Devil's Highlander

He seemed surprised by the enthusiastic statement. With a nervous smile, he brought his hands protectively to her shoulders, and she felt a rush of affection. Dear, awkward Archie. Their mutual charitable interests had led them both to Saint Machar, where for the past few years she'd assisted him in treating the many boyhood injuries and illnesses that appeared on their doorstep. She fancied she had quite the knack for it.



“I came the moment I heard,” he told her earnestly.



“There'll be trouble for sure,” Fiona said, busying herself straightening chairs that didn't need straightening.



Marjorie gently pulled free, darting a sharp look at the maid. “What did you hear, exactly, Archie?”



“I heard you spoke with Paddy. That there was some distress by the docks.” Pulling his shoulders back, he stood even more upright than he'd already been. “I, of course, came here straightaway. Fiona has told me everything.” An alarming clattering noise came from the maid's direction. Marjorie cut her another glance. When had she and Archie had an opportunity to talk? The young woman flushed pink as a radish and proceeded to give her complete attention to dusting a set of glass bowls displayed along the hearth.



She'd been around since they'd both been girls and were of an age. That Fiona would spill secrets to Archie came as an intriguing surprise. As intriguing as that telling blush.



“What do you mean, everything?” She looked from the blond physician to her busty, blushing maid, and back again.



“Marjorie, dear Marjorie,” he scolded. “What were you thinking to go down to the docks like that?”



“'Tweren't thinking at all, more like,” the maid said under her breath.



“That will be all, Fiona.” Marjorie gave her a meaningful look, and the young woman scampered from the room. She turned to face Archie with her chin held high. “It's not as though I was alone.”



“Who is this man you went with?” he demanded. “Where is he?”



Yes, Cormac, where indeed? She glanced at the doorway. It'd do Cormac good to hear another so concerned with her. Unlike Archie, Cormac managed to be protective yet somehow dismissive at the same time.



“I'd meet the scoundrel who'd lead you into such peril.”



“Be easy, Archie.” If only Cormac felt such enthusiasm —



above and beyond his usual litany of grim



protestations. “Cormac fought in the wars. He knows what he's about.”



“Why did you not ask me to help? While at Marischal College, I met many men in positions of great importance.



The bailie himself is a friend of my father's.”



Marjorie spotted a shadow cross the doorway. She knew it. “Cormac will no longer allow my interference,” she told him, casting her voice loudly enough for their eavesdropper. “Perhaps you'dbe so kind as to bring me to the docks.”



Archie looked instandy alarmed, and so she quickly amended, “To meet your many and varied important contacts, that is.”



But still, neither word nor movement came from the hall. Gathering her nerves, Marjorie reached her hand out and allowed Archie to take it. “I know you'll keep me safe.”



Behind the doorway, Cormac flinched.



He'd heard a man enter the house, heard Archie announced. And damned if he hadn't come straightaway to get an inkling of their conversation. Lurking like some spy, instead of entering with ease, interacting like any other man would. Scouting, spying… killing in the shadows. It seemed all he'd ever been good for.



“Aiding you, my precious Marjorie?” Archie proclaimed, gripping her hand in both of his. “Protecting you?



'Twould be my greatest honor.”



He's more earnest than a vicar on Sunday. And the weasel was holding her hand like a greedy schoolboy. Cormac glowered. Archie the physician surgeon.



He'd die before letting such a man take Marjorie to the docks. He looked to be a weak bastard. There was not a strand out of place in his shining yellow hair. Cormac raked his hand through his own hair. When was the last time he'd had a good barbering? He shrugged it off. A real man paid more attention to the safety of his family than to his damned coiffure.



Marjorie pulled her hand away, and Cormac grinned.



She turned to the window, and he watched as Archie quickly smoothed and adjusted his waistcoat. The weak bastard would never be able to protect her.



“I would love to take you to the docks.” Archie followed her like a besotted spaniel. “I've been waiting for you but to say the word.”



I'll imagine you have.



“You must let me protect you,” Archie said. He moved closer to her.



Cormac bristled. Step back.



“Not this ruffian, this scoundrel, this… MacAlpin fellow. I don't even see him,” Archie exclaimed, incredulous, sweeping his hand to gesture across the room. “The tragedy writ on your bonny face, dear Marjorie? Well, it breaks my heart. But this Cormac? He doesn't even care enough to be here. To turn your frown into a smile.” He chucked her chin, and Cormac's stomach turned.



Marjorie edged away from him.



There's my Ree.



Archie studied her back, and his flat eyes reminded Cormac of a pig. A lanky, glassy-eyed pig. The swine hesitated for a moment and then went to stand beside her, bringing his hand to rest at the base of Marjorie's spine. “I'll be in touch with my contacts forthwith.”



Cormac's entire body seized. The gall. To touch her so. To touch Marjorie where he'd always dreamed of touching her. Who was this man to grope her so? Cormac made a sound like a growl, low in his throat.



There was an infinitesimal shift in Archie's features. The man was considering something. He shifted. And then he swept his arm up and all the way around Marjorie's shoulders, “I will take care of matters now.” That was it. Cormac strode into the room, grabbed the popinjay by the shoulders, spun him around, and punched him in the jaw.



“Cormac!” Marjorie screamed. “What are you doing?”



“I'm doing what should've been done ten minutes ago.” He flexed his fist. The contact was deeply satisfying. He wondered if he should opt for a second.



“Are you all right?” she exclaimed, rushing to the other man's side.



Cormac instinctively hugged her from behind, pulling her away. Abrupdy, he let her go. “I can't believe you let this man touch you.”



“Get a hold of yourself this instant!” she ordered.



Ignoring her, he leaned in, snarling in Archie's face. “You will leave here. You will never touch Marjorie again. Never will you even think of touching her again.”



Archie stumbled backward. “I… “ he gasped. “I'm afraid I should be going. I simply wanted to help. I shouldn't have interfered so.”



“Oh, Archie.” Marjorie slumped. “Are you all right?”



“Yes, fine, fine.” Archie coughed. “I'm afraid I really must be going. But my offer stands. Despite what this barbarian might say to you.”



She nodded grudgingly, her eyes lingering on the angry welt blooming on his jaw. “Find Fiona on your way out.



Mayhap cook has a bit of Solomon's seal for that bruise.”



Cormac shook his head in disgust as the coward left the room.



“What were you thinking?” He felt Marjorie storm up to his back. “Why ever did you do that?” He wasn't entirely sure. “I didn't like the way that man gaped at you,” he told her, unable to meet her eyes.



“And what's it to you how men look at me?”



What indeed? He took a deep breath and turned to face her. She'd stepped up into his face, her little spitfire body threatening his, and though the difference in size should make her intimidation absurd, her proximity nearly unmanned him. “It's unseemly.”



“Are you saying I'm unseemly?” She pointed her finger into his chest, and the heat of her body roared like a bonfire, searing straight to his bones.



“I'm saying he had no right to touch you.”



“It was innocent!” She flattened her hand, her pointed finger becoming a palm flat against his chest. “You've touched me.”



“No. Yes. Mayhap.” He took a step back, knocking his heel against the wooden baseboard. Touch her. He could touch her. He could grab her hand from his chest, twine her fingers with his. He could bring his hands to her shoulders to pull her close. What if she let him?



“So you do have the right?” She edged even closer, and this time he let her.



He stared at her mouth. What was she saying? How should he respond?



“Do you have the right to touch me?” Her hand curled, his shirt fisting in her hand. “You certainly don't seem to have any problem ordering me about.”



“Because you're reckless, lass.” It was reckless to stand so close to him. Didn't Marjorie know he was a dark shell of a man? He was all anger and emptiness and wanting. It was risky even to be near him, unsafe to press her body so close. “You don't listen, and it's dangerous.”



Her face fell, and he regretted his words at once.



“I'd thought you could forgive me,” she said quietly. “But I was wrong. You blamed me then, and you blame me still.”



She turned to leave. He'd spoken without thought, and she'd badly misunderstood. Cormac wanted to take back his words, to tell her this had naught to do with Aidan nor Davie nor any boy, but with her own safety. But by the time an apology came to him, all he saw was the slow swing of the door.



Marjorie had slipped from the room.



Hours passed, and finally Cormac could bear it no longer. He'd been a boor, and he sought out Marjorie to apologize. He didn't for a minute regret punching Archie, but damned if that fool lordling didn't made him feel like less than a gentleman in comparison.



And so Cormac had been to the library, the solar, the gardens, and now the sitting room, but the woman had simply disappeared.



It made him angry. He'd been back in her life for less than a week, and it seemed all he did was chase after the lass. She was always scampering one step ahead, and it was driving him mad.