Reckless Scotland

by Vane, Victoria

  Mairi laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I understand, you know. This was my mother’s garden before she died in childbirth with me.” Her hand slipped away and she ambled through the garden, plucking at leaves as she passed. “For as long as I can remember, my father used to bring me here. We’d spend hours here in the garden, and he’d tell me such wonderful tales of her and how much she loved me and Calum. It might sound foolish, but I feel close to both of them here.”

  Arabella’s heart tugged at the other woman’s words. She moved to Mairi’s side and wrapped her arms around friend.

  “Thank you for sharing this place with me, Mairi. Your love for your mother and father show in the care you’ve taken with this garden. They would be honored to see how well you’ve tended it.”

  Mairi drew away, tears brimming in her eyes, and choked out a laugh. “You know, you’re quite the charmer. I wonder if my brother knows that.”

  Arabella snorted and rolled her eyes at the statement.

  Giggling, Mairi grabbed her hand. “Come on, let me show you the rest of the keep.”

  Much later, Arabella found herself wandering along the travel-worn paths of the adjoining village. The small settlement flourished with activity. Clan members ground the last of the harvested grain for the year at the mill, readying their stores for the long winter ahead. The armor smith pounded horseshoes, while weavers spun wool into fabric at looms. Even the clan elders busied themselves, barreling drams of whisky, skinning hides, or sampling the alewife’s latest batch of brew. Each Macgregor she met exchanged kind words and friendly greetings.

  On the village’s edge, she and Mairi arrived at a thatched cottage cloaked in the scents of healing herbs and medicinals. The dwelling’s sides boasted opened windows and doors, permitting a steady flush of air. To Arabella’s surprise, a tiny stream trickled alongside the cottage, supplying a constant source of fresh water. Even with a limited knowledge of healing, she appreciated the evidence of cleanliness.

  Inside, Elena stood in front of a wooden table laden with jars, pouches, mortars and pestles, and stacks of drying herbs. The older woman wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist and waved them in.

  “Do not just stand there. Come inside. I wished to finish this batch of salve today, and now I can since I have a pair of helpers.”

  Within moments of entering the cottage, Elena set them to work.

  She passed Mairi a bundle of foxglove. “Pluck the leaves from these, dear.” Then she dropped a bunch of dried rowan berries in a stone bowl and passed Arabella a grinder. “And for you, lass, crush these into a fine powder.”

  Elena beamed a bright smile and returned to mixing the contents of a shallow basin. “What mischief have you two gotten in to this morn?”

  “Arabella and I toured the keep and village, and she met several of the clan.”

  “Everyone’s been so kind and welcoming,” Arabella said. “I admit I’m rather impressed with how well the holding runs.”

  “Aye, we MacGregors understand the importance of hard work, and my nephew is a fine leader. He learned well from his father and Hammish.” Elena winked.

  Arabella glanced up from the bowl. “My uncle?”

  Elena nodded. “Aye, the same.”

  “How? I mean, what did he do?” Arabella asked.

  Mairi paused in plucking leaves. “Many years ago when I was not much more than a girl, an enemy clan led a raid on our village late one eve. My father and Calum rushed to protect our people, but my father had taken a grievous blow. The enemy moved in to finish him off, but Calum threw himself over our father to shield him from losing his head.”

  Elena added solemnly, “Alas, my nephew felt the sharp bite of the enemy’s axe that eve.”

  Horror-struck, Arabella covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Cormac did not make it through the night, and many feared Calum would soon follow his father.” Elena rested her wrists on the rim of the basin. “I worked my hardest to clean his wounds, stitch him up, and keep infection from setting in, whilst your uncle did his best to hold our clan together through the troubling time. Fortunately, Calum began to heal from his wounds. I’ve no doubt there were days he would’ve welcomed death, but Hammish stuck by his side, stirring his anger, provoking him to lead our clan. He gave Calum a purpose to keep living and be the man he is today.”

  The older woman smiled. “As it happens, ’twas just the push my nephew needed. I may not like Hammish, but I’m grateful for what he did for Calum.” Elena’s expression turned thoughtful. “He was a young man to accept such a heavy burden. Others might’ve avoided their duties, but he did not. He fell into the role thrust upon him with confidence. Our clan may not be the wealthiest by any means, but Calum’s kept us well-protected and fed for years. He’s a good man, my nephew is.”

  Arabella’s chest ached at the thought of a younger Calum faced with such pain, loss, and responsibility. He was a warrior, through and through.

  Perhaps, ’twas a reason she’d formed an immediate kinship with Calum and Mairi. They shared so much in common. A ravaging fever had claimed her mother and father when she’d been naught more than a girl, leaving Iain to assume leadership of Penswyck at a young age, much like Calum.

  She murmured, “He was so young.”

  “Aye, a man but still a lad.” The older woman laughed. “Of course, he’ll always be a lad to me. Just as my Liam will.”

  “What happened to the clan that attacked?”

  “The enemy paid for their offenses. Hammish made sure of it.” A ruthless gleam flickered in Elena’s gaze.

  Arabella nodded, pleased to learn her uncle exacted revenge on Calum’s behalf. She thought on another matter entirely. She had not forgotten Elena’s cold reception at the evening meal.

  She narrowed her gaze on the older woman. “Why do dislike my uncle so?”

  “Dislike?” Mairi snorted. “Try despise. For as long as I can remember, the two have never shared a kind word, much less been in each other’s company for any length of time.”

  “Hush, you.” Elena grabbed a twig from the table and threw it at her laughing niece who ducked.

  “’Tis true,” Mairi insisted.

  Elena heaved an exasperated sigh and slapped her palms on the table. “All right, I confess. Hammish and I’ve had our differences in the past, but that’s another tale altogether. Besides…” The elegant woman speared Arabella with a dazzling smile. “I’d much rather hear what you think of my nephew.”

  Heat rushed to Arabella’s cheeks and she glanced away from Elena’s interested stare to the mortar’s ground contents. “Why?”

  “Oh come, lass. I noticed the way the pair of you looked at each other last eve.” Elena prodded.

  Saints alive! She could scarcely admit to Calum’s aunt and sister she’d thought of little else but his kisses. Even now, remembering the last in his bedchamber brought an odd flutter to her stomach. “’Tis naught, I assure you.”

  “Humph, well, I’d an inkling the two of you might…” Elena shrugged when Mairi flashed her a sharp glance.

  Arabella’s heart skipped a beat at the glimpse the two women shared. She peered at Elena, suddenly eager for her to finish the statement. Resisting the urge to shake the words from her, she strove for an air of coolness. “Might what?”

  The woman merely shrugged again. “Oh, I’m just being foolish, dear. Pay me no mind.”

  Tell me, she wanted to scream in frustration. Pay her no mind? How could she pay her no mind when the woman’s words set the cogs in her head in motion? For the remainder of the day, she would consider what Elena had left unspoken. Irritated, she glanced away from the pair and grudgingly continued to crush rowan berries.

  No matter how hard she tried to focus on the task, her mind strayed to thoughts of Calum—the care he’d shown her, his thoughtfulness, his embrace. Last eve, his kiss had left her shaken and struggling for balance, but he’d been there to tether her to the earth with his touch. These desirous fe
elings he’d awakened—the pounding of her heart, the quiver in her belly—were too fresh, too new to sort through yet.

  But what of Calum? Did he desire her, too? He had not spoken the words, but his actions…

  Arabella set the pestle aside and blew out a disparaging breath. Now who was being foolish? Sure, he might desire her, but without a dowry, marriage was out of the question. Resigned to her fate, she glumly carried on with her chore in silence.

  “You really do look just like your mother, dear.”

  She glanced up at Elena’s words to find a smile curving the older woman’s lips.

  Arabella returned her grin. “You mentioned the two of you were close.”

  “Aye, since we were naught more than bairns learning to walk.” Elena propped her wrists on the side of the bowl. “It seemed we were always getting into some sort of mischief. I remember the time we clipped each other bald with one of the maid’s sewing shears.”

  “Bald?” Arabella gaped. “What happened?”

  “The maid left two unruly, little girls alone with her sewing is what happened. And we were not completely bald, but close enough by the time the woman remembered she should not have left us alone. Granted, we could not have been more than four or five summers. We truly did not know any better. If you could’ve seen the looks on our mothers’ faces. I’m certain both women cried that eve.” Elena snorted. “Cormac and Hammish, on the other hand, teased us unmercifully about it for years.”

  Laughing, Arabella admitted, “I might’ve as well.”

  Elena smiled fondly. “Arianna was my dearest friend. I was overjoyed when she wed your father because I knew how much the two truly loved each other, but I missed her something fierce when they left for England.” Grief tugged at her features. “Not a day passes that I do not think of her.”

  Swiping at her welling tears, Arabella moved around the table to stand beside the older woman. “I think of her each day as well.”

  Elena swept her in a tight embrace and Arabella held on to the other woman, comforted in the knowledge her mother had such a steadfast friend.

  “I vow you two are going to make me cry, too.” Mairi huffed a sigh.

  Dissolving into laughter, Arabella placed a kiss along the older woman’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  “I’m certain we shall have much more time to speak, my dear.” Elena’s hold tightened and she patted Arabella’s back before pulling free.

  Dashing away stray tears, she returned her attention to her mixing bowl. “Come, lasses. This salve is not going to finish itself.”

  Much later, after the ointment was finished and packed away in jars, she and Mairi bid Elena farewell and slipped out into the village, passing the training fields on their way to the keep. The glint of weaponry and flash of tanned skin drew Arabella’s notice. She paused to take in the display while Mairi continued on without her.

  Scores of warriors, MacGregors and Frasers alike, practiced in the ebbing sunshine. In the middle of the grounds, men sparred with swords and axes, while archers fired at target mounds lining the edge of the fields near the forest.

  In the midst of the action, she caught sight of her uncle fighting amongst men half his age. Brawling with Calum’s first commander, he slammed into Marcus, knocking the other man to his knees. Marcus countered by sweeping Hammish’s legs from beneath him. She gasped as he landed with a solid oomph, flat on his back. Marcus helped him to rise, and then the pair cuffed each other’s shoulders before her uncle lumbered from the fields. He winked at her as he headed into the village.

  Shaking her head, she glanced over the other warriors, hoping to catch a glimpse of Calum. When she found him, her eyes nearly popped from their sockets. Clad in naught but braies and boots, he sparred with Liam.

  Sweat gleamed across his bare back. His muscles flexed with each swing of his sword as he advanced on his cousin. He defeated Liam with a swift, smooth move that left the tip of his weapon pointed at his kin’s neck. Liam spat out a harsh curse and Calum threw his head back, releasing a roar of laughter that rose from the men. He lowered his sword and extended his hand to his cousin, which Liam accepted with a laugh.

  Arabella grinned at the pair. At times, the two men acted as though they were naught more than young lads. Once Liam wandered off to find other sport, Calum ran the back of his arm over his damp brow, turned to leave the fields, and froze when he spotted her.

  Snared by the sight of his solid form, she took in the expanse of his bare skin. The marks on his face spanned down his neck to the side of his chest in a trail of angry, blemished flesh. Her breath caught with the thought of the pain he’d endured.

  Slowly, she let her gaze drift to the breadth of his massive chest and sprinkling of dark hair, damp from his labors. A track of black spanned his chest down to his lean belly, disappearing beneath his braies. As Arabella imagined where the path ended, moisture gathered in her mouth and a spark of heat lit deep in the pit of her belly. Her breath had quickened to the point she panted. The notion of glimpsing Calum’s manhood set her aflame. Her face heated, from her neck to the roots of her hair.

  Faith, what was the matter with her?

  She’d never paid heed to any man in such a manner. Why now? Why him? For the life of her, no matter how hard she tried, she could not dislodge her gaze from that vexing dark patch of hair.

  The bellow of her name shattered her focus and drowned out the sound of her own labored breaths. Startled, her gaze snapped to Calum’s, who stood a few feet from her.

  Holy Mother, when had he moved? Moreover, how long had she stood there eyeing him as he called her name?

  Arabella opened her mouth to force words past her lips, but naught came out. Instead, she stared at him, her mouth gaping open and her face burning from mortification.

  One dark eyebrow hitched upward. “I said, are you enjoying the view, lass?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “’Tis time we spoke, woman.”

  Elena’s hands curled into tight fists as dread swarmed throughout her limbs. She’d not expected his deep voice to ring out in her small, quiet work cottage.

  Nay, that was not entirely true. Truth was she’d awaited him. Even after all these years, she’d feared this day would come. No matter how she’d fought to prevent this very moment, she could not outrun her past—or him—any longer.

  Why the devil was he there, in her tiny cottage, prickling the hair at her nape? Saints above, after ages of bitter hatred and painstaking forced distance, why now?

  Reaching inside herself for a store of courage, she unclenched her hands and swept away the bits of herbs on the table in front of her. Afterward, she wiped her hands on her apron and slowly turned to face the man she’d eluded for nearly a score and eight years.

  There, in the doorway, leaned an arrogant, stubborn Hammish Fraser.

  Despite how he’d aged over the years, the sight of him still had the ability to affect her as when she’d been a young, foolish girl with her head in the clouds. With an air of indifference she did not quite feel, Elena lifted her chin. “Is that so?”

  He crossed the threshold and stalked closer. “You’ve put me off long enough. You bolt every time I get near you. You refuse to be alone in my company.” He lifted a mocking brow. “Why is that, do you suppose?”

  She moved to step around him, but he shook his head and threw out his arm, blocking her escape. “Nay, not this time, Elena. We’re finishing this. Here and now.”

  “You’re addled. There’s naught left to say.” She spun on her heel and busied herself, clearing off her work table.

  Hammish grabbed her upper arm and pulled her to face him once more. The firm grasp of his hand scalded her through the sleeve of her gown. She tried to wriggle free, but he tightened his hold.

  “You left me.” Anger darkened his ruddy face a deep crimson. “You married another man and left me to my own misery. How could you?” He spoke between clenched teeth. “You were supposed to be my wife.”

  The pai
n in his forceful words slammed into her, throwing her off balance, but she grabbed on to her composure just as quick. Marriage was all she’d ever wanted from him, but he’d cruelly rejected her. How dare he mention they were to marry when he’d refused to do so before? She yanked her arm free and backed away from him.

  “Your wife?” she spat out. “You made it perfectly clear that would never happen. Not with me.”

  Assailed anew by the betrayal and heartbreak, she rubbed at the old ache in her chest. On unsteady legs, she managed the short distance to the doorway, allowing the frame to support her weight.

  Rage swirled in the mossy green depths of his eyes. “Why?”

  “Because you did not want me!” The words flew from her mouth in a garbled rush.

  “I came for you, but you’d wed another!”

  The accusation roused her temper. “How fitting of you to only remember what you wish.” He stepped toward her and she threw up her hand to ward him off. “Do not come near me.”

  “Then tell me why,” he demanded. “I have to know. ’Tis a stain on my cursed soul not knowing. For years, Elena, years, I’ve lived with this. Tell me and be done with it.”

  A stain on his soul? What about hers? What of the secrets she’d kept? Guilt shadowed every day of her life. He wanted to know the truth? Then, so be it.

  “I was there, Hammish.”

  “What?” His brows furrowed. “Where?”

  “Outside my brother’s solar. When he asked if you intended to wed me.” A humorless laugh slid past her lips. “I suppose your words served as punishment for my spying on the two of you. Cormac was convinced you were besotted with me. How wrong both of us had been.”

  He crossed his arms over his barrel chest, and his gaze slid from hers to the window. “No doubt I was in my cups at the time.”

  “That I can believe,” she replied dryly. “There were few times you were not.”

  “I do not need the reminder,” he snapped. “I know what an arse I was in my youth, but you knew me better than anyone. You knew why.”