Highland Wolf (Highland Brides, #10)(18)

“Spit,” he said at once, pulling her hand away from her mouth, and tugging on it as he added, “Come, roll on yer side and spit it out, lass. It’s fair foul.”

Desperate to remove the godawful taste, Claray did as he said and rolled toward him to spit as much of the muck out of her mouth as she could into the small open patch of mud between them. Very aware that ladies did not spit, she blushed as she did it, and ignored the angry tirade of chirps coming from Squeak as he scrambled up onto her side to avoid being dumped in the mud.

Much to her embarrassment, Claray was still spitting when Roderick, Payton and Hamish found them. Groaning at the humiliation of it all, she gave up her spitting and simply waited to see what new embarrassment would be visited on her.

As several more men poured out of the woods around them, Roderick announced, “We heard yer shout and Lady Claray’s scream, and came to investigate.”

“Aye.” Payton’s lips twitched, but he managed to keep a mostly solemn expression as he asked mildly, “Is there a reason the two o’ ye are rolling about in the muck?”

“Shut it, MacKay, and give me a hand,” the Wolf growled. “I swear I do no’ ken why I’ve suffered yer presence fer so many years.”

“Because I’m yer cousin and me da makes ye,” Payton said with a laugh as he stepped to the edge of the lake of mud and extended his hand out to the Wolf.

Claray stared at the men with silent surprise. She’d heard the other men call the fair-haired man Payton. It was the only reason she’d known his first name. But now she’d been given his clan name and was a bit shocked by it. Payton MacKay.

Laird MacKay was a dear friend to her father and frequent visitor to MacFarlane. But while his wife and youngest daughter, Kenna, occasionally accompanied him on his visits, his older children, a son and married daughter, Annella, didn’t. However, now that the name MacKay had been mentioned, she recalled that the son’s name was Payton and knew he must be Laird Ross MacKay’s son and heir. And the Wolf was apparently a cousin to him. Was he a MacKay, then, too? she wondered. The songs about him claimed he kept his clan name secret, and most assumed it was out of shame. But there was no shame to being a MacKay. They were a fine clan.

“Lass?”

Claray blinked her thoughts away and glanced to the Wolf. He was out of the muck and on his feet now. He was also standing where Payton had been a moment before, bent at the waist and his hand held out toward her.

“Can ye reach me hand?” he asked, leaning a little more forward.

Still on her right side in the mud, Claray extended her left hand toward him. The moment their fingers met, Squeak raced up her arm and across their hands to his arm, then charged up to his shoulder to watch what followed.

Claray grimaced at the stoat’s defection and then almost groaned aloud as the Wolf began to pull. At first, her still-stuck foot prevented any movement and she briefly felt like she was on the rack. She was sure he would pull her arm right out of its socket. But then her foot popped free of her shoe and she was dragged forward through the mud. When the sloppy muck built up in front of her right shoulder as she went, she turned her head away to avoid it covering her face, but a moment later she was free and being lifted to her feet to stand barefoot in the grass in the middle of the four men.

“Well,” Roderick said after a moment of silence had passed. “I’m thinking ye’ll both want a bath ere traveling any further.”

The Wolf frowned at the suggestion, and said, “We can bathe when we reach MacFarlane. The mud’ll dry and fall off on the way.”

“Aye,” Payton agreed with a grimace. “But will the stench fall away with it? We still have another day and part o’ a night at least ere we reach MacFarlane. I do no’ ken about you, but I would no’ be able to stand that smell fer an hour, let alone a day or two.”

When the Wolf’s shoulders sagged with defeat, Roderick said, “There’s a river just a half an hour’s ride from here. Hopefully, the worst o’ the muck will dry and fall away by the time we get there and then the two o’ ye can bathe away the rest.”

“Aye,” the Wolf said with resignation, and then took Claray’s arm to escort her back to his horse, but the back of her gown was heavy and wet with mud, and her feet were bare. After half a dozen stumbling steps, he simply scooped her up into his arms. The moment he did, Squeak scrambled down his body to hers and disappeared inside her gown again. She felt him squirm around between her breasts, finding a comfy spot, and then glanced up to see Payton walking beside them, staring wide-eyed at where the stoat had disappeared.

Catching her eye he grinned. “I did wonder where ye kept him hidden all the time. Now I ken.”

“Aye, now ye ken,” the Wolf growled with irritation. “So ye can stop ogling the lass. She’s betrothed to another.”

Claray turned to him with surprise. “Nay. I’m no’. Remember? I told ye. I was betrothed to Bryson MacDonald, but he and his parents were murdered while I was still a bairn. I ha’e no betrothed now.”

“See. She has no’ betrothed now,” Payton said cheerfully, and then confided to her, “Fortunately enough, m’lady, neither ha’e I. Mayhap we should get to know each other better and see if we would no’ suit each other.”

“Oh.” Claray’s eyes went wide and she could feel herself flushing with embarrassment as she tried to think what to say. Payton MacKay was a handsome man and seemed good-natured, but she hadn’t even considered him as a betrothed ere his bringing it up. In truth, she hadn’t thought about marrying anyone in years. She’d actually resigned herself to never getting wed and simply taking care of her father, younger siblings and MacFarlane until her dying days.