He was gone.
Geoffrey burst onto the pier like a cock o’ the walk and strutted toward the village. “’Tis venison,” he called back to her. “The finest to be found in this part o’ the wood.”
Mairi leaned back against the open door and let the wind rush over her. She must protect what remained of her clan. Her goal was unequivocal, yet the means of attaining it uncertain. All she knew was that she must act now.
Whom should she trust?
A man she’d known her whole life, or one she’d only just met?
“’Tis no Findhorn Castle,” Rob said, surveying the shabby hall of Dunbar’s fortified house.
“Nay,” Conall agreed, “but ’Twill do well enough.”
His men had spent the afternoon cleaning and repairing the place, with the help of the Dunbar women. Mairi and Dora were conspicuously absent. Tonight they would feast there. Symon had brought meat, provisions enough for all of them.
Conall studied the thick wattle-and-daub walls. The house would provide them a dry place to sleep, and would do as a headquarters for the construction.
“I’m surprised she agreed to let us stay here,” Rob said.
“Aye. I canna imagine why she chooses to live on that floating pile of timber, when she could occupy the house.”
A cackle echoed off the walls of the empty hall.
“Who’s there?” Conall whirled in the direction of the sound.
“Och, ’tis just me.” The old man who’d directed them to Dunbar’s grave appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Walter. Walter Dunbar. I dinna believe we were properly introduced.”
They hadn’t been. Conall had been too preoccupied. He waved the old man closer.
“She’ll ne’er live here, ye know,” Walter said.
“Why not?” he asked.
“’Twas her father’s domain.”
“I see.” But he didn’t see. ’Twas a perfectly good house, or could be with some fixing up.
“Well, he didna keep verra good care of it,” Rob said, wrinkling his nose at the chipped and battered furniture.
Conall’s eyes were drawn to the red-stained walls. “Blood?”
“Wine,” the old man said. “Alwin loved the drink.”
“Ah.” He was beginning to understand Mairi Dunbar a little better.
“Speaking o’ which,” Rob said. “How soon’s supper? I could use a pint o’ something, myself.”
All of them stopped to savor the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen.
“Soon,” Walter said, “by the smell o’ things. Ye’d best call your men, Mackintosh. I’ll go round up the Symons.”
Symon.
Conall wasn’t pleased that Mairi had asked the chieftain to stay. Symon had a stake in their plans Conall hadn’t counted on, and Conall knew he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “I wouldn’t,” he breathed, recalling Mairi’s kiss.
“Eh?” Rob said.
“Never mind,” he muttered, pushing the thought from his mind. “Go on, then, gather up the men.”
An hour later they were seated in the hall, as many of them as would fit. There had been a tense moment when ’twas clear some would have to eat outside. Neither Conall nor Symon would yield. In the end, Mairi had settled it. She counted off an equal number of Dunbars, Symons and Chattan warriors, and shooed them all out. Dougal and Harry were among them, as was Kip. Jupiter had been banned from the house altogether.
“Methinks the lads were pleased to go,” Rob said, his blue eyes flashing mirth.
Conall glanced out the window at the two scouts. Each was engaged in flirtatious banter with a pretty Dunbar lass.
“Harry and Dougal have taken a fancy to our women,” Dora said from across the table.
“That wouldna be hard to do,” Rob replied, catching her eye.
“Nonsense,” Mairi muttered. “Pass the salt.”
Conall reached for the small wooden box Symon had brought with him at the same time the chieftain did. Their hands collided, sending the salt box flying. Both men cursed and locked gazes.
“Never mind,” Mairi said, pretending not to notice. “The meat’s fine without it.”
Symon edged closer to her on the bench, then whispered something in her ear that made her blush. Conall bristled and continued to glare at him from across the table.
“What’s the matter wi’ ye?” Rob muttered under his breath. “D’ye see something ye like that belongs to someone else?”
“Shut it,” Conall said between clenched teeth.
Rob chuckled, then resumed his animated conversation with Dora.
The mood at table was light, for the most part. The Chattan and the Symons appeared to enjoy each other’s company. Conall suspected ’twas not often either had the chance to break bread with any but neighboring clans. As for the Dunbar women…all but one seemed thrilled at the abundance of male attention.
Mairi remained silent, reserved, and though Conall had known her barely a day and a night, he suspected ’twas unlike her. He thought to stir the pot a bit for amusement.
“So, Mairi Dunbar,” he said, “what plans do you have for my men on the morrow?”
She met his gaze but did not return his smile.
“What has she to do with your men?” Symon was clearly agitated by his question.
Conall grinned. “Ask her.”
Mairi speared a small piece of roasted venison from the trencher she shared with Symon, then paused. Without looking at either of them, she said, “I’m directing the construction of the new docks.”
Symon’s eyes widened. “You?”
“Aye, me,” she said, and devoured the bit of meat hanging from her dirk.
“What d’ye know of building?” Symon laughed, and she delivered a look that would stop a Spanish bull in mid-charge. The smile slid from his face. “I only meant…’tis just that…Mairi, ye are no’ thinking clearly.”
She slammed the point of her dirk into the splintery wood of the table. All conversation ceased. “I’m thinking quite clearly, thank ye.” Her face flushed with color, setting off dark-sapphire eyes that burned first into Symon, then him.
By God, she was intoxicating when she was angry. Conall became aroused as he continued to study her. She fascinated him. A woman alone, yet not lonely. Nothing like the spoiled, insipid maidens he’d so easily conquered in the past.
Symon continued to question her plans, angering her more. Conall felt a strange satisfaction in her prompt dismissal of the chieftain’s advice. Symon wanted the land, ’twas plain, and Mairi Dunbar was not about to give it up.
He admired her spirit and found himself wondering how spirited she might be between cool linen sheets. A man could get lost in that tumble of fiery hair.
“Don’t ye agree, Mackintosh?” she said.
“W-what?” Good God, she was speaking to him.
“About the barrels floating ’neath the timber piers. They must be caulked with fat, all the way ’round, so they willna leak.”
“Oh, aye, the barrels. And…and fat.” He wrenched his unfocused gaze from her and fixed on Symon. “She’s right. About the barrels, I mean.”
“I still say it willna work.” Symon inhaled an oatcake.
“It will,” she said.
Conall felt her eyes on him and, after a moment, met her gaze. She cast him a tiny smile that caused his pulse to quicken. Geoffrey saw it and renewed his icy glare. Conall recalled the two of them together in the lake house that afternoon. Geoffrey had kissed her, and she’d allowed it. Conall had watched them from the shore, his gut knotting.
’Twas ridiculous. What did he care if they were lovers?
He drained his ale cup and reminded himself he was here to do a job, nothing more. The last thing he needed was to get involved with the locals. Especially one who was pledged to a Fraser—to an ally of Fraser, at any rate.
His gaze drifted to Mairi’s mouth, along the fine curve of her neck and collarbone. Mmm. Perhaps ’twould be all right to
play at love—for sport. After all, it wasn’t as if she were some unskilled virgin. Conall knew women, and Mairi Dunbar was a woman of experience.
She frowned suddenly. He followed her gaze first to Rob, then to Dora, both of whom, after only a day’s brief acquaintance, appeared quite smitten.
“He’s taken with her,” Conall whispered across the table to Mairi.
“She’s a widow with six bairns.”
“Rob prefers experienced women.” He paused and cast her a devilish look. “So do I.”
Symon shot to his feet. “Ye’ll find none here, Mackintosh. Mairi Dunbar is mine.”
Somehow Conall didn’t think so. His suspicion was made fact when Mairi’s hand closed over the hilt of her dirk. She rose and yanked it out of the table. “I most certainly am not!”
“We’re to be wed,” Symon said matter-of-factly.
“What?” Dora snapped to attention. “Who’s to be wed?”
“Mairi and I.” Symon turned to her. “Mairi, ye said ye’d consider it. Just today, ye said it.”
Conall watched her tremble, not with fear but rage. Her face flushed red as her wild hair.
“Aye, Geoffrey Symon, and I’m done considering.”
“Then—”
She pointed her dirk at him. “I’ll never wed ye. D’ye hear? Never!”
Symon was stunned. Dora nodded in apparent satisfaction. To his surprise, Conall shared her sentiment.
“And the debt?” Symon bellowed.
What debt? Conall hadn’t heard anything about a—
“I’ve told ye already,” Mairi snapped. “’Twill be paid by the new year. That was the term ye and my father set.”
Ah, there was more here than met the eye, after all. He was beginning to understand Mairi Dunbar very well, indeed.
In an unexpected rage Symon kicked the bench backward, nearly knocking Dora to the floor. “And how on God’s green earth d’ye expect to pay it?”
Conall gripped the table’s edge, waiting.
“With my share of the goods traded between the Chattan and the boatsmen from the south.”
The veins in Symon’s neck pulsed like a butchered cock’s. Without warning, he grabbed her. Conall shot to his feet. In a flash he leaped over the table, upending ale cups and scattering the remains of their feast.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had wrenched Symon by his shirt and slammed him into the wall. Women screamed, and two dozen warriors were on their feet, scrambling for their weapons.
“Enough!” Mairi yelled. “Ye will stop this now!”
Conall ordered his men to hold as Dougal and Harry burst through the door, Symons and Chattans pressing at their backs. Jupiter barked at the window, his huge paws draped on the sill.
“’Tis finished!” Mairi said to them. “Go back to your feasting.” The scouts looked to Conall for confirmation. He nodded, and they backed out into the courtyard, sheathing their swords.
Then, to his astonishment, Mairi rushed to Symon’s side. “Geoffrey, are ye all right?”
Is he all right? God’s blood, the woman should be thanking him, not fawning over that—
“Aye, fine.” Symon picked himself up off the straw-strewn floor and dusted off his plaid.
“Well, get on with ye, then. ’Tis nearly dark and ye’ve a long ride home.”
Symon exchanged a look with her that Conall couldn’t discern, then faced him. “This is no’ the last time we shall meet, Mackintosh.”
Conall expected ’twas not.
“And you!” Mairi finally turned her attention to him, but ’twas not the reaction he’d expected. “Ye’ll be startin’ no wars in this house, d’ye hear?”
He nodded, silent, unsure of what had just happened or what to do next.
“Go on, Geoffrey.” Mairi pushed him firmly toward the door.
The Chattan gave the Symons as wide a berth as they might, given the smallness of the hall. Geoffrey Symon’s blue eyes remained riveted to Conall’s until he was out the door and halfway down the hill to where their mounts were tethered.
Mairi, too, glared at him as she passed, then stormed off to the village. Symon mounted, and his men followed him out of the camp and into the wood bordering the loch.
“Of all the bloody—” The events of the past day whirred in Conall’s head till it throbbed. “I’ve just broken rule number one.”
“Never get involved,” Rob said, and joined him in the doorway.
They watched as Mairi Dunbar marched out onto the pier leading to the lake house. The sun, a fireball in the west, crashed softly on Loch Drurie’s placid surface, drenching her in its radiance.
“Ye’re up to your neck in it now, Conall laddie.”
“Aye,” he breathed, “it seems that I am.”
Chapter Four
She’d show them. Both of them.
Mairi hacked at the last of the rotting pilings with an ax whose blade had dulled days ago. “Mairi belongs to me,” she mimicked, and pictured Geoffrey’s neck as she landed another stroke. Waist-deep in water, she nearly lost her footing as the piling gave way. She pushed it with a grunt, and it floated toward the heap of debris Conall’s men had piled at the shoreline. “I’d prefer to deal with a man,” she quipped, then flung the ax onto the rocky beach.
“No’ a bad imitation. Methinks Conall laddie would find it fair amusin’.”
She whirled in the direction of the voice. Rob sat in a rowboat not ten feet from her, silhouetted against the rising sun.
“Dinna sneak up on me like that, little man.”
“Och, I didna mean to.” He rowed closer. “Ye were so caught up in your work there—” he nodded at the fruits of three days’ demolition “—ye didna notice me.”
She eyed him and wondered whether or not he was lying. What did it matter? She waded to shore and watched as he beached the boat.
“Where’s your friend?” she asked. She’d purposefully avoided Conall the past few days.
Rob hopped onto the rocks and secured the craft. “Off with Kip, I expect.”
“What?” She’d seen the two of them together on several occasions, and was suspicious of the easy camaraderie growing between them. “What’s he doing with Kip?”
Rob arched a tawny brow. “Swimmin’ lessons.”
“I’d pay to see that.”
“Go on, then.” He nodded at the boat. “They’re in the cove just south o’ here.”
“I think not,” she said, and snatched a dry plaid from the beach.
Rob eyed her up and down. “Well, I wouldna go like that, if ye take my meaning.”
“Like what?”
“Half dressed.”
She ignored him and began to towel her hair. “I’m fair decent.” She had, in fact, taken great care to ensure modesty while working in the water. She’d worn a dark wool tunic over her shift. ’Twas bloody ridiculous and made swimming near impossible, but it served to keep the eyes of the workmen off her.
“Suit yourself,” Rob said, and started up the beach toward the village.
As soon as he was out of sight, Mairi untethered the rowboat and pushed it out onto the loch. Conall’s men were busy dragging rotted timbers from the debris pile higher onto the beach. After the wood dried, they’d burn it. ’Twould take hours. She planned to be back long before they were done.
The men had labored three days under her direction, and hadn’t made near the progress she’d expected. Only half the Chattan warriors could swim. Bloody idiots.
She waved at Dougal, whom she left in charge each time she left the work site. At least the scout could dog-paddle. He waved back as she rowed the small boat out onto the loch.
Conall had stayed away, as she’d bade him, but he watched them—and her—from her father’s house on the hill. She wondered at his all-too-easy relinquishment of power. Geoffrey would have never let her direct his men.
She reminded herself that her management would exact a price should the work not be completed in time to receive the first tra
de boats from the south. She glanced at the sun’s position in the sky, and noted the forest’s brilliant autumn palette. Saint Catherine’s Day was barely a month hence.
She rowed faster and fought the anger simmering inside her. She would finish on time, pay the debt and be done with Geoffrey. And with Conall Mackintosh. “Bluidy swindlers, the both o’ them.”
A shout echoed off the loch’s placid surface. Mairi stiffened, then steered the boat quickly toward the thickly forested shoreline. She’d reached her destination. ’Twas a well-hidden spot two furlongs from the village.
She stepped into the shallow water and beached the rowboat. She’d steal quietly on foot from here, across the small wooded peninsula jutting out into the loch forming the cove on the other side.
As she approached, she heard laughter—a boy’s and a man’s. Pausing at the top of a small rise, she crouched low behind a stand of gorse. Slowly, slowly now. She crept closer on hands and knees until the pair of them came into view.
“God’s blood!”
Conall stood on a flat rock at the water’s edge, stripped. Kip stood beside him, a stick in hand, while the dog Jupiter waited patiently for him to throw it. Unknowingly, Kip aimed right at her and flung the stick.
“Blast!” she whispered, and ducked.
Jupiter crashed into the brush. She could hear the mastiff’s lumbering footfalls and wheezy pants directly below her hiding place. She dove under a bush, held her breath and waited for him to pass.
Conall and Kip continued their conversation, seemingly oblivious to her presence. After a few minutes, she couldn’t hear the dog anymore. Thank the stars.
She backed out of the shrubbery into—“Ouch!” A rock? She recalled no rock. Mairi turned, and her heart skipped a beat. Jupiter crouched behind her, the stick dwarfed between huge white teeth.
“Easy, boy,” she whispered, edging toward him. “Easy.”
Jupiter dropped the stick. Before he could bark, Mairi grabbed his muzzle. “Dinna make a peep, now, and I’ll see to it ye get a nice, fat hare for your supper.” She held the dog’s gaze until she saw compliance, then removed her hands.
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