The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  “’Bout the same as it feels.”

  Meg tried not to ogle the male flesh presenting to her, and focused on Duncan’s wound. She reached out her hand then quickly snapped it back. It would be ever so improper to touch him.

  “I don’t reckon staring at it’ll help me heal.”

  She stepped back. “True.” She fumbled with the stopper on the jar of leeches. “Two on each side, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  Leeches were such slimy, vile creatures. Meg gritted her teeth. Clearly, Duncan needed their medicinal magic. Even she knew leeches were one of the best options to keep infection away. She squeezed one gently and pulled it from the glass. Her stomach turned over. Fingers trembling, with a grimace she put the squirming black glob of slime beside Duncan’s wound. Her fingers brushed his flesh. Unexpectedly soft, she stilled her hand as if she’d just avoided being burned.

  He grunted.

  The cut oozed yellow. Meg balled her fists so she wouldn’t touch him and peered closer. “It looks awfully bad.”

  “You’d best apply the other leeches, then.”

  Meg did as asked until four unsightly blobs hung from his bruised bottom. “Now what?”

  “They’ll feast until they fall off.” Duncan glanced at her over his shoulder. “Spread on the salve.”

  Meg swallowed. For a moment, she’d forgotten a rugged warrior stood bare arsed in front of her. She mustn’t pay heed to the softness of his skin. The wound looked horrid. If she didn’t tend him properly, he could succumb to a fever—even an enormous, strapping man like Duncan wasn’t hewn of iron. “The cut needs to be properly cleansed first.” She slid her hand over her mouth—now she’d have to bathe him too.

  “Very well.” Duncan shifted, sounding unflappable. “Douse a cloth in the bowl. That’ll fix me right up.”

  Meg exhaled. When he’d moved, she feared he might turn around, mayhap call for a bath. Oh, God in heaven, what if she saw him from the front? She’d die. Heat pooled in the crux of her legs while her knees turned to wobbly mush.

  “You want me to fetch it?” His gruff voice took on an air of impatience.

  She crossed to the bowl. “Sorry. I’ll do it.” She poured some water from the ewer and dunked the cloth.

  “Are you nervous, lass?”

  She nearly dropped the cloth. “No…yes. ’Tis just your injury isn’t in the most genteel location.”

  “Apologies. If I could transfer it to my elbow to appeal to your sensibilities, I’d do so in an instant.”

  “How you can jest at a time like this, I cannot fathom.”

  She stole a glance at the well-formed male specimen across the room. Honestly, she shouldn’t gawk. The poor man was in pain. He merely needed her to tend his vicious wound—and the sooner she did so, the sooner he’d cover up his backside, and her ridiculous desire to stare at it would go away.

  Meg held the claw in front of her nose and frowned. Remember? No man wants a woman with such a grotesque deformity.

  She wrung out the cloth and boldly strode to him. As soon as she bent down, her hand started shaking again. She clutched the cloth tighter. “Just a few quick swipes.”

  Duncan hissed. “Bloody oath, are you washing me with sackcloth?”

  “’Tis linen.” Meg tossed the cloth on the table and reached for the stoneware pot. One of the leeches dropped to the floor. She quickly glopped the ointment on two fingers and spread it over the gash. Two more leeches dropped and writhed.

  Duncan looked back. “I’ll fetch them in a moment.”

  Meg looked at her handiwork. “You could use a few stitches.”

  “Do you have a needle and thread?”

  “Nay.”

  He shifted his weight. “Feels better already.”

  Meg held the pot of salve to her nose and sniffed—leek for certain, combined with something that made her eyes water. “What’s in it?”

  After the fourth leech dropped, Duncan pulled up his braies and bent down for his chausses. “Gypsy magic. They may be an odd lot, but they have potent medicine.”

  She stoppered the pot and rested it on the table. “I hope it helps. I can hardly believe you can sit a horse. Half your bum is bruised.”

  He faced her, his grin halfcocked. “Wheesht. I cannot believe a delicate lassie is speaking about my arse with such recklessness.”

  “I…” Meg clapped her hands over her burning cheeks. He was right. She should not speak of a man’s backside. Not ever. “Forgive me.”

  His white teeth flashed with his grin. “Aye, lassie. With four older sisters and the Earl of Angus for a brother, I’d think you’d ken when someone is teasing you.”

  Meg clenched her claw and covered it with her good hand. Goodness gracious, Sir Duncan had a way of making her self-conscious like no one she’d ever met. He sauntered toward her and placed his hands on Meg’s shoulders. His dark chestnut eyes bored into hers, as if he’d never gazed upon a woman before.

  His tongue flicked out and moistened his lips. “Thank you, m’lady.”

  She swallowed, her heart thumping out of rhythm. “I…” Goodness, his mouth was ever so close to hers. She gasped. His gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips. Was he…?

  Without thinking, Meg lifted her chin, her skin alive with tingling. The scent of spice and male filled her senses. Duncan’s lips met hers ever so softly. Such a rugged man, yet his lips were softer than silk. He slid his hands down her back, and Meg’s insides swirled in a fluttering torrent. Closing her eyes, she could stand there and kiss him until the sun rose anew.

  Duncan pulled her closer, his tongue brushing her lips. Meg startled, but his hand caressed up the back of her neck. Her skin came alive with gooseflesh. She couldn’t pull away from him even if she’d tried. For years, she’d wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man—not a peck on the cheek, but a deep, longing kiss—one intended only for her.

  She molded into his chest. He tasted like whisky and rain while his tongue swirled with hers in an intoxicating dance. Meg prayed he’d hold her in his arms forever. If he released now, she’d swoon for certain.

  8

  Holding Meg Douglas in his arms, Duncan’s pain melted into oblivion. God forgive him, he’d needed to kiss the lass ever since her long red lashes unveiled her eyes in the chapel. The way she came undone in his arms, she felt the same, whether Lady Meg knew it or not. Aye, initially she may have been a wee bit resistant, but once Duncan showed her how a man kisses a woman, she’d melted like butter in the sun.

  Bless the sweet smell of wildflowers that wafted from every crevice of her body. He couldn’t recall a woman ever tasting so sweet. And her soft curves molded into his chest so well.

  Only one kiss and I’ll be able to push her from my thoughts.

  Closing his eyes, he swirled his tongue down her neck. A smoldering moan escaped her throat. “Sir Duncan.” Her voice had turned husky. “I cannot …”

  The muscles in his arms clenched. God on the cross, ever since he met the lass he’d done nothing but tell himself Lady Douglas was forbidden fruit. As soon as they were shut in a chamber alone, his lustful Campbell urges surged straight through the tip of his cock. Of course, lowering his braies while Meg tended his naked arse did nothing to quash his yearnings. Bloody hell, he couldn’t be trusted—aye, he, a knight who’d taken an oath of chivalry, got a maid alone in a chamber, bared his bum and then proceeded to ravish her. Heaven help him, if she hadn’t stopped them, he’d have deflowered her before the fire needed another stick of wood.

  His payment for her rescue wouldn’t be the only thing forfeited. Blast the English to hell for their dimwitted chase. Now only God knew how long he’d be forced to endure Meg’s presence. How complicated and awkward he’d just made things.

  Duncan grasped her shoulders and stared at her nose. He couldn’t bring himself to look into those crystal blues. Not now. “Apologies. I do not ken what came over me.”

  Meg covered her mouth with her hand and stomped her little foot.
“I’ll…I’ll not have you taking advantage of me because of my deformity. I have a sharp mind in spite of my hand.”

  Duncan furrowed his brow. “You think yourself unappealing because of a wee bent hand?”

  Meg whipped around and turned her back. “I saw the fear in your eyes when you first saw it. But allow me to say, I know my languages and I can read better than Arthur, calculate sums, and I can ride a horse as fast as any man.”

  He stared at her slender shoulders dumbly. “Aye, you do have an impressive seat.” I’m sure that appeased her worries, ye big oaf. If only he could reach out and caress her wild locks—show her how extraordinary he believed her to be.

  Those red tresses shook. “Nay. You’re just saying that to soothe my feelings.”

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. After all, it was only a hand. Her body tensed. So did his. “One thing you must know, Lady Meg. I never pay a compliment which isn’t due. If I say you have a talent, I mean it.” Better.

  She stood motionless for a moment and then regarded his hand, still resting on her shoulder. “You’re not put off by the…my hand?”

  “Nay. I can see no reason to fear it.”

  She sidestepped out from under his grasp, and looked him in the eye. “Why did you kiss me?”

  Because you’re more wily than a devil cat. Duncan swiped his hand across his mouth. Lordy, what should he tell her? He abhorred lying. “Forgive me. I was hired by your brother to rescue you from the Earl of Northumberland and return you safely to your kin. I had no right to take liberties.”

  She narrowed her gaze, her fingers lightly tapping her lips. “Did you enjoy…ah…it?”

  She lowered her hand, her bow-shaped mouth pouted, crimson—begging for another wee kiss. Lord have mercy, he could ruin everything for him and his men. Duncan ground his back molars and bowed deeply. “My personal happiness is not your concern, m’lady. I am your servant. I promised your brother to return you to Tantallon unharmed and untouched. That vow I will honor.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she cast her gaze to the hearth whilst wringing her hands. “I thank you.”

  Duncan resisted the urge to drop to a knee and apologize. He needed to ask forgiveness for nothing. He’d kissed the lass. That was all. He would put it behind him and carry on with his mission.

  She gestured toward the table. “You’d best eat something.”

  His mouth watered—he hadn’t thought about food since entering the chamber. “I’m starved.”

  “’Tis most likely cold.”

  “Not to worry.” Duncan sat, wincing at the jab of pain that shot from his arse up his spine. “I could eat dirt with a bit of seasoning if I had nay other choice.”

  She chuckled. Good. The lass must have let the ludicrous kiss go, too. It would be easier for them both if they blocked it from their minds. Meg sat in the wooden chair across from him. “Did you find another horse?”

  Duncan tore a piece of bread with his teeth and shoved it to the side of his mouth. “Nay, but I sold the gelding.”

  She jolted straight up. “You did what?”

  He picked up a spoon and pointed it at her. “Sold him in payment for a wagon ride to Glasgow. We’ll be a mite less suspicious if we look like a pair of tinkers—and then we can hire a transport on the River Clyde.” He gestured to the bundle he’d tossed on the bed. “Found us a couple of used cloaks as well.”

  After crossing the floor, Meg untied the bundle and unrolled it. She held up a grey cloak. “This moth-eaten blanket has so many holes I doubt it could provide warmth for anyone.”

  “Ah, m’lady, I daresay most poor souls would be grateful to have such a woolen garment to keep the north wind at bay.”

  She held up the other. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain. I could very well end up in garments such as these.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She shrugged. “When I take up the veil, I’ll be relying on the church for support.”

  He didn’t like the idea of Lady Meg becoming a nun, but then he had no say in the matter. “Surely your brother would provide your dowry to the abbey.”

  “Aye, but those riches will be used to help others, not for me.”

  He doused the end piece of bread in the stew. “They’ll be used to feather the abbess’s bed, no doubt.”

  Meg pursed her lips and looked away.

  He stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. “Why are you so hell-bent on becoming a nun?”

  “Why are you taking up your father’s mantle?” she retorted without answering. “The Black Knight has a notorious reputation.”

  “Someone’s got to do the king’s bidding. Besides, I believe in law and order. The lawlessness that pervades the Highlands must stop. Innocent women and children must be protected—lands tilled and not burned.”

  “Do you fancy yourself a savior of innocents, Sir Duncan?”

  Was she toying with him? He glared across the table. Damn it all, the fire danced in her sparkling blue eyes. They challenged him in a way no other woman had ever done. He scooped another bite of stew. “I uphold the decrees of Scotland and support the king. That is all.”

  Meg moved to the edge of the bed and sat. “We’ll be taking a sea transport from Glasgow?”

  Damn, she changed the bloody subject again. He nodded her way. “Aye.”

  “It seems like you’re taking me farther and farther away from my home.”

  Duncan scooped the last bite of stew. “’Tis just a roundabout route to keep you safe.”

  “If you must.” She pulled one of the cloaks over her lap and thoughtfully smoothed her good hand across it. Duncan had hardly seen her use the crippled hand. “I think I should like to see the Highlands before I take my vows and live within cloistered walls.”

  “There’s no place more beautiful.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “I could tell you, but words would not do it justice. There are mountains and lakes aplenty…” He winced at a sharp stab of pain in his backside. “And the weather cannot be predicted—could be sunny and warm in the morning and snowing by midafternoon.”

  “Ah.” She smiled. “I do not think there’s a place in all of Scotland where one could predict the weather.”

  He pushed his chair back and grunted with the twist of pain.

  She jumped to her feet. “How is your wound?”

  “It hurts like a bloody venomed rat sank its fangs into my arse.” He didn’t care a lick about cursing—perhaps she’d keep her distance if he reverted to using a vulgar tongue.

  Meg crossed the floor and reached for the pot of salve. “Should I apply more ointment?”

  Duncan grasped it from her. “I’ll rub in my own salve. Having your fingers upon me fills my mind with all sorts of untoward ideas.”

  “What kind of ideas?” The innocence filling her eyes made his heart twist into a knot.

  Duncan gave her a stern look—the one he used with his sisters when they asked too many questions. “You’d better take your rest. We’ve a long day’s journey on the morrow.”

  Meg bit the inside of her cheek. If only Duncan would tell her how he felt when she touched him. She certainly would never forget the moment when he’d kissed her. Her fingers still trembled. She returned to the bed and slipped off her shoes. “It doesn’t seem right that I should have the bed when you’re wounded and in pain.”

  She stole a glance at him over her shoulder. For a fleeting moment their eyes met. Something in the intensity of his stare caused a stirring in her stomach so violent, she clutched her hands to her midsection to quash it.

  Then he cast his gaze to the fire. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ve been in far worse pain and slept in far less comfortable accommodations.” He held his palms up. “’Tisn’t even raining.”

  He smiled with a boyish charm, though she knew he was just being friendly. Why would a warrior like Duncan Campbell, the future Lord of Glenorchy, go out of his way to be nice to her?

  Since they’d kissed,
he’d changed. He was more formal in his address toward her, yet the coarse language he’d used when they first met had returned. Meg touched her mouth. Who knew kissing a man could be so invigorating?

  She climbed into the bed and tugged the bedclothes over her shoulders. The soft, downy mattress enveloped her in heavenly comfort. The floorboards creaked. Meg stiffened. What was he doing now? Wood clunked and the fire crackled. Meg sighed—stoking the fire for the night.

  With a whoosh of air, he snuffed the candles. The floorboards creaked again. “Goodnight m’lady.” His voice was soft and buttery—not nearly as gruff as before.

  “Goodnight.”

  Meg rolled to her back. Turning her head to the side, she could see him now. He lay on his unwounded side, facing the fire, his head cradled in the crux of his arm. Duncan’s shoulders were so broad, there was no question as to why he was the leader of the king’s enforcers. He made an imposing knight—one to make an enemy quake just because of his size. The fluttering in her midsection started again.

  Sighing, Meg picked up the pillow beside hers and tiptoed toward him. “This should help make you a wee bit more comfortable.”

  His head jerked toward her. He reached out, grabbed it and stuffed the pillow under his head. “Ta.”

  She watched him for a moment. He ignored her, or pretended she didn’t exist. Was he upset about the kiss? Was there something else? She returned to the bed. “Are you married?” The question had been needling at her mind for days.

  “Me?” His silhouetted hand batted the air. “I’ve no time for that.”

  Meg slipped between the linens again. “Why not?”

  “I’m hardly ever home, for one. My duty is to keep order in the Highlands—and since Denmark ceded Orkney and Shetland, the task has been all the more challenging.”

  “Sounds dreary to me, always sleeping on the trail or in drafty inns. Since I’ve been abducted, I’ve decided I like the feel of my bed, and would be quite content to sleep there for the rest of my days.”

  His deep chuckle made the floorboards rumble. “Would you now?”

  Meg tugged the bedclothes to her chin, determined to quash the fluttering caused by his voice. “Aye.”