Reckless Scotland

by Vane, Victoria

  His perfect features twisted with a scornful glower. As if she were to blame.

  The bold attempt, coupled with his arrogance, pushed Nora over the edge. Enraged, she jerked back her arm and clouted the man square in the eye.

  Pain arced from her forearm to her elbow, but she scarcely noticed. She held her stance firm as the sotted fool wavered on his feet a moment before he crashed to the ground, the side of his head striking the bed of the wagon on his way down.

  A distinct roaring filled Nora’s ears as she stared at the prone lout in shock. The scarlet-tinged rage cleared from her vision, and she painfully waded back into awareness.

  Holy Mother, what had she done? Stunned, she lifted her hands to cover her mouth.

  The shout of her name pierced her ringing ears. She spun around to see Will and Geordie rushing across the courtyard toward her.

  “Nora!” Will reached her first. His hands gripped her arms in a tight squeeze.

  “Oh, God, Will.” Shaken to the bone, she clutched him to her, hugging him tight.

  Geordie stooped beside them, his knees cracking from the effort, and peered down at the man at their feet. His bushy, gray eyebrows rose to his fading hair line. “Saints, lass, what’s going on here?”

  “I was protecting myself from this…” She flapped her arm at the drunken man. “Arse. He tried to take liberties, so I gave him what he deserved.” Though she’d not meant for him to hit his head on the wagon.

  Her brother examined the prone man’s face with a wince and groaned. “Oh, Nora. What have you done?”

  “Me?” She aimed a fierce glare at the pair of them. “I’ve done naught but protect myself, which would not have happened had the two of you returned when you were supposed to.”

  Almost a head taller, Will stared down at her. “I was fine, Nora.”

  “Aye, this time. You have to be careful.”

  “I shall not let anything happen to him, lass.” Geordie reached up to offer her a fatherly pat on her hand.

  God bless the dear old man. She crushed his wrinkled hand in hers. “I know you would not. But you could be hurt, too, Geordie.”

  Will squatted beside the sotted rogue. “Saints, Nora. You knocked him on his backside.”

  “What did you expect me to do?” she huffed. “Besides, ’twas not me. The fool hit his head on the wagon.”

  Shifting from one knee to the other, Geordie blew out a deep breath. “Well, we cannot leave him here.”

  Will frowned. “We cannot take him to the keep either. They’ll think Nora was trying to kill him. Especially after Fraser’s announcement.”

  What announcement? An odd look passed between the two which did not sit well with Nora.

  Geordie shrugged. “Well then, we’ll have to bring him back to the cottage and let him sleep it off. In the morning, we can explain ’twas naught but a misunderstanding. God willing, he will not blab to Fraser.”

  Disbelief rang in Nora’s ears. Had they taken a knock to their heads, too? They most certainly would not.

  “Nay, you’re not bringing the sotted fool into my cottage. Leave him here in the cold, for all I care. Or better yet, take him to the laird right this instant.”

  Will’s wide eyes met her gaze. “He is the new laird, Nora.”

  *

  Nora wavered on the verge of tears by the time Will and Geordie shouldered the new laird into the cottage she shared with her brother on the outer edge of the village near the forest. Once she pushed open the rough, wooden door and stepped aside for Will and Geordie to pass through, a tear slipped free.

  How was she to explain what she’d done? And more importantly, what were she and Will to do now that Hammish Fraser had chosen to stand aside? She inwardly cursed fate as a tight ball took up residence in her chest.

  “’Tis going to be all right, Nora. We’ll figure something out.” Will offered a reassuring grin.

  “Grab a few blankets, lass,” Geordie said.

  Nora rushed to the trunk in the corner and snatched a couple furs from inside. She laid the pelts out and moved aside so they could settle the man in front of the fire. Stoking the dying flames, she cast a worried glimpse over her shoulder.

  “There, that should do for the night.” Geordie straightened, jamming his fists into his lower back to stretch his old muscles. “Fret not, Nora. We’ll sort things out in the morn.”

  Loyal to a fault, the aging soldier meant well, but he should understand her worries better than anyone. Alas, after living among the Frasers for five years, she feared Geordie had grown too comfortable and settled. Not to mention, age had taken its toll on the man. Well past three scores, Geordie had earned a quiet, unburdened life. Despite his old bones, the old warrior shadowed Will’s steps most days, determined to uphold the oath he’d sworn to her father on his deathbed.

  “I’m just a shout away should either of you have need of me.” He hobbled through the entrance, closing the door after him, and retreated to his little, one-roomed daub and thatch dwelling behind her and Will’s.

  “He’s right.” Will shuffled to the hearth, adding more firewood to the flames. “’Tis no need to fret. Things will look up on the morrow.”

  She frowned at her brother, noting his limp had worsened more than usual. The familiar pang of guilt accompanied the observation. “You should get some rest. Your leg—”

  “Is fine,” he assured her. “’Tis naught but the cool night air.”

  Mayhap, he was right. Nevertheless, she opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his hand. “Please, Nora. There’s no need to mother me as you tend to do. I vow I’m fine. Were I not, then I would say so.”

  Aye, she was guilty of the offense. So what if he was nearly six and ten? He’d always be her younger brother no matter his age or size. Besides, ’twas her place to worry after him. The lad might barrel headlong into trouble if she did not worry after his welfare.

  After Will’s injury and their parents’ deaths, she’d vowed to herself to protect him at all costs. Despite what their futures held, ’twas an unbreakable promise she intended to uphold.

  “What are we going to do?” Frustrated, she plopped down the narrow bench beside the pine table in the middle of the cottage and dropped her head in her hands.

  Will eased down on the stool across from her and grabbed both her hands, clasping them in his own. “We’ll be fine, Nora. The MacGregors are good people. Liam will take care of the clan. I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m not worried about the clan. I’m worried about you.”

  His grip tightened. “Stop this now. There’s naught to worry over. I assure you our bastard of an uncle has long since forgotten us. He’s gotten what he was after. Why do you still worry over this? In the years we’ve been here, has he shown his cursed face even once? Nay, nor will he. He has no idea we’re here. And if he does, he’d not dare challenge Fraser.”

  Aye, but what if Fraser was no longer around to challenge? Then, what was to stop their uncle from resurfacing?

  Despite her brother’s reasonable words, Nora knew better. Tavish MacNab and his loathsome toad of a son, Fergus, would never cease. As long as Will lived, the pair would turn over every stone in Scotland until they located and did away with the rightful heir of the MacNab Clan.

  She released a tired breath. “Why not rest for the eve? We’ll speak with Fraser first thing in the morn.”

  He stifled a yawn and blew out the lantern on the end of the table.

  “Aye, I believe I will bed down for the night. Get some rest, too, Nora.” Nodding at the prone figure, he smirked. “Do not fret over him. You made certain he’ll be out for the rest of the eve.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his teasing, watching as he gained his legs and limped to the separate chamber off the rear of the cottage. Before too long, his soft snores billowed through the night, mingling with the faint hiss and crackle of the fire.

  Against her better judgment, she pushed up from the bench and padded closer to the hearth to inspect thei
r unwanted guest. Firelight cast his features in a warm golden hue. A hint of a bruise formed beneath the eye she’d hit, marring his otherwise perfect features. She wondered if he’d recall their brief encounter. ’Twas doubtful, given how the man reeked of whisky. She softly snorted. In truth, he’d likely feel akin to a pile of sheep dung on the morrow.

  With a satisfied grin, Nora turned away to seek her own bed but paused when an unbidden thought halted her steps. She shifted to face the sleeping figure once more and her shoulders slumped. Vexed by her worrisome thoughts, she moved closer and bent forward to tug the furs under his chin to keep the chill away. He may lack poor manners, but ’twas no reason for Nora to abandon her own. With one final glance at the unconscious man, she retreated to her snug cot along the daub walls in the corner.

  Once she’d bundled beneath the blankets, Nora gripped the small, sheathed dagger stowed beneath her pillow close should she have need to defend herself during the night. While he may be the new laird, the man was still a stranger in her home.

  Chapter Three

  A great, awful banging inside his head dragged Liam amongst the living. In vain, he attempted to crack open his bleary eyes, but could not quite accomplish the feat. Rubbing his palms over his face, he yelped in pain when he touched his swollen left eye. He bolted upright, regretting the action at once.

  The unfamiliar room spun round in circles and his stomach pitched sideways. The sour tang of bile climbed his throat, while a cold sweat broke out over his skin. Dropping onto the pile of furs, he closed his good eye and swallowed until the feeling subsided. After a handful of steadying breaths, the overwhelming sense of someone watching him prodded his good eye open. He tilted his head back a few degrees and managed a one-eyed blink at a young male hovering over him.

  The lad’s dark eyes regarded him with open curiosity. Before Liam could ask who he was, the youth held out a tankard. “Thought you might be needing this.”

  Sucking in a deep drag of air through his nose to settle his stomach, Liam ignored the hammering in his head and forced himself upright. Rays of sunlight spilled through a nearby window, the light brightness his eyes. He grabbed on to the side of his pounding skull and winced at the tenderness. Christ, had he taken part in a brawl and been on the losing end?

  Gingerly, Liam shifted to face the young man and squinted to focus on his features. “Who are you?” And more to the point, “Where the devil am I?”

  “Will Fraser, my lord.” The tawny-haired youth flashed a toothsome grin. “And you’re in my and my sister’s cottage.”

  Fraser.

  Most of last eve bolted to him in a blinding blur. The banquet. His mother. The godforsaken words she’d spoken in Fraser’s solar. Soured bile lingered in his throat, recalling the sting of betrayal. Aye, he remembered that well enough. ’Twas doubtful he’d soon forget.

  “Here.” The young man thrust the goblet at him. “’Tis water. For the ache in your head.”

  Ache was too mild a description. More like piercing gouge after gouge.

  Grateful for the offering, Liam accepted, downing the contents in one long gulp, and then handed the tankard over. “More, please.”

  Will nodded and straightened from his crouch. The thin, young man limped to an earthen jug on a shelf beneath the windowsill and poured the goblet full. Rather than return with the tankard, he placed it alongside a pitcher of wildflowers on the eating table in the center of the cottage.

  “My sister should return any moment. You’re welcome to break your fast with us.” He lowered himself onto a stool and stretched out his leg beneath the table.

  With no small amount of effort, Liam shifted to his knees and stood upright. On shaky legs, he managed the short distance to the table and sank down on a bench. He reached for the tankard of water. “So, Will, how did I come to be here?”

  Because he had no blasted notion whatsoever. In fact, after the horrid affair in Fraser’s solar, little else stood out in his mind.

  “My sister found you passed out beside a grain wagon.” He motioned to Liam’s head with a quirk of his lips. “You’d taken a knock to the head, so we brought you here for the night rather than disrupt the banquet.”

  A knock to the head? Not a drunken brawl with a couple of larger lads?

  Well, that hardly made a lick of sense. He opened his mouth to inquire, but the door creaked open and a lean brunette paused just inside the doorway. With her arms wrapped around a filled handbasket, her measuring gaze passed a thorough sweep over him.

  Will remarked, “’Tis my sister, Venora Fraser, my lord.”

  Her dark brows lowered with a frown. “You’re awake.”

  Liam could’ve sworn his strained ears caught a muttered finally somewhere in the softly spoken words.

  Despite his aching head, he struggled to his feet to attempt a halfhearted bow. “Thanks to you and your brother for the hospitality, my lady.”

  The courteous gesture did little to soften her features. Kicking the door closed with her foot, she pushed ahead and dumped the contents of her hamper onto the table. An array of vegetables and berries spilled out, rolling over the surface.

  Without a glance in his direction, she pursed her lips. “I’m sure they must’ve missed you in the great hall this morn, my lord.”

  His brows rose at the revealing words. It would seem the lass wished to be rid of him which scarcely bothered him in the least. Hell, he’d not asked to spend the eve in their cottage in the first place. Not that he remembered either way.

  Moving to rise, he opened his mouth to bid the pair farewell. But the lad added in a rush of words, “I’ve invited him to dine with us, Nora.”

  The turnip she held dropped from her hand and rolled toward Will, bumping him in the arm. Her frosty gaze flickered to her brother’s. When his lips curled with a smile, she rolled her eyes, snatched her empty basket from the table, and spun on her heel. “Of course you did.”

  Liam darted a questioning glance at Will, but the young man merely shrugged. What was the matter with the blasted woman? Had he somehow offended her?

  At a loss to understand the female, he narrowed his gaze on her slight form as she stomped from one end of the cottage to the other, folding and tucking away furs, stirring the fire, placing a kettle over the flames—anything other than acknowledging his presence.

  Mayhap, she was not a beauty in the same sense as the usual fare of female he bedded, but she was a comely lass. Despite the drab, loose gown she donned, he discerned the shape of her lean frame with an assessing eye. Her small bosom tapered to a narrow waist down to a pair of slender hips. Rich chestnut hair paired with the dark, soul-searing gaze of hers most assuredly held a certain appeal. Not that he planned to comment on the matter.

  In fact, it’d serve him well to stay as far away from the prickly woman as possible. He had his fair share of trouble dealing with worrisome females. More especially, after last eve with his mother.

  “So…” Will spoke, snaring his attention. “You’re the new laird.”

  Liam almost choked on his own spit. “Saints, nay.”

  “But, I heard Laird Fraser at the banquet.”

  He scoffed at the words. “’Tis naught but a misunderstanding, in truth.”

  Nora turned a dubious stare on him. “A misunderstanding?”

  “Aye,” he insisted with a bit more force than intended. He amended in a softened tone, “’Tis a tale I’d rather not discuss at present.”

  Nora’s gaze narrowed. Her mouth opened and closed twice, as if she wished to say more but, thankfully, she refrained. Returning her attention to the fire, she stirred a pot cooking over the flames, while Will plucked red berries strewn over the table, arranging them in a neat pile.

  A hushed quiet lapsed in the tiny cottage and Liam tapped a light cadence on the wooden table. Unable to bear the uncomfortable silence any longer, he glanced over at the hearth. “Venora, is it? Did you enjoy the banquet?”

  “Everyone calls her Nora,” Will volunteered.<
br />
  Her jaw clamped taut, she carried a tray laden with three bowls from the fire to the table, plunking a bowl of porridge in front of him, Will, and an empty place beside her brother. “I was not in attendance, my lord. Though, I had no trouble hearing the festivities from here.”

  Disregarding the note of censure in her tone, he dug into the hot meal, filling his upset stomach with the warm fare.

  He paused between bites to glance at the lass. “I must thank you again for the food and the warm place to rest for the night.”

  She peered up from her bowl, hooking him with her rich brown gaze. ’Twas a lovely pair of eyes, if he cared to comment. Again, he’d no intention of doing so.

  The lass chewed her plump bottom lip, before motioning to her eye. “About your…”

  “Ah, he and I have already spoken about that,” Will interjected. “I explained how you found him after he’d taken a knock to the head.”

  Frowning, she peered at her brother, who aimed a pointed look at her with a lift of his brows.

  Their odd behavior drew Liam’s suspicion. Granted, he’d imbibed far too much drink the night before, but not near enough to dampen the pair’s awkwardness. His own family was an odd sort, but these two—

  A rap at the door resounded in the quiet cottage, startling the three of them alike. Nora sprang from her stool and dashed to the entrance. She tugged open the door to reveal a stout, balding, white-haired elder, framed by the early morning sun, standing on the other side.

  The old man hobbled in. “A good morning to you, Nora.” He tipped his head toward the table. “Will. Laird.”

  It took a moment for the word to slip past the fog in Liam’s pounding head. “What? Nay, ’tis a mis—”

  “You’re just in time to break your fast, Geordie.” Nora ignored him altogether and beckoned the older man over to share the narrow bench with him.

  “You’re a dear, lass.” As he settled beside Liam, the timbers groaned under their weight.

  Shifting toward the edge, Liam cast a wary glance at Geordie, who leaned in closer. The man’s gray eyes studied his features. He pointed a gnarled finger toward Liam’s eye and a wide grin stretched his wrinkled face.