Highlander Mine (5 page)

“I’ve seen many grand buildings,” I said. “Castles and cathedrals. Modern hospitals and stately courthouses. Elite schools and domed, acoustically attuned music halls.”
Rarely,
I didn’t need to add.
More often, I’ve deliberated upon the interior décor of a decadent gaming hall, listening to the scuttling roll of a dice across a felt-lined table, feeling the supple glide of the deck of cards I hold in my hands as I shuffle the cards and deal them to unscrupulous men. In my quieter moments, I retreat to an unused private library where I find sanctuary in the pages of old, dusty books as I pursue my treasured ambition of learning, and of teaching: a dream that is as passionate as it is pointless.
“Many of them are architecturally designed masterpieces, of course. But they’re all city buildings. I’ve never been out of Edinburgh before now, and I can only marvel at the beauty of the countryside. And
this
countryside is far more beautiful than I might ever have imagined. It somehow lends a completely different magnificence to a manor than rows of other grand buildings do.”

Christie and Ailie seemed pleased by the observation; they appeared to take my comment about the glory of their home as a compliment, as it was intended.

“You’ve never been out of Edinburgh?” Katriona asked. To her, the information was clearly another strike against me. “What a pity.”

I wasn’t sure of her meaning. And I wasn’t overly compelled to find out exactly what her meaning might be. I was too distracted by the commanding view of the fields and the mountains beyond.

The carriage was slowing, coming to a stop at the front entrance of the manor. Footmen opened the doors and helped us disembark. To Hamish’s dismay, the guards had ridden off once we were inside the walls of the keep and were nowhere to be seen.

“Amelia,” Ailie said. “Christie will show you and Hamish to your guest chambers. You’ll be quite comfortable there for now.” I remembered: I was to undergo an extensive interrogation by the almighty laird himself, and at his very first opportunity. I honestly didn’t feel up to such an encounter at this present moment. My usually staunch self-preservation-at-all-costs outlook felt as if it had been somehow undermined, just slightly, by this vast, resplendent place. I wanted to be left alone, to drink it all in and appreciate it for a time.

Christie seemed to sense this. “After I show you to your chambers, you can take a stroll through the gardens if you’d like. After all the traveling you’ve done, you might like to take some time, to settle in and clear your head before the noon meal is served in the hall.”

I was very touched by her kindness. I smiled at her. “Thank you, Christie.”

She returned the smile. She reached to finger a long ringlet of my hair that had come loose. “Your hair is the most outstanding color. Not blond, not red. Something in between. With a myriad of shades from rose gold to copper.”

“Strawberry blond,” clarified Hamish. It was what my sister called it. We had read the term in a book somewhere and we had mused at the fanciful-sounding word. In fact, we had no idea what a strawberry was, or what color such a thing might be.

My nephew was in somewhat of a mood, since he’d discovered the soldiers had taken their leave of him. Christie had noticed his immediate attachment to the burly guards—and their weapons. “No doubt you’ll have an opportunity later, Hamish, to visit the soldiers’ barracks, and to meet with Lachlan, and perhaps even Laird Mackenzie himself. He has the biggest sword of them all.”

Hamish was placated enough by her comment, but it left me with a singular flush of unease. Knowing I would have to face this Laird Mackenzie—and his big sword—and spin my elaborate lie seemed less larkish than it had from afar, now that we were here within the walls of Kinloch.

Christie led us into the manor, through a grand hall that was being cleaned by a number of efficient workers and up a stone staircase. Every detail of this place shone with gleaming attention. Large candles sat in grooves carved into the outer edge of every second step, illuminating our path with a modernistic glow. Deer antlers had been weaved to make a rustic chandelier overhead. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes, the scenic loch I already recognized, a wedding and other stunningly crafted portraits of Mackenzie history decorated the stone walls. We were led to our private chambers, which was small but charming, and very clean. It was a narrow room with a large window at one end. There were two single beds laid with thick furs, a dresser between with a porcelain pitcher and bowl on top and a small table with two chairs placed by the window, which overlooked the orchards.

“’Tis very simple, but I hope you’ll find it suitable enough during your stay,” Christie said.

“It couldn’t be more perfect,” I assured her. “Much better than a hay wagon.”

Christie smiled again, her white teeth small and neat. She was so pretty and petite. I was several inches taller than she was and much more voluptuous. I knew I had the kind of figure that won the attention of men—I’d had more than enough experience with their admiring glances and lascivious comments to understand that much. But now standing here next to Christie made me feel less like a womanly treasure and more like a prize-winning heifer. “Once you’re settled, feel free to stroll the gardens as you like,” she said. “A meal will be served at midday, in the hall. You’ll hear the bell. When Knox is ready to see you, he’ll send someone.”

With that, she left us to it. I washed my face with some cool water and brushed my hair, tying it in a loose coil, but Hamish was too energized to stay cooped up in our room.

“Let’s go, Ami. I want to explore the orchards and see if any of the fruit is ripe enough to pick.”

“I would think it’s still too early for the fruit.”

But I was soon pulled at his insistence out the door and down the stairs. The workers took no notice of us. They were likely accustomed to guests and visitors. We found our way out-of-doors and into the day. The light was clear and golden, slightly hazed with the climbing heat of summer. The orchards themselves were something akin to a wonderland of lush green. Soft, waving grass carpeted the expanse. Compact, leafy trees created inviting little curling paths so exquisite that if someone had told me faeries were hiding among their branches, waving magical wands and leaving gold-dust trails, I would have believed him. Hamish ran ahead. I called to him, but he had disappeared. He wouldn’t have gone far, I knew.
Let him be,
I thought. He needed to play, to run. To be a child for an hour or two.

I strolled along, thoroughly enjoying myself, taking a deep breath and feeling the air in my lungs and the sun on my face for the first time in...perhaps ever. This was a different sun from the muted light of the city. This sun felt healthy and restorative. I unpinned the clasp of my shawl to feel the warmth on my skin.

I heard laughter. From somewhere up above me.

“Come down from there,” I told him. “You’ll fall.”

“I won’t fall. You should come up here, Ami. I can see over the orchards. And at the very top of the tree, the apples are turning red.”

“Pick one for me.”

“There’s one right above you,” Hamish exclaimed. “On that branch there. You could reach it if you climbed across.”

I looked to see where he was pointing. A thick, low branch was within my reach where it met the trunk of the tree, rising at an inclined angle as it grew outward. At the end of it was a very big, very red apple. It nearly glowed with its luscious rosy ripeness in the dappled sunlight. “You get it,” I said.

“I’m all the way up here. You’ll have to.”

I’d never picked an apple straight off a tree before and eaten it when it was still warm from the sun. It simply looked too good to resist. This truly was Eden, I couldn’t help musing, and I was Eve, overcome by temptation. Laying my shawl on the grass, I reached up and slid my palms over the comfortingly rough bark of the tree branch. Placing one hand farther, then the other, I inched my way along it until I was hanging several feet off the ground. My arms were already getting sore from the effort, but I was now determined to reach my apple. And I was almost there.

I was close enough to reach out, through the leaves...I almost had it. My fingertips brushed against its smooth, perfect surface. But then I heard a sound. Someone was clearing his throat. The deep rumble was so close behind me it startled me and I lost my grip, tumbling to the ground in an unruly heap.

Slightly dazed from my fall, I looked up to see the most striking vision I had ever laid eyes on.

A man.

He was very tall and backlit by the sun so that his lit silhouette was framed by a wash of bright, molten gold. The shape of him was somehow superb, as though he’d been carved by a master. I could see the colors of him and the details of his white shirt, loose and open at the neck to reveal the tanned skin of his throat. His shirt was exceptionally well made and of high-quality cotton but worn to the point of visible softness. Strapped around his waist was a thick leather belt that holstered two weapons: a gold-handled hunting knife and an exceedingly large sword that was not sheathed in a scabbard but slung bare and shiny into its looped harness. That exposed blade seemed to signify something, purposefully advertising not only its gargantuan size but its artful craftsmanship.
He has the biggest sword of them all.
His leather trews were tucked into tall boots. On his wrist was a wide leather band adorned with gold ornamentation and he wore a gold chain around his neck that was mostly hidden from view inside his shirt. His hair was a deep midnight-black and hung past the collar of his shirt in thick, sun-glinted skeins, curling slightly at the ends. He wore a small braid at either temple, as his traveling guards had also done: a Highlands warrior custom. I noticed all these details abstractly; it was his face and his demeanor that riveted me most of all. His posture was upright but relaxed, utterly confident. Power seemed to radiate from the wide set of his shoulders in heatlike, shimmery waves. The features of his face were bold but aristocratic, from the wide, straight nose to the carved, masculine jaw roughened by the light shadow of stubble. Strong, black, expressive eyebrows arched slightly with a note of absorbed assessment. And his irises, arresting in their charcoal-rimmed pale gray glow, as though alight from within. Long, thick black lashes brushed almost elegantly against his cheeks as he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was a flash of bemused satisfaction. His full lips curved in an arrogant pout that wasn’t a smile.

“And who,” he said, his deep voice curling into me with unusual effect, “might you be?”

CHAPTER THREE

I
REALIZED
THEN
what I must have looked like. My gown was not only exceptionally low-cut, a detail that had only become emphasized by the effects of my ridiculous tree-climbing expedition, but also bunched up around my knees. I had left my shawl near the tree’s trunk and fleetingly thought of scrambling over to retrieve it but didn’t want to make even more of a spectacle of myself than I already had done. My hair had come loose and hung down, almost to my waist, in untamed coil-tipped curls that did little to hide my abundant breasts, which were practically spilling out of the tight bind of my gown. I knew my face was likely flushed from my exertions. And worst of all, I was still agog at the spectacle of this...this
person
who stood over me with all the advantaged superiority of the lord that he was. I recognized instantly that
this
was the venerable Laird Knox Mackenzie, not only from his vague resemblance to his sisters but also from the aura of authority that clung to him along with the fine, well-worn clothing, the gold adornments and the immense, exposed steel sword. Power was written all over him.

He remained motionless for several seconds, seemingly stunned. Or miffed, perhaps, by my brazen intrusion into his ordered world.

Then, after a brief bout of what appeared to be indecision, he held his hand out to me.

The gesture—and I noticed that his hand was large and strong-looking and he wore a gold ring on his right pinky, which struck me as incongruent to this overall impression of excellence: edgy somehow, as though he had a hint of pirate in him, or a little devil that lurked in the deeper recesses of his character—was enough to stun me out of my stupor. But I hesitated. I was almost afraid to touch him. I suspected—and it was confirmed as soon as I placed my hand in his—that his effect would be absolute. A flourish of warmth leached into me from the point of contact. The enveloping clasp of his hand pulled me to my feet with ease. Despite the fact that I was tall for a woman and was often able to look men in the eye, he outsized me considerably. I felt subtly dominated by him and, for the first time in my life, that feeling was not entirely unpleasant. But my initial stunned reaction was fading, and my usual resilience was returning to me. I had never been one to cower under the weight of authority and I met his unwavering gaze with my own.

He did not immediately release his hold on me. His gray eyes, from this closer angle, were startlingly vivid, the darkness of his thick lashes and the charcoal rim of his irises contrasting with the light, charged brightness of his keen attention. He did not smile, yet there were sparks of measured raptness in him, as though I had somehow caught him by surprise but he was too controlled to be visibly caught off guard. His gaze wandered then, lower, and I pulled my hand away, making an unsuccessful attempt to stretch the cloth of my gown up a fraction to cover myself. I ran my hands down the bodice of my dress, to smooth it, and my fingers found the length of a curl, which I played with idly, knowing there was nothing to be done about the state of my hair. The blasted blond-red curls were untamable.

Appearing to be mired in some sort of trance of his own, Knox Mackenzie licked his lips then. The way his did this was so unconsciously yet wickedly sultry, I was utterly hypnotized. His bottom lip was plump and wet. The sight of his mouth was unbearably...
inviting.
I felt an outrageous urge to
taste
those lips. Shocked by the turn of my own thoughts, I looked away, letting my eyes rest instead on the long length of his sword.

“I’m still waiting,” he said softly. My gaze returned to his face. His manner was stern and solemn.

Waiting?

“What is your name,” he repeated, “and how do you find yourself here at Kinloch, climbing apple trees?” It struck me that Laird Mackenzie would already have known my name and all the details about which he had just asked me. His sisters and his guards would have fully and immediately informed him of our story and the nature of our impromptu visit. Yet he wanted to hear the details as I offered them. This intrigued me, and seemed to hint at hidden facets of his very guarded disposition: he was wary and meticulous and practiced.

With that, he looked up at the apple I had been attempting to pick. In a move that seemed slightly incongruous to the inherent sternness in him, he reached for it with one hand, straining so that the edge of his shirt came untucked, exposing a glimpse of his torso, which was lightly tanned and muscled. The masculine
hardness
of his body made me feel inexplicably giddy. I laughed lightly at the state he had found me in, and at the image of my wanton dishevelment.

“Falling
out of
apple trees, you mean?” I said, my laughter lingering.

Laird Mackenzie did not return my smile but instead contemplated me with narrowed eyes. He held the apple out to me, but not close enough for me to easily reach it. I would need to take a step forward to do that. He was challenging me.

As imposing a figure as he was, I didn’t feel intimidated by him. Quite the opposite. His expression, despite its commanding scrutiny, was not unkind. He was intrigued by me, this was clear enough, possibly enough to grant me leniency for whatever rules of decorum I might have broken, or maybe because of them. I did take a step forward, and as I bridged that narrowing divide, a tiny ripple of warmth darted through the low pit of my stomach. That peculiar urge to taste his full lips returned to me as a most unfamiliar, compelling, barely there ache that seemed to start in my mouth and infuse my body with a lightly feral flush.

I took the apple, and the brush of his fingers against mine caused the flush to flare. I’ll admit I was mildly disconcerted by this newfound sensation, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all. In fact, I felt surprisingly spirited, in a soft, subdued way. I was suddenly glad my shawl wasn’t wrapped around me, concealing me. My breasts felt rounded and plush. Since I wouldn’t have dreamed of acting on my urges but was indeed feeling quite overwhelmed to taste
something,
I took a bite of the ripe red fruit, which was, as I had guessed, warm from the sun and the heat of Knox Mackenzie’s hand. And juicy. So very delicious. I took another bite and the juice wet my lips and dripped down my chin.

Knox Mackenzie was watching my mouth with a glazed, spellbound expression that looked very similar to how I
felt.
I didn’t dare to presume he was thinking the same thing I was, that his urges might be mirroring my own. Maybe he was hungry. “Would you like a bite?” I asked him, sucking some juice from the apple.

I was somewhat surprised when he said, “Aye. I would like a bite.”

There was something increasingly sensual about this exchange. He took the apple from my grasp, watching my eyes as he bit into it with decadent relish.
God,
that greedy
mouth.
I had never found such a thing—or such a person—so fascinating.

“My name is Amelia,” I said, almost breathlessly. “Amelia Taylor. I’m—”

“Who are you talking to, Ami?” Hamish’s voice came from far above. I’d practically forgotten he was perched up there. Knox Mackenzie looked up.

“I believe I’ve just met Laird Mackenzie,” I called up to my nephew.

“How do you know who I am?” Knox asked. Actually, it was more like a demand than a polite question.

“Everyone knows
Laird
Knox Mackenzie,” I said, remembering Katriona’s annoyance at my complete ignorance when his name had first been spoken of, and my thoughts at the time. “From the tribesmen of deepest Africa to the nomadic plainsmen of the Americas.”

His dark eyebrows knitted together as he attempted to gauge whether I was mocking him, or something else. I wasn’t sure either way if I was—I hadn’t meant to—but I smiled at his expression. This man was not at all accustomed to impertinence of any kind whatsoever.
Tease him,
my little devil was whispering.
He doesn’t know what to make of you.

I wondered what he looked like when he smiled, and what his laughter might sound like. I suspected he did not smile often, and I wanted to try to inspire one. But I had no idea how to do such a thing.

Hamish had climbed down and jumped out of the branch above my head to land lightly beside me. He appraised Knox Mackenzie with a critical eye, deciding for himself whether
this
was the genuine article, the laird with the mightiest weapon. When Hamish’s eyes landed on Knox’s sword, they widened. It was proof enough. “
You’re
Laird Mackenzie?” he said.

“I am. And
you
are...?”

“Hamish—” with barely a pause “—Taylor.”

“I’ve heard about you,” Laird Mackenzie said. Hamish appeared stunned by this information, and the laird continued when Hamish didn’t respond. “One of my most trusted officers told me of your nerve and your...creativity. He thinks you’ve the makings of a soldier.”

I thought Hamish might burst with the praise. I smiled, but the laird’s light note of sarcasm did not escape me.
Creativity.
Hamish’s—
our
—tall tale might have been discussed between Lachlan and Knox Mackenzie. Knox’s trusted officer had shared his suspicions with his commander, who was also, quite possibly, his friend. Of course he would have. It was wise to voice suspicions, to be alert and aware of newcomers who were residing within the walls of your own keep. This sort of practice, I suspected, was typical.

And Knox Mackenzie was a clever man. “Hamish, I need a message sent to my officer Lachlan, who is over at the barracks. Would you be able to deliver this message for me, lad?” Noticing Hamish’s small wooden sword that hung from his belt, Knox added, “In return for the favor, I’ll see if any of the men have a smaller steel sword that they no longer have use of. You look man enough to handle an upgrade.”

Hamish’s jaw dropped open at the thought: that he might get a steel sword of his very own. It took him several seconds to respond. “Aye, Laird Mackenzie.
Aye.
What’s your message?”

“Tell him I have a few things to discuss with my new guest. And after we’ve finished speaking, I will be having a similar conversation with her young brother. I’d like Lachlan to give you a tour of the barracks while you’re waiting for Amelia, and see if any small swords are about. The barracks are that way,” he said, pointing. “On the other side of the apple orchard. I will meet you in the grand hall after the midday meal has been cleared away. Have you got all that?”

“Aye,” Hamish said, and he took off in a full run, disappearing from sight.

Knox Mackenzie was going to question Hamish and me
separately,
to see if our stories matched. A faint flutter of panic squirmed in my stomach, but I forced myself to remain calm. We’d already established the details of our tale, and we were both gifted and practiced with spinning lies, for better or worse. There was no reason we couldn’t sail through our individual interrogations with ease.

But I felt far from easy.

“Would you join me for a chat?” Laird Mackenzie said, without waiting for an answer. The question was clearly not a request but understood in advance to be an order that would be readily obeyed. I almost felt a perverse inclination to refuse, but then he added, “I can offer you food and drink. You must be hungry after your travels.”

Knox Mackenzie had a way about him that intrigued me. He was a blend of contradictions that somehow harmonized perfectly. His face was both rugged and refined, his tall form both relaxed and on guard. His expression showed no trace of humor. Yet there was a glint in his eyes that might have been described as charisma. He was comfortable with the upper hand that he undoubtedly always had, with whomever it was he happened to be with. He was laird of his clan, leader of his army, wealthy beyond belief, blue-blooded to the extreme and, as if that wasn’t enough, he was also endowed not only with a wide-shouldered, perfectly proportioned physique that would intimidate even seasoned warriors, but also a masculine beauty that no doubt caused many women to swoon.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t one of them. I could acknowledge that there was a definite allure to the supreme Laird Knox Mackenzie. If I’d been a hapless debutante with good breeding and a cultured sense of gentility, I might have described him as utterly dazzling. But I was not a hapless debutante. I was in fact a skilled and underhanded cardshark with few prospects beside the strength of my own wit and, perhaps, the occasional use of my own physical attributes. Attributes that had so far brought me more trouble than advantage. I could see the way his gaze lingered on the lavish curves of my body, gliding over my full lips, touching the long, feminine coils of my softly fiery hair and caressing the plush bounty of my half-exposed breasts. It was a look I was accustomed to, for better or worse.

It was glaringly clear to us both that I was at a distinct disadvantage in the universal scheme of things. Despite this, there was some indescribable thread of imbalance, in the opposite direction, as though he was deferring to me on a base level and in a way that flustered some inner sanctum deep within his psyche that had not been flustered for some time. I saw the light touch of craving in his eyes, and it was laced, oddly, with a profound flicker of sadness. Again, a subtle contradiction. He was an enigma and one that, against my better judgment, I couldn’t help being drawn to. Knox Mackenzie was privileged but he was not at all unscathed: this was a pronounced feature of his mien.

So, he was clever. And so was I. I planned to explore these small intuitions, to use them to my best advantage. After all, they were the only advantages I had and were tenuous at best.

“Thank you, Laird Mackenzie. Aye, I am hungry. And thirsty. It has been a long trip.”

He walked over to where my shawl lay on the ground and picked it up. He didn’t just hand it to me but draped it carefully around my shoulders. A gentlemanly gesture—not something I was particularly accustomed to. I left the shawl where he had placed it, not bothering to fasten it yet with the pin. His eyes were on me and, as never before, with a sense of almost bashful amusement, I found I
liked
that he was watching me, feasting somehow on the look of me. It made me want to grant him whatever pleasure he might have been deriving from my femininity. After years of discouraging or altogether ignoring the forthright attention of men, this was an entirely new response.