Chapter Nineteen

Duncan was not running away from his wife.

He quick-stepped down the stone steps, one hand brushing the curved wall to keep his balance. It shouldn’t have blindsided him that she’d want more independence than most women—she was a true Highland woman, no matter from whence she hailed.

The truth was, he knew he’d relent if he discussed it with her, and this he couldn’t allow. He wanted her along for too many reasons he didn’t dare examine. And none of them involved keeping her safe. The sooner he removed himself from that temptation, the better.

He reached the end of the spiral staircase and gripped the door latch. He looked up behind him—the steps curved out of view, bathed in a flickering orange glow. No footfalls echoed in pursuit, though, and part of him was disappointed. The part that wished to relent.

He pushed open the oak door and strode into the great hall. He’d make his goodbyes to the MacLeod and secure whatever supplies they were willing to spare.

The chief was sitting in a high-backed chair near the far fireplace with Torquil and several others, including Malcolm, arrayed on benches on either side, their heads bent toward him in conversation.

Duncan closed the distance, and all heads swiveled to him as his boots thudded across the rush-strewn floor. The chief looked on him with curiosity, while the others’ expressions ranged from neutral, Torquil, to resentful, Malcolm.

Duncan bowed. “I’m ready to depart. You were gracious enough to extend hospitality for my wife until Gavin and our party departs for Dungarbh, and I thank you. May I impose further on your good graces and ask for provisions for my journey?”

The MacLeod dipped his head. “Take what ye need.” While not wearing a wig at the moment, he kept his hair cropped close to his skull for those formal occasions. In his early fifties, he still had the fitness of a much younger warrior. Authority and strength radiated from him, and Duncan knew he wasn’t the only one who reacted to that presence with deference.

Malcolm angled his head, peering past Duncan’s shoulder. “Are ye still leaving your lovely wife with us?” He arched a brow.

Duncan widened his stance and clasped his hands tightly behind his back. “Aye.”

Malcolm crossed his arms, pushed a leg forward in a casual pose, and curved his lips up in a smile, though to Duncan its sinuousness reminded him of a snake poising to strike. “We’ll take very good care of her, aye. Though if she were my wife, I’d not be leaving her so soon after wedding her.”

Duncan’s fingers dug into his palm. “I have little choice.” More and more, he wished he’d had that chance to spar with this too-smug warrior.

“Aye, I understand. One must choose what’s important. I’ll personally see to looking after her safety and well-being.”

White-hot anger flashed in Duncan’s chest, surprising him with its ruthless intensity and quickness. Followed by a floating sensation, as if he were unmoored, for he was helpless in this regard, wasn’t he?

He pulled in a measured breath through his nose. Slowly let it escape. And said with as much force as would be expected, without crossing the line into cause for offense, “You will not be touching her.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed and his jaw bunched, but he kept his gaze steady and his pose casual. Duncan had to be careful—he’d managed so far to avoid clashing with Malcolm over his marriage to Fiona.

He met the MacLeod’s gaze. “Thank ye for your hospitality and for the gift of your room last eve.”

He bowed. The urge to lay Malcolm flat onto the rushes of the great hall’s floor tightened his muscles, making his bow stiff. However, the sure knowledge that this would be a decidedly ill-advised action powered his movements as he backed away.

He managed two strides before he halted, for the stairwell door creaked open and Fiona’s blonde head and trim body stepped through. Her head pivoted, and their gazes locked. Her chin lifted, and strength and determination flared so fiercely he was surprised everyone in the hall didn’t fall down in a heap. Not wishing to have all in the great hall witness her marital discontent, he nodded to the outside door.

She took two steps for each of his long strides until they were alone in the courtyard, Malcolm’s gaze like a prod on his back. “Let’s walk a spell, shall we?” He motioned to the path along the northeast edge of the castle. Traveling to the other end would put them in the way of the renovating workforce.

“Duncan, I know you don’t want me along,” she said, her voice low but forceful, “but I don’t want to be left alone here. I don’t know a soul.”

He could not allow himself to be swayed. “But that will be remedied with time.” He slowed his pace now that they were alone and he’d succeeded in drawing her away before they had their discussion.

“Is your errand dangerous?”

He hesitated but couldn’t bring himself to be less than truthful. “On the whole, no. Most of it will be traveling, which as you’ve seen can be dangerous in and of itself. Once I reach my destination, the errand itself does pose a risk.” He peered down at his last words, intending to emphasize the danger with a hard stare.

However, he did not like the flare of triumph in her eyes. “So I could accompany you if I was willing to take the general risks of travel?”

He whirled on her, his heart strangely constricting. “But I’m not liking the risks involved. I want ye here, safe. There’ll be no risks if ye remain.”

Except the one involving Malcolm luring her away.

She opened her mouth, but he continued, “I’m your husband, aye?”

She nodded, her forehead knotting.

“As your husband, I’ll not allow it.”

She flattened her hands on his chest, right where it ached. God, her touch. He suppressed a shudder and kept his hands loose at his sides instead of taking hold of hers like he wished to. His childhood lacked such easy familiarity, such warmth and affection evinced through touch. He’d not even realized its lack until her. Until her touches filled a void and anchored him, telling him he was here and he mattered.

Now? Well, now he was an enthusiast for her touches.

She bored her gaze into his, seemingly finding all of his feeble excuses for leaving her here and dismissing them, one by one. “Life is a risk. Every day,” she whispered. She angled her head, nodding behind her with her chin and continuing in a stronger voice, conviction outlining each word she spoke in sharp, clear lines. “I could trip down those huge stone steps and crack open my skull. It doesn’t stop me from going down them.”

A vision of her at the bottom of the stairs—pale and bleeding and broken—assailed his senses. He gritted his teeth, and before he could stop himself, he cupped her hands and clasped them tight to his chest.

“Do not talk of such things.” His words were spoken with an edge of desperation and panic.

“But it’s true.”

Overhead, a hawk circled and angled off over the parapets, and he watched its progress with the same edge of desperation and panic that had colored his words, for the combination of looking into her lovely gray eyes and feeling her warm skin beneath his palms was too potent. Unwilling to let go of her hands—and thereby forego her touch—he chose instead to look away. Watch the hawk. And give himself room to shore up his resolve.

Plus, if she bit her lip, it would be over.

She stepped closer, her scent enveloping him. Criosd.

“Please take me with you. We’re newly married. I don’t want to be separated. I promise I’ll be careful. It’s just that…there’s a lot I need to learn about being a warrior’s wife, and this will give me a chance to learn.” Her words were earnest and eager and irresistible.

He slowly turned back, unable to resist the siren call of her eyes, as well as her words. He feared no lip biting would be required. A stronger man might be able to persevere, but—och—he liked too much the idea that she wanted to be with him this desperately that she’d travel such a distance and experience the trip’s inherent hardships to be by his side.

Still—even as his heart raced at the idea of saying yes, raced at the idea of accepting the heady, heady picture she painted, that she wanted to be with him as much as he did—he hesitated. His heart and mind warred until, from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure emerge from the castle. Malcolm.

The man took each step down the short flight of stairs with a slow, cocky deliberation, his gaze firmly fixed on him. Again, that snake smile and, when he reached the courtyard, a slow perusal up and down of Fiona’s body. Frustration and panic surged inside him again. Malcolm pivoted, strolled toward the practice grounds, and flipped his knife into the air and caught it by the tip, over and over.

Duncan took a calming breath. He would not allow Malcolm to “look after her.” The last of his resistance fled.

“All right, nighean. You may come.”

Her eyes lit up, and she did a wee hop. A strange warmth bloomed in his chest to have made her happy. He firmed his voice. “But you’ll be obeying my directives. Every ship needs but one captain, and I’ll be that captain on this voyage. Do we have an understanding?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

“Then gather your things and be ready to depart within the hour.”

“Thank you,” she practically squealed. She stood on tiptoe, hopped up, and planted a kiss on his lips.

He resisted the urge to touch his lips or to haul her up against him and give her a proper kiss. He needed to be firm in order to set expectations for this journey. But inside…well, inside, relief that he’d not have to part from her and that she wished to accompany him so keenly made him feel as light as the white tufts of clouds skimming across the sky.

“Because the Williamites still patrol the waters, we’ll be traveling by pony to the part of the island closest to the mainland. The journey down Skye will take two days, but we’ll then quickly cross on a small boat.”

She frowned. “Why didn’t we do that before?”

He turned and guided her back to the entrance so she could make ready. “Because with our party’s size, it was quicker to sail all the way here but for the Williamites. We also didn’t have the ponies to easily cross the land or permission from the MacKinnon to pass through their land.”

“Fantastic. That’ll make it easier. Don’t go anywhere,” she said and raced up said deathly steps.

He stared after her, his hand slowly rising and touching his lips. He was a fool. A besotted fool.

And if he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself fooled again by love.

“She’s different,” he whispered, trying to convince himself of the truth of that statement.

Five days later

Fiona clucked to Glenfiddich as she led the mare around a boulder and down a small incline. Lush sprays of fern brushed her legs, and she watched in fascination as a pine marten, looking like a bushy-tailed, brown ferret with its sleek body and cute round ears, loped down a nearby tree, skittered across a now-jouncing limb, and jumped across her path with a shrill mew.

Since leaving Dunvegan and landing on the mainland, they’d fallen into a routine—make love at dawn, pack up, and ride their ponies, which they’d retrieved upon reaching the mainland. They’d chat when they felt compelled, but mostly they rode side by side, stealing heated glances or using different excuses to touch each other as they rode.

Secluded spots encountered in the middle of the day gave them chances to rest, bathe, eat their midday meal, and make love again.

And of course at night, well, yeah. They made love again. She’d never thought she’d want to have that much sex daily, but c’mon. This was Duncan. And she couldn’t get enough of him apparently.

He still hadn’t shared with her about his child, but she knew he would when he was ready.

Duncan pointed ahead, his pony edging closer to hers. “Ye cannot see it, but ahead lies a ravine where we can safely camp for the night.”

Nightly, they’d utilized hidden slices like these, and it was fun putting the fabled spots to use other than to hide stolen cattle.

“I think ye’ll like this spot.” Duncan’s voice rolled over her, more familiar now than anyone’s had ever been. She’d heard the range of its timbre from passionate words to mundane phrases, and everything in between. Having his voice be the only one she heard for five days, in this wide open, haunting land had woven him deeper into her soul.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Many times.” He stroked the back of his finger down her cheek, and as always happened at his touch, her whole body flushed with heat. She wasn’t sure he even realized it, but he’d become quite the toucher, like someone who couldn’t get enough of practicing a newly acquired ability. “ ’Tis favored by many clans traveling through the Great Glen. It has a wee waterfall too.”

A shower. “That sounds wonderful. I’d like to bathe under it.”

He smiled. “That can be arranged.”

He directed their ponies toward a narrow but deep river, then cut back west. On either side of them, the ground rose sharply as they entered the river’s narrow valley.

He smiled back over his shoulder. “The last time I was here was when we tried to rescue you.” That was another thing he did more often—smile. “We had word you were within Urquhart castle, and we had plans to retrieve you. Quite the chase ye gave us, aye? Posing as a gruagach.” He shook his head, a rough chuckle escaping. “However, we had to abandon those plans when we were ordered to meet Dundee near Struan.”

Which became the famous Battle of Killiecrankie.

“Traci told me how you helped her get away so she could rescue me.”

“Aye, though the thanks should rightfully go to Iain. Ye know he bashed his own head with a rock to effect Traci’s escape?”

“No!”

“Aye,” he said, smiling.

The ravine grew narrower as they wended through a dense thicket of trees until their path was reduced to barely hugging the river. They squeezed by a van-sized boulder and stepped into a side hollow large enough to camp several dozen people. All three sides were ringed by steep rocky slopes flecked with patches of green moss and ferns. But Duncan kept going, and soon they rounded another bend. She could hear the rush of water before she saw it. A modest but sparkling waterfall cascaded in tumbling jumps and leaps down a rocky slope and splashed into a pool before it narrowed into the river they’d been following.

“Race you!” She started to dismount from Glenfiddich.

“Race? To where?”

“To the waterfall, of course.” She slid to the ground and pulled on the string of her bodice.

He leaned down and gripped her shoulder, features grave but eyes glinting with humor. “As delightful as that sounds, no. We must be certain we’re alone. I’ll not have ye dashing into another band of roving Highlanders. And naked, no less.”

Oh. He had a damn good point.

He brushed the hand at her shoulder down to her forearm and gripped it. When she went airborne, she had a moment of what the hell until she realized he was swinging her up so she could put a leg over Glenfiddich. She gripped the pommel and scrambled to find a seat.

“Remain here while I investigate behind the waterfall.”

She stroked Glenfiddich’s neck to soothe her. “Haven’t we lost the element of surprise? They’ll have heard us by now if anyone’s in there.”

He jumped to the ground and looked at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “I’ve no intention of sneaking up on them and skewering them. By mutual agreement with the Grants who claim this glen, travelers are allowed to take their ease here. Which means I’ll not be wanting to lose this privilege by slaying whomever might have beaten us to it.”

“Well, yeah, that makes sense.”

He nodded. “Nay. I’ll just be ensuring we’re alone. Especially if you have plans of the naked variety.” His eyes twinkled.

With that, he handed her his reins and traversed the slight trail alongside the river, disappearing behind the curtain of water.

Before she could even worry, he popped back out. A month ago, she wouldn’t have noticed he was smiling, but now she did. A Duncan smile. That tiny lift of one corner of his mouth. A little lift of the chin. If she were closer, she’d see an extra shine to his eyes.

She swung off Glenfiddich, weighted their ponies’ leads down with a good-sized rock, and tugged on the string of her bodice.

He approached, and their gazes snagged. Darkening eyes tracked her fingers’ handiwork, and his steps quickened. Now he had a regular-person grin on his face.

“Now I’ll race you!” She yanked and tugged on her clothes until she was down to the buff.

Duncan stopped and toed off his boots. He had less to unravel, but it was no contest.

“Is it deep enough to jump in?”

He yanked off his shirt. “If ye go in arse first with your legs tucked up, aye.”

“A cannonball it is,” she said in English. Suiting action to words, she hauled butt to the pool’s edge and leaped into the air. She held her breath, tucked her body into a tight ball, felt the air briefly brush her skin, and sank into the cool, clear water.

Her eyes widened at the cold shock, and she held back a gasp. Ooh, damn that was cold. She unfurled her limbs, her toes gently touched the bottom, and she kicked off to the surface.

Just as Duncan landed with a huge splash only a foot away, swamping her. Must be a universal thing with guys, no matter the time period.

She laughed, gasping. But she was ready for him. As soon as the top of his head appeared, she launched into his arms.

Unfazed and possessed of freakishly quick reflexes, he easily caught her and tugged her up tight against his body.

She’d meant to have a playful bit of fun swimming, but when her skin touched his, her desire sprang to the surface.

She whipped her legs around his lean waist and stared down into his laughing eyes. Her heart clutched. Duncan with his inner self so close to the surface was a sight she knew she was one of the privileged few to see.

It made her all gooey and also strangely mama bear with him, which was weird.

After all, he was a very large, very fierce Highland warrior.

“Ah, nighean, I fear ye be wanting me again.”

She laughed at his teasing and bounced against him. “That’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m afraid I’ll tire ye out.”

He didn’t say it, but she sensed there was a double meaning. As if he was confessing his true fear—she’d grow tired of him. As if he were a novelty that would surely wear off.

“Never,” she whispered and kissed him hard.

This potential resurfacing of his insecurity was a startling contrast to the carefree Duncan she’d grown to know during their trek. As if the end of their journey meant a return to reality. A reality he was unsure of. Where did that leave her? More importantly, her and Duncan? For the legend wasn’t clear on his fate.

They made love in that sparkling pool, and as they dried each other off and led the ponies into the small cave behind the falls, Fiona couldn’t help but feel as if their lovemaking had been laced with a different tone. As if his fevered possession spoke of a fear of change out of his control. As if her fevered touches begged for this to be enough to usher them through the next stage.

It had to be enough. It just had to.