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"Ye can wear yer shift," he said with a shrug, and then seeing her expression, asked with concern, "Surely ye packed another one in that bag o' yours?"
Murine bit her lip, but nodded. "Aye, I packed one."
"Good," he said, relaxing, and then pointed out, "Ye can change into it after ye bathe and leave the wet one to dry overnight. Both ye and yer shift'll be clean that way."
Murine grimaced, her shoulders drooping as she admitted, "I did pack one in the bag I brought with me, but my bag is missing. It must ha'e fallen off Henry as we traveled yesterday. I ha'e nothing else to wear."
"It didn't fall off," Dougall assured her. "I had Alick move it to the mare I brought yer brother."
"Oh." She looked so pleased and relieved at this news that Dougall didn't add that it had not been his own idea, but at Conran's suggestion.
Dougall glanced back the way they'd come as he considered the trek they would have to take to fetch her bag. The waterfall had been farther away from the clearing than he'd recalled, and the path through the woods to get here was overgrown, full of those damned thickets that seemed everywhere in this part of the country. They'd caught repeatedly at Murine's gown and slowed their walk to the point that Dougall had been ready to whisk her up in his arms to speed them along. Only Conran's little warning and the fact that she'd no doubt protest the action had held him back from doing so. He didn't care for the idea of making that trip again, twice, both to fetch her bag and then to bring it back, at least not with her hampering his speed.
Glancing back to Murine, he said, "If ye sit yerself down and promise to no' go in the water until I return, I'll go fetch yer bag fer ye."
"I promise," Murine said promptly, dropping to sit where she stood, a happy and excited smile claiming her lips.
The sight made Dougall pause. The lass was so damned beautiful when she smiled like that. Her full pink lips spread, her large blue eyes opened wider and a flush of color bloomed on her cheeks. She looked healthy and happy and so damned kissable.
That thought bringing him up short, Dougall scowled and turned abruptly.
"Stay out o' the water," he barked and then rushed from the clearing as if all the demons in hell were chasing him.
Murine smiled crookedly as she watched Dougall head out along the path. The man acted all stern and grumpy, but truly he was kindhearted under the crustiness. She was quite sure few men would have returned for her bag as he was doing, and his obvious concern for her was sweet. If he were in the market for a wife . . .
Murine pushed the thought aside and turned to peer over the clearing. It had been hard work to get here in her destroyed gown, but was well worth the effort. She didn't think she'd ever seen a spot as lovely.
Smiling faintly, she plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers as she closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky. It was early enough that while the sun had started its downward journey, it was still shining brightly and she enjoyed its warm caress on her skin. In that beautiful spot, bathed in the sun's warm glow, she could almost forget her troubles and what a tangle her life had become.
Almost, Murine thought wryly as she lowered her head and opened her eyes again. That was when she spotted the figure in the woods. Murine had sat down facing Dougall, her back to the water, it left her a perfect view of the woods; otherwise she might never have seen whoever it was. She certainly hadn't heard anyone approach over the sound of the rushing water.
She got slowly to her feet and squinted at the shape she could just make out through the branches, trying to figure out who it was. Was it one of the Buchanan men looking for more game to cook? Or searching for wood? If so, why didn't they approach and say something? They must see her there looking at them.
Frowning, she took a step toward the woods.
"Ye were supposed to stay sitting. Ye promised."
Murine whirled at that barked comment to see Dougall returning with her bag in hand. The man was scowling at her for daring to get to her feet. Good Lord, while she appreciated his concern, he and his brothers all treated her like she was the frailest child in need of constant supervision, and Murine just wasn't used to such treatment. While her father had been concerned when she'd suddenly taken to fainting after her brothers' deaths, he'd been too distracted by her mother's failing health to hover. And certainly Montrose had never worried over her well-being. Having these men treat her like some weak, fragile creature was beginning to wear on her nerves.
"I did no' promise to stay sitting," Murine said mildly. "I promised no' to go in the water. Besides, I was just trying to sort out who--" She paused in her explanation as she turned toward where she'd spotted the figure in the woods and realized that whoever she'd seen through the trees was now gone. She frowned at the spot, and then shrugged and turned her attention back to Dougall as he paused in front of her.
"What were ye trying to sort out?" he asked, now looking into the woods as she had done a moment ago.
Murine just shook her head. She didn't want to get one of the brothers in trouble for spying on her, if they had even been doing that. They might have simply been out hunting wood, and stopped when they spotted her in the clearing.
"Thank ye." Murine took the bag he held.
"Ye're welcome," Dougall rumbled and then reached for the pin of his tartan.
Murine's eyes narrowed warily. "What are ye doing?"
"I told ye, ye can no' swim alone. Should ye faint--"
"But what will ye wear?" Murine asked, reaching up to cover his fingers and prevent his undoing the pin that she knew was the only thing holding his tartan in place. Once it was removed, the cloth would drop like a lady's dress, leaving him in only his shirt.
"Me shirt," he answered simply.
Recalling just how short his shirt was, Murine snatched her hands away and backed up, shaking her head violently. "I'll jest return to camp then," she said and turned toward the path they'd used to get here. "Ye go ahead and swim."
"What? Wait," he said, catching her arm as she started to turn away. "Ye were the one who insisted on bathing ere ye could eat."
"Aye, but I did no' expect ye'd join me, let alone that ye'd think to do so in nothing more than a shirt that barely covers yer treasures and is no doubt see-through when wet."
"Me treasures?" he queried with gentle amusement.
Murine flushed, but gave a weary shrug. "'Tis what Montrose calls his . . . treasures," she ended helplessly, and then added wryly, "The way he talks ye'd think they were made o' gold."
"He talks to ye o' such things?" Dougall asked with dismay.
"Nay," she said quickly, and then grimaced and admitted, "But when he's in his cups he brags about them to his men with little concern that I am present."
Dougall's mouth tightened and he said grimly, "He and I'll ha'e much to talk about when next we meet."
Murine's eyes widened and she swallowed down a sudden lump in her throat as she digested his words. She was touched that he was offended f
or her and wanted to confront her brother on her behalf. However, the truth was Murine was seriously hoping none of them ever encountered her brother again. In fact, shameful as it was to admit, she was rather hoping her poor luck when it came to family would strike again, this time taking her half brother from her. And that was not something she'd ever wished on anyone in her life ere this.
"I'll no' join ye in the water," Dougall said suddenly, drawing her attention back to the matter at hand. She was just relaxing when he added, "But I will ha'e to watch ye while ye're in the water."
"But--" she protested and he cut her off.
"'Tis the way it has to be, lass," Dougall said firmly, "Do ye faint, ye could drown."
Murine sighed with frustration. This damnable fainting was making her life such a bloody misery, and she was becoming convinced that it really was her own fault. She supposed she'd run herself a little ragged after her brothers died, first looking after her mother, and then her father when he fell ill. Like her mother, grief had stolen Murine's appetite, but unlike her mother she hadn't fallen ill, she'd merely begun to faint, and usually at the most inopportune times. Unfortunately, she hadn't regained her appetite since. She just couldn't seem to find an interest in food, or much of anything else really.
That wasn't completely true, Murine acknowledged. She'd perked up a bit while with Jo, Saidh and Edith, and had even begun to eat more again at Sinclair. But after her father's death and moving to England, Murine had lost interest in pretty much everything once more. The tincture Joan had made for her had worked to stave off the fainting fits, but once it had run out, she'd started fainting again.
"Ye can swim in yer shift and I shall just watch here from the shore," Dougall bargained. "That way, if ye run into trouble I will ken it."
Murine stared at him silently for a minute and briefly considered arguing, but doubted that would matter. This was probably the best offer she would receive. If she wanted to bathe, and she really did, then she would have to accept his watching her.
"Very well," she murmured with resignation.
Apparently, Dougall had expected an argument. At least he looked surprised by her easy capitulation, but then he nodded and gestured to the bag she held. "Then get to it. I'm hungry."
