Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The loch lay quiet beneath the pale morning sky. Mist drifted low across the water, curling along the dark surface like breath in the cold. The hills surrounding Inveraray were still wrapped in early light, their shadows long and blue across the shore.
Domhnall had just seen off his friends earlier that morning, and now, he was standing at the edge of the rocks, with his bare feet planted against damp stone. He took in the time to simply stare at the water.
The castle rose behind him, its towers pale against the sky, but where he stood the world felt older and simpler. The loch had been there long before Campbell banners ever flew above those lands. It had also always been the place he went when his thoughts grew too loud.
He stepped forward and dove right in. The water closed over him instantly, wrapping him in a cold, clean, and merciless embrace.
It stole the breath from his lungs and drove every wandering thought from his mind.
Domhnall surfaced several strokes out, pushing his wet hair back as he drew in a steady breath.
The cold was welcome. He swam farther from shore, cutting through the quiet water with strong, practiced movements. The rhythm of it settled into his muscles quickly.
Yet even the water could not silence his thoughts. The kiss had not been planned. It had simply happened. Years of control had vanished in a single moment when he had looked up and saw her watching him.
He had intended to keep his promise. He still did. But the memory of her fingers tangled in his hair made the cold water suddenly feel far less effective.
Domhnall inhaled sharply and dove again. The loch swallowed him whole. The cold struck like a blade across his skin, forcing the air from his lungs as he drove downward, deeper than before, letting the weight of the water press against him.
He swam hard beneath the surface, as though he might outrun the memory. When he finally surfaced, he drew in a steady breath and stopped.
Margaret was standing at the edge of the shore.
She had appeared so quietly that for a moment, Domhnall wondered if the loch itself had conjured her. She stood upon the rocks where he had entered the water earlier, with her skirts stirring faintly in the breeze and the sunlight catching the chestnut hair that had escaped her braid.
And she was watching him with a small, unmistakable smirk.
Domhnall blinked water from his eyes.
“Well, well.”
Margaret tilted her head slightly. “Well, well indeed.”
He floated easily where he was, water lapping against his shoulders.
“Did ye follow me here?”
Her brows lifted in feigned innocence. “Of course nae.” She paused, then looked about. “I was merely going for a stroll,” she said lightly, clasping her hands behind her back. “And happened tae come this way.”
“By coincidence.”
“Entirely.”
Domhnall studied her. “And what did ye find upon yer stroll? Which, by the way, ye should nae be takin’ alone outside of the castle walls…”
Margaret’s gaze swept slowly over him. Her smirk deepened and she ignored his remark.
“A laird,” she said thoughtfully, “frightening the birds from the trees.”
Domhnall huffed a quiet laugh. “The birds?”
“They flew away when ye dove intae the loch.”
He eyed her without hesitation. “Perhaps they objected tae the noise ye were making on yer arrival.”
“Perhaps they objected tae the spectacle.”
His brow lifted. “Spectacle?”
Margaret gestured toward the water. “Ye are splashing about in the loch like an unruly fisherman.”
“I am swimming.”
“Violently so,” she grinned.
“That is called exercise,” he retorted, incredulous at how much their banter kept him engaged.
“That is called alarming the wildlife.”
Domhnall moved closer, until the water only reached the middle of his chest. Margaret remained on the rock, watching him with that infuriatingly calm expression that had begun to feel far too familiar.
Sunlight touched the surface of the loch between them, scattering pale reflections across the water. She had not moved. Domhnall rested his forearms on the rock nearest the shore and tilted his head.
“Ye plan tae stand there all morning?”
Margaret lifted a brow. “I am enjoying the view.” She smiled faintly. “Why? Are ye embarrassed?”
“Hardly,” he scoffed.
“Then why object?” she teased, and it was driving him mad.
He pushed away from the rock and waded a little closer to shore. Water slipped along his shoulders as he moved.
“If ye are so interested,” he said calmly, “ye could come see fer yerself.”
Margaret blinked once. “See what?”
“Whether I am truly frightening the birds.”
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the dark surface of the loch, then she crossed her arms. “And what if I prefer dry land?”
“Then, ye will never ken,” he shook his head and his mouth curved slightly.
She glanced down again at the water. The loch was cold even in summer. Everyone in the Highlands knew that. Margaret hesitated only a moment longer, then she began removing her shoes.
Domhnall’s brow lifted slowly. “Ye’re nae serious.”
Margaret set the shoes neatly upon the rock. “Ye challenged me.”
“I didnae expect ye tae accept.”
Her eyes widened in rebellion at that concept. “That sounds like a poor understanding of me character, Laird Campbell.”
Domhnall opened his mouth to answer, then stopped, because Margaret had reached for the fastening at the back of her gown. He couldn’t help but stare.
“Margaret, what are ye daein’?” he asked, although the answer to that was pretty clear.
She glanced over her shoulder as she loosened the ties with practical calm.
“Preparing tae enter the water.”
“That is obvious.”
The gown slid from her shoulders and she folded it carefully, placing it beside her shoes on the rock. Beneath it she wore only her long linen shift. It fell to her calves, the thin fabric catching faintly in the breeze.
It was modest and entirely proper for bathing alone. Yet Domhnall found himself abruptly uncertain where to look. Margaret noticed immediately. Her mouth curved with quiet satisfaction.
Domhnall cleared his throat. “I thought ye came here fer a walk.”
“And now I am going fer a swim.”
“That was nae part of the plan.”
“Yer challenge suggested otherwise.”
He still couldn’t believe that she would do it. He could not think of a single woman who would wade into the freezing loch just to prove a point.
“Ye take challenges far too seriously,” he shook his head. “Just… stay there.”
Margaret stepped to the edge of the rock, then gave him a wicked look.
“In that case, ye should nae offer challenges so carelessly.”
Then she stepped into the loch. The cold water struck her ankles first. Margaret inhaled sharply.
“Oh, sweet heavens!” she hissed and gasped, pressing her hand to her chest.
Domhnall laughed despite himself. “Aye.”
“That is freezing!”
“It’s the loch.”
She waded another step forward, the water climbing over her calves. The thin linen of her shift darkened where it touched the water. Margaret shivered as the water reached her knees.
“Ye dae this every morning?”
He was still smiling as he watched her come closer to him. “Nae every morning, and usually without witnesses.”
She shot him a look. “I am nae a witness.”
“What would ye call yerself then?”
“A critic,” she said with a dignified tilt of her head.
“That explains a great deal,” he smiled.
Margaret moved another step deeper, then despite the cold, another.
The water surged higher and her breath caught again as the cold reached her thighs.
Domhnall took a step forward through the water.
The distance between them narrowed again.
The loch rippled softly around them, cold and clear, the morning light sliding across the surface like pale silver.
Margaret stood watching him with her arms folded lightly across herself as though defying the chill.
“Ye should come farther in,” Domhnall urged gently.
She raised a brow. “This is already quite far enough.”
“Nay,” he replied calmly. “That’s the worst of it.”
“The worst?”
“The cold. It willnae get any worse and ye have made the effort, so why waste it?”
Margaret narrowed her eyes.
“Give it a moment or two and yer body will adjust,” he said with that same softness he didn’t expect of himself.
Margaret watched him with open skepticism. “Ye promise?”
“I dae.”
She looked toward the deeper water, then back at him.
Before he could say another word, she dove.
The movement was sudden, the surface of the loch breaking around her with a sharp splash.
Domhnall blinked. For half a second, she vanished entirely beneath the dark water, and then she surfaced again, right in front of him and far closer than he expected.
Margaret pushed her hair back from her face, drawing in a sharp breath as the cold seized her lungs.
“Saints in heaven!” Her voice broke into a laugh despite the shock. “That is even worse!”
Domhnall could not help smiling. “A moment,” he reminded her.
Margaret shivered violently, the water dripping from her hair and shoulders. Her lips had turned faintly blue from the cold. Domhnall found himself staring. The thin linen of her shift clung lightly where the water touched it, and the sunlight caught in the droplets along her skin.
She looked exhilarated, alive… and dangerously beautiful.
Margaret noticed his gaze. She moved a little closer through the water, then her hand lifted without thinking. Her fingers rested lightly against his shoulder.
The touch was simple, but Domhnall felt it like a spark against his skin. Every instinct in him sharpened instantly. She was so close now he could see the faint tremor in her breath, and the way the water hid the outlines of her breasts.
Take her. Pull her closer. Taste her.
Domhnall exhaled slowly and stepped back through the water. Margaret blinked in surprise as the distance between them widened. She tilted her head slightly.
“Are ye retreating?”
Domhnall forced his voice to remain calm. “I am exercising restraint.”