“Are ye all right?” Dora handed her a cup of strong broth and gestured for her to sit.
She collapsed on a stool by the hearth. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, I just thought—”
“I’m fine.”
Dora arched a wispy brow. “I can see that.”
Mairi thought it best to change the subject. “Yesterday morn I saw Tang in the wood above the house.” That should get a reaction.
“What? I suspected as much.” Dora pulled up another stool and settled in to hear the details. “That’s why ye went to Geoffrey’s.”
She nodded. “A lot o’ good that did.”
“Ye were foolish, Mairi. Ye should have told Conall.”
“Aye, well, it seems I didna have to. He’s called half an army to Loch Drurie, and for what, can ye guess?”
Dora frowned. “Nay, I dinna think he plans retribution, at least no’ yet. He sent for them the minute he suspected ye’d gone to Falmar.”
Now this surprised her. “Did he?”
“He was frantic, Mairi. The man loves you.”
She snorted. “Aye, and if I look out in the garden my father will be risen from the dead, standin’ there just like Christ.”
“Oh, stop. Drink your broth and let me do the talking.”
She took a sip of the hot, fragrant liquid and felt instantly warm. “Fine, talk then.”
“He’s leavin’, ye know. Conall.”
She choked on the broth. Dora’s words registered, but Mairi couldn’t believe them.
“Tomorrow. His brother’s called him home.”
“Gilchrist?” was all she could manage to say.
“Nay, the other one, the eldest.”
“Iain.”
“Aye, that’s him. Lives far north at a place called Findhorn.”
“Conall was born there.”
“That’s the place, all right.”
She set her cup on the hearth and stared into the dying embers. She’d been right about Conall all along. He was a drifter, an adventurer. Aye, he’d had his little adventure and now he was going home.
“Good,” she said. “I’m glad he’s leaving.”
Dora’s eyes narrowed, but she refused to meet them. “Ye love him.”
“Bollocks.”
“Admit it, Mairi.”
She did look at her, then, and mustered her nastiest expression. “I dinna love him. I’d sooner wed Geoffrey Symon than a man like him.”
“Och, now ye’re talkin’ soft.”
“I dinna love him,” she repeated.
“Your one chance at happiness, and ye’d throw it all away?”
“Happiness? Ye mean like you and Rob?”
“Look at me, Mairi.”
After a moment, she reluctantly met Dora’s gaze.
“Exactly like me and Rob.”
A twinge of remorse skewered her. She hadn’t meant to belittle Dora’s relationship with the small but steadfast warrior.
“Conall’s a good man and ye know it,” Dora said.
“He’s not.”
“Mairi, ye dinna—”
“It doesna matter if I love him or nay. Don’t ye see?” She gripped Dora’s hand. “He’ll no’ stay here, and I’ll no’ go traipsing around the world after him.”
“Why not?”
“Why not, she says. Because I’d ne’er leave you and the clan, ye ninny.”
“Oh, posh!” Dora collected the cups and set them on the table against the far wall of the cottage. “Ye’re afraid.”
“What d’ye mean? I am not.” She rose and started toward the door. The sounds of children playing drifted through the window from the small garden outside. She could hear Kip, and Jupiter’s deep bellow. “I dinna love him, and I dinna need him.”
’Twas the truth, wasn’t it?
“The sooner he’s gone, the better,” she added.
Dora shook the rag at her that she used to clean the teacups. “Ye’re the most stubborn, pigheaded—”
“They’re all alike, Dora. Ye told me so yourself. Remember?”
“Aye, well I was wrong.”
“About Rob, perhaps.”
They were all alike. Her father, Geoffrey, Conall. She meant nothing to any of them. She was but a prize, an added bonus that came with the land. Conall’s business was finished here. The first trade boats would arrive before the snows began. He probably thought he could drop in now and again between travels and slip between the furs with her for an evening of pleasure.
“All alike,” she whispered.
Nay, we’re not.
I came for you.
The memory of his words cut her to the quick. Jesu, she didn’t know what to believe anymore. The rough-hewn timbers of the cottage door cut into her back as she pressed herself against it. Her eyes began to film and she gritted her teeth against the wave of raw emotion engulfing her.
“Oh, lass,” Dora said, and started toward her.
“Nay!” She held her hand up to keep her friend at bay. “I…I want naught to do with him, d’ye hear?”
Dora’s expression softened. She fisted her hands on ample hips. “Foolish pride will make ye a lonely old woman, Mairi Dunbar.”
“Perhaps.” She nodded, more to herself than to Dora. “Perhaps not,” she breathed, then tripped the door latch and slipped out into the comforting bustle of the village.
Chapter Thirteen
He’d tell her and get it over with.
Conall brushed a stray hank of hair out of his eyes and hefted another bucket of stones from off the beach. The damage to Alwin Dunbar’s house was nearly repaired.
’Twas the last task he could think of to delay his departure from Loch Drurie. Tomorrow he’d ride for Findhorn Castle in response to Iain’s summons. ’Twas timely, and for the best.
“So ye mean to go, then,” Rob said as they huffed up the hill to the house.
He didn’t answer.
“Ye’d best tell her, then, laddie. Women dinna take kindly to surprises.”
He had meant to tell her that morning, as soon as she awoke, but something stopped him. When he saw her on the beach, staring at him—her cheeks flushed from the stubble of his beard, her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair in disarray—he just couldn’t.
He must.
The bucket grew heavy. He jogged the last few feet up the hill, rounded the house, heading for the garden, and stopped dead. She was there, on her knees, gathering stones off her father’s grave.
“What are you doing?” he asked her, and set the bucket down.
“We need more rocks for the foundation.” She didn’t even turn to look at him.
“Aye, but there’s plenty on the beach.”
“These are closer.”
Her indifference to him and the casual attitude with which she desecrated her father’s resting place unnerved him.
“Besides, he willna need them where he rests, will he? Methinks there are plenty o’ stones in that evil place.”
“Mairi,” he said, and knelt beside her.
She did turn, then, but only to cast him a look that could freeze the whole of Loch Drurie. “What?”
“I…” What would he say to her? He didn’t know anymore.
She continued collecting stones as he tried to order his thoughts. He had to break it off, here and now. Not only for his sake, but for hers and Kip’s.
“Mairi, about last night. I didna mean—”
“Your brother’s men, what are they doing here?” She sat back on her heels and arched a brow at him.
He didn’t expect this hard-edged behavior, but it made what he had to say to her easier. “Aye, well…they’re here to protect the docks.”
’Twas a partial truth, at least. He didn’t know what Symon would do next, but he was certain they’d not heard the last of him. And though he was determined to go, he’d be damned if he’d leave Mairi unprotected.
“I see.” She reached for another rock, and he grabbed her wrist. Her eyes flashed a w
arning.
“We must talk.” ’Twas a mistake to hold her hand, but he did it anyway and she allowed it. He searched for the right words. “When we first met,” he began, “you told me that you would never marry.”
“Aye. What of it?”
Her palm was warm in his hand, and where his finger rested against her wrist he could feel her pulse, strong and steady.
“I told you I felt the same.”
An icy silence frosted the air between them and he felt her pulse quicken.
“And now?” she breathed.
He held her piercing gaze and forced himself not to answer. God’s truth, he didn’t know what he felt. ’Twas all so new, so unexpected. He’d been wholly unprepared for the emotions their coupling had stirred in him.
Oh, he’d had his share of women, but never had lovemaking been so intimate, so personal. Never had he felt so…vulnerable.
Her hand slipped from his, her question burning between them unanswered. Her face was expressionless, her eyes an unreadable deep blue.
A blast of wind from off the loch caught them unaware, and a shower of crisped, dead leaves blustered down on them from the canopy of near-naked trees above. A golden leaf caught in her hair. He reached for it unconsciously.
“Conall!”
Jupiter skidded to a halt in a pile of leaves flanking Alwin Dunbar’s grave. Kip collapsed breathless beside him. “Come watch me ride Hugh’s horse.” The boy pulled on his arm. “Come on!”
“Kip,” Mairi said, “I thought I told ye no’ to—”
“Come on, Conall, watch me!” Kip tugged again.
“Did ye tell him he could ride that horse?” Mairi said. “I specifically told him he couldn’t.”
Conall’s head began to throb. Kip tugged, Mairi railed, and the sky grew black above them. “Shut it, the both o’ ye!” He pushed Kip away, more roughly than he’d intended, and shot to his feet. “Go on, leave me alone, boy. Can’t ye see I’m busy?”
His heart hammered in his chest, his gut roiled. Conall closed his eyes for a moment to get a grip on himself, and felt the first smattering of raindrops cool his heated face. Thunder rumbled low in the distance.
Kip lay where he’d fallen, looking up at him, eyes bugged and tinged with hurt. Jupiter’s dour expression echoed Conall’s remorse.
“Ah, damn,” he breathed. He offered his hand to Kip, but the boy ignored it.
He was suddenly aware of Mairi beside him, rising slowly to her feet. Too slowly, as if she worked to control her movements. Her eyes blazed with the same hate he’d seen in her expression last night, when she’d told him of her father’s negligence and her mother’s murder.
Kip saw it, too, and scrambled to his feet. Conall nodded in the direction of the village, and Kip tore off down the hill. Jupiter remained.
“If…ye…ever—” Mairi stepped toward him, her fists clenched at her sides “—ever…touch Kip like that again—” she stopped and glared up at him, trembling “—I’ll slit your bluidy throat.”
He stood there, at a loss for words, his feet rooted in the damp ground. The sky opened and a biting rain pummeled them with a rushing that filled his ears.
Mairi tore down the hill, then paused to look back at him. The rage in her eyes had dulled. All he saw there now was pain.
No one could hurt her. No one.
Mairi stood in the downpour, her face tipped skyward, mud oozing between her toes. It had rained all night, and for all she cared it could rain forever. She was soaked to the skin, chilled to the bone, and embraced every sensation.
Conall was leaving today, and he hadn’t even had the decency or the courage to tell her. She’d heard it from everyone but him. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. She didn’t want him and certainly didn’t need him.
She’d never needed anyone.
The scents of the forest sharpened in the downpour. She drew a breath and felt instantly stronger. Clean, pure, absolved. She’d burned her bedclothes at dawn after a sleepless night of unbidden memories sparked by the lingering scent of him on her furs and pillows.
What she needed now was work, hard labor to drive all thoughts from her mind. She hefted the ax and poised it over the downed tree.
“Are ye daft, woman?” A voice sounded behind her. “What are ye doin’ out in this weather?”
She lowered the ax and turned to see Rob standing behind her, his small hands fisted on narrow hips. “Go away,” she said, and poised the ax again. She swung but never hit the tree.
Rob swiped the weapon from her hands before she realized he was beside her. His strength startled her. “Come on,” he said, “let’s find some shelter.”
“Nay. Go back to the village. I’m busy here.”
“Oh, aye, busy killin’ yourself. Ye’ll catch your death.” He grabbed her arm and jerked her toward a thick stand of pines, evergreens whose year-round foliage provided a bit of shelter against the rain.
Rob unpinned his plaid from his shoulder, and spread part of it on a flat rock. “Here, sit.”
She obeyed, not knowing why. She supposed she liked him, and knew he meant well. He sat beside her and pulled his bonnet low over his forehead. Rain continued to stream down his face all the same.
“What d’ye want?” she said, and met his gaze.
“I want to talk to ye.”
“About what?” She could guess, but she was not inclined to make this easy for him.
“About him—Conall.”
Aye, well, he could talk all he wanted. What difference would it make?
“If ye’d but ask him, he’d stay. I’m sure of it,” Rob said. “Ye must tell him how ye feel, lass.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and swiped a soaking hank of hair from her cheek. “And just what d’ye know, Rob Mackintosh, about my feelings?”
“I ken that ye lo—”
“What makes ye think I have any feelings one way or t’other?” His presumption was outrageous and she’d put a stop to it now. “If ye’ve been listening to Dora’s prattle, ye’re a fool.”
He arched a brow at her. “Methinks there are a couple o’ fools here, all right, but they’re no’ me and Dora.”
She started to her feet. Rob grabbed the skirt of her gown and yanked her back onto the rock.
“Ow! Let go of me!”
“Nay. I’ll turn ye loose when I’m ready. But now, ye’ll listen, d’ye hear?”
He deserved a thumping, right on that wet little head of his. Her cheeks burned, and she felt the life returning to her hands and feet. She sighed in compliance.
“All right, then,” he said, and nodded. He let go her gown, and she stayed put.
Why, she didn’t know. He wished to talk? Fine, she’d listen. But she’d not change her mind about a thing. Conall didn’t want her. What of it? She’d never wished for any of this to happen. She had her own plans. Responsibilities. There was no room in her life for a man, especially one who didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“He lost them all, ye know,” Rob said. “His da, mam, uncle and aunt—all o’ them. And at a fair tender age.”
Mairi frowned. “Aye, well I’ll be sure to offer him a fine, warm welcome to the club.”
“Come now, dinna be so hard. I’m tryin’ to tell ye why he’s so…so…”
“What? Spit it out.”
“I dunno. Like he is. Afeared.”
She snorted. She could think of a number of colorful expressions to describe him—callous pig came to mind—but “afeared” was not one of them.
“He was a loner from the start,” Rob continued. “Aye, he had his brothers, but they were older and self-absorbed. Iain and Gilchrist had their own problems, suffered their own losses, while Conall watched and learned. And then there was the fire.”
“What fire?”
“At Braedûn Lodge, when Conall was barely of age. His uncle and aunt burned to death, and his brother Gilchrist nearly so. ’Twas the breaking point for Conall. He couldna take no more. When we thought Gilchris
t would die, Conall left the Highlands. I went with him.”
“Aye, well, we’ve all had our share o’ problems, now haven’t we?”
“He’s rarely been back since then—home, I mean. Gilchrist healed, then married and built Monadhliath amidst the ashes of Braedûn Lodge. Iain lives with his own family at Findhorn.”
“Their ancestral home,” she said.
“Aye.”
“Conall doesn’t see them, then?”
Rob shook his head. “We journeyed to Findhorn in late summer. That’s when Iain asked Conall to come here to Loch Drurie. Aye, the Chattan e’en offered him a reward—lands and livestock and—”
“And what?”
“A…well…” Rob shot her an almost fearful glance. “A bride, but he didna want her,” he added quickly.
“Hmph,” was all she could manage to say, and steered the conversation back to the topic that most interested her. “Doesn’t he miss them? His brothers and the rest of his clan?”
“Methinks he must, but ye wouldna know it.”
The rain let up, and they listened for a moment to the water dripping from the trees. Anger and confusion simmered inside her, and she worked to control them.
“What kind of a man abandons his own family when most they need him?” She already knew the answer.
A man like her father. A man like Conall Mackintosh.
Her gaze drifted over the greens and golds of the wet autumn forest. Something caught her eye and she froze, but was careful not to look directly at it. Whatever it was—a deer or a wolf—she didn’t want it to know she’d seen it.
But ’twas neither deer nor wolf. ’Twas a man. ’Twas Conall.
She felt him more than saw him, lurking there behind a gnarled larch, not a dozen paces to her left. She didn’t think he’d been there long. Rob seemed lost in thought, and she was certain he didn’t notice him.
She was glad he was there, for she had things she wished him to hear.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said to Rob, in a voice loud enough to carry. “My clan needs a leader—a man. Perhaps I shall marry Geoffrey after all.”
A branch snapped in the wood to her left.
“What?” Rob croaked. “Are ye a bluidy idiot?”
“At least he’s a man of honor, who would no’ abandon my clan. He’d fight for us, and for what he believes in. Geoffrey’s no’ some frivolous adventurer, a rogue who cares for nothing and no one save himself.”
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