Chapter 20
F iona had learned two things in the three days since Harris Mackenzie had called her his wife in a forest full of redcoats:
He still refused to tell her anything.
He was the worst traveling companion in all of Scotland.
He rode ahead more often than beside her, cloak snapping in the wind, Dubh’s massive hooves eating the ground in an unhurried, relentless rhythm.
Each evening he made camp like a man who expected to be hunted before dawn—fire low, horses picketed in shadow, eyes sweeping the treeline twice over before he said so much as good night.
And still she followed.
Not because he’d claimed her with that one furious word.
Because walking away now felt impossible.
The path hugged the spine of a ridge, pines hemming them in on either side. Mist clung low over the moss, the weak morning light turning the world to washed-out grey. Fiona rode with her hood up, fingers stiff on the reins, eyes flicking more often to Harris than to the road.
Every time she thought he wasn’t looking, he proved her wrong.
He didn’t comment. Didn’t tease.
But once, just once, when she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, she caught him looking back.
Not curious.
Not irritated.
Something quieter. Something that flickered across his face and vanished like breath on glass when he turned away.
That night at camp, he tossed her a folded blanket without ceremony. Their fingers brushed—brief, accidental.
Heat shot up her arm like she’d touched a coal.
Harris snatched his hand back a shade too quickly and turned his attention to the fire, jaw tight and shoulders rigid, as if he’d vowed never to feel anything human again.
She lay across the flames from him, wrapped in her cloak, listening to the wind and his steady breathing. Once, as she turned onto her side, she felt his gaze on her—one quick, assessing look.
Then he rolled away, back to the dark.
On the fourth morning, the land opened to water.
Mist lifted in torn veils off the surface of Loch Arkaig, long and silver as a drawn blade. Pines marched down to the shore. The air smelled of peat and damp earth.
Fiona reined in beside him. “Why here?”
Harris didn’t answer.
He swung down from Dubh in one fluid motion, tied the reins to a low branch, and strode toward the water’s edge like a man walking into judgment.
“Harris?” Fiona filled in the silence with annoyance before it could become fear. “What are we doin’ here? Why this loch?”
He shrugged out of his coat and boots and stepped straight into the water.
Fiona blinked. “Are you mad?”
He kept going.
Cold claimed his ankles, then his calves. Ripples shivered outward from each step. The loch swallowed sound.
“Harris.”
He ignored her, wading deeper.
She kicked her own boots off and splashed after him. “Have ye lost your wits? I know we’ve not been acquainted long, but I’d hoped ye’d at least die with a plan—”
He vanished.
No cry.
No splash.
Just… gone.
The empty surface yawned where he’d been.
Fiona’s breath snapped out of her. “HARRIS!”
She plunged forward without thinking. The loch seized her ankles, then her shins, the water cold enough to burn. Her skirts dragged like chains around her legs.
“Harris!” Her voice tore across the morning. “HARRIS!”
She stumbled over a hidden rock, went down to one knee, and came back up with a curse. The water climbed to her thighs, biting, numbing. Panic clawed at her ribs.
Don’t drown. Don’t drown. Don’t—
Something surged beneath the surface.
An arm. A shoulder. Harris broke through the black water with a ragged gasp, fighting something that yanked at him from below. He wasn’t swimming so much as being dragged sideways, like a hooked fish.
“GO—BACK—” he choked.
“Are you daft?!” She lurched toward him, water striking at her waist now, skirts ballooning with every step. “Give me your hand!”
“Fiona, get OUT—”
“No!”
She caught his wrist, bracing both feet as the current grabbed at them both. The pull was savage, invisible, like a living thing. He was wrenched away, and she nearly went under with him.
“Hold—on—!” she gritted, teeth clacking.
“Let—go—!”
“NO!”
Her boots scraped across stone, slick and treacherous. One found purchase on a submerged ledge. She dragged backwards with everything she had. He matched her, muscles straining under her grip. Yet, the loch fought them, greedy and furious.
All at once, the pull snapped sideways. Harris stumbled forward. They crashed together, momentum sending them sprawling into the shallows.
They ended in a heap on the rocky shore—soaked, shivering, chests heaving.
For a few brutal heartbeats, neither spoke.
Fiona stared up at the thin, pale sky, hair plastered to her cheeks, lungs burning. “Why,” she managed, “would… any sane man… walk into that?”
Harris coughed, a grim sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a choke. “Needed… to check something.”
“Oh, of course,” she snapped, pushing herself upright. “Ye nearly got dragged tae the bottom of Satan’s bathtub because ye needed to check something.”
He winced as he sat up, water streaming from his shirt. “It’s a current,” he said hoarsely. “There’s a cave under there. Draw’s stronger than I remember. Had to be sure.”
Fiona gaped. “You tested it?”
He wiped water from his eyes, not quite meeting hers.
“Ye’re worse than my brothers,” she muttered. “At least they had sense enough to fear drowning.”
“There’s no kelpie,” he swore, breath still ragged.
“Aye,” she retorted, “and that’s exactly what a kelpie’d want ye to think.”
For the first time in days, the corner of his mouth twitched.
He winced as he rolled to his knees, pressing a hand to his side where the healing wound pulled. Fiona’s irritation softened.
“What were ye lookin’ for?” she asked, more quietly now. “Truly.”
He glanced back at the water, where the surface lay smooth and empty again, as if nothing had happened.
He said, voice low, “I had tae know if the loch would take a man before they took anythin’ else.”
“What does that even mean?!” She cried. “So ye traipsed in to see if ye’d drown? You really are daft!”
“One Mackenzie is a cheaper price than a dozen fools with more coin than sense,” he muttered.
Her jaw tightened. “Don’t say that again.”
He looked at her then, properly, shoulders hunched, hair dripping, eyes darker than she’d seen them yet.
“I won’t,” he said.
It was the closest thing to an apology she’d ever heard from him.
They reached the local tavern by dusk.
The Rowan’s Rest hunched into the hillside of Fort William—situated at the foot of Ben Nevis—low-roofed and smoke-stained, the sign creaked on its chain.
A painted rowan branch, berries long since faded by rain and time, adorned the front door.
Warm light bled from the windows that carried the smell of stew and spilled ale.
They left the road early, circling behind the inn to a small lean-to stable. A tired boy of twelve looked up from forking straw.
“Got a stall?” Harris asked, tightening his hold on Dubh’s reins. “One in back. Quiet. No questions.”
The boy nodded so fast Fiona was amazed his head stayed on. “Aye, sir.”
Dubh tossed his head and rolled his eyes like a nobleman forced to share quarters with peasants. When Fiona reached to pat his neck, the stallion swung his massive head and huffed warm breath straight into her face, shoving her back a step as if insulted by the attempt.
“Your beast just shoved me,” Fiona exclaimed, brushing hay from her sleeve and dignity.
Harris smirked faintly. “He’s judgin’ if ye’re worthy.”
“For what?” she sputtered.
“Tae touch him.”
Dubh stamped once, glared at her in a very equine sort of disdain, then turned his back and wandered into the stall as if ending the conversation.
“He’s insufferable,” she grumbled.
“You two will get along well, then,”
As Harris turned to check the latch, Dubh slowly angled his massive head toward Fiona again, and sniffed her from boots to brow like she were a suspicious parcel left on his doorstep.
When she lifted her chin in challenge, the stallion snorted, flicked an ear, and turned his whole backside toward her in a gesture so pointed she didn’t need a translation.
“He just dismissed me,” she whispered.
Harris didn’t even look up. “Aye. Means he’s accepted ye.”
“Accepted me? He presented me wi’ his arse.”
“Horse manners,” Harris shrugged. “Ye get used to it.”