Chapter 10 #2
It was enough to see them both hang, and if Clyde Stewart had perished in the blaze? There may never be another MacLeod at Castle Cairncross ever again.
Perhaps she was right, and she wouldn’t ever be able to return to her home, but it was too late to do anything about it now. The damage had already been done. “I don’t understand, Miss MacLeod. You’ve already acknowledged that you can’t return to Castle Cairncross. At least, not yet.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Ross, but—”
“What are you proposing, then? If I had a castle on Skye, it would be at your disposal, but as it is, I don’t see what choice we have but to leave Skye behind, at least for now. There isn’t any other—”
“I don’t need a castle, Mr. Ross.” She glanced at Brodie, who was still standing by the boat, watching them with wide eyes. “A cottage would do very well.”
A cottage? Where were they going to find an obliging cottager willing to turn over his home to … his gaze wandered over Brodie’s shoulder to the cottage on the bluff behind him.
Oh. Oh.
“Perhaps Brodie would be kind enough to allow me to stay in his cottage for a night or two.”
“I don’t see what that would accomplish.” A few extra nights on Skye weren’t going to solve Freya MacLeod’s problems.
“I thought you might be willing to return to Dunvegan and see if you can find my sister.” She pressed her folded hands to her bosom. “I realize it’s asking a great deal of you. If I could go myself, I would, but they’ll be looking for me.”
“No, Miss MacLeod. It’s out of the question.
It’s not safe for you to be left here alone with Brodie.
You’re not that far from Dunvegan.” Given the MacLeod family’s notoriety, it wouldn’t take long for news of the fire to spread.
By the end of a few days’ time, everyone from Trotternish to Kyleakin would be trading the story of it over pints at the pub.
It was possible someone here might recognize her. God knew her red hair didn’t help.
“But—”
He held up a hand to hush her. “Even if I agreed to leave you here, Miss MacLeod, I’d be recognized in Dunvegan.
Mr. Dunn and I stopped by Baird’s Pub last night when we were out searching for you.
A dozen men overheard me tell the barkeep we were staying at the castle at Lord Ballantyne’s request. Everyone in Dunvegan must know of it by now. ”
“I see.”
Her face fell, all the hopeful light going out of it at once, like a cloud blocking the sun, and the next thing he knew, his mouth was opening, and words were coming out of it. “But perhaps Brodie could go in my place.”
What was he saying? It was safer for them to leave Skye at once. No good would come of a delay, but it seemed he was willing to overlook it if it meant keeping Freya MacLeod from withering like a fresh spring flower trampled under a boot heel.
What was happening to him?
“Could he, indeed?” She reached out, her fingers landing lightly on his forearm. “I would be so grateful to you, Mr. Ross! And to Brodie as well, of course.”
She gave the lad a beaming smile over Callum’s shoulder, and Brodie blushed up to the roots of his hair. Good Lord. The poor lad was no match for Freya MacLeod.
He glanced down at her pale fingers against the darker skin of his forearm. Did she even realize she was touching him? He bloody did. Every inch of his body had leapt to attention at the light brush of her fingers against his skin.
He cleared his throat. “What if Brodie can’t find out anything about your sister? What then, Miss MacLeod?”
Her face clouded, and her hand fell away.
“If you and Brodie do me this favor, then I give you my word I will accompany you to Balnagown Castle without a single complaint, regardless of whether there is word of my sister, or not, and I will remain there until such a time as you deem it safe for me to return to Dunvegan.”
Compliance. That was what she was offering him. It wasn’t necessary that she was agreeable—he could compel her cooperation—but he didn’t care for the idea of dragging this wee lass all the way to Kildary without her agreement.
He wasn’t a barbarian, no matter what she might think.
“Dunvegan is a day’s ride from Kyleakin, and it will take Brodie another day to return, and that’s assuming everything goes well.
” He nodded at the tiny, whitewashed cottage.
“We can’t risk anyone seeing you, so you’ll be confined to the cottage for three or four days, Miss MacLeod, perhaps more. It’s hardly luxurious accommodation.”
“I don’t care about luxury, Mr. Ross. I only care that my sister is safe.”
“Very well, then. I’ll have a word with Brodie.” He strode toward Brodie, who was pretending he hadn’t heard every word they’d just spoken.
“I’ll do it,” Brodie said, before Callum could get a word out. “I don’t like to see the lady in such distress,” he added, with a courtly bow for Freya MacLeod.
Dear God. The boy was a rogue in the making. “Good lad, but keep in mind this is no romantic adventure. Don’t pass through the village of Dunvegan on your way there. Keep an eye on Cairncross Castle, but don’t approach it. Stick to the woods, and if anyone questions you, keep your mouth closed.”
“Aye, Ross. Shall I put the boat away, then?”
“I suppose so.” He turned back toward Freya, who was standing at the edge of the water, the wind tossing her red curls about her face.
Four days alone in a tiny cottage with Freya MacLeod, without a thing for them to do but sit and stare at each other.
What could possibly go wrong?
The cottage was tiny, but that was hardly surprising. From the outside it appeared no larger than a doll’s house, and yet …
She glanced behind her, where Callum Ross was standing in the open doorway, his thick arms propped against the frame and his enormous body blocking all but the most determined rays of the morning sun.
There wasn’t a cottage in Scotland that didn’t become smaller when he stepped into it. Everything seemed to shrink around him, until there wasn’t a corner of the place that wasn’t filled with his presence.
One might say what they liked about Callum Ross—that he was brutish, sullen, and silent—but he wasn’t a man one could ignore, and she was trapped in this tiny, one-room cottage with him for several days, without a single thing to do to distract either of them.
Dear God. Perhaps she should have let him take her to Balnagown Castle, after all. “This is, er …” She waved a hand at their surroundings. “Snug.”
He let out a sound that may have been a snort, or a grunt. She couldn’t tell which. “Brodie doesn’t need much space.”
“No, I suppose not.”
He abandoned his place in the doorway and entered the cottage, his heavy boots thunderous against the worn wooden floorboards, and closed the door behind him, plunging them into a dim gloom that did nothing to calm her nerves.
She took another step away, instinctively putting space between them, but there was nowhere for her to go.
The cottage was composed of a single room, the only furnishings a small table with two chairs, a worn settee with a trunk beside it, and a basin and pitcher atop a length of board in what must have passed for the kitchen.
“You’d best rest now, lass.” He gestured toward a small, neatly made bed against the far wall.
Sleep did sound heavenly. It had been two nights since her head had touched a pillow, and her limbs were heavy with exhaustion. With any luck, she’d sleep for four days, and wake to the sound of Brodie returning to the cottage.
“You’re certain Brodie won’t mind the intrusion?” One’s bed was rather personal, after all.
He was poking at the fire, coaxing it into a blaze. He didn’t turn, and he spared her only another grunt in reply. It was much like the last grunt he’d given her, but she chose to interpret it as a gracious invitation to make herself at home in Brodie’s bed.
She nearly groaned as she sank down onto the edge of the mattress.
It was soft, and piled high with thick, clean bedding. Why, she could just tuck herself into the nest of blankets and let oblivion take her. Sleep was the only way she’d be able to forget the nightmare that had unfolded at Castle Cairncross last night.
There was only one problem.
Callum Ross. How in the world was she meant to fall asleep with him only ten feet away from her? He was the same man who’d grabbed her on the castle drive and pressed his forearm against her throat.
The man who’d kidnapped her, for pity’s sake!
Except … oh, very well. He hadn’t kidnapped her, precisely. He had dragged her out from under her father’s desk and spirited her away from her castle and the sister she loved, but he’d done it for her own good.
But that was the trouble with things that were done for one’s own good. One never appreciated them, even when they should.
She’d gone with him willingly, though. It couldn’t properly be called a napping if she’d agreed to go with him.
Except she hadn’t just agreed, had she? She’d scaled one of the castle walls, risked a broken neck on that treacherous pathway above Loch Dunvegan, then ridden fifty miles on the back of his horse without a murmur of complaint.
There’d been no napping. She was well and truly in this thing, and there was no sense in pretending otherwise, and since she was facing uncomfortable truths …
Callum Ross could have simply abandoned her to her fate.
He could have saddled his horse and ridden out of Dunvegan without a backward glance, leaving her to face that mob alone.
He’d made a promise to Lord Ballantyne he’d keep her safe, yes, but he’d never agreed to risk his life for her, and anyway, people broke promises every day.
But not Callum Ross. He’d kept his word.
Some might even say he’d saved her life last night.
She lay on her back for a bit, staring up at the ceiling, then peeked over the edge of the blanket she’d wrapped around herself.
He was stretched out on the settee, the cushions sagging under the muscular bulk of him. It was far too short for him, however, and his legs were hanging over the edge of the arm.
He looked dreadfully uncomfortable, but it wasn’t as if he could share the bed with her. She squeezed her eyes closed and gathered the edge of the blanket tighter around her neck, then turned her nose into the fold of cloth and drew in a deep breath.
It smelled nice, like leather and rain, and just a touch of smoke—
Smoke? She struggled out from under the blankets and bolted upright, glancing down at herself. God above, she was still wearing Callum Ross’s coat. That scent she’d just dragged greedily into her lungs, the scent she’d found so comforting, was him.
A flush rose from her chest into her cheeks, flooding them with heat.
But it didn’t mean anything. Of course it didn’t. It didn’t mean a single thing that she’d just burrowed into his coat like a contented mouse into a dry bed of straw. She was just confused, that was all. Confused, and so exhausted her mind was playing tricks on her.
Still, it didn’t seem right she should keep his coat when he didn’t have a single blanket, and she had half a dozen of them all for herself. She might not like or trust the man, but she couldn’t quite reconcile keeping his coat with her conscience—
“For God’s sake, lass. What’s wrong now?”
His deep voice broke the silence, and she glanced over to find him watching her, his brows lowered in a dark scowl. What had she done to earn the scowl this time? Breathed too enthusiastically? “What do you mean? There’s nothing—”
“Is the bed not to your liking? Are the blankets insufficient?” He opened one eye and peered at her through the gloom. “Is the cottage too hot, or too cold, or the waves rushing against the shore with too much enthusiasm?”
Odious man. To think she’d been concerned about his comfort! Why, it would serve him right if she kept his coat and left him to freeze.
Except he’d done her a good turn, sending Brodie off to Dunvegan. She wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if she had to think about him shivering on that settee.
She threw the blankets aside, rose to her feet and marched across the room, removing his coat as she went, and ignoring the chill that drifted under the neck of her gown.
“What is it?” He glanced warily up at her as she paused beside the settee, but he didn’t bother getting up.
“Here.” She held out his coat. “You’ll need this.”
Something flickered in his gray eyes, but he made no move to take the coat from her. He remained where he was, staring up at her until she let out a huff, reached over the back of the settee, and draped the coat over him.
There. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
She marched back over to Brodie’s bed, tugged the blankets over herself, and burrowed deep into them, squeezing her eyes closed. Yes, that was much better. He might scowl all he liked now, and she wouldn’t have to see it.
For the next few hours, she could forget Callum Ross even existed.
It wasn’t long before her body relaxed against the mattress, her limbs growing heavy, but just as she was on the edge of unconsciousness a deep voice murmured, “Sleep well, lass.”