The Making of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland #1) - Elisa Braden Page 0,79
fine work, widening the lane to better accommodate a cart or carriage and reinforcing the banks with larger rocks.
Huxley had truly turned a cursed castle into a blessed one.
They arrived in the courtyard to find Dougal directing his sons to return to the stables, as they hadn’t finished their tasks. Annie rolled her eyes. “Dougal, ye’d best stop spoilin’ those laddies,” she called. “Else, ye’ll be feedin’ them ‘til they’re fifty.”
Dougal’s grin broadened. He tipped his hat and repositioned it on his head. “Miss Tulloch, ye look bonnie as a summer day.”
“How do lasses go about in these dresses without fashin’ about every splatter of rain? It’s beyond my ken.”
He chuckled. “No fashin’ necessary. My Betty will take good care of ye.”
“Aye, that she has.” Annie looked around the courtyard as Dougal helped Mrs. MacBean down from Bill’s back and took the donkey’s reins. “Where is Mr. Huxley?” She tried to sound casual as she retrieved Huxley’s gift from the saddlebag.
Dougal directed them to the waterfall. “I think he meant to do a bit of anglin’.”
Annie nodded her thanks then linked arms with Mrs. MacBean and started toward the northern trail. She drew a shuddering breath scented with warm pines and damp grass.
Mrs. MacBean patted her hand fondly. “Dinnae be nervous,” she soothed. “If the lad has anythin’ betwixt those handsome ears, he’ll love it.”
Annie’s smile trembled. “I hope so.”
As they passed the old church, Annie slowed. Her heart squeezed. A chilling breeze passed through her, and she slid a hand over her ribs.
“Did ye see somethin’, lass?”
“No.”
“Then why did yer light suddenly go out?”
Annie’s throat closed around an ache. She looked down at the package in her hand. Then, she looked again at the rusted gate and the empty arches. The gravestones that were being worn away by time.
She’d forgotten. True, there’d been numerous distractions—the Lady Lessons and the new gowns and the trouble with Broderick. But she’d forgotten him. How could she have done that?
“Och, dinnae let these auld, dead spirits darken yer day,” Mrs. MacBean admonished. She lightly shook Annie’s arm, drawing Annie’s gaze back to her half-sighted, age-crinkled countenance. “Ye’ve a braw, handsome man waitin’ for ye. And if his uncle is anythin’ to go by, ye’re a very fortunate lass.”
She attempted a smile, but it shook until it fell. “Aye. Ye’re right.”
They started forward again. By the time they approached the clearing, Mrs. MacBean was pulling ferns from her hair and complaining about the heat.
“I told ye, auld woman, ye shouldnae be wearin’ that heavy apron over a wool walkin’ dress. For God’s sake, it’s summer.”
“Aye, and the midges are swarmin’.” Mrs. MacBean slapped her neck. Then slapped Annie’s.
Annie swatted her hand away and tugged aside a long bramble branch that had grown into the path. Ducking past it and raising her voice to be heard above the fall, she said, “There’s no use killin’ the wee beasties. They’ll just …”
She stumbled as the waterfall came into view. All her air and every thought left her body. Then fire rushed in.
“Sweet Christ and all his unicorns, lass. Is that …?”
Annie tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. Everything else was wet.
Especially … him.
He stood in the pool at the base of the waterfall, hands raking through his hair as water cascaded over his chest. His naked chest. The one with hard, defined muscles and a bit of brown hair in all the right places. Mostly on the muscles.
“I’ve some herbs and such to collect from the riverbank,” said Mrs. MacBean. “And other places. Bog myrtle for the midges. Also, mushrooms. Och, so many things to find. I’ll be gone an hour. Mayhap two.” She patted Annie’s shoulder before whispering, “Enjoy, lass.”
Annie’s chaperone disappeared, and she barely noticed. Who gave a bloody damn about anybody but the mostly-naked John Huxley?
Certainly not her.
She wandered closer, uncaring about the grasses brushing her skirts or the midges stinging her arms. Wee little thrills traveled her skin. Her pounding heart pulsed and swelled against her bones.
She crossed the field slowly, savoring the sight of him. The waterline splashed around the rippling muscles of his abdomen. Was he fully naked? She’d like to see. Purely out of curiosity, mind.
“English.” God, her voice was ragged. And no wonder. Her blood was hot, her nipples peaked, her belly