Page 10 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

MOTHER MARY, WHERE to look ?

For a moment, Kylie froze, transfixed by the sight of the laird of Dounarwyse disrobed.

Maclean wasn’t the only one naked on the beach. The others had also stripped off their clothing so that they could take a plunge after their training. But Kylie paid no attention to any of them.

Instead, she stared at him .

Maclean wasn’t the first man she’d seen wearing nothing but his skin, of course, for she was a widow. Yet the leashed power of his body, the way the sun gleamed on his wet skin, accentuating every muscle, every scar, transfixed her.

“Lady Grant,” Maclean’s greeting jerked her out of her reverie. “A fine day, is it not?” His voice was low, and slightly breathless from his dip in cold sea water, yet his expression was veiled .

“Aye,” she gasped, cutting her gaze away. Curse her, she could feel her cheeks warming. “I took the lads outdoors for their lessons this morning … I hope ye don’t mind?”

“No.” Kylie sneaked another glance his way to see the laird scooping up his discarded clothing. “As long as they’re learning something … and not just doing as they please.” She noted a reserve in his tone now, for he’d just reminded them both of the argument that had ended in a forbidden kiss.

“La mer est azur!” Lyle sang out then, as he danced about the sand with Storm, who now bounced excitedly after the stick the lad had just thrown.

“Le chateau est grand et fort,” Ailean added with an impish grin.

The laird inclined his head, the edges of his lips tugging upward. Something relaxed inside Kylie as she marked his reaction. It was a relief to see him smile, rather than snarl, at his sons.

“Well said, lads,” Jack called out. The captain had just donned his clothing a few yards away and was shaking water out of his shaggy auburn hair. “Ye’ll be singing us courtly chansons in no time!”

“They’ll certainly show up yer poor grasp of the French tongue,” Maclean countered, his tone dry. However, when his gaze met Kylie’s once more, it was warm. “Ye should make the most of the sunny weather if my sons enjoy taking their lessons outside.”

Fortunately, the man had now pulled on his braies, although he seemed unperturbed by the fact she’d seen him in the nude. He now donned a loose lèine, the thin linen sticking to the hard muscles of his shoulders, chest, and upper arms.

She nodded, keeping her gaze firmly upon his face. “I shall. ”

Pulling on his boots, Maclean then glanced up at the sky. “Noon is close … we should get back to the broch.”

The other men didn’t need further encouraging, and they set off up the track that led from the shore toward the fortress.

Kylie brought up the rear with Lyle and Ailean—and their father.

To her consternation, the laird had dropped back so that he walked alongside her, his collie padding companionably at his heel. Presently, the lads drew ahead, finishing their collection of wildflowers and herbs, leaving the laird and Kylie in relative privacy.

Her heart fluttered at the realization.

It was the first time they’d been alone in a while.

“So, Ailean and Lyle are behaving themselves?” Maclean asked after an awkward silence.

“Aye,” she replied stiffly.

Another silence fell before he cleared his throat. “I was wrong to intrude as I did that day … and to lose my temper also … but ye will tell me if my sons give ye trouble, won’t ye?”

Kylie shot him a sidelong glance, to find him studying her intently. “Aye.” Lord, she wished she didn’t feel so uncomfortable around him now. “If that is what ye wish.”

Something flickered in his eyes at her awkward response, and his lips parted as if he might say something. However, after a moment, he firmly shut his mouth, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “Did ye enjoy yer walk along the southern path?”

She nodded, relieved that he’d changed the subject. “The views are bonnie indeed.” She gestured across the water then. “I like how ye can see the mainland from here. ”

He gave a soft snort. “Aye, it’s a reminder Mull isn’t a lonely isle in the midst of a wild sea … but part of something greater. Scotland.” The pride in his voice was evident.

“The broch certainly has a great vantage point,” she said, glancing up at the high walls that thrust up against the blue sky. “If anyone attacks, ye shall see them coming.”

He gave another snort. “Not always … when the fog rolls in during spring and autumn … the likes of the Ghost Raiders use it to their advantage.”

Kylie frowned as she recalled their attack on Lochbuie village at Bealtunn. A couple of them had even managed to get inside Moy Castle.

She suppressed a shiver at the reminder of how close Liza had come to dying. Her sister had been captive and ended up with a knife to the throat. The leader of the Raiders, a man named Ross Macbeth, had managed to climb the wall with a rope—with help from the inside—and had been intent on robbing the castle’s strongroom. It was only thanks to Alec’s intervention, and Liza’s quick-thinking, that disaster had been averted.

“Ye’ve been busy of late with the wall around Dounarwyse village,” she said then. “Yer tenants will certainly feel safer now.”

“Aye … and we’ll soon have daily patrols, morning and evening, along the coast.” His voice hardened as he continued, “I’ll not have those skull-faced shit-eaters sneak up on me again.”

An awkward silence followed these vicious words. A fierce scowl now creased Maclean’s face .

“What about the Mackinnons?” she asked, deciding it was best to move on from the Ghost Raiders, for the mention of them had blackened the laird’s mood. “Do ye worry about them?”

He shrugged, his face relaxing a little. “Bran Mackinnon hasn’t given me any trouble since the Battle of Dounarwyse … and if the whelp knows what’s good for him, he won’t.”

Kylie drew in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. “I should tell ye that Makenna is betrothed to him.”

His eyes snapped wide. “To Bran Mackinnon?”

“Aye.”

“Ye have been keeping that news close.”

She pulled a face. “Aye, well … it’s a complicated tale … although it’s tied up with the Battle of Dounarwyse,” she replied before heaving a sigh. “To get the MacGregors onside, Kendric Mackinnon promised my father much … including a marriage alliance between his son and my father’s firstborn daughter.”

Maclean’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t Makenna the youngest of the MacGregor brood?”

“Aye … Da omitted to tell the former Mackinnon clan-chief that he’d already married his eldest daughter off. The only maid amongst us now is Makenna.”

To her surprise, the laird gave a low laugh. “And it will be quite a match.”

Kylie studied him, intrigued by his reaction. “Ye have met Bran Mackinnon then?”

“Aye … although the last time I saw him, the lad was on his knees outside the walls of Dounarwyse, splattered with blood and facing Loch’s judgment. He’s been sulking ever since. ”

“Well, once he and Makenna wed, he’ll be too busy trying to tame her to focus on much else,” Kylie replied, glancing up at the walls. She caught sight of a woman’s silhouette there, her long hair blowing in the breeze. Although Makenna wasn’t part of the Dounarwyse Guard, she spent much time prowling its walls as if she served here. “She won’t take kindly to being robbed of her blades.”

Maclean didn’t reply, and when Kylie glanced his way once more, she marked the groove between his brows. Once again, he looked as if he wished to say something but was checking himself. “I haven’t forgotten my promise to take ye and my sons up to Dùn da Ghaoithe before the summer’s over,” he said then. “We shall go at the end of this week … before this fine weather turns.”

Kylie smiled, even as uneasiness fluttered up. She was relieved she and Maclean had cleared the air somewhat. All the same, she wasn’t sure it was wise for her to spend a lot of time with him. “The lads will be excited,” she answered, keeping the focus firmly on his sons. “And it’ll be instructive for them too.”

Kylie fought a wince then. How dry and prim she sounded.

The laird’s lips quirked. “Ye certainly take yer role seriously,” he teased.

“Of course,” she replied, covering up her embarrassment with a firm tone. “It pleases me greatly to have found a purpose.” If she kept this up, she really would turn into a stern ‘duenna’.

“Aye,” he murmured. “All of us need one.”

Seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from herself, Kylie cleared her throat. “And what is yers, Maclean?”

His green eyes glinted. “What do ye think drives me, Lady Grant? ”

Her pulse fluttered at the edge to his voice. Her first impulse was to glance away, but his gaze held her fast now, and something within her rose to the challenge. “I believe ye are committed to ensuring yer kin, yer people, and yer broch all thrive,” she answered carefully. Her skin prickled then, as she continued. “Ye’d give yer life to protect Dounarwyse, and all it shelters.”

His gaze widened. Perhaps he hadn’t expected such a heartfelt response, yet she’d meant every word. How different he was from her late husband. Errol had cared so little about the well-being of his broch and lands that he’d gambled his wealth away.

“I would,” he replied softly. “Although, just between ye and me … sometimes the responsibility weighs heavily.”

Kylie inclined her head at this admission. Maybe Maclean had sacrificed too much to ensure Dounarwyse prospered. He was stoic, but his angry outbursts and irritation at his sons indicated that other emotions flowed just beneath the surface.

And after observing him over the past weeks, she was beginning to understand him a little better. He carried a burden upon his shoulders, and worried about keeping his tenants safe, but there was more to his volatility than that.

The man was frustrated. Embittered. Lonely.

Not for the first time, she wondered about his marriage. She and Makenna had speculated a little about it, but her gut told her now that it most definitely hadn’t been happy.

We aren’t so different then . The realization made her step falter.

Maclean’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her upper arm to steady her. The contact—the heat of his touch through her sleeve—made Kylie’s breathing grow shallow .

“Thank ye, Maclean.” How she wished her voice didn’t sound so strangled. “Sorry, the ground is rough here … I wasn’t paying attention.”

The laird nodded, releasing her arm. They fell silent then, concentrating instead on climbing the steep, rocky path to the drawbridge. The clang of metal from the blacksmith’s forge greeted them, as did the acrid tang of hot iron, when they passed under the portcullis. Beyond, the barmkin was busy. Lads were wheeling out carts of muck from the stables, and fowl clawed at fallen straw, searching for oat and barley husks.

As she stepped out into the cobbled yard, Kylie caught sight of a man and woman embracing before the entrance to the guard tower.

Jack had bent his lovely wife back over his arm and was giving her such a passionate kiss that his men had started hooting and jeering. Captain Maclean ignored them though, as did Tara, who merely wound her arms sinuously around his neck and hauled him closer.

A moment later, Jack scooped her up into his arms, kicked open the door to the guard tower, and carried her inside.

More catcalls followed, but the couple were clearly oblivious to them.

Kylie whispered an oath, her gaze remaining upon the doorway Jack and Tara had just disappeared through. “What a sight.”

“The devil’s cods,” Maclean muttered. “Do they have to make such a spectacle of themselves?”

Surprised by his outburst, she cut him a glance, to see he was scowling. Deeply .

“Apologies, Lady Grant,” he continued before she could reply. “My brother regularly forgets himself with his wife.” His mouth pursed then. “See what I have to put up with.”

She stilled. Aye, her instincts about him had been right. He was frustrated. Resentful, even. It seemed that the laird of Dounarwyse was jealous of the happiness his brother and sister-by-marriage shared.

Kylie’s chest tightened then. So was she.

“Oh, come on … is that the best ye’ve got?”

“Aye.” Panting, Makenna wiped her forearm across her sweaty brow. She then shot Tormod a rueful look. “I’m done.”

“Can’t handle me, eh?” he goaded with a smirk.

She snorted, still breathless from their sparring. “Hades, ye are full of yerself.”

“Aye, but it’s merited.”

“I still managed to shove ye onto yer arse,” she pointed out with a goading smile.

He grinned back, flashing those perfect white teeth once more. “I thought I’d let ye have one wee victory.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye … ye are improving … but ye still aren’t as good as me.”

“Arrogant ass.” Makenna pulled a face. She then moved away from where they’d been fighting upon the terrace that sat high in the broch, between the eastern walls and the tower house itself, and began to unwrap the binding on her blade. “I hope ye enjoyed besting me.” She then sheathed ‘Arsebiter’ at her side. “For that was the last time.”

“Oh, aye?”

“I appreciate yer instruction … but I won’t be sparring with ye any longer.”

In truth, as much as she’d wanted to improve her skills, putting up with such a smarmy instructor had sorely tested her patience. She hungered to become a warrior to be reckoned with, but even she had her limits.

Misgiving arrowed through her then. What are ye doing, lass ? By rights, she should have set off for Meggernie Castle days ago, yet she’d lingered here instead.

Tormod folded his arms across his chest. “Can’t weather being beaten every time?”

Makenna eyed him warily, her mood sobering further. He was an attractive man, with his silky white-blond hair and tall, lean frame—and he fought like a fiend—but over the past days, she’d grown increasingly uncomfortable in his presence. Kylie was right: it was time to end her training with him.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” she replied with a shrug.

He snorted a laugh. “The Meggernie Guard can’t do without ye?”

“No.”

He sheathed his own sword. “I’m surprised the men at yer father’s castle get any work done … with such a bonnie lass serving amongst them. ”

Makenna resisted the urge to sneer. Tormod’s comments, which she’d brushed off during their initial sessions, had now started to vex her. The warrior didn’t know when to hold his tongue. “I shall take my leave now, MacDougall,” she said coolly. “I imagine ye have somewhere else ye’d rather be anyway.”

He inclined his head. “On the contrary … I’ve enjoyed fighting with ye. Will ye take a drink with me in the guard hall?”

Makenna shook her head. “My sister is waiting for me.” That wasn’t a lie. Usually, at this hour, she and Kylie would share a wine together in the lady’s solar.

“Lady Grant can wait.”

“I think not.” Makenna took a step backward then. “Thank ye for taking the time to train with me … but yer evenings are now yer own.”

With that, she favored him with a nod, turned, and headed for the door that led down the guard stairwell to the barmkin. And as she walked away, the skin between her shoulder blades itched. The warrior was staring at her.

Eager to be out of his sight, she quickened her pace, pulled open the door, and entered the narrow stairwell. However, she’d only gone down a few steps when a hand closed around her upper arm, yanking her backward. The move was so fast that she didn’t have time to retaliate or pull away.

The grip on her arm turned iron, and a hard male body collided with her back before a hot breath feathered across her cheek. “Not so fast, lass,” Tormod rasped. “It’s time ye thanked me … properly .”

An instant later, a rough hand grasped hold of her left breast and squeezed hard.