The Highland Wife. Lyn Stone
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her for a lack of compassion. It must be very trying for her if she’d never before encountered anyone who lacked hearing.
As Lady of Craigmuir, she must be well used to the people around her minding her every utterance. Well, he would make up for the inconvenience as soon as he got her safely home to Baincroft. For the nonce, he must dwell solely on accomplishing that and allow no distractions.
Wee Andy plodded toward them, looking paler than ever. Rob waited patiently and helped him dismount. “Rest,” he ordered, and began plundering through the pack for dry clothes for himself and Mairi.
He pushed aside a red garment and fished deeper for something of more natural color that would better blend with their surroundings.
Still dripping, Mairi stood by and waited until he handed her a grass-green gown. “Go there,” he suggested, pointing to a leafy tree that would give her seclusion to change. As for himself, he needed none.
He toed off his soaked boots. Then, without any compunction at all and no thought to modesty, he shucked off his chain-mail shirt and the heavy water-logged gambeson beneath it. Next came his chausses and loincloth. Naked and still shivering a bit, Rob let the sun warm and dry his skin for a while as he tended the weary horses.
Mairi’s brush with death had doused her fury and somehow made her see more clearly, past her grief. MacBain had saved her life in more ways than one, she admitted.
If they had stayed, Ranald would have arrived soon. Craigmuir’s people would have had no choice but to honor that traitor as their new laird and follow his orders. He would have had MacBain killed. Then would have tried to make her his own wife. She would have died resisting that. While her death might have roused the clan enough to go against Ranald, she would still have been dead.
MacBain told her he had promised to leave, and she knew what and to whom he had given his word. In all truth, it was for the best, his taking her away from Craigmuir. But that did not absolve her from her own vow of vengeance. She would simply have to persuade MacBain to help her honor that.
Mairi peeked through the leaves that now concealed her to see whether he was brooding about her harsh words to him after the rescue.
“God’s Holy Mercy!” she whispered when she saw him. He was naked as the day he was born! Eyes wide with fascination, she watched MacBain as he checked the horses for injury and resettled the packs on their saddles. The man had no shame whatsoever!
Of course, he thought there was none to see him save his manservant who appeared to be sleeping, Mairi reminded herself. But did he not remember that she must come out of the woods soon? Did he want her to see him so exposed?
She shivered out of her wet gown and chemise, letting the dry one fall over her from where she had gathered it ’round her neck. Not for a moment would she bare herself to possible view as he was doing.
And yet, she did wonder what MacBain would think if he looked upon her as she now saw him. She was small and had no great attributes to boast about, but would he find her winsome?
She found him so, right enough! Her face flamed at the sight, but she could not tear her gaze away. What muscles he had, she thought, as they flexed in his arms, shoulders, and even his backside. Ah, that backside was something to see!
Her hands clenched, imagining the smooth feel of all that sun-kissed skin. The desire to touch him all but overcame her. Would he allow it when they stopped for the night?
A jest that was, she thought with a smirk. He would likely insist upon it! Her trepidation warred with anticipation in a battle that left her breathless and confused.
“Hoo!” she huffed in surprise as he turned. Her eyes slammed shut, but immediately opened again for a wicked squint through her lashes.
Well made, she noted before forcing herself to face in the opposite direction. Extremely well made. Mairi fanned her face with her hand while she held on to a tree branch with the other. Her reaction to MacBain disturbed her more than a little.
Determined to not return to the edge of the stream until he had covered himself decently, Mairi used the time to wring out her wet clothing and remove her boots. The cold water running over her hands and arms did nothing at all to banish the persistent fever stirred by the sight of her husband.
Every few moments she would risk another peek. Finally he donned another loincloth. She watched shamelessly, highly intrigued by the unfamiliar garment.
Highland men wore nothing beneath their plaids. She had briefly caught sight of many a bared bottom and less frequently, one of the men’s true pride. Not one she had glimpsed had such cause to boast as did the MacBain.
A small hum of disappointment escaped before she could stop it when he pulled on his braies. She trudged out of the woods a few moments later, making much noise to announce her return. He had finished dressing by the time she reached him.
“Your man’s asleep,” she whispered, pointing as she observed the fellow who accompanied them.
MacBain nodded and prodded the fellow with his foot until he awoke.
“Time to go,” he announced to Mairi. “They follow.”
“Ranald’s men?” she demanded, casting an anxious glance across the burn in the direction they’d come. “How do you know?”
With a shrug, he took her wet clothes from her and draped them across the back of his saddle. “He wants you,” he replied.
Mairi waited as MacBain slipped the mail hauberk back on over his shirt and buckled on his sword belt. This time when he reached for her, he set her upon her own mare and handed her the reins.
She watched as he gave his man a hand up and noticed for the first time that their companion seemed to be injured.
He was a short, stout fellow with stringy blond hair and cheeks round as apples, though they lacked in color. She quite appreciated his merry smile, especially since she knew he must not feel much like smiling at the moment.
“What happened to ye?” she asked him. “Hurt in the battle?”
“Aye. A cudgel to the ribs, my lady,” he said, obviously stifling a groan. “Lord Rob wrapped ’em. They pain me some, but I’ll do.”
“Verra brave of ye,” she commended, pleased that he was not a complainer. She sought Rob’s agreement. “Aye, m’laird?”
MacBain never answered or looked in her direction. He simply rode past her and led the way into the woods from whence she’d just emerged. She followed, but not too closely.
“He’s busy thinkin’, my lady. Hard thinker is our Rob,” the man explained as he fell in just behind her. “Thinks damned near as hard as he fights.”
“Surely ye have a name,” she said, sensing she might have found an ally, or at least someone who would talk to her. “No one has thought to tell me what that might be.”
“I am Wee Andy,” he replied, grinning when she looked over her shoulder. He went on to explain, “That’s to distinguish me from Braw Andy, the miller’s son. Now there’s a lad with girth! Wait’ll you see him! Rob’s hard put to keep that one fed.”
“Ye called yer laird by his forename?” she asked. “He allows this?”
“Nay. He just don’t hear it, so I figure he won’t mind now and again. No lack o’ respect to him. Sometimes I forget. We’ve known each other since we was bairns at the breast.”
“Ah, he’s a good laird, then, is he?” she probed, anxious to know more about this enigma she had wed. “A fair one?”
Wee Andy sighed. “Aye, he is that. Fair in his judgment, fair in his dealings, and…muckle fair to look upon, eh, m’lady?” He chuckled wickedly and issued an almost inaudible, “Hoo!”
Heat swept over her face and neck. “Fair indeed,” she admitted under her breath as she nudged her mare to a trot and left the portly eavesdropper