Rogue of the Isles (28 page)

She remembered Jillian’s admonishment that Jamie was like King Arthur’s knight, Gawain.

Maybe he was…just a little.

They walked close to the shore and sat on a large boulder semi-warm from the sun even though the air was crisp and cool. Ahead of them, the long, narrow ribbon of Loch Shiel shimmered like sparkling crystals where the sun glinted upon the deep blue water. Mountains on either side rose up in shades of verdant majesty, their peaks still dusted with snow from the recent storm. A kestrel glided lazily overhead, catching updrafts beneath its wings to soar effortlessly while it searched for a fish.

“This is so peaceful,” Mari said.

“Aye,” Jamie answered as he handed her one of the meat pasties. “It reminds me a little of Raasay.”

“The isle where you are from?”

Jamie nodded. “The isle has only one main village, Inverarish, but given the population is less than a thousand, ’tis enough.”

“What do the people do? Raise sheep?”

“Some do, but there is a spring running down the face of a high cliff on the east side that washes the rock, turning it to a white substance from which fine lime is made, and a quarry of good stone as well. On the west side, the fishing is good.” Jamie paused and then smiled. “The fishermen have an unwritten code that all their lines must be the same length for the longest would have access to the best fish and have the others at a disadvantage.”

“Highlanders have a lot of unwritten codes, do they not?” Mari asked.

“Mayhap. ’Tis more a matter of honor that we provide for and protect our clansmen.”

Mari furrowed her brow. “Is that why you are so adamant about protecting me? Because, in a way, I am now related to you?”

Jamie shrugged. “Ye can see it that way I suppose, but I could nae let ye place yerself in danger, lass. ’Tis nae my way.”

Mari studied him. Maybe there was more than a little Gawain in Jamie, after all. “Do you miss Raasay?” she asked softly.

“Aye, sometimes I do. On a clear day, if ye climb to the top of Dùn Caan, ye can see the Isle of Skye to the west and Beinn Bhan to the east with the only sound the distant surf or mayhap the scream of an eagle overhead.”

Mari had never heard him wax nostalgic before. He actually had a softer side than his usual bossiness. “You sound like you love the isle.”

“Highlanders place high value on their lands.” He paused and then, as if he realized he’d suddenly exposed his emotions, he switched the subject, pointing to her pasty. “Ye had best eat while it is still warm.”

Mari blinked, taking a moment to switch her thoughts, and then realized she really was hungry. Biting into the flaky crust, she savored the first bite of saucy meat and some vegetable she could not identify. “Mmm. This is really good,” she said.

“Aye,” Jamie said, “’tis simple country fare of mutton, leek and turnip, but the farm women pride themselves on the spices they add.”

“I suppose those spices are family secrets?” Mari asked as she took another delicious bite.

“That they are.” Jamie grinned and reached over, the pad of his thumb wiping the gravy she’d dribbled on her chin, and resumed eating his own pasty.

His touch was quick and light, but the sense of it lingered on her skin like a whispered caress, and Mari reminded herself again that Jamie was a man of contradictions. Bossy, yes, but he had a softer side, as she had just heard. She glanced at his hands—so strong and callused from wielding swords, yet so gentle with a touch as well. Truly a man of contradictions.

They finished their small meal in comfortable silence, listening to the sound of water lapping along the shoreline and watching the antics of gulls swooping low in hopes of crumbs. Mari wiped her fingers on the handkerchief Jamie produced from his sporran and then leaned back on her hands, tilting her face to the sun as she closed her eyes to bask in its warmth.

Jamie’s lips closed softly on hers and she gasped, allowing him the opportunity to slide his tongue along the separation. She would have fallen backwards except his strong arm encircled her, pulling her closer as he leisurely began to play with her mouth.

Mari felt strangely lightheaded—so different from when Nicholas had done almost the same thing—and she wrapped arms around Jamie’s neck to hold on. Mercy. The man certainly knew how to—

“Ewww! They’re kissing,” one of the twins said, while the other one giggled.

Mari’s eyes flew open. The twins stood not far away, engaging in fits of laughter. She tried to push away from Jamie, but he didn’t completely release her. Instead, he gave Caitlin and Caylin a firm look.

“If ye have nothing better to do with yer time than spy on us, I believe there are stalls to muck out when we get home,” he said.

Their eyes became owl-sized as they looked at each other and then, of one accord, they turned and ran back up the hill toward the village.

Mari made an attempt at straightening her skirt, not sure where to look. How embarrassing. Her face was probably beet red.

As if he understood, Jamie placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “’Tis most enjoyable kissing ye.” He sighed. “We had best go, though, since I am sure the wee hellions will be telling all sorts of tales to my sisters.”

Mari did not think her face could get any hotter, but Jamie just grinned, his dimple showing. “’Tis nae to be ashamed of, lass,” he said and then leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead before he stood and held out his hand. “Then again, we dinnae want Fiona to hear too grand a story either.”

To her relief, the twins were subdued by the time she and Jamie reached the village. Shauna gave the girls a warning look, making both of them squirm. Although Fiona’s eyes were bright with questions, she glanced at Shauna and kept silent.

Luckily, the presence of the driver prevented any personal comments on the ride back to the castle, which was fine with Mari. Her own emotions were in a tangle over what had taken place.

But those emotions were quickly thrust aside as the carriage rattled through the gates and Darcy came running out, holding her skirts high as she pelted toward them.

“Thank the Lord ye are home,” she said.

“What is it? What is wrong?” Mari asked as Jamie leapt out of the carriage and helped her down. “Is Jillian worse?”

The maid nodded tearfully, trying to catch her breath. “She began bleeding something fierce—”

Mari did not wait for Darcy to finish as she hiked her own skirts and raced toward the massive front door, Jamie close on her heels.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mari practically bowled over the servant who opened the door for her and bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time, not caring at all that it probably was not ladylike. She nearly collided with a distraught Ian pacing the hall in front of Jillian’s bedchamber.

“Ye canna go in there,” he said as she reached for the door knob.

Mari glared at him. She was not in the mood for any MacLeod bossiness at the moment. “Jillian is my sister.”

“And I am her husband. The midwife ordered me out, and Bridget threatened to plant a boot on my arse if I didnae leave. ’Tis too crowded, they said.”

“Go,” Jamie said from behind her as he put a restraining hand on Ian’s shoulder. “’Tis nae men they want in the room.”

Mari gave him a brief nod and slipped through the door and then nearly collapsed at the scene in front of her. Bright red splotches of blood splattered the crisp white linens everywhere. Her stomach began to churn.

“If ye are going to swoon, out with ye!” the midwife snapped. “I’ve nae the time to tend ye.”

Mari swallowed the bile in her throat and took a deep breath. The sight of blood was not going to make her swoon—although there was so much of it. She did not need medical training to know this was a bad situation.

Jillian held out a hand weakly. Mari inhaled deeply once more and moved forward to grasp her sister’s hand in both of hers. “You are going to be all right,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster, though even to her ears it sounded inane. Jillian was certainly not
all right
.

Bridget gave Mari a worried look as she dabbed Jillian’s forehead with a cool cloth. “’Tis good ye returned. Is Jamie with Ian?”

“Yes. They were both in the hall.”

“Tell Ian not to worry—” Jillian whispered and then grimaced grotesquely.

Mari clutched Bridget’s other arm. “How much pain is she in? Is she—”

“’Tis just the birthing pains,” the midwife said as she pulled a chair close to the bed and draped a fresh sheet over Jillian’s raised knees. “Ye must push.”

Jillian grimaced again and then grunted, closing her eyes as her head fell back on the damp pillowcase.

“How can you ask her to push when she is so weak?” Mari asked. “You cannot expect her to—”

“If she dinnae push, the bairn will die. If it does nae come out, yer sister will bleed to death,” the midwife said grimly.

Mari felt Effie’s hand on her shoulder. “She is right. Perhaps you should wait outside with the MacLeods.”

“No.”

“We all know what we are doing,” Effie replied. “Not much else can be done.”

“I can pray.” Mari felt the slightest pressure from Jillian’s hand and returned the squeeze. “I am not leaving, but I promise not to get in your way.”

“Then take this,” Bridget said as she handed Mari the damp cloth. “Keep bathing her forehead while I help with the birthing.”

The next few minutes seemed like hours. Bridget crawled into the bed behind Jillian, bracing her in a sitting position so she could push better. Effie stood by, holding what looked like handfuls of moss and leaves while the midwife’s hands were under the draped sheet—God only knew what she was doing, but Jillian alternately groaned and whimpered. Mari bit her lip to stay quiet. She had to trust the midwife knew what she was doing since the physician had not yet arrived.

Jillian suddenly screamed, the sound rending the air like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. A distinct baby’s cry followed just as the door was flung open and Ian burst through.

“Ye are killing my wife!” he said, taking in the sight and then lurched toward the wall, his face white as fresh milk as he slumped down.

“Men,” Effie muttered.

“’Tis better he passed out,” Bridget said a minute later as she took charge of cleaning the bairn. “He would just be in the way.”

“I have nae time to look after him,” the midwife said as she began stuffing the mossy substance Effie handed her between Jillian’s legs. “I must get the bleeding to stop.”

Mari concentrated on bathing Jillian’s face and neck, praying the entire time that her sister would not bleed to death. She was only vaguely aware when Jamie entered the room, quickly retreating with a shaky Ian.

Finally, the midwife stood and crossed Jillian’s legs, binding them together with a piece of linen. “I think the bleeding has stopped, but ye must lie still.”

“My baby?” Jillian asked.

Bridget brought the bairn over. “A healthy, bonnie lass. Ye did well.”

Jillian lifted a hand to stroke the tiny fingers that flailed. “She is beautiful,” she said, a small smile on her lips, and then she fell into exhausted sleep.

“Ye are going to wear holes in Bridget’s prize carpet,” Jamie said, watching Ian pace in front of the desk in the library, “and right now it would nae be wise risking her wrath.”

Ian stopped and ran a hand though his already tousled hair. “Christ. How can any woman bear so much pain?”

Jamie didn’t ask for clarification since Jillian was the only person on Ian’s mind. With so much blood spattered over the bed, her bedchamber had looked like a battlefield, and the glimpse he’d had of her face was no less haggard than that of any wounded soldier. “The important thing is she lives.”

“No thanks to me.” Ian resumed pacing. “I passed out like some green lad at his first battle. ’Tis nae like I havena seen blood before.”

“Ye expect men to be bloodied when they fight. ’Tis different when it is a woman.”

“’Tis my fault she had to suffer so. I got her with child.”

Jamie raised a brow. “I dinnae think she minded that part.”

Ian paused and almost smiled and then shook his head as he sank into an empty armchair. “I canna get her with child again.”

“Jillian being with child was nae the problem. ’Twas the fall she took and lying in the cold all night. Ye remember the doctor said her insides were damaged, and he didnae ken if the bairn would even survive.”

“She shouldna have been out that night. I told her ne’er to leave without an escort.”

Jamie grinned. “Since when do either of the Barclay women listen to what they are told?”

Ian did manage to smile at that. “Aye, but her spirit is one of the things I love about her.”

“Spirit? More like stubbornness. I swear, Mari is going to make my head go grey before its time.” Although she certainly had not resisted his kissing her. Mayhap they should indulge the practice.

“If anything good came of that night, it was finding out about our uncle’s plan to waylay the countess.” Ian said, breaking into Jamie’s thoughts of where he could waylay Mari for another kiss.