How to Forgive a Highlander (MacGregor Lairds)

by Michelle McLean

  “True. Though they’d be hard put to sneak up on us from that direction,” John said.

  “Aye,” Philip agreed. “And if this is Kirkenroch, then it leaves only the cliffside open. Again, a side which would be nearly impossible to penetrate, regardless.”

  They all nodded and stared at the Xs. Then John turned to Will. “If ye had to guess, what would you think the large X denotes?”

  Anxiety wormed its way through Will’s chest. If he guessed wrong, it could be the difference between winning or losing this battle. Between lives lost and lives saved. He hesitated to say anything, but both men waited.

  “I canna be sure. But I believe it is Glenlyon. As far as I ken, Ramsay is focused on Glenlyon, as he has always been. He’s never mentioned any destination but Glenlyon. And as ye’ve pointed out, few ken the existence of Kirkenroch. Those who remember it think it’s still a ruin.”

  Both men nodded in agreement. “I think ye’re right, lad,” John said, his lips twitching a bit at Will’s obvious irritation at being called lad.

  “Dinna take it to heart, Will,” Philip said with a wry smile. “Ye could be as shriveled and gray as Malcolm’s old cat and he’d still call ye lad.”

  John grinned. “He’s not wrong.”

  Will groaned and carefully refolded the apron. He found a bit of cloth and twine and wrapped it up before calling in another stable boy to run it to Glenlyon. He relayed the information about the Xs, making the lad repeat it to him before letting him go.

  “Well,” John said. “We’ve done what we can to warn Malcolm. Now let’s do what we can to fortify Kirkenroch. We may not have much time, and the day isna getting younger.”

  Will nodded. “What do ye need me to do?”

  They discussed strategies for the coming battle with contingency plans depending on where Ramsay attacked. Will was pleased they treated him as an equal, giving him real responsibilities. Whether Ramsay attacked at Glenlyon or Kirkenroch, Will would stay with the men at Kirkenroch. A small part of him chaffed at not being given the chance to go to Glenlyon and fight Ramsay. But the women would be staying behind at Kirkenroch. Will knew how much his kinsmen cared for their wives. To be asked to protect them was a great honor and responsibility, and Will was humbled at his cousins’ trust in him.

  And Rose would stay behind with her lady. Which meant he could keep an eye on her as well. Whether she wanted him to or not.

  “All right. We canna do more tonight,” Philip said. Then he put a hand on Will’s shoulder. “We need ye to get some rest.”

  Will batted his hand out of the way. “Despite yer jests, I’m no’ some stable boy who needs coddling.”

  “Aye, man, we ken that well,” Philip said. “But ye’ve also spent the night riding like the devil was on yer arse to get here. With a cantankerous lassie and a bleeding wound to boot. Ye’ll be no good to us if ye canna hold a sword.”

  The fact that Rose had said nearly the same thing to him made it all the more galling. Even more so because he knew they weren’t wrong.

  “Get yer arm looked at. It may need stitching if it’s still seeping like that,” he said, pointing to the growing red spot on the bandage. “And then get a few hours of sleep. There’s a room at the end of the hall that should do. Meet me back in the courtyard after the midday meal and I’ll put ye to work.”

  Will wanted to argue again but John frowned. Will sighed. “Aye, my laird.”

  “Good. And Will,” he said, before Will could leave the room.

  “Aye?”

  “If ye want to visit yer lassie, my Bess put her in the small chamber off my suite,” John said with a grin. “Second floor, third door on the right.”

  Will left the room, cursing under his breath as his cousins laughed at his expense. Bastards.

  Yet, when he’d climbed the staircase, instead of going to the room at the end of the hallway, he turned to the third door on the right.

  He had to be out of his mind. But he raised his hand to knock anyway.

  …

  Rose opened the door, eyes widening a bit upon seeing William standing there.

  His rather sheepish grin had her lips twitching in response. “Now that ye have some sewing supplies at yer disposal, I thought perhaps ye could tend to my arm.”

  She opened her mouth to point out there were more qualified women at the manor to tend him. But instead, she opened the door wider and stepped aside so he could enter.

  He came in and looked about her room. It was small but comfortable. A soft cot piled with blankets took up one end of the room, and a fire crackled warmly in the hearth. She even had a narrow, paned window with a cushioned seat along with a table and two chairs. Her room was not hung with the rich tapestries and paintings that were displayed in the larger rooms, but that was as it should be. She was happy with her quarters. Even more so because her mistress was right next door.

  “Sit down,” she bade him.

  He did so, unwinding his kilt from his shoulders.

  There was a bit of blood crusting the bandage, but not nearly as bad as before. Still, once she unwound the bandage and got a good look at the wound, there were several gaps that would heal better with a stitch or two.

  She poured a bit of water from the pitcher on her table and rummaged through the sewing basket she’d found near the bed. In addition to the needles and thread, she also found several clean strips of linen. She snorted softly. Maybe they were used to stitching up their men as often as their socks in the Highlands. It didn’t surprise her. Most tales she’d heard of Scots made them sound like savages who were constantly warring with one another. And the stories William had told her, along with what she’d seen on their travels, hadn’t done much to change that notion. All the more reason to get back home to England as soon as possible.

  She cleaned the wound as best she could and threaded a needle. But she paused before she began. He glanced up at her, a question in his eyes.

  “Are you sure you want me to do this?” she asked. “I’ve never stitched flesh before.”

  He gave her that half grin she loved so much and shrugged. “It’s much the same as stitching cloth. Mayhap a bit tougher to get through.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Stitched yourself up before, have you?”

  “Aye. A time or two.”

  She snorted and leaned back over him. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”

  “Och, it’ll be fine…” His voice broke off with a hiss when she made her first jab. She bit her lip.

  “One second,” he said, reaching over to where she’d laid his coat to dig out a small flask of whisky. He downed three large gulps, then nodded at her to continue.

  He flinched when she poked the needle through the other side of the wound and gently pulled the two sides together. But he didn’t protest, so she kept going, putting in two or three stitches, then biting off the thread and moving to another gaping spot.

  William sat silently through her ministrations, taking another drink now and then, his eyes watching her. Every now and then she’d raise her gaze to meet his and looked away each time, her cheeks growing warmer.

  Finally, she finished. She stepped back with a sigh and regarded her handiwork. “It’s not too bad,” she said, her brow creased in a frown.

  He looked down. “Verra fine,” he said, glancing back at her.

  She flushed again and got a clean strip of linen to wrap around his arm. “I hope it won’t hamper you too much if there’s fighting to be done.”

  He snorted. “I’ve fought with worse.”

  “I bet you have,” she said.

  He stood and dragged his coat back over his shoulder. She stepped back, expecting him to leave now that she’d done what he’d asked. He did move to the door, but instead of leaving, he remained standing in front of it, his back to her.

  She crossed her arms and waited.

  “I am…sorry, that I took ye,” he said finally, his gravelly voice so low she almost couldn’t hear it. “I dinna ken if I’ve sa
id that to ye yet.” He turned back to her and gave her a small smile. “And meant it, at least.”

  She smiled at that, her heart thumping happily. “I suppose you want me to forgive you all your sins in case the battle goes poorly,” she said, trying to joke, though her words were anything but funny.

  His smile faded. “No. There’s no forgiveness for what I’ve done.”

  She frowned, her mouth opening to argue, but he held up a hand.

  “Dinna argue, lass. Not this time. Nothing you can say will absolve me. I took ye, an innocent, put ye in harm’s way in the lair of the very devil. And in doing so, brought that devil to the doorstep of those I hold most dear. How can I expect forgiveness for that?”

  “William,” she murmured, her heart breaking for him.

  He stood, tall and proud before her, but the haunted eyes that stared into hers betrayed the regret that tormented his very soul.

  “You may not be asking for it, and you may not accept it. But you do have my forgiveness.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head, and she took his face in both her hands, forcing him to look at her.

  “You made a mistake. Not one I enjoyed, I’ll grant you that,” she said with a smile that drew a small smile from him. “But you’re as human as the rest of us. No one is infallible, Will. And you’ve since saved my life—more than once.”

  “Yer life was in danger only because of the mistake I made,” he said shaking his head. “It doesna atone for what I did.”

  “You can’t know that,” she insisted. He shook his head, but she pressed on. “I mean it. You don’t know what would have happened had you not taken me. I wasn’t happy letting my mistress board that ship. I would have returned home because I promised her I would. But I’d already started thinking of plans to follow her. I might have done something even more stupid had you not intervened. Or I might have been taken anyway. Lionel saw me that day. He might have seen me return home and decided to take me at some point. Either way, my mistress’s secret would have been discovered, and I’d have been in more danger had I followed her on my own. And as it stands, I am here at my mistress’s side, where I belong. And I’m not alone.”

  She forced herself to keep her gaze locked with his, even if the words she’d uttered, and their implications, made her want to turn and run. He stared into her eyes for what felt like forever. Then he brushed a thumb across her cheek.

  “I dinna deserve yer forgiveness.”

  “You have it anyway.”

  His lips twitched. “Must ye argue with everything I say?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation.

  He laughed and then sighed deeply and dropped his hand. “I should let ye rest.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve rested enough. I couldn’t sleep now.”

  “Nothing I say will change yer mind, will it?”

  She smiled up at him. “No.”

  He sighed. “Ye’d test the patience of the saints themselves.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He laughed and shook his head. Then he rubbed his hand over his face. Despite his insistence, she could see how weary he was.

  “Truce?” she asked. “For tonight, at least?”

  He chuckled again. “Truce.”

  “Good. Come.” She took his hand and drew him to the cushioned seat below the window and drew him down so that he sat beside her.

  He turned, his back against the wall so he could gaze out the window, and she followed, leaning back against him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She closed her eyes, knowing he couldn’t see her face, and savored the feel of his arms about her. Their truce wouldn’t last. He’d always annoy her. He’d probably never forgive himself for all his perceived sins, no matter what she said, and that would be a problem. He was a stubborn Scot who belonged in his savage Highlands, and she was an English maid who belonged…well, she no longer knew where she belonged.

  At Lady Alice’s side, she supposed. Wherever that ended up being. She longed with all her heart to return home. To a civilized city far from the terrifying clan feuds that apparently still raged in the Scottish wilds. To the familiar house where she’d grown up. To her grandmother and the bevy of servants in the Chivers’ household who were more like her family than her real kin.

  But for one night, she could let him hold her. Let herself feel how it might be if things were different. If they were different.

  There was still a good chance one or both of them wouldn’t survive the fight that was coming. She spoke of forgiveness now, but he wasn’t wrong. His actions had put them all in grave danger. He’d done much to make up for that mistake. Hopefully, it would be enough. But if her lady were to be harmed…if she herself came to harm…

  No, it wasn’t all William’s fault. The true villain was the man who hunted them. But Rose couldn’t guarantee that her feelings wouldn’t change if the fight were to go against them.

  But for this moment in time, she would pretend nothing else in the world existed except the two of them.

  Behind her, William’s breathing grew deep and even, and the arms about her loosened, although even in his sleep he kept them about her. She smiled and wrapped her arms about his.

  It would work out. They’d defeat their enemies. The alternative was too painful to consider.

  Chapter Eleven

  Toward dawn, they spotted a lone rider in the distance, galloping like hell itself was on his tail.

  They were already dressed. They went downstairs, right behind Philip and Lady Alice. John and Lady Elizabet were already in the Great Hall, preparing themselves and sending others scurrying.

  “He’s here,” Philip said, not making it a question. John nodded. “Spotted a few miles away with a large group of men. He marches on Malcolm.”

  The tight knot of anxiety that had lodged itself in Will’s gut loosened. He feared for those at Glenlyon, but it had been his call on where Ramsay would attack, and the thought he might have been wrong had been a heavy burden.

  What men were at the manor were already scurrying to and fro, preparing to ride out.

  “He attacks Glenlyon?” Philip asked, eyes wide with surprise. “He’s a reckless lunatic, but I never believed he’d be so mad as to attack The Lion in his own lair.”

  John strapped his sword to his hip. “Aye, well I wouldna be surprised by anything that bastard did.” He looked at Philip and then Will. “But it ends today.”

  They both nodded and then Philip and John turned to their wives to discuss the arrangements for the coming battle. Will already knew his place. He’d stay at Kirkenroch and help lead the men so that Philip could ride to Glenlyon with a small contingent of men and help Malcolm. John would not leave his heavily pregnant wife.

  Both Lady Elizabet and Lady Alice seemed to find their men’s insistence that they remain in hiding irksome. Their men had their hands full getting them to agree. Especially Philip with Lady Alice. But after a few minutes of arguing, she finally seemed to agree to stay put.

  Will caught Rose’s gaze and gave her half a smile. She returned it and then turned back to her task. She and Will were in charge of overseeing moving what women and children were in the house up to a small, hidden storage chamber off Lady Alice’s suite, along with securing provisions to keep them comfortable, while John mobilized the men who’d stayed behind.

  Of course, Rose had her own ideas on how this would best be accomplished.

  Will moved through the kitchens, setting women to gathering up food and drink for those who would be in hiding. Rose followed close on his heels. As they had no idea how long such tactics might be necessary, he debated how much to gather along with which items would be most useful. And Rose disagreed with him on almost every choice.

  “Not those,” Rose said after he pointed to a bushel of apples.

  Will closed his eyes and sighed. “What is wrong with apples? They are juicy and will give the children something to suck on if the attack lasts long enough that drink grow
s scarce.”

  “And gnawing on those will make small stomachs upset, especially those small green ones, and especially if there is little else in their bellies. You don’t want a room full of sick children do you? The smell alone would lead the enemy right to us.”

  He clenched his jaw, then nodded. “Fine. Take half as many.” He raised a hand to point at several loaves of bread but Rose was already shaking her head.

  “Ye canna be objecting to bread,” he said, ready to pull his hair out by the root.

  “Not entirely, but the travel rations will give the younger children something to gnaw on.”

  “I thought we didna want them gnawing on anything.”

  “We don’t want them gnawing on green apples. Oat loaves are fine.”

  He plastered a strained smile on his lips. “How about ye take care of matters here, and I’ll do a walk-through of the rooms on this floor to be sure everyone is where they should be.”

  He turned and tried to leave before Rose could follow him. Another hour of her hounding his heels and berating him for every decision he made and the temptation was strong to turn her over to the enemy.

  She quickly pointed out a few things to the housekeeper and hurried to follow.

  He strode by two rooms, poking his head in before moving on, when she caught up with him.

  “You can’t check the rooms like that! You have to actually go inside.”

  He rounded on her, startling her enough that she jumped and pressed back against the wall. He took advantage, looming over her so she was pinned.

  “Do ye doubt my ability to carry out the orders my laird set out for me?” he asked, leaning in so he could speak quietly. Not that there was anyone to hear. Despite her worries, everyone save he, Rose, and the housekeeper had long since taken position where they were bid.

  She blinked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “No, of course not.”

  “Then why are ye questioning every decision I make?”