Once Upon a Highland Christmas(59)

“I know who she is.” James glared at his cousin, not liking the speculative gleam in his eye. “And she is wild—so prickly some say she sleeps in a bed of nettles.”

Colin laughed. “She’s bonnie all the same.”

“So is the deep blue sea until you sink in its depths and drown.” James scowled at the lass.

Pure trouble, she’d clearly come to show her wrath. As she’d done every day since the Lowlanders began setting up their gaudy tents and seating. If Colin hadn’t noticed her before now, James had. He always noticed her, rot his soul. And just now, she was especially hard to miss with the sun picking out the bright copper strands in her hair and her back so straight she might have swallowed a steel rod. And if he didn’t want to lose his temper in front of workmen who—he knew—were only following orders, he would’ve marched down to the field days ago and chased her away.

He’d done so once, running her off Cameron land years ago, when he’d been too young and hotheaded to know better than thrusting his hand into a wasp nest.

She’d stung him badly that day. And the memory still haunted him. At times, sneaking into his dreams and twisting his recollections so that, instead of sprinting away from him, she’d be on her back beneath him, opening her arms in welcome, tempting him to fall upon her and indulge in the basest, most lascivious sins.

Furious that she stirred him even now, he tore his gaze from her and frowned at the long rows of colorful awnings, the triumphal pennons snapping in the wind. The festive display shot seething anger through his veins. Truth be told, if one of the King’s worthies appeared on the battlements, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself.

Apparently feeling the same, Colin stepped back a few paces and whipped out his sword, thrusting it high. “Forget the MacDonald wench and her jackal blood. We could”—he made a flourish with the blade—“have done with yon mummery in the old way! Cut down the Lowland bastards and toss them into a loch. We then block every entry into the glen, keep silent, and no one need know they even reached us.”

He grinned wickedly, sliced a ringing arc in the cold afternoon air.

James strode forward and grabbed Colin’s wrist, stopping his foolery. “The old way ne’er included murdering innocents. The workmen”—he jerked a glance at them—“are naught but lackeys. Their blood on our hands would forever stain our honor. Sir Walter’s blood, much as I’d love to spill it, would bring a King’s army into the glen. No matter what we did, they’d come. Even if every clan in the Highlands rose with us against them, their number alone would defeat us.

“And”—he released Colin’s arm, nodding grimly when his cousin sheathed the blade—“King Robert would then do more than scatter us. He’d put us to the horn, outlawing us so that we’d lose no’ just our land but our very name. A fire-and-sword edict passed quicker than you can blink. That, he would do!”

Colin scowled, flushing red. “Damnation!”

“Aye,” James agreed, his own face flaming. “We are damned whate’er. So we do what is left to us. We keep our pride and honor and prove what hard fighters we are. With God’s good grace, we shall be victorious.”

Colin’s chin came up, his eyes glinting. “Perhaps He will bless us now.” He flashed a wicked grin and strode for the door arch. “I’m off to the hall to see if God in His greatness might cause Sir Walter to choke on a fish bone. I shall pray on the way.”

James’s lips twitched. On another day, he would have thrown back his head and laughed. As it was, he watched Colin hasten into the stair tower without another word. Only when his young cousin’s footsteps faded did he glance at the heavens and mutter a prayer of his own.

Then he whipped around to toss another glower at Lady Catriona, even though she couldn’t see him.

He snorted when he saw her.

She’d edged even closer to one of the viewing platforms, her glare pinned on the workmen. James shuddered just looking at her. He almost felt sorry for the men flamed by her scorching stare. Deepest blue yet piercing as the sun, her eyes could burn holes in a man if he didn’t take care.

James knew it well, much to his annoyance.

Fortunately, their paths didn’t cross often, but each time they’d had the displeasure, he’d regretted it for days.

Just now, with the wind blowing her skirts and her hair whipping about her face, he almost felt an odd kinship with her. There was something about the challenging tilt of her chin and the blaze in her eyes that—for one crazy, mad moment—made her not a MacDonald but every Highland woman who’d ever walked the hills.