Just One Kiss

by Stephanie Sterling

“I’m-fine,” Muira replied, wholly unconvincingly. “I don’t need help from MacRae at any rate!” she added more forcibly.

  Lachlan frowned harshly. It would be easy enough to leave the troublesome wench, but he didn’t like to think who might come across her out here alone. She certainly didn’t seem to be going anywhere on her own. Her mare was lame, and Muira herself seemed to have suffered some injury to her ankle.

  “I’ll just leave you here to wait for your escort then, shall I?” he stated carefully. “You did have an escort, didn’t you, lass?” he pressed. Now that he was closer he could see, in spite of their current sorry state that her clothes were those of a lady. He couldn’t understand what she would be doing out on the highroad on her own.

  “Yes,” Muira said after a lengthy pause. “I-lost him. My horse bolted and I-”

  “Don’t-” Lachlan interrupted harshly, “-lie to me. If you don’t want to tell me the truth that’s your business, but I cannot abide liars,” he growled. He advanced on Muira until he was close enough to pluck the dagger out of her unresisting hand.

  Her eyes were wide and terrified. They locked onto his face. Lachlan was just trying to discern their color when Muira gasped: “What are you going to do to me?”

  After a moment’s silence of his own, Lachlan replied. “Take you with me to Castle Cameron.” It was really the only thing that he could do with the woman. He kept the dagger, but moved back slightly. Scaring this poor Cameron girl senseless certainly wouldn’t help Graem’s plan for peace.

  “Castle Cameron?” Muira repeated. Her eyes widened a fraction, and took on an uneasy expression that Lachlan found remarkably strange. Surely a Cameron would want to be taken home to her laird’s seat? Where else could she be going on her own? “I don’t-” she began, but then seemed to think better of it. “You can’t take me to the castle, MacRae,” she said instead. A haughty tone crept into her voice, grating on Lachlan’s nerves.

  “I can’t?”

  “You’re a MacRae,” Muira said, as though he was a simpleton for not realizing what this meant. She licked her lips hesitantly. “But-but maybe you could help me reach the Black Bull?” she asked quietly.

  “You’re a woman, and you obviously have no idea what’s going on between our clans, do you?” Lachlan snorted, earning a fierce glare from the lady. “I will most certainly not take you to a tavern and abandon you there. You must have friends at Castle Cameron.”

  “Yes, of course,” Muira admitted, although she sounded extremely reluctant to do so. She lowered her eyes and nodded weakly. “I do, but-” The sentence trailed off unfinished. “Thank you, MacRae.”

  Lachlan stared at her, wrong footed by this humble display. “Well now, there’s no need to be getting all upset about it,” he said gruffly.

  Suddenly eager for an activity, he wandered over to Muira’s horse and picked up each of the mare’s hooves to examine them. He cleaned out some grit and stone from under the horseshoes, but the animal was still far too lame to bear any weight.

  “They’ll be no riding her back to the castle,” Lachlan announced, more to break the silence than anything else. Muira glanced at him. She was still sat on the damp grass, looking decidedly sorry for herself.

  “I know,” she sighed. “I was walking her-back- when I tripped and sprained my ankle. I was just sitting here catching my breath-”

  “When I came along?” Lachlan finished helpfully, flashing Muira a brilliant smile. He chuckled at the color that rose to her cheeks. “Well, no matter. You’ll just have to ride Fiadhaich,” he shrugged.

  “Who?” Muira asked uncertainly. Her eyes alighted on the great bay brute of a horse that Lachlan had been riding.

  “He’s as gentle as a kitten. Aren’t you Fiad?” Lachlan said cheerfully. He thumped Fiadhaich soundly on the rear. The horse gave a loud whinny and stomped at the ground.

  “You know, my ankle’s not-”

  “I should probably take a look at that ankle of yours actually,” Lachlan mused, “Just to check that you haven’t done any serious damage.”

  Muira shook her head and smoothed her skirts down over her foot. “I really don’t think-!” she began modestly, but Lachlan had already knelt down on the grass and was gently, but intently, prying her fingers away from her leg.

  Muira’s boot was already off. Lachlan noticed that the leather was thick and barely worn, supporting his opinion that this girl was wellborn. He wondered if rescuing the damsel would earn him any favors with the Cameron Laird? He wondered if he cared. It was Graem who was in such a rush to reach a peace between their two clans before he died.

  Lachlan’s thoughts returned to the present when Muira gasped. “Does that hurt, lass?” Lachlan frowned. He was barely touching her ankle

  “No,” she choked. “I mean yes! I mean-!” she clamped her mouth shut. Blushing furiously, she stared down at her lap.

  Lachlan smiled to himself. She was an innocent little thing indeed if such a simple touch had sent her into a fluster. He finally admitted to himself how very fetching she looked. His gaze lingered on her lips. Their plump, crimson swells looked far too luscious and inviting. He wondered how old she was. Eighteen? Nineteen? He didn’t imagine that she could be much older than that, but it was impossible to be certain.

  “Well, is it broken?” Muira’s voice snapped Lachlan to attention. He cleared his throat and shook his head.

  “No. It’s just badly twisted, lass,” he assured her. “It only needs some rest.” He patted her knee and then got back up onto his feet.

  “You seem to know a bit about these things,” Muira murmured, her voice much quieter and less confident, than it had been before.

  “Well, I’ve had some practice,” he muttered. His face darkened into a frown as he remembered the battle wounds that he had dressed, the injuries he’d seen, the bodies he’d buried-all because of the Camerons! Graem thought that those things could be forgiven?

  “MacRae?” Muira whispered.

  Lachlan pushed his thoughts aside and forced a grin. “All done then, lass,” he said brightly. “You’ll want to keep that boot off during the ride back though.” Muira gave her head an obedient nod. “Let’s get you up on Fiad then,” he continued, moving to lift Muira up into his arms.

  “Oh! I think I can manage!” she said quickly.

  Lachlan’s grin widened. “You think so, do you?” he chuckled, looking from the tiny woman to the great horse.

  He got to his own feet in indication that he was at least willing to let her try.

  He knew perfectly well that she would never be able to hoist herself up onto the animal. She wasn’t nearly tall enough. What Lachlan was less certain of was if she would be able to put any weight on her foot. He waited, close enough to catch her if she stumbled, as Muira gingerly stood up.

  She used her good leg to bear her weight, but the second she tried to walk she crumpled like a house of cards. Lachlan’s arms were around Muira’s waist before she had a chance to hit the ground.

  “Oh!”

  Muira let out a little puff of breath as her body collided with Lachlan. The way that she had stumbled propelled her against his chest. He could feel the exceedingly generous curve of her breasts crushed against him. A spike of heat flared unexpectedly in his groin as she wriggled away.

  “I knew you’d need help.” Lachlan’s tone was harsher than he had intended, but his body’s enthusiastic reaction to Muira’s touch had taken him by surprise.

  He stowed Muira’s boot and the dagger that he’d taken off of her in Fiad’s saddlebags. Then he caught the horses by the reins. A gentle tug got both animals slowly walking down the road behind him.

  “I don’t suppose you want you tell me what you were doing out here on your own, lass?” Lachlan called over his shoulder after five minutes of total silence from his companion.

  “I don’t suppose I do,” Muira answered back. Lachlan glanced back to see what the problem was, an amused smile tugging at his lips when he caught Muira struggli
ng to keep her balance. Her long skirt was slipping on the smooth leather of the saddle, making it a constant struggle for her to remain on the horse.

  “And I thought I was going to have to walk the whole way to the castle,” Lachlan said cheerfully.

  “What are you-? What do you-?” Muira sputtered, gaping as Lachlan threw Fiad’s reigns back over his head. He let the horse keep his steady, walking pace, but moved around to his side, easily planting one foot into the stirrup before swinging himself up onto the animal’s back behind Muira.

  “Well I can’t have you falling off,” Lachlan pointed out practically. “I don’t think that would go down too well with the Camerons,” he sighed, reaching around Muira’s body to grasp the reigns.

  “I wasn’t in any danger of falling off, MacRae!” Muira gasped breathlessly. In truth she was squirming so much now that Lachlan was behind her that she really did seem in greater danger of being dismounted now than she had before. “I really don’t think that you should-that I should-” she fumbled to a halt. “I don’t even know you!” she wailed.

  “No, that is true enough,” he conceded softly.

  “All I do know about you is that you’re a MacRae

  “In fairness, lass, all I know about you is that you’re a Cameron,” Lachlan replied evenly. He watched the back of Muira’s head as she gave a small nod.

  “And yet, you still helped me,” she whispered, twisting so that she could look up into his face. Even with her so close, Lachlan still couldn’t work out if her eyes were blue or green or grey. “Why did you do that?” she pressed, and deciphering the color of her eyes flew straight out of Lachlan’s head. The sight of her mouth, slightly parted and too temptingly close to his own transfixed him.

  Lachlan wrenched his gaze away before he had time to make a fool of himself, forcing himself to look at the road ahead and nowhere else. What the hell was wrong with him? He shook his head, as if he was forcibly trying to clear it. His life would not be worth living if he compromised a woman from the Cameron clan-because he wouldn’t have a life for very long afterwards. Lachlan was rather certain of that fact.

  “MacRae?” Muira pressed.

  “Because I’m not an animal,” he growled. The woman looked abashed. She stared down at her hands and fell silent. Lachlan sighed heavily. He wasn’t sure if his words had been meant to convince Muira or himself.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Muira was getting used to the rocking of the horse. It was much less smooth than what she was used to on her little grey mare, but that was hardly surprising. The great bay gelding looked like some kind of fierce war charger. What she was not getting used to was the feel of MacRae’s arm about her waist, holding her steady and the feel of his chest pressed tight against her body. It was making her flushed and strangely uncomfortable. Still, it was pleasurable in its own way.

  Muira didn’t understand it. Her fiancé had ensured that she could never encounter a man’s touch without feeling fear. She could tell from the way that MacRae moved, from the breadth of his chest and the height of his body that he was just as strong as Tavish-if not more so! But while Tavish MacEantach wielded his strength like a weapon, the steely power of MacRae’s body was harnessed in a way that made Muira shiver with something other than fear.

  It excited her. She bit the inside of her lip guiltily. Lachlan MacRae was the enemy! Strangely, she had rarely felt so safe. She should hate him for more than simply being of the MacRae clan. He was taking her back to Castle Cameron.

  The castle had been her home for ten of her eighteen years. After her mother’s death, her father, the laird’s brother, moved back into his childhood residence with his daughter and two sons. Muira quickly became an indispensable member of the household. The laird had no daughters, so Muira became her aunt’s favorite little helper.

  She learned a great deal from her aunt: to sew and embroider, to sing and play the harp, and also how to manage the running of a castle like Cameron. She watched her aunt receive distinguished guests and manage the servants. As she grew older Muira was entrusted with important tasks around the castle, assuming the position of laird’s daughter more than laird’s niece.

  While her father had been saddened by this loss, he could not deny its probable benefits. The most important, of course, was that the most powerful men of the Cameron clan wanted to court her. Undoubtedly they hoped to gain influence with the laird, but they were also in a position to provide Muira with the life with which she had become accustomed.

  Muira accepted this fate happily enough. She was not like her best friend, Cait. She did not believe in forever and happy ever after. When Tavish MacEantach declared an interest in her was over the moon. Tavish was handsome, wealthy and well-connected. She had already accepted his proposal by the time she learned that he was also ruthless, vicious, cruel and ambitious.

  Muira shivered as she thought about her fiancé.

  “Are you cold?”

  Muira started again when she realized that she had dozed off. She was cuddled up close against MacRae’s chest. Her head was resting on his shoulder and her arms were wound around his waist. She gasped and tried push away, but only succeeded in throwing herself off balance.

  “Hey, lass, it’s all right,” MacRae soothed, holding her tight so that she didn’t tumble off the horse. “You’re safe. You remember what happened?”

  Muira nodded dumbly. It was dusk now, but she recognized the road. They weren’t more than a mile from Castle Cameron. She marveled at the fact that members of her clan hadn’t seen them yet.

  She had thought that they might encounter someone looking for her. She supposed that she hadn’t been gone that long. It was only twelve hours at the most, but Muira couldn’t help but feel a little affronted that no one had noticed. What was the point of running away if no one realized that you were gone?

  “What is it that you want at Cameron Castle, MacRae?” Muira asked. She was suddenly curious, and wanted a distraction from her own thoughts. A single warrior, no matter how formidable was not a threat. He must have some other purpose than war.

  “If I tell you that, will you tell me what you were doing running about the Highlands on your own?” MacRae replied. Muira thought that she could hear the grin that she sensed was plastered on his face.

  She remained silent as she pondered how ridiculous she would sound if she confessed that she had been running away. Muira sighed. It was true though. She had fled the castle with a handful of money and the clothes on her back. It had been a foolish thing to do. If MacRae hadn’t found her she would probably still be stranded miles back down the road.

  “Well now, I guess that means you don’t-” MacRae began after the silence dragged on for a full minute. He opened his mouth to say something more, but the words didn’t come. His body tensed for a moment, and then he slowly reached for the sword that was tucked behind Fiadhiach’s saddle.

  “What-” Muira gasped, frightened, but she was instantly shushed.

  “Put the lady down and we’ll make this nice and easy, MacRae!”

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