Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

T he next few days were dull and bereft of color, even as the forest around them bloomed in yellows and oranges and reds. His brothers were enchanted by the changing season, but Rory only found solace in throwing himself into the work of repairing the barn. He’d always thrived with a project to complete, and while chopping down giant chestnuts and oaks helped, it did not stop him from thinking of how summarily Mercy had dismissed him after dinner by the fire.

He’d wanted to ask her for permission to stay the winter, and perhaps walk through the moonlit trees with her, perhaps see if she wanted his lips on hers as much as he did. Maybe, he’d have tried to hold her hand.

Rory guessed that Mercy had employed Amity as their go-between, since the younger sister had conveyed all the information and aid for the brothers since that night. His pride prevented him from asking about her sister, but he often found himself staring at Mercy from the rafters whenever she appeared in the clearing. He nearly bit a nail in half when she’d appeared in the clothes she reserved for town, looking very fine.

The skirts no longer overwhelmed her, and her breasts were no longer lost in the bedgown she wore over her stays. His heart thumped when he realized that all the game he’d been able to trap recently wasn’t just filling her belly. Even the sharp angles of her face had started to fade under fuller cheeks.

“I need to retrieve Father,” Mercy said to Amity, clutching her sister’s hands, her breath visible in the biting cold. She was wearing the shawl she always wore to town, and overtop, she slung the new wool cloak she’d recently made about her shoulders.

“And why can’t I come with you?” he heard Amity ask. When Mercy shrugged, Amity pressed her. “He’s never been gone this long,” she said quietly. “You’re worried.”

Rory took the nail from his mouth and hammered it into the chestnut plank that Rabbie had just handed him, then paused to hear Mercy’s reply.

“Of course not.” He watched her force a smile. Even yards away and up on the barn roof, Rory could tell she was lying. “I’m hoping they’ve delivered milled grain from Frederick Town by now. Perhaps we can bake bread this week.” When Amity crossed her arms, Mercy sighed. “I’m taking a goat for trade. I’ll be back before you’ve even missed me.”

Rory watched the sisters plant kisses on each other’s cheeks out of the corner of his eye. It had been a bright morning, and the road hadn’t seemed treacherous when they’d walked it home from the medicinal spring all those days ago, but he didn’t like her going alone, not one bit. Still, he’d already resigned himself to silence. He accepted another board from Rabbie and got back to work.

When it was nearly two hours past midday, Rory couldn’t stop himself from peering up at the sun’s location in the sky, the spring inside his chest coiling tighter with each moment that Mercy did not return.

“Will ye have a break now, Rory?” Rabbie asked, squinting. His brother was down in the clearing, wiping sweat from his brow with a rag.

“Nae.”

“Have some water, then, will ye?” Cailean called up.

“Nae,” Rory replied. He laid another board down and hammered it in.

“Look, Mercy’s returned.” Rory’s hands froze and he turned so fast he nearly lost his balance. Mercy was, in fact, coming up the carriage path, though he knew at once that something was amiss. Her gait was unnatural. Usually, Mercy walked with purpose, her hips swaying enchantingly. Rory narrowed his eyes: she was barely putting one foot in front of the other.

Rory leapt from the rafters and ran to her. Amity, who must have noticed too, was right behind him. Rory could barely hear above the blood pounding violently in his ears. When he reached her, she dropped her packages and fell into his open arms, both sagging to their knees.

“Is it Father?” Amity huffed when she reached them. Mercy leaned heavily against Rory, but he was surprised to see that her eyes were dry.

“They were all there at the Halfway House,” she said unsteadily, as if dazed. “Teague and the rest of them. They kept saying how sorry they were.”

“Mercy?” Amity asked in an unrecognizably small voice. Rory held on tighter.

“Teague said he choked. He choked on his own bile in the stye behind the tavern.” Rory felt her shiver and pulled her head to his chest.

“When?” Amity asked.

“A few days past,” Mercy managed to say. “He’s dead.”

Amity went to Mercy, who pushed out of Rory’s arms to grasp at her sister. As the two wove their arms around each other, Amity pressed her forehead tenderly to Mercy’s.

Rory’s heart broke for the two sisters, kneeling in the dirt, though he’d harbored no affection for the old man. At best, he seemed neglectful, and at worst, he’d carelessly put his daughters in real danger of rape or worse. Cailean was upon them suddenly, out of breath, and Rabbie wasn’t far behind.

“Does everyone know?” Amity asked. Rory thought it strange for her to ask at a time like this, but Mercy nodded.

“Cailean, I’ll not have you running about,” Mercy said weakly into Amity’s hair. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and steadied herself before rising with Rory’s help.

“What’s wrong?” Cailean asked. She took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. She gazed at Cailean as if assessing his coloring, the muscles that had returned to his body. She’d barely seen him in almost a week, having been avoiding Rory. She nodded approvingly, then looked back to Amity.

“Our father has died,” Amity said finally, still holding her sister’s hand, “and he’s been cruel enough to do it in town.” Rory and his brothers glanced at each other, puzzled yet somber.

“Come,” Mercy said, straightening her spine and pulling Amity behind her. The two sisters walked back to the cabin in each other’s arms as Rory watched with a deep frown.

Later, when the sun had begun to set, Cailean talked Rory off the roof. He’d continued his work like a madman after the Barnetts had retired to the cabin, and thought that he might be finished with the barn roof before the month was over, if he kept at such a pace.

“Perhaps we should make supper for them,” Cailean said when Rory dropped to the ground. Just then, the sisters appeared from the cabin door as if summoned, wearing stoic looks upon their pretty faces.

“I hope everyone is hungry,” Amity called as Mercy produced a wrapped package. “We’ll feast on venison tonight, in memory of our not so dearly departed father.” She raised her hands and shook two bottles of grain whiskey. “It would only be right to get grogged, too.” Cailean went to the sisters at once to offer assistance.

“They are very odd,” Rabbie said quietly as he stopped beside him.

“They’ve just lost their father, and he was an absolute poltroon. How else would ye have them act, Rabbie?” Rory wished his voice hadn’t sounded so harsh.

Rabbie’s face remained neutral. “I’ll bring the goats in,” he said at last, and left Rory to chew on his own thoughts.

Once Rabbie had led the goats into the back of the barn, which was still covered with the old roofing, the luxurious supper was already underway. Mercy and Amity whipped up a feast, as they said they would. The main course, deer steaks, were being seared carefully in butter, and the mashed potatoes and blackened green beans were already steaming in their own pots. Mercy was mixing a heavenly smelling dressing made from preserved blackberries. Cailean watched interestedly, offering to help every once in a while, though his overtures were repeatedly declined. Rory, however, crept away when he was sure no one would notice.

He sat out in the dark woods, his thoughts a tangle of turmoil. It was obvious to him now, and probably to Rabbie too, that he cared for Mercy Barnett. He’d sprinted to her like a lovesick hound when she’d returned from town, had held her like a lover as she leaned on him. He didn’t know exactly how he felt about the loss of her father, but he very much wanted to know how she felt about it, so that he could make it right.

Rory raked his fingers through his hair and slumped back against a tree. Rabbie was right at the first. They should have left as soon as Cailean was able, should have gathered what they’d need to survive in the snowy mountains and gone. He couldn’t afford to feel anything for Mercy Barnett, because if he felt this strongly now, it could be far worse in the spring. He knew somehow that he had been wrong before, that he couldn’t kiss her until he grew tired of it and then forget her. Because he knew, suddenly, that he would never grow tired of kissing Mercy Barnett.

The realization was devastating. He had made a promise to his brothers to get them over the mountains to freedom, and Rory never broke a promise. His brothers were his entire world, and had been for as long as he cared to remember. It wasn’t that he wanted to get them to safety—he needed to. It was such a perfectly imperfect time to feel this way about a woman that Rory let out a small, mirthless laugh. In all his years with all those women, he had never felt a modicum of what he felt for Mercy now. It was like being overfed and starved at the same time. He sighed and thunked his head back against the trunk of the tree hard, wishing like hell he could knock the attachment to her from his mind.

“Supper is served,” Amity said lightly, and passed plates to the two Macleods present. Mercy took her own plate into her lap and forced herself to pick at the decadent meal. Amity placed a cup of whiskey into her hand and she was thankful: she wanted something numbing. After she’d finished her cup, she held it out for more, which Amity refilled wordlessly. The rest of them ate and drank in silence, which Mercy appreciated. She didn’t really want to talk.

Everyone had more than their share of the whiskey with the exception of Amity, who seemed more than happy to keep everyone else’s cups full. Though Mercy felt merely warmed by the liquor, Cailean seemed quite loose.

“Where is your brother?” Mercy asked suddenly. She’d finished her plate and set it down beside her.

“Hiding, I’m sure,” Cailean said, hiccupping. He finished his cup and held it out for more.

“Cailean,” Rabbie said darkly, “perhaps ye’ve had enough.”

“He’s not had enough if he won’t tell us what that meant,” “Amity said slyly, pouring Cailean another.

Cailean grinned through another hiccup. “Well, he’s…oof!” Rabbie had thrown an elbow into his brother’s stomach.

“I should take him a plate,” Mercy said as she rose, ignoring the brothers.

“And some whiskey, dear,” Amity said, holding up the bottle. Mercy took it and nodded at her sister, who quickly loaded another plate with venison. “Be firm with him,” Amity said softly, handing it over. Mercy looked curiously at her sister before retreating into the cold forest.

Mercy narrowed her eyes to see better in the chilly blackness of the night. She knew where she’d find the brute, but she didn’t want to trip over him and send the venison flying, so she tread carefully. She reached the tree he normally slept against, and searched for him in the dark.

“Mercy,” he whispered from the shadows. She felt a shiver run through her when she heard an unexpected tenderness in his voice. Rory was upon her quickly, taking the bottle and plate from her before setting her down against his favorite oak.

“I thought you might like to eat, Mr. Macleod.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, as if in pain, when she addressed him formally. “Should ye not be thinking less about me, and more of yerself at a time like this?” he asked sitting down beside her. Mercy scowled.

“Perhaps I don’t want to think about myself at a time like this,” she snapped. “Did you ever think of that?”

“I haven’t seen ye think about yerself at all since I’ve met ye,” he responded softly, and Mercy sniffed.

“I can’t tell, Mr. Macleod, if you’re praising me or not.” She was pretty sure he wasn’t.

“Aye, lass,” Rory whispered, leaning a bit closer to her. “I praise ye.” Mercy was momentarily stunned into silence, as she was inclined to believe him.

“Eat,” Mercy said when she didn’t know what else to say. “And drink.” Rory frowned, then took the bottle and drank deeply from it. Mercy watched as his throat pulsed with each swallow. When he was finished, he placed the bottle back next to the untouched plate.

“Eat,” she said again, but this time with curiosity. Rory stared at her as he brought the plate into his lap and bit into the venison. The muscles in his jaw flexed in hypnotizing rhythm, and Mercy watched with unconcealed interest. “More,” she said softly, and when he obeyed, his eyes never straying from hers, she’d never felt more powerful. She hadn’t realized until that moment why exactly Rory Macleod aggravated her so—it was because even though the townspeople seemed leery of her, she was used to telling them what was best for them, and she was used to them complying. Even if they did so warily. Perhaps, she thought with sudden amusement, he was the same, and that was why she was always aggravating him.

“Yer smiling,” he said, and she watched his lips turn slowly upward.

“I am,” she said, nodding, then broke out into a full grin.

“I like it,” he said, putting his plate down. He grinned back at her.

“Do you?” Mercy asked impishly. “I rather thought you liked making me frown.”

“No,” Rory said, and his voice sounded strained. “Well,” he admitted, “sometimes.” She laughed quietly. “But only because your frown is so charming.”

Mercy hesitated, then leaned past the few inches that remained between them and pressed her lips to his. They were so soft and warm, tasted of venison, and framed by days-old stubble that scratched her chin. She timidly put a hand to his shoulder, then leaned back and stared at him breathlessly, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

Because ever since she’d reached William, the barkeep at the Halfway House, and he had told her that her father was dead—ever since she’d looked around and saw all those men leering at her, calculating all the ways they could take advantage of her—she had known that her life was about to change dramatically and hideously. Because though her father was completely incapable of keeping them and their farm safe, his mere presence seemed to deter the men in town.

Now, she and Amity were two young women alone on a mountaintop with usable land. They had known all their lives that this was the case, and they had always openly hoped that their father would have the decency to die on the farm so that they could dupe the town into believing he was still alive, for as long as they possibly could.

If she was going to lose everything tomorrow, then she wanted to have Rory tonight. She wanted him, every inch of him, above any other man she’d ever met. She didn’t care if she was one of a hundred to him, nor that he was using her. Really, she was using him too.

Rory stared at her, every part of him aching for her. She had surprised him with that inexperienced kiss, which burned his lips and made him hunger for more. He knew he should take her hand, squeeze it, and walk away, but he also knew that it would be completely impossible to do so. Kissing her back was suddenly as necessary as breathing, and Rory couldn’t fight it anymore.

He leaned forward then and took her mouth with his in the most tender kiss he’d ever bestowed upon a woman. His lips touched hers with the utmost care, pressing closer to her in increments, and he was filled with ecstasy when he felt her grasp at his shirt. Nothing more was needed to completely undo him.

He pulled her onto his lap and combed his fingers through her silken hair gently while taking her mouth in nips and leisurely licks. Her hands clung to his clothes in tight fists, and he basked in the pleasure. He drew his thumb in a line across her cheek and she finally opened enough for his tongue to explore the velvet of her mouth. When she responded shyly and he let out a low growl, she seemed to gain confidence. She licked back, touching his tongue with hers, and Rory’s cock threatened to rip the seams of his pants.

He lowered them both to the earth, cushioning her head with his forearm. She placed her hands on either side of his face and drew him down to her, her lashes fanning out across her high cheeks as she closed her eyes. He paused then, hovering over her, taking in the sight of her face in repose. When she shivered, he covered her body with his, pressing closer, finding new ways to be nearer to her. Her breathing was becoming as ragged as his as he pushed aside the collar of her bedgown, and then her shift.

“Mr. Macleod,” she murmured. She was surprised, but didn’t seem displeased.

“Fuck your pleasantries,” he said roughly as he slid his hand against the bare skin of her chest. “Say my name,” he demanded, leaning back to more clearly see her eyes.

“Rory,” she said with a sigh, and the flame that burned inside him flew into a raging fire.

“Mercy.” He crushed his mouth to hers. He wondered if his lungs were failing him, as he was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. He sucked in air and was overcome with her lemony scent as she kissed him back ravenously, proving herself a quick study of the art.

Cold fingers tugged at his cravat until it gave, then shyly explored the skin of her throat. “Yes, touch me,” he groaned before capturing her tongue in his mouth and sucking it gently.

“Oh,” she moaned, her body starting to squirm beneath his. He put a staying hand against her hip.

“Steady,” he said, while sounding quite unsteady himself. If she kept moving like that, he was going to embarrass himself.

Mercy’s eyes shone bright with need. He knew the feeling of wanting more, more. He felt a hand burrow between them, then start to travel down, down…

“Mercy,” he said unevenly. “Mercy, stop.” He shifted so that he could still her hand with his own. “Not tonight.” Immediately, her body stiffened.

“Why not tonight?” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

“This isn’t how yer first time should be.” At that, Mercy surprised him by scrambling away from him. It was a tornado of hair and skirts, and by the time he’d risen to lean back on his heels, she was standing before him, those angry fists on her hips.

“You daft brute. My first time can be any way I like. I decide,” she said, jabbing her finger into her chest. “Until tomorrow, I decide!” she yelled again. Though she should have looked ridiculous to Rory, hollering in the dark on a cold autumn night with her hair tangled about her shoulders, he found her more beguiling than ever.

“I wanted,” she started to say, pulling at her bedgown to straighten it. Rory felt frozen to the ground, unable to process his explosive desire, his resolute constraint, her baffling temper. “I wanted…” Rory was all ears. He wanted desperately to know what she wanted. “I wanted, for one last night, to make my own decisions. And you,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “took that away from me.” Before Rory could answer, she stalked away.

Rory was speechless. He had no idea what the woman was on about. He searched blindly for his cravat and wound it around his throat, not knowing what he would do next. What was to be done? Mercy was the most confounding woman he’d ever met. He sat back with a huff. She wanted him, that much was obvious, though the idea didn’t bring a smile to his lips. In fact, he felt miserable.

One last night? He wondered at her words. Of course, he thought suddenly, his eyes widening. He remembered what Amity had said, about how their father had been cruel to die in town. Their father’s existence had provided Mercy with a certain amount of protection from how cruel the world can be for an unwed, fatherless woman. His negligence also provided her a certain amount of freedom. Most fathers and husbands would never allow her to continue her peculiar work.

She needed a new protector.

And Rory wasn’t going to let anyone else even try.