My tartan plaid, my ae good sheet,
That keepit me frae wind an’ weet,
An held me bien baith night an’ day,
Is over the hills, an’ far away.
“The Wind Has Blow My Plaid Away,” Jacobite Reliques
“Iain?” Traci whispered.
Without expressing anything out loud, they’d arranged their pallets together by the fire that night, and they were both huddled under his plaid. She’d been surprised when he’d wet it in a stream when they made camp, but he’d explained that it expanded the wool and shielded them from the wind. She had to admit, it made an odd but effective windbreaker. Kept midges out too, he’d explained, but thank God she didn’t have to test that out as it wasn’t yet midge season.
After slaying and dressing a deer earlier that day, they’d pressed on toward Urquhart Castle. Iain had managed to convince Duncan to forge ahead without having to resort to spilling her secret. Now Iain lay stretched out behind her, his strong arm looped around her waist, holding her tight against him. She’d protest his presumptuousness, but she found she liked it. Allowed her to pretend…
“Hmm?” His voice rumbled along her back.
Duncan had the first watch and had slipped into the night. Duncan wouldn’t admit it, but she was getting better at reading the close-to-the-vest Highlander, and he was worried about Fiona too.
She shifted around in the cocoon of their plaids and faced Iain, though she could barely see him in the dark. Telling him about her family this afternoon had given her time to reflect—about herself and about him. And during their long ride today, a new thought had occurred to her: if her parents had wanted her to conform, then why was she the only kid in the family with the non-traditional name? It was as if they didn't expect her to fit in from the start. Had she always subconsciously felt that difference?
But she’d also had time to study Iain, and now, lying beside him with the blanket of stars arching overhead, a new memory from their first night had surfaced—of her babbling about stars and connections. While she couldn’t remember the conversation word-for-word, a warm sense of closeness flooded her. That memory, and her earlier study of him, had left her with one thing—well, one major thing—which still puzzled her. “Why do you doubt yourself?”
He stiffened, and though she didn’t feel him ease away, she sensed it.
“I have no doubts, my wife. What is there for me to doubt?” He circled his big hand around her waist and nudged her forward into his body.
She shoved against his chest, while also tamping down on the visceral pull she always felt around him. “Yeah. I know you have no doubts on that score, big guy.”
“I’m glad you’re aware of this fact. I was beginning to doubt you knew.”
“Be serious.”
“Why?”
“I know, silly, right?”
“I certainly think so, aye.”
She rolled her eyes. “Humor me.”
“Do you have a reward?”
“I can probably think of something.”
“I can as well, my wife. I can as well.” He gently nudged her with his hips.
Heat flared through her, but she shoved it down. She’d glimpsed something beneath his always-joking façade, and she was curious to see if it was a fluke. She knew what he was trying to do now—deflect her. Besides, she’d vowed not to indulge while her sister was in danger. Their interlude earlier today had left her feeling justifiably guilty.
“Duncan followed you, you noticed.”
“Are ye sure he wasn’t following my bonnie wife?”
“Yes. I know you don’t see it, but you do have a natural talent for leading. Why do you doubt that?”
He blew out a breath and rolled onto his back. He placed a forearm over his forehead.
She levered up and propped her head in her hand. “What happened? I told you my pathetic sob story. Yours couldn’t be any sillier. Spill.”
“So, it’s like that, is it? You showed me yours, and now I have to show you mine?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and then returned his gaze to the star-studded sky. “My father used to be chieftain. Since I wasn’t the eldest, he left me to fend for myself. Which suited me fine as a lad. I could hunt and fish and pester the lasses as much as I pleased. Life was grand. But as I grew older, I…I don’t know, I guess I wanted more. To do more. So I pestered my brother and cousins during their training and insisted on learning to be a warrior too.”
When he stopped talking for a bit, she prompted, “What happened?”
“Like everything in my life, it came easy to me. So when it came time for me to join them in a raid, I insisted I was ready. Walked around all puffed-up.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
Whoa. “And they let you join them? On a raid?”
“Aye, they did. Mind you, raids are simple affairs. No risk to it. A pastime, it is, shuffling cattle back and forth between the clans. At least it used to be.”
“What happened?” she whispered.
“What was to be expected, I guess. We’d joined the MacDonalds in raiding a Campbell holding to support the Macleans of Duart and harass Argyll for his attempts to invade the Isle of Mull. We were on our way back when I decided to do some target practice while we rode. Showing off, you know. My father rode up to my side and cuffed me hard enough to throw me off my horse.” He swallowed hard. “ ’Twas jumbled after that, but the end result is vivid enough—my father on the ground, blood pumping out of his thigh. I’d shot him. I shot my own father. And he damned me for a fool with his last breath.”
She swallowed hard and touched his chest. “Oh, Iain. That’s horrible—”
“Aye. ’Twas. No denying.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Well. Now you know my sorry tale, we can bring in the keening women.”
“Don’t,” she whispered and curled her fingers against his chest.
“What?” He looked at her, humor written all over his face. Except for his eyes. Pain lurked there.
“Retreat.”
His jaw flexed. “Who’s retreating? I told you what happened, like you asked. It’s as simple as that.”
“Is it really?”
“Of course.” Now he crossed his arms while he lay there on his back and resembled a little boy in a way, who’d just been thwarted and didn’t like it one bit.
“What was he like?”
“My father?”
“No, your childhood horse. Of course your father.”
He sighed and clasped his hands behind his head. He was quiet long enough that she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then his voice emerged, low and tentative. “He was a stern but fair chieftain and father. A good leader. He’d raised my brother to follow him as chieftain.”
She frowned. “What happened? Why is your uncle chieftain then?”
“He died several years after Father’s death. I was too young. Plus by then, ’twas obvious I was not chieftain material. My uncle stepped in and has led the clan since.”
“How’d your brother die?”
He pursed his lips. “Fighting the Campbells. By then, the Earl of Argyll had succeeded in taking Mull.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “ ’Tis how it can be, at times. My uncle did send me to Edinburgh to attend university, now that I was the eldest.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“ ’Tis the law. Oldest sons of Highland chiefs must attend school in the Lowlands, and he opted for university. I won’t lie, I enjoyed my years there tremendously. There was an energy there that was palpable. But I…I really didn’t have a reason to stay afterward. The energy was addictive, but I was only a spectator. So I came home. But…”
“But what?”
“But I don’t fit in here either,” he said in a low whisper.
Iain groaned at what he’d nearly admitted. Was bad enough what he did end up saying.
But the truth almost escaped his tongue: that he wished for more with his clan. Because was this all there was to his life? Eating, drinking, fucking?
Somehow, he’d been pushed into that role, and he’d be damned if he could figure how to break out of it. The role had become a cage in which he rattled around. Looking out of the bars at others who had companions and families. Children they could love.
Most of the time, he ignored those bars. Kept his back to them and enjoyed himself. After all, life was short, was it not?
Every once in a while, though, he looked over his shoulder and caught a tender glance from a husband to his wife, or a chubby child wrapping his wee, pudgy arms around his father’s leg and holding on as if his father were the wee one’s anchor.
And something inside him…ached.
He’d whip his head back around then and crack a joke, determined to make the most of his lot. It was more than what his brother had been given.
Nay. He’d not be confessing this to a soul. They’d think him as cocked up as a Highland cow mooing down a dirty London lane.
He faced Traci and propped himself up by his elbow, mirroring her pose. “So. We’re both misfits then.”
She nodded. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but he feared they contained pity, and that he couldn’t abide.
He pushed her shoulder, turning her around until he could tuck her up against his body.
He’d ached to have her stretched out beside him, to feel her warm skin against his, but truth be told, this wasn’t the reason for his action. He wanted her penetrating stare directed away from him. She saw too much.
She sighed and held herself stiffly at first, but he didn’t press any further, and soon she relaxed against him. Honestly—and he’d chop off his left cod before admitting this to any of the men—it was pleasant to be just lying here with someone. Lord knew he was tired.
And it wasn’t just someone.
It was Traci.
Traci made him feel comfortable when he allowed himself to be still and let her presence soak into him. He’d discovered this accidentally when she’d ridden on the pony with him to Invergarry. They’d ceased talking and…relaxed into each other.
It was an odd sensation. Part of him still prickled with awareness and restlessness all over his skin, sure, but he had no urge to brush her hair aside, skim his lips along her smooth, creamy shoulder, and whisper a soft, seductive word or two in her ear.
Nay, that wasn’t exactly right, as the hard evidence at his hip could attest. But it wasn’t the only urge. He ignored the restlessness, allowed himself to settle beside her, against him, and just…be. Which was a wonder in and of itself. Never had he wanted to just…sleep next to a woman.
Somehow, being beside Traci allowed him to snatch glimpses of himself, and he didn’t want to chase it away now that he’d glimpsed it.
Maybe if he remained still long enough beside her, he’d find out…find out who he truly was.
Because, while he had a role in his clan and filled it well, it wasn’t how he wanted to fit in.