Chapter Eighteen

Finnan whispered a prayer as he cut the stalks of yarrow with his dirk—no prayer ever heard in any kirk, this, but one far older, that flowed from his heart. Long ago he had learned not to take anything without permission.

That was why Jeannie MacWherter would be begging for him before he took her.

And the ancient laws decreed he give thanks for all that came to him.

Oh, aye, he would thank her most generously after, just before he broke her heart.

By God, why could he not manage to chase the woman from his mind? Was she not just a woman like every other he had rowed in his arms, with two legs, two breasts, a mouth, and a well of heat into which he might pour himself? Only, she was not like every other woman—those lips of hers tasted wild and sweet, and his fingers craved the feel of her soft flesh.

He straightened from his place on the hillside and let his gaze find the new dawn. He had to go carefully, here. He would have her, just as she deserved. Yet he needed to remember this was not about pleasure, but retribution.

He might take his pleasure, as well.

That thought curled seductively through his mind. Aye, he might—over and over again, before she learned not to trifle with a highlander’s heart. The treacherous wench. The beautiful, irresistible she-demon.

Nay, but that was an exaggeration. Jeannie MacWherter might be a scheming little baggage, but she was a flesh-and-blood woman, no demon. He would leave her with a lesson before he chased her away out of his glen.

The morning light blurred before his eyes as he contemplated how he would have her. There, in her own bed? Out here on the hillside, a willing sacrifice made to this place and Geordie’s memory? Aye, that would be sweet.

He was already up and hard beneath his kilt just thinking about it, so beguiled he almost missed the movement along the floor of the glen below.

Instinct honed over many seasons in the field corrected his error. He blinked, and his surroundings came back into focus.

A party of men on horseback, a patrol. Searching for him. Aye, and the hounds were abroad early this day, hoping to catch him unawares, no doubt.

He stuffed the cut yarrow into his pouch, turned, and, very like a deer, loped up the hillside. The search party headed toward Jeannie’s cottage, but even as he gained greater height and crouched down to watch they veered westward and away. He breathed a bit more easily. Four riders; he knew he could take them with his sword, but he would prefer to avoid such an encounter if he could.

He stood still as a rock and watched them wind away and disappear into the mist. Then he murmured another prayer beneath his breath, for protection this time, and started down.

He had almost reached the cottage when a bird fluttered near his shoulder and away again. He paused, looked for and found it perched on a prickle bush. A highland grouse—Geordie’s bird. Geordie had always favored it for its courage and ability to conceal itself, and had one tattooed on his cheek.

“Hello, old friend,” Finnan said softly. “Have you come to visit with me?”

No exaggeration to think the spirits of those on the other side came in the guise of birds. Had Finnan not seen crows take the souls of many after a battle? The crane was said to bear the task of carrying souls to the next world, but Finnan knew different. For fighting men it was the crow.

The grouse fixed him with a beady eye that held all Geordie’s sadness and vulnerability.

“Do not worry; I will settle her,” Finnan promised.

The bird ruffled its wings in distress.

“You always did have a soft heart,” Finnan told it. “No one knows that better than I. And no doubt where you are now some of the pain she caused you has faded away. But I ha’ taken a vow of vengeance on your behalf, and you know I never leave go of my vows.”

The bird opened its beak; Finnan almost expected Geordie’s voice, low and deep, to issue forth.

“There is but one thing,” Finnan confided. “I shall need to plunder her in order to see her set right. I hope you will not mind that, where you are.”

The bird gave a wild cry and flew away. Finnan took it for permission.

****

“They turned away to the west,” Finnan said softly to Jeannie even as he packed the yarrow into Danny’s wound. He did not want the maid, who seemed an excitable creature, to overhear. He did not need her fretting and greeting.

Give Jeannie MacWherter her due; she did not seem the sort to greet. He sensed strength beneath all her beautiful softness.

She turned those clear, blue eyes on him but said nothing. Her head, bent over the basin she held, nearly touched his.

He went on, “I do not doubt they made to cross the burn at the rock ford not far from here, to search the other side of the glen. That should remove the threat a wee while.”

She nodded. “And as you said, why should they come here, when they have just been?”

“Aye, and they have no cause to believe you would succor me. It might be safest if you put about the tale, through your maid, perhaps, that you fear and despise me.”

Her steady gaze did not waver from his. “What makes you think that would be a tale?”

“Ah.” He allowed one corner of his mouth to twitch upward. “So you are still holding those letters against me.”

“They were hard and vicious.”

I am hard, whenever I am near you, Finnan thought ruefully.

“And frightening to a woman with nowhere else to go.”

“I regret that.” He let his eyes caress her face, allowed his admiration to show. “I had not met you then. I had only what Geordie wrote to me by which to judge.”

“He never said he wrote you letters.”

Finnan would wager not.

“I wish you would tell me what did he write, that gave you so harsh an opinion of me.”

Anger licked at Finnan’s soul. “That you did not love him.” Would not, no matter how Geordie tried.

“Well, that is true. He knew it at the outset. He said he did not mind.”

A man might say many things, as she would learn to her sorrow.

“No matter now,” he told her, and smoothed Danny’s bandaging in place. “The yarrow should dim the pain from that wound. But I hate to move him again.”

“Stay then,” she urged, her gaze fleeing his at last.

He felt it then, how close he stood to having his way with her. He said, “I dare not.”

“Why?”

“A thousand reasons, not the least of which is what passed between us last night.”

She bit at her luscious lower lip. He ached to do the same. “We might try to overlook that,” she said, “since we were both at fault.”

“That is generous of you. I know I overstepped myself, and quite honestly I do not know that I would not do the same again.”

“Oh!”

“I will take to the hills. But I would ask of you one last boon: might I leave the lad here one more night? If you agree, I thought we could conceal him in your loft.”

“Well—” He saw the thoughts move behind her eyes. Leaving Danny here made a reason for Finnan to return. “All right, just for the one night, mind.”

“Aye, sure.”

“But I do not see how you are to get him up to the loft.”

“Leave that to me.”

He stepped away from the sleeping lad, brushed past Jeannie, and felt the contact all down his body.

“Aggie,” she bade the maid, “come sit beside the patient. Wring the cloth in cool water, and lay it on his brow.”

“Gladly, mistress.”

Finnan experienced a flash of misgiving. He did not need the maid succumbing to any inconvenient attraction. When he and Danny left here for good, they would break all ties, clean.

He watched as Aggie settled herself cozily beside Danny’s makeshift cot. When he turned back, Jeannie MacWherter once more watched him. She could not keep her eyes away, it seemed.

“I will be off out of here before dark,” he told her.

She hesitated before she said, “Must you? I was just out at the well, and the weather is on the change. Rain coming, so I do believe. Surely no one will be hunting you in the wet.”

She did not want him to go. A good sign.

But he shook his head. “I’ve no wish to endanger you.” And if he stayed, could he have her in her bed this night, the two of them entwined and making their own heat while the rain fell outside? Aye, that image would haunt him while he slept in the wet.

“At least take a good meal before you go.”

“I will, that.”

She turned to the fire, but not before he saw the gladness fill her eyes.

****

Before dark came down, he carried Danny up to the loft like a sack over his shoulder. The maid had jumped to offer her own bed and now fussed around it, adjusting the pillow and blankets.

“I will just make sure he is comfortable, shall I?” she asked as Finnan and Jeannie went back downstairs.

“You will no’ let her sleep up there with him?” Finnan asked, only half concerned. In some matters, Danny must look after himself.

“Certainly not. There will be no impropriety here.”

Was she sure?

“Aggie will bed down in my room.”

He took up his plaid, against the rain that now crashed down, along with his sword and leather pouch.

Jeannie reached out and touched his arm, her fingers immediately skittering away again. “Are you sure you should not stay?”

“Never say you are worried for me?” He raised his hand and touched her cheek very gently. “No need, Jeannie. I am a survivor, me.”

She shivered beneath his touch. “I do not doubt that. Yet the night is filthy wet.”

“I will stop by some time tomorrow when I think it safe, to see how Danny fares. I hope I will be able to move him then.”

Her eyes searched his. “And should he take a turn for the worse, instead?”

“Then signal me. Wave a white cloth in the air from your back garden. I will keep an eye on the place and come should you need me.”

She nodded but did not look happy about it. Finnan smiled to himself. Aye, he had already half won, but best not to press her too soon. Make her want it; make her beg.

“Until tomorrow, then,” she said.

“Aye, and thank you. How could I ha’ been so mistaken in the woman Geordie wed? Clearly, you are an angel.”

He bent his head then to kiss her cheek, an intended mark of gratitude. His lips skittered along the warm velvet of her skin as she turned to catch his mouth with hers. For an instant, Finnan went still, both breath and heartbeat arrested, as her sweetness flooded upon him.

Hot, blinding, lips parted slightly beneath his, her mouth lured him in. He dove into her without further invitation, his tongue a sword meant to wound her mortally.

But swords, as he should know full well, were two-sided, and he felt the backlash of the passion that pierced her.

Danger, his mind screamed at him. Do not lose yourself in punishing this minx.

Failing to heed his own advice, he captured her face between his hands so he might kiss her still more deeply. Her fingers came up and curled around his wrists, but not in an effort to prevent the embrace. Instead, it felt as if she grounded him, clung the way her legs might around his waist in a still more intimate situation.

He broke the kiss only because he needed to breathe. His heart pounded up in his ears, and every impulse demanded he take her to her bed.

She withdrew from him, but not far; her lips whispered against his when she said, “Be safe.”

“I will.”

“Come back soon.”

Haste ye back. The old highland words of parting. But this was no highland woman—he had to remember who, and what, she was.

He straightened. “Aye.”

She released his wrists and he felt the loss, deep. With a supreme act of will he left her and stepped out into the rain.