The Curse of Clan Ross (25 page)

Holy crap. Maybe she could do this after all.

Fires flared.
Everywhere.
 

He hung the torch near the door and came back to her.

“Goodnight, Jillian.”

His arm went around her and he pulled her to him, cradling her between biceps that strained at his billowy sleeves. She looked up into black sleepy eyes and could almost feel sleepy herself.

“Wish me a good night, Jillian.”

“Goodni—”

Okay then. Apparently “goodnight” means “kiss me.”

He pulled away far too soon, so she tested this vocabulary lesson and again said, “Goodnigh—”

It worked. Hallelujah, it worked. And he got the hint too, not pulling away nearly as quickly.

His lips were firm and smooth, the kind you could kiss for hours and...

He pulled back again, stupid man.

“Goodnight.” She leaned forward and got only a kiss on the forehead and a chuckle.

“Goodnight.” Monty, or so she could call him now, backed away from her. “I have to leave now, lass, or we’ll neither one be able to face my cousin on the morrow.”

Is he kidding?

“Are you kidding?” She put her hands on her hips. “I thought you got over that.”

“Ye canna take back knowledge, lass.”

Whatever the hell that meant. She was left standing alone watching the swing of his kilt disappear around the corner.

Jilly spent a very long night thinking of all kinds of ways to punish both men in the morning. She had two days left with her very own, although rented, Highlander—make that two days and one night—and she was determined to get her money’s worth, so to speak.

#  #  #

“I’m leaving tomorrow, Jillian.”

Monty had heard her coming down the stairs, though without her boots. He’d also heard her stop at his words, so he turned to face her anger, but if she were frowning at him, he would never have noticed.

Ewan came in behind her and promptly dropped a mug of fresh milk.

Jillian stood before them swathed in a small length of plaid that covered only above her...well, below the pits of her arms to just below her...or rather quite far above her knees.

“That milk will sour if you don’t clean it up, Ewan.” She pointed to his spill. “Would you like me to do it?”

“Thank ye,” Ewan said at the same time Monty shouted, “No!”

He could just imagine how high that wool might go if she were to bend over to clean a spill.

He cleared his throat.

He cleared it again.

“Uh, lass. Jillian. What kind of garment did ye suppose that was?” He blinked. He blinked again.

She looked down at the cloth she thankfully held tightly with one hand.

“I thought it was a towel. You see, I usually bathe every day and when I had that bath yesterday it felt so good I decided I can’t do without.” She walked to the hearth and dipped her fingers in the water, but she’d bent over to do it and if either man had been standing to the right of the mantle... “Did you sleep well, Monty?”

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you slept well.” She turned a smile on Ewan. “You see, we didn’t sleep together, or do anything else together, just in case you were wondering.”

“I...I, uh, I.”

“Yes, he was wondering.” Monty glared at him, but the man was not looking his way, damn him. “And he was a goin’ to do his chores, isn’t that right, Ewan?”

Ewan looked at him as if he knew his laird not at all.

“Monty?  What?  Chores. Oh, aye. I’ll see to the ashes first, shall I?”

Ewan took one step.

“Don’t bloody move!”

His cousin froze, but could only shrug his shoulders as if to say he couldn’t help himself.

“Could one of you start a fire?  I’d like a couple of kettles of boiling water to mix with cold, so if you’ll start it going, I’ll come back down and check on it.”

The two watched her head to the staircase and both bolted after her. Monty got to the arch first and turned to bar the way for his cousin. If the man would have passed him, he’d have died.

“Ye fetch water, Ewan. I’ll start the fire.”

The way the two of them hopped about, one would think the bloody king was coming to visit. Eventually, there was nothing else with which to fidget and he and Ewan pulled stools beneath their backsides and sat.

His archway had never been so interesting.

For what seemed hours, he and his cousin watched it. Every time Monty ordered his cousin out of the hall, the impudent man chuckled and shook his head.

In spite of his assurance that he would bring her the water once it boiled, she’d been down to check its progress twice. When she returned to the steps, they’d raced to the archway.

Twice.

It was also the number of times Ewan had cheated death.

#  #  #

Jilly stuffed her “towel” against her face and laughed her ass off. Were all men this gullible?  She couldn’t wait to get home and try some things on modern-day males.

Actually, she could wait.

What had he said?  He was leaving in the morning?  

Not. Bloody. Likely.

She moved to the sword propped in the corner of the room he’d apparently slept in the night before. She’d been confused when he hadn’t had it with him, but maybe he hadn’t slept all that well last night either.

She didn’t dare test the edge; it looked deadly. She scurried back down the hall where her lovely bath was already beginning to cool and bid a less than fond farewell to her infrequently lucky jeans.

But their luck was about to change.

CHAPTER THIRTY

While playing out scenarios in her head the night before, searching for the most poetic justice possible, she remembered what her friend Janna had once asked her.

“What cowboy could ever resist a cute girl in cowboy boots, a tank top, and cut-off jeans?”

Although the cut-off length of 2011 was probably short enough to give a Highlander—or two—a heart attack, she was sure the conservative length she’d chosen would serve her the justice she thirsted for. These men weren’t ever publicly exposed to naked thighs, so it shouldn’t take much to get their attention.

  For a moment, when she hit the bottom of the stairs, she thought she may have been wrong about that because both men glanced at her and then turned back to their tasks. When she actually heard them swallow, she knew she had before her two handfuls of putty.

“Sorry about the shorts, but I was hot all night. Still am.” She pinched the front of her desecrated Swagger shirt and fanned herself with it. “May I ask what you guys are doing?”

Both men’s heads turned to her, skimmed her up and down then turned back to what was held in their hands. They squirmed just a little on two stools which had made their way back inside the hall.

“We’re making toys. For the children.”

Monty’s voice broke on the word children. She really should have lied to him and told him he’d have many sons.

Don’t you get soft on him. Not today.

Ewan held up a piece to inspect it, but he made a brief inspection of her as he did it.

“Look here. Have I got the ears straight?” He handed the piece to Monty, who also turned a bit toward her while he compared the ears on the carved piece to who-knows-what on her person.

“The ears are fine.”

Jillian sat down in the laird’s chair and both men gasped.

Slowly, both men turned and looked at her bare, crossed legs. She hoped they couldn’t see the stubble from this distance, but if she’d tried to shave with that sword, she’d have lost everything below the knee.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nay.” Ewan shook his head. “Nay.”

“It’s just that none usually sit in the Ross chair, but The Ross.” Monty looked at his cousin. “Isn’t that right, Ewan?”

“Aye.”

Both had forgotten the children entirely.

“I’m sorry. I should sit somewhere else.”

“Nay. Stay. Stay where ye are.” Monty turned to Ewan. “Cousin, ye should go see to yer sister now.”

Ewan started shaking his head before Monty finished.

“Cousin, ye will go and see to yer sister. Now.”

At the end of a one-on-one basketball game, when the onlookers were whooping and hollering, there was a sound that could be heard in spite of the rest; the sound of the opponents breathing very hard.

Watching these two argue, without words, was kind of like that. Jillian could stand it no longer.

“Excuse me for a minute.” She hurried toward the stairs and scurried to her room, searching for that towel again. Unfortunately searching with both hands over her mouth was hardly efficient and her laughter burst out around her fingers.

She bent and peaked over the shallow copper tub which had made her feel like a giant baby while using it—and heard a gasp.

When she straightened so quickly, hands still over her mouth, she lost her balance and landed arse-first in very cold water.

Her squeal was probably heard by the MacKays.

Monty’s chest was heaving. His finger pointed at her, his mouth opened and shut a couple of times before his voice showed up.

“Ye did it a purpose.”

Wasn’t he standing there?  Didn’t he see her fall in?

“Of course I didn’t. The water is freaking cold. Even you would have squealed.”

“I’m not talking about the squealin’, Jillian.” He stepped tentatively over to the tub and peaked past her knees. “I’m talking about the skin ye’ve been parading around for my cousin to see.”

Okay, she was busted. But really, it had taken him far too long to catch on, hadn’t it?

“For Ewan to see?” Jilly crossed her legs. “You mean you never looked?  Because I promise I did it for you both. I didn’t sleep at all last night and it was both your faults.”

The water showed no intention of warming, so she uncrossed her legs and held up a hand in a silent request for help.

Monty shook his head.

“But Ewan has no right to look on yer legs—yer entire legs, mind ye.”

But Monty did?  It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever
not
said to her.
 

“Nor yer shoulders, yer back, or whatever may have peeked out from yer
towel
this morn.” His voice had gotten a bit louder at that last bit.
 

He looked down into the water again and Jilly thanked God for the inspiration to cut the jeans just a bit more 1980ish in length.

Jilly wondered if her blush might be enough to bring the water around her to a swift boil.

“Wait a minute.” She pulled hair out of her face and tucked it behind one ear so he wouldn’t miss her frown. “Nothing peeked out from under my towel!”

“Are ye certain?” He lifted his brow.

“Let me up and I’ll show you.”

Monty froze. Hah, let him live in fear.

He finally blinked, offered her hand, and pulled her up. She quickly kicked off her boots so they didn’t get wetter, then stood in a puddle, unbuttoned her jeans, and slid the zipper down a few inches.

When she reached into her pants, the man staggered backward and sat on the bed but never took his eyes from her hands.

“Nothing peeked out from under that towel, Monty, because I was also wearing these.” She pulled the edge of her pink cotton panties up far enough for him to get a good look. “See?  Before you saw anything else, you would have seen these.”

Monty watched her hands as she refastened her shorts.

He took a deep breath. “Take them off, lass.”

Jilly froze. Well, her butt was already frozen, but the rest of her didn’t move either. She wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“I beg your pardon?”

Monty stood and closed the distance, slowly. He lifted her chin and lowered those wonderful lips onto hers and she stood there, clutching the top of her jeans, not daring to let go.

When another perfectly good kiss ended far too soon, he clutched at her shoulders and looked into the depths of her eyes.

“Take them off, Jillian,” he whispered. “They’re wet.”

He spun her around, smacked her on the bum, and pushed her onto the bed before she ever got her hands in front of her, plowing her face into the blankets.

His laughter filled the room, then the hall, then the stairwell, damn him.

#  #  #

Monty had sensed every step she’d taken into the hall. Now he turned to find her only an arm’s length away.

“I don’t want you to go.” Jilly looked at her hands.

So, she
had
heard him, then. Ewan clearly hadn’t, or if he had, his mind had been emptied by a MacKay in nothing but a towel.
 

“I’m sorry, lass. I must.” He stood back and looked over her finally appropriate clothing. “A fine improvement, I’d say. I’ll be able to look ye in the eye when ye speak.”

“Um hm.” She looked at him beseechingly. “But can’t you put it off for a couple of days?  Maybe go after you’ve reopened the hall?”

“Sorry lass, I canna. I have a clan to feed, aye?  Every year I meet with other lairds to plan the harvest exchange, and I must go.”

She and Ewan need not know he’d already sent one of the elders to the gathering in his stead.

The poor thing was going to cry and he nearly pitied her, but not quite. She’d won Ewan’s loyalty long before the towel incident, and he was still wincing from that. Making them pay for another two days should be enough to satisfy him.

“Look around ye, lass. This is not Scotland, it’s the cold inside of a single castle. Life goes on outside, amongst people, in the fields, in the dirt, in the rain, even.” He checked the water level of her eyes. Not quite there, but if he pushed her much harder, he’d be greetin’ alongside her.

He wished he’d never said he was going. What if his plans went awry?  What if this truly was their last chance to be together?  What if he was handed what he deserved, to give up Jillian as penance for what he’d done to Morna and Ivar?  What if he’d never be able to share with her the magic of Scotland in the fields, and dirt, and rain?

Hold. Breathe. Dear God, breathe
.
 

He raised his brows and tried to smile.

“We’ve had a lovely time of it, Jillian, but we canna hide here forever. Once the hall is open, and we introduce ye as our English cousin—”