“There’s a cave nearby that will get us out of the wind, not to mention the sleet that’s on the way. We can wait there until the mist clears.”
“And when will that be?” Hamish asked irritably.
“Hamish,” Diarmid said in a reproving tone. “Master Mackinnon is kind enough to help us. He deserves our courtesy.”
While he laughed up his sleeve at both of them, Hamish wanted to say, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry, Master Mackinnon,” he said grudgingly, more for Diarmid’s sake than his own.
“Aye, well, follow me, and I’ll make sure ye get back to your parents in one piece.” Mackinnon clicked his fingers to the dog, who had been regarding Hamish and Diarmid with an expression only a little more disdainful than his master’s. “Come, Bailey.”
Mackinnon set out ahead, the dog trotting beside him, while Hamish and Diarmid did their best to keep up with his long-legged stride. Hamish had to admit that the young Laird of Achnasheen trod these mountains as if he owned them. His familiarity with this rugged landscape made Hamish feel depressingly feeble and…English.
* * *
Hamish mightn’t much like their brusque rescuer, but he liked what their rescuer accomplished. Within an hour, the three boys were hunkered down beside a roaring fire at the mouth of a cave that kept them from the howling wind. They’d all enjoyed an excellent supper of roast mountain hare. Mackinnon had even managed to conjure up some dry bracken for bedding. Prickly, but better than the bare rock.
Hamish struggled to stay awake with the older boys to prove he wasn’t a useless Sassenach, but warmth, hot food, and safety all conspired to put him to sleep.
He had no idea what time it was when he stirred. The fire had burned down low. He was deliciously cozy, and it took him a minute to realize that the scruffy black dog was curled up against his chest, breathing in soft snores.
The flickering light threw strange shadows across the faces of the two boys sitting up and talking in low voices. It highlighted Diarmid’s gypsy dark looks. The black eyes, long bony nose, and thin cheeks. Hamish and Diarmid might be cousins, but nobody would know to look at them. He was as fair as a Norseman, with a sheaf of wheat-blond hair and eyes the bright blue of his mother’s.
The flames turned Mackinnon into a young Scottish warrior. Hamish loathed admitting it, but their rescuer looked much more at home in this stark, magnificent setting than he or Diarmid did. The rich red hair, the cleanly cut features, and some indefinable air of authority marked him as prince of this domain.
Still half-asleep, Hamish lay concealed in the shadows back from the cave mouth. He curled his fingers in the dog’s soft coat, loving the pungent canine smell and the knowledge that a living thing rested up against him. He’d begged his parents for a dog of his own, but his silly sisters were afraid of them.
Cocooned in physical comfort, he didn’t immediately realize what the other lads were talking about. To his surprise, it wasn’t hunting or sport, but their ideas about the girls they might one day marry. This struck Hamish as ridiculously premature, but curiosity kept him quiet as the soft voices, one with a musical Highland lilt and the other clipped and precise and English, murmured across the dying fire.
“Och, aye, bonny. Who wants to look at a sour-faced besom over the supper table?” Mackinnon leaned forward to prod the fire with a stick, and the flare of light revealed the features of a boy not far from manhood. “It would put me off my taties.”
“All right, I suppose I’d like her to be pretty. But there’s more important things than how a girl looks.”
The comfortable note in Diarmid’s voice indicated he was enjoying the company. Hamish felt an unworthy prick of jealousy, only partly mollified by knowing that after tonight he’d never have to see that rude sod Fergus Mackinnon again.
“Aye, like being willing to recognize her lord and master and do what she’s told. If there’s one thing I cannae abide, it’s a pert lassie who doesnae ken her rightful place in the world.”
“I hope you’re so lucky.” This time Diarmid’s laugh held an edge. Hamish could imagine why. Both their mothers, the famously beautiful Macgrath sisters, gave as good as they got when it came to family decisions. “No, I was talking about qualities like honesty and loyalty, and maybe a bit of spirit to keep things interesting.”
“Och, aye, if ye must have those things. Remember, a lassie wants a man to protect her and smooth her path in life, while a man wants a woman who sees a hero when she looks at him. And by God, whatever you say, any wife of mine is going to be bonny.”
“It’s not always easy to be wed to a beautiful woman,” Diarmid said somberly, and something in his voice made him sound older than his eleven years.
Hamish frowned. He ignored family politics, as long as they left him free to pursue his astronomical interests. But over the last few weeks, even he had picked up the bristling tension between Diarmid’s parents.
“I’ll keep her in line.”
“You’re very confident.” It was spoken more as a question than a compliment.
Mackinnon shrugged. “I took charge here five years ago, after my father died. My mother was prostrate with grief, and my two sisters were only six and seven. They all appreciated a strong hand on the tiller.”
Part of Hamish’s mind marveled at—and unwillingly admired—Mackinnon if he had been master of his estate since he was a mere nine years old. Perhaps there was some justification behind that insufferable self-assurance.
“And you exerted this influence at nine?” Diarmid asked with a hint of disbelief.
“Aye, I did. I was old enough to know that a woman’s like a horse. A man needs to keep a firm grip on the reins and show her who’s in control, and she’s all the happier for it.”
“I want a good Scots lass who makes sure nobody ever calls my children Sassenachs,” Hamish said, before he thought to stop himself.
“And do ye think a good Scots lass will have ye, my wee laird in the making?” Mackinnon asked, looking in his direction, and Hamish went back to hating him. How could such a nasty brute have such a nice dog, when some very nice boys couldn’t have a dog at all?