Falling for the Highlander Read online

  Grimacing, Murine turned and moved to the shore's edge. She quickly opened the bag and, after a bit of digging about inside, found and dragged out her clean shift and gown. She hung both over a nearby branch, and then turned and peered at him uncertainly. "There's no need fer ye to watch me undress. I'm no in the water yet. Could ye no' just turn yer back while I remove me gown and get into the water? I'll tell ye once it's proper fer ye to turn around."

  It was the word proper that made Dougall cave in this time. She was an untried lass. This couldn't be comfortable for her, and if it weren't for her propensity to faint at the drop of a dagger, he wouldn't be insisting on it. Giving a solemn nod, he turned his back and crossed his arms. "Yell when ye're in the water."

  He then stood and listened for the sound of her disrobing. But as she'd pointed out, the sound of the water rushing over the falls made it impossible to hear anything.

  "I'm in!"

  Dougall started at the sudden bellow and turned sharply.

  Murine smiled at him innocently from the water and shrugged. "Ye said to yell," she pointed out with a grin, then turned and moved toward the waterfall. Dougall knew from previous stops at this spot that the water she was moving through would be only up to her waist, yet it covered her from the neck down. She must be squatting in the water, he decided as she paused before the waterfall and hesitated. Reaching out, she stuck a hand in the rushing water to test its force, then moved under it before straightening to her full height.

  Dougall caught his breath. He suspected she thought the foamy white water would act as a curtain, obscuring her from view, but it didn't. If anything, it seemed to frame her almost lovingly, highlighting the slight curves and hollows that her damp and now nearly see-through shift was hugging with adoration.

  The woman was painfully thin, which wasn't a surprise after seeing how little she ate. But she was still gorgeous. He wouldn't deny that he'd like to see a little more meat on her, but even without it . . . Well, the erection stirring between his legs and pushing at the rough cloth of his tartan said it all. Murine was beautiful to him; her pale skin shone like alabaster under the water and dwindling sun. Her hair darkened to a burnished gold as it grew wet, and her nipples were round rosy patches showing through her wet shift. Patches he'd like to see without the gauzy wet material veiling them the little bit they did, he acknowledged and began to wonder once again what would have happened had he taken up Montrose's offer.

  Most likely the same thing that had happened without his accepting it, he thought wryly. The wench would have fled the first chance she got and set out on her cow, but then she would have been fleeing from him as well as her brother.

  His gaze dropped over her flat stomach and to her hips and Dougall frowned at the sight of her bones pressing against her skin. The lass really was terribly thin. He was surprised she hadn't fallen ill as her mother had. Fortunately, now that they knew, or suspected they knew what was causing the fainting, they could see to it she ate more. Perhaps it would help her regain her usual appetite and move her toward a more healthy weight.

  Aye, he'd see to it that she ate more, Dougall decided and then his brow furrowed as he realized that if he delivered her to his sister as planned, he couldn't see to that at all. Between the group of them, his sister and the other two friends would surely come up with a way to save Murine from her brother. She wouldn't need him then. She'd be out of his life and away from his influence. The thought brought a scowl to his lips as he settled on the ground and grabbed up a piece of grass to chew on as he waited.

  Murine closed her eyes and lowered her head, enjoying the pounding of the water on her back and shoulders. She was not used to sleeping on the cold, hard ground or riding for hours on end. The combination was leaving her back muscles sore. At least that's what she told herself, though if she were to be honest, she knew the aches and pains were probably more a result of holding herself so tensely when riding with Dougall today. She just hadn't been able to help herself. If she relaxed, her body curled into his, her back pressing against his chest, and that combined with having his arms around her had made her feel surrounded by him. His scent all she could smell, his breath stirring her hair . . .

  Murine gave a little shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water pouring over her. With her father being the clan chief and having two elder brothers, Murine had led a rather sheltered life. At twenty-one she hadn't even been kissed yet, but in Dougall's arms on his horse, pretty much in his lap, she . . . well, frankly, it had made her wonder what it would be like if he kissed her. It had made her wonder what it would be like to experience other things too, things from the marriage bed that she, Saidh and Edith had giggled over as Jo, their only married friend, had described them.

  Frankly, Murine didn't know how to handle that. She was pretty sure she'd never get to experience any of the things she was thinking about. At least, not as a wife. Murine very much feared she was going to end up in a nunnery. She was hoping not to, that once she reached Saidh, they would travel on to Sinclair to see Jo and the three of them, or four of them if they could reach Edith and get her quickly to Sinclair, would be able to come up with an alternate plan. But she suspected the best they would be able to come up with was an ancient laird who needed a wife and didn't care about her not having a dower, or something of that ilk. That being the case, it wasn't likely she would ever experience the tingles and yearning she had felt seated before Dougall . . . which made it a kind of torture, as if fate were taunting her with all she would never have. So she'd avoided it by sitting as stiff as a log in front of him. Her lower back was now complaining.

  Grimacing at the throbbing in her back, Murine bent and let her fingers dangle down toward her toes, allowing the water to pound on her lower spine where it would do the most good. The position made water rush down over her face, but her eyes were closed so she didn't care. Besides, the position gave her some respite and made it worth it. At least it did until she suddenly staggered under the water and realized that she was woozy. Cursing her stupidity, Murine quickly straightened, only to curse herself again as the abrupt action merely intensified her light-headedness and darkness began to close in.

  Dammit, this was exactly why Dougall had insisted on watching over her and what she'd assured him wouldn't happen, Murine thought with irritation as she felt the familiar darkness of unconsciousness close in around her.

  Murine blinked her eyes open and peered into the sky. It was early yet, but the sun was making its coming arrival known, its light creeping up on the horizon. It was just enough for her to make out the dark shapes of the men sleeping around the long-dead fire. They wouldn't wake for a bit yet and Murine almost closed her eyes and tried to slip back into sleep, but the nagging need to relieve herself prevented it. She had to go so terribly bad, a result of her not going last night before sleeping. It was something she'd refused to do because Dougall would have insisted on following her to keep her safe from herself and her propensity to faint.

  The thought made her grimace with disgust. After losing consciousness under the waterfall, Murine had woken up at the water's edge with Dougall leaning over her. He'd saved her, of course, which she'd appreciated. However, she was less appreciative of his determination to stay by her side at all times and guard her like a mother hen. It had taken a lot of talking and pleading to get the man to turn his back long enough for Murine to don her fresh dry linen and a new gown, and then he'd made her talk the entire time she did it so that he could be sure she was still conscious.

  Murine supposed it was the head wound she'd received when she'd fallen. Apparently her forehead had struck either a rocky outcropping or a boulder under the falls. Whatever the case, she'd woken to find she had a nasty lump and cut on her forehead and Dougall was washing blood from her face. A lot of blood. He had refused to leave her side ever since.

  Rather than suffer his presence next to her as she attended to embarrassing personal tasks, she'd foregone them altogether. Now her body was
letting her know it wasn't happy with that decision.

  Moving slowly and cautiously to avoid waking the man sleeping just inches away, Murine got carefully to her feet and slipped into the woods, slowing with every step she took as she waited for her eyes to adjust. While it was starting to brighten in the clearing, the woods were still as dark as full night and if she didn't have such an urgent need, Murine might have turned back and waited for the sun to fully rise. But she continued cautiously forward. Dark as it was, Murine didn't think she had to go far. She'd just be quick about her business and get back before the men woke up.

  She went about ten steps into the woods and quickly tended her business, eyes darting nervously this way and that as she listened to the sounds of movement in the darkness surrounding her. It had seemed to be dead silent when she'd woken up, but now there was the crackle of branches and leaves as creatures moved about, and the sounds appeared to be drawing nearer to her.

  Just nerves, Murine assured herself. It was rather spooky out here alone in the dark woods. She finished quickly and started to head back the way she'd come, then paused and spun around at the sound of a branch snapping. It had been loud in the silence, and startlingly near. Small woodland creatures wouldn't have made that sound. At least she didn't think so. Another sound caught her ear and she turned again, but couldn't make out anything in the black night surrounding her. When a rustle sounded on her other side, Murine's nerve broke and she bolted for camp. At least, she'd thought it was toward camp. It was only when she'd gone what she considered to be much more than ten feet without breaking out of the woods that she began to worry she'd got turned around and run in the wrong direction. When she heard the sound of rushing water growing in front of her, she knew for sure she had.

  Stopping abruptly, Murine swung back the way she'd come and then cried out when something smashed into the side of her head.

  Chapter 6

  "Damned silly o' her to wander off on her own."

  Dougall didn't respond to Conran's muttered words as they made their way through the thickets and trees in search of their lost charge. But he thoroughly agreed with him. Damned silly. Irresponsible even.

  Dougall's heart had nearly dropped out of his chest when he'd woken to find Murine gone from the clearing. He'd started out in search of her, only to pause and return to wake his brothers to help him look. The sun had just been creeping over the horizon then and he knew the woods would be dark. He might need the help if the silly woman had gone off and fainted somewhere in the thickets. Besides, he didn't want a repeat of the last time this had happened. He wanted a witness if her gown somehow got all torn up.

  "Is that the waterfall I'm hearing?" Conran asked with sudden alarm as the sound of rushing water reached them. "Ye're no' thinking she decided to bathe on her own, are ye? Dear God, she nearly drowned the last time and that was with ye there to keep an eye on her."

  Dougall didn't need to be reminded of that. Murine had scared the life out of him when she'd suddenly dropped into the water under the falls. He'd launched himself to his feet and catapulted into the cold liquid after her without a single thought except for the desperate need to pull her out. Dougall couldn't recall the last time he'd been so scared . . . and he hadn't liked it. Just thinking about it made his heart race with fear even now. If she'd gone and drowned on him--

  "She--what was that?" Conran interrupted himself to ask as a broken cry sounded ahead of them.

  Dougall didn't respond, he was already charging forward. While the sun was lightening the sky in the clearing, it was still dark and gloomy in the woods. Dougall didn't find Murine so much as trip over her in his headlong rush. It sent him tumbling flat on his face, but he quickly pushed himself up and turned to crawl to her, even as he barked a warning to Conran so the other man didn't take the same tumble.

  "Ye found her," Conran said with relief, reaching him as he began to run his hands quickly over her dark figure on the ground. Dougall was searching for injuries, but it wasn't until he slid a hand under her head to lift her to a sitting position that he felt the sticky dampness. Blood.

  Cursing, he scooped her up in his arms and turned back the way they'd come.

  "What's the matter? Is she all right?" Conran asked, tripping along beside him and craning his head to try to get a look, though Dougall couldn't guess why he was bothering. It was still too dim in the woods to see much other than her dark shape.

  "Her head's bleeding again," Dougall growled.

  "Did she hit it again or is that from last night's wound?" Conran asked with concern.

  Dougall didn't bother responding. He didn't know, and wouldn't until he could see her better.

  Conran must have realized that as well, because he didn't ask the question again and fell silent as they rushed back to camp.

  The clearing was empty when they reached it. Geordie and Alick had headed out to help look for Murine, leaving the horses unguarded. Fortunately, they were still there and well. Dougall carried Murine past them to kneel beside the dead fire from the night before and examined her head. The light was much better in the clearing and he saw that while he'd felt blood at the back of her head, the wound was on the side.

  "A new wound," Conran said with dismay, dropping to his haunches beside him.

  "Aye," Dougall growled.

  "Damn me, she knocked herself silly," Conran muttered with concern. "She must have fainted again and hit her head as she fell."

  Mouth tightening, Dougall merely said, "Fetch me some water and a clean cloth. And whistle for Geordie and Alick so they know they can stop searching."

  Conran nodded and rushed off, giving a piercing whistle as he went.

  Catching at a corner of his tartan, Dougall raised it to wipe away some of the blood on the side of Murine's face. The lump forming on her temple was the size of a fist with a gash in the middle. It didn't look deep, but in his experience head wounds often bled worse than the same wound would elsewhere.

  A soft moan drew his gaze from the lump forming at her temple to Murine's face as her eyes slowly blinked open. Her gaze was confused at first, and her eyebrows drew together as she peered at him.

  "What happened?" she asked in a whisper and then winced and squeezed her eyes closed, her hands raising instinctively as she moaned, "Oh, my head."

  "Pounding is it?" Dougall asked sympathetically, catching at her hands to keep her from touching the wound and no doubt increasing her pain.

  "Aye," Murine breathed, squinting her eyes open to peer at him.

  "Ye fainted again," Conran explained gently, drawing Dougall's attention to the fact that he'd returned.

  "The water?" he asked with a frown when he saw that Conran's hands were empty.

  "Alick is fetching it," Conran answered, and pointed out, "He's younger and faster on his feet so when he offered--"

  Dougall waved away the rest of his explanation and nodded. Alick was faster, he acknowledged as Conran turned his attention back to Murine and said with concern, "Ye can no' go running off on yer own like that. One o' these times ye're like to kill yerself with all this head banging."

  "Nay," Murine said with a frown.

  "Aye, ye will," Conran assured her.

  "Nay, I mean, I did no' faint," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper and then frowning as if trying to recall, added, "Something hit me in the head."

  "Aye. We can see that," Dougall said dryly. "Probably a rock as ye fell."

  "Nay," Murine repeated. "I was standing and something smashed into my head."

  Conran looked dubious and glanced to Dougall, who just shook his head. He didn't think that likely either, but she was in no shape to argue with. Leaving it for now seemed the best bet.

  "Ye do no' believe me?" she asked, sounding both wounded and annoyed at once.

  Dougall shifted his gaze back to see that Murine was peering at him with disappointment.

  "'Tis true," she insisted. "I was standing and I turned and something hit me in the head and then . . ." She
shrugged helplessly. "It must have knocked me out."

  "Could be ye turned into a branch," Conran said when Dougall remained silent. It was purely an effort to soothe the lass, Dougall was sure. His brother still looked dubious and Murine seemed to think so too, because she shifted fretfully, pushing out of his arms.

  "I am telling ye I did no' faint. Someone hit me," she said shortly, struggling to her feet and pushing away Dougall's hands when he tried to steady her.

  "What are ye doing, lass?" he asked with a frown, straightening as she did, his hands hovering in the air between them, ready to catch her if she fell.

  "I . . ." Murine paused and frowned, obviously not knowing what she intended to do.

  "Ye should sit, lass. Come, sit by the fire," Conran suggested gently, taking her arm to lead her the few steps to the fallen log by the now-dead fire.

  Murine didn't push Conran away, Dougall noted, an odd sensation stirring in him. It was something that was a cross between irritation and pain, as if his feelings were hurt by the realization. Which was ridiculous. He didn't get hurt feelings.

  "Someone really did hit me, Conran," Murine said earnestly as she settled on the log.

  "I ken ye think that, lass. But could ye no' just be a bit confused after yer latest head wound?" Conran asked gently. "All o' us were sleeping until Dougall woke us to hunt fer ye. And it did no' take us but a minute to find ye after we heard ye cry out and there was no one near ye. Is it no' more likely that ye fainted and hit yer head as ye fell?"

  "But--"

  "Bloody hell! Are ye all right, m'lady?"

  Dougall glanced to Geordie as he rushed into the clearing and straight to Murine, his gaze horrified as he took in the blood staining her face yet again. The wound was still bleeding and while blood had run back into her hair as she'd lain on the ground, it was now trailing down the side of her face and down along her neck in rivulets.

  "Where the devil is Alick with that water?" Dougall snapped impatiently.

  "Here!" his youngest brother called out, crashing into the clearing. Water slopped from a bucket he carried and he had another strip of clean linen in his other hand. He rushed to Murine, and no doubt would have commenced to cleaning her up, but Dougall stopped him with a hand on his chest and took the items from him. If anyone was cleaning her, it would be he.