Page 5 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

Marjorie slept fitfully, and by dawn, was wide-awake. Though the MacAlpins hired occasional help from the village, they relied only on themselves to do things like stoke the morning fires, and her bedroom was as frigid as one would imagine a wind-whipped cliff-top castle to be.

She needed to feed and water her horse, though, and so she braced herself for her bare feet to hit the slate floor. She hurriedly dressed, and by the time she got outside, she found the morning air invigorating and the stroll a restorative one.

Though the palace ruins and the stables bracketed Dunnottar Rock along either edge, the plateau between was smooth and grassy, and Marjorie stopped, closing her eyes to savor the sensation of being so far above the sea.

She felt it to her core; the scent, the sound, and, she imagined, even the pull of the tides, penetrated down to her bones.

Cormac’s voice carried to her from inside the stables. A mix of nervous anticipation and simple pleasure rippled through her. She’d spent years coveting each sight of him. To have him so close now was a luxury.

She headed toward the sound of him. He was talking to somebody, and Marjorie deflated, waiting, wondering whom.

Nobody responded.

She reached the barn and paused, leaning in the entrance, canting her head to listen. He was speaking to a horse.

She marveled at the sound of him. His was a man’s voice now, and it was a low sound, a confident sound, and she felt the echo of it deep in her chest. It was a stranger’s voice but nearly familiar, too, as though, if only she tried harder, she’d be able to hear and recognize the boy she once knew.

What was he saying? She strained and plucked a single word from the soothing hum. Ree.

The thrill of it momentarily stole the breath from her lungs. He spoke of her . Whatever could he be saying? The thought of it was too much, and she tiptoed in.

A pony chuffed in his stall. He glanced a bored, waiting nod her way, before looking away again. A larger mount filled another of the stalls, a big chestnut, and as he tossed his head at her, Marjorie willed the animal to silence.

She strained but still couldn’t parse Cormac’s words. He barely put two words together for Marjorie. What would he have to say about her, and to her godforsaken horse no less?

There were windows along the back wall. She edged out of the stables. She’d hear better from there.

The building was a long rectangle perched on the edge of Dunnottar Rock, and Marjorie knew a moment of hesitation. It was a sheer tumble from the cliff top to the crashing waves far below. But she was no fool. She’d be careful. The windows toward the end weren’t so very close to the ledge.

With a hand steadied along the yellowed stone walls, she stepped carefully along the side, quietly nestling her footsteps down into the calf-high tangle of weeds that fringed the stables.

Wind whipped in from the sea, and she felt exposed, perched so close to the ledge and so high in the air.

Nerves prickled up the backs of her legs.

She estimated the distance between the barn and the drop below, assuring herself that a safe amount of land stretched between her and a fall from Dunnottar Rock.

She took a deep breath and pressed on, step by slow step.

By the time she passed around the back, her heart was pounding in her throat.

But, sure enough, Cormac’s voice came to her louder than ever.

And though it was still an aggravating mumble, she plucked more words from the air.

Aberdeen . . . lass . . . learn . . . vexation.

Vexation? She glowered, eyeing the ledge. It was even wider than it had appeared from afar, and it gave her confidence. All she needed to do was make it a few more steps, and she’d be able to peer in the last window.

Slowly she reached along the wall, curving her fingers around the crude stone sill. It framed a square of shadow from which Cormac’s voice resonated. Would she be peering into his stall, or a neighboring stall? Would he smile or frown as he spoke?

The window was her sole focus, and she was so shocked when the rock crumbled underfoot that a scream lodged in her throat. She clung mutely to the windowsill, her foot scrabbling for purchase.

A single train of thought swamped her mind: she was ever a girlish fool, she’d messed it all up again, she was about to fall to her death, and she’d never find Davie.

And then an image came to her, in a flash, and the grief was unbearable. Her bed, Cormac’s dark stare.

Cormac . She’d never know what it would be to kiss Cormac.

Marjorie gritted her teeth and scrambled for footing. Curse it, but she would find Davie and she’d steal a kiss from Cormac when it was all through.

An arm reached roughly around her waist. Astonishment released her voice from her throat, and she shrieked. She knew a moment of pure fear, and then she recognized the feel of him. Cormac.

“How,” she gasped as he pulled her tightly to him.

He edged back along the side of the barn.

Tilting her head up, she caught sight of his face, and she drank it in, fascinated.

He exuded anger, possession, and strength.

It was a side of him she’d never seen. The boy she’d known was long forgotten.

It was a man who held her now. “How did you know . . . ?”

Rage twisted his features into a dark mask. “Good Christ, woman. What were you doing?”

She felt strangely pleased. He wanted to wring her neck, but she didn’t care.

His face was infused with something she hadn’t seen there in years: life.

Cormac was animated and angry and alive.

It must’ve meant something. He would help her; she was certain she could wear him down.

Perhaps it’d even bring them closer again.

“I came to check on Una.”

“From the edge of a bloody cliff?” Wrapping an arm around her back and one beneath her knee, he scooped her up, his movements angry and abrupt.

She’d thought the look in his eyes had been foreign, but him , his body, this was more foreign and more thrilling than anything she’d ever imagined. He smelled faintly of sweat and leather, and his chest was a wall of rock against her side. Her Cormac, a man now.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. His hair brushed at her sleeves, and she wished her arms were bare. She longed to touch that hair, wondered if it would feel soft or coarse at her fingertips. “How did you know I was out there?”

“You can’t spy on me.” His words were sharp, staccato punches. “It’s impossible.”

“Why is it impossible?”

Cormac glared straight ahead, seeming unable even to look at her in his fury. “I was a scout. Nobody gets by me. It’s what I do.”

“That only confirms it.”

“What?”

“That I was right. You are the only man who can help me find Davie.”

Scowling, he strode more purposefully onto the green. She chuckled at his obstinacy. This only seemed to rile him more.

“You can put me down now.” They were far from the cliff’s edge, yet he showed no sign of slowing.

“No.”

Slowly she turned into him. She took in the set of his jaw. The morning sun hit the stubble on his face, lighting it to a glowing brown. “No?”

“No. I’ll not put you down until I get you safe inside. Where I will make certain that you gather your things. And then you will return home.”

She stopped breathing. She didn’t care what his intentions were. He was carrying her to her room. Would he truly sweep her up the stairs like a knight? Whisk her into her room like a husband?

A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. She stared, mesmerized, studying the strong planes of his face. Her eyes returned to the brown stubble shadowing his cheeks. It was thicker and darker at his chin and upper lip.

“Ree, lass, what were you doing climbing along the ledge like that?” The anger had leached from his voice, and Cormac simply sounded tired.

Ree. He’d called her by the old nickname. The sound of it eased her heart. Their eyes caught. His were a sad blue-gray. She wanted to make him smile.

The silence hung, and she inwardly shook herself. Cormac had asked her what she’d been about. Whatever could she tell him and still keep hold of her dignity? She decided simply to avoid the question. “Thank you for tending Una.”

“I care for the mounts every day. One more is no trouble.”

“I . . . I didn’t see you this morning. I didn’t know you were already out.” Marjorie cringed. Such nonsense spilled from her mouth, but this was her chance to speak with him. Cormac’s long strides were quickly taking them back to her room, where he’d put her down and say good-bye.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t sleep near the others.”

“Where do you sleep?” She cringed again.

A ridiculous and improper question, but she was desperate to know.

She felt the blood flooding her cheeks and darted her eyes away, making as though to study the MacAlpins’ main lodgings.

They lived in what was the old palace, and though much of it was crumbling, the centermost building was sound and watertight.

“Just there.” He nodded to a low stone cottage, standing apart to their left. “Off the old smithy.”

So he didn’t stay in the main building after all. She longed to peek in and see how he lived. Would he have simply a cot and a washstand? Or would there be a desk? A book or two maybe? “Why don’t you stay with the others?”

Marjorie sensed his shoulders relaxing, and she risked another glimpse at his profile.

She was startled to find him staring at her.

His expression was unreadable, his eyes no longer quite so sad.

She made the mistake of looking at the set of his mouth.

His lips were slightly parted, and he seemed to be contemplating her in some profound way. Her heart gave a sudden thud.

He looked away. “The others are close enough.”

He still held her close, unmoving. It struck Marjorie that he’d sensed she was outside the stables and had somehow known she was in danger. Cormac had come and whisked her from the ledge as handily as plucking a flower from a field.

He’d been enraged, but he was composed now. His features were smooth, tranquil even.

She’d been in jeopardy, and that is what had upset him.

He felt something for her.

Marjorie’s arms tightened around him. She couldn’t stop herself. She had to touch him, to ease the set of that jaw, to feel the scrape of that stubble. Slowly, she pulled her hand up and tenderly cupped his face.

Cormac put her down so swiftly, she almost tumbled to the dirt.

“I cannot help you.” He gave her a single horrified look and then walked away.

But it was fine with her. She bit her cheek not to smile.

Marjorie had spied some of the old Cormac lurking deep in his eyes, the boy who’d never liked to see her in danger.

And it gave her an idea.