Kissing the Countess (5 page)

"Ah! Aye. You are an English holiday climber?" She spoke the lilting, precise English typical of a Gael who had acquired the second language in school.

"A climber. A Scotsman."

"You sound English."

"Eton College."

She nodded understanding, then blew on the spoon to cool its steaming contents before leaning forward to offer him a taste.

He swallowed, closing his eyes with pleasure at discovering a hot, good brose. The healthy dash of whisky mixed with a thick broth of water and oats slid down his throat like welcome, sustaining fire.

She turned away again. He saw then that the dim little room was a dank ruin. He smelled stone, earth, sweet musty peat, and the clean, cold snap of wind and snow. Icicles hung from a tear in the roof, and he could see a magical night sky swirling with snowflakes that drifted inside.

The little hearth fire gave off some heat nearby, but the hut was cold as an icebox.

The girl shivered. He noticed mittens, a green skirt plump with petticoats, a jacket, but no outer coat, cape or plaid.

He, on the other hand, felt snug inside the plaid. Looking down, he realized that he was wrapped in her shawl, a tartan of soft color on a creamy background, the sort a woman would wear. Seeing her shiver and sniffle, he felt a pang of guilt.

"Miss—" he began.

"MacConn," she said. "Catriona MacConn."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss MacConn. It is... Miss?"

"I am not married," she said, stirring the kettle again.

His spinster-angel was shivering, and he had the only blanket in sight. He must do his best to be a gentleman, provided he could move. He opened the plaid, his arms stiff and sore. "Miss MacConn, meaning no disrespect—sit beside me here and be warm."

"I am fine." As she spoke, she chafed her arms with her mittened hands. Her breath frosted in the air.

"Lass, don't be a fool. You're shivering and will perish of the chill." Evan beckoned sternly. He did not have much patience where common sense was required—he did not intend to play wolf to her lamb—nor did he enjoy watching her suffer nobly on his account.

Besides, she seemed forthright and practical to him, even with just a few glances and few words exchanged.

"Miss MacConn," he said. "It seems absurd and ungentlemanly for me to sit here comfortable, while you are over there shaking with cold."

She stared at him for a moment, then moved forward.

Chapter 3

"I am not that sort of girl." Her teeth chattered.

"And I am not that sort of man." He sat up gingerly, leaning against the cold, damp wall. "You saved my life and I am in your debt. I will not sit in warmth by while you suffer."

"You owe me nothing, sir. I could not leave you there."

"If you will not sit here with me, then let us share the blanket by turns. Here. I'll tend to the fire and supper while you warm yourself." He eased himself to knees, then feet, setting a hand on the wall when his head spun.

"Sir, you must not—" She slipped an arm around his waist and tucked her shoulder under his arm. He leaned, glad she was a tall, strong girl, and allowed her to help him to a wooden bench beside the fire. The warped thing rocked a little as he sat.

"You should rest," she said. "I do not think you have broken bones, but your head injury concerns me. And you were exposed to the cold for a time before I found you."

"I will be all right," he said, although he felt achy and weak and would not admit to it. His natural tendency was to be strong and hardy and he expected that to return quickly. "Whatever is bruised will mend." He tipped his head, puzzled. "How did I come to be here in this place, with you?"

She knelt to stir the pot, then sat back on her heels and looked at him. "I found you near the drover's road that runs over the hill—Beinn Shee, the Fairy Mountain. It is the tallest peak beside the great mountain called Beinn Alligin."

He nodded. "I was climbing Beinn Shee, but I did not make it to the top." He shifted, stifled a wince.

"No one ever has," she said. "Do you recall falling?"

"Oh aye. A friend and I started out early in the day in the mist, and later the storm blew in from the northwest. My friend turned back. I lost him in the fog. I hope to God he did not fall."

She frowned. "I saw a man crossing the glen floor as I came along the old track. I did think it odd to see a gentleman walking alone in this poor weather. He had a pack on his back, and was dressed like a sporting gentleman. But no gun."

"That would be Fitzgibbon." Evan felt relieved to know that Arthur had made it safely down from the mountain. "I could not descend safely where I was, so I went up a little, looking for a better place." He explained the rest. "It was something of a nightmare," he finished, touching his brow. "I hit a rocky ledge rather hard and tried to move, but fell again. It's a blur now."

"I found you beside the path, nearly chilled to death, with your head bruised and bleeding. I knew this shieling hut was not far down the track, so I brought you here."

"I'm eternally grateful, Miss MacConn. But how did you manage it?" He sat forward. "I must have walked, though I do not recall that."

"I took you by the arms, sir, and dragged you here."

"Truly! I am amazed as well as grateful. That was a Herculean task. I am not a small man."

"Nor am I a small woman. I had no choice but to move you somehow." Cheeks blushing fiercely, she rose to her feet. "Sir, it is so cold in here. Do cover up and keep warm."

He felt the cold intensely, but saw how she rubbed her arms, and how pink the tip of her nose had become.

"Miss MacConn, I insist that you get under that blanket. It is freezing in here," he said, pointing toward the plaid. He left the bench and lowered stiffly to the floor beside the glowing hearth. Taking up the spoon, he dipped it into the kettle.

"Be careful, it's hot," she said, then crawled into the cocoon he had abandoned and drew the blanket to her chin. Her boots stuck out.

"Tuck your feet in, do," he ordered. She smiled at his tone, and he smiled, too, feeling a bit surprised, for generally he had much greater reserve with strangers. But he felt strangely at ease in her company. He sipped from the spoon. "This is good. Like a brose, but not sweet."

"I used oats, melted snow, and whisky," she said. "I hope you don't mind. I found your flask of whisky in the knapsack and mixed it with snow and some oats I had with me. I always carry dry oats in case of hunger when I walk out in the hills."

"Luckily for us that you do. Whatever I have is yours, Miss MacConn." She had saved his life—he might have died had she not come along, compassionate and capable, just in time.

He smiled, feeling an easy and unexpected affection, as if he had known her a long time. Odd for him, as he tended to be reserved and was not quick to fondness. But then, no one had ever saved his life before. He felt gratitude, he realized.

"I have more oats in my pack, enough for tonight," she said. "We do not have much else to eat."

He set down the spoon, not wanting more than his share. He offered her a taste but she shook her head.

"I'm not hungry now, thank you. I fear we may have to stay here until daylight and will want food later." She looked at the door, swaying on worn hinges in the wind. Snow blew through chinks in the walls and a gap in the roof.

"The storm will end soon, and then we can leave. The glen is not a long walk from here, is it?" he asked.

She shifted, drew the plaid closer. "The track goes over the hills and down about three miles to the glen floor. 'Tis another mile to my father's house. The way is steep and can be treacherous in bad weather. You should not try such a walk just yet, with your head injury. Thankfully though, you have no broken bones." She blushed in the firelight as he glanced at her. "I had to examine you," she explained.

Evan smiled. "Thank you for making sure," he said, to put her at ease. "I can make the descent if the weather clears, but it seems that we will have to spend the night here, Miss MacConn." He studied her for a moment. "It is awkward, I admit. My apologies."

She shrugged a little. "What choice do we have? We'll manage. We have a fire, some food, and... a blanket." She frowned. "Perhaps your friend will come looking for you."

"Fitz? A good fellow, but he tends to assume all is well and goes about his business. Besides, the storm will prevent anyone from searching for us. Your family will be concerned, I'm sure."

"My father and brother will worry when I do not come home. My... eldest brother died under such circumstances, many years ago," she murmured. "He was climbing on Beinn Shee when he fell."

"My God," he said softly. "I am so sorry."

"My father took it very hard. We all did. Donald was the oldest of us—we were six children. My father was injured on the day of the search, and... well, he has never been the same. Turned sad and fierce that day and found solace in strict religion." She shrugged. "Aye, they will be concerned if I do not return from the hills—and will look for me soon as they can."

"We will easily get down to the glen in the morning, before they even have a chance to come up. No one need be the wiser about our adventure here, if you wish," he offered impulsively. "We could appear there separately. A pact, shall we say?"

She tilted her head, then gave a pensive nod.

The wind howled, and sleety gusts rattled the walls. Catriona MacConn looked around anxiously. "This shieling hut has been here a long time. It was used long ago when the shepherds and their families brought the cattle to graze on sweet grass in the high hills. No one has been here for decades, I think. It is not in very good repair."

Evan shifted to sit with his back against the wall, closer to the girl. "We could stuff some of the biggest holes and block the gap in the roof somehow," he suggested. "I could try to wedge something between the rafters."

She rubbed her arms. "With a wintry squall like this, we could have even colder winds and more snow before morning. Oh dear—we could be stranded for days."

"I'm sure not," he said quickly. The girl nodded. She was of strong, practical Highland stock, Evan thought, and he was certain she would be calm and capable no matter the situation.

"I hope so, Mr.—I have not yet learned your name."

"Mackenzie. Evan Mackenzie. Pleased to meet you, Miss MacConn." He smiled, holding out his hand, touching her fingers lightly. Though they had touched before, that brief intentional contact sent a subtle shock through his body, and he felt an inward astonishment. What was it about Catriona MacConn, he thought, that could set his senses reeling?

He did not offer his titles with his name, rarely did so. His peer status made him uncomfortable and set him apart in his work as an engineer of bridgeworks. Uncertain of his inheritance due to the rift with his father, he had devoted himself to earning a livelihood and a reliable reputation of his own. He had the habit of introducing himself as Mr. Mackenzie, but for the rare formal occasion.

As for his reliable reputation—that had suffered greatly two years earlier. He did not want his name and title shattered too, especially in Glen Shee, considering his father's deeds here.

"Mr. Mackenzie." She smiled politely, and he felt relieved that she did not seem to recognize his name. She was enchanting, he thought, with a fey smile and elusive dimples. "There are many Mackenzies hereabouts. Are you related?"

"Could be," he said carefully. "I am more or less a Lowlander myself, though my father's people were from this region, and my mother was born in Inverness." He did not add that he had spent some of his childhood in Glen Shee. Those memories were precious and private, and he could guess that Catriona MacConn would not be pleased about his identity.

"Well, you're Highland by blood at least, if not by upbringing," she said. "Mackenzies have been the lairds of Kildonan Castle and the estate of Kildonan in Glen Shee for generations. They have held the title of earl for perhaps twenty years."

"I'd heard that."

"Perhaps you know the current Lord Kildonan, or knew his father, the late earl."

"I have heard of them." He moved away and began to stir the brose again. He ought to tell her, but wanted to wait.

"The old earl was an awful man, Mr. Mackenzie, though I beg your pardon if he was your kinsman. I am sorry the man died—he was shot when he set down his own gun while deer stalking, and that is no way for a man to go—but there were many who were not unhappy when he left us."