Page 7 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

She awoke wanting a bath. But hauling fresh water to Dunnottar Rock was a luxury she’d not ask of the MacAlpins, and so Marjorie bent for a brisk splash along the shoreline.

The water was frigid, but she made quick work of it, chafing her face and darting her hands beneath her gown to scrub under her arms. Low, uneven waves slapped and ebbed, sucking at her feet.

A breeze found the damp patches on her bodice, pebbling her skin tight, and she shivered with the pleasure of it.

Her last seaside wash had been with Davie. Stripping the boy down and tossing him in the waves had been the most effective way she’d found to get him cleaned. He loved splashing and dunking, grabbing for the small silvery fish that darted between his feet.

Dread turned her heart to lead. Davie surely wouldn’t be enjoying any seaside baths now. What would he be doing? Was he unhurt? Warm and fed?

She haphazardly scoured her ankles and calves. They had to get on the road quickly, before Cormac changed his mind.

Cormac. They had a long day’s ride ahead of them. How would it be to travel with him for an entire day ? Would he finally talk to her? How much did he resent her? The prospect made her queasy.

A distant splashing mingled with her own, so at first she didn’t notice. But then Marjorie sensed a presence on the edge of her vision. She knew before she looked whom she’d find.

Cormac had haunted her thoughts and now seemed even to materialize like a ghost at the strangest of moments. On the edges of cliffs. During private talks. Of course he’d appear for her seaside wash.

She straightened, steeling herself for the sight of him. What would be the look on his face this time? She wondered if an easy smile would ever be waiting there to greet her, or if he’d always bear his grim mask.

Like iron to a lodestone, her head turned toward him. He was higher up the beach, but still close enough to see.

Cormac was emerging from the waves. Naked.

Oh sweet Lord. She blinked. She wasn’t prepared for this .

It was improper to look, yet she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.

The early morning sun was low on the horizon, and his body glistened with light.

Water drizzled down his shoulders and chest, disappearing into shadowed valleys of hard flesh.

His hair was plastered to his brow, and the water made it appear almost black.

Her eyes went to his face, and he looked away before their gazes could catch. He bore a dark scowl.

Of course. Why would he be friendly? She’d forced his hand. She’d all but made him accompany her to Aberdeen.

He bent to retrieve his plaid from the rocks, and her gaze slid to the flex of his taut haunches. She gasped, widening her eyes. She’d never seen a naked man before. And Cormac wasn’t just any man. He was lithe and muscled, confident and comfortable in his skin.

“I . . . I’m sorry,” she managed, grateful for the freezing water that numbed her feet, though it was her whole body she needed to dunk. Maybe then she’d be able to cool the hot flushing sensation that suffused her. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He wrapped and tucked his plaid, and even though her cheeks burned hot, she couldn’t look away.

“I could say the same to you,” he said blandly. “It’s no’ my beach.”

Finishing, he walked toward her. There was such purpose in his stride, his body all fluid power.

She held her breath.

His eyes flicked to her bodice. She was exquisitely aware of it clinging damp and tight to her breasts. Her belly quivered with something that reached even her numbed toes.

“We leave once there’s food in our bellies,” he told her. And then he simply walked on past.

Cormac tucked the reins under his thigh and laced his fingers, stretching his arms before him. He flexed his wrists to the point of discomfort, but still, mastering his body was taking a conscious effort.

“So strong you are,” Marjorie cooed, her voice sounding low and sultry next to him.

He mumbled a curse. She’d been purring, whispering, and just about moaning at that damned mare all morning, and it was driving him to distraction.

“So, so strong.” She ran her hands along her horse’s neck in long, languid strokes. “You were lonely in that stall. But you like when I ride you, don’t you? Yes you do. You like having me on your back.”

Cormac flexed until his knuckles popped.

He looked out of the corners of his eyes, watching the sway of her hips in the saddle. The sound of her bedroom voice was a reverberating hum through his body. What would she look like riding him ?

His mind returned to the image branded there: Marjorie, standing in the shallows. Her wet bodice had clung to her, revealing every curve, every dip and swell of her soft flesh. And then she’d looked at him, and there’d been a darkness in her eyes, a wanting that he recognized as his own.

It’d taken all the concentration he had not to go hard at the sight of her. If there was anything that could make his cold cock rouse, it had been the feel of Ree’s eyes on him, roving his naked body as though she’d a right to.

Her horse began to flag, and Marjorie made soft kissing noises to liven up the animal’s gait.

“God help me,” he breathed. He adjusted himself on the saddle, forcing himself to focus on the path ahead, on the sway of the horse beneath him.

It should’ve been a decent ride. Gregor had shocked Cormac when he loaned his braw chestnut gelding, but not even the superior horseflesh at Cormac’s seat could distract him.

Marjorie. Marjorie was the distraction.

“Ohhh, that’s the way,” she murmured.

Cormac’s groin tightened anew. He scowled. Agony. What could’ve been a pleasant enough ride had become his own personal hell.

He held his body stiffly, putting his mind to other things. Fishing. Hunting. The fine horse he rode. He patted the animal’s neck, willing thoughts like the mending of boats and the gelding of horses to wipe the wayward images from his mind.

“What’s his name?” Marjorie asked, trotting to catch up to his side. The sea breeze had pinkened her cheeks. She’d always loved riding, and she bore the hint of a smile on her face. Her breathing was up, and her bodice strained with it. The sight silenced him.

“Cormac?”

Marjorie was waiting for his response, and the only words that surged to mind were how lovely she looked with the wind in her hair. He shook himself. It was too dangerous to entertain such notions. “Name?” he said, coming back to himself.

“Aye, Gregor’s horse. What’s his name?”

He looked down, contemplating the animal’s coat, dark russet with sweat. He shrugged. “I don’t ken its name.”

“You didn’t ask the horse’s name?” She nudged her mount closer to his. Her skirts rustled against Cormac’s calf, and he stifled a shiver.

Fishing. Hunting. Boat mending.

“He’s a braw one,” Marjorie said, leaning toward the animal. Her bodice tugged lower, revealing the gentle swells of her breasts.

Boat mending. Hoof trimming. Stall mucking.

She murmured to the beast in a low, sultry voice, “Aren’t you just a big, braw boy?”

“Why?” Cormac asked abruptly, his voice barking out like a muted shout. “Why would I need its name? It’s not as though he’ll come if I call.”

“But you’ll be riding him all day. Don’t you want to know?”

Cormac was completely off his guard, and so his response was something his younger self might have said. “He and I, we weren’t formally introduced, Ree.”

Suddenly silent, Marjorie let her horse fall behind. Cormac grew curious after a moment, and twisted in the saddle to study her. A puzzled look wrinkled her brow.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned. “Are you not comfortable?”

Her puzzled look intensified. “No . . . I . . . why do you ask?” Her features hardened. “I’m perfectly comfortable. Don’t forget, Cormac. I have made this journey before, and I am perfectly capable of making it again.”

“Och, that’s not what I was saying at all.” What had he unwittingly stepped into? “That’ll teach a man,” he added under his breath.

Now she just looked hurt. He rued his words.

“That’s not what I’d meant,” he said, trying again. “You simply . . . you’ve got a look about you. I thought you might be uncomfortable, is all.”

“Oh.” She thought on it for a moment, then gave a brisk shake to her head. “I’m perfectly comfortable. It’s simply . . . you foxed me some, with your jesting.” She gave him an uneasy smile.

“Aye, I’ve not jested much,” he admitted.

“Not jested? Cormac, you barely speak.”

“Aye.” He stopped himself from saying more.

Marjorie’s bright blue eyes were guileless and her face open as she watched him.

She seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

He needed to stem such ideas. Nothing would ever happen.

How had he even found himself this far into the conversation?

Nothing could come of such talk. Naught could ever be between them.

“Aye, ’tis true,” he said again, and left it at that.

The brief exchange had charged their silence, and he regretted ever saying anything in the first place. Her horse caught and then passed his on the path.

“You’re angry at me,” she said after a time.

“Oh aye?” The lass was such a mystery. He didn’t recall her being so perplexing when they’d been children. He studied her back as she rode before him, watching as her muscles tensed, imagining the look that might be crossing her face. “Angry, you say?”

She gave a tight nod. “For making you come with me to Aberdeen.”

He thought on it. It wasn’t anger but dread that he felt.

He dreaded Aberdeen. Cormac didn’t want to face the ruffians of Justice Port; they had naught but fights and death in their eyes, and he only recognized himself in their cold, flat gazes.

He dreaded revisiting her uncle’s town house.

Most of all, he dreaded facing the memories of another missing boy, one who’d never been found.

But Marjorie would be dreading Aberdeen as much as he did. She’d come to him for help, and he’d been acting the boor.