And yet he’d kissed her with a desperation that was more than rank desire. He’d kissed her as if she were the only thing in his world. “Aye, he didna even hear the bluidy dog bark, did he?” Mairi rolled over and punched at her pillows.
The odd thing was, he’d been deadly serious about protecting her against Geoffrey’s wrath. No man had ever done that before—drawn his weapon in her defense. In truth, it had thrilled her, though she was loath to admit it.
Perhaps she ought to give him another chance. She’d cooperate, for the good of her clan, of course. To speed the construction, nothing more.
Aye, ’twas the right move. She’d tell him on the morrow. Now she must sleep, and dream of the glorious docks and sparkling new village they’d raise.
But she didn’t dream of that at all.
She dreamt of him.
He dreamt of her, and it startled him how real the dream had seemed. They’d been kissing, in the lake house of all places, under the warm furs on her bed.
“Christ,” Conall breathed, and rolled toward the cold hearth.
’Twas far past dawn. Wood larks sang in the trees outside Alwin Dunbar’s house. He’d overslept. Damn. He threw back his plaid and stretched.
Rob poked his head out of the kitchen. “There’s some oatcakes and honey laid out. And some fish, if ye’ve the stomach for it.”
“Rob, I’d speak with you.” As soon as Conall opened his mouth, Rob disappeared. Bloody gnome.
What had he said? Fish? Ugh. That’s all they ate around here, save for a bit of meat now and again. He recalled with relish Symon’s gift of venison his first day at Loch Drurie.
He decided to pass on breakfast.
Ten minutes later he was dressed and standing on the newly reinforced pier. Rob and the men had done a good job. He must remember to compliment him on the work. Aye, and to break his bloody head for allowing Mairi to follow him yesterday.
He glanced at the lake house, but saw no sign Mairi was up and about. Their adventure in the wood had been more than enough to warrant her oversleeping.
He was still annoyed at himself for letting Symon catch him unaware. He’d never forget the look of surprise, and rage, in Symon’s eyes when the chieftain had caught them kissing. Nor would he forget the way Mairi and Symon had looked at each other after they’d done with their cursing.
Perhaps he’d been wrong to interfere in whatever was between them. If she truly loved Symon…Christ, he must finish the job and be gone. ’Twas the best thing for him, for all of them.
He strode up and down the new pier, inspecting the workmanship. ’Twas still a bit wobbly, even with three anchor points, but what could one expect from a load of timbers lashed together, floating free on the water’s surface? ’Twas a far cry from the great docks he’d seen at Inverness, not to mention those in Brittany. All the same, ’twould have to do.
They’d need two more just like it, with reinforced moorings, and good-size platforms at each end for loading and unloading. Storage buildings, as well, to keep the goods safe from weather.
Time was running out.
He needed to work faster, smarter, and he needed Mairi Dunbar’s help. She knew the bottom of the loch like the back of her hand. The pits and holes, rocks and sandbars. He would manage the construction, but she would have to guide him.
They must work together. They would start today.
But how the devil would he gain her compliance? They’d not parted on particularly friendly terms last night. He grinned, recalling her rage over Rob and Dora’s tryst. ’Twas only a harmless amusement, was it not? Conall couldn’t understand her response. He shrugged it off and scanned the work site.
The elder, Walter, squatted on the beach, trimming the ends off some odd-shaped timbers. Perhaps he’d find some answers there. “Ho! Walter,” he called out, and joined him.
“Mackintosh, good morrow.”
“Might I help you?” He knelt on the beach next to the old man.
“Why not? Ye’ve a dirk in your belt. Have at it.”
They worked together in silence for a time, shaving timbers, while Conall thought about how to broach the subject. Best to dive right in. “Walter,” he said. “I’d like to ask you something about Mairi.”
The elder stopped whittling and met his gaze. “Aye, go on, then.”
“What happened to her husband?”
“Husband?”
“Aye, Kip’s father.”
“Kip’s father? Oh. He ran off when the lad was just a wee’un.” Walter started in on the timber again.
“Ah. I thought as much.”
“But he was no’ her husband.”
“What? They were never married, and she a laird’s daughter?” This truly surprised him.
Walter looked at him strangely. “Nay, Mairi barely knew Kip’s father. Why d’ye ask?”
Conall didn’t know what to say. “I…well, I just had wondered, is all, why she’s so…”
“Difficult?”
“Aye.”
Walter shrugged. “Och, she’s been that way e’er since her mam was killed. She was just a child, ye ken. And after Alwin took to the drink, and things went bad, well…’tis no’ so hard to fathom, is it?”
Conall nodded. ’Twas not so hard to fathom at all. His own father had been brutally murdered when he was just a bairn, and he was but ten and four when his mother passed. Conall knew well what ’twas like to be on his own. He’d had his brothers, of course, but they were older and, more often than not, consumed by their own demons.
In the end, he supposed, ’twas all for the best. His independence had become his strength. He had few ties, no one to worry about, no one to lose.
“So what’s this, a tea party?”
Conall snapped to attention. Mairi stood over them. Where the devil had she come from? She was almost as good at appearing out of thin air as was Kip.
“Ah, Mairi lass,” Walter said. “We’re trimmin’ these timbers for the second pier.”
“Aye, I can see that.” She looked at Conall, and he had the strangest feeling she’d heard every word of their conversation. Her expression was completely unlike any he’d seen her pose. ’Twas almost…placid. “I would help ye, today,” she said to him. “Only if ye wish it, of course.”
Her submissive demeanor stunned him. He frowned at her, instantly on his guard.
“I would apologize, too, about the anchor chain.” She nodded to the newly finished pier floating on the water. “I should have told ye ’twould take at least three to steady it.”
Walter arched a brow. Clearly, he, too, was surprised at her uncharacteristic behavior.
“I could help ye set the other two,” she said. “No one knows the loch as well as I. The work would go much faster if I…if we…”
“If we work together,” he said.
Mairi nodded.
A long time ago, Conall’s uncle had recounted a Greek tale, The Trojan Horse. He’d never forgotten the whimsical moral: dinna look a gift horse in the mouth.
He shot to his feet and dusted the sand from his plaid. If Mairi Dunbar had a mind to assist him, he’d not refuse her help. In truth, her compliance could not be more perfect. ’Twas exactly what he’d hoped for.
He took his leave of Walter, and together he and Mairi walked along the beach, inspecting his men’s handiwork. Occasionally, when he thought she wasn’t looking, he’d steal a glance at her. Now that he knew more of her history, he saw her with new eyes.
He’d misjudged her, and for that he felt remorse. ’Twas time to put things right between them. “I, too, would apologize,” he said.
She stopped at the water’s edge. “For what?”
“For yesterday.” He shrugged, unsure of what to say next. “My behavior in the wood. I—”
“Och, no matter.” She quickly looked away. The water lapped at her bare feet. He thought them lovely—long and slender, and bronzed by the sun. She dug her toes into the wet sand.
“Symon’s your neighbor,
and your betrothed,” he said.
“Nay, he’s merely a friend.”
“I didna mean to interfere. He sees me as a threat. Aye, ’tis only natural.” He paused and willed her to meet his gaze. “A man in love will do desperate things to keep safe what he cherishes.”
What had made him say such a thing?
She was silent for a moment, speechless, he thought, then she said, “Och, Geoffrey’s no’…’tis no’ like that. If ye’re thinkin’…”
“He saw us kiss.”
She blushed like a maid and looked away. “Oh, that. I…I meant nothing by it.”
“Nor did I,” he said quickly. He didn’t, after all. ’Twas simply for amusement, was it not?
“Ah, well…good.”
He nodded vigorously, as if to convince himself.
“’Tis best forgotten, then.” She turned and started down the beach.
“Aye,” he breathed, but knew as he watched her walk away that he’d never forget it.
Chapter Seven
Never had any of them worked harder.
Mairi wiped her brow on the sleeve of her gown and stood back to admire her handiwork. “Perfect.”
Conall ran his hand along the tightly stretched deerskin covering the timber-framed pontoon. She and the other women had fashioned a dozen of them in the past two days. “Aye,” he said at last, “but will it float?”
“Of course ’Twill float!”
Rob inspected the lacing with a hawk’s eyes. “Ye’ll need a bit more grease, just there, to make certain ’tis watertight.” He grunted his approval.
“Who taught you to make these?” Conall asked.
The question caught Mairi off guard. “Oh…no one, really.” She busied herself clearing up scraps of deerskin and leather lacings from off the beach.
“Alwin taught her,” Dora said, looking up from her work. “When she was a child. I remember they used to—” Mairi narrowed her eyes at her, and Dora stilled her tongue.
“I see ye’ve set a watch at night,” Mairi said to change the subject.
“Aye, and by day as well.” Conall lifted the finished pontoon and balanced it on his shoulder.
“I still say ye should have sent Harry back to Monadhliath for more men,” Rob said. “’Tis only a day and a night’s ride.”
“Nay.” Conall shook his head. “I’ll not bother Gilchrist, or Iain, with trivial matters.”
Conall had told her little about his family since he’d arrived. Curiosity ate at her. “Iain and Gilchrist,” she said, “they’re your brothers?”
He ignored her and started out onto the new pier.
She jogged after him. “Uncles, then? I never knew my uncles. They—”
“Brothers. They’re my elder brothers.”
“Ah, so ye’re the bairn, eh?”
He stopped short, and she nearly ran into the end of the pontoon. “Where does this go?” He planted his awkward burden on the pier.
“The pontoon? No’ out here. We’ll fasten them to the bottom of the platforms, then float them out.” She nodded to where his men labored on the beach.
“Why didn’t you say so?” He lifted it again and started back toward shore, but she would not let him pass.
“Surely they’re married then, with bairns o’ their own, if they’re the eldest. Your brothers, I mean.”
“Aye, they’re married. What of it?”
“And children?”
He dropped the pontoon back onto the pier, sending a shock wave along the whole structure. She didn’t flinch, and neither did he, she was surprised to see. He’d become fair comfortable on the water these past weeks. That, or he was so annoyed by her questions, he didn’t notice the undulating timbers beneath them.
“Ah, well,” she said. “If it bothers ye to talk about it…”
“Talk about what?”
“Marriage—and children.” She nodded toward Kip, who romped at the shoreline with Jupiter. The mastiff had fast become the boy’s favorite companion.
Conall’s gaze fixed on the boy and the dog. “Well, ’tis fine for some…”
“Oh, aye,” she said quickly. “For some, but not all.” Mairi grabbed the pontoon and idly fiddled with the laces. She’d pegged him right all along. He was a drifter, not cut out for family or clan. ’Twas fine with her. What did she care?
“A man needs his freedom, his—”
“As does a woman.” She risked a glance. His mouth was still open, and he reminded her much of a landlocked salmon. He studied her, and she’d be damned if she’d look away.
“Is that the reason you never wed?” he said. “Freedom?”
“Aye.” She straightened up and arched a brow at him. “What good’s a husband except to tell ye what to do every bluidy minute of the day.”
“And what’s a wife, but a noose around a man’s neck.” The words rolled easily off his lips, but she felt no passion behind them.
She wondered at his true reasons for being alone. He was the third son in a family she knew was highly respected in the Highlands. The Chattan was a powerful alliance, four or five clans. Surely there dwelled among them a bevy of suitable brides.
“So you’ll ne’er wed?” he asked her bluntly.
“Nay. And you?”
He snorted and lifted the pontoon. “Never.”
“Well, at least we agree on the one thing.” She turned and started for shore, tired of the whole conversation. His heavy footfalls clomped behind her.
“Aye,” he said, “at least there’s that.”
A week later, Conall stood on the pier and nodded in satisfaction. He was pleased with the progress they’d made working together. The Dunbars and the Chattan, every man, woman, and child, had labored each day from dawn until dusk.
The second pier was nearly complete, and the first of the floating platforms ready to move into place.
But ’twould have to wait until the morrow. The days grew short as autumn wore on, and the weather increasingly cold.
He shaded his eyes against the setting sun. “’Twill be an early winter.”
“Aye,” Mairi said, as she brushed past him on the pier. “All the more reason to set the landing platform now.” She squinted against the sun and waved his men forward. “We’ve another hour of good light.”
“At best. ’Twould be wiser to wait until the morrow.” He caught her nasty look and quickly said, “But only if you agree.”
It had been like that for days now. Each negotiating with the other in an excruciating display of civility. He’d begrudgingly conceded a number of decisions to her, and she to him, although she’d rather have cut off her arm than comply. He read it in her eyes each time they disagreed.
She sized him up for another battle of wills. “The men are ready, and so am I.”
He glanced at Dougal, who stood on the beach with Rob and Harry, ready to give the command to launch the platform. Fine. He’d pick another day to argue with her. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
Her eyes flashed triumph. “Dougal!” she called, and waved him on.
On Dougal’s command, a dozen men hefted the pontooned raft to shoulder level and marched into the shallows. If the bloody thing didn’t float, he and Mairi Dunbar would have words.
To his surprise, she stripped off her dark, shapeless gown—the one she normally worked in—and flexed her feet at the edge of the pier.
“Dinna look, ye rogue! ’Tis no’ proper.”
He shrugged, as if the sight of her in her shift was of no concern to him, then turned his head and pretended to watch the men.
“I’ll ne’er get deep enough to tether it with that bluidy thing on,” she said. A second later, he heard the splash as she dove into the loch.
Rob strode out onto the pier and watched with him as Harry and Dougal maneuvered the platform into deeper water. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Rob said. “It floats.”
“O’ course it floats, little man,” Mairi called from the water.
Cona
ll was stunned. “You allow her to speak to you like that?”
Rob shrugged. “Why not? You do.” Conall couldn’t argue with him on that point, could he? “Och, she only does it ‘cause she fancies me.”
“What? Ye bloody well—”
“No’ for herself, ye fool. For Dora.” Rob grinned and nodded to where Dora stood on the beach surrounded by her bairns. Rob winked at her, and she gave a little wave.
Conall scowled and loosened the laces of his shirt. ’Twas true. Mairi had been naught but encouraging to both Rob and Dora of late. He wondered at the change in her acceptance of their union. He wasn’t certain he liked it, himself. ’Twas far too…serious.
“Now, there’s a sight,” Rob said.
Conall followed the line of Rob’s gaze onto the loch’s glassy, sun-drenched surface. Mairi swam in a circle, killing time, while Harry and Dougal guided the platform into position. She moved through the water with an easy grace, and he could not take his eyes off her.
“She’s a bluidy fish,” Rob said.
“Nay—” Conall wet his lips “—a mermaid.”
“What, ye mean a silkie?”
He nodded, his gaze riveted to her every stroke.
“But they’re dark, so the legends say, hair black as midnight.”
She somersaulted under the water, long slender legs bathed in gold, and emerged like some mystical sea creature, her red hair shimmering in the sun’s fire.
“Aye,” Conall breathed, “but she’s one all the same.”
He ignored Rob’s open scrutiny of him, barely aware of anything save Mairi’s slow, fluid movements. God’s truth, she was lovely. He’d thought so from the first time he saw her wrestling with Jupiter on the pier.
These past weeks he’d denied the magnitude of his desire for her. Now it surged like molten steel through his veins. He flexed his hands and recalled the feel of her pressed up against him.
She turned onto her back, and he shaded his eyes against the sun as she moved into its path. Her breasts buoyed upward, dark silhouettes undulating gently in the water.
“Holy God,” he breathed.
“Your brother used to do that,” Rob said.
“Do what?” he said absently. “Which one?”
“Iain. He’d stare at that bonnie horsewoman o’ his and sigh like a youth. Now that was love.”
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