MacLean's Passion: A Highland Pride Novel (16 page)

Maggie awoke in a world of pain. Everything ached and she groaned as she rolled away from Colin’s warm arms. She was surprised that she’d slept at all, and even more surprised that she’d slept well.

Colin groaned also and threw an arm over his eyes.

“It stopped raining,” she said.

He grunted and scratched the stubble on his jaw. The black growth made him look like an outlaw.

“Ye’ll have to get out first,” she said. “We’re sort of stuck in here together.”

“How do ye feel?”

“I hurt, and I need to answer nature’s call.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. Even that small movement sent up a racket of pain.

Colin shimmied and squirmed his way out and Maggie followed, trying not to gasp and moan. Colin was watching her too closely as she disappeared into the brush to take care of personal business. When she was finished, he was packing up the horses.

The forest was still dripping from yesterday’s rains, and everything smelled wet and humid and pungent. She was pretty certain that she smelled just as pungent, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Colin handed her a piece of dried meat, and they munched on their meager breakfast silently. She wanted to say something but didn’t know what. Their conversation from the night before kept swirling in her head, like the river had swirled around and above her when it swept her away. Her feelings for Colin were much the same—head over bottom, not knowing which way was up and which down.

“Are ye certain ye can ride?” he asked.

“Do I have any other choice?”

“Nae.”

“Then I must. We have no idea how far the English are behind us.”

“Do ye need help mounting?”

She looked at her horse and nodded, hating to ask for assistance but knowing there was no way her aching body would make it atop that horse on its own.

He helped her as gently as he could, then mounted his own horse.

“Do ye know where ye’re going from here?” she asked.

“To Sutherland land. We need to head south.”

They rode through the afternoon and stopped to rest the horses about midday.

“Best to get down and walk for a bit,” Colin said. “Ye’ll be sore.”

It felt as if every bone rattled when she slid off her horse. “I’m one big walking bruise,” she said as she half walked and half waddled around while the horses drank from a small bubbling creek and Colin disappeared into the woods to take care of his own business.

He returned and handed her more dried meat. If she didn’t see another piece of dried meat again, she would dance a jig.

Colin leaned against a tree and crossed one ankle over the other while he stared across the stream.

“We seem to be keeping ahead of the damn English,” she said.

“I’m hoping the rain slowed them down.”

“Are we close to where we’re going?”

“Closer. If we push ourselves, we’ll reach Castle Dornach tomorrow afternoon.”

She winced at the thought of riding another whole day.

“Come,” Colin said with compassion. He helped her onto her horse and they set off again.

At nightfall, Colin steered them off the well-worn path they’d been traveling on. “Almost there,” he said.

She was hurting so badly that it took everything in her to sit upright and not cry with the pain that wracked her body. Colin glanced back and frowned at her. He must have sensed something or seen a look on her face because he urged his horse to go a little faster, although the path they’d turned down wasn’t actually a path and the going was rough.

She would have ridden right past it if Colin hadn’t stopped. She could have cried in relief if she’d had the energy to do so. As it was, it took everything she had to slide down into his arms.

She rested against him, her body aching and her limbs heavy. Colin held her, giving her aches and pains time to settle. She would have happily fallen asleep right there if he hadn’t set her on her feet and stepped away. But he kept a hand on her arm to keep her steady. “I’ll take care of the horses if ye want to go on in.”

“In?” She swayed and blinked again, looking for something to go into.

Colin waved his hand in the air, ostensibly toward wherever it was she was supposed to go. “There.”

Maggie peered into the shadows and noticed a small hut that appeared to be leaning to the side, the thatched roof almost bald, but it had a door and mostly four walls. Withholding a cry of pure joy, she stumbled through the door, only to come to an abrupt stop.

The inside didn’t at all match the outside. From the outside, this leaning hut looked like it would fall down with the merest puff of wind. From the inside, it wasn’t leaning at all; the walls and ceiling were well constructed and solid, and there didn’t appear to be any leaks. It was sparsely furnished, with one cot and a small cupboard. But the cot was piled high with folded blankets, and a quick look confirmed what Maggie had suspected: The cupboard was stocked with a fresh bag of oats and, yes, more dried meat.

It reminded her of the cave they’d stayed in. The cave that Colin knew about, also stocked with blankets and oats.

How did he know about this place?

A better question would be: Why was this place here?

Colin saw Maggie standing in the middle of the hut, looking around with a question in her eyes, but he turned around and walked out. He couldn’t even look at her.

Her face was a mass of bruises and scrapes. He knew from undressing her the night before that her legs and arms looked the same. It was no secret that she was in extreme pain.

He grabbed a pail sitting at the side of the hut and marched to the stream a few feet away to fill it. Afterward he dallied, attending to personal business when he didn’t really need to, scouting the area to make sure no one was about when he was fairly certain they hadn’t been followed.

Finally he could no longer avoid facing Maggie. She was still standing in the center of the hut, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. There was a bruise under her right eye and another one along her jaw. A bloody scratch ran from the corner of her brow to her ear.

He set the pail close to the fireplace and knelt to start a fire.

“This is an interesting hut,” she said conversationally. “It reminds me of the cave we stayed in.”

He should have known she would comment on the hut, but he hadn’t expected her to make the connection to the cave.

“How do ye know about a hidden cave filled with supplies and a hut that looks like it’s falling down but is actually constructed to withstand a siege?” she asked.

“It’s hardly constructed to withstand a siege.”

She was silent for so long that he chanced a glance over his shoulder. She was still standing there, still looking at him, still waiting.

He sighed and turned back to the fire, but it was crackling merrily. “Come sit in front of the fire, Maggie. Get warm.”

“Ye canno’ avoid my questions all night.” She moved to sit next to him. “Why is there an overabundance of blankets in what appears to be an abandoned hut?”

“Leave it be, Maggie.”

“There’s something ye’re no’ telling me.”

Yes, there was, and he was not about to tell her now or ever. It was a secret that few knew, and even those few were too many. This was a secret that could get a body killed, and he wasn’t about to tell her something that could endanger her.

“Ye have to trust me that it’s best ye no’ know it.”

“So this hut and that cave are connected somehow?”

“That’s enough, Maggie.” He kept his voice even and soft but with enough steel to tell her he wasn’t discussing it.

She watched him closely, and he could practically hear her thoughts. “Very well,” she said at last.

Relieved that he’d won that argument, he reached for the packs that he’d taken off the horses. “The best I can offer ye is more dried meat.”

“There are oats in the cupboard. We can make bannocks.”

“I prefer to leave the provisions for people who need them more than we do.”

“So this is a hideout?”

“Maggie,” he warned.

“Ye have to know I’d never put anyone in harm’s way, and I’d never say anything or reveal a secret. Especially if it has to do with protecting our own people.”

“It’s dangerous information, and I will no’ risk ye knowing it.” He looked away because he’d already put her in danger by making her cross that damn river and by taking her away from the safety of her brother’s home to race across Scotland.

“So ye’re protecting me?” She was grinning and her eyes were dancing as if it were humorous that he would do such a thing.

“I know ye think ye can protect yerself—”

“I like that ye want to protect me.”

“Ye do?”

“I do. It shows ye care.”

“Ye’re my wife.”

“That’s the only reason ye want to protect me?”

“I promised yer brother I would.”

“I see.”

But he was thinking she didn’t see at all. “A husband is supposed to protect his wife.”

“And what is a wife supposed to do?”

“Please her husband.”

Her brows went up. “And a husband is no’ to please his wife?”

“Well, of course, but protection must come first.”

“I see,” she said again, and he was beginning to understand that when she said that, it meant something entirely different.

Confused by the direction of the conversation, he tested the temperature of the water with his finger. It was only slightly warmer than ice cold, so he moved the pail closer to the fire while Maggie watched him closely.

“Do I please ye?” she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. “What?”

“Ye said a wife was supposed to please her husband. Do I please ye?”

“We’ve only been married two days.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ye have to admit that our married life has been…unusual. Pleasing me has been down the list of things to do. Surviving has been a little more important.”

“That’s very true.”

“But so far ye please me, Maggie.” And he meant it. As much as he didn’t know what to do with a wife or how to take care of her, she pleased him.

Her eyes lit up, and he was glad that he’d been honest with her. He liked seeing those dark eyes light up like that.

He tested the water again and found it suitably warm. He grabbed a few blankets, found an old ragged one, ripped a strip off it, and tossed the rest on the floor in front of the fire.

“Turn toward me.” He made a swirling motion with his finger. “Do ye need help?”

“I can manage,” she said with a grimace.

When she sat facing him, he dipped the strip of blanket in the water and gently began wiping the blood and dirt from her face.

Her surprised gaze flew to his, and she sucked in a breath.

“Ye’re a mess,” he said, but with a smile to soften his words.

Warily, her big dark eyes searched his but he refused to look into those bottomless depths. He concentrated on loosening the dried blood and dirt from the cut that ran down the side of her face. “This is a nasty cut,” he said.

“It’s no’ the only one.” Their faces were so close that he could feel her breath on his cheeks.

His guilt knew no bounds. It ate at his insides.

“Ye’re thinking this was yer fault,” she said. How did she know what he was thinking? It was eerie and unwelcome.

“Because it is.”

“I willingly waded into the river. Hell, I was the one who told ye we had to cross it.”

“It was up to me to get ye to safety.”

She pulled back, leaving his hand holding the dripping rag in midair. “I make my own decisions.”

She appeared so fierce that he had to bite back a smile. “Silence, woman. I’m trying to take care of ye.”

“I can take care of myself.” But her voice had lost its heat, and he took her chin to hold it steady while he continued to clean away the blood and dirt. “Ye canno’ blame yerself,” she said.

“I can and I will.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Ye’re ridiculous. Now hush.”

Those dark eyes watched him, but his reprieve was not to last long, much to his regret.

“I misstepped. I did no’ reach with my pole, and when I stepped, there was no’ any ground. One small mistake and the river swept me away, just like that.”

She shuddered and closed her eyes. He was glad, because his hand was shaking and he didn’t want her to see it.

“I was watching yer back one moment and the next I was far away from ye. It was powerful, the river. It took me away in the snap of a finger and I did no’ know which way was up and which was down. I swallowed so much water that I feared I would sink with the weight of it. I must have been tossed and tumbled against so many rocks and floating dead trees, but I do no’ remember it. My body feels it now.”

He moved down to her neck, where a nasty gash went from behind her ear to snake around and disappear into her shirt.

Her voice, soft and lyrical, wove a spell around him, wrapping him in the warmth of her body heat and the added heat generated by the fire.

The hut, the outside world, the English, everything disappeared. There was nothing but Colin and Maggie and the warmth inside those four walls.

“And then it spat me out,” she said. “Like it did no’ want me anymore. At first I did no’ believe it. I was convinced that I was going to die and had even partially accepted the fact.” She cracked her eyes open, but her lids appeared too heavy and they drifted closed again.

“I lay there in the sand and dirt, with the water lapping at my heels like a warning. If I did no’ move soon, the river seemed to say, then it was taking me back, and this time it was no’ letting me go. So I belly-crawled away from it. I had no idea where ye were, so I started walking.” A small ironic smile touched her lips. “More like I started stumbling around until I found ye. And ye were looking a little lost when I came upon ye.” Her eyes opened, and he paused. Their gazes clashed and held. “Like maybe ye misplaced something important to ye.”

Her voice ended on a questioning note as if she were asking instead of telling.

“I lost my wife and was trying to figure out how to tell her brother that she was gone,” he said, resuming his cleaning.

“Ye’re a stubborn man, Colin MacLean.”

He smiled. “This from a stubborn woman.”

“Ye won’t admit it, but I know the truth. I saw it on yer face when I walked up.”

He felt suspiciously like a lad who’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. His hand dropped to his lap. “Ye think ye know the truth?”

“Oh, I know I know the truth.”

And then she leaned forward and kissed him.