Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (15 page)

If she'd genuinely been some cotter's daughter and he a lord's gamekeeper, then she would have been able to admit that she liked when he visited, and that she looked forward to the next time he would steal a kiss from her. She might even have kissed
him
—that … arousal was a fairly new experience for her, after all, and she liked the way it felt. Very much. But that wasn't who they were, and she couldn't afford to engage in daydreams. They both carried the weight of their clans on their shoulders, even if he didn't yet know that about her.

She looked at Elizabeth again. Even though her sister was half Scottish, clan didn't play much of a role at all in her life. Elizabeth was a younger daughter, for one thing, and for another she'd had such limited contact with the MacDonalds since she and her mother left Islay for London that mostly she'd been forgotten. That was why once their father died, her mother could put her into the hands of a four-times-married duke three times her age and no one bothered to protest.

For Elizabeth, even doing something as outlandish as putting on MacLawry plaid likely wouldn't stir a single MacDonald eyebrow, and that was even with everyone knowing the MacLawrys had the largest standing army in the Highlands. She didn't have the same luxury. Back in her clan, she was noticed, whether she wanted to be or not. Whether she'd tried to go unnoticed or not.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked, frowning.

Catriona shook herself. Thinking in theory that the MacLawrys could protect Elizabeth even from the Duke of Visford was one thing. Actually navigating all the twists and turns required to see something so complicated through was another game entirely. And it would have to involve matching Elizabeth with Bear, which she didn't at all like, anyway. He hadn't kissed Elizabeth. He'd kissed
her.
It made sense as a plan, but sometimes she had as little use for logic as it seemed to have for her.

“Cat? You're making me nervous.”

Blast.
“It's nothing. I was just wishing ye could see the Highlands from a more comfortable place, instead of scrambling for food and a warm blanket with winter creeping in.”

“Oh, pish.” Elizabeth flipped a hand at her. “I was eight when Mama decided she couldn't survive another moment with those kilt-wearing heathens.” She grinned. “You see? I even remember her exact words. And I remember the smell of fresh heather, and the wind coming off the sea, and the sound of bagpipes at every birth and death and marriage. And I remember chasing you across the meadow and Mama yelling at us to behave like ladies. I wanted to wear trousers too, you know.”

“That was why yer mother decided to leave Islay with ye. She didnae want a daughter who acted like a son, and Father wanted another of those.” That
was
precisely what her father had wanted—or rather, he'd wanted a son and decided to make do with her. And Elizabeth would have been next, if not for Anne Derby-MacColl. “If it was my fault ye had to leave, I'm sorry, Elizabeth.”

Setting the spoon aside, Elizabeth walked over and wrapped her arms around Catriona in a hard hug. “Don't you dare apologize, Cat. I had a great many friends in London, both men and women, but I only have one sister. Whatever idiocy happened in between, I'm glad we're together again.”

Catriona hugged her sister back. “So am I,
piuthar
.” Even if Elizabeth kept imagining extravagant shopping expeditions where they both ended up swimming in gowns and frilly hats, she'd never called Catriona mad or mannish—which raised her well above the rest of the family and clan on Islay.

All of that—the sideways glances, the comments about a lass uncivilized even by Highlands standards, the men whom she might have liked but who made her feel awkward and far out of her depth when they weren't making fun of her behind her back—came rushing back in on her like a cold, icy rain. Stepping out of her sister's embrace, Catriona walked over to retrieve her oversized coat and musket.

“If ye can stir the stew once in a while for the next hour or so, I'm going to see if I can find some mushrooms for tonight's fish.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Yes, I can do that.”

Aye, she should stay and do more hugging and chat about fashion and perhaps even finally tell her sister just why she'd been so eager to leave Islay for London and then on to a remote ruin as far away from clan MacDonald as she could get. Those were her troubles, though, and Elizabeth had enough of her own.

As soon as she had open sky above her, Catriona slowed and took a deep, cleansing breath. The scent of a coming rain touched her, crisp and chill. It wouldn't be long before snow fell. That would complicate things, because while it would discourage potential visitors from wandering through the valley, it would also make her own tracks that much easier to follow.

Snow would also make simply moving about more of a challenge, but winter had never stopped her before. Of course previously she hadn't been trying to hide from anything but the deer and rabbits and birds. Now she had two lasses to keep hidden away.

Of course she also had some unexpected and unasked-for help. Aye, Munro aggravated her with his assumptions that he could provide things for their stay that she couldn't, but in truth the simple fact was that he could. He could bring them blankets and bread, make them more secure in a place where she hadn't expected to be stopping—but was now rather … pleased that she had.

The south end of the valley where Haldane sat remained bathed in early morning sunlight, while the widening northern slopes were already obscured by lowering clouds. The breeze had dropped to almost nothing, leaving the autumn day oddly and heavily silent but for the few birds that hadn't flown south. They were likely in for a long, deep soaking once the weather reached them. When she returned to Haldane she would have to move their supplies well away from the puddle in the back corner of the kitchen, and hope it didn't swell into a lake.

Once she'd climbed to the top of one of the myriad rocky outcroppings she crouched down on her haunches and took a moment just to gaze at the view all around her. Leaves of deep yellow and orange shivered in the slow breeze, the colors softening to a dense green toward the valley floor. If she could paint she still didn't think she could capture the wild beauty of this place. Yes, she'd wanted somewhere to hide, but she hadn't expected to be enchanted by it. Or by her would-be rescuer.

Movement to one side of the old road caught her attention. Her heart rate accelerating, she scrambled down the rocks and edged closer so she could get a better look. A few weeks ago the idea of anyone approaching her refuge would have terrified and angered her. Today, as she made out the big gray gelding and a black, shaggy head of hair beside the horse, a smile touched her mouth before she could catch it back again.

Munro and Peter Gilling left their mounts half a mile from Haldane and well off the main trail. At least he knew how to hide his tracks, and he took care to do so. That caution had to be for her sake, she knew. With a deeper grin, telling herself that the satisfaction running beneath her skin came from the idea that she meant to surprise him rather than from something more intimate and primitive, Catriona slipped down the hillside. Using the rough terrain as cover, she moved in behind the two men, edging closer with each step they took and using their own conversation to hide her movements.

“Well, that's fine fer ye,” Gilling was saying in a low voice. “Ye got to have a pleasant ride across the countryside. I spent nearly three hours hiding inside a wardrobe.”

Bear snorted. “I've apologized fer the past five days fer nae warning ye, Peter,” he returned in the deep rumble that seemed to resonate through her. “Even though the first time ye told yer story ye spent an hour inside a storage room. Fer the last time, I didnae know Glengask decided that was the day to announce I should be paired off with a damned Stewart. If he hadnae ambushed me, I would have sent ye off to An Soadh before the bellowing began.” He clapped the older man on one shoulder. “But thank ye fer hiding. Truly. We dunnae need Ranulf butting his head into my affairs. And the lass—lasses—dunnae need it, either.”

Catriona missed a step and nearly crashed into the big man from behind. It was difficult enough to match his long stride without hearing that the MacLawry had apparently nearly found out about her and Elizabeth, and that Bear hadn't mentioned a word about it to her. Or that he was supposed to marry a Stewart. Though why that should matter, she had no idea. It would get him out of her way, certainly, and that should have been a good thing. But it didn't feel like one. She could tell herself it was because she'd nearly decided to match him with Elizabeth, which couldn't happen if he wed someone else, but trying to fool herself didn't make much sense.

“I'm thinking I'll be sleeping in that wardrobe until ye're done with this nonsense at Haldane,” Gilling returned. “Just to be sure yer
bràthair
doesnae come to ask me questions while I'm all unawares.”

“It's nae nonsense, Peter,” Bear retorted. “I may nae ken exactly what it is I'm doing, but it's nae nonsense.”

“I've nae wish to get my nose bloodied, m'laird, so I'll nae argue with ye.”

Catriona took a last, closing step to put herself directly behind Bear. “If yer brother thinks ye're spending too much time at Haldane,” she said smoothly, “then I'd suggest ye keep yer distance from it.”

“Well, I'm nae going to listen to ye on that count, now am I?” he returned in the same easy tone.

Blast it.
He'd known she was there, then. “Ye dunnae listen to anything else I say, so I sup—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Munro whipped around, pulled the musket from her hands, and grabbed the material beneath her throat to lift her clear off her feet. “And dunnae startle a man like that, unless ye want yer gizzard on the ground.”

“Ha! I
did
surprise ye, then.” And there she'd been, ready—or so she'd thought—for him, and she'd still ended up dangling in the air and without a weapon. The youngest MacLawry brother had a reputation for being dangerous, and despite his generally affable demeanor toward her and Elizabeth, she abruptly saw why he was considered deadly.

“Aye, ye did.” He continued gazing at her, drawing her just a breath closer. “Quieter than a hunting owl, ye are.”

“Put me down, giant, and then ye can give me a compliment,” she returned, very aware that if anyone else in the entire world had just manhandled her like that, she would be swinging for his straight, perfect nose.

He set her back on the ground. “Ye smell like fresh pine.”

“Is that a compliment?” she queried, unable to keep a smile from touching her mouth.

“Aye. Give me a moment if ye want a prettier one.”

“Nae, that'll do.” Catriona took a breath. “If yer brother is suspicious aboot someaught,” she pressed, trying to keep her attention on the conversation, “ye shouldnae be here. With the amount of time ye've been spending on that door, ye couldnae be surprised he's noticed yer absence, giant.”

His curved brows furrowing, he handed her back the musket. “I'm finishing yer door before I decide anything else,” he returned, and resumed his easy stride toward the abbey. “And Ran's only wondering if I'm staying away from Glengask because I'm jealous of all the newlywed nonsense and yowling bairns there. None of it has a thing to do with ye or Haldane.”

At some unseen signal Peter had moved into the lead, leaving her to walk beside Bear. “And are ye?” she asked, trying not to like the way he'd matter-of-factly handed back her heavy musket. It was hers; she should be the one carrying it.

“Am I what?”

“Jealous of all the newlywed nonsense and yowling bairns.”

For a moment he gazed off into the woods. “Nae.”

“If ye wish me to believe ye, ye're going to have to make a wee bit more of an effort than ‘nae,'” she returned, attempting to imitate his guttural response.

Green eyes caught hers, humor and quite possibly exasperation dancing in their depths. She'd become accustomed to seeing the latter expression in the faces of her kin. This time, though, it wasn't about her choice of dress or her lack of … finesse. And that felt refreshing.

“It's nearer to rotting my teeth than making me jealous,” he went on after a moment. “They're happy, my brothers and my sister. That's nae a thing to make a man jealous. I'm annoyed that they cannae believe what I just told ye. Glengask, especially, cannae accept that I leave the hoose fer the peace and quiet, as if he likes hearing his bairn bawling before dawn and that setting the hounds to howling.”

He frowned again. “Dunnae misunderstand. I've two nephews and a niece now, and the lot of 'em are more precious than the air to me. But I dunnae have a sudden urge to marry the first lass Glengask shoves in my direction so I can make a handful of my own.”

“Ye dunnae need what they have in order to feel happy for them,” she supplied, wondering again who this pushy lass was that his brother had tried to set on him.

Bear snapped his fingers. “That's it, exactly. If I said it that pretty way they'd nae believe it came from me, but I may have to try it, anyway.” He took her free hand in his.

Abruptly she had trouble remembering anything she'd said previously. “Why wouldnae they believe ye?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Ranulf's the calculating one, Arran's the clever one, and Rowena's the good-hearted one. I'm the hardheaded one who talks with my fists.” He curled his free hand into a fist and jabbed it at the air. Even that gesture looked absolutely lethal.

“Do ye mean they think ye're…”

“Cork-brained? Aye. Most of the time, anyway. I dunnae mind, because they generally leave me be. But now they seem to think I dunnae have the wits to decide anything fer myself.”