Eight

Lachlan watched from his chair beside Amber as Callum crouched in front of the hearth, petting the goats and trying to explain to her why they needed Father Odhran.

“Murray dug a tunnel from the chapel that went under the curtain wall,” Callum said. “’Tis unlikely he did so without the priest’s knowledge. They may still be in contact. We can use that alliance to plant information we want Murray to act on.”

She sat spine-stiff in her chair, hands clasped around the cup of tea in her lap, eyes frosty as she listened.

The same look she’d worn every time she was in Lachlan’s presence this past week.

Aye, he’d had a wee reprieve the last half hour or so when she’d been upset. She’d leaned on him, talked to him, looked at him with heat in her eyes once again, and he’d been hard-pressed not to kiss her. But now her walls were back up, and she’d firmly closed the door against both of them.

“Why on earth would Machar Murray stay around here, knowing what you’d do to him if he were caught?” she asked.

“To get to you. To get to Lachlan.” Callum spoke with his hands, and Belle softly butted him to get him to keep scratching her. “He’s vain, cruel, filled with his own self-importance, and he thinks he’s better than everyone else, smarter than everyone else. It will eat at him that Lachlan defeated his plans not once, but twice—the second time chasing him from what he thought was a secure position and locking him out. He feels entitled to Clan MacPherson, and he is obsessed with you. The fact that you kept him at bay for so long, using his superstitions against him—which he now knows was a ruse—will infuriate him. You got the best of him. He canna let that rest. He needs to dominate you, to crush you.” He caught her gaze and held it. “If he can, he’ll try to take you alive so he can abuse you before killing you.”

Fear flashed in Amber’s eyes before she hardened them again, but he saw the quick rise and fall of her chest, the wee tremble in her bottom lip.

Lachlan glared at Callum for being so harsh, even though he knew why his foster brother had done so. He wanted to scare Amber with the facts, so she’d agree to help. And she should be scared—of Murray and that bloody priest. Father Odhran may be a fool, but he was dangerous, and he wanted her dead as well.

He removed her cup, placed it on a small table between them, and held her hands tight as she tried to pull away.

“We’re not going to let that happen, Amber.”

“How can you stop it?” she asked. “According to Callum, you’ll be dead.”

“Because we’re smarter than him. We’re going to set a trap for him. Draw him out. He will pay for what he’s done.”

“The same way he’s paid for your brother’s death?”

“Aye. He may not be dead yet, but he will be. He’s desperate now as well as everything else. Unlike before, we know who he is, and he doesn’t want to leave. He’ll stay within a day’s ride, if not closer, I’d wager my life on it. He still thinks he can win. And that means killing both of us.”

“And by killing me, you mean raping me and doing every other horrible thing he can think of, then killing me.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, getting worse the longer they talked about this. “Aye.”

She blew out a shaky breath, and the fear returned to her eyes. This time her voice trembled. “I thought it was over. I thought we were all safe.”

Callum moved closer and put a hand on her knee. A friendly, commiserating hand, but still Lachlan frowned, wanting to knock it off.

“We have a plan, and it involves you. Do you want to hear it?” he asked.

Amber pulled one hand from Lachlan’s grasp and brushed Callum’s hand from her knee. “You take liberties, Laird MacLean, to include me in a plan I haven’t agreed to.” She emphasized “Laird MacLean.”

Lachlan couldn’t help grinning. Neither could Callum. He straightened and stepped back to the hearth. “Aye, I do take liberties, especially as it’s dangerous and will tarnish your reputation.”

She threw her hand in the air, and her crow squawked, then flew to the table. The goats sat up. “Are you daft?” she asked Callum. “Why would I want to take part in any plan that risked me and ruined me?”

Lachlan gently pulled on one of her shorn, jagged curls, which she had yet to trim. She turned to him, and their gazes locked. “Because your clan is in danger and needs your help. And you always help your people, no matter the risk to yourself.”

She stared back at him, then her shoulders drooped and she sighed. “We need something stronger than tea.”

She collected their cups and carried them into the kitchen, dumping the remainder of the tea out the open window. Then she crouched down, reached into the cupboard behind some clay pots, and brought out a jug.

“Wine?” Callum asked.

She made a scoffing sound. “Nay, whisky. My grandmother’s recipe, passed down through her family for generations. It’ll clean the fuzz off your teeth for weeks.”

After rinsing the mugs out with water from a pail, she poured in three generous slugs of uisge beatha and set them on the table, then sat down. The men joined her, and the crow took the fourth seat, across from Lachlan. ’Twas unnerving looking into those black eyes.

“How on earth did you get a crow for a pet?” he asked.

“He fell from his nest and broke his wing. I nursed him back to health, although he still canna fly long distances.”

Lachlan shook his head. “You really must meet Caitlin. The two of you will be fast friends.”

“Does she have a bird too?”

“That I doona know, but when I first met her, she had Darach and the rest of us, all trained warriors, running around thinking we were under attack, when a wee bird had just fallen from its nest.”

“She sounds like a woman of great compassion.”

“Aye, she is,” he said, and Callum nodded in agreement.

Amber lifted her cup into the air, and they followed suit. “To catching Machar Murray before I am killed, raped, or ruined.”

“Amber—”

“Doona Amber me, Lachlan MacKay, just drink your damned whisky and tell me your plan.”

He sighed then raised the mug again, and all three of them swallowed the whisky in one gulp. The fiery drink burned all the way down before it hit his stomach. He coughed, his eyes watering, and he sucked in great lungfuls of air, as did Callum and Amber.

“I see now why they call whisky the breath of life,” he said, wheezing. “You gasp for air once you’ve swallowed it, like the first time you breathe when you enter this world—after you’ve had your arse slapped.”

Amber dropped her hand to the table with a bang, still holding her cup, and laughed. ’Twas infectious, and Lachlan found himself joining in. Callum too, despite the terrible toast she’d given.

She pulled their cups toward her and poured another round.

“One more, I think, then tell me your plan. I’ll be more likely to say aye if the whisky runs through my veins.”

* * *

Amber looked out the window from her perch at the counter in her kitchen and rubbed the back of her hand over her brow to stop the sweat from trickling into her eyes. She’d spent all day in her torn-up garden and kitchen, salvaging and preserving as many of the herbs, fruits, and vegetables as she could. Now the sun was setting, and she still had plenty to do.

Lachlan, Callum, and several others had helped as much as they could after she’d been told the “plan,” but they’d been busy putting things in motion to catch Murray. Working in the garden, kitchen, and the surrounding forests had given them a reason to stay at her cottage all day, while surreptitiously locating the best places to hide additional men—in case Murray was nearby and watching them.

The plan was simple. Pretend that she and Lachlan were lovers in her isolated cottage and wait for Murray to attack. Callum had assured her she’d be safe. They’d have the best guards secretly watching the cottage while Lachlan waited inside with her.

Naught to worry about, other than her clan believing she was tupping their laird without the benefit of marriage. Or that Murray might slip past everyone like the tricky fox he was and kidnap or kill her. Or, and probably worst of all, being locked up in an intimate setting with Lachlan all night long—without giving in to her urge to touch him.

God’s blood! How was she going to do that?

The lairds had left before supper, leaving men behind, hidden in the forest around her cottage. After the sun set, Lachlan would ride back with a few elite guards and spend the night with her. Every morning, just before dawn, he would return to the castle. The guards would be sworn to secrecy, but rumors would get out anyway. She had strict instructions that when Lachlan returned, she was to come to the door, stand in the light, and behave in an intimate fashion with him.

She didn’t know exactly what that would entail, but Callum had said it could be as simple as a kiss on the cheek. She blew out a breath as she poured vinegar over some cucumbers and sealed the container. It may be simple for him, but he wasn’t filled with the need to press his lips to Lachlan’s, feel the slide of their tongues against each other again.

Or so she assumed.

She laughed at the idea of Callum pining away for Lachlan. Then she sighed and muttered to herself, “Quit worrying, Amber. You said ‘aye,’ exactly as they knew you would. So just make the best of it. Put Lachlan to work. That’ll keep you both busy.”

She stored the cucumbers in the cupboard then looked over her cottage. Every surface was covered in the rescued plants, waiting to be dried, cooked, or preserved. The fire burned hot to help with the drying, and she’d tied her hair back from her face with a ribbon because it was warm, despite the windows being open. She was certain her hair looked funny, probably sticking out in a jagged mess, but all the better to keep Lachlan at bay.

Still, she didn’t want to feel soiled when he was here and not be able to wash herself, so she filled her kettle and set it over the fire to heat. She ate while she waited for the water to boil, then closed the shutters against the dusk and barred the cottage doors. After pouring water from the kettle into a pot of cool water until it was the right temperature, she stripped off her clothes, dipped her cloth, and washed in front of the fire.

The knocking at her door startled her, and she jumped, her heart racing. God’s blood, she wasn’t expecting him so soon. She dropped her cloth and grabbed her drying towel, wrapping it around herself, her hands shaking.

“I need a minute,” she yelled, then ran to her trunk and pulled out a clean shift and arisaid. She dressed quickly, using the cloth to wipe her feet before putting on socks and shoes. She brushed her fingers through her hair as she walked to the door, then gave up and tucked it back under the ribbon.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to slow her frantic pulse, to no avail. She put a frown on her face to cover her excitement before changing it to a smile. She was supposed to be greeting her lover. How would that look if Murray watched from the woods?

She unbarred the door and opened it. “I was going to say you’re early but…”

The night was almost black, and when the firelight from inside her cottage spilled out far enough to illuminate her visitor, she froze. “Niall.”

His eyebrows rose. “But what?”

She opened and closed her mouth, then said, “But…I meant to say you’re late. I expected to see your nosy face here much earlier.” She cocked her hip and raised her chin, daring him to contradict her.

He scoffed, the same noise she’d used earlier when talking to Callum and Lachlan, and pushed past her over the threshold. He carried a sturdy bag on his shoulder, filled with something heavy.

“For the love of God, Niall. Did you carry that all the way from the castle?” She helped take it off his shoulder and laid it on the kitchen chair. It clunked noisily. “What’s in here? Did you steal Lachlan MacKay’s gold?”

“Pots to help with the preserving. I thought you may need more. And I would have come sooner, but Laird MacKay”—he emphasized Lachlan’s formal title—“had me going over all of Machar Murray’s letters and belongings in his room and in the solar, hoping to piece together what he’s been up to the last five years. And maybe get some idea where he’s gone.”

She knew where he’d gone, or hadn’t gone, according to Lachlan, but she didn’t tell Niall that. The last thing she wanted was for him to fret.

But he surprised her by adding, “I worry Murray didn’t go far enough, especially with you back here at your cottage—alone. What if he ne’er left, Amber? He’s dangerous, that one. Maybe even deranged in his estimation of himself and about what he thinks is his. He’s sure to want to do you harm. Canna you come back to the castle and stay until we know for sure he’s been caught?”

She stared at him, confounded for the second time since he’d arrived. “Niall, thank you for your concern, but I’m safe here. I’ve been alone in this cottage since my grandmother died, and it’s safer now than it’s e’er been.” She didn’t like lying to Niall, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. Lachlan and Callum had set her up as bait, and the sooner she got the steward out of her cottage the better—for a number of reasons. The most important being that she didn’t want Niall to find Lachlan here.

“And thank you for the pots,” she continued. “I plan to work through the night to get the preserving done, so ’tis best if you head back to the castle now.”

His face grew mulish, and he sat himself down on one of the chairs. “Nay. I’ll stay to help and sleep in your extra bed. No one will object to an old man spending the night.”

Aye, but would they object to a young, virile man who was in the sights of all the young lasses, and happened to be her laird? The answer to that was obvious, and she sighed.

“Nay. You already work too hard. And I want to be alone. The encounter with Father Odhran this morning upset me. I need time to myself.”

Another knock sounded at the door, and Amber cringed inside.

Niall shot up, his eyes wide. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“Nay…” She dithered with a cabbage on the table and the knock came again, followed by Lachlan’s voice, saying “Amber?”

“Is that Laird MacKay?” Niall asked.

“I doona know. Wait here.” She rushed to the door before he got there and opened it to see Lachlan, as expected, looking so big and brawny. Before he could speak, she said, “Laird MacKay, what are you doing here? Niall, you’re right. ’Tis our laird.”

Lachlan’s eyes widened in understanding just before she stepped outside, closed the door behind her, and darted up to kiss his cheek—as Callum had asked. But Lachlan turned his head toward her just as she did, and their lips brushed.

So soft. Everything within her stopped for an instant, her breath, her heart, before speeding back to life. He grunted and leaned into her, putting his hand on the door behind her.

Unfortunately, Niall must have opened it at the same time, and Lachlan tumbled past her, just catching himself before he knocked the steward over.

“Laird MacKay,” Niall squawked, frowning from him to Amber then back to him.

“Forgive me, Niall,” Lachlan said, the color elevated in his cheeks. “I had just leaned my hand on the door to open it when you pulled inward.”

“Why was it shut?” Niall asked.

“A big wasp flew by my head and tried to get in.” Amber said, pleased at her quick response.

The steward looked out suspiciously and shut the door behind them. “A nasty creature, if e’er there was one. Reminds me of Machar Murray. They take what they want, hurting others, and think they can get away with it.” He placed his hands on his hips and furrowed his brow. “Why are you here, Laird? Have you come to tell Amber she should stay at the castle? ’Tis not safe for her here. Machar Murray could still be out there. He dwelled o’er much on her.”

If she hadn’t been watching and waiting for Lachlan’s response, she wouldn’t have noticed his slight hesitation, he was that good. As it was, he looked at her, concerned, and said, “You can stay at the castle for as long as you like, Amber, you’re always welcome, but I understand why you’d want to come home after what happened to your garden. We’ll keep an eye on Father Odhran from now on to make sure he’s no longer a bother. As for Machar Murray, I doona think you have to worry. We’ve tracked him out of MacPherson territory. It looks like he’s heading to Inverness, most likely to catch a ship to France. There’s nowhere in Scotland for him to hide.”

“He’s a tricky one, Laird. Make sure he doesn’t circle around and come back.”

“I’m committed to seeing him hang for what he did to my brother, Niall. I’ll ne’er stop chasing him till he’s dead.”

A crafty look entered Niall’s eye. “If you aren’t here to warn Amber, then why are you here? ’Tis not proper for you to be alone with an unwed lass. I doona know how they do things at Clan MacKay, but at Clan MacPherson, if a man wants to be alone with a woman, he must marry her first.”

Aye, here it goes, her reputation thrown out the door like slop for the pigs. She supposed ’twas no worse to be thought a besom than to be thought a witch. She was about to answer Niall, when Lachlan said, “But I’m not alone. You’re here. I brought pots for Amber, just as you did.”

He opened the door, reached outside, and carried in a bag about the same size as Niall’s. When he opened it, Amber saw numerous pots she could use for preserving fruit and vegetables. Probably more than she needed, but she could always return the unused ones later.

’Twas a sweet thing for Lachlan to do—bringing the pots and saving her reputation, even though it was at odds with their plan—and her throat tightened at the gesture.

Well, no need to spoil the ruse now. Taking the bag, she laid out the pots. “Since you’re both here and intent on being so helpful, let’s get to work.”

She smiled at the surprised looks on their faces. “Have either of you e’er peeled an onion? ’Tis an experience you’ll ne’er forget.”