Page 17 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

“I’m Marjorie’s maid,” the woman said. “Fiona.”

Though she didn’t strike him as nervous, her cheeks flushed immediately and thoroughly. Cormac placed her at once.

He shook his head in wonder. “Fiona.” A girl named Fiona had come into the Keith family household when Marjorie was eight. Not long before, he thought, his every milestone in time falling either before Aidan’s capture or after .

Cormac hadn’t been much interested in the girl at the time, though he had noticed her peculiar habit of blushing at the slightest provocation. “The same Fiona?”

She shrugged, wandering in to straighten the bed, blushing anew. “Same as what?”

“Aye, you’d be the same Fiona, then.” He shook his head. Lasses and their ways. It aggravated him. “Be easy, woman. I’m Cormac MacAlpin.”

“Oh aye, Cormac. Aye. Of course.” A strange look crossed her face, and he could’ve sworn she muttered, “Finally decides to appear, he does.”

Cormac stared. “What?”

The girl stared back, then, like water come to a boil, she exploded into chatter.

“Marjorie said she’d find you. That she’d bring you back.

She knew where you lived, you see. Your sister tells her everything.

Bridget, I mean. Oh, and that dear Archie”—she sighed, pressing a hand to her breast—“he wants to help.”

“Archie.” Cormac didn’t realize until he heard his own voice that he’d growled the name. Did this Archie captivate every female he came into contact with?

“But Marjorie’d have naught to do with his plan,” the maid prattled on.

Cormac tried to keep up, parsing her nonsense, wondering what cursed plan she could be referring to. She was nodding meaningfully, and he found it inexplicably irritating.

“Oh, but I told her she should,” Fiona said with a scold in her voice. “Archie knows all manner of noblemen. But, she wanted you . You know she thinks . . . that you are . . . well . . . never you mind that .” Her eyes suddenly widened. “But you were sitting on her bed !”

Her words echoed in his head. She wanted you.

“I need to know where she is.”

“Well it wouldn’t be her day for Saint Machar,” Fiona mused. “Likely she just went to her place.”

“Her place?” he prodded impatiently.

“Why, the shore, and where else? Aberdeen Beach. She fancies the waves. Says they’re bigger there.” Relaxed now, the maid bustled around the room, straightening the bedclothes where he’d been sitting.

“Is that where she got all these seashells?”

“Oh, aye. She finds them along the sand. It’s fair soft there. Our Marjorie likes to take off her shoes and walk by the waves.”

Our Marjorie. What did she see, standing in the surf and looking to the horizon? Did she feel the same pull, find the same lonely solace as he?

My Marjorie.

“The whole thing strikes me as a fool silly thing to do. Her hem when she gets home—it’s a mess!”

He could imagine it in his mind’s eye. Marjorie walking along the shore, the wind whipping her hair, her cheeks flushed from the brisk air. She wouldn’t be a mess. She’d be beautiful.

He had to go to her. He had to see her for himself.

“Well, I never . . .” Fiona sputtered, as Cormac stormed past.

He fled from the house and didn’t even think to fetch his horse from the mews. Instead, his feet devoured Aberdeen’s winding streets in long strides. Navigating mucky wooden cobbles, over Hangman’s Brae, past Gallowgate, heading eastward.

To her.

Gray granite buildings, gray sky, gray sea—gloom surrounded him. And so he barely noticed the rain at first, when it came. Cold, thin drops pricked his face.

Marjorie was out there, somewhere, feeling this same rain. Did she lift her cowl against it, or turn her face in welcome?

His feet moved faster, until he found himself running. That gray sea loomed larger, closer. An eerie light hit it, the sun breaking through clouds, even as it rained. It cast the sea in a strange, luminous blue. He ran faster.

Aberdeen Beach swept before him, the stretch of it much wider than his own sliver of rocky Dunnottar shore. The waves were higher here, the sand soft underfoot. Something visceral shot from his feet to his core: a recognition, a homecoming.

A lone figure walked along the sand. A woman, with a dark cloak whipping about her legs. Her hair tangled long and loose behind her. She held it tucked behind one ear.

Ree.

Marjorie dug in her toes. She wished the waves could smooth the thoughts from her mind as predictably as they washed her footprints from the sand.

Cormac’s words had rocked her. She’d thought nothing could be worse than weathering his blame, enduring his cruel silence, until he’d put voice to his cruel thoughts.

Unseemly. Reckless. Dangerous.

That last had been the worst of all. She’d been a danger to Aidan. A danger to Davie. Cormac thought her foolhardy, that her recklessness made her a danger still.

She’d only wanted to make him jealous. It had worked before, at Dunnottar. Or so she’d thought. But she’d clearly miscalculated.

It seemed Cormac had only accompanied her to Aberdeen because of his sense of duty.

She’d been a fool to hope otherwise. Of course he’d offered his help.

He was a man bound by honor. The years had hardened him, his time in the wars hammering all but that sense of duty from him.

What she’d hoped might be tender feelings for her had merely been a sense of obligation.

Marjorie felt something, a shift in the air around her. It made her turn.

Cormac strode to her. Intent darkened his face. He was power and conviction and anguish, too.

He came to her in anger. He came to berate her and belittle her. Pride sputtered up from someplace down deep. Marjorie stiffened her back, bracing for his attack. “If you’ve come to—”

Cormac slammed into her, crushing her body close to his, and his mouth stole the words from her lips.

Wrapping an arm at her back, tangling a hand in her hair, Cormac kissed her, roughly, deeply, his mouth hard and hungry.

She let her head fall back, feeling her heels leave the sand as he pulled her up and into him.

She’d been gripping the sides of her cloak tightly, but her hands slackened.

She let go, her arms stretched down and out at her sides, as though poised to feel a storm’s wind rush over her body.

She’d felt ripples of desire tease through her before, but it’d been nothing compared to this.

Need flooded her, crackling up and between her legs, lighting her belly on fire.

Marjorie brought her hands to him, desperately clutching at Cormac’s arms, his shoulders, his face. Whatever could get her closer to him.

His tongue took her mouth, exploring her, owning her, and she thought her heart might explode in her chest. She opened herself, trembling from the sheer bliss of it.

She’d never kissed a man before. She’d always known it could be only Cormac. But she hadn’t dared hope. She barely dared believe it now.

She stroked her hands along his arms, more mindful now, needing to feel him, to convince herself this could really be true.

He wore only his linen shirt and his plaid, and the fabric clung to him, wet under her fingertips.

His muscles were solid, as though his entire body was clenched for her, fighting either against his desire or for it.

Her fingers curled into those hard muscles, and he pulled her closer still.

His hand tightened in her hair, cradling her head as he pulled his mouth from hers, only to come down hungrily on her neck, her throat, her jaw.

He rained kisses over her face, tender kisses, hard kisses.

Both angry and loving, and she wondered what demons he fought.

Did Cormac’s kisses overcome them, or was this his submission?

He clutched her tightly to him, and the feel of his strong arm braced along her back, the broad span of his hand on her waist, made her feel tiny, insubstantial.

She was no longer a woman plodding through the world but had become instead some other, more transcendent creature, the sum of her now simply the fluttering of her heart in her breast and this tremendous need vibrating through her veins.

His hand roved her, along her side, over her breast, up to cup her cheek, and then back down again. She sank into Cormac, her legs molten, held upright only by the muscular arm at her back.

A crash and hiss, louder and closer than before, burst through to them, and frigid seawater broke and swirled over their feet.

He pulled away, staring at her, their faces a breath apart. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark brow furrowed almost as though in pain. In that moment, she found Cormac unbearably beautiful. He bore such secrets, such hidden depths. She wanted to understand them all.

She saw something else on his face: a wanting, raw and potent.

His intent, for her .

Could it be possible? Battered hope sprang to life in her heart. She blinked the rain from her eyes, fighting to breathe.

He was silent, and fear speared her through. Would he feel regret? Was this kiss to be her first and her last?

“Cormac?” she asked, her voice tremulous. Cold rain spilled down her cheeks, and she felt chilled for want of him.

“Ree,” he said simply. “You. It’s always been you.”

Slowly he eased closer, ever so slowly his mouth came back to hover just over hers. She felt his breath on her lips, and she knew such a rush of pleasure, of completion, it was like her soul expanding from her body.

He gently wiped wet strands of hair from her face, their gazes locked.

Could this mean he was to make her his? That he’d include her in his life? “Does this mean you’ll include me in your . . . plans?”

Shaking his head, Cormac let out a low laugh. “Does it mean you’ll not let that swine Archie touch you again?”

“Never. Never will any man touch me. Any other man,” she amended with a smile.

She’d spoken lightly, but he grew grave. He gave her a tight nod, the look on his face inscrutable.

“So?” She reached up and cupped his cheek, giddy with the freedom of it, the intimacy.

The faint scrape of stubble was rough in her palm.

He’d never be so shining and clean-shaven as one like Archie, and it made the heat in her belly rage anew.

Cormac was rough and raw and all man. Her next words came breathily. “Can I stay with you?”

“Aye, Ree. You’ll stay with me.” He kissed the top of her head with a husky laugh. “Woman, I ken you, and if I don’t keep an eye on you, you’ll be back in those trews and trolling the docks by yourself.”

She’d tasted his jealousy and found it irresistible, and so she couldn’t resist jibing him. “I always had Archie to help me.”

“The devil I may be, and I’ll be damned twice over if I let that ninny help you.”

“Archie’s not a ninny. He’s merely—”

“I know. A physician surgeon .” He gave her a mock glare, and she giggled despite herself.

“No lass, I’ve had enough of this Archie.

Knowing the bailie,” he muttered under his breath.

“As though that’s of any use.” He inhaled, touching his forehead to hers.

“It’s not child’s play we’ve ahead of us, Ree.

Do you swear to mind me? There’ll be danger, and you’ll need to trust that I know how best to protect us. ”

Ahead of us. She nodded. Us. She swelled at the thought.

“You’ll need to take a different name,” he went on. “It’s too dangerous. I’ll not let you be recognized.”

“Of course.” The excitement stole all other thoughts from her head. She and Cormac would work together. They would find Davie. Together.

Cormac cared for her, wanted her even. Did it mean he forgave her everything? She pushed away the thought, unwilling to let it pierce her joy.

Because he would help her, they’d find Davie; she knew it. How could they not? Such a joining felt too perfect for failure.

Cormac turned his head to look out at the waves. She watched him deep in thought, waiting patiently, trusting him.

“Your uncle will be safer if this doesn’t lead to him.

” He looked back at her, and resolution had smoothed his brow.

“You’ll need to tell Humphrey, and tell that meddling maid of yours, too, that my sister has invited you for a prolonged visit to Dunnottar.

I’ll not have you compromised. We can’t be discovered off alone together; the scandal would be too great.

Tell them you need to go away for a time. ”

“Go away where?”

“With me, lass.” He placed his finger gently beneath her chin. “Away with me.”