by Aileen Adams
And every time he did not appear, her spirits sank just a bit further. That was what left her most confused. She ought to have been glad to not see him, as he only caused her more upset.
It came as a relief, then, when Mairi caught up to her as she carried a basket of eggs in from the coop. “The mistress wishes to send us to the market for the guest,” she announced with a broad wink.
Olivia did her best to feign ignorance. “The guest?”
“Ye know well who I mean,” Mairi giggled. It was clear Olivia’s reminding her of Tamhas had done little to dissuade her. “He will stay for supper, it seems, and she wishes to have something special for him as she did not have the chance to do so last night.”
Why? Why could he not simply leave?
Why could he not simply stay forever?
If only she could make sense of the conflict he stirred in her breast.
“Verra well,” Olivia murmured, leaving the eggs in the kitchen before removing her apron. It was a reason to get away from the keep, at least. She might move freely without the mingled fear and hope that Boyd would find her.
One day more, and she could be finished with him. No more would she have this gnawing pit of fear in her belly, always wondering what he might do or say.
“What is the matter with ye?” Mairi asked as they set off with empty baskets, intending to walk the road leading down the hill and into the village below. Even at a great distance, the presence of many people doing their marketing in the brilliant morning sunshine was evident.
“Not a thing,” she answered, trying to smile.
A bright, curious girl such as Mairi would not be easily fooled. “Ye woke me before the cock crowed, and now ye will hardly speak. Did something happen? Ye know ye can tell me.”
She stopped, a hand on Olivia’s arm. Her face went pale as milk. “Och, was it Alec?”
“Alec?” Whatever gave her that idea?
Mairi’s face crumpled. “Aye. I heard the laird hollering something terrible at him this morning as I passed the study. I ought not have lingered…”
But she had, naturally.
“What did he say?” Olivia asked, aghast.
“He threatened Alec, told him that simply because his sister was Alec’s mam that it did not give him right to have his way with any maid who caught his eye. Was it ye?” The girl’s eyes swam with tears.
Olivia gave her hand a distracted pat. “Nay, t’was not myself. That is, he did not touch me. But he did…”
“What he is ever tryin’ to do?” Mairi growled. “I wonder how the laird knew of it.”
Had Boyd spoken to him on her behalf? It was all she could imagine, for Laird Calan had been indoors at the time. There had been no stable lads to overhear them, not that she was aware—and if there had been, why would they have gone to the laird?
“I didna speak a word,” Olivia assured her.
“As if I would blame ye, had ye done so!” Mairi snorted as they continued on their way. “He deserved every bit of the laird’s ire and considerably more, if ye ask me. He needs to be put firmly in his place.”
That he did. It would have been lovely, indeed, had she been able to imagine Alec behaving better in the future. To imagine him chastised and apologetic, filled with respect and regret for having behaved in such a manner.
She highly doubted such a thing would come to pass. Not for a man such as himself. He would be angry now, and he might take that anger out upon the next lass who caught his attention.
Or upon her.
So troubled was she by this that she allowed Mairi to chatter on throughout the walk to the village, nodding and making noises at the correct times so as to at least seem to be listening.
Had he spoken to Calan on her behalf? Had he? Now she could hardly wait to return to the keep, that she might find and ask him.
Though she knew not what it would mean if he had. Perhaps he felt sorry for speaking in such a way, for hurting her so deeply. If that was so, she would forgive him in earnest.
If he cared for forgiveness. He might not. He might only have done it because he felt it the right thing, just as he would for any other young woman plagued by a man with a filthy mind and mouth.
“Olivia. Olivia!” Mairi all but shoved her to get her attention once more. “He is behind us!”
“Who is?” For a moment, she expected to find Alec behind them on the road, and her stomach clenched tight enough to hurt.
It was not Alec.
It was the very tall, very broad, very handsome Boyd MacPherson, and he was staring at her as he rode his palfrey to where they had paused.
How very disappointing.
How very thrilling.
16
He had known men whose entire lives were given over to drink.
Normally, it had begun simply. Every man enjoyed his ale, his wine. The problem came when a man—or even a woman—needed that ale or wine or some other drink to live. To rise from their bed, to step foot from their home. To breathe.
He’d known a few such men during the war, had seen the manner in which their entire lives revolved around having that drink they craved. How their hands would shake when they had been without it. How grateful they would be once a cup or jug were pressed into that shaking hand.
He only thought he had understood.
He had not truly until he met her. Until she haunted his every waking thought, his every dream. Until he was reduced to such foolish behavior as following her to the village upon hearing Greer Stewart order her there.
Yes, he was a fool, indeed. A fool who had been foolish enough to speak without thinking, whose wounded pride had voiced itself most terribly. Most cruelly.
The dark-haired lass walking along with Olivia favored him with a most charming smile. “Laird MacPherson. What brings ye to the village this morning?”
“I thought I would take the air,” he replied, doing everything in his power to keep from looking at Olivia. She drew him the way spring blossoms drew bees.
“And here we are, walking all this way to fetch goods for a feast in your honor,” the lass teased. “Ye might have made the ride on our behalf.”
“Mairi!” Olivia gasped, shocked by her friend’s boldness.
He merely laughed. “Aye, perhaps I ought to have done so. Greer Stewart is like to keep ye running from dawn until dusk. A fine woman, to be certain, but ever in a rush.”
He allowed himself to look at her, at last. Her hair gleamed in the sun, framing her face. She was the bonniest thing he had ever seen.
Yet it was not only her hair which gleamed. Her eyes did, as well, and they burned into him. Yet she said not a word. Naturally, for she would not wish to be so truthful while in the presence of another.
“Might I come along with ye?” he asked, turning back to young Mairi. “Tis not often I have the chance to go to market, ye ken.”
Her face flushed with what he supposed was pleasure. “Aye, t’would be a pleasure. Would it not, Olivia?”
Olivia’s brows lifted, but she said not a word. She chose instead to continue along the road.
“Forgive her,” Mairi whispered with a worried glance Olivia’s way. “She is out of sorts, though she will not tell me why.”
“Tis nothing,” he replied, dismounting and leading the palfrey while walking alongside the lass. “Is she a new arrival in the household? I dinna recall seeing her before now.”
“Aye, she joined us a fortnight ago, perhaps. I would not expect a laird to notice such things.”
“Aye, well, she dropped a platter very near me last evening. A man tends to take note of lasses who nearly drop a platter on them.”
“She means well, though I suspect she was not a maid before this,” Mairi confided—then gasped. “Dinna tell the laird, I beg ye. I would not wish to have her lose her position—”
“Worry not,” he assured her. She seemed a good sort, if a bit familiar. He was accustomed to familiar lasses, those who made themselves so that they might become close
to a man on whom they had set their fancy.
She paused beside a cart loaded with onions, speaking to the man selling them, and he used this as an excuse to hurry ahead and speak to Olivia. She walked with her head high, bringing nothing to mind so much as a proud mare tossing her mane about.
“Ye might allow me to speak to ye for a moment,” he murmured, his eyes traveling over a cart laden with apples. The woman selling them tried to catch his eye, but he managed to avoid her.
“Might I?” Olivia asked over her shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I wish to have a word with ye, of course.”
“Of course,” she sighed. “Perhaps I dinna wish to have a word with ye.”
“I ought to have taken time to teach ye how to speak.”
She stopped, stomping her foot, but still, she did not turn about. He bit back a smile. It was nearly too easy to upset her, and when she was upset, it charmed him terribly.
He stopped smiling, though, when he recalled how upset she’d been with him in the stables. That had not been charming. “Forgive me,” he murmured, then stopped himself from speaking further when Mairi reached them.
But she’d heard. He knew she’d heard. For when she looked over her shoulder again, the hardness was gone from her eyes. Softness replaced it, along with warmth that burned through him in an entirely different manner than the blistering heat with which she had glared at him before.
It was a place to start.
Though she still avoided his gaze whenever possible, allowing Mairi to do the speaking for both of them. The lass could certainly speak when she had a mind to.
He wished she would find something else to occupy herself with. If only she would leave them alone. This could well be the last chance he would ever have to speak to the lass, even if there was no chance of telling her what finding her had meant to him.
And how terribly sorry he was for hurting her. Asking her forgiveness was one matter, but explaining why he had done it was another. Making certain she understood and would not hold anything against him meant a greater deal than he could have imagined.
Never had he so wished to make things right, or as right as he could. A laird did not worry himself over such matters. Especially when a lass was involved.
“Boyd MacPherson!” A few elders of Clan Stewart greeted him, drawing him aside that they might discuss the threat of war. He listened to their worries and indeed shared them, remembering that Olivia was not his only concern.
It was easy to forget there were other, even more pressing concerns at hand.
Before long, the sound of raucous laughter floated their way. Before long it was loud enough to attract the attention of even old Camron Stewart, who had been mostly without hearing for as long as Boyd could recall. “What is that, then?” he asked, turning as they all did.
A group of lads had cornered a pair of lasses, trapping them against a wall. The sort of thing lads did when young lasses wandered about without their fathers or brothers to protect them. They laughed among themselves while the lasses tried to escape them.
He knew without seeing who one of the lasses was. He sensed it. Excusing himself, he elbowed his way through the crowd.
Normally, crowds parted for him, but not while they were too interested in the humiliation of a pair of innocent lasses.
“What do ye think yer on about?” he demanded, his blood boiling when one of the lads placed his arms about Olivia’s waist.
“Give us a kiss, then,” the lad urged, while Olivia bent backward to avoid his mouth touching hers.
Boyd gripped his shoulder, pulling him back. “Take yer hands off her!” he roared, throwing the lad aside before turning to Olivia. “Did he harm ye?”
She barely had time to shake her head before the lad drove his head into Boyd’s torso, knocking the wind from his lungs. He heard someone calling his name, announcing to one and all that he was Boyd MacPherson, but the lad either did not hear or did not care.
He threw a punch, his fist connecting with Boyd’s nose, then another which caused his lip to split against his teeth.
Boyd recovered himself, blocking another blow before driving his fist into the lad’s stomach while Olivia and Mairi begged everyone to cease fighting.
A second fist struck the side of Boyd’s face a moment after the lad who’d taken liberties with Olivia fell to the ground. It struck quickly, with sharp jabs which made his ears ring.
“Enough!” Clyde Stewart, Calan’s brother, put an end to it. “This is the laird of the MacPhersons ye attack! And before ye tell me t’was he who began it, ye ought not have troubled these lasses. He merely wished to defend them, and ye behaved like animals!”
He must have been screaming with the fullness of his lungs, yet Boyd could hardly hear him over the ringing still filling his head. His nose and mouth bled, and the side of his face throbbed.
All that mattered was Olivia, who gathered the contents of her dropped basket with trembling hands before stealing a glance his way.
He knew when their eyes met that he would gladly have killed the lad for making her tremble. His heart ached with love even more acute than the aching of his face.
Mairi approached, chewing her lip. “Laird MacPherson, thank ye. Ye did not need to do it for us.”
He did not do it for them, though he could hardly say it. “Dinna think of it,” he grunted, catching his breath. “I suppose ye ought to return to the keep before anything else occurs.”
Before he killed the snide bastards who had the gall to smirk and spit upon the ground when Olivia passed.
17
“Is it true?” Fiona, the weaving woman, stopped Olivia in the kitchen as she used a ladle to draw water from a boiling pot over the fire.
“Is what true?” she asked, working carefully to pour the water into a wide bowl.
“Ye know well what I mean,” Fiona hissed. “Did the laird strike a man in the market?”
Two men, in fact, but that hardly mattered. “Laird Calan?” Olivia blinked. “Goodness, nay!”
Fiona huffed. “Laird MacPherson, and ye know it. Everyone is speaking of it.”
“Everyone?” she murmured, frowning.
“Well? Is it so?”
Her frown deepened. “What matter is it? Aye, he had a fight with dreadful lads in the market. The lad spoke too freely to Mairi and myself and put their hands upon us, and he took it a bit hard.”
“He fought for ye?” Fiona all but swooned.
“Take care ye dinna land in the fire,” Olivia smirked. “It was nothing. He warned the lad, but the lad would not take heed. The fight was entirely theirs. Not mine, not Mairi’s.”
And it had set her heart racing as it never had before. The sight of him coming to her rescue, the relief which had washed over her when he’d pried the young man away. He had touched her, held her, filled her with terror and revulsion.
Boyd had spared her that when no one else would. They had stood by and watched and even laughed. Only he had stepped in to spare her the humiliation.
If she had not loved him before that moment, she had by the time he’d finished—face bloodied, chest heaving. All for her.
She turned away from the fire then, careful to walk slowly and with deliberate steps as she carried the bowl of steaming water from the kitchen and through the keep. It was hardly a simple task, as there always seemed to be someone rushing in one direction or another.
“Careful… make way… pardon me…” She climbed the stone stairs to the upper floor of the house and realized she knew not which room had been given to Boyd. If she had not already suspected this was a foolish notion, she would believe it most certainly now.
“Och, Elspeth,” she called out upon seeing a familiar face. “Which is the room where Laird MacPherson is sleeping while he is with us?”
Elspeth, one of the chambermaids, pointed down the corridor. “The third door to the left. Why?” she asked, with a suspicious smile.
Olivia raised the bowl slightly. “To was
h his wounds after his fight.”
The maid’s eyes lit up. “I would be glad to—”
“It is verra hot,” she whispered, shrugging slightly before turning and hurrying to the door which Elspeth had pointed to. It seemed every woman in the household was determined to have time alone with the man.
Of course, that was precisely what she was trying to do, but she at least had a bit of dignity. She would not throw herself into his path the way so many others would, and she would certainly not gossip and whisper and giggle about him as the rest so openly did.
She would, however, offer to assist him if it meant having a moment alone.
Her hands were full, so she nudged the door with her foot instead. Would she not look like a fool if he were not inside? How she would laugh at herself.
Yet he was inside, and he opened the door. His brow raised when he found her standing there, the bowl of water between them. “Aye?” he murmured. “What have ye come for?”
“I thought I would help you clean your wounds,” she whispered, eyes darting back and forth down the corridor. “It is the least I can do after what you did for me.”
He looked down at the bowl of water, then up at her. “I have been cleaning my wounds for many years, lass. I’ve had quite a lot of practice.”
“I cannot imagine why anyone would wish to wound you,” she muttered with a sigh, now wishing she had never come. “Can you please allow me inside your chambers before someone sees me here?”
“What would it mean if they saw you here?”
“What do you think?” She shoved the bowl at him, sending water sloshing to the floor. “Wash yourself, then.”
“Nay,” he chuckled. “Now that ye have offered to do it for me, the notion appeals. I implore ye, please.” He stepped back, allowing her to enter his chambers after one last look up and down the corridor.
The room was simple, yet it served its purpose. A bed much thicker than the one afforded the maids, for one. A fireplace, though it sat dark and cold just then. It would be ablaze during the night, she knew, when the room would grow quite chill.