The door creaked and then opened. A deep male voice said, “Come, lass.” Strong arms pulled her from the car. “Can you stand?”
He set her on her feet, but her legs buckled. He scooped her up. Fuzzyheaded, Mac leaned on his chest. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and her fingers traced a fold of wool draped over his doublet.
“Nice kilt, Scotty. But just so you know, real Scotsmen go shirtless.” She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder.
2
This Moment
Mac awoke to the smell of wood smoke and the feel of strong arms holding her. She tried to sit up, but the arms tightened.
In low, calming tones, the Scotsman said, “You’re safe. I’ll not harm you.”
“Not harm me?” That brought her fully alert. “Why would you even say that? Who are you? Where are we?” She winced as pain shot through her temple.
“You’ve bumped your head.”
“With what, a ten-pound hammer?” She tenderly touched her head to assess the damage.
Fire lit the rough ceiling and walls of what looked like a cave—a cave barely large enough for the two of them. She was nestled in the man’s lap. Mac’s situation did not look good. She was trapped in a cave with a large, rugged man. How she got there, she couldn’t recall. He’d probably clubbed her over the head and dragged her there by her hair. But where was there? Past the fire, rough-hewn stones framed the falling snow.
“The stone chamber,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon, lass?”
Lass? And with a Scottish burr? That was cute.
Mac turned to look at him but quickly turned back, refusing to be drawn in by his looks. Dim firelight or not, she knew handsome when she saw it. Tousled brown hair brushed his temples. Those eyes were dark and warm, and they’d searched hers a little too deeply. She had to work hard to resist him. Her practical side was, thank God, stronger.
“I’m a black belt,” she warned. “If you try anything, I can kill you.” She prayed he wouldn’t ask her what she had a black belt in. She had one—in her belt drawer. It came with her little black dress.
He laughed at her threat, and his laugh was full and infectious. She forced a stern look to hide the urge to laugh with him.
“I’ll be careful not to anger you then.” Even his smirk was good-looking.
Mac nodded. “See that you don’t.”
He answered her nod with his own while suppressing a grin. With that settled, she became aware of his body against hers. Her inner sirens sounded. With a jab of her elbows into his chest, she pushed up, grabbing his thighs for leverage. She lifted a brow.
Don’t let those rock-hard muscles distract you. Keep moving.
He leaned back, raising his palms in surrender. “Dinnae fash yersel, lass. I was trying to warm you. You were shaking before you awoke.”
“I’m not fashing myself—whatever that is. But if I feel like fashing, I’ll fash as much as I want.” Fashing or not, she felt cold away from his arms. She wouldn’t think about that. “I would like an explanation, if that’s not too much to ask.”
“An explanation of what?”
“Of why we’re here, for starters.”
“I pulled you from your carriage and brought you here for shelter and warmth.”
She glared at him in disbelief.
“Here you are, sheltered and warmed. I’ve not hurt you, have I?”
“Maybe you were waiting for me to wake up.” She eyed him with more mistrust than she felt, but she wouldn’t let him know how strangely unthreatening he seemed. Sick bastards counted on trust to lure victims. Of course, he had no need to lure, since she was already in his lair. They were inside a shelter too far from houses for anyone to hear if she screamed, which was all the more reason not to trust him. He might be some perv who’d wandered off the Appalachian Trail. It ran past her house, which, unfortunately, was still too far of a walk in this storm. “Are you a hiker?”
“Nay, lass.”
The soft light in his eyes and his quiet confidence unsettled her more than she dared to let on. He met every skeptical look, every challenging edge in her voice with a calm hint of a smile.
She turned away, afraid the firelight might reveal the color he brought to her cheeks. He had clouded her thinking, so she latched onto the last thing he had said. “What’s with the lass stuff, anyway?”
He looked quizzically at her.
“The way you’re talking. You’re good, but I’ve been to Scotland. That accent’s fake.”
That seemed to amuse him. “Is it, now?”
She scrutinized him. “Where have I seen you before?”
“In front of your carriage.”
“My carriage? Oh, you mean my car. Yeah, I guess that’s it.” Their eyes met and lingered too long. She glanced down to avoid the power of his gaze. “What’s up with that kilt? Are you in a pipe band?”
“It’s a plaid.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was right. She shrugged. “Sorry, plaid. Who are you? Do you live around here?” The houses in her area were so far apart that a person could go months without seeing a neighbor. Perhaps that was how she knew him.
“Nay.”
Without even looking at him, she felt his guileless gaze. It enlivened her nerves, which was reason enough to beware. Overwhelmed by the strength of his presence, she couldn’t come up with her usual quips that put most guys off. She felt lost. She didn’t like that sensation.
“Why do I feel like I should know you?” she asked.
“Do you?”
Something in his searching look made her want to say yes. She puzzled over it then exhaled and shook her head. “That bump on the head did a number on me.”
He nodded and stared into the darkness—but not before Mac saw his disappointment. She found herself wishing she hadn’t been the cause. A gust blew in some snow, and Mac shivered. In one motion, he slipped the end of his plaid over her shoulders. She stiffened and turned to defend herself, but his stern look cautioned her not to.
“Are you going to hurt me?” she asked.
“Hurt you?” He looked annoyed. “Lass, do you not think I’d have done it by now if I wanted to?” His anger faded as he saw the fear in her eyes. “Och, you wee fool. I told you that I wouldnae harm you, but I will keep you warm if you’ll let me.” He looked at her, his outstretched arms suspended between embrace and retreat. With a nod, he lowered his arms. “Aye, well, I’ll not put you in fear. I’ll stay over here by the wall. Warm yourself by the fire. I give you my word, I’ll not trouble you.”
She eyed him as he put distance between them. She drew farther away, as close to the fire as she could get without snow falling on her. She needed to make her way home. He might fall asleep, and she could steal away into the darkness. With any luck, the snow would keep up long enough to cover her tracks. Her house wasn’t far down the road. If she could make it there, she could call someone for help.
But what would she tell anyone she might call?
A stranger pulled me from a wreck and warmed me by the fire, where he proceeded not to lay a hand on me?
There must be a local ordinance against unsolicited gentlemanliness. Yeah… and those long, powerful legs ought to be outlawed. She’d had quite a good look at them. Under normal circumstances, she’d be wary of him for far different reasons. Men like him drew attention from everyone. Who would want a lifetime of being judged unworthy beside someone as good-looking as him?
Whoa, Mac. You’re supposed to be planning your escape, not your marriage!
She glanced at him. True to his word, he hadn’t moved; he wasn’t even looking at her. The firelight caught his profile as he stared into the night. She studied him further. Hair dark as coffee, full lips—probably soft and warm.
Good grief, Mac. Get a grip.
As though hearing her, he turned and made eye contact. “’Tis wise for you to be cautious. You dinnae ken me, so you’ve no reason to trust me. But I wish you’d not fear me. I’ve done naught to harm you.”
She hugged her knees. “So far.”
“Mac? Do you not ken me?” His expression was tinged with frustration. “I mean know.”
“I know what ken means.” His gaze troubled her. Unbidden sorrow haunted his eyes. Her heart ached as she whispered, “Please stop.”
He shook his head slightly. She might not have seen it had he not turned to the fire with his clenched jaw.
Mac said, “Don’t look at me like that.”
He let out his breath and gave a casual shake of his head. “I’m sorry. The firelight must have played tricks with my eyes. For a moment, you looked like someone I once knew.” He smiled, but it was forced.
“Did she hurt you?”
“Hurt me? Och, no.”
“I’m sorry, I thought—”
“She would never have hurt me.” He stared at the snow.
“You loved her?”
“I love her still. I’ve risked everything to find her.”
“Oh. The way you talked, I thought she might have died.”
“Perhaps she did, in a way.” He glanced at her. “We were parted and lost one another.”
Mac nodded. A pang of longing took her by surprise. Such emotions could only distract her, along with the little things she was noticing—his strong jawline stubbled with a day’s growth of beard and those lips. Her eyes kept coming back to those lips. He turned toward her, and she lifted her eyes to meet his knowing look. He had noticed her studying him, and he did not object.
Doing her best to look neutral, Mac said, “So she lives around here?”
“Aye.” He hesitated, as though trying to form just the right words. “We met not far from here.”
“Oh?”
He looked away. “It has been a long time. I was daft to think we would be as we were.”
“So you’ve seen her already?”
“Aye.” He stared into the flames and smiled to himself. “It was not the right time. And what of you?”
She frowned. “Me?”
“Is there a man?”
She didn’t like that question and made a sharp turn to miss it. “I’m with a man right now—a very strange man.” She grinned.
He grinned in return. “Aye, a strange man who found you shelter and then made a fire to warm you.”
“Thank you, but—stop me if I’m wrong—you’d have done that anyway for yourself. So if you’re thinking I owe you anything, I don’t.”
He let out a full-throated laugh. “You misunderstand me, my lady.”
“Really? Like a little ‘my lady’ will make it all better. You Brits think we all get stupid over an accent—”
His eyes blazed. “Madam, I am a Scot.”
“Well, Scotty, last I looked, Scotland was part of the UK.”
His face went ashen. “The what?”
“The United Kingdom. Hey, are you okay?”
Other than being unhinged
…
He looked away and suppressed whatever shock he felt. “Oh, aye. I am well.” He returned his focus to her. “But you’re shivering. Come here, lass.” He opened his arms and beckoned her to him.
Mac eyed him. His expression was open and honest. She found herself trusting him for no reason other than her gut feeling. Despite his sturdy physique, he was gentle. It was in his eyes. They were large and deeply set, looking at the world with guileless kindness and sympathy—perhaps even sadness. Once more, her gaze fell to his mouth. Her eyes darted away as she tried to think clearly. He stretched out his hand.
She had doubts, but she placed her hand in his and let him draw her closer. Despite her pounding heart, she assured him, “I’m just in it for the warmth. Don’t get any ideas.”
“Dinnae fash yersel over me.”
Mac’s face wrinkled. “I give up. What does
fash
mean?”
Suppressing a grin, he said, “Dinnae trouble yourself, my lady.”
My lady? Damn, he had charm. The sort of charm serial killers must have to lure their victims into the dark and stormy woods. She glanced at him, and his admiring look made her feel stupid, a fact she did her best to conceal. Her best wasn’t good enough. She exhaled a little too loudly.
“Why do you sigh, lass?” They’d drawn close—for the warmth—so he needed only to tilt his head down to peer at her.
His warm breath brushed her cheek, and she shivered. “I, uh, oh, I’m just sighing from the cold. Whew! It’s cold!” She made a great show of rubbing her arms.
Outside, thick flakes drifted noiselessly to the ground. A person could die out there without anyone knowing; the body might not be found until the spring thaw. The Scotsman’s arm tightened around Mac, and he pulled her against his broad shoulders and chest. The man was a furnace.
“How is it you’re not freezing your…whatever off in that kilt? Sorry, plaid. From what I hear—never mind.” She had heard that they wore nothing underneath.
“Might I ask you a question?”
She looked up with a start.
“To distract us, you ken, from the cold.” His mouth spread into a boyish grin that lit his face.
If he was a creep, he wasn’t a very good one. She hadn’t felt such ease with a man since… well, ever. For all the dates her sister had arranged for her, none of those men had looked at her and seen her—or made her feel—the way this man did. He was—something she couldn’t even think.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Her posture stiffened as she shrugged.
“You were shaking your head.”
She averted her eyes. “I’m shaking. It’s freezing.”
“Och, ’tis not so bad.” He grinned. “We’re inside.”
She looked at the stones that surrounded them. “I suppose you could call it that.”
“Aye, and we’ve a fire to warm us.”
As he repositioned his arms, Mac gave in and leaned into his embrace. She was cold—cold enough to reconsider her options. “Look—” She lifted her chin and peered at him. “What’s your name?”
“Ciarán.”
“I’m—”
“Mackenzie.”
Slowly, she nodded. “But most people call me—”
“Mac.”
She flashed him a suspicious look. “Yeah.”
His eyes sharpened as he looked outside. “When I pulled you from your carriage—your car—a bag fell out.”
“Oh, my purse.”
His face relaxed.
“Where is it?” she asked.
He pulled it from the shadows and handed it to her.
She rummaged through the leather bag and pulled out her phone. “There’s horrible coverage around here, but we could get lucky.” After she pressed the screen a few times, she held it to her ear and looked out at the falling snow, waiting. Then she tried texting. “Nothing. Why would I get lucky tonight?” Mac turned to assess her companion. “I live down the road. I think we could hike through this snow in an hour.”