The Highlander’s Christmas Quest: The Lairds Most Likely Book 5

by Anna Campbell

  "She does no’," the girl spluttered. "Ye go too far, Johnny."

  "Just see ye dinnae. We remember what it was like to be young, do we no’, boys?"

  "Aye, we do indeed," Bill said, a nostalgic light in his faded blue eyes.

  "Put some of this mischief into helping me get ready for Christmas," Kirsty said.

  "For two rounds?" Jock asked hopefully.

  "We’ll see," Kirsty said, marching off with an annoyed swing of her hips that caught Dougal’s eyes. Fair Ellen or no Fair Ellen, he defied any red-blooded male not to appreciate the fine sight of Miss Kirsty Macbain stalking away in high dudgeon.

  He caught Jock’s bright eye on him and realized his interest had been noted. And approved.

  "I’m only here until tomorrow," he said, although he owed the old miscreants no explanation or apology for his interest in a pretty girl.

  "So you’ve said, laddie," Jock replied in a deliberately neutral voice that had Dougal’s eyes narrowing in his direction.

  "Aye, so you’ve said, Mr. Drummond," Johnny said.

  "Miss Macbain knows that."

  "I’m sure she does, Mr. Drummond," Bill said in an equally even tone.

  "You’re off to find Fair Ellen of the Isles, we hear. That’s your business west of Lewis," Johnny said. "Nae time to linger, even to celebrate the Lord’s day."

  Damn it, he was blushing again. "Ye heard about that?"

  Johnny shrugged. "It’s a gey small island – and you’re the most interesting thing to happen here since Peg’s bitch had a pup with one brown and one blue eye."

  In spite of his discomfort, Dougal couldn’t help laughing at these disgraceful old rascals and their nonsense. "Well, I can imagine that caused a sensation."

  "Aye, best sheepdog on Askaval, but that’s by the by. They say you’re headed to Innish Beag."

  No point now trying to hide his purpose. "Aye, I am."

  "Why Innish?" Bill frowned. "I heard the lass was on Inch Kenneth off Mull."

  Jock looked thoughtful. "While I heard she was kept in a tower on a rock west of Hyskeir."

  Johnny scowled at his companions. "Och, you’re both soft in the heed. Everyone kens she’s on a skerry off John O’Groats."

  Dougal felt rising discouragement. He’d pledged himself to find Fair Ellen. He’d search every island in the Hebrides if he had to. But carrying his rescued maiden back to Bruard before the end of winter was beginning to look like a dream.

  "My nephew met someone who built the tower," Bill said.

  "Is that so? The ferryman on Lewis must have met that same cove, but he had a different story," Johnny said doubtfully. "Or it might have been the factor on Jura who told me."

  "I suppose ye heard directly?" Dougal asked Jock.

  The old man shook his head. "I cannae rightly remember who told me it was Hyskeir. I was drunk at the time, ye ken?"

  Johnny snickered. "That sounds likely."

  Jock regarded Dougal with a serious expression at odds with the rest of their conversation. "Laddie, I admire your ambition to rescue the lassie. Has it occurred to ye that the stories about her are nothing but whispers in the wind and drifts of Highland mist? I dinnae ken if it’s the same at Bruard, but here on the islands, we hear a grand lot of nonsense. Most of it turns out to be nothing more than a whisky-soaked dream, or an old wives’ tale, or a load of wishful thinking."

  "Aye, we hear a few fairy tales dressed up as truth," Dougal said cautiously. "There are plenty of cold winter nights when an outlandish story can sound like fact as well as welcome entertainment."

  "Does the plight of Fair Ellen no’ sound like another fairy tale? Think on it, Mr Drummond. The most beautiful lassie in the Highlands is locked away in a tower at the top of a fearsome crag, and only the bravest knight in the kingdom can save her. My granny told me that story when I was a wean, by heaven."

  Dougal shifted uncomfortably under the old man’s shrewd eyes. "The fact that it sounds like a fairy story doesnae mean it’s a lie."

  "Perhaps no’ a lie, but maybe something of an exaggeration," Bill said, and Dougal hid a wince at the kindness in the man’s voice.

  "I feel in my bones that it’s true." He wished he had something a little more concrete to offer his skeptical audience.

  "Och, bones can be powerful things," Johnny said. "Right now, mine tell me I’d rather stay here than go annoying innocent holly bushes that never did me a moment’s wrong."

  Dougal looked ahead and noticed Kirsty was crossing a field in the distance. He was grateful that the trio of islanders had changed the subject. He wasn’t a fool, although he had a nasty suspicion Bill, Johnny and Jock judged him to be one. The widespread reports of Fair Ellen and the fact that the story seemed to be of recent origin had convinced him of her reality outside the realm of wild Celtic imagination.

  "Our Kirsty is set on having our help," Bill said.

  "And dinnae forget there’s two rounds in the balance," Jock pointed out.

  "Only if she feels like it," Johnny said.

  "Johnny, ye ken young Kirsty is a soft touch," Jock said. "She’ll pay our two rounds. Ye ken very well she will."

  "Aye, she’s a good lassie, Kirsty." Bill sent Dougal a sly glance. "And I think ye pointed out she’s bonny, too, Mr. Drummond?"

  It seemed the subject hadn’t changed after all. Dougal gave an unamused grunt. "Aye, she’s bonny."

  "You’d better go after her," Jock said. "She’ll want help with the cutting."

  "Are ye no’ coming?"

  "We’ll be along in good time," Bill said. "But dinnae wait for us, laddie. Just follow Kirsty across the field and up the brae. From the top, you’ll see the woodland in the glen below."

  "Aye, ye cannae miss it, laddie," Johnny said.

  Dougal only just stopped himself from shaking his head at the old rogues and their shameless attempts at matchmaking. It was all done so blatantly and with such good humor that he couldn’t be angry. Although if every man who landed on Askaval received the same treatment, he could imagine Kirsty found their antics less amusing. He might have only met her today, but he’d already noticed she was a proud wee thing.

  A man who was away on the morning tide could take the locals’ machinations in his stride. In the meantime, he’d promised to help a pretty girl gather Christmas greenery. And Kirsty Macbain was much easier on the eyes than her aging kinsmen.

  Chapter 5

  Kirsty slipped out of bed to tug her thick flannel nightdress over her head and toss it across a chair. A few moments more, and she was dressed in her shirt and breeches and creeping downstairs and out of Tigh na Mara. She paused to collect the heavy bundle she’d concealed behind the gatepost after dinner.

  The fine weather had held, fortunately, although when she stepped outside, she was glad she’d flung a coat over her shoulders before she left the house. Rain wouldn’t have deterred her, but it would make her excursion more uncomfortable. Not to mention that tramping mud into the carpets would make it more difficult to keep her excursion undiscovered.

  By lantern light, she made her way down the drive, then turned toward the quay.

  ***

  "I dinnae understand it," Dougal said, standing on the quay and frowning down into the dirty water slopping around the bottom of his boat with each gentle wave. "I could have sworn I found every bit of damage and patched it up."

  The day had dawned fair with a light southerly wind, just right for sailing. He’d risen early and rushed down from the house to check his vessel before breakfast to ensure everything was ready for his departure.

  At his side, Kirsty stared at the Kestrel in dismay. "Ye seemed so thorough."

  This morning, she wore a blouse and a kirtle in a soft blue and yellow pattern that he now recognized as the Macbain plaid. A shawl in the same design shrouded her shoulders. Her shining dark hair was plaited back from her face, and she looked fresh and sweet, and too pretty for a man who was determined to leave her.

  Except it seemed he must st
ay on Askaval for at least another day. Fair Ellen’s tribulations would continue, but there was little he could do about that.

  At least today he wore his own clothes so when he flexed his shoulders, he wasn’t afraid of tearing his shirt. True to her word, Kirsty had rescued his sodden valise yesterday morning and sent everything inside it to be washed.

  "I thought I had been. Anyway I didnae think there was much wrong with the hull. I must have been mistaken."

  Dougal couldn’t entirely interpret the glance the girl directed at him. "There’s a beach around the headland. Ye could row over there and get the boat up onto dry land to make your repairs. If you’re working on the hull, it might be easier."

  He studied the water in the boat. "I’m no’ sure she would make it."

  The girl looked up at him. "If I come with ye and bail, we should manage. It’s no’ far, and it’s a perfect day for sailing."

  "Aye," he said, wishing he could take advantage of it. It didn’t matter what the weather was like. The Kestrel wasn’t going anywhere until he’d plugged the leaks. "Would ye do that?"

  She raised her head and stared at him, her expression serious. "Of course."

  He summoned a smile. "Thank ye."

  His favorable impression of his host’s daughter had firmed up yesterday, through several hours of cutting greenery and hauling it up to the house. The old men from the inn had eventually arrived in the wood but hadn’t provided much help beyond a running commentary. Even so, Dougal and Kirsty had joined them for the promised two rounds at Miss Macbain’s expense. It seemed Jock was right about her being a soft touch.

  What was also clear was that everyone Dougal had met on the island loved her.

  "It’s the least I can do." She paused. "And I’ll help with fixing your boat, too."

  "You’re too kind."

  Her lips flattened, as if the compliment made her uncomfortable. That was something else he liked about her. Her lack of vanity. "No’ at all."

  "I’ll have to impose on ye and your father for another night."

  She made a dismissive gesture. "You’re more than welcome to stay. Papa loves visitors and anyway, he likes ye."

  "I like him." I like you.

  At dinner last night, conversation had been easy and considerably less controversial than his dealings with Johnny, Bill, and Jock. The laird hadn’t seemed nearly as eager to view Dougal as a potential suitor for Kirsty, which was a relief. For him and, he was sure, for Kirsty.

  Now she stared at him as if she tried to penetrate his mind. "Are ye truly so disappointed that you cannae go?"

  Was he? Perhaps disappointed wasn’t the right word. He liked it here on Askaval. Too much. The pleasure of Kirsty’s company sapped his determination to set out across the sea to fulfill his quest. If her influence could have such a deleterious effect on his resolution after a mere day, he feared the results of a longer stay.

  But of course he couldn’t say that to her. So he straightened his shoulders and injected a firmness he certainly didn’t feel into his tone. "Of course I am. Ye know how eager I am to save Fair Ellen."

  "A woman you’ve never met." Her voice was curiously flat.

  "She’s in trouble. Chivalry insists that any man of character must rally to her aid."

  "Aye."

  Again a flat response, where flat was a word he’d never yet applied to this vivid lassie.

  "I cannae ignore the injustice she suffers." Damn it, it sounded like he protested too much.

  Kirsty subjected him to another long stare, and he had the unwelcome feeling that she wasn’t entirely pleased with what she saw. "Chivalry and all that."

  "Aye." Despite knowing he was in the right, he shifted under that assessing gaze like a schoolboy caught stealing honey cakes out of the larder.

  "We could take the boat around now, then join Papa for breakfast and start the repairs after that."

  When she changed the subject to practicalities, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "Excellent idea."

  "Aye," she said, still sounding lackluster.

  "But ye might no’ want to get your skirts wet."

  "You’ll need someone to bail."

  "We could ask Johnny or Bill or Jock."

  "They’ll be asleep at this hour. I’ll hitch up my skirts. If they get wet, it’s only a matter of rinsing the saltwater out of them later."

  "Ye should have worn your breeches."

  She cast him a sharp look that once again he couldn’t totally interpret. "Are ye mocking me, Dougal?"

  "You’re in a gey funny humor today, Miss Macbain," he said with a frown. "Would ye rather I’d gone with the morning tide after all?"

  To his surprise, she laughed. "No’ at all. I told ye, we’d dearly love to keep you here until after Christmas."

  He relaxed. This sounded more like his blithe companion from yesterday. "And I was serious about your breeches. If you’re clambering over a beached boat, they’re a devil sight more convenient than fifty layers of petticoats."

  She looked surprised. "I was sure ye didn’t approve."

  "I was surprised when I first saw ye, but from what I can see, your unconventional costume is practical and raises no eyebrows on the island. It’s obvious that whatever you wear, you’re respected and loved as the laird’s daughter." He paused. "And it’s deuced becoming, if ye dinnae mind me telling ye so."

  She blushed. "I dinnae mind at all."

  "So was yesterday’s dress. So is this morning’s blouse and skirt."

  Stop, Dougal. Stop now. You’ve pledged your faith to Fair Ellen. You’ve no right to be waxing lyrical about another lassie’s attractions.

  But his mouth had developed a will of its own, unconnected to the dictates of his brain. So, horrified, he heard himself continue. "You’re a terrifically pretty girl. Ye could wander around Askaval in sackcloth and ashes, and I’d still admire you."

  As he babbled, her eyes rounded in astonishment. Highly likely she thought he was as mad as he feared he might be.

  "You…admire me?" she asked in an incredulous voice.

  "Aye, of course. More than I can say." Damn it. He was blushing again. "Did I no’ tell ye so yesterday?"

  She took a step back. "Well…thank ye," she said, continuing to sound as if she didn’t believe him.

  An awkward silence descended. The first he’d ever experienced with Kirsty. One of the many things he admired about her – he hadn’t lied about that, although he winced at his clumsiness in expressing it – was that she was so easy to talk to.

  She subjected him to an unwavering gaze that made him want to shift like that feckless schoolboy. Even worse, he couldn’t help himself from staring back.

  It was strange how she seemed to grow prettier by the minute. When he’d first met her, he’d thought her striking rather than conventionally beautiful. Now when she stood before him in the soft light of a December morning in the Hebrides, he had the fancy she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

  Of course he was yet to meet Fair Ellen. The stories might vary in detail, but the captive lass’s beauty was never in question.

  Unfortunately, at this moment, Fair Ellen felt like an insubstantial fairy tale, whereas Kirsty was here and within reach and staring at him as if she’d never seen a man before.

  Her eyes were silver as the sea at dawn. Her skin was white as milk. Her lips were red and full, and parted to give him a glimpse of white teeth as she sucked in a shaky breath.

  Lips that looks so soft and warm and kissable and…

  Dougal blinked and realized he leaned toward his hostess as if he meant to seize her in his arms. What in Hades was wrong with him? This stay on Askaval was nothing more than a temporary delay on his journey. Great deeds and renown awaited elsewhere.

  He straightened and stepped away, breaking the bond of attraction tightening between him and Kirsty. Because on his side, it was attraction. Much as he might wish it to perdition. He cleared his throat and turned away to look at his bo
at. The water in the hull had risen a few inches, he feared.

  And it was imperative he got off this island as quickly as he could.

  He cleared his throat again. "Aye, let’s take the boat around to the beach ye mentioned. I’m sure the damage is nothing serious, and I can fix it in a day." His voice sounded gruff, and he was too conscious of the hot blood pulsing through his veins.

  He turned and smothered a groan. Kirsty had started to bundle up her skirts. Was he the blasted idiot who had suggested she do that?

  Dougal closed his eyes, but it was too late. He’d got a good look at her shapely legs in green stockings with a sweet little yellow ribbon tied around her knee. The sight of that garter fluttering above the graceful curve of her calf would haunt him, he already knew. It was definitely time to leave, which was easier said than done when he had a boat half full of water.

  He gestured for Kirsty to precede him down the stairs and told himself he would not stare at her legs. At least now her skirts covered her to the knees. But as she jumped into the Kestrel with a lightness that made his wayward heart lift, he caught another glimpse of the teasing silk ribbon.

  His hands fisted at his sides. Only a cad would leap after her and untie those pretty garters and touch those legs and trace the line of her thighs above them all the way to paradise.

  More slowly, Dougal followed her into the boat and held out the bailer. If he could manage without her help, by God, he’d send her back home. But unfortunately, without someone to bail, he’d end up swimming.

  "Here." He hid a wince at his grim tone.

  She cast him a curious glance but took the bailer and started vigorous work. Which was awful too, because soon she discarded her shawl and every time she bent and stretched, he noticed the jiggle of her breast or the way her skirt tightened over her hip.

  He was a beast and a brute. At this rate, he’d be unworthy of Fair Ellen, even if he did find her.

  It was only as he sailed the boat out of the wee harbor that a stray thought struck him. When he’d stared transfixed Kirsty, Kirsty had stared back just as transfixed at him.