The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(11)

With careful steps, Mac moved through the snow, trying not to show how biting the cold was on her legs and feet. The ground was uneven beneath the snow, testing her balance and strength. Her feet grew numb.

After several laborious steps, Ciaran said, “My lady—”

“I am not your lady.”

“Mistress—”

“I’m nobody’s mistress.”

After low, exasperated sigh, he said, “Lass.”

Did he have to say that? She had read enough Scottish romance novels to go weak in the knees at the sound, which was something she couldn’t afford at the moment. She kept up her slow tromping.

“I cannae let you go further. Your legs will stiffen soon, if they haven’t already. You’ll get stuck, and your skin will turn black—if the bears dinnae get to you first.”

She stopped. Bears? There had been a few sightings… “Oh, good try. They’re hibernating.” She felt satisfied with herself until she looked around. There was only a sliver of moonlight. She could barely make out the road. If she took a wrong turn, they could become lost. The house lights could guide them, but there were none. “The power must be out.”

“Lass?”

“The power. There’s no light.”

He cautiously said, “Well, ’tis night.”

Mac squinted at him. Was he joking? Mac turned and looked into the darkness. She looked in the opposite direction. “Okay, I give up. Where’s the road?”

“This way.” He took her elbow to help her. “Are you sure you can do this?”

With a careless shrug, she said, “Sure, why not? I’m fine.” A few steps later, her foot landed in a rut, and Mac fell.

Ciaran caught her and heaved her up over his shoulder.

“Wait! What are you doing?” she asked as he turned back toward the stone chamber.

Without missing a step, Ciaran said, “I’m keeping you safe.”

“But I want to go home.”

“Aye, well, staying alive will have to do for the now.” His brawny legs made quick work of the rest of the hill. He set her down at the stone chamber’s entrance.

“Well. Here we are,” she said, brushing snow-dampened hair from her eyes. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?” She laughed. “Just kidding.”

He looked at her blankly and then led her back into the stone chamber. Mac shivered, unable to stop.

“I’ll light the fire.” He crouched and pulled a tinderbox from his sporran.

She had slept through the previous firelighting procedure, so she watched with interest. “Where did you come from? I know you said Scotland, but what century?”

“Eighteenth.”

Mac looked for a sign that he was joking. “Yeah, right.”

Mac watched the fire-making process with wonder. He smiled at her, but a hint of sorrow seemed to linger behind it. The fire started, the Scotsman rose and unwrapped the plaid from his shoulder and waist.

“Hold on there, Rob Roy. Keep your plaid on.” She held her palm out with as threatening a look as she could muster.

He stepped back and raised his palms, still holding the fabric between thumb and forefinger. “If you share this with me, we might both stay warm through the night.”

“I wish I had a dollar for every guy who’s said that.”

He made no effort to hide his smile. His gaze swept from her hair to her lips, and his face shone with amusement.

“What?” she said defensively. His gaze lingered until she blushed. “You don’t believe me? It could happen.” His eyes rested on hers with a soft look that warmed her, though she wouldn’t admit it.

“Lass—”

“Call me Mac.”

“Very well. Mac, will you share the plaid with me? It’s very warm.”

Mac was cold enough to do anything to stay warm. She nodded and let him wrap the plaid around her. Her teeth chattered, and he held her.

When she warmed up enough to talk, she smoothed her fingertips over the leather that covered his chest. “Nice jacket.”

“My doublet?”

She grinned and lifted her eyes. “Come on, ‘fess up. Did Cam send you over as a joke?”

“Cam?”

“Because I read Scottish romance books. I get it. Tell her I laughed out loud. Ha.” When he looked at her strangely, she smirked. “Are you some sort of singing telegram, only without the song? Oh, you’re not one of those—y’know—stripping telegrams are you?” She glanced at him and averted her gaze. “Cam’s gone too far.”

“I dinnae ken what you mean,” he said.

She studied him, unsure whether to believe him. She shook her head. “Never mind.” She stared into the fire. Mesmerized by the flickering flames, Mac yawned.

The Scotsman guided her head to his shoulder. “Try to sleep.” His warm breath gave her a chill, but not the cold kind.

Mac nodded. She didn’t need convincing. “I would like to know one thing, though.”

“And what would that be?” His voice sounded amused.

“Who are you?”

“I’ve told you my name.”

“Ciaran what?”

“MacRae.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head.