Highlander Mine (14 page)

“There’s little point speculating on those grounds alone, Christie. Every clan has red-haired people in it. Even ours. I could list twenty easily.”

“Whoever it is,” continued Christie, “it won’t be a hardship to any of us if it takes some time for you to find them. You are quite welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

“I thank you for that. You are so very kind.” Something occurred to me at their mention of the neighboring clans. “Your other brothers. They have taken up lairdships of their own clans recently. Are they nearby?”

“Kade leads the Morrison clan now, a day’s ride from here. Wilkie is farther away. Ossian Lochs is nearly a three-day ride. We don’t see him as often.” Again, Christie paused before asking, “Knox told you of them?”

“Aye,” I said. “He mentioned that they had married only recently. He was speaking of some advice they had given him.”

“What advice?” Christie said.

“Oh. Just that it was time for him...to stop grieving. To move on.”

The sisters were silent for a moment. Their eyes met and an unspoken thought passed between them.

“With that, I have to agree,” said Ailie, making one final adjustment. Then she stepped back, surveying her work. “There,” she said. “Perfect.”

I had to admit: it
was
perfect, clinging to my every curve, accentuating and flattering my feminine shape. Low-cut but not indecently so, softly decadent, at the same time meticulous and winsome, it was truly a work of art, a dress that made me feel beautiful, comfortable and desirable all from the way the velvety, sky-blue fabric was fitted expertly to my body.

“And if he didn’t take notice of you then,” Christie continued, thoroughly immersed in her own lighthearted line of thought, “he certainly will now.”

I allowed their fussing and their adjustments as they fitted my clothing and brushed my long hair, but, in fact, I was more mired in the thoughts of my imminent departure from Kinloch than I was enamored by their review of the attentions of their oldest brother.

A knock on the door quieted the discussion and a young woman who appeared to be a servant appeared. “The lass has been summoned by Laird Mackenzie. She is to meet with him in one hour, at his request.”

“Already?” mused Christie. “He’s not wasting any time at all.”

My heart skipped a beat at the news of my summons. What did he want me for, again, and so soon? Had he unearthed our lies during Hamish’s inquisition? Was he going to order us off the premises immediately? Or did he have some other complaint? Maybe he was angry at our break-in and subsequent break-out of the arsenal. Whatever the subject of his ire was this time, I needed some time to prepare myself.

I thanked the sisters once again and excused myself. “I think I’ll take a rest in my guest chambers before I meet with your brother, if you don’t mind. My long journey seems to have caught up with me.”

“Of course, Amelia. Take your rest. We’ll see you later.”

After I took my leave of them, I walked through the stone passageways of the manor in the direction of my guest chambers. I passed a small arched window, which revealed a glorious afternoon. Surveying the magnificent view, I felt the call of the sunshine and the beauty of the landscape. Instead of returning to my room, I decided to go down to the orchard. I knew Hamish would be occupied in the barracks until the evening meal, and I felt drawn to the splendor of the gardens. The idyll of the place had touched something in me, and I knew my time here was limited. I wanted to savor the peacefulness, the dappled light through the leafy foliage, the plump fruit and the appealing juxtaposition of the cozy orchards and the vastness of the distant, neatly crop-lined hills. I wandered through the trees and farther. A lone gardener was tending several of the trees and I waved to him as I passed by.

There, a graceful slope led down to the loch, which was large and mirror-smooth, reflecting perfectly the image of the landscape. I couldn’t resist a closer look. I walked down to it, along a raised stone shelf that overlooked the water. The level stone ledge was moss-covered and soft. I sat for a time, to revel in the quiet moment and appreciate the view. It might have been the most beautiful place I had ever seen.

At the far end of the loch, I could see a small boathouse. A number of men were milling about it, and appeared to be building or repairing a boat that had been propped upside down on a wooden stand.

Beyond the boathouse, there was a stone bridge that spanned a small south-flowing river.

A boathouse. A south-flowing river.

I felt simultaneous surges of both elation and distress. I could use one of those boats to make my escape. A boat would be faster than hitching or stealing rides on hay wagons. At least for part of the journey, my travel would be swift, and smooth. My plan was revealing itself piece by piece. Once I secured a small amount of money, I would sneak down to the boathouse, when no one was about. I would take my leave in the dark of night.

I wished I could stay here to hide away in this little utopic Highlands world for a long time to come. But it was not meant to be. My sister needed me.

It was so serene by the loch’s edge, so soothing in the sunlight. I leaned back, delighting in the peacefulness of the moment, lulled by the calm rhythm of the water’s lapping caress against the rocks. I hadn’t slept well on a regular basis for weeks, if not more, and I lay down.

Within minutes, as I watched the birds glide in lazy circles overhead, I fell into an enchanted doze.

* * *

I
AWOKE
TO
the sensation that someone was watching me. The warmth and light of the sun had been blocked by something large.

I opened my eyes.

Again, as the first time I’d seen him, his perfectly formed silhouette was illuminated by a low-hanging sun. The auburn light painted the tips of his black hair.
Holy Ghost, he’s beautiful,
was the thought that didn’t just come to mind but somehow infused my body from the inside out. I thought I might be dreaming him. Surely no earthly human could possess such overblown magnificence
.

None other than Knox Mackenzie.

The light had changed. The sun was hovering over the horizon in a molten circle, leaching orange light into a purple-stained sky. The reflection of the water doubled the effect, reflecting an iridescent mirror image. A spectacular sunset over the water, just beginning.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

I took a moment to drink in the sight of his big, lean frame. His striking face, that rich, gold-tinted hair. Well dressed in his aristocratic yet rugged clothing. Refined but simmering with a masculine tempestuousness. His arms were folded in an assertive posture. Hardly necessary, really, since I was reclined and peaceful before him.

“And you’ve found me,” I replied, sitting up, smoothing my hair and my dress into place. I’d slept, it appeared, for several hours and the deep, restorative slumber still clung to my outlook, mellowing it. I felt relaxed and supremely calm.

He stood rigid and expressionless, still blocking my sun.

“What is it you wanted to meet with me about, Laird Mackenzie?”

“I asked that you come to my meeting chambers. Several hours ago.”

“Aye, I was on my way to you, but I was early, and I—”

“Let me guess. You got distracted, and wandered off.”

If I hadn’t been feeling so sanguine and replete from my recuperative sleep, I might have risen to his reply. Not quite an insult, as such, but not far off it. So I was easily distracted by the cornucopia of delights this new world had to offer, what of it? That he was assuming to understand me and my tendencies did not offend me. Inexplicably, I didn’t mind this little familiarity between us.

I countered his rudeness with an invitation. “Sit here with me. Tell me of this urgent issue I must immediately be briefed with.”

Knox didn’t move, nor did his expression change. He appeared to be weighing up my motives for such a request.

After several moments of scrupulous decision-making, he sat next to me, but guardedly, as though wary I might do something unpredictable. And it was that spark of caution in him that made me want to do just that: catch him off guard.

Tease him. Ruffle those unruffleable feathers again.

In my mild, sleep-drowsed state of mind, I savored the closeness of his bulk and his beauty. I felt the subtle but unmistakable pull of him. At this point and against this backdrop, his arrogance was more amusing to me than offensive. The man was even more picturesque than the view. Now that I understood that his stubborn sternness was a mask that protected his deeper vulnerabilities and hidden desires, I imagined myself removing that mask, and comforting him. Breaking down the blockade of his severity.

“You must have been tired,” he said. It was a more personal comment than I was expecting.

“Aye, I was. Did you try to wake me?”

“I’ve been standing here for several minutes. You were deeply asleep.”

He’d been watching me. Quietly standing over me as I slept. Had he been thinking of the way I looked, disheveled and immodest by the weapons shed, with only the sheerest of coverings? I remembered the look in his eyes before he’d managed to rein in his self-control; the pure, undiluted lust.

Now he looked composed. Or close to it.

“I haven’t been sleeping well of late,” I confessed.

“’Tis hardly surprising.” There it was again: near empathy from Laird Macstaunch. As reserved and vigilant as he was, he possessed that same innate kindness as his sisters; his was shielded behind the layers of his ingrained authority, but there nonetheless. And it was
this
that drew me to him more than his dazzling looks or his protective promise, that tenderness that he couldn’t hide even though he clearly wanted to.

My reactions to Knox Mackenzie were very different from anything I’d ever experienced. Always before, I’d felt the need to hide myself, to discourage uninvited attention from the many men who gave it. Here and now, my responses to Knox’s nearness were dynamic and disconcerting. That he was not immune, despite his stony facade, intrigued me and stirred my new, womanly inclinations. Mischievous urges were effervescing within me, filling my head with scandalous thoughts.

Never one to actively deny the direction of my compulsions, I secretly allowed these new cravings to take hold. I let them wash over me as I lay dreamy yet awakened in that inspiring sunlight. The pliant fabric of my dress molded to the shape of my full breasts and my beading nipples with candid honesty. Instead of hiding the shape of my body from Knox Mackenzie’s gaze, I reclined in a languid, almost-arching movement. My fingers eased under the velvet of my neckline, unintentionally playing with it.

You want him. You want him as you’ve never wanted anything in your life. You want
him
to be the memory you take within you into an unknowable future.

Shocked by the boldness of my own thoughts, I concentrated instead on his mouth as he spoke.

“I have sent a messenger to Laird Magnus Munro,” he said, his eyes watching the gentle glide of my fingers. “His clan is a wealth of information. His brothers and cousins travel widely and convene regularly with most clans of the Highlands. They pride themselves on their connections.”

I returned his genteel conversation, even as my body continued to ignite. “You have made inquiries to him about my father’s cousin.”

“If anyone knows of Michael Taylor, it will be the Munros,” he said. “I’ve issued an invitation to them, and others, for this weekend. They...” He paused as I rubbed my shoulder gently in a restless caress. His breathing became more rapid. “They might have gathered some information by then and you can speak to them directly.”

The information he presented relieved me slightly, that his men would not be needlessly scouring the hills for my fictional relatives. There would be a gathering of clans, friends meeting with friends. A few questions asked of well-traveled acquaintances. No one would be unnecessarily dispatched for days on end on my behalf.

“I truly appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to, for us,” I said, and it was true. My gratitude, combined as it was with an unusually placated state of mind brought on by sleep and warmth and the dazzling presence of Laird Knox Mackenzie, was, if truths were being told, driving me a wee bit mad. I wondered if he could detect this. Could he know that I was suffering a most perfect, divine, swelling sensation in the most private place imaginable? A light throb condensed there, and I could feel its echo at the tips of my breasts. I felt as if I’d been dipped in warm honey. “’Tis especially thoughtful of you to come strolling out to the loch to speak with me. No doubt you have a thousand other priorities to contend with, as important as you are.”

His eyebrows furrowed in that I-cannot-tell-if-this-thoroughly-outranked-lass-is-in-some-way-insolently-mocking-me-and-I-find-this-infuriating kind of way that I was now becoming accustomed to.

“That you would take the time to locate me personally is very thoughtful indeed,” I continued, enjoying his mild confusion over my tactical female complexities. I wasn’t sure exactly what my tactics were, but I was enjoying them nonetheless.

“I had asked that you come to see me, several hours ago,” he said, his brusqueness again pronounced. Aye, we’d determined that: I’d missed his appointment. His curt, husky remark was doing nothing to tone down my desire. I
wanted
him to be gruff and rough and unyielding. In one forward direction.

What was happening to me? All I could think of was the shape of his long-fingered hands, brown and scarred and strong-looking. His grip would be punishing. The hardness of his straining, muscular arms would be stunning.

Oh, holy high heaven.
Any residual traces of propriety or virtue instilled long ago by my once-cultured upbringing were crumbling. I was falling, but my soul was flying.
Touch me,
I wanted to say.
Hold me down. Put your mouth on me.

“My apologies, Laird Mackenzie, for keeping you waiting,” I said, my politeness tinted with soft provocation. “’Tis unforgivable on my part and I will make sure never to displease you again. Ever.”