Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

O nce they’d returned to the farm, even Cailean’s blues had disappeared. The invigorating walk had done nothing but better them all, Mercy was sure, and the medicinal waters had surely put each brother a step in the right direction.

“Ye should have jumped in the spring as well, Rabbie,” Rory said as Amity led Cameo to her water trough behind the barn. “Ye smell as bad as tha’ horse.”

“Do not insult poor Cameo with the comparison, Rory,” Amity called over her shoulder. “You both smell much worse.”

“Amity,” Mercy chastised, pressing her fingers to her temples.

“It will be dreadfully cold,” Amity said, hanging the bridle on the hook by the barn door, “but you can bathe in the creek.”

The mere mention of the Scots bathing in the creek had Mercy’s skin prickling with heat. She didn’t mean to catch Rory’s eye, but she did, and the wicked man winked at her without a hint of a smile.

“True,” Mercy said, narrowing her eyes and trying desperately to keep her composure. “It’s not cold enough to freeze you. But Rory has been an absolute braggart about how cold it gets in the Scottish islands,” she said, meaning to punish him for that wink. “I’m sure you’ll both be fine.” She smiled sweetly at Rory.

“With that bath, I feel like the last months have been stripped away,” Cailean said with a grin as he rubbed a corner of the wool blanket over his drying hair. “Ye both should take a swim. But Mercy,” he said, and Mercy saw Rory’s jaw tick before he’d finished his sentence, “I’d love a shave and clean clothes.”

“Ye’ll no’ ask them for anything else, Cailean,” Rory sniped.

“And why ever not?” Mercy asked, fisting her hands and driving them into her hips. She didn’t mind being the shrew he thought her to be. She’d let herself mourn the weeks they’d spent in good will later. “Had I not demanded he stay put and mend, he’d have run himself ragged helping you with that roof. He’s every right to these cast-off clothes.”

“Ack,” Rory yelled, throwing his hands up.

“I’ve never shaved a man’s whiskers,” Amity said thoughtfully.

“And ye won’t start now,” Rory growled. “Get the clothes ye want, Cailean, and come with us to the creek.” Cailean’s nose turned up, but he followed Amity into the barn. “And don’t forget the knife,” Rory called after him.

“Really,” Mercy huffed. “You needn’t be so rough with him.”

“No?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “And ye needn’t plan out yer sister’s future either, but ye do.” She had just told Rory of her grand wish for Amity—a respectable life with a respectable man. “Ye sigh and wring yer hands when she doesn’t act the lady ye want her to be.” An impractical wish? Yes. An impossible wish? She prayed not.

“I thank you, Mr. Macleod,” Mercy said coldly, “for reminding me what a brute you truly are.”

“Ah,” Rory said with a glint in his eye, “did ye start to forget then, lass?”

“Only for an imprudent moment,” she returned.

“I will excuse myself,” Rabbie said as the two stared daggers at each other. Mercy was overcome with the urge to be polite for Rabbie’s sake, but her blood was still boiling. A bitter wind blew through the clearing and pulled at the hair that had fallen loose around her face. Leaves scattered around them, and Mercy couldn’t help but smile. The man would freeze in the creek.

“Do you remember how to get to the creek, Mr. Macleod?” she asked evenly, daring him to wink at her again.

“Aye,” he said gruffly, and she tilted her face down so she could glare at him more fully.

“Good.” When she was sure she’d won whatever argument they’d started, she turned with flourish and kneeled down by the cabin steps, pulling a bar of soap from her hiding place.

Rory glowered as she placed a bar of soap, perhaps the very soap she’d handed him in the creek, into Rabbie’s hand instead of his. Then, without another word, she left them there by the barn. He closed his eyes in relief as the brisk air cooled him off. As she’d stood there glaring at him, he could think only of her soft skin pressed against his as they’d warily watched that bear—two bodies intertwined in the gently moving water looking at one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.

Once Cailean had fished out a new outfit for himself, Rory led his brothers through the woods. They followed the path Mercy had seemingly walked many times, as there were no small plants growing along the footpath.

“I’m feeling much better,” Cailean grumbled when he realized Rory had set a leisurely pace. “We don’t need to walk so slowly.” Rory wondered if his brother’s pride had taken a blow when the Clintocks happened upon them. Cailean surely hated to see such pretty society girls in the state he was in.

In the Isles, Cailean was used to dressing fine and enjoying the admiration of the younger lasses, and some of the older ones, too. While Rory was sought after for his novel height and build, or because he was a favorite of Laird Macleod, Cailean was sought after for his charm, his extravagance, and his impeccable taste. Long before most of the men in their clan had abandoned Highland dress, Cailean had adopted the tight waistcoats and leather shoes of the French. Though he preferred finer things, he did not luxuriate in loud colors or dandy fabric. He was almost always exquisitely dressed in dark greens, his black curls coiffed in a masculine manner. He had always wanted more in life, and saw fit to dress like it.

“There’s the creek,” Rabbie said, and began to unbutton his waistcoat.

“I may go in, too,” Cailean said, hanging the clean clothes he carried carefully on a low hanging cedar branch.

“Did ye ask Mercy if yer supposed to…I don’t know, keep the healing waters on ye?” Rory asked.

Rabbie stripped himself of the rest of his garments and waded into the creek with a shout. “Ack, me ballocks.”

“Mercy is no’ my keeper,” Cailean said with a sniff, and Rory’s temper spiked.

“Tha’ woman saved yer life, boy.” Rory barely recognized his own voice. “Ye’ll no’ insult her.”

“No?” Cailean’s severed right brow shot up as he took a step forward. “Ye seem to find every opportunity to do so.”

Rory drew in such a deep breath his nostrils flared, and Cailean’s chest puffed as he did the same.

“Shut yer mouths and get in the water,” Rabbie said sternly. Their normally taciturn brother’s demand broke the worst of the tension.

“Ye can take yer clothes off yerself, can ye no’, Cailean?” Rory asked with a sardonic glance as he ripped his shirt over his head.

“Aye,” Cailean said sullenly, dropping his filthy breeches to his ankles.

“The creek bed is soft here,” Rabbie said as he fell back into the water with a splash. “No rocks.”

Rory waded in, his balls tightening as soon as his ankles were submerged, and it only got worse the deeper he went. Cailean splashed in behind him, throwing Gaelic curses up into the wind.

“How long will we stay?” Cailean asked when it was his turn with the soap. His teeth were chattering, but as far as Rory could tell, he was not sickly; just cold.

Rory tried and failed to avoid Rabbie’s eye. Instead of answering the question, he pointed to the creek bed. “Imagine what could be done here.” He stood, the water at his hips, and surveyed the land. “If ye built a water wheel. Just there,” Rory said, pointing.

“A mill?” Cailean asked.

“Aye,” Rory said, nodding. “The Barnetts say they grow wheat and corn down below, in the valley, but they send it to a faraway town to be milled before it can come back and be made into bread and meal.”

“But Mercy said she canna grow anything but tobacco and some vegetables in her little garden,” Cailean said, confused.

“That’s just it, Cailean,” Rory said, his eyes sparkling with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Think of the fortune they could make, simply milling the grain from down below.”

“We would do better to build a mill for ourselves, once we reach New France,” Rabbie said quietly. Rory frowned at him then quickly dropped the expression and shrugged, the light in his eyes summarily snuffed out. He knew Rabbie was right, but once he had his mind set on a project, well...

“Would they let us stay the winter?” Cailean asked after a long silence. He descended into the water up to his neck and shivered.

“And should we?” Rabbie added darkly. Rory glanced over at him right before he slipped his head beneath the water, his auburn hair momentarily out of sight. It was clear Rabbie didn’t need him to answer the question, but merely consider it.

The water was far colder than it had been the day he and Mercy had seen the bear, but it did the job, seeming to wash away every harrowing moment of the last few months, and he felt all but invigorated. As he swam languidly towards the opposite bank, he thought of Mercy, and how she had relaxed against him in these same waters, how she had settled on his knees. He marveled at how the woman had absolutely no idea how damn enchanting she was. She did, however, seem to relish in this she-devil persona she’d cultivated.

God, how Rory wanted to peel back her self-important, modest layers and see what was underneath. He’d caught glimpses, but that wasn’t enough. Despite the cold creek, Rory felt his cock harden at the thought of peeling anything from Mercy Barnett.

“Rabbie,” Cailean said, bobbing in the water. “Do ye no’ like them?”

Rabbie seemed to consider the question with a tilt of his head. “I neither like nor dislike them. But if I had to choose, I’d lean towards the former.” Rory thought that was high praise coming from Rabbie, who rarely formed attachments. In fact, Rabbie had only ever shown real affection for brothers.

“We should stay,” Cailean said, playfully splashing Rabbie. “They won’t last the winter without us.”

Rory watched Rabbie’s face carefully as the smirk he gave Cailean fell into a disquieted frown. Red and yellow leaves were loosened from their branches and flew about before landing like small boats in the water around them. The sun had reached the tops of the trees on the opposite bank, casting shadows, and Rory knew it was time to return to the farm.

He’d begun to think of the farm as home. Home. It was a dangerous word, Rory had learned, even to think. He’d traveled from Raasay quite a few times with his father and Laird Malcolm to other isles and had even been to the mainland a few times. He’d been awed by some of the castles he’d stayed in during these meetings of the clans, and though he’d more often than not had someone to warm his bed, he couldn’t help but turn over before he fell asleep and long for home. Home, as he knew it before the war, did not exist.

But somehow, this goat farm on the side of a mountain in the colonies had captured the part of his heart that longed for comfort and family and safety. For sniping with someone who he was sure would forgive him once the sun rose. For food cooked as everyone around laughed and licked their lips. For the knowledge that, while he slept, those he loved slept about him, and should danger come calling, one of them would wake and the rest would follow.

“God, it’s no’ half as cold as Loch Na Mna,” Cailean said with chattering teeth as he hopped to the bank. “And there are no kelpies about.”

“Nae Cailean, no kelpies,” Rory said, approaching Rabbie from behind stealthily. “But there are bears.” He tackled Rabbie and dunked his head under the water. Cailean laughed as the two wrestled before they followed him to dry land. The three of them were, for a rare moment, able to forget all that they’d lost, and not wonder at what, if anything, they would possibly win in the future.

Mercy didn’t see the brothers again until twilight. She’d been busy collecting the last of the herbs from the kitchen garden behind the barn, then turning whatever was left into the earth in preparation for winter. She’d then slaughtered and plucked the chicken that they’d roast for supper, and washed all the plates, bowls, and cups in a basin inside the cabin.

She worried endlessly about how she was going to feed the lot of them over the winter, even with the rabbits and squirrels the brothers could snare. She knew she could go without for a few days at a time—Lord knew she’d done it before—but she refused to let Amity starve for even one meal. If they didn’t stay and repair the barn, however, she’d lose more goats, more food and more money from her pocket. Yes, she had made the right decision in asking them to stay. That they seemed like they might actually do it surprised her.

“What worries you, sister?” Amity asked, sitting next to her by the fire as she skewered the chicken.

“Nothing, dearest.” Mercy feigned a smile.

“You always say ‘nothing,’ and it’s always something,” Amity muttered. Mercy looked at her with surprise.

“Well that’s quite an accusation,” she exclaimed.

“It seems as though you want them to stay, but you also want them to leave,” Amity said after some consideration. “I believe that you’ll feel at peace if you’d just choose one future and want for that.” Mercy gazed at her sister for a long moment.

“You are odd, dearest,” she said finally, “but you’re quick as a whip.” Amity smiled and took over turning the chicken on the spit.

“Which will you choose to hope for?” Amity asked as Mercy stood.

“I’m sure you already know.” Mercy pressed her lips together and headed towards the barn.

“Look, an angel!” Cailean teased when he saw her. He was sitting against the horse stall door and looking quite well: dressed in fresh clothing, though his waistcoat was a little too large for his thinned-out frame. Mercy didn’t want to admit to herself how relieved she was that Cailean had seemed to abandon his earlier resentment for her.

“You look very fine, Cailean,” Mercy said with an approving smile. There was always a spark in her chest, whenever she saw the fruits of her labor. Cailean had not been the closest to death she’d ever tended to, but he’d been up there in the ranks. Had he not been so very beaten down to begin with, it was unlikely such a wound would have felled him so. But because of how poorly he’d been when he’d fallen, the injury festered. It didn’t matter now, she reminded herself as she clutched her shawl tighter against her chest. He would be fine.

“Rory won’t say so, but I do,” Cailean said as he tossed his old shirt as his brother, who caught it before it hit his face.

“Supper is ready?” Amity called from the fire, and the three brothers rose and followed Mercy out of the barn.

The meal was punctuated by meaningless comments about the encroaching winter weather or the quality of the meat. Each of them sat close to the fire, which was a necessary source of warmth with the northern wind picking up. Mercy often peered over at Rabbie, searching his clean-shaven face and finding it just as inscrutable as it was when it had been half-hidden by a beard. What she liked most about Rabbie was that he wasn’t afraid to laugh when he was amused. Most quiet men looked perpetually uncomfortable, but Rabbie seemed easy, even serene, in his constant repose.

She was envious. Mercy had never been as content or as easy as Rabbie appeared. She then compared him to his older brother, who acted like he was always at battle with everyone and everything. How different they were! She took a long, indulgent look at Rory while he said a few words of no importance to Amity. If she found Rabbie’s face unchanged by his shave, she felt the opposite about Rory’s. Now, she could clearly see every muscle in his jaw, which were the first to twitch if he was angry, or amused, or…

Rory caught Mercy staring at him from across the fire. He was filled with a different kind of heat when she didn’t look away, the kind that made him shiver instead of sweat. He still had no idea as to how she’d captivated him so completely, but as he watched the firelight lick her face gently, as he wished he could, he didn’t care.

Rory only knew he needed to rid himself of this obsession he had with the woman. There were so many reasons he couldn’t keep thinking of her this way. First, it was nearly constant. He was less focused, less aware. Both had saved him many times in the past few years. Second, they were contractually bound, and her grace and generosity would keep his brothers safe for an entire winter. He’d already decided that their safest option was to stay. Traversing the mountains in winter snow could be dangerous if not deadly. They’d seek New France in the spring after they’d repaired the Barnett’s barn and cabin. He despised that he wasn’t sure how much the Barnett’s well-being came into the equation, but he’d made his decision nonetheless.

Third, though he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself, he was afraid of how strong his desire for her had become. He couldn’t think of a time in his twenty-nine years when he’d been reduced to such a man, waiting for her to look his way, listening carefully to hear her breathing. It wasn’t like him at all.

He’d made another decision earlier that day, to avoid Mercy Barnett and her peculiar charms at all costs until the spring. Aye, he could do it, and his brothers would be safer for it. However, as supper progressed, he realized he wanted to dispatch with that plan entirely. His new plan was to kiss her, to kiss her until neither of them wanted to anymore. Aye, boredom and disinterest would inevitably come, and then the two could live side by side in this arrangement amiably until spring. The new plan would be, as most plans made with a rigid cock inevitably are, completely idiotic in hindsight.

He was vaguely aware of Cailean and Amity continuing their peppered conversation, but he couldn’t draw his eyes from Mercy’s full lips, wet with cider. Yes, if she wanted him to, he would kiss her. It was a very good plan indeed.

Mercy swallowed another cupful of cider and licked her lips, watching with fascination as the muscles around Rory’s mouth clenched. He didn’t seem angry, nor amused really. She tilted her head as realization dawned, and her cheeks swiftly pinked.

“What a meal,” Amity said, yawning. “I’m tired to the bone in the most wonderful way, and I think I’ll retire.” Her sister stood and bid them all a goodnight before patting Goneril’s brown head as she passed the goat on her way to the cabin.

Mercy would have spent some time appreciating how Amity had never seemed so happy, if she weren’t so busy trying not to think of the way Rory’s mouth might feel against her skin. What was coming over her? She hadn’t thought of a man like this since Thomas Purcell had left town when she was seventeen. Even then, she’d known he was never meant for her. The best she could ever hope for, she’d realized at that tender age, was a rough rutting with one of her father’s acquaintances. And she knew then that she’d never want any of them as much as she’d wanted Thomas Purcell.

But with Rory, she allowed herself to wonder. He was neither a drunk nor a married man. He was brutish, but also tender. Though he was a criminal, she hardly believed him guilty. She’d felt for the Jacobites when Rose Clintock had first recounted the trouble they were in. Believing she herself would flee such unjust servitude, especially if Amity had been with her, she found him blameless.

“I’ll retire as well,” Rabbie announced after Amity had gone. As he rose, Cailean followed.

“I like cider,” Cailean said, “but I much prefer whiskey. Is there any in the barn?” he asked, and Rabbie rolled his eyes and clapped his brother on the shoulder. Once the clearing grew silent save for the occasional pop of the crackling firewood, Mercy’s flesh was alight with the awareness that she was alone with Rory, who she was certain was looking at her with a carnality she did not find unpleasant. Not at all.

She stared at him through the dying flames of the fire. She’d thought he couldn’t possibly look more handsome than he had in the silky blue waistcoat this morning, but now, his hulking arms trapped only by a tight shirt, his smooth jaw speckled with an encroaching nightbeard over his cravat, he looked positively beautiful.

“Will ye join me for a walk, Miss Barnett?” he asked suddenly, pulling his waistcoat on. Mercy felt her heart clench and her stomach fall low when he called her that. “There is something I’d like to discuss with ye.” His eyes held none of the heat she’d thought she’d detected earlier, and his stance was stiff. He looked almost pained with his brows knitted together, his gaze drawn to the treetops above her.

Mercy lowered her eyes quickly. She was sure, suddenly, that she’d been wrong: he hadn’t been looking at her the way she’d hoped. Such a fool, she thought to herself unkindly. As if any man should find you desirable. She’d been remembering his words at the springs—something about the color of her eyes. Yes, even she could be fanciful from time to time. She’d never admit it, not even to Amity, but she was a woman, after all. She was suddenly so embarrassed that she’d ever imagined that the incomparably handsome Rory Macleod might have thought her—plain, odd Mercy Barnett—someone he could…

“No thank you, Mr. Macleod,” she said formally, the entirety of her skin burning with shame. “There is no reason for us to speak alone.” She looked down as she said it, feeling a little dim as they were at that very moment speaking alone. When he didn’t say anything, her eyes reluctantly returned to his face, where she saw a fiery displeasure taking over.

“Ye’re saying no, then?” he asked quietly, though it was obvious that his temper was foul.

“I’m saying no,” Mercy answered carefully. What she wanted to do was run. Flee this awful feeling. She’d never entertained the idea that a good man might want her, even to share a bed. That she’d been so mistaken felt like her chest was caving in.

“Damnit, woman,” he said, startling her. He stood and muttered angrily in Gaelic. He was huffing, his eyes not leaving hers. “Why are ye so difficult?”

“Difficult?” Mercy sputtered, rising to her feet. She knew it was true, but she didn’t want to hear him say it. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him. He was, she thought dejectedly, the object of her desire. It had only taken a few ticks of his jaw for her to realize it. That he didn’t want her, as she’d thought momentarily, mattered little. She’d probably been a little bit in lust with him for days, if not weeks. Her cheeks, she was sure, had gone from pink to red.

“Ye want me to leave ye alone?” he asked finally, his black eyes inscrutable,

“You may do as you wish,” Mercy said curtly, turning from him and striding towards the cabin, each step feeling like a slog. Nothing, she decided, felt worse than walking away from the one thing you desired above all else, even if you knew you could never have it.