Rogue of the Isles

by Cynthia Breeding

  “It sounds like such fun. Have you danced a waltz?”

  Jamie choked on a piece of bread, and Mari avoided looking at him. She remembered all too well what it felt like to have Jamie’s strong arm wrapped around her waist while his other hand caressed her fingers sensually and he tugged her close enough on the turns that her breasts brushed against his hard chest. Just recalling that dance made her nipples tighten.

  Mari cleared her throat. “How do you know about the waltz? It has just been introduced in London.”

  Fiona giggled. “Jillian showed me the steps and told me Ian had to learn how to do it. It sounds so romantic.”

  Jamie reached for his wine to wash down the bread. “Dinnae fill yer head with such ideas.”

  “Why not? Jillian said it felt verra good to dance with Ian. I would verra much like to try it one day.”

  “Ye are too young to be thinking such.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened suddenly, and then she smiled mischievously. “Did ye learn as well, Jamie?”

  Mari hid a smile as the tips of Jamie’s ears turned pink—a rather endearing quality she had not noticed before.

  “’Tis naught for ye to ken,” he answered and took a large spoonful of stew. “Now eat or be excused.”

  For once, Mari did not take issue with Jamie’s orders for she could understand how a fearsome warrior used to yielding a claymore might not want his family to know he was actually a good dancer. It would be their little secret for now.

  Just like the pink ears.

  Perhaps she should give Jamie a chance, just as Jillian had requested—and maybe they would waltz again.

  “Mayhap I should resume my place at the evening table,” Ian said the next morning as he and Jamie were going over the accounts in the library. “’Tis a burden I am putting on ye to handle our uncle and his brother.”

  Jamie had told him of following Duncan yesterday afternoon and that their uncle had met with men known for their discontent with Sutherland. Now Jamie scowled. “I can handle Duncan and Broc. Yer wife needs ye with her right now.”

  “Truth be told, I think she may be getting tired of my hovering over her. Yesterday she said she was feeling much better and wanted to go downstairs. I would nae let her. She had some rather sharp words about that.”

  “’Tis Mari’s influence. The lass is nae shy on using sharp words, nor does she understand the need for silence when told to be still.”

  “If ye told the lass to hold her tongue, ’tis a wonder yer head is still attached to yer shoulders.” Ian grinned. “The Barclay women do nae take well to orders.”

  “So I have noticed.” Jamie leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead, feeling the start of another Mari-induced headache. “The lass has tried me more often than a whole squadron of untrained men.”

  Ian grin widened. “I ne’r thought to hear ye say a lass gave ye troubles. What happened to the charm ye claimed to have?”

  Jamie glowered at his brother. “I vowed to protect the lass. I have nae tried to charm her.” Not that he hadn’t thought about it. He remembered all too well how her lips had yielded to his kiss, and how her soft curves melded to his body. That was part of what gave him these headaches.

  “Mayhap ye should.”

  “Are ye daft? If Mari daesna remove my head, yer wife certainly would. Ye ken I canna take advantage of the lass.”

  “I dinnae say to take advantage.” Ian studied him for a moment. “Jillie claims Mari is besotted with ye—”

  “Besotted? The lass can barely give me the time of day without a sharp tongue.”

  “A sharp tongue often ceases beneath soft kisses.”

  Sheer heat seared through Jamie’s veins at those words, and Ian raised a brow.

  “Mayhap ye have discovered such?”

  Jamie looked at the ceiling. “’Tis nae yer business, brother.”

  Ian slapped the flat of his hand on the desk to draw Jamie’s attention back and leaned forward. “Aye. ’Tis my business if ye are trifling with the lass.”

  “I am nae trifling!”

  “Good.” Ian tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully. “Would it be so verra bad if ye took her to wife?”

  Jamie stared at him. “Ye have gone completely barmy. I am nae ready—”

  “Ye are four-and-twenty. ’Tis time ye thought about taking yer place on Raasay.”

  “For certain, ye have gone soft in the head. Have ye nae heard the lass speak? She wishes for all the pomp of London and a refined gentleman whose idea of fighting is waving a wee bit of blunted steel around while wearing enough padding to clothe half our clan.”

  “All ye have to do then is put a number of them on their arses. She will ken who is the better mon.”

  “I dinnae think Mari is much impressed with fighting skills,” Jamie replied, thinking about the many times she had commented on the weapons he kept on his person.

  Ian waved a hand dismissively. “’Twas the same with Jillie. Mari may nae think yer skills are important until ye have to use them. Meanwhile, mayhap ye should take her to Glenfinnan and show her about. The gypsies came through before the last snow so the shops should have new wares. Bridget told me Shauna and Fiona have both been wanting to go. Ye could take all three.”

  “Escorting three women while they shop is nae a fun pastime. I would rather keep tracking Duncan.”

  “I will ask Brodie to keep an eye on him while ye are gone.” Ian leaned back in his chair, a satisfied look on his face. “It willna hurt for Mari to see ye playing the part of gentleman by escorting her on the wee shopping trip.”

  Jamie groaned inwardly. He’d already escorted Mari on several shopping trips—none of which had turned out well, but the less said about that, the better.

  Mari had not been at all sure she wanted to go shopping in Glenfinnan. For one thing, she wanted to stay with Jillian since Ian had to ride out this morning, but Jillian insisted she was feeling much better and having both Darcy and Effie watching over her would be sufficient—if they didn’t manage to kill each other.

  Secondly, Mari wasn’t at all sure Jamie wouldn’t resort to tossing her over his shoulder again if she wandered off—which pretty much meant she would have to follow his orders to stay with the group. However, since the twins decided they wanted to come along, maybe he would have his hands full keeping track of them.

  Or at least she hoped he would. She was pleasantly surprised at the size of the village. While it certainly did not compare to London or even the small towns around Newburn and Cantford, it was not the rustic clumping of a few thatched cottages she had imagined either. “I was not expecting an actual street with shops.”

  “With the building of the Loch na Gaul road a few years ago it has been easier for merchants to receive wares overland,” Jamie said. ‘The gypsies especially like the road for their large wagons. I think ye will find a fair assortment of goods.”

  “Ooh, look,” Caitlin—or maybe it was Caylin—said and pointed to a shopkeeper who was hanging rag dolls from a rack in the doorway. “Let’s see how much they cost.”

  “Ye are too old for such frippery,” Shauna said, but she was speaking to the wind, for the twins were racing each other down the road toward the shop.

  “Och, let them look,” Jamie said. “’Tis good they still want children’s toys.”

  His response surprised Mari. She hadn’t thought he would notice the twins with their silly, adolescent giggling—and intermittent attempts at batting their eyes at the young lads who helped the grooms—were still very much children.

  “I would be happy to purchase the dolls for them,” Mari offered.

  “Thank ye, but nae. They earn their pence doing chores for Bridget. They need to decide if they wish to part with their coin on such,” Jamie said.

  “You make them pay for their own toys?”

  “Aye. Life in the Highlands can be harsh, lass. There is nae always enough food to be had, and having to purchase provisions takes much coin. The bairns need to
ken how important that is. Survival sometimes depends on whether a laird can afford to pay what is asked.”

  Since her discussion with Shauna, Mari knew Jamie was talking about the rents the English imposed on Scots who were allowed to keep their lands after Culloden, although Jamie didn’t actually say so. Shame washed over Mari at the thought of her own people inflecting such hard rules, especially with harsh winters or poor harvests.

  “That is the reason your uncle and his brother hate the English, is it not?”

  Jamie grimaced. “They let hatred feed over what is past and canna be undone. But for the lasses—” he pointed toward the vendor who was letting the twins hold the ragdolls, “—’tis simply a matter of them learning to make wise decisions.”

  Again, Mari was surprised. Ladies in London were given pin money by their husbands, although they had accounts in the shops—little decision-making was involved. The daughters were simply provided with what they needed—or wanted. The twins did not lack for clothing or other needs, but the idea of young girls earning shillings to pay for their own toys as a way to learn to make decisions was intriguing—and somewhat ironical, given that Jamie tried to make all her decisions for her.

  A point she should mention. “You are going to allow the twins to make their own decisions?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then why not allow me the same?”

  Jamie grinned, his dimple showing. “’Tis because ye do nae make wise decisions.”

  Ooh, he was being impossible again. Mari looked toward his sisters for support, but Shauna was engaged in conversation with a farmer’s wife, and Fiona had moved to a stall where the merchant displayed ribbons and bolts of material. “I will have you know I am quite capable of making decisions.”

  “Aye.” His grin widened. “Just nae wise ones.”

  “I can too.”

  Jamie raised a brow. “Like hying off to the park with the Frenchman and nae escort except yer maid?”

  “I did not know Effie would become ill.”

  Jamie’s face darkened. “I have my suspicions about that, lass.”

  “You do not honestly believe that Nicholas would deliberately sicken Effie, do you?”

  “Aye, I do,” Jamie answered, all playfulness gone from his tone. “The mon meant to put ye in a vulnerable spot, and I was nae there to protect ye.”

  “Protect—oh, never mind. I told you Nicholas did not take advantage of me.” Mari decided not to count the kiss. It had not led to anything. “I returned home, safe and sound.”

  “Amidst a potential scandal. I have observed yer English Society likes to blether on about such things.”

  She could not argue with him about that. Too many people had seen her with Nicholas looking like they were alone. It was probably good that she’d come to Scotland. “The gossips will have something new to talk about by the time we return,” she said, sounding somewhat lame even to herself. Time to change the subject before she got a lecture. She looked around quickly and then pointed. “What is that tall tower-looking thing?”

  “’Tis a tribute to Bonnie Prince Charlie raising the Scottish flag before Culloden. Since King George dinnae perceive Scots to be a threat to England any longer, he allowed Alexander MacDonald to begin building the monument just this year.”

  “I thought the Scots wanted to forget about Culloden.”

  “Nae, lass, we will never forget, although most of us have accepted we canna change what happened. Mayhap the king thinks it will establish peace finally.”

  “You know most English think the king is quite mad?”

  Jamie nodded. “Aye. The mon’s talking to a tree made fine storytelling even this far north. But mayhap his madness brings insight, nae?”

  Mari considered. “I had not thought of it that way.” She looked toward the water. “Can we walk down to the shore?”

  “Aye.” Jamie motioned toward a vendor not far away hawking meat pies. “Would ye like a pasty to take with us?”

  Mari suddenly realized she was famished as a whiff of the spicy meat concoction filled the air. “That would be nice.”

  Jamie purchased two and stopped for a moment to tell Shauna to keep an eye on the twins and Fiona not to buy anything until they returned. Instead of bristling under his mandate, both sisters nodded, although Fiona watched them leave with wide eyes.

  “Do you really think Fiona is going to obey you?” Mari asked as they walked toward the water.

  Jamie shrugged. “She can only look. Shauna has the coin.”

  “Then why did you tell Fiona not to buy anything?”

  Jamie looked at Mari as though she were slightly addled. “So Shauna kens nae to let Fiona have any money.”

  “And Shauna will obey you? I thought you said women here learned to make their own decisions.”

  “Well, aye. In matters which pertain to them. Shauna kens well enough that times are hard until Ian’s accounts are settled in Cantford. Fiona is a headstrong lass, given to wheedling like ye do—”

  “I do not wheedle.”

  “Nae? We could debate the point.” Jamie grinned. “I would win of course.”

  “You would not.” Mari was tempted to stamp her foot but gave it a second thought since the ground was rocky and uneven. The last thing she needed was to land on her bottom and have Jamie rescue her in front of his sisters whom she suspected were both watching them. “Has anyone told you that you are impossible?”

  “Just ye,” Jamie answered amiably.

  “Well, you are. If Shauna is aware spending needs to be watched, then why tell her? She is intelligent.”

  “Aye, she is.” Jamie looked puzzled. “If Shauna refuses to let Fiona buy anything, then the lass will be angry with her. If Shauna is under my orders, then Fiona will turn her temper on me. ’Tis better for Shauna.”

  Mari opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, for once speechless. The last thing she had expected from Jamie was to shoulder the blame deliberately.

  She remembered Jillian’s admonishment that Jamie was like King Arthur’s knight, Gawain.

  Maybe he was…just a little.

  They walked close to the shore and sat on a large boulder semi-warm from the sun even though the air was crisp and cool. Ahead of them, the long, narrow ribbon of Loch Shiel shimmered like sparkling crystals where the sun glinted upon the deep blue water. Mountains on either side rose up in shades of verdant majesty, their peaks still dusted with snow from the recent storm. A kestrel glided lazily overhead, catching updrafts beneath its wings to soar effortlessly while it searched for a fish.

  “This is so peaceful,” Mari said.

  “Aye,” Jamie answered as he handed her one of the meat pasties. “It reminds me a little of Raasay.”

  “The isle where you are from?”

  Jamie nodded. “The isle has only one main village, Inverarish, but given the population is less than a thousand, ’tis enough.”

  “What do the people do? Raise sheep?”

  “Some do, but there is a spring running down the face of a high cliff on the east side that washes the rock, turning it to a white substance from which fine lime is made, and a quarry of good stone as well. On the west side, the fishing is good.” Jamie paused and then smiled. “The fishermen have an unwritten code that all their lines must be the same length for the longest would have access to the best fish and have the others at a disadvantage.”

  “Highlanders have a lot of unwritten codes, do they not?” Mari asked.

  “Mayhap. ’Tis more a matter of honor that we provide for and protect our clansmen.”

  Mari furrowed her brow. “Is that why you are so adamant about protecting me? Because, in a way, I am now related to you?”

  Jamie shrugged. “Ye can see it that way I suppose, but I could nae let ye place yerself in danger, lass. ’Tis nae my way.”

  Mari studied him. Maybe there was more than a little Gawain in Jamie, after all. “Do you miss Raasay?” she asked softly.

  “Aye, sometimes I do. On a c
lear day, if ye climb to the top of Dùn Caan, ye can see the Isle of Skye to the west and Beinn Bhan to the east with the only sound the distant surf or mayhap the scream of an eagle overhead.”

  Mari had never heard him wax nostalgic before. He actually had a softer side than his usual bossiness. “You sound like you love the isle.”

  “Highlanders place high value on their lands.” He paused and then, as if he realized he’d suddenly exposed his emotions, he switched the subject, pointing to her pasty. “Ye had best eat while it is still warm.”

  Mari blinked, taking a moment to switch her thoughts, and then realized she really was hungry. Biting into the flaky crust, she savored the first bite of saucy meat and some vegetable she could not identify. “Mmm. This is really good,” she said.

  “Aye,” Jamie said, “’tis simple country fare of mutton, leek and turnip, but the farm women pride themselves on the spices they add.”

  “I suppose those spices are family secrets?” Mari asked as she took another delicious bite.

  “That they are.” Jamie grinned and reached over, the pad of his thumb wiping the gravy she’d dribbled on her chin, and resumed eating his own pasty.

  His touch was quick and light, but the sense of it lingered on her skin like a whispered caress, and Mari reminded herself again that Jamie was a man of contradictions. Bossy, yes, but he had a softer side, as she had just heard. She glanced at his hands—so strong and callused from wielding swords, yet so gentle with a touch as well. Truly a man of contradictions.

  They finished their small meal in comfortable silence, listening to the sound of water lapping along the shoreline and watching the antics of gulls swooping low in hopes of crumbs. Mari wiped her fingers on the handkerchief Jamie produced from his sporran and then leaned back on her hands, tilting her face to the sun as she closed her eyes to bask in its warmth.

  Jamie’s lips closed softly on hers and she gasped, allowing him the opportunity to slide his tongue along the separation. She would have fallen backwards except his strong arm encircled her, pulling her closer as he leisurely began to play with her mouth.