would’ve tempted me to stay in the carriage. Apparently, we were going to the top of the mountain peak. That, or Duncan was trying to kill me.
About thirty feet from the top I collapsed on a boulder and chugged from the water pouch Duncan handed me. When I showed no inclination to get back up, Duncan towered over me, his arms crossed over his chest. He tilted his head teasingly. “We’re nearly there now. You need me ta carry you the rest of the way?”
The idea of Duncan MacCrae throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of, well, turnips got me on my feet again. I began to climb, stubbornly ignoring his quiet chuckles and the idea that I’d played right into his hands. Whatever this place was, I doubted anything could be worth the hassle.
The top of the rise opened up into a craterlike field, emerald green and lush, dotted with wildflowers and majestic trees. A clear stream bisected the meadow down the middle, and at the far end, just out of sight, I could hear the trickling of a waterfall. The warm air was fragrant and alive with butterflies of every imaginable hue. If Doon was Utopia, Muir Lea was its Eden.
“Wow!” Okay, so maybe it was worth it.
“Did I not tell ye?”
I ignored his “I told you so” and drank in the wild, unexpected beauty of this secret field. A view-inspired soundtrack—mostly
At the far end of the meadow, I spotted Vee and her very nice prince slipping into the woods. Fabulous! Just what I wanted—more hiking. In hopes of convincing Duncan that we’d gone far enough, I turned to catch him staring at the other half of our little group. The wistful, unguarded expression on his face caused my heart to wrench.
When he caught me staring, he flashed me a sheepish grin. “I think my brother likes your friend.”
And my friend loved his brother. But that wasn’t my secret to tell, so instead I answered with a casual shrug. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“He’s just reserved. What lad has confidence enough to go after what he wants without a little encouragement?”
“If you say so.”
“What say you to giving them a bit o’ alone time?”
I was for anything that didn’t involve traipsing through the forest like a Sondheim character. When I agreed, Duncan spread a green and blue plaid quilt in the shade of a giant tree and bade—there was no other word that quite captured the courtliness of his action—me sit. After our grueling hike, I eagerly complied, collapsing next to him on the soft blanket with a sigh of relief.
“Comfy now?” As he set the picnic basket off to one side, his cheeks pulled the corners of his mouth in a lopsided tug-of-war.
“I guess.” I ignored his self-satisfied smirk and straightened my skirt. “I’d feel better if I were wearing pants.”
Duncan reacted to my words as if he’d swallowed a nest of bees. “You’re—not—wearin’—any pants?”
“No, I’m not. I’m wearing this skirty thingy.”
He made a croaking noise. His eyes looked about to pop out of his head as his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “And what about underneath?”
“That’s none of your business!” The words came out with a squeak as I smoothed my skirt protectively over my thighs. What a perv! Did he really just march me all the way up here in the hopes of getting lucky?
Expression still aghast, he pointed at me. “You made it my business, just now, with your little announcement. Didn’t you?”
Prince or no prince, this was going too far. Duncan crossed a line and I wasn’t about to let him get away with it. “I don’t see why you feel entitled to have a say in whether a girl prefers pants or a skirt. Is there some royal decree I’m missing?”
“Hold up for a moment.” He furrowed his features, thinking hard. “When you say ‘pants,’ what exactly are ye talking about?”
With a frustrated roll of my eyes, I explained as patronizingly as possible. “Cloth that covers up your legs. It goes from your hips to your ankles. Like what you’re wearing.” I indicated the form-fitting clothing Duncan seemed to prefer over the traditional Scottish kilt. Not that I had any complaints.
“Oh.” His wide eyes blinked rapidly as he processed my description. Then he looked at me with a broad smile that dissolved into gut-wrenching laughter. “Tha’s a relief. I thought you were talking about not wearing any knickers.”
Knickers, pants—same thing. I failed to see what was so hilarious. “So?”
“Do me a favor—” He paused as he shook back and forth, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that rolled from the corners of his eyes. “Next time you have the urge to talk about your ‘pants,’ please use the word ‘trousers’ instead. Even ‘breeches’ would serve. Here in Doon, your pants are what’s worn under your trousers.”
Translating in my head, I tracked my way back to Duncan’s overblown reaction and the origin of our misunderstanding. If pants were the Doonian equivalent of underwear, and I’d just insisted—loudly and repeatedly—I wasn’t wearing any …
“You thought that I …?
I flopped face first onto the blanket and willed a gaping hole to swallow me up. It didn’t matter where I ended up—China, Wonderland, a turnip truck—anywhere was better than being forced to stay here and wallow in humiliation.
“It’s okay, woman. In Doon, any conversation about one’s knickers is strictly confidential. I wouldna betray your confidence.” Duncan tried to sound sincere, but tiny guffaws punctuated his speech.
Hyper aware of the blush creeping over my skin, I burrowed deeper into the quilt. Soon I would resemble a sunburned lobster. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”
“Suit yourself.” Duncan reclined on his side until his head was level with mine.
I tried to shut him out and focus on the quiet peacefulness of the glen: dappled sunlight caressing my skin, the soft musical chimes of the distant waterfall, birds calling back and forth in cheery chirps. But I couldn’t ignore the warm air that tickled my hairline each time he exhaled. Heat coaxed the clean scent of leather from his skin. Vibrancy rolled off him in waves and bathed me in undeniable awareness … so much so that I began to tremble.
I turned onto my side and opened my eyes to find him considering me with a half-smile. Determined not to be intimidated by his unwavering gaze, I stared back … for all of ten seconds. I’d always sucked at staring contests, undone by the urge to blink or laugh, or in this case the desire to kiss my opponent. Instead, I looked everywhere but his sincere brown eyes, and tried to pick apart his nearly flawless features.
Were his ears too big, and his slightly stubbled chin too square? Maybe his lips were too full, too perfectly shaped? And his eyes, were they too expressive? The only true imperfection I could find was a slight crook in his nose, a tiny defect that, unfortunately, only enhanced his appearance by proving he was, indeed, human.
Captivated by his striking features, I didn’t realize how long I’d been looking until he squirmed. “Och, you’re makin’ me uncomfortable with your staring.”
He chuckled self-consciously, and that little bit of vulnerability made me bold—that and the memory of how it felt to be in his arms at the dance. So many times the previous evening, I’d ignored the urge to touch his beautiful face. Unable to resist now, I reached out and traced the line of his nose from between his brows to the tip.
“How’d you break your nose?”
Duncan nipped at my finger and I pulled away. His voice when he spoke was so quiet that I leaned toward him to hear. “I’ll give ye one guess.”
“Jamie?” I had a hard time believing his brother would hurt him so deliberately, until I remembered the sword fight the morning Vee and I’d arrived.
“Aye.”
“Do you and your brother often try to kill each other?”
It took a moment for him to grasp my implication, and when he did his eyes widened in shock. “No. My nose was an accident.” He rubbed the crooked bump thoughtfully. “At least I think it was an accident. ’Twas a long time ago.”
Propping myself on my elbows once more, I challenged, “What about the tournament? The day I
