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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.

“There's… there's
 
sugar
 
in here,” she exclaimed over a

mouth full of biscuit.

“Aye, lass.” He raised his brows, bemused. “Have you not

had sugar?”

“Well, yes, I've had sugar, but”  - she paused  - “where does

it… ?”

“Come from? The West Indies.” He grazed his finger

playfully under her chin. “We're not so barbaric after all .”

“Well, Scrymgeour isn't, at least.”

Her comment silenced him, until she caught his eye and gave him a broad grin. A great laugh erupted from  MacColla, and something clicked inside her. The sound was rich and broad, and it made Haley want to make him laugh again.

Though he swallowed his merriment so as not to wake the entire household, he continued to watch her, a wicked light in his eye.

The history books had it all wrong, she realized. MacColla had been painted as a destroyer, a two- dimensional savage.  But before her stood a man who did only what he needed to do. His anger and thirst for revenge were borne from a place of joy and love, his ferocity the more intense for the depth of those feelings.

Shaking his head, MacColla took an enormous bite of biscuit, holding her gaze all the while.

Haley's mouth went dry and she swallowed hard to finish her piece. Her mind blanked, and so she simply held her hand out for seconds. “How long does this keep, anyway?” she asked, anxious to fill the silence.

“Keep?”

“Yeah, you know, how long will this stuff be good for? It's

delicious.”

“'Twill last months. Aye,” he said, to her incredulous look,  “and when it gets too hard, Jean just breaks it up. With a  hammer like.”

“A hammer?” Her tone was suspicious, but he seemed

completely sincere.

“Aye, a wee mallet like.” He stared at her a moment. “You

don't seem overly acquainted with the kitchen, lass.”

Haley decided she needed an immediate change of topic.  “So, back to Jean.” She took a big bite, chewed for a

minute, then asked, “What happened? To her husband, I

mean.”

And it was as if some inner light that had animated

MacColla snuffed out.

“He died because of me,” he told her gravely.

“You killed your brother-in-law?”

“Och, no, girl. He… ” MacColla surprised H aley by leaning  next to her on the butcher block. “'Twas in battle. My  sword broke, and ”-

“You
 
broke
 
your sword?”

“Aye lass.” he responded with a grim little laugh, “it

happens. On the battlefield.”

“Mm-hm.”
 
She looked at him skeptically, inadvertently  grazing her eyes over the thick brawn of his arms. She  didn't think there could be that many six-foot-long, twohanded swords snapping on the battlefield. “So what did  you do?”

“Not what I did. What he did. Donald. That was his name.”

MacColla studied the biscuit in his hand, and then tossed it back in the tin. “Donald saw my sword break. Gave me his. I'd no time to think. I was in the thick of it. Leading the men. My sword broke and then a new one appeared in my hand. I'd no time to think on it.” he added quietly.

“He died, of course, Donald did.” MacColla picked the half-

moon -shaped shard of biscuit back up and put it in his

mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“My Jean.” He shook his head. “Poor lass. What she truly  wants  - what she should have, aye?  - is a home of her own  filled with more wee ones than she can handle. Were it not

for my battles…” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I  fight for the clan, aye? For Jean, in a way. But were it not  for my fighting, she'd mayhap have a home somewhere,  with a husband in her bed and a drove of bairns at her

feet.”

Haley imagined having kids at her own feet. She'd never considered it before, so intent was she on her academic work. Besides, she'd always figured her brothers would surely end up with over a dozen kids among the lot of them. For the first time, she thought something like that might indeed be nice, if it were with someone you loved.