At dawn, they rode the path down the mountain. Now on relatively level ground, they looked forward to half a day’s ride, but first they stopped by a burn to water the horses. Mac knelt by the water, splashed her face, and brushed her teeth with the travel toothbrush she’d brought as a small self-indulgence. Now more alert thanks to the ice-cold water, she tucked her toothbrush back into her pocket. She smiled to herself. All she needed now was for David to arrive on his bike with a fresh cup of coffee in hand.
The sound of thundering horses jarred her back to the present. She looked up to see Ciarán running to her. He threw her onto the horse and leapt up behind her. The others were already mounted. Off they rode with half a dozen Rosses behind them.
“Get down, love, and hold onto the mane!” Ciarán shouted in her ear.
As flintlock rifles fired, Ciarán leaned over Mac to protect her. Her heart swelled with deep affection that she dared not call love, but along with it came fear. She could lose him this day. All she could do was revel in the strength of his body against hers and the heart she was drawn to.
They were riding fine horses that, so far, had kept pace ahead of the Rosses, but Ciarán and Mac’s horse had two people to carry. “There’s a good lad,” said Ciarán as he urged his horse onward. “Mac, do you have your sgian dubh?”
“Yes.”
“Keep your hand on it, lass.”
Eilean Donan Castle was faint in the distance, but the Rosses drew closer. Ciarán stopped his horse by a boulder. In one swift motion, he pulled Mac from the horse and set her down on the ground. The movement was so sudden that it nearly knocked the wind out of her.
“Take this pistol. It’s loaded,” Ciarán said. “Hide behind that boulder.”
“No! Take me with you. I’ll fight. Let me help you!”
Without acknowledging her pleas, Ciarán turned and headed straight for the Rosses. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Hamish and Fergus.
“Halt!” Hamish called to the other men. “You’re on Eilean Donan land now.”
Six men from Clan Ross stopped to face them. Their pistols and rifles were drawn. “Ciarán MacRae, come with us,” one of them ordered.
“’Tis a fool’s mission you’re on,” Ciarán said. “Did you really think they would pay a ransom for me? Have they yet? Even if you can take me, I’m no use to you.”
The one in charge said, “I’ll agree that you’re useless, but now ’tis a matter of pride.”
Hamish said, “Turn around and go home. There’s nothing here for you.”
With his pistol aimed at Ciarán, the leader said, “Oh, but there is. There’s the matter of a ransom.”
Hamish laughed. “We havenae got it. Do you not think we’d have paid it by now?”
The leader grinned as he saw Mac walking toward them. “Well, she’s no ransom, but she’ll do for a start.”
Ciarán muttered a curse. From inside the folds of her skirt, Mac drew a pistol. Two men from the Ross party turned their rifles toward her. She surprised everyone by directing her pistol at Ciarán’s brother. With a narrowed eyes, she said, “Hamish is going to give you the ransom. In turn, you’ll ride away, and our business is settled. Are we agreed?”
The leader grinned. “Aye, wench, we’re agreed. ’Tis a shame we can’t stay and acquaint ourselves better. Perhaps another day.”
In even tones, Ciarán said, “Touch her and I’ll kill you.” His direct look drew an uncomfortable smile from the Ross leader.
“Hamish.” Mac took a step closer. “Give the men their ransom.” She watched Hamish consider his options, which she had thought through already. He could refuse her orders. Perhaps she would not have the courage to shoot him, but if she faltered, the Rosses would oblige. Ciarán and Fergus would put up a fight, which they might win. Even so, with everyone focused on him at the moment, Hamish’s chances looked worst of all.
“God’s teeth, woman!” As he scowled, the sharp look in his eyes sent a shiver through Mac. “You’ll pay for this.”
His words prompted a warning grunt from Ciarán, which Hamish seemed to understand. Hamish’s face showed the strain as he lifted his hands and said, “I’m going to lower my pistol.”
“No, give it over.” One of the Rosses approached and took the pistol from Hamish. He handed it off to another man.
“Dismount,” said the leader.
When Hamish hesitated, Fergus said, “You’d best do as he says.”
“As should you all,” said another Ross.
After they all dismounted, the leader ordered his men to search each of them. “The wench included.”
As one man took her pistol and leered, Mac said, “Try anything, pal, and I’ll knee you so hard that you’ll have to crawl home.”
He laughed and began searching her, starting with her ankles. When he reached the top of her thighs, she jabbed the sgian dubh into his hand. “That’s off limits.”
He grabbed her wrist and wrenched the knife from it, then he pulled his hand back and struck her. Fergus held Ciarán back.
“That’s enough,” said the one in charge. He turned to Mac. “You had that coming.” He chuckled. With the searching done, the Clan Ross men stowed the weapons, took the MacRae horses in tow, and rode off, leaving them standing in the glen.
When she felt they were a safe enough distance away, Mac looked over at Ciarán. He watched, jaw clenched, as the men rode away.
Mac said, “Thank God no one was hurt.”
“Shut your damn gob, woman!” said Hamish.
While she had not expected Hamish to part easily with the ransom, she thought he would at least appreciate her having spared his brother another kidnapping. She looked to Ciarán, expecting something other than what she received, which was a cold glance before he turned away and started to walk toward the castle. Hamish followed. It was Fergus who came to her and said, “Come, lass. We’ve a long walk ahead.”
They walked in silence for what must have been more than an hour. Mac’s spirit sank further with each step. Ciarán had not said a word to her. Under his quiet demeanor, a fierce anger burned. When she could take no more, Mac asked, “Fergus, what did I do?”
He scoffed. “Och.”
Mac stared for a moment, sure that he would follow up with something. He did not.
“Oh, well, that explains it,” she said sarcastically.
A full minute later, Fergus said, “You may as well cut off his balls, for all that you’ve done.”
His words felt like a punch in the gut. When she could speak, Mac said, “Really?”
Fergus walked on in silence.
Mac shook her head. “That’s what this is about?”
Fergus’s head tilted just barely enough to register that he’d heard her.
“Oh, c’mon. If a man had done that, you’d be buying rounds at the pub and slapping each other’s backs.”
Fergus stopped in his tracks. “If a man had done that?” He looked at her directly.
“Yes!”
Fergus’s eyes bore through her. “A man should have done that.”
As Fergus resumed walking, Mac nodded. “Go on. I’ll catch up.”
They were near the stone chamber she had emerged from days ago. She glanced toward the others. They walked on, untroubled by her. So Mac turned and walked away, toward the chamber. She was caught up in her inner dialogue, vacillating between cursing men for their pride and berating herself for expecting them to appreciate modern sensibilities. Somewhere in the midst of her turmoil, she heard Ciarán calling her name. She saw no point in answering him, but she could not help but take one last look back to remember him by.
“Where are you going?” he called.
“Good-bye, Ciarán.”
He was running toward her. Mac could not bear the thought of breaking down in front of him. As much as it hurt to admit it, they were too far apart. Time was the least of their problems. Both were strong-minded and rooted in opposing ways of life. Back home, she had thought that not knowing was the worst part of it all. She had made a mistake. Now she knew. She had traded longing for grief, for her heart would now break. All she wanted to do was go home and cry unobserved, but instead, she felt as though pieces of pride and self-esteem were sloughing off as she ran for the cave. No longer caring who heard her, she sputtered, “Who wants to live in a place that doesn’t have pints of ice cream to cry over?” She started to stumble on a loose rock but recovered. “And I miss my hiking shoes, dammit!”
“Mac!”
“I’m fine! Just let me go!” Not bad, she thought. Her voice sounded more confident than she had expected it to.
He grabbed hold of her arm. Mac noted that Ciarán was breathing deeply but not gulping for air as she was. She made a mental note to crank up the incline on her treadmill. But for what? The next time she decided to break up with a guy while running uphill in Scotland?
“Mac, wait.”
“Look, Ciarán, it’s not me; it’s you. Turns out it sucks to be a woman in the eighteenth-century Highlands. I get it. It’ll take about 250 years before you’ll be able to appreciate what I did for you. Until then, I’d just like to go home. Ring me up when you’ve evolved.” She turned and walked away from him, feeling empowered but lonely for Ciarán already.
“The stone chamber’s that way.”
Mac stopped and shut her eyes for an instant. With a sigh, she turned and looked at him. He looked genuinely sorry for having to correct her.
Sheepishly, she asked, “Which way?”
He tilted his head back the other way. He could have made fun of her—laughed, or at the very least, smirked. But he did not.
She gave him one point for that but then deducted it when his gaze settled on hers and made her heart melt just a little. Tears stung her eyes as she tried to suppress them. “Well, thank you. I guess I’ll just, uh, be on my way.”
As she walked past him, he grabbed her and planted the sort of kiss on her that she could not refuse.
“Oh c’mon! Would you stop doing that?” Her knees wanted to buckle, but she blamed it on the walking.
The corner of his mouth turned up as he said, “Stop doing what?” And he kissed her again.
When he finally released her, Mac awkwardly nodded while she searched for words. “Well, nobody said you couldn’t kiss.” She glanced up. He was smiling. Against her will, she smiled back. But her smile faded as the truth of the day’s events weighed on her. “But it’s not enough.” She had to go now before she lost her composure. She took one step away and then turned back. “Just one more.” And she took his face in her hands and kissed him. She took her time. There was touching involved.
With a gasp, she pulled back. “Good-bye.”
Ciarán held her in a vise of an embrace. “I was angry. I felt like a fool. Worse, you made us look like fools in front of our enemies.”
“I know. I mean, I can see that now. But at the time, I was just trying to help you. They were going to hurt you—or worse—and I couldn’t just stand there and watch.”
He nodded.
“Hamish could have just given them the money, but he didn’t.” She stopped short of saying that Hamish had chosen the money over Ciarán, but he had to know that already. To say it would only hurt him more. “The truth is, if a man had done what I did, you would not have been angry.”
He nodded again. “’Tis true. I’d have been angry with Hamish. God’s teeth, the man likes a good bargain. He wouldnae part with a milk cow to save me.”
“And I made him part with gold.”
Ciarán shrugged. “Aye, so he lost a bargain this time. He’ll recover.”
Mac shook her head slowly. “It’s so different here.”
His eyes met hers and made her heart ache. “Too different.”
She looked down at his leine and touched the coarse fabric. “I should go home now.”
He lifted his brows with helpless resignation. “’Tis too late. There’s not enough light.”
Mac’s spirits sank. She had been ready to make a clean break. She could not start to get over him until she could be free of his soft eyes, strong jaw, and full lips—and the arms that held her against him so her head lay on his chest, where his scent made her want to swoon.
Ciarán said, “And I dinnae want you to go.”
She shook her head. “I’m bound to make you angry again.”
“Aye.” His warm smile was infectious.
“I don’t fit in here.”
He had no charming reaction to this. The truth that Mac could not bring herself to admit aloud was that she never would fit in. Nor could she. She had never intended to stay here. The fact that she was even thinking about it scared her.
“We have different ways, but you can learn to understand them,” Ciarán said.
Mac could not deny that he’d made a good point. He was willing to meet her halfway, which was more than she imagined his brother would do—or anyone else here. Even if Ciarán could accept her, others would not. As much as she wished it could be, it could not.
Mac said softly, “What’s the point?”
He lifted her chin and looked into her soul. “You are.”
She gazed back, a helpless victim of her heart, for she ached to be with him. “I’ll have to go back at some point.”
“Not today, or tomorrow.” He said it like a command.
“No, not until after my heart breaks completely.”
He took her with fierce desperation into his arms and kissed her with a force that made her head swim. They could not get close enough, pressing and clutching. She gripped his belt, pulling him closer.
With breathless impatience, Mac said, “Where are Hamish and Fergus? They’ll see us.”
“I told them to go home without us.”
“Good.” She clutched at his kilt, lifting it out of her way.
“No.” Ciarán gripped her shoulders and pushed her to arm’s length. “I’ll not take you like this.”
“It’s okay,” Mac assured him.
But Ciarán would not be swayed. “No. It would not be right.”
Mac tried to form a question, but she could not find an argument for this.
Gently, he kissed her. Her whole body went liquid.
“Keep that up, Scotty, and my head will explode—and my ovaries, too.”
Confused by her remark, he shook his head slowly and grinned. “Lovely lassie, I have never known anyone like you.”
She frowned. “Yeah, I get that a lot—but not in a good way.”
He held out his hand. “Will you come home with me now?”
“For now,” she said, slipping her hand into his. Even as the warmth of his strong hand against hers made the blood rush to her cheeks, she knew she was making a mistake.