Margo Maguire (17 page)

Alex returned to the fireplace, where he’d been building up the fire.

“He complained of the cold when he had a waking moment,” the servant whispered.

Lachann looked at the old laird. The man did not look well, and though there was a wee chill in the air, ’twas certainly not cold in the room. “What ails him, Alex?”

Alex shrugged. “He’s always enjoyed his ale, sir, but so much whiskey is no’ good fer him. And these days, he does’na always keep his food down.”

All the more reason for Lachann to settle matters with him. If he died before he made Lachann his heir, Lachann would have to return home, leaving Kilgorra under dubious leadership.

It would also mean he had not secured the isle for Braemore’s protection. ’Twould be an entirely unsatisfactory result of all his planning.

He left the keep and made a quick run out to the chapel, where he found no one, not Macauley, not Catrìona. His confrontation would have to wait.

But it was coming, as soon as he found the filthy stoat.

Chapter 26

A
nna spent the rest of the day working in the cottage without interruption. No doubt everyone was busy at the granary, cleaning up after the disaster.

But she could not go down there, could not face Lachann again—not until she managed to overcome her bewilderment. She’d been so very certain she would never succumb to a man’s seduction, and yet she had completely surrendered to Lachann’s touch. Her body still tingled with the aftereffects of that last kiss, and she yearned for the strength and security of his arms ’round her.

And yet she knew how illusive those were. Hadn’t her mother—
hadn’t Kyla
—proved that? To love someone so desperately was to invite disaster. ’Twas an invitation Anna would never give.

She would think no more of Lachann MacMillan but concentrate on making her refuge habitable, at least for the near future. She knew ’twould be best to get away altogether. Just because the
Saoibhreas
was not inclined to take on passengers did not mean every other ship was the same. One day, she might be able to make Kyla see reason, and they would make their escape.

Kilgorra could go on as before—without them—and with a new laird in charge.

She swallowed back the unwelcome surge of emotion that rose up in her chest and pored through the crates. She found so many children’s clothes inside, garments that could have been put to good use through the years. Anna recognized some of the small garments as her own, and she believed some must have been Catrìona’s.

She did not know who had packed up all the clothing, but she intended to make it her business to see that it was distributed among the island’s children.

By the time she finished at the cottage, ’twas far later than she thought. No one was up and about in the keep, so she went up to the bathing chamber to soak off the dirt and grime from the fire in the large metal tub her mother had brought from Kearvaig. Catrìona forbade Anna to linger up near the bedchambers unless she was performing her chores, and Anna had been soundly chastised whenever she’d used the tub.

But what her stepsister did not know would not hurt her.

As she sank down into the water, she’d assumed she would be sufficiently exhausted that her mind would just drift into innocuous thoughts. But the tips of her breasts tightened into sensitive buds, and her muscles felt taut with anticipation.

Of Lachann’s touch.

When she closed her eyes, she could see every dark whisker on his face, and the specks of green in his dark blue eyes. A shudder of pure longing came over her. A longing to feel Lachann’s hands upon her body, a yearning for the kisses he’d given her in Gudrun’s cottage.

She let out a groan of frustration over the obvious foolishness of such desires, and because the maddeningly acute yearning between her legs did not abate when she stood up and stepped out of the tub.

She wrapped herself in a thick cloth, and as she tucked the end between her breasts, she forced thoughts of Lachann MacMillan from her mind. ’Twas beyond irritating that the man had such a deep hold on her faculties. She wished she knew how to dispel it.

She took another cloth and vigorously dried her wet hair with it, even though ’twould be a mass of tangles to comb. Mayhap the pain of that would help her get her thoughts in order.

She collected her clothes and her shoes in one hand and opened the door a crack. No one was about, so she blew out her candle and stepped out.

A loud crash stopped her before she made it to the stairs. The sound came from the vicinity of the solar on the floor above, so she dropped her belongings and ran to the steps, where she encountered Lachann MacMillan coming out of his bedchamber, just as she was about to climb.

“Anna . . .” Even in the shadowy passageway, she saw his eyes sweep over her, and her heart lurched with that impossible yearning she’d spent so much effort to eradicate. “What was it?” he asked.

“I-I’m not sure.”

She started for the steps, but Lachann stopped her. “I’ll go first.”

She hastened up the curving stone steps right behind him. They reached the top and found Anna’s stepfather lying on the floor with his whiskey bottle smashed at his side and the sweet, grainy-smelling liquid splattered everywhere.

“Watch your feet,” Lachann said.

They were bare, as usual, but Anna felt more than slightly naked. What she wore covered her body only from her chest to an inch below her knees.

“Fetch one of the menservants, Anna,” Lachann said as he crouched down beside the moaning old man. He lifted him to a sitting position, but his head lolled to one side. ’Twas bleeding profusely.

Anna hastened down the steps and stopped at Catrìona’s door. She knocked lightly, and when there was no answer, she opened it. Catrìona was not inside.

Anna did not stop to question where her stepsister might be, but held onto her towel and hurried all the way down to the servants’ quarters. She flew past her own room and knocked on Alex’s door. “Alex, come quickly! You’re needed!”

She heard the rustling of a mattress and a low groan, then Alex opened his door, wrapping his plaid about his waist. He looked her up and down, clearly astonished by her state of undress. “What is it, lass?”

“MacDuffie fell and Lachann needs help getting him down from the solar.”

“How did he get up there?” Alex asked. “Ach, never mind. He’s taken to drinking his whiskey in strange places.”

Anna’s only clothes were lying on the floor upstairs near the gallery, for she’d left her spare gown in the laundry. She had no choice but to return to the solar dressed as she was. She found that Lachann had propped up MacDuffie against a wall.

He’d tried to contain the bleeding with an edge of MacDuffie’s plaid, but the gash bled relentlessly. And the laird was moaning insensibly.

“Help me get him down to his bedchamber, Alex,” Lachann said.

The two men managed to lift MacDuffie, and between them, they got him down the steps and into his chamber. Anna went ahead, aware that the cut on her stepfather’s forehead would likely need stitching.

She gave a fleeting thought to Catrìona, who should be found and told of her father’s mishap. But there was no time to mount a search for her. Anna opened MacDuffie’s bedchamber, then pulled down his blankets and lit the lamp next to the bed as the men put MacDuffie onto the mattress.

“I’ll need to go and get my sewing box,” she said.

“I’ll get it,” Alex replied. “You stay here with the laird.”

“Alex, I—”

But Alex quit the room, and Anna felt Lachann’s eyes upon her. She tried not to feel self-conscious when she poured water into a basin and brought it to the laird’s bedside. But Lachann did not take his eyes from her as she moistened a cloth and began to clean the wound. “There is no need for you to stay, Lachann,” she said. “I’ll—”

“You may need help holding him down.”

“Alex can—”

“I’ll do it,” Lachann said.

Anna did not argue. Nor did she pay any attention to the wave of heat that slid through her as she stood half naked with the man she’d spent most of the day trying not to think of.

Anna concentrated on cleaning MacDuffie’s wound and wished she could hide her red, chafed knuckles. But he seemed not to notice.

His gaze was fully focused on her face, moving from her eyes, locking upon her mouth for a moment, then down.

He cleared his throat and looked away, and only then did Anna feel as though she could breathe again.

“Does this happen often? MacDuffie drinking himself insensible?”

“Only of late, though he does not usually fall and bring himself such grief.”

“He seemed on death’s door when I looked in on him earlier. ’Tis a wonder he was able to climb those stairs.”

Anna dabbed the wound, eliciting a groan from her stepfather.

“At least he seems a peaceful drunkard,” Lachann said. “Unlike your friend’s husband.”

“Birk wasn’t always like that,” Anna said, though she did not know why she bothered to defend the man. “When he and Kyla wed, he was . . .”

“Aye?”

She shrugged. “No one ever thought he would become a husband who beat his wife.”

“Least of all Kyla, I imagine.”

“She was a happy bride,” Anna said. “She bore a bonny son for her husband seven months ago. One would think he’d have been pleased, but his drinking worsened after he fell and cracked his head on the deck of his father’s birlinn. Now, no one on the isle seems to have any influence over the blasted stoat.”

Until Lachann MacMillan had tossed him into the harbor. Would Birk change once Lachann became laird and he had to fear his wrath?

Alex returned to the bedchamber with Anna’s sewing box, which used to belong to Gudrun, and perhaps even to Anna’s mother before her. Every time Anna opened it, she hoped it had once rested in Sigrid’s hands, that her mother had used the needles inside to make her own daughter’s clothes—the very same items Anna had found tucked away in Gudrun’s cottage.

She lifted the cloth from her stepfather’s forehead and blood oozed out from the deep cut.

“Aye. ’Twill need sewing,” Lachann said. “Alex, you take his legs and arms. I’ll restrain his head.”

Alex draped himself over the laird as Anna quickly threaded her needle. She began to stitch, rousing Laird MacDuffie from his stupor. Lachann and Alex managed to hold him still enough for her to complete her task.

L
achann nearly groaned when Anna bit her lower lip and let it slowly slide out again. He barely noticed her making each careful stitch, but watched as she winced a little when the needle pierced the old man’s skin.

He should tell her to go and clothe herself, but he could not bring himself to do so. He was enjoying the view far too much for that.

He could not stop thinking about the advice old Sorcha had given Anna.
Ye would do well to take this one t’ yer bed.

Aye. He did not disagree.

Her eyes were lovely. And all that bonny, bare skin smelled like pure sunshine. The waves of her damp, wheat-blond hair were so very sensual, framing her beautiful face.

Every male nerve in his body yearned for the length of toweling that covered her body to come loose. And yet the last thing Lachann wanted was to share the sight of a naked Anna MacIver with Alex MacRae.

He wanted her alone, by God. And he wanted her now.

Every grimace she made as she sewed reminded him of her soft heart. She was very much the lady of the isle, taking Sorcha back to her family in the village, and pitching in to help fight the fire without hesitation. And then there was Davy MacDonall and the rest of the children of the castle—

“The old man will’na leave his bed upon the morrow,” Alex said, interrupting Lachann’s thoughts.

“He’s done this before?” Lachann asked, for Alex sounded as though he spoke from prior experience.

“Not as bad as all this, Laird,” Alex replied. “But after a bottle or two of Kilgorra whiskey, especially the old brew Macauley has been bringin’ him of late . . .”

“Where is Catrìona?” Lachann asked. “She should be told of her father’s accident.”

Alex shrugged, and Lachann looked at Anna.

“Er, she is a sound sleeper,” Anna replied.

“She must be half dead not to have heard that crash.”

Anna ducked the question and tied the last stitch in the laird’s head. She gently dabbed a tiny ooze of blood from MacDuffie’s forehead. Then the man relaxed, settling down to his drunken sleep, snoring loudly.

“Well done, Anna.” Alex pulled MacDuffie’s bloody plaid out from under him and carried it to the door. “I’ll be takin’ my leave now.”

Anna looked sharply at him. “Alex—”

“Aye?”

“Naught,” she said, taking a quick, shy glance at Lachann. “I can finish here. Go back to bed.”

Lachann watched her pull the blankets over MacDuffie, then move two chairs away from the bed, shoving them against the wall. She reached under the bed for the chamber pot and put it on the floor within easy reach of the laird’s hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just making sure he suffers no other mishap during the night,” Anna replied. “Do you think I ought to sit up with him?”

Lachann took her arm and drew her away, to the door. “No, I do not,” he said quietly but firmly. “I think you should get some sleep. You are so weary you can barely stand.”

“No, I’m—”

Lachann silenced her with his mouth upon hers. She stiffened in shock, but as he gathered her close, her body softened against his. She fit him perfectly, her curves against his hard planes, just as he remembered. Just as he’d thought about all day, despite the fire and the resulting difficulties.

He eased her back against the wall and deepened their kiss, shifting his body slightly to relieve the ache in his loins. She opened for him on a quiet sigh. Lachann sucked her tongue into his mouth and slid his hand between them, to the tenuous fastening of the cloth she’d wound around her body.

It slipped loose absurdly easily, and when it fell to the floor, Lachann felt her shiver.

But not from any chill. The room was warm enough, so he suspected her bare breasts were exquisitely sensitive to the light brush of the cloth as it fell away.