Page 88 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Chapter 5
Roderick stoppedfor the night along the shore of the Firth of Clyde long before darkness fell. After snaring a rabbit for their dinner and gathering moss and wood for a fire, he stood at the water’s edge listening to the lap of the waves. In the fading twilight, he could see the dark shapes of the cottages of Ayr dotting the coastline to the north. He could have easily reached the town tonight.
But he was not taking Lily to Ayr.
He had a boat hidden in the brush not far from where he stood and clansmen waiting for him across the Firth. The night was cold, but unusually clear for December. He could have sailed across tonight.
But he was not crossing the Firth tonight either.
He needed one night to persuade Lily to go with him to the Isle of Islay. Whether he persuaded her or not, she was getting in that boat with him in the morning.
And if he were honest, hewantedthis one night alone with Lily. Not that he expected anything from her, though a man could always hope. He could not explain what drew him to her, or why he dreaded leaving her on Islay, where she would be safe and cared for.
He wanted one night with her when he did not have to be on his guard, waiting for the Douglases to discover she was English and a lass. One night when he could sit and talk with her by the fire without another soul in sight.
One night when he did not need to pretend he did not want her.
* * *
“Cold?” Roderick asked when Lily joined him.
Without waiting for her answer, he wrapped his plaid around her shoulders. They stood side by side in comfortable silence for a long while, staring out at the water.
“’Tis so different here,” she murmured, struck by the beauty of the sea and the hills touched by the glow of the sunset. She bent down to dip her fingers in the clear water, which bore as much resemblance to the brown, smelly Thames as she did to this Highlander.
“It must seem quiet to ye, after your life in London,” he said.
“Aye.” She was so accustomed to the ceaseless noise, foul odors, and crowded streets of the city that she never noticed them. When she returned, she would miss the fresh smell of the wind in her face and this soothing silence, broken only by the occasional bird’s cry or animal scurrying through the brush.
“Is it like this where you live?” she asked.
“The mountains are higher, the grass greener, and the sea wilder,” he said.
Hard to imagine, but it must be still more beautiful there. She almost wished she could see it.
“There are more sheep than people,” he said. “At this time of year, there are no crops to tend to and the winter storms keep the men at home with their families, unless there’s fighting to be done.”
For London shopkeepers, seasons made little difference in their work, and the fighting was drunken brawls in taverns.
“’Tis no surprise,” he added with a chuckle in his voice, “that a great many babes are conceived this time of year.”
His remark made her recall waking in his arms and sent her imagination down a dangerous road.
“Ach, you’re shivering. I’ll get a fire started to warm ye up.” Roderick put an arm around her and led her to sit on a fallen log.
Lily buried her chin in his plaid and breathed in deeply as she watched him arrange the moss and wood he had gathered earlier. The plaid smelled of earth, wood smoke, and him.
“I’ll clean and cook that hare ye caught,” she said, and started to get up.
“No need.” He cocked a smile at her. “Or don’t ye like my cooking?”
“You’re a fine cook,” she said, feeling useless.
Despite everything being wet from the recent rains, he had the fire burning bright in no time. Then he skinned the hare, fashioned a spit for it from a stick, and set it to roasting over the fire, all with practiced ease and far faster than she could have. She admired such unusual self-sufficiency in a man.
And yet she began to wonder if his wife had left him because she felt unnecessary.
“You seem to be good at everything you set your hand to,” she said.
