by Fiona Faris
“What are ye laughin’ about?” she asked.
“Ye eyein’ my manly form,” he admitted, hoping to catch her off guard.
“I…I…” she stammered. “I am doin’ nae such thing,” she protested.
“Oh, aye. I saw ye eyein’ me,” he teased.
“In yer dreams,” she sputtered.
“Aye. Ye are definitely in my dreams,” he admitted. “I predict ye will be in them again tonight as well.”
Alana blushed, turning Malcolm’s chuckle into a full-blown laugh. “Ye should nae speak o’ such things,” she chastised.
“Why?” he asked. He was attempting to take her mind off of the pain in her foot, but he also genuinely wanted to hear her answer.
“’Tis nae proper for an unmarried lass tae speak o’ such things with a man that is nae her husband,” she answered. She sounded as if she were quoting the words of a priest at Sunday mass rather than a topic she held any actual knowledge of.
“Have ye e’er kissed a man?” he asked curious. Somehow he doubted that she had. She was bonnie enough to have been kissed by a thousand men, but she carried herself with the innocent naivety of the untouched. He suspected that her drunken attempts at flirtation the night before was not usual behavior for her. She had exhibited nothing but competent self-control since her arrival. He recalled the way she had so fiercely fought the men who had accosted her at the gatherin’ and smiled. She is quite the wee fighter, he noted. She looked as if she would have killed those men before she would have surrendered to their advances.
He remembered the feel of her in his arms as he had carried her to her bedroom. When he had lain her upon the bed, he had wanted nothing more than to lay down stretched out beside her, holding her to his chest. He had been loath to free her from his embrace, but he had done so and reluctantly walked away. The sight of her naked body in the river resurfaced in his mind and he nearly lost his footing on some rocks. He needed to pay closer attention to where they were going and less on fantasies of what he would rather be doing in that moment alone with her out in the forest. “Alana,” he sighed her name.
“Aye?” she asked, looking up at him to see what he wanted.
He had not intended to say her name aloud. To cover his lapse, he suggested, “Let us sit for a moment on this log and rest yer foot.”
“That sounds good. ‘Tis throbbin’ somethin’ fierce,” she admitted.
Malcolm rolled his eyes to the heavens and prayed for better control of his thoughts. He had always prided himself on his ability to think strategically, logically about any situation, but his mind was not his own where Alana was concerned. She brought out an entirely different side of him. He would never have carried another lass about as freely as he had done her or purposefully press his body against hers at every opportunity. She made him feel like he was a young lad of sixteen years all over again. He cleared his throat as he sat down beside her on the log. “Would ye like for me tae carry ye part o’ the way?” he asked.
“Nae, I can make it on my own two feet,” she insisted.
“’Tis nae trouble. Ye are but a wee slip o’ a lass,” he offered.
“I will be fine,” she replied. “Ye ruinin’ yer shirt for me is help enough.”
“’Twas nothin’ o’ note” he answered, brushing her remark aside.
“Yer maither may nae agree,” she reminded him.
“She will understand when she sees yer foot,” he replied.
“Does yer family e’er get angry with one another?” she asked, an odd tone to her voice.
“Oh, aye. Much like any other family, ye ken,” he answered. “Why do ye ask?”
“I have nae seen ye argue with yer sisters once. My brother and I used tae argue fiercely every day,” she noted.
“Aye, we fight on occasion. But since Faither took ill, we have nae fought so much as before. Tragedy has a way o’ bringin’ people together, ye ken?” he explained.
“Aye, I ken.” She nodded her head with a sad expression on her face.
“Aye, ye do at that.” He could have kicked himself for his words. Of course she knew what he was talking about. She had lost her entire family. She knew tragedy far more than he. “I worry about Faither. He is nae improvin’. If anythin’, I fear he is worse.”
“I will do everythin’ in my ken tae help him, but his life is in God’s hands, nae ours,” she promised him. “Let’s gather some o’ the wild plants I need tae make him a soothin’ tea along the way home.”
“Aye. What are we lookin’ for?” he asked, then listened closely as she rattled off a list of medicinal herbs that might be of benefit. The rest of the way home they kept an eye to the ground and gathered what herbs they found, stuffing them into his sporran.
When they arrived back at the castle, they left the fish and the herbs in the kitchen with instructions for the cook to prepare the tea. Malcolm assisted Alana up the stairs to her room and helped her to the bed. He left her there to go and gather some supplies to cleanse the wound and properly bandage it. Upon his return, he uncorked the bottle of whisky and poured a generous portion onto the wound. “’Tis nae as deep as Duncan’s was,” he noted gratefully.
“That is good. Hand me the needle and thread so I can sew it back together,” she requested.
“Nae. I will do it,” he insisted.
“Ye ken how tae sew a wound?” she asked.
“Aye. I earned my share o’ cuts on the sparrin’ field,” he admitted.
Malcolm threaded the needle and pulled the skin of the wound together. “Are ye ready, lass? ‘Twill hurt.”
“Aye,” she answered, then clenched her jaw in preparation.
Malcolm sewed the wound closed with little more than a gasp or two from his patient. “Ye are a strong lass tae be sure,” he praised.
“I tae have had my fair share o’ cuts,” she answered.
“Do ye spar?” he asked, curious about how she had gotten said cuts.
“Aye,” she answered to his surprise.
“With a sword?” he questioned.
“Aye, what else?” she asked sarcastically.
“I am impressed. Are ye any good?” he inquired. He found the thought of a sword in her hand to be quite alluring.
“Aye,” she replied with a glint of challenge in her eyes. “Shall I show ye?”
Malcolm swallowed hard as his mind painted pictures of sparring with her upon the bed. “Aye,” he answered without thinking.
“Good. I will spar with ye the moment my foot has healed. I think ye will find me tae be a worthy challenge,” she replied.
“I have nae doubts,” Malcolm returned, attempting to erase the images from his mind as he finished sewing her wound and bandaged it.
“I should look in on Mary and yer faither,” she said, attempting to stand up.
“I will do it. Ye need tae rest yer foot and allow it tae heal afore ye go traipsin’ about the castle. Ye cannae help anyone as ye are, lass. I will bring ye a bit o’ tea and a bite tae eat.” Malcolm left the room to return to the kitchens.
Upon entry, he found Finlay there teasing the cook by stealing sweet treats. “Brother,” he greeted. “I have a favor tae ask ye.”
“Oh?” Finlay asked around a mouth full of tart.
“Are ye still visitin’ the villages?” he asked, taking a tart from the tray for himself and popping it into his mouth. The sweet taste of strawberries burst in his mouth and he moaned in pleasure at the divine experience. Alana has tae taste these. He grabbed a handful and placed it on a tray with the accoutrements for tea.
“Aye,” Finlay answered, raising his eyebrow in question.
“Would ye be willin’ tae ask about Alana’s family for me?” he asked, grabbing a few more items for the tea tray.
“Have ye finally come tae yer senses, brother?” Finlay asked, hope in his eyes.
“She said somethin’ last night after supper that has me concerned,” Malcolm admitted.
“What did she say?” Finlay asked.
“She said that our family took her family’s home from them,” Malcolm answered. He frowned across the table at his brother. “I cannae imagine Faither doin’ anythin’ o’ the kind. Could she be confused by somethin’ the former laird had done afore I was born? Ye were ‘round then. Do ye remember anythin’ about her family? I discovered today that she had a brother who also died.”
“I was but a lad myself when Donald Murray attacked Kellie Castle. ‘Tis possible. He could have done anythin’ in the time afore that,” Finlay answered, his face drawn in concern. “I will ask about and see what I can discover about the lass and her family for ye brother. I am relieved that ye have come tae yer senses on the matter.”
“I would nae say that, but I will admit I am concerned. I cannae allow such a claim upon our family’s good name tae go unchallenged and the lass deserves tae ken the truth o’ the matter,” Malcolm replied.
“I suppose ye are right about that,” Finlay agreed.
“I thank ye, brother,” Malcolm stated. The brothers clasped forearms, then parted ways once more. Malcolm took the tea tray up to Alana and found her speaking quietly with one of the household maids.
“I thank ye for yer advice, my lady,” the maid curtsied and scurried past Malcolm out of the door.
“What was that about?” he inquired as he laid the tray on the side table.
“She wished for advice on a potion, what herbs tae use and such,” Alana answered.
“’Tis glad I am that the clan feels they can come tae ye for help,” Malcolm replied smiling.
“Aye,” Alana replied, but there was an odd tone to her voice that Malcolm could not quite put his finger on.
* * *
Alana lay in her bed awaiting Malcolm’s return with the tea tray. One of the household maids, a spy for her father, entered the room and asked for a report. Alana could have kicked herself for her drunken slip the night before and then again about her brother in the forest. She had been distracted by the pain in her foot and his shirtless muscled chest. She had covered as best she could for the slip up, but she knew she had sparked some suspicion in his mind about her family. If her father found out she had made such a colossal mistake, he would be furious, but she had no choice. He would need to know about any threat that might interfere with his plans.
Alana gave an honest account of her time with Malcolm and his family, leaving nothing out that might be of aid to her father’s cause. She would not be responsible for his failure, she refused to disappoint him any more than she already had. She swore to make up for her mistake by whatever means he deemed fit. As she finished her message, Malcolm returned with the promised tea. The maid scurried from the room and Malcolm came around to sit with her on the edge of the bed.
“What was that about?” he inquired as he laid the tray on the table beside the bed.
Alana’s mind froze and she felt panic rising from within her as she attempted to construct a believable response. “She wished for advice on a potion, what herbs tae use and such.” She hoped the lie was believable.
“’Tis glad I am that the clan feels they can come tae ye for help,” Malcolm replied smiling.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she replied, “Aye, as am I.” She felt a twinge of guilt for misusing her medicinal skill to mislead him, but it had been the only thing she could think of at the time. She hated lying. It made her feel terrible inside. Every time she lied, her chest would constrict and cause her quite a bit of discomfort physically and emotionally. Her father had always known when she was lying as a child because her body language had always given her away. She had learned to hide it over the years, but she still hated it.
“Nothin’ tae serious, I hope?” Malcolm interrupted her thoughts.
“I beg yer pardon?” Alana asked him to clarify.
“The maid’s ailment. I hope ‘tis nae serious,” he repeated.
“Nae. ‘Tis nae serious,” she answered, inspecting the tea tray to avoid looking him in the eyes.
“Try the strawberry tarts,” he instructed her, lifting one from the tray for her.
Alana did as bid and found herself ingulfed in the most delightful of treats. “They are splendid!” she exclaimed.
“Aye. Our cook is a rare highland gem at that,” he agreed, “but I must admit I have a fondness for anythin’ with strawberries.”
“As do I,” Alana smiled, taking another tart from the tray.
“I will make sure tae tell the cook. Maybe she will make ye a special sweet from time tae time as she does the rest o’ us,” he replied, wiping a crumb from her chin.
Alana blushed with embarrassment. She was sure that she looked a complete mess from limping her way through the forest. She searched around the room for something to brush her hair with and found that she had left her comb lying upon the windowsill. She attempted to rise and get it, but Malcolm stopped her once more from rising.
“Stay off o’ that foot, lass. I see ye eyein’ yer comb. Shall I fetch it for ye?” he offered.
“Aye,” she agreed, frustrated at her confinement. She hated being confined to bed when she was a child and she hated it still, but she handled it now with a little more patience and maturity. At least she hoped she did. Right now I wish tae throttle the man for keepin’ me locked up in here like a wee ailin’ bairn. “I have things tae do, people tae tend,” she informed him.
“They will still be among the livin’ when ye get tae them later on. Is my company so terrible ye would risk hurtin’ yerself further tae flee my presence?” he asked.
“Nae. Ye are most pleasant company when ye are nae gazin’ upon naked lassies unbidden,” she teased. She was supposed to be spending time with him. It was her true purpose for being at Blair Castle and yet she sought to put distance between them in order to quell the rising tide of emotions he made her feel just by being near her.
Malcolm retrieved the comb from the window casement and came over to sit behind her on the bed. “What are ye…” Before Alana could finish her question, he had begun to brush her hair. The sensation was glorious. She closed her eyes and reveled in the comforting feel of the comb and his fingers running through her tresses.
“May I,” he whispered near her ear. His breath was warm and sent shivers of delight down her spine.
“Aye,” she half whispered, half moaned. All protest was lost in the flow of blissful pleasure that traveled throughout her body like a forest stream wild and untamed, yet gentle and refreshing. She felt her spirit lift as if she were floating in a bed of clouds, no longer of the earthly plane. With every rippling brush of his fingers wielding the comb, the more weightless she felt, leaving all of her cares and worries behind. It was intoxicating. He paused for a moment and before she could stop herself, she murmured, “Please, dinnae stop.”
Malcolm chuckled and continued his strokes. Neither of them spoke for some time, not wishing to break the spell. In a stupor of splendid sensation, her body became soft and yielding, leaning back against his with a contented sigh. Malcolm rained gentle kisses down her neck, causing sparks of fire to warm her skin. His hands caressed her curves, his lips traveling around to her throat, causing her to lose all remaining sense of sanity. She clutched his hair in her fists, arching her back to allow him better access. Lost in a haze, she did not fully comprehend what she was doing until a loud knock on the door dragged her out of blissful oblivion into the harshness that was reality.
Alana scurried off of the bed shocked at what she had been about to let him do. She felt as if she had gone from heaven to being dunked in a winter’s loch. “I apologize, Malcolm. I dinnae ken…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. What can I say? I’m sorry, but my father plans tae be the ruin of yers and I have been helping him.
Malcolm arose from the bed and came to stand in front of her, taking her face between his hands. “There is nae anythin’ to be sorrowful for. It was I who am tae blame and I would do it again given the opportunity.”
The knock turned to pounding on the door a
nd Malcolm released her to answer it. Opening the door, he demanded, “What do ye want?”
“Yer faither has taken a turn for the worse. Yer maither has sent Fergus off for the healer,” Finlay answered.
“Did the cook bring him the tea I ordered?” Alana inquired, limping her way over to the door.
“I dinnae ken,” Finlay answered, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her.
“I will go tae him and see what I can do,” Alana promised Malcolm, pushing past Finlay and headed towards the laird’s bedchamber.