He decided to find out for himself. In truth, he just needed an excuse to get out of there before his mother showed up again. He’d had no intention of crossing paths with the savages again, ever. Although he was much better prepared for them now than he’d been at ten, he was mature enough not to desire that kind of confrontation. It was simply an excuse to ride off for a few hours. He wouldn’t really ride north.
He found himself headed north anyway.
Four
LINCOLN could blame his curiosity. He’d heard of the legend called Ian MacFearson—who hadn’t? But he’d never seen the man himself. He’d seen the man’s home before; he just didn’t remember it being quite so gloomy-looking. Of course, a child saw things through different eyes, he supposed. What an adult would find dismal, a child might find scary and, thus, exciting.
The place sat on a rocky promontory with barren trees before it and the cold sea at its back. The trees must have thrived once, before the soil had eroded away, their roots now embedded in the rock serving as testimony that the area wasn’t always so dismal of growth.
Spring was nearly over, but nothing had bloomed around Ian MacFearson’s home—nor ever would, unless fresh soil was transported in. Why anyone would want to live in such barren surroundings was beyond Lincoln, yet the area had grown, with other buildings nearby—none so large as this old manor, but houses that hadn’t been there when Lincoln had last come this way. There had been other houses, though. MacFearson had relatives other than his overlarge brood of sons.
There was no activity about the place, but then, as Lincoln recalled, there usually wasn’t. If you didn’t catch the brood coming or going, you might think the place was abandoned. That is, if you came by in other than the cold months, when chimney smoke would give sign of occupation. There was no sign of that now.
Lincoln had never been inside, had never been invited. No one ever was, as far as he knew. Yet he’d knocked on the door many a time to draw out his friends to chum about with him. They didn’t talk about their father. Only people who didn’t know them did.
Memories of those happier times were jarring. Common sense prevailed, however, and Lincoln left before anyone noticed him in the area. Those memories still persisted though, of things he hadn’t thought about in years. Distracted, he wandered off the southern path home in an east-erly direction, to a place he’d gone many times as a child.
The pond was still there, a crumbled ruin of a barn in the distance the only evidence that anyone had ever lived near it. It wasn’t even a pond, just a deep hole that collected rainwater, and there was usually plenty enough of that to keep it filled. A few moss-covered bricks along one edge suggested that the hole might have been someone’s cellar a century or two ago.
Another memory stirred as he approached the pond. It had been one of the hotter days of a brief summer when he was a lad of eight. Most days here weren’t warm enough for anyone to need cooling off, but that day was, and Lincoln had remembered the little pool he’d come across in his wanderings and had gone there for a cool dunking. He hadn’t known how to swim yet, but only one side of the pond was deep enough to require swimming, and he stayed well clear of it.
He hadn’t been the only one to have discovered the pond, though, for several of the MacFearson brothers showed up that day, with the same intent of cooling off. Starved for the companionship of someone near his own age, Lincoln had been delighted by their arrival and offered them his friendship. Three of them were leery of getting better acquainted with him, but the fourth boy, Dougall, who was also eight, took to Lincoln immediately, and they soon became fast friends.
He eventually met the rest of the brothers. Like those who had been with Dougall at the pond, the others weren’t as open as he was and were hesitant at first to accept Lincoln into their group, but it wasn’t long before he called them all his friends. And how quickly they all became his enemies.
Lost in memories, Lincoln had nearly reached the pond before he realized that it was occupied. A family of four, apparently, the woman sitting near the edge watching two young girls splashing about in the water, the man lying in the tall grass some distance away, napping—or trying to. The wife was attempting to keep the girls’ giggling down to a quiet level that wouldn’t disturb her husband.
Lincoln had never known adults to make use of the pond, but of course there must have been many changes to the area in the nineteen years he’d been gone, with more people living there these days. It would be rude simply to ride off now, even though he was in no mood for conversation with strangers—unless he could leave without their being aware of him.
He stopped his horse about fifteen feet away. The woman’s back was to him, the children low enough in the water that only the tops of their heads were seen. They hadn’t heard him yet, over the noise they were making. Well enough, he could at least try to keep it that way and leave quietly. Then his horse neighed.
“Hello.”
He sighed and started to dismount. The woman had turned just her head to see him before offering the greeting. Then she stood up, bonnet in hand, giving him a full view of her now, as well as a friendly smile, and he was quite frankly stunned. His hand stuck to the pommel of his saddle. One foot still in a stirrup, he literally froze there in motion. And the thought crossed his mind that the man lying there taking a nap had to be the luckiest bastard alive.
She was very tall for a woman, only three or four inches under six feet was his guess. She was dressed in plain country garb: a brown skirt with no hint of a train, a long-sleeved white blouse without pleats or other frills, sturdy walking boots—they’d brought no horses with them—and a plaid shawl currently tied about her hips that would come in handy if it rained.
The clothes said she was just a country lass, and probably a poor one at that. The husband and children with her said that Lincoln should think of something other than how her soft lips would taste.
It wasn’t just the height he found very intriguing—he’d never held a woman that tall in his arms—but with everything combined, he was quite sure he’d never been so instantly nor so strongly attracted before to any other woman. She was very pretty, true, but he’d seen prettier. Her figure wasn’t lush—she was on the thin side—but her height accounted for most of that. Her hips were still gently curved, her breasts at least a handful.
Her face was striking, though, the bones not too prominent, the cheeks graced with dimples while her smile lasted. Her brows were arched delicately, but they appeared natural. Her lips were narrow, but they would probably swell lusciously with the right kissing. Her eyes were light green, like twin sparkling gems, and they drew attention immediately, being so pale in contrast with such dark hair.
Perhaps it was that her long hair was loose, windblown, in wild disarray, which gave her a sensuous, earthy look, as if she’d just risen from a wild night of sex. Exquisite hair, an auburn so dark it was nearly black, yet with the faintest hints of red. This could account for the wave of lust cresting so swiftly and shocking the hell out of him.
He’d stood there too long, still not fully dismounted, just staring at her, which probably prompted her laugh. “I’ll be thinking I’ve grown an extra ear if you dinna say something. New tae the area, are you? Or just visiting?”
“No—I mean, yes.”
He managed to get his other foot onto the ground while his face flushed with color. Her soft burr was enchanting. He’d grown up hearing it from other women, shouldn’t be the least affected by it, but from her it was the sweetest music to his ears.
He walked slowly toward her, aware that his pulse was racing. “Actually, I’m visiting, though I did used to live a few miles southeast of here.”
“Did you, now?” She appeared thoughtful for a moment. “And here I was thinking I knew everyone from a good twenty miles ’round.”
“It was a long time ago. You might not even have been born yet before I moved away…well, you were surely too young to know all your neighbors back then.”
&n
bsp; She did look no more than seventeen or eighteen, yet she had to be older than that to have two children already, and older than tykes to go by the sound of their giggling coming from the pond. He’d yet to see the children clearly, just their heads bobbing in the water.
“That’s surely possible, I suppose. Your ‘long time ago’ could be twice m’age, e’en thrice.”
Lincoln stared incredulously. She glanced to the side and down, her thick hair falling over her cheek so he couldn’t see her face for a moment. But she couldn’t hold back the laugh for long.
He blinked. Good God, she didn’t even know him, and she’d just teased him. How charming—and refreshing—to meet a woman who wasn’t primly demure or excessively stiff upon first acquaintance. He could so easily have taken offense, but she didn’t seem to take that into account. Or if she did, she didn’t care.
She flipped her hair back, not trying to be enticing or seductive, yet she was nonetheless. She was still wearing an impish grin, one dimple present and so tempting. He had the strongest urge to delve into it with his tongue, to make her laugh while making love to her so he could…Bloody hell, had he lost his mind?
He looked away himself, before he did something really beyond the pale, like kiss her in plain sight of her family. He didn’t dally with married women. Never had, never would. Well, he’d been absolutely firm in that resolve—until now. He stared at her daughters, could see their faces now as they glanced up at him curiously.
They were both blond, very pretty, possibly seven or eight in age. They didn’t take after their mother, but then they didn’t take after the father either—at least by what could be seen of his coal black hair under the hat he had tipped over his face. Seven or eight? That was starting a family a bit young by any standards.
Staring at the children for a few seconds did help to get his mind off of seducing their mother—for the moment. “Very well,” he said as he glanced back at the woman. “It was nineteen years ago, and I was just ten, which makes me not quite…thrice your age.”
Another laugh, filled with delight that he’d joined in the teasing. “You’re sure, then? Adding up tallies was ne’er m’strong suit, ye ken.”
“Quite sure—that is, supposing you’re a bit more than nine years old.”
“Och, a wee bit more at least.”
He smiled. “By the by, I’m Lincoln Burnett.”
“Melissa MacGregor.”
She thrust out her hand to shake his in a manly manner, rather than offering it for a brief touch as a lady would. He took it, regardless, and didn’t want to let it go, wanted to kiss it instead. But hand kissing was old-fashioned, done more as an overture these days, a not-so-subtle statement of obvious attraction. He bloody well hoped he wasn’t so obvious in his own attraction to her.
He let go of her hand. He should leave now that he’d done the common-courtesy brief chat, but found himself asking instead, “You live nearby, then, do you?”
He shouldn’t have asked, didn’t really want to know, didn’t want to be tempted to seek her out once he did. It’d be infinitely better if he never saw her again.
“Nae, Kregora is much farther south. I’m visiting m’grandda for a day or so. ’Tis him who lives up here.”
He didn’t recognize the name Kregora, but he did vaguely recall that a small branch of the MacGregor clan lived in an old ruined castle some nine or ten miles southeast of the Ross manor. He’d never wandered quite that far as a child to see for himself, though.
“I learned to swim in this pond,” he volunteered, still reluctant to leave just yet. “A friend I used to meet here taught me, after teasing me mercilessly that I’d been coming here without knowing how.”
She looked surprised. “How ironic. M’Uncle Johnny brought me here when I was six tae teach me as well. Much easier tae learn in placid water than in the ocean. I’ve been bringing m’cousins here for the same thing e’er since.”
That was quite a distance to travel just to teach children to swim, especially when most people considered it an unnecessary skill to have, unless they planned to earn their living from the ocean…. Cousins? He peered at the two girls in the water again. They really looked nothing like Melissa. And for her to have borne them, she’d have to be much older than she appeared to be.
He said as much. “They’re not your daughters?”
She followed his gaze. She didn’t laugh, but he could see in her light green eyes, when she looked at him again, that she wanted to.
“And here I was thinking we’d established that I’m only nine m’self.” She grinned. “I’m also thinking m’da would be going on a rampage, were I tae start having bairns afore I get m’self wed.”
It was the oddest sensation for him, to be so thoroughly embarrassed, fighting another blush, yet at the same moment be so utterly thrilled. She wasn’t married. She was available for a…closer acquaintance.
“My apologies,” he offered. “You just seemed like a family enjoying an outing.”
“Aye, and we are, just no’ that closely related. This is actually only the second time I’ve met these cousins o’ mine, the first time their mother has allowed them tae come up the Highlands for a visit. O’ course, I’ve so many cousins, ’tis doubtful I’ll e’er be meeting them all.”
Which was the case with many large families, and some not so large. He had cousins of the third and fourth generation as well on the Ross side that he’d never met, since they’d moved to other countries.
Lincoln nodded. It was time to go. In fact, he’d prefer to be gone before the man woke up and possibly ruined this first meeting of theirs. But he didn’t mind leaving now that he was sure he would see her again. And he would.
“I’ve intruded long enough,” he said, turning toward his horse. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss MacGregor. Until the next time, I bid you good day.”
Five
MELISSA stared dreamily out at the countryside rolling past the open carriage, without really seeing any of it. The trip would take twice as long in a carriage, which was why she usually rode her own mount when she visited her grandfather. But she was too distracted today to care, which was also why she’d asked the uncle who was escorting her home to fetch a carriage for it, since distraction and riding a frisky horse didn’t mix well.
Who would have thought that a childhood fear, which she knew was silly but still harbored nonetheless, would be responsible for such an exciting outcome to an otherwise uneventful day? It began with meeting her Uncle Johnny’s two daughters for the second time—the first time had been on a trip to the Lowlands with several of her uncles three years ago. Johnny had been trying to get the care of them since they were born, but their mother refused to give them up to him. She would only allow him to visit them in the Lowlands where she lived, and had never let them come to him until now.
But Johnny wasn’t the only one of her uncles to have such difficulties. Many of them had children spread out all over Scotland. They’d taken after her grandfather in that respect. But unlike their father, who had gathered all his sons to him for raising, not all of those sons were that lucky with their own bairns. Some of the women they’d dallied with were insisting on marriage before they’d give up their children. Others simply didn’t care that they would bear the stigma of bearing a child out of wedlock.
The mother of these two daughters was different still—she simply didn’t like Johnny any more than he did her. That they had produced a daughter between them was a matter of their both being too intoxicated at the time to remember that they couldn’t stand each other. That the same thing had happened again when he’d gone to visit the first daughter—and ended up producing another—was more of a surprise to them than to anyone else.
But apparently the woman was getting more lenient with the passing of years. Allowing her girls to come to the Highlands for the first time was proof of that, even if she had stipulated it would be for only a week. And Johnny, upon finding out that his girls didn’t yet know how to swim,
had suggested that he escort Melissa home so he could make use of the fine lake Kregora overlooked to rectify that fact.
Melissa had already offered to help with the swimming lesson, but she was appalled that it be done at Kregora. Most of her uncles didn’t know of her fear of that lake. It really was a silly fear, but it was one she couldn’t seem to shake. She’d got it into her head when she was a child that something big and nasty made its home down there, and the lake was so deep that no one had ever been able to swim to the bottom of it to say otherwise.
So she’d suggested they not wait and instead go to the little pond where she’d been taught to swim and had taken other of her cousins each summer. It might be a bit deep on the one end, but at least you could look down and see that there was only dirt and a few weeds on the bottom.
But to meet a man like Lincoln Burnett on such a simple outing—it still amazed her, and her reaction to him amazed her even more.
Johnny’s daughters had been quick to tell him about the stranger who’d stopped by while he was sleeping. He hadn’t been concerned.
All he’d had to say was “No harm done, or ye’d hae waken me, aye?”
Which was true enough. As for harm, Melissa couldn’t stop thinking about him. There was no harm in that, as long as she’d be seeing him again, but what if she never did? What if that one simple meeting was going to affect her husband shopping? Now she’d be comparing every man she met to him. She knew she would. And they’d all be coming up short: not as handsome, not as tall, not as easy to talk to….
But she’d spent only a moment on those worries, because she was sure she’d be seeing him again. He’d said as much. And he’d seemed as taken with her as she was with him, so she didn’t doubt it.
In fact, she’d been wearing a silly grin ever since she met him. She was still wearing it as her oldest uncle, Ian One, drove her home the next morning.