The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)

“Why not? Glen Lyon is a fine estate, and I’ll treat her well.”

“When you’re not watching the skies,” Diarmid said.

Hamish sat up, disturbing Bailey. He was getting ready to punch his cousin for his lack of loyalty, when he looked out the cave mouth. “Does it seem lighter to you?”

The others turned toward the opening. “By God, I think the mist is clearing,” Diarmid said.

All three boys scrambled to their feet, and Mackinnon began kicking dirt over the fire. “At last. I’ll have ye both back at the hunting lodge before breakfast.”

“We can find our own way,” Hamish said ungraciously, wanting this stranger gone and Diarm

id to himself again. The dog rose with a groan, had a good shake, and stretched.

“Maybe. But having saved your necks, I dinna want ye tumbling down the next brae, once I leave ye to your own devices.”

Diarmid ignored Hamish fuming beside him and extended a hand in Mackinnon’s direction. “Master Mackinnon, I’d like to thank you for saving our lives. I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. We’d have frozen to death, if we hadn’t fallen down a cliff first. This adventure will always unite us.”

Devil take Diarmid, Hamish hoped not.

A hint of a smile hovered on Mackinnon’s face. “Given I’ve just saved your thin southern skins, ye should call me Fergus.”

“I think so, too. I’m Diarmid.”

As the young Scotsman shook his hand, Diarmid cast his younger cousin a disapproving glance. “Hamish?”

“Oh, aye,” he said in a sullen tone and stuck out one grubby paw. “Thank you for saving us.”

To his surprise, Mackinnon shook his hand and laughed—not nastily either. “Not as eloquent as your cousin, but, aye, I’ll take it.”

Hamish felt a pang as Bailey wagged his tail and trotted back to his master. “I like your dog.”

“Aye, Bailey’s a braw creature, if not the bonniest. He’s just fathered a litter of puppies, if you’d like one.”

“Would I?” Hamish responded with a rush of enthusiasm, then native caution revived. “Why on earth would you give me a dog?”

The boy’s expression turned mocking, as if he read the epic battle between pride and yearning in Hamish’s heart. “Every good Scotsman needs a good Scots hound by his side.”

Diarmid gave Hamish a surreptitious kick. “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, cuz,” he whispered.

Hamish looked at Bailey with a longing that was so sharp, he could taste it. “I’m not allowed to have a dog,” he mumbled. “My sisters don’t like them.”

Mackinnon clapped him on the shoulder and picked up the lantern. With the sun coming up, he didn’t relight it. “I imagine once I bring the two lost lambs back to the fold, a small request like a home for an unwanted puppy willnae be turned down.”

“Is he unwanted?” Hamish asked. He tried not to look down the mountainside. The brightening light made it clear that if he or Diarmid had fallen while they picked their way along the path, they would have broken their necks.

“Well, you want him,” Mackinnon said, striding away with the black dog trotting at his heels. “Come down the brae. I’m ready for something more than hare to eat, even if ye two laddies want to stay up here to enjoy the fresh air.”

The fresh air was icy. The sun hadn’t had a chance to warm things up yet. Hamish realized that he was hungry, too, and dead tired, despite his nap. When Diarmid set off after Fergus, he didn’t hesitate to follow.

The promise of a dog of his own was so exciting that he almost didn’t mind the admiration in Diarmid’s eyes when he looked at Fergus. The kind of admiration, Hamish couldn’t help noting with some mortification, that he was in the habit of directing at his older cousin.

The three boys and the dog left the cave and followed the path over the ridge.

Chapter One

Achnasheen, Western Highlands of Scotland, September 1817

The smart yellow carriage careered wildly along the steep, rutted track that snaked down into the glen. Fergus hauled Banshee to a stop on the bend of the road. Horror churned in his gut, as he watched the vehicle speeding toward the burn, swollen to river size after the rainy summer.