Sarah Gabriel (6 page)

Even if he had discovered that she kissed like a fallen angel. Her lips had been sinfully seductive beneath his, and yet innocent as well. He deeply desired her, without question—but he could not bring a woman into his life. Not now, not yet.

Particularly not the sister of a Lowland gauger.

T
hrough drifting fog, Fiona could see the cottage ahead, tucked below some trees. Water lapped and shimmered in the distance and mist drifted across the loch, ghostlike and lovely. She could hear footsteps behind her, and she turned to glance over her shoulder.

“I do not need an escort, Mr. MacGregor.”

“Rogues about,” he said, shifting the weight of the small keg on his shoulder. “And the path down to the cottage is uneven. You could fall, carrying those rocks.”

“I can manage. What are you carrying, or should I ask?”

“A gift for Mrs. MacIan and her grandson, the reverend.” He caught up to her, his strides long and sure and hers cautious as they left the road for the path into the cove.

“Was the cart full of illicit whisky, sir?”

“It was not my cart,” he pointed out.

She sent him a wry glance in the dark. “I suppose you bribe others with whisky so that they will
look away from what you and your kinsmen do in the glen.”

“It is tradition for the laird to give whisky to the manse. I have a distillery on my estate.”

“And you and your kinsmen are smugglers.” Though so far he had not admitted it, the fact seemed clear enough to her. “But I will not speak of it to anyone. It is your own business.”

“My
business
,” he said, “is a licensed distillery. My uncles work with me. This keg holds some of that brew, which I bring to Mrs. MacIan whenever a new batch is ready.”

“So the cart was carrying whisky to be shared with others.”

“What else would we do with it, Miss MacCarran? Smuggle it, with the law all around?” He sounded amused.

“Mr. MacGregor, I have a bargain for you,” she said impulsively. “I promise not to speak of what I have seen, if you promise to never—”

“Never what? Kiss you again?” He stopped, as she did, and she looked up at him through thick, foggy darkness.

“That…will not happen again, regardless,” she sputtered. She did not fluster easily, and disliked showing any vulnerability. “It is not in my character to behave so.”

“Nor mine.”

“What about the black lovesickness? Your uncle said it has plagued you before.”

He smiled. “And you believed him?”

“I thought it might be true, especially since you stole a kiss from a woman you do not know.”

MacGregor leaned forward, so close that she felt his nearness like a rush all through her. “I was not the only one doing the kissing.”

Fiona caught her breath. What he said was so true—she could not forget that kiss. Now he hovered near enough to kiss her again, yet did not. Blushing hotly, she stepped away.

“About our bargain, Miss MacCarran,” he began. “We could arrange something. If you will consider keeping the evening’s adventures to yourself, I will consider…never kissing you again.”

“Oh,” she said. “That sounds like a fairy bargain.” As the man chuckled, Fiona glanced toward the cottage and saw the door open, golden light glowing around the dark form of the woman who stood there. “Look, Mrs. MacIan is at the door.”

“And gone again,” he said, as the door closed once more.

“She must not have seen us out here,” Fiona said. “No need to walk me to the door. I can take the keg, too. It is not so large.”

“Not large, but heavy.”

“I am stronger than you think.”

“Aye so.” He seemed thoughtful more than amused. “Allow me to play the gentleman.”

“Why now, when you did not before?”

“Och,” he said teasingly. “Mary MacIan would have my head if I sent you home loaded like a pack-horse. And if she knew the rest of it,” he added
softly, leaning forward, so that a quick shiver went through her, “she would have my head as well, if that is a comfort to you.”

“It is, actually.” She smiled a little in the darkness.

“And that agreement we discussed?”

“I will think about it.” Determined not to let his nearness influence her again, she turned.

“Not for long, if you please. Watch your step, miss, the fog is that thick.” He held out a hand, which Fiona ignored as she walked past him.

Soon he was two strides ahead of her, and she watched his wide shoulders and the rhythmic swing of his plaid kilt above strong calves, and thought how wanton she had been in allowing that intimate kiss—and how hungry and fervent she had felt as she returned it. She could not let her impulses lead her astray again, though her heart beat even harder as she considered the possibility.

“Mr. MacGregor,” she called.

“Kinloch, if you please. Dougal, if it pleases you more.”

“Kinloch,” she said firmly. “Let us agree to forget what happened this evening.”

“All of it?” He turned to walk backward for a moment, the keg casually propped on his shoulder. “I will remember some of it always, Miss MacCarran.”

So would she. “Come now, it was of no consequence to either of us. But if we agree to keep silent about that, and about the free traders out on the
road with the laird himself, we will all benefit. The MacIans might be shocked to know.”

He shrugged. “Tell them or not, as you like.”

“Reverend MacIan would go to the authorities.”

“You could try to convince him,” he said.

“Do you mean that the reverend is involved in this, too?”

He turned to walk beside her. “Surely your brother has told you that the free trade is common throughout the Highlands, and is found in Glen Kinloch as well. Those who are involved keep it to themselves, and those who encounter it…wisely look away.”

“So everyone in Glen Kinloch is either a smuggler or knows a smuggler.”

“We are hardly a nest of criminals here, Miss MacCarran. The people of this glen are fine and honest folk, and do what they must to survive.”

“You seem to be warning me to look away as well.”

He paused beside her, and she halted, too, noticing how dark and compelling his gaze seemed in the misty light. “Take it as a fair warning,” he murmured. “Your kinsmen work on the side of the law, which will not sit well with the residents of this glen.”

“Only one of my brothers is involved with revenue collection, and he is not assigned here.”

“Only one? How many brothers do you have?”

“Three. One is a physician in Edinburgh. My twin brother and a cousin of ours both have estates
in this part of the Highlands. In terms of Highland hospitality, I believe that makes me less than a stranger here. Besides,” she added, “I was invited to come here.”

“You have other kinsmen here, besides the gauger?” he asked quickly.

“My twin, James, Viscount Struan, has an estate southeast of here.”

“Struan! I had heard that a Lowlander inherited the estate there.” He paused. “Did your brother marry a Highland girl, by chance?”

“He did. Miss Elspeth MacArthur of Kilcrennan. Do you know her?”

“Her father, the weaver of Kilcrennan, is a distant cousin.” He narrowed his eyes. “Twin brother, is it? You two will be close, then. No doubt he will visit you here.”

“He has been in Edinburgh for some months. He is a lecturing professor.”

“I see. And what of the cousin?”

“The Earl of Eldin. But we are not so close, he and I.”

“Eldin is the one who purchased Auchnashee to turn it into a hotel.” He frowned. “We have not met, but I have heard of him. So you are an earl’s cousin, the sister of a viscount, and sister to a gauger as well.” Frowning thoughtfully, he seemed to assess her.

“So you see, I have ties to the Highlands, as you do,” she pointed out.

“Not quite as I do, I will venture to guess. When
were you at Auchnashee last? I hear the hotel is near ready, and is reserving dates for guests on holiday.”

“I was there two days ago, and it is coming along. But I suspect it is not Eldin who most concerns you, but Patrick.”

“The excise officer.” He inclined his head. “Then I assume the gentleman I saw you with earlier was one of your brothers—unless you have a suitor here you have not owned to.”

“Of course not. Patrick was walking with me. You saw us there?”

“I keep watch over my mountain and my glen. Where my gaze does not reach, others keep lookout for me.” He smiled, but it had an edge. “I wonder if the reverend knew your brother was a revenue officer when he invited you.”

“It never came up. Patrick’s appointment came after I agreed to the post here. His jurisdiction is south, so you need not worry about that. But he will come here to see me—and to make sure I am safe,” she added pointedly.

“Miss MacCarran,” he said, “I will guarantee your safety.”

Catching her breath at his deep, certain tone, she felt something indefinable, both pleasant and yearning, thrill through her. But she squared her shoulders. “I do not fear any danger in Glen Kinloch. It seems you are the one who needs to be cautious. The king’s men were eager to find Dougal MacGregor.”

“They know where I am if they want to talk to me. The excise men suspect me of much, but have never been able to prove anything. It is the price of being laird in a glen where, aye, some smuggling does go on. The laird is easy to blame for it.”

“Ah. There is a smuggler called the Laird. You are he?”

“I am laird of this glen,” he said.

“We were forced to hide while your kinsmen pretended you were another. If you are legitimately the laird of this area, why hide?”

“That was for your protection, Miss MacCarran, not mine. What goes on in this glen is no game. Sometimes the revenue officers are less trustworthy than the rogues they’re after.” He took her arm again, and she sensed earnestness in him, and intensity. “My kinsmen and tenants will not harm you, but other rascals do come through these hills, and it is good to be wary. If word gets about that your kinsman is an excise man, it could go ill for you, and your brother. I believe it is not in your best interests to stay in this glen, after all.”

“Mr. MacGregor, I have been here but a day, and have been hauled about in a most uncommon fashion, threatened with pistols, and exposed to danger—and now you, the laird of the glen himself, want me to leave? Reverend MacIan invited me here through arrangement with the Edinburgh Ladies’ Society for the Education and Betterment of the Gaels. And I have agreed—”

“The what?”

She repeated the name. “I have also agreed to teach for several weeks. School begins in a few days. I cannot leave.” She drew a breath. “Too much depends on—” She stopped.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, slid his hand down her arm. Fiona caught her breath, feeling the same warm magic that had taken her earlier, capable of melting reason and resistance. He bent his head close to hers, and for an instant she thought he might kiss her again, so that she tilted her head back.

“It is best that you go,” he said. “I will speak to the reverend myself. In the morning I will send a gig and driver to take you to Auchnashee. If there are expenses for your return to Edinburgh, I will cover them myself. You may keep the rocks,” he added.

“You have neither right nor cause to dismiss me.”

“As I have said, it is for your own welfare.”

“I believe only Mr. MacIan can excuse me. And I intend to stay.” She stepped past him, angry, even panicked—she could not leave the glen. She felt drawn to the place, and now strangely to its laird. And she had to fulfill at least some of the conditions of her grandmother’s will, her stay in this glen being the best opportunity for that. “If you wish to protect your smuggling interests, certainly I am no threat to those. Do as you please.” She spun away to walk toward the house.

“Fiona, wait.” In that deep, mellow voice, her
name sounded different to her, beautiful and warm, in a way she had never quite heard it before. She turned, lured somehow by his voice, his use of her name. MacGregor reached her in one step and took her by the shoulder.

In the misty twilight, as he loomed over her, all else seemed to fade. Wildly, impulsively, she felt as if she were caught in the fairy realm, transfixed by one of the mysterious
Sidhe
. “Listen to me,” he said. “This is not the time for you to be here. That is all I can say.”

“I will not say a word about this evening. We need not even bargain for it.” She stared up at him. Feeling his fingers flex on her shoulder, she leaned forward, could not help it. “That should satisfy your doubt.”

“Nothing could satisfy—” He bent toward her. “Damn,” he muttered, and pulled back as a woman’s voice cut through the darkness and fog.

“Is that you, Miss MacCarran? Who is with you?” Mary MacIan’s voice broke the spell that had held Fiona standing in place. She turned to see the elderly woman, once again silhouetted in the door of the cottage, with the firelight behind her.

“It is Fiona, Mrs. MacIan,” she returned in Gaelic. “I will be there in a moment.”

“It’s Kinloch out here as well, Cousin Mary,” MacGregor called. “I met your guest while out in the hills, and escorted her back.”

“Cousin!” Fiona began walking, and he strode beside her.

“Certainly,” he murmured. “We all know each other, and many are related, in the glen.”

“Kinloch, you rascal! Come in, both of you,” Mrs. MacIan gestured toward them. “Did you bring me a cask? Lovely lad! Is it the fairy sort this time?”

“Sorry, just the usual sort,” he answered.

Fiona looked up, curiosity piqued. “The fairy sort of what?”

“Whisky,” he murmured. “But that, I assure you, would be quite illegal.”

“I want nothing to do with it,” she said, and hurried ahead of him.

“Kinloch whisky of any kind is always welcome.” Mary MacIan smiled, hands folded in front of her, face crinkling and pleasant. She was a tiny woman with a froth of white hair spilling out from her white cap; a dark dress hung loose on her small frame, and she wrapped a plaid shawl close around her bony shoulders. She stood back as Fiona stepped inside, and MacGregor followed, bending a little to clear the lintel as he entered the house.

Fiona set her knapsack on the floor, and Dougal MacGregor deposited the small keg on a table beneath a window. Standing in the small, simply furnished front room of the cottage, he seemed large, imposing, handsome, and magical. He looked at Mrs. MacIan and bowed his head.

“I am sorry, Cousin Mary, I cannot stay for long.”