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

DRAGGING IN A lungful of salty air, heavy with the scent of smoking herrings and the less savory odor of rotting fish, Kylie’s belly fluttered with excitement.

A fresh start. As a childless widow, and at the mature age of thirty winters, she’d thought she wouldn’t get such a chance. But then, nearly three months earlier, Rae Maclean had announced he needed someone to take his sons in hand—and Kylie had offered her services.

Following her sister along the dock, and weaving her way through the knots of crab cages and coils of heavy, tarred rope, she tried to ignore the nervousness that accompanied her anticipation. She hoped she’d made the right choice.

Goose … it’s too late for regrets now.

Kylie’s offer had been bold, and her behavior had shocked even her at the time. Nonetheless, her choice had also been a practical one. Her late husband had left her destitute. Her only other option was to return to her kin in Perthshire. And although her parents wouldn’t blame her for Errol’s poor choices, they’d likely pity her, which was worse. And once she was back at Meggernie Castle, she’d also sink back into her old role—the one she’d happily escaped from. Her family was better than most, but she’d always felt overlooked at home—the helpful one everyone else took for granted.

This job would give her a much-needed purpose.

She caught sight of the laird then. Rae Maclean stood at the end of the pier, a sea breeze ruffling his auburn hair. Tall and strong, with broad shoulders, the chieftain of Dounarwyse was impossible to miss.

Kylie’s belly fluttered once more—not from excitement or nerves this time though.

Catching her body’s traitorous response, she squeezed her hands into fists, throttling it. She’d not start off on the wrong foot by allowing the attraction that had sparked within her toward Maclean at Moy Castle in early summer to distract her.

Remembering her manners, she lifted a hand and waved to him. Then, she hurried after Makenna up the gangway to where Rae and a strikingly handsome man with wavy auburn hair, who bore a strong resemblance to the laird, waited next to him. She guessed that this was Jack Maclean, Captain of the Dounarwyse Guard. During her conversations with the laird at Moy Castle, she’d learned that his brother worked for him. Both men had similar build, bone-structure, and coloring, although the captain held himself with an unconscious arrogance, his mouth curved into a playful smile. In contrast, Rae’s expression was almost severe—and a deep groove had furrowed between his eyebrows and either side of his mouth.

He looked like someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders .

It made him seem older than she remembered. She still found him attractive though—distractingly so.

Makenna glanced over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling as she flashed Kylie a grin. “Ready?”

“Aye,” Kylie replied, swallowing her sudden nerves and forcing a bright smile in return.

Makenna slowed her stride, allowing Kylie to draw ahead so that she reached the chieftain first. And as she did, Kylie met Rae Maclean’s gaze. Despite his austere expression, his fern-green eyes were warm. And then his lips lifted at the corners in a smile.

Her belly went into a steep dive, and her step faltered. Cursing herself, she picked up her skirts, stepped over a coil of rope, and closed the gap between them. Daft woman , she chastised herself. Enough of this foolishness!

“Greetings, Maclean,” she said briskly, halting a few feet distant.

The laird nodded, his expression softening a little more. “Good morning, Lady Grant … it is a pleasure to see ye again.”

Ignoring the quickening of her pulse at these words, Kylie gestured to where Makenna had halted next to her. “Ye remember my sister?”

“Of course. I hope ye are well, Makenna.” Maclean nodded then to the man next to him. “May I introduce my brother, Jack?”

“Welcome back to Mull,” Captain Maclean drawled, flashing them both a grin.

“It’s good to be back,” Makenna replied with an answering smile. “Although, regretfully, I won’t be able to stay long. ”

Kylie’s chest tightened at these words. It made sense that Makenna wouldn’t want to linger, yet ever since Errol’s death, her younger sister had been her rock. Despite that Makenna was busy at Meggernie Castle, she’d made regular trips to Kylie in Argyll, where she’d been preparing to leave her home of a decade—the broch that her husband’s creditors now owned. Makenna had put everything aside to help her, and her company had eased the ache of loneliness.

“Ye are welcome at Dounarwyse for as long as ye wish,” Maclean assured Kylie’s sister. His gaze then traveled behind the women, to where two burly men trudged up the pier hauling heavy leather satchels. “Have ye brought much with ye?”

“Just these bags,” Kylie replied. “My clothes and personal effects … everything else belonged to my husband.”

The chieftain nodded. “Well then, my men will carry them back to Dounarwyse for ye,” he said, his tone turning more businesslike. He then gestured to the group that waited patiently with the horses a few yards back from the end of the busy pier. “And we have ponies to carry ye .”

They headed north along a well-traveled road that hugged the isle’s eastern coast. A stiff breeze whipped in from the Sound of Mull, ruffling their horses’ manes and tugging at their clothing. The sky above was blue and full of scudding white clouds, and the air was sweet with the scent of summer.

The jangling of bridles and creak of leather accompanied the steady thud of hooves as they left Craignure behind .

A short while into the journey, Kylie found herself riding alongside the laird, while Makenna had fallen back next to Jack. The rest of their escort brought up the rear.

For a spell, they traveled without speaking. However, the silence was slightly strained. The laird of Dounarwyse didn’t seem to have anything to say to her. Eventually, Kylie cleared her throat. “How have ye been, Maclean?”

“Well enough,” he replied, flashing her a shy smile. “And ye?”

“Busy … the time has flown since we last saw each other.”

“It certainly has.”

Another awkward pause followed before Kylie spoke once more. “It’s a bonnie isle, this.” She immediately clamped her mouth shut, cursing herself for uttering something so inane. Nerves, as well as an uncomfortable awareness of the man who rode beside her, were making her babble.

However, her comment made his face relax a little. A moment later, Maclean smiled once more, and then—to her surprise—he started to sing.

“The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest,

Of ocean’s gems ’tis the first and rarest;

Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,

Of waving woods and high tow’ring mountains.”

And then the rest of the men accompanying them, Jack Maclean included, joined in. Verse after verse, they sang, extolling the virtues of their beautiful island, the resonant boom of their voices echoing through the warm afternoon air. Kylie’s skin prickled as she listened, for there was nothing more stirring than hearing someone’s love for their home in song .

“That was lovely,” she said when the singing ended, before she flashed him a grin. “And ye have a fine voice indeed.”

She shouldn’t flatter him, yet couldn’t help it. The laird’s deep voice had touched her.

Maclean gave an embarrassed laugh, his gaze flicking to her before it slid away. She noted the faint blush that rose to his cheekbones, and his response intrigued her. Was he not used to receiving compliments?

“Aye, well … it’s easy to sing about this isle,” he replied his tone gruff now, his attention firmly upon his horse’s ears. “We Muilich have a fierce love for our home … and would lay down our lives to defend it.”

Kylie didn’t doubt the man. There was a strength to him that was grounded as deep as the mighty mountains of this isle. Rae Maclean came from a line of chieftains who belonged to Mull as much as every clump of heather, blade of grass, and twisted oak that grew here.

Nonetheless, he didn’t appear as comfortable with her as he’d been when they’d met at Moy, or as at ease with himself either. His mood was more subdued than she recalled, his gaze often shadowed.

Catching the wayward direction of her thoughts, for she shouldn’t be scrutinizing the man so, she pulled herself up. She then cleared her throat. “Have ye had any more troubles with the Ghost Raiders over the summer?”

The laird cast her another sidelong look. “No … but that’s only because there isn’t much fog for them to shroud themselves in this time of year.” His features tightened then, a deep groove etching between his dark-auburn brows. “But rest assured, the bastards will be back as soon as the weather turns. ”

A chill skated down Kylie’s spine at these words. The pirates, who disguised themselves in black hooded cloaks and horned sheep skull masks, had terrified the folk of Mull for nearly three years now. “I take it the clan-chief never apprehended their leader?”

Maclean shook his head, his mouth thinning. “MacBeth disappeared like a wraith. Loch is still searching for him though.”

It was now her turn to frown. She didn’t like the thought of that villain—or the pirates he led—still being at large. The attack at Moy Castle the past Bealtunn still haunted her sometimes. “Fortunately, I hear Dounarwyse is well defended,” she murmured.

“Aye … it has a sturdy curtain wall and a position that’s hard to lay siege to.” Maclean’s focus returned to the path that stretched out before them, his brow still furrowed. “But I must remain vigilant … a laird can never let down his guard. I will defend my broch, and my lands, until my last breath.”

Kylie found herself studying his profile. His face was even more forbidding now, and she was sorry she’d brought up the Ghost Raiders.

She tore her attention from him then, focusing on her surroundings instead in an attempt to regain her equilibrium. She admired the rocky coastline and the rolling meadows that swept west to where a high sculpted ridge rose against the horizon, its deep corries highlighted in the sun. “That mountain ridge,” she asked, keen to steer their conversation to a more neutral subject. “What’s its name?”

“That’s Dùn da Ghaoithe … Fort of the Two Winds ,” he replied. “From the top, ye can see the sea in nearly every direction. ”

“I’d like to see such a view,” she admitted.

Maclean’s mouth quirked, yet he still didn’t look her way. Was she imagining it, or did he avoid her gaze? “Then we shall organize an excursion before summer’s end.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she answered swiftly, anxiety fluttering up. “I’m sure ye are too busy to—”

“Even a laird must take a break now and then, Lady Grant,” he replied with a shake of his head. “We can take my sons with us and make a day of it … neither of them has climbed Dùn da Ghaoithe.”

Another pause followed then, while Kylie chided herself for asking him about the mountain. He’d think her pushy now, despite that she’d merely been making conversation.

“Would ye tell me a little of yer sons?” she asked finally, deciding it was best to focus on the reason she was here.

Maclean gave a soft snort. All the same, his gaze remained on the path ahead. “They’re both a bit wild. Ailean has reached his sixth summer and Lyle his fourth … but don’t let their tender ages fool ye. The pair can be wee devils. Ailean, especially, reminds me of Jack at the same age. Willful.” He grimaced then. “I haven’t paid them much attention of late … and the lads often do as they please.”

Her chest tightened at this admission. In truth, despite her bold offer, she’d had little to do with bairns over the years, having had none of her own. His sons were still of a tender age though. Surely, they couldn’t be too much trouble?

“So, ye wish me to teach them their numbers and letters?”

“Aye, if ye are confident enough to do so? ”

The challenge in his voice was clear, and her spine stiffened in response. The last thing she wanted was Maclean to think he’d hired someone incompetent. “My father hired a tutor for all his daughters,” she replied firmly. “I speak French too and can teach them that tongue … if ye wish?”

The laird shot her an approving look then, and his lips tilted at the corners. “Aye, the quicker ye establish a routine, the better.”