The Highland Wife

She shivered out of her wet gown and chemise, letting the dry one fall over her from where she had gathered it ’round her neck. Not for a moment would she bare herself to possible view as he was doing.

And yet, she did wonder what MacBain would think if he looked upon her as she now saw him. She was small and had no great attributes to boast about, but would he find her winsome?

She found him so, right enough! Her face flamed at the sight, but she could not tear her gaze away. What muscles he had, she thought, as they flexed in his arms, shoulders, and even his backside. Ah, that backside was something to see!

Her hands clenched, imagining the smooth feel of all that sun-kissed skin. The desire to touch him all but overcame her. Would he allow it when they stopped for the night?

A jest that was, she thought with a smirk. He would likely insist upon it! Her trepidation warred with anticipation in a battle that left her breathless and confused.

“Hoo!” she huffed in surprise as he turned. Her eyes slammed shut, but immediately opened again for a wicked squint through her lashes.

Well made, she noted before forcing herself to face in the opposite direction. Extremely well made. Mairi fanned her face with her hand while she held on to a tree branch with the other. Her reaction to MacBain disturbed her more than a little.

Determined to not return to the edge of the stream until he had covered himself decently, Mairi used the time to wring out her wet clothing and remove her boots. The cold water running over her hands and arms did nothing at all to banish the persistent fever stirred by the sight of her husband.

Every few moments she would risk another peek. Finally he donned another loincloth. She watched shamelessly, highly intrigued by the unfamiliar garment.

Highland men wore nothing beneath their plaids. She had briefly caught sight of many a bared bottom and less frequently, one of the men’s true pride. Not one she had glimpsed had such cause to boast as did the MacBain.

A small hum of disappointment escaped before she could stop it when he pulled on his braies. She trudged out of the woods a few moments later, making much noise to announce her return. He had finished dressing by the time she reached him.

“Your man’s asleep,” she whispered, pointing as she observed the fellow who accompanied them.

MacBain nodded and prodded the fellow with his foot until he awoke.

“Time to go,” he announced to Mairi. “They follow.”

“Ranald’s men?” she demanded, casting an anxious glance across the burn in the direction they’d come. “How do you know?”

With a shrug, he took her wet clothes from her and draped them across the back of his saddle. “He wants you,” he replied.

Mairi waited as MacBain slipped the mail hauberk back on over his shirt and buckled on his sword belt. This time when he reached for her, he set her upon her own mare and handed her the reins.

She watched as he gave his man a hand up and noticed for the first time that their companion seemed to be injured.

He was a short, stout fellow with stringy blond hair and cheeks round as apples, though they lacked in color. She quite appreciated his merry smile, especially since she knew he must not feel much like smiling at the moment.

“What happened to ye?” she asked him. “Hurt in the battle?”

“Aye. A cudgel to the ribs, my lady,” he said, obviously stifling a groan. “Lord Rob wrapped ’em. They pain me some, but I’ll do.”

“Verra brave of ye,” she commended, pleased that he was not a complainer. She sought Rob’s agreement. “Aye, m’laird?”

MacBain never answered or looked in her direction. He simply rode past her and led the way into the woods from whence she’d just emerged. She followed, but not too closely.

“He’s busy thinkin’, my lady. Hard thinker is our Rob,” the man explained as he fell in just behind her. “Thinks damned near as hard as he fights.”

“Surely ye have a name,” she said, sensing she might have found an ally, or at least someone who would talk to her. “No one has thought to tell me what that might be.”

“I am Wee Andy,” he replied, grinning when she looked over her shoulder. He went on to explain, “That’s to distinguish me from Braw Andy, the miller’s son. Now there’s a lad with girth! Wait’ll you see him! Rob’s hard put to keep that one fed.”

“Ye called yer laird by his forename?” she asked. “He allows this?”

“Nay. He just don’t hear it, so I figure he won’t mind now and again. No lack o’ respect to him. Sometimes I forget. We’ve known each other since we was bairns at the breast.”

“Ah, he’s a good laird, then, is he?” she probed, anxious to know more about this enigma she had wed. “A fair one?”

Wee Andy sighed. “Aye, he is that. Fair in his judgment, fair in his dealings, and…muckle fair to look upon, eh, m’lady?” He chuckled wickedly and issued an almost inaudible, “Hoo!”

Heat swept over her face and neck. “Fair indeed,” she admitted under her breath as she nudged her mare to a trot and left the portly eavesdropper several lengths behind her.

Fair, MacBain might be of face and body, but she was still not certain about the fair dealing Wee Andy had mentioned. Wise or not to do so, and all promises aside, any Highland husband would have insisted on remaining at Craigmuir and paying Ranald MacInness in kind for his betrayal and greed.

She must believe that wisdom had led MacBain to his decision to leave. He was so different from the other men she had known, Mairi determined to not judge him unfairly.

If any justice existed, Ranald would follow and provide her the chance to exact the vengeance she had sworn. She prayed for that, and for the strength to see it done herself if her husband seemed unwilling to take her part when the time came.

Could she be a good wife to the MacBain if he did refuse to help her? The man prompted feelings in her that she could not sort out no matter how hard she tried.

He had saved her life. That should count for much, she supposed. On the other hand, he had taken her away from her father’s deathbed by brute force. She misliked being forced to do anything. She much preferred a man employ simple reason. If he had taken the time to do that, she might have agreed to go quietly.

Nay, she could not ken what drove him to be so kind one moment and to act so heartless the next. But she could be absolutely certain of one thing about her husband: he was not about to explain.

Chapter Four

Rob could not say how he knew for certain they were being followed, but he did know. He could feel it in his bones. If Ranald MacInness did not come himself, he would send others, just as he had hired men to rid him of Mairi’s father.

Rob knew that if anyone had deprived him of this woman, he would go to the very ends of the earth to retrieve her and would never trust the task to underlings. He hoped Ranald would risk himself. That would save a journey back to the Highlands to get rid of him later.

To pass the time as they traveled, Rob forced himself to think in words instead of images. Though it never came naturally for him to do so, he had made it a regular habit since he had learned to read. Early on he’d discovered that it provided good practice for forming speech, getting words in the proper order so that he would not appear unlearned.

He did that now, making lists of possible ways the eventual attack might occur if they were overtaken. Countering with exact accounts of his probable response to each and every one. In his experience, such preparedness often made a difference in dealing with any problem.

When dwelling upon Mairi, he had to make an even greater effort to prevent his mind’s collective vision of her overpowering all his senses at once. He put her into words.

Rob purposely gave name to her delicate fragrance of roses that blended so enticingly with her own sweet scent. Syllable by syllable, he inwardly described her tresses, like honey-colored silk sliding over his fingers. He spelled out the tangible hum of her voice as she spoke when he was touching her, and silently narrated his joy in the act of simply looking at her.

He composed poetry of epic length to celebrate her beauty and her courage, seeing the letters unfold upon an imaginary scroll of parchment as he did so.

Separating and enumerating her charms occupied a large portion of his time, he realized. So much time that he wondered whether it helped or hindered his attempt to reduce the stunning effect she worked upon him.

His dreams of her, of course, he would not be able to control. There she would likely spring to mind in her entirety. Given the way Mairi had reacted to their first kisses, Rob could not pretend he dreaded sleep during which thinking in words was impossible.

All day they had trekked through the Highlands, moving at a steady pace, halting to rest whenever the horses seemed weary. Though they were well away from Craigmuir, Rob did not alter their pace. Her kinsmen’s men could not move any more rapidly than this and hope to preserve their mounts.

He cast a brief glance behind him and noticed how proudly Mairi rode. She had her chin raised and her back straight as if she had not ridden the day long through terrain that would daunt the hardiest of travelers.

They had plodded up and down hillsides and through gorges so narrow his shoulders nearly touched each wall as they passed. And yet Mairi continued to endure without a protest. Or at least Wee Andy had not seen fit to pass it on to him if she had. Rob had a feeling she would not have waited for him to gain the news secondhand if she meant to issue any complaint.