A Highland Folly (3 page)

A frown rutted her forehead more deeply, and she winced. “I can handle your name far better than I can handle you firing back at some beefhead on this brae.”

“I thought relieving the gun of its ball would be wiser than toting both you and a loaded gun back to your family.”

She pushed herself up. “You need not worry about toting me anywhere. I am quite able to—” She sat back in the dirt with a jar that made
his
head ache. Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” He placed the two guns in her arms. Slipping his arms under her, he lifted her cautiously.

When her head rested against his shoulder, her hair fell over his arm. It was as red as any strands belonging to a proud Scot, but she did not speak with the brogue that he had tried to forget. Everyone else he had met in Killiebige had that accent that sounded both familiar and vexing in his ears.

So who was she? Lady Kinloch? That could mean almost anything, or … He groaned as he stood, not from her weight, which was slight when he was accustomed to helping wrestle stones for a roadbed, but from a memory that had stayed elusive to this very moment.

He had not been in Killiebige more than an hour before he learned how things functioned on this side of the river. Around Killiebige, the Kinloch family was looked upon as something distinct from the other residents. No decision was made in Killiebige without consulting the Kinlochs.

How many times had he heard that? And how many times had he heard that the Kinlochs made no decision within their stone manor house without consulting the head of the Kinloch family? And the person who was the head of the family was Lady Anice Kinloch, who had returned to Ardkinloch after many years away from Scotland. That explained her lack of accent, and he hoped her travels had given her more of an open mind than the old woman who had been her predecessor and who had threatened to hang, draw, and quarter anyone who tried to complete the road and the bridge over the river.

Lucais took a single step and nearly stumbled as the dog ran in front of him, barking as if it were mad. Mayhap it was. Everything was mad in these mountains that clung to a past that was as dead as the chieftains who had fallen before the English in his great-grandsire's time.

“Be off with you, dog,” he ordered.

“Pippy's just worried about me,” Lady Kinloch whispered, her words a warm breath against his skin. “He doesn't know you or trust you.”

“Nor do you.”

“You are very plainspeaking, Lucais MacFarlane.”

“A habit that is necessary in these Highlands.” He watched the dog run away a few paces, then turn and bark again. “What does the pup want?”

“He's trying to show you the way to the cottage.”

“Cottage? What cottage?”

When she shifted to point at a copse that was nearly overgrown with briars, Lucais gritted his teeth to keep from dropping her.

“'Tis right there,” she said.

“Your house—”

“I would rather not return to Ardkinloch with blood flowing down my face. There will be enough questions as it is.”

She was showing rare good sense, he decided. Mayhap she was not as stubborn as rumor suggested the rest of the Kinlochs were.

“Very well,” he said.

He took another step. When the dog ran in front of him, he cursed under his breath. It rushed down the hill before pausing in front of the copse and looking back at him with a loll-tongued grin.

As soon as he reached the edge of the briars, he realized how silly he had been to heed her request. A path had been broken through the bushes, but it was barely tall enough for Lady Kinloch. He would have to bend and try to carry her as well.

The day was just getting worse and worse.

Glancing at the manor house below, he almost turned and walked down the hill. He looked back at Lady Kinloch and saw that her eyes were closed, lines of pain creasing her forehead. The blood accenting those lines warned him that she needed attention right away.

The cottage door was even lower than the path through the briars. A pain scored his back as he bent nearly double to enter. He had spent too many days moving rocks when his workers refused to work in fear of their lives. Shaming them by toiling alone until they came to work beside him allowed for progress on the road. At the same time, these aches reminded him how long he had spent in England doing nothing more strenuous than trying to pound sense into stubborn heads.

Lucais grimaced as he stood, and his head struck a low rafter. Although sunshine slipped through the greenery clinging to the cottage, it was dim. The floor was surprisingly clean.

“Are you all right?” Lady Kinloch asked.

“My sore head will give me more sympathy for yours.”

“I'm sorry.”

He hid his surprise at the words he had not guessed, from the stories he had heard, any Kinloch would say. He should know better than to heed poker-talk, but the lack of welcome here in this valley had led him to believe this gossip was true.

“It isn't your fault, my lady,” he said with a rueful smile. “If you recall, I was shot at first.”

“I didn't realize there was a contest on this.”

“There isn't, but I didn't want you to feel worse than you already do.”

“That may not be possible.”

Lucais did not answer as he noted how pale her skin was, an ashen shade that warned she was being honest. Had he been want-witted to bring her here instead of to Ardkinloch, where she could have been tended to in more genteel surroundings? As he set her down onto the pallet by the window, the puff of dust that he had expected did not rise to tickle his nose. He touched the pallet. It was chilled from the air along the hill, but it was not rotting. Someone had brought it here recently.

“Does someone live here?” he asked, glancing at the door with a scowl. Mayhap the person who had fired on them lived here. He picked up his gun.

When she put her hand on his arm, the quiver of her fingertips sent an answering sensation through him. She had been right. He
was
out of his mind to react like this to Lady Kinloch. She was lovely and, he had to own, a most pleasant armful, but he had come to this valley to work, not mix up his life again with some woman who cared more for what his family was than the man he was.

“This is my cottage,” she said quietly.

“Yours?”

“I come here when I need to hear in my head no voice but my own.” She gave him a weak smile. “I am constantly at the beck and call of those within Ardkinloch.”

In spite of her words, he hastily loaded his gun. He would not be caught unprepared again. Setting it beside the pallet, he said, “My lady, I should examine the wound on your head.”

“Do so with care.”

“I shall.”

Her fingers laced together over her coat and tightened when he checked her forehead. The cut was not deep, but he suspected she would have a large bruise on the morrow. He reached to loosen the collar of her coat.

She batted his hands away. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Your head needs to be bandaged to protect it. I thought your shirt—”

“Disabuse yourself of the notion that I shall undress in front of you.”

Egad! She was a most impossible woman. Mayhap she was just like the rest of her family.

He drew off his coat, tossed it on the floor, and pulled his own shirt out of his breeches. When she gasped, he looked down to see an expanse of tanned belly visible between his waistband and shirt. This was no time for her feminine sensibilities. Despite that thought, he drew his shirt down over his breeches as he ripped a strip of material off the bottom. The shriek of the fabric resounded through the small cottage. This was the third shirt he had ruined since his arrival, the other two at work. He would send home and ask Marden to send him some more. That would make his valet, who had fretted at being left behind, feel useful.

“Sit still,” he ordered as he reached to put the bandaging around her head.

She mumbled something he could not understand, but she sat still. Wrapping the linen around her head, he tried to tie it as the dog struggled to push past him.

“Stay back, boy,” he said softly.

The dog looked at him, its eyes filled with an expression that in a human would be concern.
Don't be fanciful
, he warned himself. A dog had even less wit than the Scots who believed they could put a stop to this road with threats.

Or had it become more than threats? The shots on the hill might have been a warning to him. He frowned as he looked down again at Lady Kinloch. There were some, at least it was rumored there were some, folks in this valley who did not agree with the Kinlochs' determination to keep out the road. None of those people would dare to speak out. Mayhap one had thought to upset the Kinlochs' hold on this river valley with the death of its matriarch.

Matriarch? That was a name reserved for aged women who had grown gray with time and gathered wisdom to share with future generations. It did not belong to a winsome redhead who dared to dress like a lad when she strolled along the hillside looking for only she knew what kind of adventure.

The dog pushed his nose under Lucais's hand again.

“Pippy, I am fine,” Lady Kinloch said in a voice that suggested she was being optimistic. When she muttered something else under her breath as he finished tying the linen in place, he had no idea what she was saying.

“My lady?” he asked.

“'Tis nothing. I have found that Spanish is a very good language to curse in.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Of course.” She leaned her head against her hands that rested on her drawn-up knees. “I had to be able to speak it when we were living in South America, just as I learned Arabic when we lived in Egypt and German when we spent a summer in Vienna and—”

“You are well traveled, my lady.” He wondered if she could be content living in this valley because she had seen the world beyond or if she had been looking for a way to escape the constraints of this closed society by walking up the brae in men's clothing.
Brae
! He had thought he had put this heathen Highland cant out of his head when he forced it off his lips.

Some hint of his thoughts must have slipped through his words, because she raised her head and met his gaze evenly. “I am most grateful that I had the opportunity, Lucais, but I have learned to make myself at home wherever the whims of fortune take me.”

“And fortune has deposited you here?” He could not keep a wry smile from his lips. “Do you call that good fortune or ill?”

“At the moment, ill. This ache in my head is very bothersome.”

“I would offer you something cool to drink, but I do not know if there is a burn along this hillside.”

“There is a spring on the lower side of this house. The farmwife who lived in this cottage did not have to carry water far.” Anice closed her eyes as another wave of pain swept over her. “There's a bucket outside by the door.”

“I'll be right back.”

She was tempted to tell him not to hurry, that she wanted just to sit and wait for the brae to stop spinning. She simply listened to his footfalls leaving the cottage.

When a cool nose pushed under her arm, she opened her eyes to smile down at Pippy. “I shall be fine,” she reassured him and herself at the same time. She wished she could figure out a way to skulk back into Ardkinloch without anyone seeing her sorry state.

There would be questions. Endless questions. The very thought of all the questions made her head ache even more.

A shout came from beyond the cottage. That was Lucais! What was wrong now?

Anice jumped to her feet, then wished she had not. She was glad her gun was leaning against the wall, because she doubted if she could have bent over to pick it up and stand again without falling to her knees. It was not loaded, but if the shooter had returned, he—or she—would not know that. Lurching to the door, she pushed through the briars. She came around the side of the cottage.

She ignored her aching head as she began to laugh. She knew she should not, but the sight of a strong man like Lucais MacFarlane backed up against the cottage and staring at Bonito as if the gentle-hearted llama were a beast from the gates of hell was just too funny. The slight motion of her laughter dropped her to sit on the ground, the gun resting across her knees.

Lucais glanced swiftly over his shoulder. “Stay away, my lady. Although it has a bizarre mien, this creature appears to be at home on this hillside.”

“It rather appears, sir, that you could use some help.”

“The creature may charge at any moment.”

“True.”

“You should stay away, my lady.” He stretched out his hand. “Give me my gun, which I left over there by the corner of the cottage. I shall deal with this.”

“I think not.” The bright sunshine was piercing her eyes, adding to the throbbing in her head. Every muscle recalled the hard ground as she had ducked the shots fired at her. Across her palm, the cut pulsated with fire. It was time to put an end to this amusement. She winced as she raised her voice and called, “Bonito, come here.” When the llama did not move, she repeated the words in Spanish.

Like a well-trained pup, the llama obeyed, nuzzling her where she was sitting.

“My lady!” shouted Lucais. “Be wary. If—”

“If you don't lower your voice, I fear my head will explode.” She set her gun on the ground next to where he must have left his when he started to fill the bucket. Putting her arm around Bonito's leg and then over his back, she hauled herself to her feet. “Sir, you are mistaking the curiosity of my pet for aggression.”

“Your pet?
That
is a pet?”

“
That
is Bonito, my llama. He hails from South America.” She was not about to give him a full explanation of the oddities of Patagonian fauna. Keeping her arm balanced around Bonito's neck, she added, “I believe it is now quite safe for me to return to Ardkinloch. Other than your shout, which was sure to raise the very dead from the kirkyard, I have not heard anything amiss.”