X Marks the Scot (12 page)

Declan remained as still as a statue. He was too caught up in the fact that the lass had announced that his blade had sliced her—his blade, his hand. The gods knew he did not want to take the bloody Campbell’s sister to wife, but he would never deliberately harm her. This bothered him more than he cared to admit. To be truthful, he felt like an arse. What could he possibly say to her now?

She waited patiently and could scarcely meet his eyes. Since his voice had deserted him, he realized it might be safer to mount up and keep his mouth shut. Perhaps they could converse later when his foot was not in his mouth. He prayed the gods might favor him with such a time. Until then, he had only one purpose: flee the madness of court.

Departing the gates of hell, Declan breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Percy leaned back, sipping the liquid fire contentedly. He would not worry over matters that were simply out of his control. Frankly, he was tired of upholding this ridiculous pretense. Their plan would be in motion soon and he could finally get down to the business at hand.

Glancing at Catesby in the chair beside him, Percy shook his head. Catesby was nervously tapping his fingers on the desk and looked as though he was about to throw up. “Patience, Catesby.”

An uncertainty crept into Catesby’s expression. “It would be easy for you to say as much. What do you think he will say when we advise him that MacGregor—”

A short, stocky man headed toward them, his steps slowing as he cast a puzzled look. Percy did not exactly trust the man, but they held the same purpose. Pulling out the chair, the man took his place behind the desk. “What of MacGregor?”

Percy traced an invisible line on his cup. “He did not take the bait.”

The man’s mouth thinned with displeasure. “I thought as much. We have no choice but to implement another course of action. We must see Lady Stuart to the throne, and I will not permit some Highland
barbarian
to keep us from our purpose. I have set things in motion. In two months, King James will be addressing Parliament again after failing to win its support. On the eve of the state opening, we will make our move.” He raised his brow and nodded to Percy. “Are you ready?”

Percy smirked. “Of course, I’m ready.”

“You must know how difficult this has been for Percy to pretend he had no skill with the bow. He actually had MacGregor instruct him at one point,” said Catesby. He chuckled, a bit more relaxed.

“Your chance to prove your skill will be here soon enough, and you will be richly rewarded for your service…once you kill the king.”

They had ridden north for a few hours, and MacGregor had yet to utter a single word. Liadain chose not to fret over it. He was a man and a MacGregor—the combination of the two a stubborn mix.

A gentle breeze and the smell of pine tickled Liadain’s nose. She glanced up at the cloudless sky and studied the sun’s position. It was almost midday and the insufferable temperatures would soon be upon them. She hoped the shade from the surrounding forest would stay the heat, knowing nothing could darken her mood faster than sweat pouring down the back of her traveling dress.

“Will we be taking a rest soon?” she called to MacGregor’s broad back.

Without turning around, the obstinate man continued on course and did not respond. For a moment, she did not think he would even acknowledge her. “I hadnae planned upon it. Why?”

“I need to stop.”

“Now?”

“If nae now, soon.”

To her surprise, he reined in his mount and tethered him to a tree. At least there was some hope that he would not be sparring with her constantly. Praise the saints for small favors. She watched him disappear into the brush.

Liadain dismounted and secured her horse, glancing around for a secluded area to see to her personal needs. Green, jagged thistles grew like the plague on the opposite side of the path. The other side had dense trees, but it did not appear to have as many prickly plants that would damage her skirts. In the distance, she thought she spotted a large pile of boulders and rocks that would offer her some discretion. That would have to do.

She stood behind the base of the mound. Fumbling hastily to lift her skirts, she almost did not make it. How truly embarrassing that would have been. As soon as she squatted and started to feel some relief, she saw a pair of black, beady eyes staring back at her from the stone fissure. She bit back a scream and stood very slowly.

The snake poked out its repulsive head and slithered down through the rocks, heading steadily toward her—its forked tongue darting in and out. If she ran, it would surely lash out and sink its fangs into her. Even worse, what if it slid under her skirts? Hurriedly, she bunched them together, lifting them up behind her and never taking her eyes from the vile creature.

The beastly snake was almost upon her. She could not breathe.

Somehow, she forced herself to find her voice and shouted. “MacGregor!” Where was that dastardly man? He was supposed to be her protector.

***

Declan’s mind was numb, as it had been all morn. He could not stop seeing the images of his dagger piercing the healer’s throat. He would never harm a woman—not on purpose. When the lass had asked him to rest, it had taken him a moment to realize that she was speaking to him. His thoughts were too consumed with guilt.

“MacGregor!”

Without hesitation, he ran back to his mount and grabbed his bow. Where the hell was she? His eyes searched frantically through the forest.

“MacGregor!”

With lightning speed, he bolted through the trees toward the sound of her voice. He spotted her still form and stopped. Cautiously, he raised his bow while searching the surrounding landscape. Once he knew for certain there was no viable threat, only then would he attempt to approach her.

He remained alert, trying to decipher what was amiss. The healer was frozen with her skirts lifted up, giving him a perfect view of her creamy thigh.

Tears choked her voice. “Please, MacGregor.”

Following her wide-eyed stare, he recognized the reason for her distress. The culprit was making a beeline toward her. Lifting the bow, Declan took his shot, and as soon as the arrow made impact, he realized his mistake.

When the tip penetrated the reptile, the snake involuntarily jumped…right onto her foot. Her shrill screams rang through the trees and she jerked back several feet. To his surprise, the lass did not stop there.

She hiked up her dress even higher. She bounced up and down as though her feet were afire. Curses were thrown like stones as she swore like a man in the heat of battle. The shocking spectacle made any words that came to mind wedge in his throat.

The lass suddenly turned and raced back through the woods. Declan gaped as he caught glimpses of her bare, shapely legs fleeing through the forest trees.

What the hell was that? He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Who would have thought that the woman who resided under the same dangerous roof as the bloody Campbell was deathly afraid of snakes? Hell, she had lived with one. The idea was truly unbelievable. Honestly, he had never thought of her as faint-hearted.

He shook his head and walked back to the horses. He hoped the lass had enough sense to stop running and that he would not have to chase her down. Although the way she behaved, nothing would have surprised him.

The healer sat upon her mount, her back stiff and straight. When he approached, she cast her eyes away from him and shifted in the saddle.

“Why did ye run? The snake was dead.”

“I donna like snakes. I donna, donna, donna. I really donna. It
touched
my foot,” she blurted out and then shivered.

Declan tried not to chuckle, but one involuntarily escaped him. “I gathered that ye donna favor snakes, but ’tis dead.” He extended his hand to her. “Come down and stretch your legs before we ride again.”

She waved him off. “Nay, I am fine right where I am,” she said as she studied the ground. “I had more than enough stretching.”

“There are nay more snakes, lass. Come down.”

“Unless ye intend on pulling me from my horse’s back, I am nae moving,” she said stubbornly.

The words were out of Declan’s mouth before he had a chance to stay them. “Ye know, they could as easily be in the trees above your head as they could be upon the ground.” He patted her horse on the rump. He was teasing her, affectionately, not maliciously.

She paled and became watchful of the branches above. “Ye know? Ye may think ye are humorous, but let me assure ye that ye arenae.”

“Suit yourself.” Declan shrugged and turned away, wondering what other new discoveries he would learn about his wife on this journey.

***

It was confirmed. Her husband was indeed a beast. Liadain had not missed the glint of humor in his eyes. Her traveling companion clearly thought he was comical. One thing was for certain: he did not know her at all.

Her embarrassment quickly turned into annoyance. She could admit she was by no means perfect, but MacGregor did not have to laugh at her discomfiture. It had been impossible not to hear the chuckle he tried to disguise. The rogue had better cease. The ride back to Glenorchy was a long one, and she could just as easily get under his skin.

After they had ridden several miles in hushed stillness, Liadain recognized that she had had enough. Between the suffocating heat and the lack of conversation, she was completely miserable. If this was how it was going to be the entire way, she might as well pull out her dagger and yield now.

“Are ye nae going to speak to me at all?” she asked. “That will make for a verra long ride.”

“I am speaking to ye,” MacGregor said as if the answer were obvious.

There was a heavy silence.

“The heat is thickening,” she stated.

“Aye.”

“The pests are encircling my head,” she said through gritted teeth. She managed to fan the tiny buggers out of her face, but that did not prevent them from buzzing around her ears.

“Aye,” he replied without inflection.

“It should be cooler when we reach the Highlands.” She spoke in an encouraging tone. But if he gave her another one-word answer, she swore her dagger would find its pointy end at the base of his throat.

“Aye.”

“Ye are an arse, MacGregor.” For a brief moment, she could have sworn he actually chuckled.

“
Dè thuirt thu?”
What
did
you
say?

“
Chan
eil
e
gu
difeir.” It does not matter.

He seemed relieved to be released from the one-sided discussion. Left alone with her thoughts, Liadain pondered if her herbs survived or if someone had tended to the garden. Living with Archie was not the most ideal situation, but her brother had left her alone. As she studied her new husband, she could not help but wonder if he would do the same. No matter, at least she would be home.

MacGregor reined in his mount. “We will make camp here this eve,” he said, leaving the path and entering a clearing. “There is a creek over there to water the horses.”

She followed him and dismounted. Her legs buckled and she could barely stand. Pausing to reflect a moment before she made an effort to walk, she was a little surprised that he wanted to stop when he did.

Liadain knew she should quit examining the man’s every action and just be thankful she was no longer made to suffer the arduous trail—well, her arse was certainly grateful. She grabbed her horse’s reins and led her mount over to the water. The creek was only a few feet wide but probably about waist deep in the center. Flowing water gushed over the rocks, making trickling sounds that beckoned her. How refreshing it would be to strip off all her clothing and immerse herself in its cooling depths.

MacGregor stepped next to her. “I will tether the horses if ye want to wash,” he said, reaching for the reins.

She wasn’t about to argue. “Thank ye.” He had barely moved out of her way when she could no longer wait. As soon as she removed her boots, cooler air brushed against her skin. She lifted her skirts and eagerly rushed into the pool.

The lapping water reached her knees, cooling her down and soothing her mood. After a hot, miserable day, this was delightful and exactly what she needed. Liadain closed her eyes and realized she could stand in this single spot all eve and be content. She reached down, tying her skirts in a knot above her thighs. Cupping a handful of water, she splashed it all over her face. As soon as she bent down for another, the naked legs that greeted her were not her own.

“The water feels good.”

She stepped back, her mouth wide open.

MacGregor stood before her as bare as the day he was born. In one swift movement, he plunged his head under the water and then stood, flipping his hair back.

Liadain wiped the spray from her face.

Droplets of water glistened on his broad chest. He raised his hands to ring his hair, his muscles rippling with every movement.

She could not keep her eyes from wandering—lower. MacGregor was so very wet. She had seen naked men before while tending the wounds of the injured, and she had obviously gazed upon Robert a time or two, but never had she been witness to male anatomy so…
endowed
. No wonder the women flocked to him.

As if he sensed her smoldering thoughts, he cast a roguish grin. Did he have to look upon her with that knowing gaze?

She bent down and cupped another handful of water, refusing to let the man observe how he affected her.

“What is the matter, healer? Ye seem to be unable to meet my eyes.”

“Mayhap I could if ye were wearing even a single piece of clothing,” she murmured, splashing another handful of cold water onto her face.

“But I donna have to don clothing. I am now your husband. In fact, why donna ye remove your gown?”

Standing to her full height, she placed her hands on her hips and glanced up at him. “How verra passionate,” she said dryly.

A soft chuckle answered her. “I donna have to woo ye. We are already wed.”

Holding her hand to the cut on her throat, Liadain spoke quietly. “I donna think I would want ye to woo me.”

Tender eyes met her gaze. “I ne’er meant to hurt ye.” He raised her chin with his fingers. “I was in my cups, and I didnae know my dagger…my apologies.” Pausing, he waited for her response.

“’Tis the second time ye’ve held that bloody dagger to my throat. I meant what I said. There willnae be a third.”

He nodded and his smile was somewhat remorseful. “Ye have my word. Now get out of these clothes,” he said, tugging on her sleeve.

She gaped at him. “Ye
cannae
treat me this way and then be so callous as to expect me to remove my cloth—”

His lips crashed down upon hers in a brutal, punishing kiss, making her senses spin. But before she even had a chance to respond, MacGregor pulled away and simply raised his brow in an arrogant manner.

Her temper flared. She would demand respect. With all of her might, she shoved his massive chest with a heavy thump. His eyes widened as he fell backward into the water—flat on his arse. He wiped the droplets from his eyes and a muscle ticked at his jaw.

Liadain pointed her finger at him. “Ye may be my rogue of a husband in name, but I willnae allow ye to treat me as one of your common whores.”

“If ye would have let me finish instead of spewing with your tongue, I only meant for ye to bathe,” he said defensively. “Are your clothes nae hot? I only kissed ye to halt your words. Ye donna have to worry about me
consummating
our marriage. Ye have already been consummated.”