Cathy Maxwell - [Chattan Curse 03] (15 page)

Then, perhaps, she would accept that her family was not caught in the grips of some witch, but that there had to be,
must be
, very real, concrete reasons for the deaths of the males in her family.

If there was anything of the magical happening around here, it was the way they made love. That had been astounding, and he firmly planned to see that they did it again. Often.

But first, he was determined to banish the shadows in her life.

He had nothing for his feet but that did not bother him. He’d been colder and in worse circumstances on board a ship a time or two. The secret was to keep moving.

Climbing over the wall, he headed in the direction where Owl had disappeared. Standing on the edge of the woods, he listened. As if teasing him, he heard a faint meow and caught a glimpse of white.

The chase was on. Owl teased him by always staying ahead of him. He followed her into the densest part of the forest. A time or two, Owl almost let him catch her. His fingers just brushed the long, fine fur of her coat before she would leap out of his reach and playfully run in a new direction.

Heath was growing winded. The cat was leading him across small streams and over fallen trees. He knew they traveled in circles.

Slowly, his opinion changed. This was no ordinary cat. She understood what she was doing . . . and he realized she was leading him somewhere.

The moment he stepped into the small clearing surrounded by firs, he recognized the place. This was where he’d found Margaret the day before.

Owl waited for him. She sat between the two headstones, her expression sphinxlike.

Heath stopped. “Clever cat,” he said. “We could have arrived here sooner.”

Her response was an expression he could only interpret as a smile.

He didn’t move closer but knelt, wanting to see what the cat would do.

The intelligence behind her large eyes, the
knowing
gave him a chill. She understood he challenged her and, in the manner of all women he’d known in his life, resented him for it.

They eyed each other, combatants at patience, and then Heath stood. “All right, I concede.” His purpose wasn’t to have a staring match with this cat but to capture it.

He started walking toward Owl. She waited with the air of a queen.

A step away from her, Heath decided to make his move; he lunged for the cat, his arms going around her . . . his arms going right
through
her.

And he parted them to look at her in surprise, except she was gone. She’d vanished.

Everything he believed he knew was suddenly suspect.

Heath studied the space of ground where his own eyes had told him the cat had been. Now there was only brown grass and damp leaves and pine needles.

He searched the forest around him. There was no flash of white.

Or perhaps the cat was here and he couldn’t see her, just as Margaret had claimed.

“What game do you play?” he asked the clearing.

As is too often the case when a man asks a question of the universe, the response was silence . . . the same eerie silence devoid of birds or the rustling of leaves that Margaret had commented on the day before and he’d so easily fobbed off.

And then he heard a sound. A man was calling his name. It was Rowlly. “Laird Macnachtan? Heath? Can you hear me? Tell me you made it safe, man. We’ve been worrying all night.” He didn’t sound as if he was that far away.

Heath’s immediate thought was of Margaret. He had to return to her, to protect her from Rowlly and whoever was with him before they discovered her in less discreet circumstances.

Heath took off as if the hounds of hell were giving chase. He stumbled over rocks and continued on, ignoring the pain in his feet. He pushed aside branches and thorns that reached to hold him back.

Within minutes, he reached the ruins and was relieved to see that Rowlly and his party were not there, only then did he take a moment to catch his breath before charging down the edge of the knoll to the fireplace where he’d left Margaret sleeping—and came to an abrupt halt.

The fire still burned in the old hearth but there was no sign of Margaret Chattan.

At that moment, he heard Rowlly behind him, “Here you are. Could you not hear me hollering my lungs out?”

Heath was suddenly uncertain, the disappearing cat making him wonder about everything, including Margaret and what had happened between them. He turned to find Rowlly standing on the knoll with John Gibson. “I thought I’d meet you here,” he murmured.

“And
I
thought you’d be freezing cold and anxious to leave this place,” Rowlly answered. “I’d forgotten about the old hearth. Smart of you to use it. A pity Lady Margaret didn’t find you.”

“Aye,” Gibson echoed, “she’s lucky to be alive. So are you. I didn’t believe you could swim that current.”

“You found Lady Margaret?” Heath asked.

“She found us,” Rowlly answered. “She came running down to the shore, looking just as disheveled. I can’t believe the two of you were on the same island and couldn’t find each other.”

Had Margaret told them that?

“Yes, well, the storm forced each of us to seek shelter where we could,” Heath answered. Something hard was building inside of him. He told himself that, of course, Margaret would want to make it seem as if they had spent the night apart instead of rogering each other for everything they were worth. “Did she say where she was?”

“She said she found a clearing surrounded by firs that kept the storm at bay.” Rowlly shook his head. “She tried to describe where it was, but I don’t remember such a place. Do you?”

Heath shook his head. “Is she at the boat now?”

“Aye, waiting for us,” Rowlly said. “Ah, yes, and your sisters are here. We made them wait at Gibson’s house. Worried ill they are. Even Dara came.”

“Then let’s go. My feet are cold,” Heath said, speaking the truth, but his words made Rowlly and Gibson laugh. Rowlly clapped an arm around Heath’s shoulder and told him about how they had tried to return to the island last night, but the storm kept blowing them back.

“I’ve never seen the loch like that before,” Gibson said.

“Would you call it highly unusual?” Heath asked, wanting to know if the fisherman thought otherwise.

“Och
, well, who is to say? Mother Nature and God always hold surprises.”

“I hope not to experience that surprise again,” Heath answered, and they again laughed. He pretended to laugh as well but his mind was on Margaret.

“Did she say what caused her to jump out of the boat?” Heath asked, curious as to what information Margaret might have shared.

“Didn’t ask,” Rowlly answered. “All I know is she thought she saw a cat and then dived in. Who understands the gentry? Especially the English ones. They say they are all half mad.”

They came out of the woods to where Gibson’s boat was docked on the shore. “We came over in the large one in case another storm brewed sudden-like,” the fisherman explained.

Heath only half attended. His attention was on Margaret. She sat at the aft of the boat, her red cloak around her. She appeared to be huddled against the cold, but he knew better. She was ignoring him and didn’t even bother to look up as he approached.

She wasn’t alone. Rowlly had brought a few of the stable lads, and he hailed them now.

Margaret didn’t look up. There was no smile for him, no acknowledgment of what had transpired between them.

Heath wanted to believe that perhaps she was being wise, that it was prudent to not offer anyone a clue to what they’d spent the night doing.

But he knew differently.

She had shut him out, and he wanted to know why.

Chapter Thirteen

M
argaret focused on keeping herself warm and on examining the way the boards of the boat were fitted together. She’d not considered boat construction before. With Heath Macnachtan climbing into the boat and pretending not to glare at her, now was a good time to focus absolutely on anything but him.

Once again, her passionate nature had brought her trouble.

She’d believed that after Mark’s betrayal she would have had a better head on her shoulders. And she had.
For years
she had.

Then last night, she’d tossed all common sense aside. She’d compromised herself, her own vows that she’d made, her own determined will. He had only to touch her for her to tumble into his arms like a randy milkmaid.

And she’d liked it. Dear sweet Lord, she had liked it very much.

With Mark, there had been an excitement about having a secret love . . . but at the time, she’d been desperate to have someone,
anyone
love her.

The first time he’d kissed her, she’d been shocked, but she’d wanted more. In truth, when he had taken her virginity, it had surprised her. It was all over almost before it had begun, and all she’d remembered was that it had been messy and rather silly. She’d never felt with him what she did in Heath Macnachtan’s arms.

She’d given herself completely to Heath and he had used her well.

Perhaps the difference was one of age? Mark had been only a few years older than her fifteen-year-old self.

Or perhaps the difference was that her feelings for the laird of the Macnachtan were stronger and far more compelling. She seemed aware of his every movement, his every gesture. She had a sense of being able to understand what he thought and felt.

Margaret also admired him. She’d not met another man, other than her brother Neal, who commanded her respect. Heath also had a bit of Harry’s daring in him, and certainly that intrigued her.

She knew Heath was confused by her leaving the ruins without him. She could almost hear the questions in his mind, questions that she would not answer.

What had happened last night must not be repeated. She was certain of that. It had been too overwhelming. All-consuming. Even now she wanted to climb the distance of the boat and wrap her arms around him. She must exercise more control.

It also didn’t help matters that the men in the boat might pay lip service to the idea that she and Heath had spent the night apart, but they didn’t believe it. She could tell in the sidelong looks sent her direction and the smug smiles they attempted to hide. They were men, and men always jumped to conclusions.

Now the boat had no trouble gliding across the calm, gray lake. It hit the shore with a bump. The lads jumped out and pulled the boat onto dry land where Laren, Anice and Lady Macnachtan waited.

Heath stood with his back to Margaret, but she knew he was planning to help her out of the boat. He nodded for Rowlly and Gibson to go ahead of him. His sisters were already asking him questions.

Margaret barely heard what they were saying. Instead, she braced herself, not yet ready to be close to him.

He held out a hand. “My lady.” There was a distance in his voice. He was angry with her silence. Good. She wanted him angry.

She stood. She could ignore the hand he offered, but then that would raise more questions and she wanted matters between them as simple as possible. They’d already complicated them enough last night. She could let him help her. All she had to do was detach her thoughts from her actions. Margaret had a lifetime of practice at that.

She placed her bare hand in his. His fingers, long, competent, callused, closed over hers, and she wanted to melt into his arms. She wanted to tear off his clothes and press herself against his warm skin.

But she didn’t show it. She knew how to set her expression just the right way so that she appeared pleasant and disinterested.

“We are so relieved you are safe,” Laren’s voice said in greeting, words echoed by the others. They had thought to pack warm clothes. Mrs. Gibson let Margaret and then Heath use the cottage to change.

And then they were on their way back to Marybone.

Laren and Anice seemed determined to maintain a good-natured chatter but Margaret knew they sensed the tension between her and Heath.

They had other questions as well. While she was changing, she’d overheard someone mention her claim of seeing a cat before she’d jumped into the water. She was certain everyone doubted her sanity.

She noticed that Heath didn’t have much to say. Nor did he speak of finding the graves. She kept the information to herself as well. In fact, she didn’t know what she could do with the knowledge of the two gravestones. She didn’t understand why Owl had led her to them.

Lady Macnachtan brought her horse up beside Margaret’s. “Are you all right?” she asked in a low voice full of concern.

“I’m fine,” Margaret answered, trying to put some emotion in her tone to sound convincing.

“That was quite an ordeal.”

“Yes, it was,” Margaret could agree.

“What I fear is that you were taken advantage of?” She made her suggestion sound like a question.

Heat rushed to Margaret’s cheeks. She dared not speak, afraid of what she would reveal to this kind woman.

“You needn’t worry about gossip or rumors. We protect our own and our friends,” Lady Macnachtan assured her.

“Thank you,” Margaret said with meaning. It was good to have an ally.

Lady Macnachtan lowered her voice even more. “In truth, I’m embarrassed. I fear you have been manipulated into this position.”

Margaret frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lady Macnachtan looked to the others. Anice and Rowlly were arguing with Laren as their referee. Heath rode ahead of everyone, his back ramrod straight.

She leaned toward Margaret. “Of course, you know their purpose is for you to marry Heath. That’s all the girls can talk about. The family is in deep debt. They saw your arrival here as a sign of Providence. Now that you have been alone overnight with Heath, Anice and Laren have been planning your wedding.”

Margaret hadn’t noticed such scheming from the Macnachtan sisters. Instead, her instincts warned her that if there was any scheming happening, it was from Heath’s sister-in-marriage, and she didn’t understand why. She could imagine no motive other than jealousy. “Laird Macnachtan did not arrange to have me alone on the island overnight with him. It was a complete accident of fate. I can assure you of that.”

“Then it was very lucky happenstance,” Lady Macnachtan said. “And, please, you must call me Dara if we are to be sisters by marriage. No formalities around family.”

“No one has spoken of marriage,” Margaret returned.

“Not yet. They will. Although,” Dara continued, her tone changing thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t hold you to blame if you resisted these mercenary plans of theirs. It must be uncomfortable to have everyone consider marrying you only for your money. It would make me feel like a piece of property to be bought and sold in such a manner.”

This woman owed everything she was to the Macnachtans. Perhaps
she
wanted Heath and considered Margaret a threat?

“It’s my lot in life,” Margaret commented. “I’m accustomed to marriage schemes.”

“Ah, yes, as an heiress.” Dara considered the matter a moment and then said, “But know I can be your ally. Turn to me if you find yourself in trouble with their plans, I shall help you.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Perhaps I understand, one woman to another, how it feels to be powerless over our fates. It isn’t right. There should be more justice.”

Margaret now saw Dara in a new light. The woman had experienced few choices in her life, and, of course, she would assume that it would be the same for Margaret.

“Thank you, Dara. That is considerate of you.” Margaret wasn’t certain she meant those words.

“I’m not being considerate. According to Rowlly, you are most fortunate to be alive,” she answered. “We have some responsibility for that. If you do decide to return to London, I shall help you make your escape. Your brother is quite ill, is he not? I would think you would want to be with him.”

She did
. Dara knew what argument to use.

“And I would hate to see you forced to do anything against your will,” Dara said. “We, women, are honest in our emotions. Men can be expedient.”

Dara’s suppositions found their mark.

For all her poise, deep inside Margaret was a place that was very vulnerable. Perhaps it came from an excess of pride, as many had suggested.

Or perhaps it was because she was
already
in love with the laird of the Macnachtan.

In love
. Margaret immediately rejected the notion. She had always sworn she didn’t understand what the words meant. Her parents
hadn’t
been in love. Neal and Harry
were
both “in love” and she thought they were fools. Love would cost them their lives.

And yet, Heath Macnachtan was not like any other man of her acquaintance.

But what if, like most men who had wooed and courted her, he did see her only as a commodity? What if he had made love—
there was that word again!
—to her for no other reason than what Dara suggested, that he wanted to trap an heiress in marriage?

What if, like Mark, he was not the man she thought he was?

If that was true, her first instinct
should
be to run, to take Dara up on her offer of helping her return to London. But there was more at stake now than just her pride. She’d come to Loch Awe to save her brothers. She couldn’t leave until it had all played out. Owl’s presence was a sign there was more to come.

Besides, she had too much sense to fall in love with anyone, let alone the Laird of the Macnachtan.

“I appreciate your offer, but I should wait for Rowan to improve,” Margaret said.

“Such loyalty to a servant is to be commended,” Dara answered. “Although you needn’t worry. We’d see to his welfare until you can make arrangements. You could leave on the morrow.”

“Are you planning on leaving, Lady Margaret?” Anice’s voice said. She’d caught the tail end of the conversation and now circled her horse around to join them.

Dara gave her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “She plans on leaving eventually. I was explaining that she didn’t have to make her plans in advance. We are happy to help.”

“Yes,” Anice agreed, readily accepting Dara’s explanation. “Of course, we would help.”

Heath heard what they were saying. Anice’s voice always carried. His back stiffened but he didn’t turn around. He seemed to have decided that since she was determined to ignore him, he would ignore her.

Margaret didn’t know how she felt about that.

However, he did set his horse off at a trot, and all the others started trotting with him. It was an effective way to end all discussion and to keep her mind on her riding.

Within the half hour, they reached Marybone.

Heath reined in his horse in front of the house. “Rowlly, see to Admiral.”

“Aye, Heath.”

Heath jumped down, threw the reins toward Rowlly, and started to help the women dismount, beginning with Dara.

Margaret didn’t wait for him but dismounted herself. Her intent was to seek the solace of her room. She needed to think clearly and she realized she couldn’t do so with Heath around.

As she started up the front step, he called out. “Lady Margaret,” he said, “I need a word with you.”

“Perhaps later,” she replied, already moving into the house.

“No,
now
,” he answered in a tone that brooked no disobedience. “Laren, Lady Margaret and I would appreciate baths. It was a long night. Will you see that Cook heats water, and have the stable lads carry Lady Margaret’s bathwater upstairs for her?”

“Of course,” Laren answered.

Margaret had not obeyed his command to stop. She moved toward the stairs. If she didn’t look back, if she ignored him, he would be forced to leave her alone.

She was wrong.

Just as she climbed the third step, strong hands took hold of her waist. Before she knew what she was about, she found herself physically deposited over Heath’s shoulder.

She didn’t know who was more surprised, she or Laren, Anice, Dara and anyone else a witness to this indignity.

Margaret grabbed hold of his jacket, thinking to pull herself off his shoulder. He hefted the shoulder, repositioning her, and marched down the hall. Before she could think to do anything, he walked into the library, kicked the door shut and set her on her feet.

In the time it took her to regain her balance, his arms came around her and he kissed her.

This kiss was an order, a demand, an insistence. She kissed back, her lips hard to let him know her resistance, her own independence . . . and then softening in her desire.

Yes, even though she was furious at him, she still enjoyed kissing him.

Their kiss came to an end when they were both mellow enough to think.

“One moment,” he whispered, and turned back to the door. He opened it to reveal Laren and Anice eavesdropping. They appeared scandalized to be caught and quickly hurried off. He shut the door. “Sisters,” he said with a shake of his head before leaning back against the door and considering her.

Margaret raised a hand to her kiss-swollen lips. She liked the feeling of them.

“Why didn’t you wait for me back in Innis Craggah before you joined the others?” he asked.

She shifted her weight. “I thought you were gone.”

“No you didn’t,” he said, reading her correctly. “Why didn’t you want to wait for me, Maggie?”

She moved toward the desk, placing it between them.

“Why did you leave?” he pressed.

“Because I didn’t want you to think you owed me anything.” She held her head high. It took some effort.

“You know we must talk about last night,” he said.

“No, we don’t. There is nothing to discuss.” She spoke firmly, but perhaps too quickly. Here was what Dara had predicted and she didn’t want to think that he did not have strong feelings for her beyond lust. “I know what you are going to say. You are going to offer marriage. You are an honorable man. You feel duty-bound to make an honorable offer. You may do so. Know that I will reject it.”