RESCUED BY THE HIGHLANDER

by Preston, Rebecca

  “How are you, sweetness?” Maeve asked sincerely as she came into the room.

  She had a little basket under her arm and her eyes were full of concern and Anna couldn’t help herself — without meaning to, she took a deep breath, then crossed the room to pull the woman into a huge hug. Anna wasn’t usually a hugger. It must have been the solitary confinement, she thought to herself with some amusement. Already starting to get to her brain. That wasn’t a good sign.

  Maeve laughed, hugging her back. Her slight, willowy frame was surprisingly strong, surprisingly sturdy as she hugged her — Anna had been afraid she might feel fragile and breakable, but she was a powerful woman still.

  “This sucks,” Anna said honestly, gesturing around the room. “Do you know the whole story?”

  “Not really,” Maeve said, taking a seat in one of the chairs by the table. She’d brought a little pouch of pastries, and Anna couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s funny?”

  “Everyone’s been smuggling those pastries in for me all day,” Anna said, her eyes twinkling with repressed laughter. “I’m going to be the size of a house by the time I get out of here.”

  Maeve laughed along with her, a silvery sound. “No wonder Blair’s been prowling around like a she-wolf. She’s had to make an extra batch of them to cover the men’s afternoon tea.”

  “The men?”

  “The guards. Blair makes a point of sending them a mid-afternoon snack.” Maeve shrugged. “I think it’s a nice gesture. She says it’s to honor their work, all the time, not just when they’re actually fighting off creatures or dealing with the Fae.”

  “Did she send one to the guard outside my room?” Anna enquired sweetly, shooting dagger eyes at the door as though she could somehow impale the man who sat out there. “The guy who’s keeping me locked in here against my will?”

  “He’s only following Donal’s orders,” Maeve sighed, but she didn’t answer the question. Anna privately hoped that he hadn’t gotten his usual afternoon pastry — that Emily had stolen the last few to bring to Anna and he’d missed out. It would make her feel better, albeit in a childish, petty kind of way. That seemed to be all she had left to her name at the moment.

  “Well, Donal’s orders are foolish and I don’t agree with them.”

  “Tell me what happened?”

  “You know there was a hunt last night, right? Something had been killing the local farmers’ sheep on the full moon, so the men were heading off to find it. Bringing a dozen servants with them, by the way, who they didn’t bother arming. Ill-advised. Why not get some of the men who can actually fight to bring the gear?”

  “He probably needed to retain a presence on the wall,” Maeve said thoughtfully. “My late husband always insisted on that. Once or twice, an Unseelie Fae force would get crafty… one group would launch an attack on the other side of the lake, then the other would steal over to attack the castle while it was unguarded. A few close calls later, and it was decided that the walls would stay guarded at all times.”

  She hadn’t thought of that, she had to admit, resentfully. Slight tactical oversight. But nowhere near as bad as the one Donal and his men had made.

  “Anyway, I joined the servants, because I wanted to help.”

  Maeve was already pursing her lips in an unnecessarily judgmental kind of way, and Anna felt aggrieved.

  “What? How was that a problem? There were ten servants there who didn’t know one end of a sword from another. How was I supposed to know it was going to be so dangerous? If I shouldn’t have gone along, neither should any of them.”

  “Fair enough, fair enough,” Maeve said, holding her hands up. “But the servants here have a lot more experience with the Fae than you do…”

  “Well, I have a lot more experience with moving in proper formation,” Anna snapped, all her frustration from the night before returning to her as she told the story. “The men were undisciplined and disorganized, and they got way ahead of the servant group. Left them unguarded. And the wolf — that’s what it was, a huge wolf, the size of a draft horse…”

  “My word. I’ve heard stories of those.” The woman looked genuinely surprised. “Never on this side of the burgh, though…”

  “Yeah. Well. It was big and scary, but it hunted like a wolf. It sensed a weak group had dropped back, and it circled around from where the men were chasing it and found us.” Maeve covered her mouth with her hands. Anna continued, grimly. “We’d all talked a bit about Fae and their weaknesses, and we were smart enough to be in a tight-knit group with all the iron we were carrying pointing outwards, as well as our torches. I stayed to the front, kept the beast’s eyes on me, stared it down. Wounded it a few times when it tried to attack me. And I was just maneuvering it into position to kill it for good when our good friend Donal came trumpeting through the woods and tackled it to the ground. Nearly got himself killed, then yelled at me for risking my life. The goddamn nerve of that guy.”

  “He tackled it? That doesn’t sound like Donal. He may be a little impetuous, but he usually keeps a cool head when it comes to battle.” Maeve was staring at her, honestly confused by the story she’d told.

  Anna tilted her head, also surprised, though for a different reason. Of all the parts of her story she’d expected Maeve to question, this wasn’t on the list.

  “Well, this time he jumped onto the wolf like an idiot,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t know what to tell you. I thought it was pretty stupid myself. And I told him so.”

  “You did?”

  “Of course I did! His stupid mistake nearly got me and all of those servants killed by a wolf. He needed to hear about it so he could do better next time.”

  “No wonder he’s so angry,” Maeve said softly. “You undermined him. In front of all his men. A woman…”

  “A soldier,” Anna corrected her. “I’m a soldier, as well as a woman. I’m more than what they think I am. So are you. So are all women. Do you truly believe there aren’t warrior women?”

  “Dear, I spent time in the Feywild. Do you really think I haven’t encountered female warriors?” Maeve looked amused. “But this life… this life is so much better. I’ve been here for thirty years now, Anna, and I learned long ago to leave the fighting to the men. They excel at it… it’s barbaric, and if the price of having nothing to do with it is that some men are a little condescending to me, well, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

  “That’s fine,” Anna said, grinding her teeth. “That’s fine for you. But what about me? What about all the little girls who don’t want to leave fighting to the boys, who want some say in their own fates? What about them?”

  Maeve didn’t answer. Anna could feel her friend withdrawing from her, and she felt sick to her stomach. Since she’d come here, she couldn’t remember feeling as lonely as she did right now.

  Chapter 39

  “He’s a stubborn man,” Maeve said eventually, and though Anna was very aware she was changing the subject considerably, she didn’t mind. She felt dull, and unwell, and oddly closer to crying than she was used to. And she didn’t want to fight with Maeve. She didn’t have many allies as powerful as this woman at the castle — what would be the sense in alienating her over gender politics? It wasn’t Maeve’s fault she’d been brought up in a time like this, when positions on women were as regressive and sexist as Donal’s were the common assumption. Or were they? She ground her teeth, wishing she’d spent more time reading about society and culture in medieval times and not so much on swords and fighting. Was it possible that there was some proto-feminist utopia nearby that she didn’t even know about? Surely not everyone was so daft that they didn’t realize that women had a huge amount to offer the world beyond babies and housework…

  “Stubborn is putting it mildly.”

  “And so are you,” Maeve concluded, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. “You’re well suited for each other.”

  That threw her for a loop — she felt herself beginning to blush, points of co
lor hot in her cheeks as she stared back at Maeve. What had she meant by that? Did she suspect something was going on between them? Or worse — had Donal said something to her, mentioned to his adoptive mother and confidante that he was sweet on the girl from the lake, the woman who’d travelled here to mock him in front of all his men? “What do you mean?”

  “I know how he carries on when he fancies someone, that’s all,” Maeve said lightly. “And the fact that he hurled himself stupidly into danger to defend you… well, lass, that’s as close to an outright confession of admiration as you’ll get.”

  Anna stared at her, her heart pounding. Even in the midst of her (irritating) flattery that Donal had stronger feelings for her than he had let on, she was annoyed. So, taking over her fight with the wolf — risking his neck and ruining her plan to kill it safely — that was because he was attracted to her? Even his flirting was sexist.

  “I don’t know how to feel about — any of that,” she admitted, being as honest as she could with Maeve about this at least. “He’s a good-looking man. But… would it really work between us, long term? With all our conflict? We’re literally from different worlds, Maeve.”

  “Stranger things have happened, that’s all,” Maeve said innocently, reaching into her basket. “But I thought I’d mention it anyway, in case you were pining away feeling like your love was unrequited.”

  Anna scoffed. “Love?” That wasn’t the right word. Attraction, sure. Passion, sure. Lust — absolutely. But love? To love someone, you had to respect them — and at the moment, she respected Donal about as far as she could throw him. Less far, even. She could probably throw him a decent distance, what with her low center of gravity and the power of pure rage.

  Maeve must have been able to read some of Anna’s expression on her face, because she was laughing aloud. Anna couldn’t help but join her — she had such a musical, infectious laugh, and it was good to feel like they were on good terms again. Maybe there were some things she couldn’t trust her with, but the woman had a good heart.

  “I’ve brought you a few things to occupy your time while you’re in seclusion,” Maeve was explaining, rummaging through the basket. “Now, I know you’re a modern woman with no time for such parochial crafts as needlework…”

  “That’s not fair,” Anna objected. “I can sew.” She’d learned the basics from her father as a young girl, in fact — how to sew on a button, how to mend a tear or stitch a seam, how garments went together and — in a pinch — how to make one herself. She was no expert, but she’d kept up with the hobby. It had served her well for historical re-enactments, and occasionally when her uniform got damaged.

  “I thought you might like to do some embroidery. Just to pass the time.”

  Sure enough, Maeve had a sewing set in her basket. Anna tried not to sigh. She’d never been especially interested in embroidery — decorative sewing just seemed pointless. Repairing damaged clothes, that was much more her speed… but she supposed there were people in the castle much better at that than her. Perhaps she could go and apprentice with one, she thought darkly, would that keep Donal happy? Give her license to leave her room? She accepted the materials gratefully, knowing they were intended in a positive spirit.

  An idea occurred to her. “I don’t suppose I could do some reading while I’m cooped up in here?”

  The other woman tilted her head. “Reading?”

  Anna’s stomach sank. “Tell me you know how to read.”

  Maeve rolled her eyes, a gesture that surprised her. “Of course I know how to read. I just don’t know what you’d want to read.”

  “I visited with some of the scholars the other day,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. What she wanted was a book about how to get the hell out of this stupid era and back to her apartment in the twenty-first century where men, while shitty, didn’t lock her in a room with a literal armed guard on the door. But she couldn’t say all that without making Maeve suspicious — or likely to try to talk her out of it. Probably too dangerous. Everything was too dangerous around this stupid castle. “They had a lot of books. I wonder if I could borrow one.”

  “Those things are useless,” Maeve confided, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, the Fair Folk laugh at the idea of recording any useful knowledge about them. The occultists do try, but most of those tomes are just occultists arguing with each other about what other occultists meant about yet more occultists. I could bring you a few, but they’d put you to sleep.”

  “There aren’t any about … the Loch, or anything?”

  “I can ask. But I’ll have to go later — I have duties to attend to. In the meantime, you can make a start on some embroidery.”

  Anna tried to hoist a smile onto her face, and if it looked fake, Maeve was polite enough not to point it out. The woman slid out of the door like a cloud, leaving Anna feeling about as restless and frustrated as she had at the beginning of the afternoon… though the sun was a lot lower in the sky. Maeve must have stayed longer than she’d thought. It was nearly nightfall. At least that meant dinner would be brought to her… but would she be allowed a torch or some candles to embroider by? She hadn’t been in her room for anything other than sleeping at night yet.

  A quick inspection of the basket Maeve had brought, though, indicated that as always, Maeve had thought of that. There were several candles, sized to fit the ornate candle holder that sat on Anna’s little bedside table. Perfect. She crossed to the door and opened it — the guard sitting out there looked at her with one beady eye.

  “Seriously? Changed the guard again?”

  “Orders,” this guard said flatly. Then he shocked her by continuing: “Captain doesn’t want you beguilin’ any of the men who guard you. Constant rotation. So, don’t try it, I’m wise to your tricks.”

  “Beguile you?” Anna asked blankly. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

  “To escape. The Fair Folk are wily. You might’ve learned some of their tricks.”

  “Then maybe you should stop engaging me in conversation,” Anna suggested idly. The guard stared at her with open suspicion as she lit one of the candles in the torch that was burning on the castle wall, then slipped back into her room. Then, bracing herself, she turned to her exciting new hobby. Embroidery. Well, perhaps she could sew some swear words into some fabric. That would be nice.

  Anna threaded the needle with some difficulty, then stared down at the fabric that Maeve had kindly included for her to practice on. The tiny little point of the needle made her miss her sword something fierce. And with every wobbly stitch she made in the fabric, her frustration grew and grew. What was the point of this? All she was doing was adding bad decoration to a blank piece of fabric. This wasn’t a skill she cared about — this wasn’t an art form she took any particular interest in. She didn’t want to get better at this. She wanted to do what she was good at — what she’d been put on the planet to do. But here she was, stuck in medieval Scotland, a world that didn’t seem to want her to do anything more than bear babies and clean up. And so what if there were other parts of the country that weren’t like that? Even if that desperate hope were true, it didn’t do her much good. Like it or not, she was stuck in this castle, where they understood who she was and where she was from. And if the Laird of this castle was a sexist pig, then she was going to have to abide by that sexism.

  Night came eventually, and so did a servant with a steaming helping of dinner — and, she noticed with a twitch of her mouth, more pastries. Blair was going to have someone’s head on a stick. She ate listlessly, her appetite not particularly strong — it never was, unless she’d actually done something with her day. And unfortunately, today had been a write-off. And so tomorrow would be… and tomorrow… and tomorrow, creeping in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time. She stared out the window, thinking about that line. Shakespeare must have visited Scotland to write that play. She could have told him a thing or two about petty paces.

  A sudden fury gripped h
er, and she put down her embroidery, which she’d taken up again after her listless meal. This was ridiculous. Trapped in a room, that she could just about stomach. But if she was going to be stuck in here with strange men standing outside her door, she was damn well going to steal a weapon.

  Chapter 40

  The thought made her so giddy that she almost marched straight out of her room and down the hall to the armory. It was nighttime, she thought with a dizzy thrill, the armory would be unguarded… she could get in there and really go to town. Another dirk, maybe? Or she could go mad and just steal a broadsword. Yes, they’d miss it, but she’d have it for a little while at least, and that was what counted. She could always pretend that she’d been afraid of the strange men standing outside her doorway day and night — after all, wasn’t that what women were supposed to be? Shrinking violets in need of protection? Donal would probably take it as another insult against him and his men. Well, let him. She was beyond giving a damn what he thought, how insulted he got. (How dare he have feelings for her, she thought, still thinking about what Maeve had said. How dare he show it in such a terrible way.)

  But the guard was still on her door, and she hesitated. If she bolted off down the corridor, there would surely be a ruckus. But at the same time… it wasn’t as though it was particularly stimulating work. Perhaps she could sneak away without his knowing. First, she opened the door, noting with satisfaction that he was sitting on the other side of it, such that when it opened it obscured his view of the room — and of part of the corridor. He looked at her suspiciously.

  “It’s stuffy in my room. Can I have the door open for a bit?” Plaintive, wheedling. The tone would make him feel powerful, and then he’d do what she wanted. Classic ego manipulation. Men were terribly weak, sometimes. He nodded gruffly, and she went back into her room, satisfied for now. She lay out on her bed, continued with the embroidery — waited for the hustle and bustle of the castle to start dying down, post-dinner, for a servant to come through and take away her plates and tray, for silence to descend like a blanket over the castle.