Page 7 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

“MacEwan?” he replied in the same tone.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, tilting her head and looking down her nose at him in a condescending manner.

“It might have something to do with the fact that you have just insinuated that I am a murderer,” he growled. “Which I am not!”

“If it is not true, then why are you upset about it?” she asked. “It is probably just the ravings of a stupid woman, after all.”

“Aaah, I see!” He laughed. “Well, if it is not true that women are stupid, then why are you so upset about it?” He smirked. “You see, MacEwan, two can play at that game!”

Having neatly turned the tables on her, he spurred his horse on to ride beside his father, and Malle was left looking at the back of his head, silently seething with anger. She was also annoyed with herself, because despite her best efforts to stop it from happening, she was beginning to find Craig Dunbar more and more desirable.

They reached Dunbar Castle a short time later, and Malle was impressed by its size. It was circular, with four rings of walls, one inside the other, ascending to one slim central tower in the middle which was higher than the rest of the castle. From here the Scottish flag, a white diagonal St Andrew’s cross on a blue background, fluttered in the breeze, and Malle felt a surge of pride. She would always feel safe where the Saltire flew, and the love of their country was the only thing that the Dunbars and MacEwans could agree on.

They entered through the main gate, and if the stable hands were surprised to see a young woman amongst all the men, they did not say so.

Craig had been shivering all the way home, and now he needed to wash and change, suddenly aware of how decrepit he must look in Malle’s eyes. He caught himself up short at that.

Why do I care what Malle MacEwan thinks? he thought savagely. She means nothing to me!

He scrubbed himself down with a piece of pumice and a rough bar of soap that was made at the local monastery, then he dressed in a fresh linen shirt and his second best kilt. He was not dressed for a ceilidh, but he looked a great deal better than he had before. He refused to admit to himself that he wanted to impress Malle, even though she was the only woman he had ever met who attracted him in so many different ways.

He looked at his beard and decided that it needed a trim, but there was no time now, so he contented himself with running a wooden comb through his hair before going downstairs.

When she saw him, Malle wanted to stare at him for as long as she could, for he was magnificent. She could see that he was not dressed up, but he looked clean and comfortable, with every beautiful line of his body enhanced by his crisp white shirt that also showed just a hint of rust-colored chest hair.

Malle realized she was staring and abruptly looked away, blushing. If Craig noticed, he made no sign of it. He held out a glass of wine to her, his eyebrows raised questioningly, and she took it gratefully, mumbling her thanks.

Laird Dunbar sat everyone down at the dining room table, having sent all but two of the guards away. His eyes, as dark gray as Craig’s, looked around the table.

“Laird MacEwan,” he began, “it has been some time since your family and mine saw eye to eye, but now we have a problem here that affects both of us. Fergus had been a loyal worker of mine for many years, as had his father before him, but lately he seemed to change.” He shook his head, baffled.

“At first we thought it was you who was causing trouble on our estate,” Craig put in, “but we found some evidence that points to outsiders. There is a cave near the edge of the other boundary of the estate where we found clothes, blankets, cooking materials, and a few other basics for living very simply. It looks as if three people were staying there, but there may be others we do not know about.” He paused for a moment. “Our families are not friendly, and have not been for a very long time. However, even though I am not yet the Laird proper, I thought this might be a first step to heal the breach between us. In this situation, what affects us affects you, and what affects you affects us.”

Kenneth MacEwan looked at Craig with astonishment in his eyes. “You mean—end our feud?”

“I did not say that,” he replied, shaking his head. “I meant a cautious truce.”

The MacEwans finished their wine and stood up, then Craig bowed to Malle in farewell. He did not kiss her hand, but she curtsied to him anyway.

As she turned away, a strand of hair escaped from the knot on top of her head and dropped down her back, and Craig could see that it reached down to her waist. He loved long hair, and the longer the better. He only just stopped himself from reaching out to touch it.

Malle could feel his eyes on her back, but she did not turn around.

As they stood at the main entrance to the castle watching them ride away, Malcolm smiled. “Beautiful girl,” he remarked.

“Then you get to know her, Father,” Craig said grimly.

They rode back faster and more cautiously, and both of them scanned the countryside around them continuously to see if there were any signs of suspicious activity of any sort. Once across the river they felt a little safer, and Malle felt free to speak.

“Have you heard about these people, Paw?” she asked, troubled. “I mean—what do they really want?”

“I have,” he replied. His face was grim, and he looked uncomfortable. “I think it has something to do with the feud between our families, but I do not know exactly what, and I had no idea they were so close. It is very worrying.”

That evening at bedtime Malle stood at her window staring down at the estate below her. Their land was relatively flat and treeless for the most part, so on a moonlit night she could often see for miles. However, tonight there was only starlight, and the darkness down below was almost total.

She fancied that she could see shapes like dark insects creeping under the shadows of the trees—could it be the troublemakers coming to pay a visit? She thought about going out to search, but then admitted to herself that she might really be hoping that Craig was one of them. She had no need to go out looking anyway. Even if there were bandits outside, there were twenty guards with swords and pikes between them, so she had no reason to worry. She was being fanciful. Wasn’t she?

She had given up all hope of trying not to think about Craig today. Despite her dislike of him, she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. When he had come downstairs and she saw him in his kilt and white shirt with the triangle of red hair at his throat, his hair and beard the color of autumn leaves glinting in the daylight, she had felt herself go weak at the knees. How could a man who was the person she disliked most in the whole world be the most attractive?