up to the road. Acid tears stung her eyes, and a great boulder of wretchedness blocked her throat.
"Kirsty?" he said after her, but she gestured for him to stay back.
Thank every angel in heaven, he obeyed.
Chapter 8
Out of habit, Kirsty woke to darkness. Out of habit, she stumbled from the bed and lit a candle and dragged on her breeches and shirt, and the thick fisherman’s jacket that kept her from the worst of the cold. The wind rattling the windowpanes told her that the spell of good weather came to an end.
Perfect timing for Christmas tomorrow, she thought gloomily.
Just what she needed, when the house would be full of islanders for the ceilidh. Not that she felt at all festive as she picked up her boots and crossed to the closed door. Sour memories of Dougal’s reaction to kissing her had kept her awake for most of the night.
A bitter smile curved her lips. A girl should be in alt to receive her first kiss – and from the gentleman she’d set her heart on, too. But remembering that humiliating scene yesterday afternoon made her queasy and angry. Although whether at herself for inviting such a disappointment or with the stubborn, boneheaded, gorgeous Mr. Drummond, she wasn’t sure. Both, she suspected.
Dinner had been awkward, although her father, bless him, had been so excited about Christmas only a day and a half away, he’d chatted happily through the meal. At least his blithe disregard of the tension between his daughter and his guest had saved Kirsty from having to explain why she was so subdued.
Dougal had done his best to pretend he was his usual self, but she could tell that the kiss had upset him as much as it upset her. And when her father invited him, as he had every evening so far, to stay for Christmas, for one bleak moment, Kirsty glimpsed Dougal’s emotional turmoil. He looked hunted and guilty, before he masked his disquiet. Her father didn’t seem to notice Dougal’s unconvincing smile, and her beloved’s refusal emerged as polite as ever.
He’d arrived determined to sail away. He remained determined, curse him. More so.
That passionate kiss had poisoned the air between Dougal and Kirsty. The prospect of escaping the evidence of his sin – because that was clearly how he classed his actions – must be devilish appealing.
She hadn’t eaten much of Ruth’s lamb stew. Neither had Dougal. Given he ate like a starving giant most of the time, that spoke volumes about his state of mind.
Kirsty paused at the door, hopelessness slumping her shoulders. She was deathly tired, and the night would be freezing, once she set foot outside.
And what had her deceit achieved? If this afternoon’s kiss proved anything, it proved that Dougal remained set on rescuing Fair Ellen and he was no closer to falling in love with Kirsty Macbain than he was the day his boat limped into the harbor.
Why force herself out into the weather to damage the Kestrel? This evening had been pure misery. Wouldn’t it be better to let him go?
But how could she? Even if every night she’d sneaked down to the quay to commit mayhem, she despised herself a little more. Tonight she recognized that she was utterly wrong to try and compel Dougal to care.
Wrong and wicked and false.
And still she meant to do it, heaven forgive her.
With a sigh, she pushed the door open and crept down the steps.
Once she was outside, the wind was worse than she’d expected, and she had trouble keeping her lantern lit. If the gale continued to worsen, she wouldn’t need to drill a hole in the Kestrel’s keel. No sane man would set out at the height of the storm.
When she reached the village, she closed the shutter on her lantern. At this hour, well after midnight, all the islanders were asleep and no light shone from the cottage windows. But Kirsty remained careful of being discovered. Luckily there was a fitful moon, although the wind chased the clouds across the sky in a wild dance.
She pulled her knitted cap down over her forehead and flitted from shadow to shadow until she reached the steps down to where the Kestrel was moored. Once she got below the level of the quay, she could risk using her lantern, but not before.
Even in the harbor, the water was rough. Stepping onto the boat, she nearly lost her balance. She fumbled for the mast that had already suffered her dastardly attentions.
This couldn’t go on. She ran out of places where she could plausibly cause havoc without arousing suspicion. At that instant, she made a decision. If Dougal hadn’t changed his mind about staying by Christmas Day, she’d give up her scheming and let him go. His arrival on her island had seemed like fate. But perhaps her fate was to spend her life yearning in futile misery for Dougal Drummond’s heart.
It was dark down here in the shadow of the stone harbor wall. Gingerly she made her way up to the stores cupboard. The darkness and the rocking boat made progress treacherous. With a clink, she set down her bag of tools and set her lantern on the shelf at her elbow. After three nights of her depredations, not to mention working beside Dougal to repair her nocturnal efforts, she could find her way around the Kestrel blindfolded.
She reached up to push back the shutter. When light spilled across the hull, she almost wondered if it was from her lantern.
"Kirsty…"
Horrified, she made a distressed sound in her tight throat and staggered aside from her lantern as if she meant to hide. But the narrow space offered her no concealment. When she raised shocked, guilty eyes to the man sitting in the bow, she wanted to be sick.
"Dougal, I can explain," she said, which was a blatant lie. Another lie on top of the hundreds she’d already told him.