Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cairstina
Oh my God, Nan’s a hoot. She’s told me tales of growing up on the islands outside of Inverness.
How she’d spend a weekend swimming and drinking with her friends, or searching for clues to help them find the Loch Ness monster.
She’s Leith’s mother’s mum, and was brought here when her husband died a decade ago.
“Bram Cowen’s a hard man,” she says, shaking her head. “One could say he ruled the Clan with an iron fist, and I daresay his son’s learned to lead the same way.” She frowns a little when she says this but doesn’t give any further explanation.
I mostly listen, though occasionally I’ll write down a thought or a comment on a slip of paper. Most of the time, my part in the conversation comes when she asks me questions, and she’s got lots.
“Who’s your mum? Where is your dad? How did you come here?”
Leith hasn’t given me instructions not to tell her much, but somehow, I know he’d prefer if I didn’t.
I met Leith and his brothers in Inverness, I write on a piece of paper. She nods, accepting this, and though she doesn’t ask any more questions, I suspect she’s got plenty more. Before she can ask them, she jumps from her chair in the living room.
“Do you smell smoke?” she says curiously.
I jump up from the sofa when I realize I do.
“Oh, no! I burned the biscuits. Again.”
She hobbles into the kitchen, but I’m smaller and quicker than she is, so I get there before she does. Smoke billows out of the oven, and a fire alarm screeches in the background. I can’t believe we got so into our conversation that we completely forgot the biscuits.
“Oh, careful, Cairstina!” she says, grabbing a dish towel and fanning the air, which does nothing more than make me choke on the smoke she bats back in my direction.
I open the door to the oven, and acrid smoke burns my eyes.
I duck low, grab at the pan with a potholder, and yank it out.
Though there are no flames, the charred biscuits smoke like a smoldering fire.
I slam the oven door and run to the window to open it. It’s tiny, though, and barely makes a dent in the smoke-filled room, so I open the door and set it to stay open with a little doorstop.
I gesture for her to come with me out of the smoky kitchen, but she doesn’t see me, so I take her hand and jerk my head to the door.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she says. “Wish I hadn’t kicked my shoes off.”
I shake my head and kick off my own shoes borrowed from Islan, toeing them over to her.
“I’m not taking your shoes,” she says, but I don’t take no for an answer. I drop to the floor and slide the shoes on her feet, then drag her by the hand into the snowy yard.
I almost crash bodily into Leith.
“Bloody hell!” he shouts.
“Now watch that mouth of yours, Leith, for the love of God,” Nan mutters. “Always cursing up a storm.”
“Of course I’m cursing up a storm!” he fumes. “What have you two done while I was gone?”
“Pish posh,” Nan says, waving her hand at him. “Burnt the biscuits is all.”
Her twinkling eyes meet mine, and she bursts into laughter. I can’t help but laugh myself. Though I’m silent, my belly tightens and my shoulders shake. We’ve made a right job of it.
Leith is not amused. He takes me by the shoulders and looks me over. “You’re alright, then?”
I nod.
Next he goes to Nan. “And you?”
“Aye, of course I am. Had the time of my life with this wee lass of yours.”
But he’s already in the house, making sure everything’s okay. I shiver in the cold, as the wind picks up, rustling my hair. I look to Nan, to make sure she’s okay. She shivers, but smiles at me.
“I imagine that bossy grandson of mine’ll drag you back up to his cave or whatever it is he has planned,” she says. “But in any event, I enjoyed our visit immensely, Cairstina. Come again?”
I nod eagerly, but it takes me a moment to realize why her words give me a painful little pang in my chest.
Does he bring all his women up to his “cave?” or wherever he’s going to take me? Has she seen this before?
And why do I wish I was the first?
Why do I care?
She squeezes my hand, as Leith comes out of the house. He’s frowning, with his hands on his hips, and the look makes my heartbeat quicken. And does the man ever smile or relax? Is he always cranky and irritable like this?
But the better question is, why does it excite me when he goes all stern?
“All sorted in there. No more baking unless you’ve got someone who can supervise and make sure you don’t burn the house down,” he says to her, wagging a finger in her direction.
She frowns at him. “It was a little accident, Leith, you need to relax.” She gives me a sidelong look and scowls. “Perhaps your lovely lady can help with that.”
“Excuse me?”
She plants her hands on her hips and fixes him with an angry stare. “You may boss your men around, but you don’t rule everyone under this roof, I’ll have you know.”
He glares right back, and it’s almost funny, because I can see the way the two of them resemble each other. Same dark brown hair, the same stern brow.
“Don’t I know it,” he mutters. “But you do know you’re only here in the chalet under my leave, Nan, and I won’t have you risking your safety. I’d much prefer you were at the main house with Mum and Dad.”
She rolls her eyes. “With all due respect to your father, it’s much better if that doesn’t happen. Take her home. Get laid, son, and maybe you’ll not have such a hair across yer arse.”
She turns on her heel, marches back inside, and slams the door behind her.
I’d laugh if I wasn’t terrified of his fury. The next second, I realize what she just said, and my cheeks flame with indignation.
Get laid?
Does she mean what I think she does?
He turns to me, and I take an involuntary step backward. I flinch when I realize I gave her my shoes.
“Where the fuck are the shoes I gave you?” he mutters, clearly even more angry than he was before.
I point to the house, then remember my mobile in my pocket. I send him a quick text.
Gave them to your nan when I pulled her out of the smoking kitchen.
I frown at him when he reads it. His scowl deepens.
“Get over here.” He reaches for me, and I freeze, remembering her admonition to “get laid,” but he’s only heaving me up into his arms so he can take me back to his home across the rocky ground.
It’s the second time he’s carried me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
No. I love it. There’s something deliciously protective in the way he cradles me to his strong, muscled chest. I feel the warmth of his arms around my back and under my legs, and I’m so close I can smell that clean, masculine scent I will forever associate with the mountains.
And for one brief second, maybe two… I let my imagination roam.
I imagine I’m a damsel in distress, and my prince has come to rescue me.
He’s carrying me out of the burning building, to take me home, so we can marry each other and live in a castle and live happily ever after.
He’ll fight to the death for me, and I won’t ever have to worry about anyone hurting me again.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he mutters, not even winded as he ascends the hill to the house.
I nod, and wish for a moment I could tell him everything. How much I enjoyed myself, how good she was to me, how I could sit and listen to her forever.
“I’ll have another caretaker with her by the morning.” My heart sinks. I like being with her.
We walk in silence up the steep incline, and when we enter the house, he still doesn’t put me down until I tap his shoulder and point to the floor.
“Don’t want me to carry you anymore?” he asks, and I swear his eyes dance a little. Is he amused by me? I shrug, my cheeks flushing pink. No, I want to tell him. I very much want to be carried by you.
I know I shouldn’t let my imagination play these games on me. The more deeply I sink into daydreams and make-believe, the harder it is for me to face reality. I know this from years of experience, and yet it’s still my go-to to relieve stress and help me cope.
“Ah, Cairstina, there y’are.” Islan stands in the hall, and she’s got Bailey on a leash. “Someone’s been looking all over for you.”
Bailey strains at the leash, yearning to see me. Islan looks to Leith, and he nods. She lets him go, and Bailey runs to me. I drop to my knees and gather him up in my arms, burying my face in his neck while he laps my cheeks.
“Someone loves you,” she says with a smile. “Leith, we put the things you asked us to buy upstairs.”
Honest to God, maybe Nan is right. Maybe he should—Oh, God, no. I don’t look at him, though, but bury my heated face in Bailey’s neck again, as if he’d read my thoughts if he could see me.
“The guest room,” he says. “Where Cairstina’s staying?”
She snorts. “You mean that cell of a room where you damn near gave her hives? Hell no. The nicer one on the second floor.”
“Islan...” he warns. I know that look of his, how he gets all broody and angry. I get to my feet and reach for his hand, tugging him toward the steps, then remember my mobile. I text him.
It’s fine, I don’t want to stay in your room anyway and would much prefer the secluded one, please. I’m happy to take my own things up.
I give him what I hope is a haughty look.
He reads the text and growls. “I’ll bring them myself.”
You will not.
“I will, too, and don’t you dare —”
Fine.
He scowls. “Fine!”
Islan blinks, looking to the mobile in my hand and back to Leith.
“Oh my gosh,” a voice says, as Paisley rounds the corner and enters the hall. She’s staring at a book in her hands, so intently she doesn’t see me and Leith at first. “Islan, you must read this!”
“What is it?” Leith asks. Paisley nearly drops the book, as she jumps, her wide eyes looking from me to him. She actually puts it behind her back, like a little child hiding a stolen cookie, as if that will stop him from seeing it.
“Oh, nothing,” she says, her cheeks coloring. She turns to me. Islan snorts, and Leith is not amused.
He crosses his arms on his chest, not letting her change the subject, though I’m relieved to know Bailey’s doing well.