She wondered uneasily if she had just confirmed everyone’s fears that she was a raving lunatic, who would be better off at an asylum. Had she really just told him that she saw ghosts of herself? She wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to abandon her right now and take his chances with the curse.
“It’s been a long day,” he said, watching her carefully while she poked at her supper. “You’re exhausted, lass.”
“I most certainly am.”
Reaching for the jug of wine, he rose to his feet, circled around the fire, and refilled her glass. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head, but shivered. He went to fetch a blanket from one of the saddlebags and wrapped it securely around her shoulders.
“You’ll have to prepare yourself for tomorrow,” he told her, sitting down on the opposite side of the fire and reaching for his plate. “It won’t get any easier. We’ll ride around the Gargunnock Hills in the morning, stop for supplies in Kippen, and maybe get a hot meal, but once we reach the Great Glen, we’ll be sleeping and eating under the stars. Will you be able to manage?”
She looked down at the bedroll, then across at him in the firelight, taking some comfort in the fact that he was, to some extent, concerned for her well-being.
“I suppose if I have come this far,” she heartily replied, “I can survive the rest, for the sake of recovering my memories. It hardly matters anyway, where I rest my head. My joints are groaning with agony; my eyes feel like they are full of sand. Even if there were cannons going off over my head, I’m quite sure I would sleep like a baby.”
“Good.” He stared at her for a moment, then dug into his supper. They spoke no more after that.
Later, after washing the dishes in the creek, Catherine returned to the fire and lay down on her side. The last thing she remembered as she drew the blanket over her shoulders was the sight of Lachlan on the other side of the fire, lounging back on an elbow, sipping a cup of wine, watching her through the iridescent flames with those smoldering dark eyes, before her own weary lids fluttered closed.
***
Sometime during the night, Catherine tore the blanket off and scrambled to her feet.“Get off me!”she shrieked, slapping at her cheeks and arms, spitting out the dirt she could still taste on her tongue.
She was aware of the campfire and the trees, and part of her knew that she was somewhere in Scotland, traveling with Lachlan MacDonald, the Highlander who had attacked her in an ancient stone circle—and that she’d had a dream. But the effect upon her mind was so vivid and disturbing, she could not yet escape it. Her heart was racing with terror. She felt as if she were suffocating. She couldn’t get the dirt off her sleeves!
Suddenly Lachlan was there, holding her steady by the arms. “You’re dreaming, Raonaid. Wake up. Look at me!” The deep timbre of his voice compelled her to focus on his eyes, darkly luminous in the night.
It took a moment for her to accept that there was no dirt on her. Still feeling panicked, she held on to him, her hands curled tightly around his forearms.
“Are you all right?” he asked when he seemed certain that she was fully awake.
“I dreamed someone was trying to bury me,” she said, “as if I were dead. I was lying in a grave, and dirt was being shoveled onto my face. It felt very real.”
“It wasn’t,” he said. “No one was trying to bury you.”
“Am I going mad? I fear that I am. The nuns in the convent thought I was haunted by the devil. If my grandmother hadn’t come to claim me when she did, they might have sent me away, to someplace terrible.” Her body began to tremble.
Lachlan regarded her with concern in the moonlight. He was completely drawn in.
Was this a trick? he wondered, working hard to shake himself out of the spell. Was she making it up in order to convince him that she was truly in need of help?
It had occurred to him more than once that she might simply be seeking another chance to return to Kinloch and destroy his cousin’s marriage. She had been obsessed with Angus before, to a murderous degree. Perhaps she was out to finally seize everything she wanted—a dead heiress’s fortune and the powerful Chief of Kinloch as well.
A tear spilled from the corner of her eye, rushed down her soft, pale cheek, and all thoughts of theft and treachery tumbled from Lachlan’s mind.
“There’s no need to cry,” he heard himself saying as all his protective instincts came surging to the fore. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.”
“I’mnotcrying,” she insisted, lifting her chin, but she looked so frightened, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her just yet.
He gently wiped the tear away from her cheek and looked into her eyes.It would just be for this one night,he told himself. He would give her the benefit of the doubt until she went back to sleep.
She placed a shaky hand on his chest, on top of his shirt, and he allowed her that liberty, covering it with his own to keep it warm. When at last the fear in her eyes began to subside, he led her back to the fire.
“Lie down now,” he said. “You need to rest.”
***
Catherine obeyed Lachlan’s quiet command, for she couldn’t seem to think clearly enough on her own. Dropping to her knees, she arranged her skirts, then curled up on her side and faced the fire. Lachlan covered her with the blanket.
