Falling for the Highlander

  "Ye're only a year older," Alick snapped. "Besides, no doubt she'd prefer a handsome young man like me to a big brute like yerself."

  "If by handsome and young ye mean puny, mayhap she would," Geordie growled. "But I'm thinking she'd pick a real man o'er a hairless youth any day."

  "I said it first and if she needs marrying, I'm the one going to do it," Alick said firmly.

  "The hell ye will!" Geordie snarled, standing up threateningly.

  "Enough," Dougall snapped as Alick got to his feet with every appearance of intending on attacking Geordie. "I'll no' ha'e ye fighting o'er her like dogs with a bone. And I'll no ha'e ye shaming the lass with talk o' her brother's doings. So sit down and shut yerselves."

  His brothers fell silent and reluctantly sat down again, but they continued to glare at each other and Dougall knew he could expect them to continue the argument at another time. It made him want to knock their heads together. Hell, he wanted to knock their heads together just for suggesting they would marry the lass, though he wasn't sure why. It would take care of their worry over her well-being and as far as he was concerned she was now their worry. After all, this was the lass who had saved Saidh's life. That was a debt they could never repay, and he knew every single one of his brothers would feel the same way. So why not let one of his brothers marry her and take care of the worry? It wasn't like he wanted to. Between his duties toward their eldest brother, Aulay, first and all he did with his horse breeding, Dougall hadn't got around to even contemplating marriage yet. That was a consideration for the future, when he'd eventually purchased a nice estate where he could concentrate on his breeding and take the time to start a family of his own. That had been the plan.

  But now there was Murine and her difficulties and the fact that there was no way he could leave her to her brother's planned fate for her now that he knew who she was. Hell, he couldn't have done it and lived with his conscience after finding her on the road, fleeing on her cow. And that had been before he'd known who she was. On top of that, he was recalling how nicely she'd fit against him during the ride that day, and that she'd smelled as lovely as she looked. Dougall had found himself lowering his head to inhale her sweet scent several times that afternoon during the ride.

  Cursing under his breath, he stared into the fire and wondered just how they could save the lass from the fate her brother would force on her. Could they? It would help if he knew if she had family to aid her. Someone to petition the king on her behalf to remove her from her brother's guardianship. But he wouldn't know that until Murine joined them to answer his questions. Which made him wonder . . . what the bloody hell was taking the woman so long? How much time did it take to have a piss and walk back to them?

  Dougall scowled into the flames for a minute, then lifted his head, gave in to the urge and glanced quickly toward where he'd left her. He then frowned and stood up. Not only had she moved out of sight, but she'd moved altogether. At least, he couldn't see light, and the torch he'd left her should cast a glow he would see even from behind the tree.

  "What's the matter?" Conran peered up at him from his seat, but didn't turn to look toward the woods, he noticed.

  "Murine's gone," Dougall said grimly and bent to snatch up the end of another burning log sticking out of the fire.

  "What?" Conran stood and turned to look. "Where the hell would she go?"

  Dougall headed into the woods without responding and heard the others scrabbling to follow. This time more than one of them grabbed a log as well. He could tell that by the glow that surrounded him as he walked.

  "Bloody, stupid . . ." Murine muttered to herself as she pushed through the bushes, grimacing as the branches caught at her hair and gown and scratched at her face. She could do nothing to prevent it. It took both her hands to manage the weight of the great heavy log Dougall Buchanan had given her as a torch.

  It was her own fault, of course. The man had offered to fetch or make her a smaller one, but she had been so desperate to relieve herself at that point, she'd said nay. Now she still hadn't gone, was sure she was about to burst with the need, but was dragging herself through the woods in search of somewhere she could do it without starting a forest fire. She needed someplace she could set the bloody log down while she held her skirts and squatted, but so far everywhere she looked appeared to be covered with dry grass and leaves.

  She pushed past another bush and nearly stumbled forward on her face as the woods gave way to a clearing. Managing to keep her feet under her without her hands to aid in the effort, Murine raised her makeshift torch and peered about. She then breathed out a relieved little breath as she spotted a large boulder in the center of the small clearing. It was perfect, she decided and strode forward to lay the log on the boulder.

  Now that she was unhampered by holding the makeshift torch, Murine couldn't get to the business she'd come here for quickly enough. She had her skirts up and was squatting within seconds. But she didn't sigh her relief until she actually finished with the task without Henry's amorous assault or any other interruption. She'd learned her lesson last time.

  Murine was just straightening and letting her skirts drop back into place when the light seemed to move and then suddenly went out. She froze briefly, then turned slowly toward the boulder where she'd left the log and stared into stygian darkness. It was only when she lowered her gaze that she saw the last glowing embers of what used to be her torch. The damned thing had rolled off the boulder, dousing its own flames before landing on the ground.

  "Ah hell," she muttered, and then smacked herself for saying it and shook her head. She'd obviously spent too much time around her friend Saidh to be throwing curses about as she had today. Sighing, she hurried forward to grab the log and began blowing on it to try to bring the flame back to life. But even as she raised it the last glow died, leaving her unable to even see the log she was holding.

  "Well, is no' that just perfect?" she groused, dropping the useless bit of wood and turning to peer about. She had no idea where she was or even in what direction the camp was. Biting her lip, she tried to orient herself. She'd set the log on the boulder and turned her back to it, facing the way she'd come. And then she'd turned around and rushed over to pick it up. Her back should have been to the direction she'd come from at that point. But then she'd dropped the wood and turned again.

  Had she turned all the way around so that she should be pointed in the direction she wanted to go? Or had she only performed a half turn? And had she moved straight through the woods from the tree behind which she was mauled by Henry, or had she taken a slanted course?

  Murine threw up her hands with exasperation. She didn't have a damned clue, and she couldn't hear the men's voices as she had when she'd started out. They had died abruptly, just before she'd pushed her way out into this clearing. She paused for a minute and cocked her head, hoping to hear their muffled voices and follow the sound back to camp, but heard nothing. Either they'd all gone to sleep or . . . well, she didn't know what else would silence them. Death maybe, she thought and imagined a band of silent marauders creeping up behind the Buchanans as they sat around the fire, and then slitting their throats so quickly they died without a sound.

  A shiver went through her and Murine rubbed her arms and peered nervously around. One of those marauders could have followed her out here and be even now creeping through the darkness toward her, ready to slit her own throat.

  Murine moved one hand to rub her neck now, her chin unconsciously tucking down to leave less of it exposed. But then, realizing what she was doing, she forced her hand away and her shoulders to rise.

  "There's no one out there," she told herself firmly. "Ye just need to find yer way back to camp and all will be well."

  At least she hoped it would be. In truth, she hadn't had much time to consider her situation. She presumed she was safe with Saidh's brothers and that they were looking after her . . . and Dougall had said something about her telling him where she was heading and that they'd escort her, but
really she wasn't sure about that last part. Her mind had been firmly fixed on her personal needs at the time.

  Muttering under her breath with disgust, Murine started walking straight ahead, her hands outstretched to feel for the bushes and branches she'd fought her way through to get to the clearing. It wasn't like she had much choice but to return to the men. Murine hadn't any idea where she was or in which direction she should ride to reach Scotland.

  If they weren't already in Scotland, Murine considered as she stumbled through the brush, tugging on her gown when it got caught, and yanking her head away from the branches that seemed to be constantly grabbing at her hair. It would be a terrible shame if she was already in Scotland and rode the wrong way, taking herself back to England. Frankly, with the kind of luck she'd been having lately, there was a good chance of that exact thing happening.

  Distracted by her thoughts, Murine was slow to realize the ground she was staring at had suddenly lightened a bit. She'd started to keep her head down to keep from being poked in the eyes by the branches snatching at her. She stared at the lightening ground blankly for a moment, her steps slowing, then raised her head quickly as she crashed into something. Something that grabbed her arm.

  Murine stared up at the large shape looming before her. Light was coming from the side and behind it, casting it into rather horrific features. She opened her mouth, closed it, then simply felt herself falling as her vision dimmed and her world shrank to a small black dot.

  Shoving his log toward Conran, Dougall caught the woman as she sank toward the ground.

  "Damn. She fainted again," Conran muttered.

  "Saidh did mention this tendency o' hers." Dougall grunted as he scooped up Murine into his arms.

  "Aye, but did she no' also say Joan had made her a tincture that seemed to be helping?" Conran commented with a frown, stepping back to make way as Dougall turned with his burden.

  When Dougall merely shrugged, Geordie asked, "What the devil was she doing all the way out here?"

  "I thought ye left yer log with her earlier," Conran pointed out as Dougall started back through the brush.

  The comment made him pause and turn back. It had been unusually dry of late and an open flame left unattended could start a forest fire. "Could ye--"

  "I'll take a look about," Conran assured him, then handed the log Dougall had been carrying to Geordie, the only one not carrying a log. "Ye and Alick head back with Dougall. I'll be along directly."

  Turning, Dougall carried Murine back the way he'd come.

  "Ye do no' think she's ailing, do ye?" Alick asked with concern. The younger man was nearly treading on Dougall's heals. He was also holding his burning log high to help light the way for Dougall. "I mean, Saidh did say Lady Sinclair's tincture was helping, but Murine was in a dead faint all afternoon as we rode, and just the sight o' us made her faint dead away again just now."

  "Mayhap she needs to eat," Geordie suggested from behind. "If she left directly after we did, she'll ha'e missed the nooning meal, and the sup too."

  "That does no' explain the first faint," Alick pointed out. "We had only jest eaten ourselves at that point."

  "True," Geordie sounded like he was frowning. "Then mayhap she had trouble breathing under the plaid and that's why she fainted then."

  "So ye're suggesting she fainted the first time because she could no' breathe, and the second time because she is faint with hunger?" Alick asked.

  "Aye," Geordie agreed. "That or she's ailing."

  "That is what I suggested to begin with," Alick pointed out with exasperation.

  Dougall spotted the campfire ahead and began to move more swiftly, eager to get away from the arguing duo behind him. He had no idea why the woman had fainted this time. Saidh had said it happened when Murine got overexcited or got to her feet too quickly, but she'd already been on her feet, and there had been nothing to get excited about that he knew of. Although she had looked terrified just before fainting, he noted, and then shook his head. Despite knowing this was normal for Murine, he found it a bit disconcerting that she kept dropping as she did. She was likely to hurt herself if she kept it up. He wouldn't always be there to catch her.

  Chapter 3

  Murine sighed sleepily and snuggled into the furs surrounding her, then stiffened when those furs tightened around her in response. Waking up fully now, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at the white linen shirt she presently had her nose pressed to. Raising her eyes, she peered up at the bottom of a chin that was sprouting dark stubble.

  Biting her lip, Murine took a deep breath and started to lever herself away from the man, but paused at the delightful scent that filled her nostrils. Whoever she was cuddled up to smelled quite lovely, sort of woodsy and spicy and . . . well, she couldn't identify the other scent she was inhaling, but it was very nice.

  The chest in front of her vibrated against her breasts as a rumble of sound that could only be called a snore hit her ears and then the man rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Murine suddenly found herself lying on top of him, her chest plastered to his and her lower body splayed over his legs and something else that was rather hard and a bit uncomfortable against her stomach.

  Holding her breath now, she raised her head a little to try to get a better look at just whom exactly she was lying on. For some reason she was actually relieved to find that it was Dougall Buchanan. For some reason she found herself trusting the man. Still, it was just wrong for her to be relieved that he was the man she was sleeping on. There was no male she should be happy to find herself sleeping on. She was an unmarried lass, after all, and this was completely inappropriate. Actually, it was also completely inappropriate for her to be traveling alone with the Buchanan men. In effect, if anyone found out about this, she would be ruined, but since she wasn't likely to marry, that mattered little. And at least she was only ruined in reputation, not in fact. Had she stayed at Danvries, Murine was quite sure she would have been well and truly ruined by Muller by now.

  Murine sighed unhappily as she thought of Montrose's neighbor and dubious friend, Lord Muller. The man had been leering at her ever since Montrose had brought her to Danvries to live. He'd even tried to corner her a time or two and grope her. Thank goodness Saidh had taught her that move with her knee. She'd left him moaning on the floor as she'd rushed off to her room that night. Even so, Murine was sure Montrose was right and Muller would have jumped at the opportunity to pay a few coin to take what she was unwilling to give . . . and with Montrose's blessing, she thought bleakly. While they'd never been close, they were still half siblings and she would have expected he would feel at least some protectiveness toward her. Apparently not.

  "Good morn."

  Murine blinked away her thoughts and shifted her gaze back to the man she was lying on. Dougall was awake. At least his eyes were open, though in truth he was peering up at her rather sleepily. He looked much younger and very handsome without the stern expression he'd seemed to wear every time she saw him before this.

  Pushing these irrelevant thoughts away, Murine forced a smile, cleared her throat and then said, "Good morn." Grimacing, she added a little tentatively, "Do ye think ye could let me go so that I can get up?"

  One eyebrow rose on Dougall's face, and then he released her, opening his arms and spreading the plaid she'd mistaken for furs.

  Smiling with relief, Murine immediately scrambled off him. She then froze and gaped when she saw that it was his own plaid he'd wrapped around them, the one he'd been wearing yesterday, and that without it he was dressed only in a shirt that did not quite cover--

  "Do no' faint!"

  Murine glanced to his face at that roar and then abruptly turned her back on him. Her gaze slid over the other men, and she was much relieved to see that they were all still sleeping. Or at least they had been. They were beginning to stir now thanks to Dougall's roar.

  Muttering that she would go take care of her morning ablutions, Murine rushed blindly away into the woods.


  Dougall sighed and then shifted to his knees, laid out his plaid, and began to pleat it in preparation of putting it on. It had been chilly last night and Murine had been lying shivering where he'd set her when he started to bed down a few feet away. He'd tried to ignore it at first, but when her teeth had begun to chatter, he'd scooted closer to her and then drawn her into his plaid with him. She hadn't even stirred at the action, though her shivers had stopped and she'd cuddled into him with sweet little sighs. He, however, had lain there for a long time, very aware of her warm body against his, cuddling back against him, her bottom rubbing--

  Cursing, Dougall finished donning his plaid and strode into the woods after the woman. He could hardly leave her wandering around by herself to faint without someone there to catch her. Besides, he didn't trust her not to get lost. Not that she seemed a featherhead, but the woman did have that tendency to faint and had apparently done so for some time. She'd no doubt hit her head a time or two and . . . well, it just seemed better to not take any chances.

  Dougall soon realized he should have paid more attention to which direction she'd gone, or just wrapped his plaid around his waist and set out after her at once. The thickets here grew close together and were the devil to get through. On top of that, there was no way to tell which direction she'd gone. Cursing, he paused, propped his hands on his hips and then shouted, "Lady Carmichael!"

  Birds went winging into the air on every side of him, but there was no answering call. A frown slowly creasing his forehead, he called out again, and then began to move. The damned woman had obviously fainted again and was no doubt lying unconscious somewhere, waiting to be rescued.

  Shaking, his head, he called out again as he pushed his way through the trees.

  Murine ducked lower behind the bushes she was crouching in as Dougall's voice sounded again and the man six feet in front of her turned to look in her direction at the sound. Part of her felt foolish for ducking behind the bushes as if she was a child playing hide-and-seek. Murine wasn't even sure why she had. She'd been moving through the woods in search of a likely place to relieve herself when her dress had got caught on a branch; she'd paused to tug at it, but instead of freeing her gown, the branch itself had snapped and stayed tangled in the gown. She'd noticed that when she'd started to walk and the damned thing had dragged behind her, pulling at her skirts. She'd ignored it at first, thinking it would drop away after a couple of steps. Instead it had caught between the branches of another bush a couple steps later and she'd been forced to stop and try to untangle herself.