Wishing For a Highlander (15 page)

Remembering Edmund saying he’d packed some food, she peeked in the saddlebags, thinking she could prepare something for dinner. When she found mostly jerky, figs, and dry oats, which either required no preparation or more preparation than she knew how to provide, she frowned and looked for some other way to be helpful. She tried filling Darcy’s water skin after she’d emptied it, but he intercepted her and went to the creek to take care of it himself. She started to gather sticks for a fire, but he informed her they shouldn’t make one until they were farther south.

She felt worse than useless.

She was no fool; she knew he couldn’t go back to Ackergill after snatching her from Steafan’s clutches. In fact, Steafan would probably send men to look for them so he could watch them both burn for daring to defy him. Darcy had been in line for the lairdship. He had run a profitable business. He’d had an impressive and comfortable home that held for him memories of his deceased parents. And because of her, he’d lost it all.

She was a freaking albatross.

She had nothing to offer to even remotely make up for what she’d cost him. Well, she briefly entertained the thought that she had one thing to offer, one thing that wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice considering how incredibly attracted she was to him, and not just because he had the most lickable male body she’d ever seen, but also because he was genuinely kind and honorable and sincere and now literally her hero.

But he didn’t even seem to want that. She’d practically thrown herself at him, but he’d taken just the one kiss–and wow, what a kiss! Then he’d pulled back from her physically and emotionally. He’d hardly spoken to her since, except to command her to sit and rest and continue being useless.

Maybe she wasn’t exactly his type. A big, strapping warrior, Darcy probably preferred his women tall, leggy, and gorgeous, not short, pregnant, and in constant need of saving. Whatever the reason for his reluctance, she refused to embarrass herself any more by offering what wasn’t wanted. She had enough to recover from without adding the insult of his rejection on top of it all.
Keep your hands off the gorgeous Highlander,
she coached herself while he sat beside her on the ground and handed her figs and strips of jerky.

“We can make parritch, once it’s safe to have fires, but for now, this will have to do,” he said.

“This is fine.” She took a sip from his water skin to wash down the savory saltiness of the jerky.

“In the morn, I’ll find us some greenery. And there will be villages we’ll come across. Edmund packed us coin enough to buy a proper meal now and then along the way.” He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck.

“And I still have the gold in my pocket,” she offered.

His eyebrows lowered, and offense made the line of his jaw sharpen. “That is yours, Malina, for when ye return to your kin. I will provide for ye while ye are with me. I may not be able to provide as well as I might back at Ackergill, but ye shall nay go hungry.”

Her throat constricted with emotion. He still planned on helping her return home. She’d liked it better when he was begging her to stay. Now, it seemed like he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. And no wonder. She was nothing but a burden.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling about as small and annoying as a gnat. She sniffed back the urge to wallow in self-pity and said, “I like the jerky. And Fran’s meal plus the breakfast you left me this morning probably met my caloric requirements for the whole week. Thank you for that, by the way.” Her cheeks grew warm. “It seems I’m always needing to thank you.”

Her mind wandered once again to the possibility of thanking him in more intimate ways. As if he’d read her mind, he looked at her softly, his gaze dropping to her mouth. He promptly cleared his throat and looked away. A faint blush crept up his neck, tugging a smile from her.

He might pretend not to want her, but the truth was in his gaze, fixed on an utterly uninteresting twig. Seizing on the proof of his attraction, her brain spun out of control with thoughts of pulling him down on top of her there on the forest floor and discovering the bounty hidden beneath that plain kilt of his.

Just thinking about it made her body tighten with need. And it wasn’t a need based purely on lust. She genuinely liked him. Heck, she more than liked him. A day ago she’d been furious at being coerced into marriage to a near stranger. Tonight being married to Darcy felt like a safe harbor from a hostile, alien sea.

But his harbor was starting to feel like a dry dock. And it irked her more than it should. She blamed pregnancy hormones for her preoccupation with sex after the day she’d had. And just like that, her mind was back on the brutality of Hamish’s hands slamming into her face, each curled finger bruising her like a lead ball bearing.

It had been awful. It could have been so much worse.

Clutching her belly, she said, “You mentioned there would be villages on the way. On the way where? Where are we going?” She needed conversation or she’d start to cry and there was no telling when she’d stop.

“To Inverness,” he answered. “I can find work there. And ’twill no’ be difficult to hide from Steafan in such a well-travelled place. Besides, your box was made there.” He frowned. “Or it will be made there.” He shook his head, the scenario apparently hurting his brain. “So mayhap we can learn how to return ye, even though we dinna have the box any longer.”

“Will we have to meet the laird there before being allowed to stay?” She accepted the water skin he passed her. His fingers brushed hers as their gazes held.

“Nay. They arena all paranoid canker-blossoms,” he answered with a wink. They laughed together, and if it went on a little too long, she suspected it was because they both needed some joy tonight.

“I don’t know what that means,” she said as their laughter faded. “But it seems to fit Steafan.” Sighing, she turned her face up to the night sky. The cloud cover had rolled back to reveal a stunning array of stars. The air had a crisp bite to it. The scent of trees and loam soothed her. It was beautiful here, but that was probably no consolation to her homeless husband. “Oh, Darcy, I’m so sorry.”

“Whist. Ye did nothing wrong.”

She shook her head. “My simply being here is wrong. It’s all wrong.” Fighting a choking sense of despondency, she stared into the dark forest.

After a minute of silence, he said, “Tell me about your home. It must be a fine place for ye to want to go back so badly.”

A tear leaked from her good eye at the memories his words conjured. Talking about home would undo all the mental buttresses she’d been relying on to keep it together. “I can’t,” she whispered.

His arm went around her shoulders and she couldn’t resist settling against his side. She’d take the comfort of his touch, even if it didn’t mean what her body wanted it to mean.

“Tell me about your home,” she said. “Please. Tell me about your parents.” She needed a distraction or she’d be tempted to pine for what might be lost to her forever.

He was silent for several seconds. Then he said, “My mother was your size, which comes as no surprise to ye since you’re wearing her gown–I wish I could mend it for ye, but I have no sewing things. Though, she didna look like ye, ye ken. She had eyes as blue as yours are green and hair as dark as yours is fair. I can still remember how it curled when the rains came. She was a fine mother to me and Edmund. My da was a tall man, but not so tall as me. He had red hair, but a shyer shade than his brother, who ye’ve met.” He said the last part darkly, and she realized he meant Steafan.

“My da ran the mill like his uncle before him, who built the place after seeing such mills down in Aberdeen. ’Tis the mill that makes Ackergill fair profitable for such a wee village,” he added with no small share of pride.

His brogue brightened as he spoke about his mill, and she sensed he’d rather talk about his work than his parents. She understood that.

“I love windmills,” she said. “But I don’t really understand how they work. Will you tell me about what you do every day?”

He launched into an energetic description of everything from the hand-sewn sails to the timber cap that could be rotated into the wind to the gears, and the process of grinding wheat and barley into flour and grains as fine or coarse as desired. He’d removed his arm from her shoulders to gesticulate while he spoke. Though she missed his touch, she delighted in his enthusiasm and was pleased she’d seemed to successfully distract him from their predicament for a time.

After a while, he began to wind down. He yawned several times and she remembered he likely hadn’t slept much the night before.

“We should rest,” she said, her stomach fluttering at the thought of lying down in his arms.

“You rest,” he said. “I will stand watch.”

“I don’t think so. If anyone stands watch tonight, it will be me.”

He raised an eyebrow in reply, but didn’t say anything as another yawn overtook him. He pushed to his feet and stalked into the trees. She thought to try to hide another yawn. But when he came back several minutes later with an armload of ferns and pine branches and spread them over the ground where they’d been sitting, she realized he was making a little bed. She set to gathering soft-looking foliage as well.

It felt good to work. It would feel even better to see Darcy get some much-needed sleep while she watched over him, serving him for a change.

“Lie your head down, Malina,” he said, spreading his horse’s blanket over the bed.

She snorted. The man whom she’d judged lacking in chivalry was suddenly taking his duty as husband and protector to an unhealthy extreme. “And when will you sleep?” she asked sweetly. “When we’re riding in full daylight tomorrow, perfectly visible to anyone who happens to look our way? What am I to do if you tumble off your horse and bash your head on a rock? Who will protect me then, hmm?”

He frowned as if he hadn’t thought through the implications of his staying awake two nights in a row. His lips pursed in that thoughtful and completely guileless expression she’d come to adore on him.

“Are we really in any danger?” she asked, looking around the clearing and feeling nothing but secure within the shelter of the thick growth. “We could both rest.” Her breath quickened at the possibility of lying down tightly wrapped in his arms, her face pressed to his bare chest, at the thought of kissing him again, of giving him more than just kisses. She bit her lip, gathered her courage, and completely disregarded her promise to not embarrass herself anymore. “We could lie down together.”

His eyes widened. His throat rippled with a swallow. Then he shook his head. “No.”

His rejection stung, but she shoved the useless hurt away. Darcy needed rest. “How about you sleep for a few hours while I sit watch and then I’ll wake you and you can watch while I sleep?”

He cocked his head while he considered it. Uncertainly, he said, “’Twould be dishonorable for a man to rest while his wife guards him. ’Tis a husband’s duty to protect his treasure.”

Her heart flip-flopped. Was he speaking hypothetically, or did he consider her his treasure?

“It seems to me a good wife ought to take care of her husband,” she said. “If we were back at Fraineach, I’d be expected to make your meals for you, wouldn’t I? I’d be expected to keep the house.”
To share your bed,
she wanted to say. She felt her face flushing, but hoped the darkness hid it. “Why don’t you lie down, and let me take care of you for a change? Please?”

He looked like he might argue, but grimacing over another yawn, he capitulated. “Dinna let me sleep long.”

“Okay.”
Who’s to say what a long time is?

When his hands went to his belt, her pulse sped. He froze and stared at her like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Don’t mind me,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

His lips quirked and he laid down fully dressed, which for him meant wearing his kilt and boots. Except for when they’d gotten married, she hadn’t seen him in a shirt. That was far from a complaint, though she wondered how he’d stay warm if the temperature dipped much more.

As soon as he lay down, his breathing deepened and she knew he was asleep. She was tired, but not overly so. Staying up tonight shouldn’t prove much of a problem. She could doze in front of Darcy tomorrow and trust her husband to not let her fall out of the saddle.

Her
husband
.

The word felt right. Terrifying but right.

She was married. As in no longer single. As in Mrs. Keith. As in bonded ’til death to a man who had sacrificed everything for her. To a man who would never abandon her.

A man who wouldn’t stand in her way as she abandoned him.

She frowned as she settled back against a boulder to watch and listen for danger, unsure what bothered her more, that she was leaving Darcy or that he didn’t care enough to try and stop her, that he, in fact, planned to help her.

Would they still be married after she left? What if he found someone else he might like to marry, but his honor kept him from doing so? Would she ever feel right about dating, knowing she had a husband in the past?

Oh, God, when she made it back home, Darcy would be long dead.

Her lungs locked, refusing to breathe through the pain accompanying that thought.

No. She couldn’t let herself dwell on that. It wasn’t her fault she was here–okay, maybe if she hadn’t made that wish–but if she didn’t do everything possible to return home, her parents’ grief would be her fault. Her friends’ grief. And she couldn’t risk having her baby in a time with such rudimentary medical practices. If anything happened to her baby, that would be her fault too.