The Rogue (Castle Blackstone #2)

Chapter 13

H er heart breaking, Birdi squatted on the gravel that skirted Loch Lomond, wrapped her arms about her knees, and hunched her shoulders against the biting wind. With wet cheeks stinging, she stared into the glossy blackness lapping the shore before her.

‘Twould be easy. Just step in and end it all. No more pain, no more worrying about food for another winter. No more loneliness.

But could she drown? She’d been a swimmer since birth without a soul teaching her how.

She heaved a shuddering sigh. Mayhap ‘twas not the best of ideas. She’d likely bob to the surface like an apple in a wash bucket. But she couldn’t keep going on like this day after day, year after year, filled with such angst and pain. Seeing loathing—or worse, indifference—for her in others’ eyes. Against her will, her mind conjured up Angus as he sat across from her at the table, and her heart again felt his pulling back—his putting up a wall of restraint—and her tears spilled.

Not since her first encounter with Lady MacArthur—when Birdi had gone to the castle shortly after her mother’s death seeking comfort and aid—had she felt such pain as she did now, had she realized how truly odd she was.

“Oh, Angus, why had ye not shut me out before I’d grown so fond of ye?”

“Fond of him are you?”

“ Ack! ” Birdi jump and fell backward, her arms flailing over the water.

A stranger—as tall and brawn as her Angus—reached out and grabbed her by the waist. He hauled her close, restraining her clawing hands. “Easy now, lass. I mean ye nay harm.”

The clouds chose that moment to part, and moonlight lit the face of the man crushing Birdi to his chest. Her breath caught and her mouth fell open. Never in her life had she seen such a glorious countenance. The man appeared to be made of or , golden headed and golden skinned.

“I’m Angus’s friend, and ye must be the lost Birdi.”

Made mute by such an astonishing sight, she could only blink like an owl in response. She wasn’t lost, she wanted to tell him—not in the usual sense, at least. And he kenned Angus?

“I’m Ian MacKay, knight of girth and sword, defender of the faithful, and most definitely at ye service.” He smiled, displaying deep dimples, and slowly shifted his gaze from her face to her chest, where it lingered for some unfathomable reason.

She swallowed to clear the thickness that had suddenly taken root in her throat. “Umm…I’m Birdi.”

He loosened his hold on her, but kept one hand at her waist. “‘Tis indeed a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Birdi.” He then guided her toward a before-unseen boulder. “Sit and tell me why such a lovely lass is sitting here in the dark fashing over my thoughtless friend.”

Birdi twisted her fingers in her lap. “He isna thoughtless, not in the least. He’s verra kind. He’s just…he…ah, sheet .”

MacKay, to her shock, reared back and roared. His thunderous laugh echoed across the water as if before a gale. So astounding was it, she expected lightning to follow.

As he gained control of himself, he chuckled, “Ah, my friend has chosen well.” He then squatted on his haunches before her and took one of her hands in a huge calloused paw. Holding it gently, as if her hand were a fragile egg, he said, “Now tell me what all this greeting and fashing is about. I might be able to help. I’ve known yer querulous and stubborn man the better part of my life.”

Birdi stared into the stranger’s now solemn, wide-set eyes and something deep within her broke.

In a rush of stammered words, in a flood of tears, she spilled out her greatest fears regarding Angus MacDougall. She told the stranger how he’d found her, how she’d feared him until he’d saved her in the river, about the accidental handfasting, how he’d held her and kissed her, about the babe she’d had to give up, and how now she felt certain she’d lost Angus. All in one heaving breathe.

She then fell silent, shuddered, and waited. For what she didn’t ken; all was beyond hope, of that she was certain.

Ian MacKay silently studied Birdi MacDougall. He’d already heard Angus’s version of events—seriously abridged, he now realized—as they’d left the inn together. When they’d entered the croft and not found Birdi, his friend had panicked. They’d split up—Angus taking the back hills, he the loch shore—to hunt for her.

He’d not been the least surprised when Angus’s Birdi spewed forth so much information. Women instinctively did the moment he offered comfort. ‘Twas apparently his gift. And now, having heard her version of events he decided he’d never in all his twenty-nine years ever met such woman.

Without affectation, she’d held nothing back as she told her tale of woe, though a good part he hadn’t quite understood—likely due to her racing, breathless delivery—but she hadn’t tried to engage his sympathy, and hadn’t dissembled, placing the blame on his friend. She had, in fact, taken all the blame onto herself, though why she had he certainly couldn’t imagine—from what he could garner, his friend was behaving like an idiot—but one thing was quite clear. This incredibly beautiful woman was heart and soul, head over heels, in love with Angus MacDougall.

The lucky bastard.

And he could help her. He had the skills. After all, he wasn’t called “The Thief ” by disgruntled men the breadth and length of Scotland for naught.

And he had the time. He wasn’t in any great hurry to find out whether the rumors about the Campbell were true— whether his friend was in fact in league with the Sassenach king, as Albany suspected. He blew out a breath.

Mayhap, if he did do this good deed for Angus’s ladywife, he too might be blessed with a woman so guileless and pure of heart someday. He snorted. He should live so long.

His decision made, he smiled the smile that made half the lasses in Scotland quake at the sight of him. “Well now, Birdi, I can see yer side and where ye might need a wee bit of help to set MacDougall’s head and heart on the right path.” He patted her hand, noting with surprise her calluses. Ah, she isna afraid of hard work. More the better. Donaliegh would need such a chatelaine. Last he saw it, the castle keep was bordering on ruin. But before he could help her, he had to extract a promise from her. “Will ye trust me to work in yer and Angus’s best interest? And promise not to misconstrue my intent by what I might say or do to bring yer MacDougall to heel?” He didn’t fear he’d steal her heart from his friend—she loved the fool beyond measure—but feared his upcoming antics could raise her ire. Something that he suspected from her straight-backed pose and unflinching gaze, he’d be wise to avoid.

She sniffed as she thought his request over. After a bit she said, “Aye, I promise, but ye willna harm him.” Her unique pale eyes narrowed as she leaned toward him. “Should he come to harm—”

“Whoa, Birdi.” He’d been right. Her fragile beauty hid a spitfire, not some fear-filled featherbrain despite her atrocious name. “I promise, dear lady, he’ll come to no harm, though he may wish me dead before I’m through.”

She gave that some thought, then asked, “What do you need me to do?”

He smiled. “Just be yerself.”

Birdi nodded. As she pulled her hand from his, he heard Angus MacDougall growl, “I see ye found her.”

Ian winked at Birdi, rose, and offered her his hand. As she came to her feet, the Thief asked his friend, “MacDougall, have ye ever known me not to find the fairest and most fulsome woman in town?”