For three nights in a row, she’d sneaked out of the house to cripple the Kestrel. She’d been careful only to do minor damage, but she was running out of time. And places where she could cause trouble without making it obvious that she was trying to keep Dougal on Askaval.
On his second day on the island, he’d told her he admired her. She’d wondered if he was ready to admit that they were meant to be together. For a fleeting instant on the quay, he’d looked at her as if she was the answer to his every prayer. Even thinking back to that enthralling moment made her heart perform acrobatics.
But since then, he’d retreated into a careful friendliness that had her aching for some sign that he thought she was special. They’d worked together in an amity that left her feeling like she starved to death within reach of a nourishing meal. They fixed the boat; they prepared the big house for Christmas; they ate every meal together; they sat with her father in the evenings. They couldn’t be together more, unless she scandalized her parent and the islanders by crawling into Dougal’s bed.
Kirsty had a bleak feeling that if she took such a shocking step, Dougal would just give her a cool, uninvolved smile and tell her to roll over and go to sleep while he did the same.
That same cool, gorgeous smile he’d been giving her for the last three days.
Now he turned to her, smiling as if she was nothing more than a casual acquaintance. Her ardent heart cramped with excruciating yearning as she searched his face for something beyond mere friendliness. She searched in vain. "The hospitality here couldnae have been warmer."
"But ye want to go," she said, wondering why she pursued the subject. When she talked about his departure, she always felt like she punched on a bruise.
She already knew he wanted to go. Every day, he spoke of sailing on the next tide, and she was yet to catch the faintest note of regret in his tone.
No, he saved all his regret for the moment he rushed out to launch his boat, only to discover it was no longer seaworthy.
Kirsty really should hate herself for deceiving him so egregiously. One thing was for sure, if he learned of her midnight activities, he’d hate her. It was a frightening thought, but not frightening enough to make her change her ways.
He sighed again. "Aye, I want to go. But if that storm taught me anything, it’s that I need a reliable craft."
If she had an ounce of conscience, she’d stay in bed tonight and save herself a trip out into the cold December darkness. It was clear that Dougal was no closer to falling in love with her today than he’d been on the morning he arrived. It was mean to keep him from his quest.
But already her busy mind settled on the idea of putting a few small holes behind the cupboard that held his supplies. Easily missed, so he’d have no idea anyone schemed to detain him on the island. The day after tomorrow was Christmas. Surely he wouldn’t want to travel on the Lord’s birthday.
Perhaps after that, this spell of unseasonal good weather would break and keep him here even longer. Then…
Kirsty, you’re wicked. The angels despair of ye.
"Ye dinnae want to risk sinking." She was pleased that her tone struck just the right note of amiable concern.
Kirsty watched him put away his frustration and face the job at hand with the stalwart determination she’d noted from the first. Fair Ellen – if the besom existed at all – was a lucky wench.
"No, I dinnae. So let’s get to work."
Was it progress that he assumed she’d stay at his side all day? She really should be helping with the Christmas baking. In fact, she was surprised that Ruth hadn’t chased her down and insisted on her playing her part.
"Aye, aye, Captain," she said smartly, which roused a smile just as she’d intended.
She loved his smile. The way his face creased with amusement and his bright blue eyes glittered. Every time he smiled at her, she fell another fathom deeper under his spell.
If fate didn’t intend this beautiful man for her, what the devil business did it have bringing him to her doorstep? Dougal was perfect for her in every way. Except for one thing. He was a wee bit slow on the uptake when it came to seeing that Kirsty Macbain was perfect for him, too.
"That’s what I like to see," he said. "Immediate obedience."
When she moved past him, she brushed against his body. The boat offered restricted space, although to her regret, so far Dougal had been a perfect gentleman. She paused to hitch her skirts higher, securing them in her belt so they were clear of the water dribbling into the hull, courtesy of her efforts with a drill last night. A prickling at her neck told her he watched as she revealed her ankles and calves in pretty blue embroidered stockings. But when she turned, he was still staring at the damaged rowlocks.
He hadn’t been looking at her. Clearly wishful thinking. She bit back a sigh and climbed out of the boat to fetch more supplies for the voyage she hoped he never took.
Her shoulders slumped, as she couldn’t help wondering if all her nefarious efforts might come to nothing. She yearned for Dougal Drummond more than she yearned for heaven. Yet she did him wrong every time she opened her mouth.
***
Dougal stifled a curse as the hammer banged on his thumb for the second time in half an hour. It bloody stung. But not as much as it stung to recognize that even a pure knight on a sacred quest had as much old Adam in him as any blockhead who hadn’t left home with great causes in mind.
Plague take it, it was damned difficult to concentrate on repairing his boat when he couldn’t banish the image of sky-blue stockings and two trim ankles from his mind. He couldn’t see the nails he was pounding into the smooth oak sides of the Kestrel. He only saw plaid skirts rising to reveal Kirsty’s legs. The memory dried every drop of moisture from his mouth.
The craziest thing about this was that he already had a fair idea of exactly how Kirsty was shaped. After all