Eleven

Amber raced across the bailey, her heart in her mouth and Isla’s words echoing in her head—alone with Lachlan tonight. She couldn’t catch her breath, and she couldn’t stop moving. Nervous, excited energy coursed through her, mixed with moments of dread.

And it never once occurred to her to tell Niall.

How had she reached the age of almost twenty-two and not experienced this tumultuousness of emotions before? She was as daft as a bat. Addled as a sun-drenched walrus.

Perhaps because she’d never met Lachlan MacKay before and she’d spent the last five years protecting herself and everyone she loved from Machar Murray—not to mention his three dogs and Father Odhran.

Speaking of which, she heard a strange sound—like the bleating of a goat, but not a real goat—and looked toward the chapel. Father Odhran had been backed against the stone wall, surrounded by three men—two MacPhersons and one MacKay. The priest had a strange look on his face: part defiance, part fear, part abhorrence.

Amber slowed to a stop as she watched them, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of her stomach. The priest saw her, and his face turned thunderous. He spat on the ground. She hardened her heart, reminding herself of what he’d done, what he’d said to her, and she moved on. But she couldn’t help looking back. The aggressors had stepped even closer, and now the look on the priest’s face was outright fear.

She ran back toward them, saw Earc, Tavis, and the stable master, Osgar—all dear, protective men, if a wee bit annoying at times, pressing in on Father Odhran.

“Tavis! Stop, please,” she said.

He turned to her, his face a livid red color. “Amber, you shouldnae be here. You doona know what the priest has been saying. What he’s been doing.” He grabbed Father Odhran’s robes and yanked at the fabric. A tearing sound filled the air, and the garment hung from his shoulder.

She pushed herself between the men and stood in front of the priest, facing his accusers. She could hear his jagged gasps behind her, feel his breath on her exposed neck. She was sure the men’s aggression had something to do with Father Odhran’s destruction of her gardens. Then she remembered the bleating sound.

“Is this about my goats?” she asked.

The men looked uncomfortable. “’Tis not for your ears,” Earc said. He reached around Amber and ripped again at Father Odhran’s robe. The priest let out a frightened squeak.

She placed her hands on her hips, trying to make herself as big as possible, and scowled. “I know what he said—he accused me of it directly. And you’re right, ’tis not for anyone’s ears. I found it as disgusting and infuriating as you did, all of you, but we canna stoop to his level.”

“What about his plans for poor Belle?” Tavis asked, his voice enraged. For such a big man, he had a very soft heart.

“Aye. Next it will be the other animals in my stable.” Osgar shuddered. “’Tis an abomination!”

Amber frowned. Animals were butchered for food all the time. Sheep, pigs, cows, chickens. It wasn’t like Osgar to get so upset about that.

“I’m sure he wouldnae have killed any of your animals, Osgar, only mine. He accused Belle and Beele of being…well…”

“They’re demons, and she’s their witch whore!” the priest yelled.

Earc roared in fury and lunged forward. A familiar hand snaked through the men and dragged her out of the brewing fight. Lachlan pushed her behind him, his face carved in stone, and wrapped both arms around Earc, his biceps bulging as he tried to bring the bigger man under control.

“Stand down! All of you!” he commanded.

Tavis and Osgar hesitated, then stepped back.

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Earc yelled, still struggling to break free.

“Aye, I did. And I know what you think he planned to do to that goat, but you canna condemn a man on speculation, else you’d be as bad as him.” Lachlan pinned the other two men with his stare, his face flushed with the effort to restrain Earc. “Get to the barracks, Tavis, and the stables, Osgar. And stay there until tomorrow.” When they hesitated, he bellowed, “Now!”

Amber had never seen either man move so fast.

She stepped toward Earc, thinking to help Lachlan restrain him, but Lachlan gave her such a searing look she stopped in her tracks—and proceeded to fill with heat and wanting. God’s blood, was she excited by the violence? She’d been around many such fights before and never once experienced the tightening of her breasts, the pooling of heat in her groin that she felt now. Her bones had loosened, and she felt like she might melt to the ground.

So ’twas Lachlan, then. His command of the situation. Or maybe the sight of his bulging biceps and chest, all sweaty and tanned, his shirt forgotten somewhere. Aye, she liked that he was strong enough to control a bear of a man like Earc and send the others running to do his bidding. She could only imagine how commanding he’d be in other areas too, making her lie back as he touched and licked her everywhere.

A small sound released from her lips, and he shifted his gaze to hers, his eyes widening as he looked at her.

He turned slowly back to the priest and cleared his throat before speaking. “If you know what’s good for you, Father, I suggest you go into the chapel and bar the door. And do not come out until either Laird MacLean or I come to see you. ’Tis not safe for you here anymore.”

Father Odhran scurried up the stairs to the wooden door. As he shut it, he looked at Amber, venom in his eyes, and made the sign of the cross.

Earc finally broke free of Lachlan, who’d loosened his hold, and growled. Lachlan bent forward, hands on his knees, sides heaving. His plaid, which was looped over one shoulder, slipped down. Amber couldn’t stop her gaze from poring over him, taking in every indent of his ribs, the banding of the muscles that attached to his spine.

“Amber, stop it,” he said. “I can barely walk as it is.”

She jumped guiltily and turned her head. “Surely, I doona know what you mean.”

Lachlan grunted. “I can feel your eyes all o’er me.”

Earc looked over his shoulder at them, gaze shifting from one to the other. Then he nodded, as if accepting something, and marched up the steps to bang on the chapel door. “Goat tupper!” he yelled before stomping away.

Amber’s jaw dropped. “Goat tupper? Is that what they meant by his plans for Belle?” Her stomach dropped, and she suddenly felt like she might be sick. “Is it true? Please, say it’s not true!”

Lachlan straightened and squeezed her hand, pulling her into his side. “Nay, Amber. I doona think so. He believes they’re demons, aye? He might have killed them, but not the other. You stopped him before he did serious harm.”

Amber rested her head on his chest and let out a relieved sigh, the tension draining from her body. The chapel was located at the far end of the bailey, opposite the barracks, and was relatively secluded, but it wouldn’t have mattered who was there. Who might see them. Right now, all she wanted was to lean on this man, to absorb him.

A drop of sweat trickled between the planes of his pectorals, and she traced it with her finger.

“Lachlan.”

“Aye.” His voice sounded strangled, and she smiled.

“Where’s your shirt?”

“In my solar. It was too hot, and I’d just taken it off when I saw Earc and the others following Father Odhran across the bailey. I arrived as fast as I could only to find you’d stepped up to protect him. After everything he’d done to you.”

Amber snorted and traced another trickle of sweat down his chest. “Not that he appreciated it.”

“Nay.”

“He may not be a goat tupper, but he has the brains of one.”

A puff of air ruffled her part as Lachlan laughed quietly. “Aye, he does.”

She lowered her voice. “Do you think he can hear us?”

“’Tis likely,” he said softly.

“Then he should probably hear this.”

“What’s that?”

She cleared her throat, tried to quell the excitement and nervousness that was sure to come out in her voice. At the same time, she tried to speak loudly and clearly enough that Father Odhran could hear them and pass the message to Murray. “Niall asked Isla and Alban to be our chaperones at the cottage tonight. But Isla told me she doesn’t feel well enough to come.” Her hand flattened on his skin. “Lachlan, we’re going to be alone tonight.”

* * *

Lachlan yanked on Saint’s reins for the tenth time, and the stallion, who’d been tossing his head and veering off the trail that led to Amber’s cottage, stamped his feet and huffed. It wasn’t Saint’s fault; it was Lachlan’s fault. The horse simply picked up on Lachlan’s nervous energy.

Nay, nervous was the wrong word.

Excited? Distracted? Full of anticipation? Aye, all of those…and nervous too.

A rueful smile creased his cheeks. He hadn’t been nervous about visiting a woman since he was a lad and hoping to engage in carnal relations for the first time. Which was exactly what he wanted with Amber, but it wasn’t just about that. Even if they didn’t touch, he couldn’t wait to be alone with her. Locked away where nobody could see or hear them. They might fight the whole time they were together, but even that excited him.

He puffed air through his lips, sounding like his horse, and heard Callum laugh softly beside him, riding his much more relaxed mount. It was past dusk, so he couldn’t clearly see his foster brother, who was playing one of Lachlan’s guards tonight. Tension was high with anticipation of an attack, and everyone was on alert.

“Just stay the course. Doona make her so mad she kicks you out. We need you in there,” Callum whispered.

“I’m not an idiot,” he whispered back, but he heard Callum’s disbelieving snort, and he had to agree. “Aye, maybe I am. But I willna put her in danger.”

“And doona lose your head either if she…agrees. You need to stay focused.”

Lachlan knew what Callum meant. His horse tossed its head again and sidestepped, a sure sign that Lachlan’s tension had just risen another notch. Callum laughed for a second time.

Lachlan wanted to elbow him in his teeth. Instead, he took a deep breath and rolled his head on his neck, loosened his shoulders. Then he patted the bag that hung off his horse’s flank. If everything went to hell in there, as it was wont to do when he and Amber were together, he could always give her this. His gifts of flowers hadn’t gone over well, but the last few times he’d visited, he’d brought her birdseed, a new hoe for her garden, some rope to replace the one she’d had to cut off Belle, and some medicinal mushrooms he’d picked himself.

Tonight’s gift was a wee departure from the others, but he hoped she’d like it as well.

As they neared the cottage, an owl called out, the same one he’d heard every night he approached this spot, and he knew all was well with his men. Callum veered off to take his post at the back of the cottage near the door that led to Amber’s garden, and the other guard remained with him until they reached the front entrance.

Lachlan dismounted, and the guard led his horse away.

He raised his hand to knock and noticed it trembled slightly. Caused by his fight with Earc, no doubt. The big man had pushed Lachlan’s strength to the limit, and his muscles were weary. What else could it be?

Releasing another breath, he rapped loudly on the wood. Too loudly. He’d probably scared Amber. The door opened quickly, as if she had been waiting on the other side, and he looked down at her. His heart stuttered, then raced to catch up. Had her eyes always been that bright? Her lips that full when she smiled?

“What have you done to your hair?” he asked.

She raised a self-conscious hand to the tips of it and scowled at him. “I cut it. What do you think I’ve done to it?”

“Your eyes look wider, and your cheeks…they’re so high.”

She rolled said eyes. “Maybe it’s witchcraft.” She turned on her heel and stomped into her cottage.

Lachlan pushed through the door, feeling like an idiot. He hoped Callum hadn’t heard him or he’d never hear the end of it. And where was his kiss? She was supposed to kiss him in the light from the door, so Murray would see if he watched them.

The cottage was warm and clean, and a fire burned in the hearth. Her crow, Lucy, sat on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, eyeing him. Amber moved into the sitting room and reached toward a kettle that hung over the flames.

“Tea?” she asked.

“Aye, please.” He shut the door, barred it, then walked farther into the cottage as she lifted the kettle off the hook with a towel. It bothered him to think she might burn her fingers, and he stretched out his hand for it. “Here, let me.”

She raised her brow and held the kettle away from him. “I’m not a lass of three, Lachlan. I’m perfectly capable of lifting a kettle from the fire.” She stepped past him, then hesitated and said, “But thank you for your consideration.”

He couldn’t help smiling at how awkward she sounded. “’Twasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Hard?”

“Being gracious.”

She gave him a sweet smile, but her eyes turned frosty. “Why doona you sit down and settle in. At this rate, it may be a long night.”

He suspected that was Amber’s way of telling him he’d ruined his chances.

After making himself comfortable in the biggest chair in front of the fire, he sighed and closed his eyes. He tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. She’d been smiling at him, albeit hesitantly, when he’d opened the door. She’d seemed almost…hopeful.

So he’d made a muck of it after that.

“’Twas the hair comment, wasn’t it?” he asked. “The first thing out of my mouth.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, busy putting herbs in cups and pouring the hot water over them. “Verily, I doona know what you’re talking about.”

“Aye, you do.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles, hands resting on his belly. “I should have said your hair is lovely, and you look like an angel. Which you do, by the way. To which you would have replied…‘tch’!” He made a dismissive, scoffing sound through his lips. “Maybe even rolled your eyes.” Which is what he did. Repeatedly, so she was sure to see him.

A wee smile quirked her lips. “You may be right.”

She brought the tea over, and after passing him his cup, she sat in her chair, the table between them. He lifted the cup to his nose and smelled honey and chamomile. ’Twas hot, so he blew on it before taking a sip.

And the moment suddenly seemed right. Nay, not just right. Perfect.

“Tastes good,” he said.

“Aye, the honey is fresh. Finola gave it to me.”

He nodded, and they sat quietly together for a few minutes, drinking their tea. He tried to think of how to ask her to sleep with him tonight, but everything sounded too formal or trite. Besides, she’d probably been asked in every way possible by the horde of men chasing her.

“So…what do we do now?” Her voice caught at the end, like she was a wee bit nervous too.

“Well, you could try to tempt me to your bed.” Maybe humor would do it.

She half snorted, half laughed, and her hand flew up to cover her face.

“What? You doona think ’tis possible?” he asked. “Aye, most likely. But you could at least try.”

“Oh, I think ’tis possible. I think many things are possible tonight. Like darning socks or whittling stakes for the new pen that was broken.”

“I’ve darned socks before.”

“You have?”

“Aye. Gregor made us learn how to do all sorts of things. He said we should know how to repair torn clothing, especially socks, for when we were out on long trips. Best not to leave your toe sticking out and exposed to the elements when all it takes is a needle, some yarn, and a wee bit of know-how to prevent an injury.”

“I think I’d like your Gregor. When do I get to meet him?”

“Soon. I sent letters out to him and the rest of the lads, asking them to come.”

“And they’ll just drop everything?”

“Aye, as I would for them.” A log popped and shifted in the hearth, sending out sparks. “He’ll like you. A great deal. If he was twenty years younger and not still in love with his dead wife, he’d try to convince you to marry him, I’m sure.”

“Marry him?”

“Aye, that ceremony the priest performs in front of all your friends and family and ties you to another person for life.” By the love of God, what was he doing bringing up marriage?

“God’s blood, what are you doing talking about marriage?”

He almost laughed at their dual thoughts. “I doona know. ’Twas almost as big a blunder as what I said about your hair.”

“You’re as daft as a bat tonight.”

“But sweet too. Aye?”

She raised a brow, neither confirming nor denying, and continued to sip her tea. “What happens after Machar Murray is caught?”

“If we take him alive, he’ll be hanged for his crimes—against my brother and me, against you and the rest of your clan, against all the other people he’s hurt.”

“Our clan.”

“Sorry?”

“You are now the MacPherson laird, so it’s your clan too. Not just mine. These people care for you. They trust you to do what’s best for them.”

“I’m doing that, Amber.”

“But for how long? Do you intend to leave afterward?”

He rubbed his knuckles along his jaw, suspecting this wasn’t just about the clan. She was asking if he planned to leave her. “I willna be gone forever, love. And I’ll leave someone here to make sure everyone is safe and things are progressing as they should. You’ll be taken care of.”

It was the wrong thing to say…again. He knew it the instant her shoulders tightened under her arisaid.

“Nay, thank you. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

She clicked her nails on her cup and looked into the fire. He missed the intensity of her gaze on him.

“So you’ll stay until just before the first snowfall, then?” she asked.

“Most likely.”

“Sounds like you wouldnae want to be trapped here o’er winter.”

“I doona know, Amber. At this point, I just want to catch Murray.” He leaned forward in his chair so his fingers touched her knees. “And I want to be with you.”

“Until winter,” she insisted.

“I have to get back. I canna leave my own clan for too long.”

She nodded. Then picked up her cup and walked in a stilted fashion back to the kitchen.

“Amber—”

“When you leave, I willna be able to tell you things.”

He rose and stared at her back, the tension thrumming in his veins. “Nay, but you can write to me.”

“Then I will have told you everything. What about the things you are to understand even though I tell you naught?”

He frowned in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense. How can I understand something if you doona tell me? Are you worried someone may find the letters?”

“Nay. I’m worried I’ll lose something far more important.”

He raised his hands, palms up. “Lose what? Amber, what do you mean?”

“Isla said a man could understand the things I say even if I doona use words. I said it sounded like witchcraft, but all I have to do is look at her and Alban to know it’s possible.”

“That he can read minds?”

“That something sacred can be formed between a man and a woman. Something divine.”

He crossed the room and placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing her back against him.

“I can show you divine, Amber.”

She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on his chest, and inhaled. “I’m sure you can. I keep imagining your hands and mouth on me…”

“As do I, believe me—”

“…but I doona think it would be enough.”

His fingers squeezed tight, and he forced himself to ease up. But it was hard to let go—he felt her slipping away, possibly further away than she’d been since they met.

“So you want me to marry you, then?” he asked. “Because I doona e’er plan to marry. Be verra clear on that. And I doona want bairns, either.”

“I’m not asking for that.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“I doona know. Divine possibility.”

He released her and turned around, shoving his hands through his hair.

“I thought you were different.”

“Why? Because I curse? Or I’m not afraid to get my hands bloody? I know lots of lasses who do those things.”

“Nay, because you ne’er seem to care what people think of you.”

“’Tis not about what other people think of me. ’Tis what I think about myself.”

He walked to the hearth and leaned on it. “So is that it, then? Have you decided against me?”

“I doona know, Lachlan. I think… I think I care about you, which complicates things.”

He turned to look at her, the blood thudding slowly in his ears. “Are you saying you love me?”

“Nay. I doona know you well enough to love you, do I? But…you make me laugh, and while you annoy me, ’tis not in the same way the other men annoy me. Understand?”

“Not in the least. Should I be pleased that my level of annoyance is different from the other men that dog your heels?”

“You should be whate’er you like. ’Tis not my job to placate you.”

“I didn’t ask you to placate me. Bloody, aggravating woman!”

“Nay, you just asked me for everything else and expect to give naught in return!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Why was this so difficult? He’d ne’er had such trouble with a woman before.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “You’re young. You’ll want things I canna give you.”

She tossed her head, her arms crossed over her body. “I doona want anything from you that I canna have from another man. You think this is about marriage and bairns? ’Tis not. I could walk to the castle and be married within the hour if that was what I wanted.”

“Then what do you want?”

She pressed her lips together, her jaw tight, those beautiful eyes bright.

He threw his hands in the air. “If you doona tell me, Amber, I canna know.”

“I want balance.”

His brow crinkled. “What does that even mean?”

“When you leave, will you forget me? Will you pine for me? Will you be with other women after me? If we’ve been intimate, that changes things for me. I doona want to pine. ’Tis not in my nature.” She pushed her hair back with both hands, but the shorter stands fell forward and framed her face. “Maybe I need to be with someone else first. If I weren’t a virgin—”

“What? That makes even less sense.”

“Well, you can treat it as tupping and naught else because you’ve been with other lasses. ’Tis not so with me. So maybe if I have carnal pleasure with someone else first, someone I like who doesn’t belong to my clan, I willna feel this tie to you. You said your foster brothers were arriving, aye?”

A wave of black fury crashed within him, and he stalked forward. “You are not tupping one of my brothers!”

“Who would you suggest, then?”

“No one!”

“Ever? You need to be practical about this, Lachlan. I will be alone all winter. I may meet someo—”

“Are you deliberately trying to rile me? Because it’s working. These are the kind of things my mother would say.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “To you?”

“Not those exact words. I meant she would try to manipulate people and their emotions. I will not be manipulated, Amber.”

“What part of me telling the truth is manipulation? You want to tup me, Lachlan, and then you want to leave. Do you expect me to be chaste until you return? Will you be chaste for me?”

He opened his mouth then closed it, and did so again before saying, “I could be.”

“So you want to commit to me? And for me to commit to you? Some might call that marriage.”

He ground his teeth, the two conflicting emotions fighting for dominance within him: possession and freedom. “Nay. Not. Marriage.”

She nodded and blew out a breath. “I agree. Maybe the next time you’re here it will be different. But for now, I think we need to find some socks to darn.”

She moved toward a basket full of clothes by the fire. Her hair fell forward as she leaned over, and she tucked it behind her ears. As she rummaged for a sock, a curl fell forward again, and he sighed.

At least he could help her with that.

He strode to the exit, their argument riding him hard. From the corner of his eye, he saw her straighten, watch him go. The cool air from outside was a refreshing blast across his face when he opened the door.

She made an inarticulate sound just before he left, but he didn’t dare look back.

He didn’t dare do a lot of things he wanted to do.