Warrior of the Highlands

Page 20

“I… Oh. I see.” And for the first time, Haley really did see. Jean stood before her. long black hair, delicate fe atures. So pretty, so young. And yet, by seventeenth-century standards, her life might as well be over. She'd go from brother's house to brother's house, hoping for the best. And the best would likely be finding some old widower to remarry. Haley felt like a heel. “I'm sorry.”
Jean looked at her for a long time, then finally spoke. “Aye. I see that you are. I don't ken where you come from, lass. Or who your family is to have given you such an impression of yourself.” She sat on the edge of the bed, her proximity softening her words. “But you'd do well to remember, lucky you are to walk about as you do. Fighting, talking, drinking like a lad. Other lasses would, could they.”
Her message was clear. Jean was speaking about herself. She'd walk about just as independently, if she could. She would speak her mind as freely.
“Yes.” Haley sat up, and in the back of her mind registered that the deafening throb had abated to something approximating simply a really bad headache. “You're right, of course. I'm far from home now, though.” She leaned back against the headboard. She needed an ally, and a possible good source of information to boot. “I suppose It would do well to remember that,” Haley conceded. “Will you help me, then? Help me remember where I am now?”
Jean looked taken aback. Then pleased. “Oh aye.” She smiled, hesitated, then reached over to finger the black fabric of the dress that Haley still wore. Though she'd bathed, she had no other choice but to put the thing back on, despite the fact that it could just about get up and walk away of its own volition. “Can I dress you first, though?”
A small smile was Haley's answer.
* * *
Daylight was a flare burning through his consciousness. He'd drank too much. He'd lost control and drank too much.
MacColla rolled over in bed. Tried to push the strange woman out of his mind. Tried and failed.
Who was she? Haley Fitzpatrick, she'd said, of Donegal. The muscle in his thigh twitched with the memory of the gunshot that had almost killed him so many years ago, battling in that very county. He needed to uncover how it was this Fitzpatrick lass found herself so far from her homeland.
How she'd ended up in Campbell's castle, of all places. Was she Campbell's partner, or his prey? His thinking tended toward the latter, but how could he be certain?
Haley Fitzpatrick. With an accent and bearing like none he'd ever seen in Ireland.
If only he could be in a room with her without getting so distracted.
He scowled, rubbing his brow.
She'd such startling depths in those gray eyes. Physical strength and prowess like no other woman he'd ever met had. And such strange impulses. Like drinking him nigh under the table. He'd have thought her little drinking game overly masculine had she not so charmed him - and nearly unwittingly seduced him.
He curled up tight, cursing the hardness that seized him at the simple thought of it. He who normally contained his urges as good as any friar, and there he'd been, rubbing her back and even her breast with his hand, God help him.
MacColla tossed onto his back and examined the timber planks of the ceiling overhead.
It had been her questions of James Graham that had thrown him most of all. What game was she playing at? Getting him drunk, then pressing him once again on Graham's fate.
Could she be in league with the Campbell? The thought had occurred to him before, and he'd discounted it.
He'd do well not to discount anything about this one in the future.
Chapter Fourteen
She peeked out from her bedroom, then ducked back in again. Haley had spent the day in bed and she was starving. Absolutely and completely famished. She assured herself that such a rapid recovery was attributed to rest and not to Jean's potion, but her body felt so clear and so normal, she had to wonder.
Dinner had come and gone hours ago, and the halls of Fincharn were ominously dark. She inhaled. The faint aroma of fresh bread lingered in the hall, and she wondered just how long it took for a person to die from hunger.
She tiptoed out and was immediately immersed in shadow. Her rumbling stomach nagged her, though, driving her to take another step. The kitchen wasn't too far, and she told herself she could probably feel her way there in the dark. Though the castle was silent, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she had something in her belly.
The place was dreary and drafty, and a gust of cold air whooshed down the hallway and up her skirts. Tugging her plaid wrapper more tightly around her shoulders, Haley slid her foot in front of her to take another tentative step.
The scrape of her leather slipper along the flagstone sounded overly loud to her ears, which trained out into the darkness as if her sense of hearing could help her find her way.
She tapped and slid her other foot slowly in front of her, and heard the quick, quiet patter of tiny feet scuttling in response, somewhere just in front of her.
Rats. Haley sprang back into her room, cursing the shrill meep that burst from her lips.
She leaned against the doorjamb to catch her breath, feeling like her heart might pound out of her chest. The guttering stub of a candle on her bedside was a welcome and glorious blaze compared to the absolute blackness of the halls. She'd have taken the thing with her, if she weren't so afraid it might finally sputter out for good.
Haley shook her head. So stupid. She was probably skilled enough to hold her own against the worst of Boston muggers, and yet she couldn't bear the thought of a few mice scurrying about.
“I called you a hellcat… ”
She meeped again, putting her hand to her chest, and spun to see MacColla's silhouette in the shadows just outside her door.
A muted laugh rumbled in his throat. “But I think mayhap you turn into a wee hell-mouse with the waxing of the moon.”
“I'm starving.” she moaned at once.
“Ah. I ken what's come to pass.” He stepped into her room, and the candle cast his shadow ominously up the wall and along the ceiling. “My sister administered you her wee tonic, did she not?”
“Ugh.” Haley shuddered. “Did you drink it too?”
“Aye.” He smiled. “The sight of it always makes me quail like a sheep at the shearing. But every time, at just about this very time, I wake up feeling as though I could spit a buck and eat it whole.”
“Oh, yeah.” Her mouth watered at the thought of roast anything. Knees wobbling, she dropped to sit at the side of her bed. A whole buck sounded real good at the moment. “Totally.”
“Come, then.” A sly grin spread across MacColla's face as he reached his hand to her.
She stared warily.
“Come now, I won't bite you. Not yet, at least.” He winked, and she merely sat and stared. “Och, lass. Truly.”
“Where are we going?”
“To feed you.”
Haley took his hand, and pushed from her mind the sensation of it, broad and warm, enveloping hers. Instead, she followed MacColla into the blacknes s of the halls. Once again, the chill air swirled up her skirts and her gasp elicited more scuttling sounds from far down the hall.
“You know… ” Haley froze, automatically grabbing his arm tight. She whispered, “I think I can wait til morning. Really. I-”
His only response was a barely perceptible chuckle as he swept her up and easily into his arms.
She gasped. Haley wasn't a small woman, and yet his effortless gesture made her feel almost delicate. Not to mention the flutter of relief and gratitude she felt at being up and away from whatever rodents might be creeping about.
But this taste of needing him brought with it a tiny stab of irritation.
“You'll fall” she hissed. “How can you see?”
“With my eyes, girl. Relax yourself, now. Your sight will adjust.”
“No, I mean… ” The staircase was narrow, and she was forced to tuck more tightly into his body. “This really isn't necessary.”
But when they reached the bottom of the steps, the aromas coming from the kitchen were even stronger. “Ohhh” she said dreamily. Her stomach rumbled again. “Do you think there's still food?”
“Aye, lass.” MacColla stopped, but she only held tighter, finding she wasn't ready to let go quite yet. She felt secure in his arms, and the shadows along the hallway were so black and cold. He gave a little chuckle and walked on, telling her, “There's always food.”
Orange and red embers warmed the hearth, casting ambient light and dancing shadows over the kitchen.
He put Haley down, leaning her against the solid butcher block in the middle of the small room.
She turned at once and began poking around. “A nice, big sandwich… some chips… maybe some ice cream…”
“You desire… cream?”
“Cream?” It took her a second to register his question. “Oh, yuck. No… I… never mind.” Haley lifted the edge of a linen square and signed, seeing a thick hunk of hard bread. “Hello.”
He reached over her, grabbing her hand with a small laugh, and pulled her away. “Patience. A moment, lass. A moment.” He situated her once more with her back against the table. “Now,” he went to a far corner, mumbling, “if I know my sister… ”
Haley heard some rifling, then. “Ah. There's the stuff.” Standing, he put his nose to a small tin and inhaled deeply. “My sister. Very predicable, aye? Her husband's mother made her a gift. Some book for ladies, with all manner of potions and receipts.”
MacColla broke off a piece of something from the pan and handed it to her. “Prince Bisket, lass. It has a bit of sweet that will set you to rights.”
“I hadn't realized Jean was married,” she said, taking the hunk of sugared biscuit from his hand. “We were talking earlier and… ohhhh… ” Haley had taken a bite. It was still slightly warm, and she could taste the fresh butter.