Devils Highlander (Clan MacAlpin 1)

A temptation he feared he was neither strong enough nor brave enough to withstand.

Chapter 8

“How does this… ? Fiona, do you know… ? How do you… ?” Marjorie wriggled, trying to hike Declan's breeches up over her hips. She finally just flopped onto the bed, scooching her bottom into the seat.

The maid stepped back, looking disgruntled that her bed-making progress had been interrupted. “I wonder how much of a gentleman your Cormac is. ”

“Got it!” Ignoring her comment, Marjorie popped up and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Oh, Fiona, this is lovely. So freeing. Is this what it feels like to be a man, I wonder?” She marched a few steps in place, lifting her feet high off the ground. “All women should be allowed to wear trews. ” The maid shook her head disapprovingly. “What kind of gentleman allows a woman to wear his trews? No gentleman, I say. ”

“Oh, pish. You're too young to be such a wet rag. ” Marjorie wound her hair into a loose bun. “Besides, they're not Cormac's trews. They belong to his brother. ”

“But what sort of gentleman encourages a lady in his care to stroll about town like a common… commoner? 'Tisn't seemly. ”

Marjorie's hands froze over her head. Fiona had been her maid since they were young girls, and so she allowed many liberties. But this was approaching the line. “It isn't town,” she said warily. “Just down to the docks. And Cormac's not encouraging me. ”

“What business do you have down at the docks that you need to dress as a boy? And… wait. ” Fiona aggressively plumped a pillow. “Does Cormac even know what you're about?”

“Well, he's going to the docks, and I'd like to go with him. But if he says no, he can't stop me from following. ”

She heard Fiona gasp, and Marjorie sighed. She shouldn't be telling her maid so much. “You don't need to know any more than that. It's a private matter. ” She switched her focus to tucking her hair beneath a man's tartan bonnet. “There!”

“Not my business, she says. ” Behind her, Fiona snapped the bed cover, an indication of her pique. “It's unsafe.

What would your uncle say if he found out?”

“Don't be silly. I'll be completely safe. ” Marjorie put her hands on her hips, studying her front and sides in the mirror. She'd bound her breasts as best she could — it wasn't perfect, but the man's shirt and vest did a good job concealing her form. “I think I'll pass. What do you think? Do I pass for a lad?” Fiona made a choking noise. And then, realization washing over her face, she asked slyly, “Is this about that boy who went missing?”

“I'll just have to imagine that's your assent. ” Marjorie strode to the door, feeling lighter, unencumbered…

free. Halfway out, she paused, turned. “And Fiona. I'll have you know, Cormac is every bit the gentleman. ” She descended the stairs with a smile on her face. Dawn was just beginning to warm the sky, and she felt her way down, navigating the old steps through the gray half-light.

Reaching the landing, she stopped to adjust her outfit. She'd never thought herself overly curvy before, but the boxy trews were intended for someone with the silhouette of a tree. She plucked at the seat. The feel of such sturdy fabric between her legs was strange and uncomfortable, almost a transgression. Wiggling, she tugged them down, pulling them as low on her hips as she reasonably could.

The movement loosened the strips of woolen cloth she'd used to bind her breasts, and they tickled, making her senselessly itchy. She swayed a bit, jiggling her torso, tiying to chafe the fabric along her skin. She felt a breast begin to slip free.

“Criminy. ” She smoothed her hands up her sides and along her breasts, trying to settle herself back in place.

She frowned at the results. She'd never make it to the docks if she needed to stop every five minutes to readjust.

The sound of metal scraping on stone came from above. She looked up, startled. Cormac stood there, staring daggers down at her. He'd fastened a sword at his waist, and it rasped along the narrow stairway.

“You startled me,” she said, a hand still clutched at her breast. “Losh, Cormac, where did you get that sword?”

“Where did you get those clothes?” Anger was plain in the set of his jaw, and waves of power rolled from him, as if he'd summoned some dark force to him, all vigor and strength.

A frisson of excitement shivered through her.

“I borrowed them from Declan. ” The statement was met with grim silence. “Your brother? Remember?”

“Would that I could forget,” he grumbled.

Sensing a disagreement, she straightened her back, gathering her wits. Davie needed her, and she'd not fail him now. “I told you. I'm coming with you. I'm readying for the quays. ”

“And I told you, you're not. ” Every muscle in his body seemed to be flexed taut. Ready.

The thought flashed to her that she'd chosen the exact right person to help her. She'd woken nervous of the prospect of trolling the docks. But this man would protect her. He'd know how to handle any trouble that might come their way.

“Then I'll simply follow behind. ” The clock was ticking — they needed to find Davie fast, before whatever ship held him sailed away, if it hadn't already. The thought sent black spots across her vision. She turned and strode to the door, lest her knees buckle beneath her. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one. Davie is my lad to look after, and look after him I shall. ”