Laird of the Black Isle

by Paula Quinn

“I was thinkin’ aboot brightenin’ the place up a bit,” she told him while she left her chair to serve them fresh biscuits. “We could begin with more candles to light the halls, and drawin’ the heavy curtains to let in some sun.”

  She wondered what she liked more, his scowl at her suggestion or the effort it took to maintain it while he granted her wish.

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “I’ll help,” she promised, regaining her seat. If she was going to impose on his life, even though she was there through his own doing, she would do what she could to make it easier for him.

  “I’ll help too!” William offered.

  “Me too!” Lily chimed in after him.

  Mailie was proud of them for offering to help—despite Lachlan’s wilting smile. She imagined he was coming to realize precisely how much his life was about to change.

  “We’re all here due to circumstances beyond our control,” she told him. “I think rather than fight we should make the most of it.”

  “Circumstances werena beyond my control,” he refuted, his gaze shielded beneath his long black lashes.

  “They were,” she argued. “What man would give up his last hope fer a stranger? I doubt there is one among even the best of ye.” When he raised his gaze, she quirked her mouth at him and looked around the table. “Think of it as practice.”

  He smiled at her, and it was like a resonating boom sweeping over her nerves and ending at her heart. For a moment, he looked genuinely happy. She imagined that practicing to be a good father to Annabel would make him happy. She hoped she was wrong about Sinclair. She hoped Lachlan got his daughter back. She would see to the rest.

  “All right, then,” she said, standing. “Let’s clean up and then we’ll continue our story aboot King Arthur.”

  The laird rose with her and moved toward one of the larger basins he’d filled with the aid of Will and Lily earlier. He brought it to the trivet and replaced the pot with the heavy bucket. Mailie didn’t think the trivet would hold but it did. After scraping every bowl, he dropped them into the basin. “Let them boil fer a while. Pick up yer book and read it to them. I’ll be…ehm…” He moved to leave. “I’ll be in my study.”

  “My lord,” she called him back. “Stay.” She curled one corner of her mouth when he turned to face her. “’Twould do ye well to hear of King Arthur and his noble knights.”

  His smile, though slight, returned and he remained—leaning against the western wall, his arms folded across his chest as she opened the book.

  She picked up where she’d left off earlier.

  “And when matins and the first Mass were done, there was seen in the churchyard, against the high altar, a great stone, four square, like unto a marble stone; and in the midst thereof was like an anvil of steel a foot on high, and therein stuck a fair sword naked by the point, and letters there were written in gold about the sword that said thus: ‘Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all England.’”

  “Who will pull it out?” Will asked, already fidgeting.

  “Arthur will,” Lily told him, stretching her small body in the wooden chair and grimacing. “Aye, Mailie?”

  “Aye, love, Arthur will.”

  “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Mailie looked up in time to see Lachlan stepping out of the kitchen. “Ye’d best go see if he needs yer help,” she told Will, who bounded from his chair after she spoke the first three words.

  Alone with Lily, she noted the lass looked tired; in fact, the dark rings around her eyes looked darker. She’d barely eaten anything all day. Was she suffering some illness that needed treatment? Or did she just need help sleeping?

  “Lily, I know ye’re sad, but dinna be afraid.”

  The child nodded and then looked up at her, her lower lip trembling. “I miss my mummy.”

  “Of course ye do,” Mailie said, trying to comfort her. She knew herbs and flowers that could settle the gel. She’d seen mint and chamomile on the shelves when she was cooking with Ruth.

  A loud pounding, like the heavy footsteps of some terrifying ogre, sounded on the stairs. Climbing down.

  Ettarre barked and wagged her tail and then ran toward the entrance. She backed away from Lachlan, hunched over with a thickly cushioned settee on his back, and a stunned William behind him.

  “What is this?” Mailie asked, going to him when he put the settee down close to the hearth.

  “A wee bit of comfort,” he told her, shrugging his shoulders. “Come.” He motioned to them. “Sit.”

  Mailie watched the children climb up and get comfortable on the settee’s rich velvet.

  “I dinna know aboot Arthur,” Will told them, leaping to his feet again. “But I’d wager the laird could pull that sword from the stone.”

  “Physical strength wasna what was needed to free the sword, Will,” Lachlan told him, proving he knew the tales. “Merlin and the archbishop asked fer a miracle to show them who should be king over their realm.” He stopped and spread his gaze over Mailie. “Do I have it correct, lady?”

  She nodded, still amazed at his vast library and that he knew so much about the volumes he’d collected. She almost fanned her face.

  “I like it here.”

  Mailie turned to look at Lily’s sleepy eyes and her arms around Ettarre’s neck. Had she said I like it here or I like Ettarre?

  The only thing that made Lily smile was the dog. Not Malory and his knights or Lachlan carrying her around like a helpless three-year-old. Mailie didn’t know what to do to help her.

  She sat on the settee beside her and put her arm around her. Lily immediately snuggled closer. “How aboot one more story before bed?” she asked into Lily’s hair. “This one is about Ettarre and her family.”

  “Aye, aye, I want to hear that one,” Lily begged and tried to pull Ettarre up on the cushions. A warning look from Mailie kept the hound from moving. Without the gigantic dog on the settee, there was room for Will. Lachlan pulled a chair forward and straddled it, then waited for her to continue.

  “Of all Grendel and Gaza’s offspring, of which there were six, Ettarre is the most graceful, the most even tempered. I think her fur is the palest and the silkiest of the three blond sisters.” Mailie smiled and patted her dog’s head. “She is loyal to my faither and to all he loves, includin’ me—and all I hold close.” She gave Lily a little squeeze and laughed with her when Ettarre tried to lick their faces.

  “I think she is the bonniest one of all,” Lily said, trying to hug the dog closer.

  “But ye havena seen the others!” Mailie feigned disbelief.

  “I dinna care!” Lily insisted, tilting her nose up in the air. “Ettarre is my favorite!”

  “Well said!” Mailie clapped her hands around Lily’s shoulders. “Who cares what the others look like when ye have found yer favorite?”

  Her gaze fell on Lachlan. A wave of emotion passed over her, making her belly feel warm and bunched up. By carrying the settee down on his back, he was allowing them into his life, even in the smallest way. He’d provided their comfort so that they could go on reading and sat with them the way a good father would.

  Her heart fainted in her chest and made her cough. Her mouth went dry. Her hands shook. She wanted to smile at him, put the children to bed, and speak with him alone. She wanted to know more about him, more about his plans after he found, or didn’t find, his daughter. She was mad, she knew, and she prayed her kin would forgive her, but she felt something for the ogre who’d carried her over his shoulder the same way he carried a piece of furniture. She liked him—even with the bluster. She liked the way she could change his mood—or withstand his worst. She liked how he looked holding Lily and sitting at the table with William.

  She bit her lip and lifted the back of her hand to her head to wipe away beads of sweat that had begun to gather. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be falling for him. Not him. He didn’t want any of this. He wanted his ghosts, his peace and quiet.r />
  Kissing him wouldn’t change anything. Of course, she didn’t want it to. Did she? How could she? But, oh, she wanted to lean in, taste his breath, kiss the lips he used to try to convince her that he was a monster.

  Despite all her misgivings, her growing desire to feel his arms around her, his mouth pressed to hers, was getting harder to ignore. All day he’d haunted her. The memory of his pledge to kill anyone who hurt her, of his eyes on her legs while she removed her knives, warmed her veins.

  She told them more about Ettarre’s sisters and the hound’s only brother, Goliath, as black as a moonless night, currently owned by Mailie’s cousin Adam. “Ownership of one of Grendel’s pups was never a guarantee that pup would remain yers. None of Grendel’s offspring belong to Grendel’s owner. Edmund wanted Goliath, but Goliath chose Adam. Bronwyn chose my aunt Davina. Risa chose a pirate! Once they chose, nothin’ could separate them. Ettarre has remained loyal to my faither.”

  Her smile faded a bit when Lachlan merely looked at Ettarre and the dog went to him and sat at his side. Ettarre liked him. It wouldn’t go well with her father if Ettarre left him, not that her father would ever let Lachlan keep Ettarre after he’d kidnapped his daughter. That is, if her poor father let Lachlan live after all the worry he’d caused. But if her dog liked Lachlan, that meant much, didn’t it? Ettarre wouldn’t like an unworthy beast.

  Besides, that wasn’t how Mailie saw him anymore. He’d been a husband, a father, before life stripped him bare and left nothing behind but a shell. Or so he wanted others to believe—mayhap even himself. He was intelligent. She’d seen him cleverly distract her entire family at the market, bringing them all together to the defense of one wrongly accused. Away from her. He’d planned his escape and defended himself against her with the agility and skill of a seasoned soldier, without once hurting her. But there was even more left of him, traces of softness that warmed his cold gaze or relaxed his damned intoxicating mouth. His defenses were beginning to falter where the children were concerned. It was quite honestly the most thrilling thing she’d ever seen. She didn’t want it to end. It proved that underneath all that hardness his heart still beat with mercy and compassion. For Mailie, those were the two most radiant virtues any man of honor could possess.

  She wouldn’t grant him too much by calling him a man of honor just yet. He had kidnapped her, after all. He was still using her to get what he wanted—what he needed.

  But she still wanted to kiss him.

  After another quarter of an hour telling them about Ettarre’s siblings, Mailie smiled at the children’s sleeping faces. She’d get them to bed and then what? Stay there with them or come back down and talk to him? If she came back down, she thought while waking William and then leaning down to pick up Lily, she’d end up kissing him for certain.

  She didn’t bid him good night as she left the kitchen toting Will behind her. She still didn’t know what to do. She looked down at Will in time to see him wave one hand at Lachlan and rub his sleepy eyes with the other.

  An instant later everything in her belly felt as if it dropped to her feet when Lachlan strode up behind her, carrying a candle in one hand. He didn’t say a word but fit his free hand under the boy’s arm and swept him onto his back. Will held on by his legs around Lachlan’s waist and his arms around his neck.

  The lad was a little stunned, but the effects of his quick ascent wore off almost immediately and he grinned down at Mailie.

  Hell, Mailie thought, watching Lachlan hike up the stairs with Will’s head bobbing up and down behind him, she could fall in love with the Dragon of the Black Isle easily enough if she wasn’t careful. She should stay in bed. His marriage bed. Och, blazes, of all the beds! She was thankful she’d laid fresh linens down.

  Her face burned as she walked behind him, and she found her gaze fastened to the play of muscles in his thighs, strong in giving chase or in carrying a child to bed. Her heart swelled. She fought it. The longer he kept her from her father, the less likely her kin would be to accept him. Would he truly hand her over to Sinclair? Could she change his mind? She was confident in herself enough to believe she could in a month if her father didn’t find her by then. But how much worse would it be if he did save her from Sinclair and her father still killed him? And what about Annabel? Was she alive, or was Sinclair lying?

  What if they began to care for each other and she had to choose between him and her kin? She could never do that.

  She shook her head. What in blazes was she thinking?

  What was happening? This all felt too perfect. How could it? They were not some husband and wife carrying their bairns to bed after a warm, wonderful evening together. He was her captor, and she was his means to an end. Nothing more. She should hate him. But she didn’t.

  It frightened her, and it broke her heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mailie watched as the man who had taken her from her brother set down his candle and gently lowered William to the bed. He must have been a good father to Annabel, but it didn’t excuse what he had done to the MacGregors. They weren’t savages, but they didn’t forget. He’d be fortunate to spend a sennight with his daughter before they found him.

  With a slight sigh, she set down Lily and tucked her in.

  “Mailie?” Lily woke the instant Mailie stepped away. “Dinna go.”

  “I’m right here,” Mailie reassured her and sat at the edge of the bed. She motioned for Lachlan’s candle. He brought it around the bed and set it on a nearby table.

  “To bed with ye now, Lily,” he said gently, leaning down to her. “Miss MacGregor is going to sleep with ye, so ye’ve nothing to fear. Ye’re keeping Ettarre awake.”

  She worried her brow and then smiled when Ettarre leaped onto the bed.

  “Good night, Laird,” Lily whispered to him, mindful of her brother. She curled up with Ettarre and closed her eyes.

  “Good night, Lily, Miss MacGregor, Ettarre.” Without another word, he left the room.

  Mailie ached to turn and call him back. But to what end? So he wasn’t as bad as some of the other men she’d heard tales of out there. That didn’t mean he was perfect. He certainly wasn’t. She snorted, removing her stays and her petticoat. She sat on the bed and chewed her lip. Everything in her screamed that he wasn’t what she was looking for. So he did a dishonorable thing for the noblest of purposes. What did it matter when he was sending her off to the mad Earl of Caithness?

  She left the bed and went to the window. She hated herself for thinking so affectionately about a man who was putting her father through hell at this moment. She hadn’t forgotten his threats to her family. She would do well to keep them in her mind instead of pondering touching him, kissing him, betraying all. And for what? A man who chose to be hunted? She was a fool. But she wasn’t blind, and despite the shouts in her head and her fears about what her kin thought, she considered that an honest, even-tempered, courageous man was just down the stairs.

  He wasn’t perfect, but even if he were, what good would the perfect man be after her kin killed him? She really didn’t want that to happen. Was he still up and about? She looked toward the door, then at the bed. Both children were asleep. For now.

  Doing her best to keep her thoughts off kissing his full, enticing mouth, she hurried out on the tips of her toes and shut the door softly behind her, leaving Ettarre inside on the bed.

  She listened for any sounds. Some shuffling from below. He was awake.

  She trod softly down the hall and stopped at the top of the stairs. She could not see his study from where she was, so she stepped down and descended halfway until she could.

  The door to the study was slightly ajar. The soft glow from the hearth spilled out into the hall, drawing her farther down. She stepped off the last stair and drifted toward the door, careful not to make a sound. She peeked inside. He wasn’t in the study.

  “Ye’re not going to try to leave dressed like that, are ye?”

  Mailie spun around and felt her face go up
in flames when she saw Lachlan exiting the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up and a curious smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

  “I—” She stopped to clear her throat. Was it a trick of the dim light, or had his smile deepened? “I was comin’ to have a word with ye.”

  Mercilessly, he came closer. “Oh? Aboot what?”

  His smile had in fact deepened. He wasn’t blind. He’d seen her hovering at his door. He knew he’d caught her off guard and she wouldn’t be able to come up with anything quick enough. He was enjoying this!

  “Aboot my kin no’ killin’ ye,” she let him know, folding her arms across her chest. Her stays! She felt her breasts through her shift, and her face burned again. She was practically naked. If he tore at anything…

  “And what makes ye worry over such things when ye should be abed?” he asked, lifting his smoky gaze from her hands.

  “I wasna worried,” she argued, trying to remain unfazed. She had to or her knees would give out. “I just want ye to have some time with yer daughter before they find ye.”

  His smile turned light and doubtful and he headed back for the kitchen. He wasn’t worried about them. How could he not be? For a moment she remained where she was, staring after him. She would add arrogant to his list of faults later.

  And foolishly courageous. She doubted he’d flinch under her kin’s scrutiny.

  “How are ye no’ afraid of them, Lachlan?” she asked, entering the kitchen. “Everyone is afraid of the MacGregors of Skye.”

  “Mailie.” He came back to her, stopping at the settee to pick up Malory’s book. “I assume from the way ye speak aboot yer kin that yer father is a man like one in these tales.”

  She nodded. “Aye, he tries to be. They all do.”

  “Then I trust that he will show me mercy if I must fall at his feet and beg it of him.”

  She stared into his eyes, searching for the truth. Did she hear him right? “Ye would do that, Dragon?”

  “If he lets me, aye. I know full well the pain I caused him.”

  She smiled. Damnation, he was tearing her defenses to pieces. Her smile faded soon enough. “He probably willna fergive ye once Sinclair puts his hands on me.” Would she?