Slowly
she turned into him. She took in the set of his jaw. The morning sun hit the stubble on his face, lighting it to a glowing brown. “No?”
“No. I'll not put you down until I get you safe inside. Where I will make certain that you gather your things.
And then you will return home. ”
She stopped breathing. She didn't care what his intentions were. He was carrying her to her room. Would he truly sweep her up the stairs like a knight? Whisk her into her room like a husband?
A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. She stared, mesmerized, studying the strong planes of his face. Her eyes returned to the brown stubble shadowing his cheeks. It was thicker and darker at his chin and upper lip.
“Ree, lass, what were you doing climbing along the ledge like that?” The anger had leached from his voice, and Cormac simply sounded tired.
Ree. He'd called her by the old nickname. The sound of it eased her heart. Their eyes caught. His were a sad blue-gray. She wanted to make him smile.
The silence hung, and she inwardly shook herself. Cormac had asked her what she'd been about. Whatever could she tell him and still keep hold of her dignity? She decided simply to avoid the question. “Thank you for tending Una. ”
“I care for the mounts every day. One more is no trouble. ”
“I… I didn't see you this morning. I didn't know you were already out. ” Marjorie cringed. Such nonsense spilled from her mouth, but this was her chance to speak with him. Cormac's long strides were quickly taking them back to her room, where he'd put her down and say good-bye.
His eyes narrowed. “I don't sleep near the others. ”
“Where do you sleep?” She cringed again. A ridiculous and improper question, but she was desperate to know. She felt the blood flooding her cheeks and darted her eyes away, making as though to study the MacAlpins' main lodgings. They lived in what was the old palace, and though much of it was crumbling, the centermost building was sound and watertight.
“Just there. ” He nodded to a low stone cottage, standing apart to their left. “Off the old smithy. ” So he didn't stay in the main building after all. She longed to peek in and see how he lived. Would he have simply a cot and a washstand? Or would there be a desk? A book or two maybe? “Why don't you stay with the others?” Marjorie sensed his shoulders relaxing, and she risked another glimpse at his profile. She was startled to find him staring at her. His expression was unreadable, his eyes no longer quite so sad. She made the mistake of looking at the set of his mouth. His lips were slightly parted, and he seemed to be contemplating her in some profound way.
Her heart gave a sudden thud.
He looked away. “The others are close enough. ”
He still held her close, unmoving. It struck Marjorie that he'd sensed she was outside the stables and had somehow known she was in danger. Cormac had come and whisked her from the ledge as handily as plucking a flower from a field.
He'd been enraged, but he was composed now. His features were smooth, tranquil even.
She'd been in jeopardy, and that is what had upset him.
He felt something for her.
Marjorie's arms tightened around him. She couldn't stop herself. She had to touch him, to ease the set of that jaw, to feel the scrape of that stubble. Slowly, she pulled her hand up and tenderly cupped his face.
Cormac put her down so swiftly, she almost tumbled to the dirt.
“I cannot help you. ” He gave her a single horrified look and then walked away.
But it was fine with her. She bit her cheek not to smile.
Marjorie had spied some of the old Cormac lurking deep in his eyes, the boy who'd never liked to see her in danger.
And it gave her an idea.
Chapter 5
Marjorie managed to avoid Cormac the rest of the day. Granted, at one point, she'd heard him approaching and had to duck into what appeared to be an old root cellar — it'd taken her a good half hour to brush all the cobwebs from her clothes — but he'd been set on seeing her leave that day, and Marjorie simply refused. Cormac had the skills to find Davie, and she wasn't going back without him.
She had a plan, and it would unfold here at the dinner table.
She stabbed at her plate of finnan haddie, trying not to look at him seated at the end of the dining table. He'd shaved since the morning, and the fringe of his hair was still damp where he'd splashed water. He wore it long, but not so long that it grew past his shoulders. It became him.