, as if the whole world wasn’t rocking on its axis, and approached the men sitting outside the tavern he’d noticed earlier.
The islanders had sat there all day, watching the Kestrel return to order. Again, Dougal had the impression that Askaval was an island where not very much happened. The sight of a stranger repairing a boat counted as grand entertainment.
Troubled at his unruly reaction to this unusual girl, he followed Kirsty up the steps and toward the inn. Out of the gusting wind, the day was pleasant for December. Dougal wore an old fisherman’s jacket that miraculously fit him. Goodness knew where Kirsty had found it, but he’d appreciated its warmth as he’d worked on his boat. In the moments when he wasn’t feeling warm anyway, because of the nearness of a certain laird’s daughter.
"Johnny, Bill, Jock, you’ve been there all day. It’s about time ye moved," Kirsty said. "Come and help us gather some greenery for the Christmas party. I’ll stand ye all a round of drinks when we finish."
Dougal wasn’t surprised when all three men settled bright eyes on the girl. Who could blame them? She was a pleasure to behold. Even a man devoted to the fairest lady in Scotland had to admit that.
"Och, Kirsty lass," one of the old codgers called out. "It’s too bonny sitting here in the sun. You’ve already found yourself a braw young helper. Ye dinnae need us."
She laughed as she sauntered up
to the group. "Many hands make light work, Johnny. And you’ll get the benefit of anything we do now when ye come to the ceilidh."
"Aye, and so will your offsider. By gum, he’s a big un, is he no’?" This last was said with awe, as Dougal stepped up beside Kirsty.
"Aye, that he is." She graced Dougal with another of those enchanting smiles. His heart reacted predictably. How he wished it wouldn’t. "Mr. Drummond…"
"Dougal," he reminded her, before he remembered that he ought to keep his distance from the Laird of Askaval’s pretty daughter.
Did that smile turn even warmer? Heaven help him. He was doomed. "Dougal, may I introduce the local troublemakers? Johnny Garrett, and Bill and Jock Macbain. Johnny, Bill and Jock, this is Dougal Drummond of Bruard."
"Bruard, is it? And where would that be?" asked one of the old men.
Dougal shook hands with all three. "Inland from Achnasheen."
"Well, that’s as useful as a hen with teeth," Bill – or was it Jock? – said.
Dougal laughed at another example of Askaval’s lack of ceremony. As heir to the rich Drummond estates, he was used to more formality. He enjoyed the free and easy air here. "We’re inland from the southern tip of Skye."
"You’ve strayed a long way south, laddie," the other man said.
"I was caught in that wee breeze last night."
Johnny’s regard was openly inquisitive. "So you’re here by accident."
"Aye, of course."
Again he felt that ridiculous rush of heat to his cheeks. After the response he’d received from Kirsty and her father, he was loath to confess his quest and put himself in line for more mockery. "I have business west of Lewis."
"It must be gey important business if it makes ye put to sea in winter, Mr. Drummond," Johnny said with unconcealed curiosity.
Dougal braced for Kirsty to tell them about Fair Ellen, but she shot Johnny a hard look. "I ken you’re dying to hear all the gossip, Johnny, but have some manners. Dougal doesnae deserve an interrogation."
Johnny raised his brows. "An interrogation, is it, lassie? I thought I was just being friendly."
"And nosy," Kirsty said without heat.
"You’re a braw sailor if ye made it through last night’s gale," Jock or Bill said. "Were ye on your own?"
"I was. I thought it would be the end of me. I’ve never faced seas like it."
"It was a terrible night, at that," Johnny said. "Now you’re joining us for Christmas. At Askaval, we have a grand celebration for Christmas. We do indeed."
"Unfortunately my business willnae wait," Dougal said. "I’ll be off in the morning."
Bill or Jock – as Dougal wasn’t staying on the island, it probably didn’t matter that he failed to work out who was who – shook his head in disapproval. "Och, you’re just asking the ocean to swallow ye up."
"Aye," the other one said. "The good Lord brought ye safely to harbor so you can celebrate Christmas like a Christian. Now you’re spitting in the Almighty’s eye and setting off again. Dinnae do it, laddie. You’re inviting trouble."
For one superstitious moment, Dougal wondered if the old men were right. Then he remembered he was a modern man who trusted in science, not old wives’ tales. "I’ll take my chances. Although I appreciate the welcome I’ve received on Askaval. It could no’ have been warmer."
"We dinnae see many fresh faces here, Mr. Drummond. When we do, we like to hold onto them as long as we can," Johnny said to grunts of general agreement from his cronies.
"Nonetheless, Mr. Drummond must away, now his boat is repaired." Kirsty shot the old men a smug look. "So if ye want to take advantage of someone new to talk to, you’d better come with us to the woods."
Johnny gave an appreciative chuckle. "You’re a canny lassie, Kirsty Macbain. The man who weds ye will catch himself a clever wife, indeed."
Dougal noticed that given the right encouragement, his hostess could blush, too. "Away with ye, Johnny Garrett. Nobody here is talking about a husband for me."
"And nobody will, as long as you run around like a heathen in men’s clothes and never see a soul ye havenae known since you were a wean in your mother’s arms."
"Aye, nice to see ye in a dress, Kirsty," Bill – or Jock – said. "You’re such a bonny lassie. It’s a pity there’s nae young men on the island to appreciate how bonny."
Kirsty’s cheeks were as red as ripe apples. At first Dougal had appreciated having the old men’s attentions diverted from him and his purposes. But he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the girl who endured this scolding under a stranger’s gaze. "She is bonny, whatever she wears. Ye should be grateful to have a laird’s daughter who works so hard for your welfare, instead of sitting around in silks and satins, embroidering and eating bonbons."
Three sets of speculative glances settled on Dougal, and he found himself blushing fit to match Kirsty.
"Is that so?" Johnny asked in a deliberately neutral voice.
"You seem to have noticed a lot about Askaval since ye arrived, Mr. Drummond," Bill – Jock said.
"Och, he’s clearly a noticing sort of a man," said the other one.
"The most noticing man," the first one piped up. "Are ye married, Mr. Drummond?"
"Bill, that’s enough," Kirsty said sharply. "Ye had your fun teasing me. Are you going to come to the woods and help?"
"Whisht, lassie." Bill – thanks to Kirsty’s reprimand, Dougal could now tell the two apart – smiled without resentment, revealing an almost toothless mouth. "Ye willnae let us ask about where Mr. Drummond is going. So ye should let us ask about where he’s come from."
"Aye, Mr. Drummond, it would be rude no’ to." Jock’s black eyes disappeared in a nest of wrinkles as he chuckled. "Rude. And inhospitable, when you’ve already told us how ye appreciated your welcome here on the island."
"So are ye married, Mr. Drummond?" Johnny asked with an innocent air Dougal already knew not to trust.
"No, I’m no’ married." Dougal had been a target of matchmaking mammas often enough. The best way to handle this was to pretend the questions held no agenda.
Beside him, Kirsty shifted from foot to foot in discomfort. It couldn’t be pleasant for her if the islanders regarded any single man who set foot on Askaval as a potential husband. No wonder her cheeks were on fire.
"Och, that’s too bad," Bill said.
"It is?" he said, caught by surprise.
Johnny snickered. "Aye, a man needs a sweet wee wife to make his life comfortable and give him bairns. You’re no’ set against the idea, are ye?"
Despite himself, Dougal admired the old men’s effrontery. They had no shame, by God. "No’ at all."
If Fair Ellen chose to reward his gallantry with her hand in marriage, he was ready to step up and take his place as her husband. When a valiant knight rescued a captive lady, wasn’t that how the tale always ended?
"And I assume at this Bruard, you’re a man of some substance?" Jock asked slowly.
"Jock, stop it," Kirsty said, sounding like she suffocated.
"Aye, that’s a bonny boat tied up over there on the quay. It must have cost a pretty penny, and it doesnae look like a working craft. That’s a rich man’s toy, that is," Johnny said.
Dougal answered. After all, he should have already given Kirsty and her father some accounting of the man they sheltered and fed. "My father is John Drummond, the laird there."
"And it’s a fine estate, ye say?" Bill said.
He couldn’t help grinning. "Fine enough."
Jock studied him with unabashed interest. "And I suppose ye have half a dozen brothers older than you?"
"No, I’m the oldest. I have four brothers and two sisters younger than me."
"That’s a goodly sized family. Ye must come from virile stock."
Kirsty’s strangled sound of horror made Dougal burst out laughing. He hoped she saw that there was no mischief in this probing. The old men were doing their best to make sure that Dougal was a suitable suitor for their beloved lady.
The girl must know that she was safe from any unwelcome attentions. Dougal couldn’t have made it clearer that he was away tomorrow. It was highly unlikely he’d meet Miss Macbain ever again.
To his surprise, that provoked a sharper regret than a day’s acquaintance should. The girl was bright and interesting and good company – not to mention a prodigy with a hammer and drill when a laddie wanted help fixing his boat. She was also fascinating to look at. That unusual face grew prettier by the moment. He’d found himself pausing as he made his repairs to watch the expressions crossing her features. Expressions as changeable as the mercurial Highland weather.
Right now, the forecast was storms ahead, if he was any predictor of weather – and female temper. He could see the funny side of her clansmen interviewing him for a role as her bridegroom. Kirsty was completely mortified.
"There’s nothing lily-livered about the Drummonds," he said.
"We can see that, sir." Johnny sent Kirsty a meaningful glance, only to receive a baleful glare in return.
Dougal supposed her reaction to the teasing – and while the questions were serious enough, there was a good element of teasing in the old men’s mischief – was yet another sign of how isolated Askaval was. At Bruard, people had been teasing him about his marital intentions since he was old enough to notice the lassies.
Kirsty folded her arms and frowned at the incorrigible old men. "Setting aside the subject of Mr. Drummond’s virility, are ye going to come and help me? We’ve only got a couple of hours of daylight left."
Johnny viewed her speculatively. "In return for one round, Kirsty lass?"
Despite herself, Kirsty laughed. Her good nature impressed Dougal. "Two, if ye look lively and dinnae spend the rest of the afternoon embarrassing our guest."
"Och, I wasnae embarrassed," Dougal said. "A bit of curiosity is to be expected."
Bill looked triumphant. "You’re all right, laddie."
"Indeed he is." Johnny stood up. "Come on, lads. These trees willnae cut themselves. And our Kirsty needs a chaperone or two."
The Highlander’s Christmas Quest: The Lairds Most Likely Book 5 Page 4
