A Saint at the Highland Court: A Friends to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 6)

by Celeste Barclay

  “I wouldnae speak that way again unless ye care to lose yer tongue,” Hardi warned.

  “Staking a claim? I thought she was but your wee little sister,” Henry countered.

  “And ye would say such things aboot a lady in front of her brother?” Hardi put down his mug of ale and straightened. They were of a similar height, but Hardi outweighed Henry by at least two stones of muscle. “Did ye notice the MacLeods at yon table? They’re from Lewis. I dinna think ye want Kieran MacLeod to hear how ye speak aboot his sister-by-marriage. It would upset Lady MacLeod to hear someone speak so crassly aboot her sister, and there isnae aught Kieran wouldnae do to keep Lady Maude happy.”

  “Aye. We saw how he chased her like she was a bitch in heat,” Henry’s younger brother Daniel said as he made an obscene gesture. “He’d do aught to keep dipping his wick in that wax.”

  Hardi struggled to hide his disgust, but he could tell his guards were just as angered by the MacMillans as he was. As the servants cleared away the remnants of the meal, Hardi tried to devise an excuse for his men and him to retire. As the musicians began tuning their instruments, Hardi watched Henry adjust his groin while he stared over Hardi’s shoulder. Hardi knew exactly on whom Henry set his sights. Without a word, Hardi rose and walked to Blair’s table.

  “Lady Blair, may I request the first dance with ye?” Hardi asked softly, but all the women froze when he approached, making his voice the only sound at the table.

  “I would enjoy that, Laird Cameron,” Blair grinned. She glanced at the other ladies, her grin widening. “It’s like having my brother back at court.” To Blair’s mind, after the kiss they shared, it was the extreme opposite of having Lachlan at court, but she’d sworn over and over that she and Hardi were nothing more than friends.

  “Dinna let Henry partner with ye, lass,” Hardi whispered in her ear as they moved into the line of dancers. They stepped into their spots and waited for the music to begin. As they came together, Blair’s fingers rested in Hardi’s palm. She was certain the heat scorched her fingertips, and his hand tingled where her fingers grazed his skin. “I dinna care for the comments he made. I dinna trust him nay to do something ye dinna agree to.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” Blair nodded. They separated and turned to their other partner, moving through several steps before returning to one another. “He makes my skin crawl.”

  “Mine, too,” Hardi chortled.

  “But it’s not your skin he’s trying to crawl into,” Blair reminded him.

  “Aye.” Hardi glanced around the Great Hall and noticed more than one set of male eyes on Blair. “Do ye still carry a blade on ye? Nae yer eating knife but a proper dirk?”

  “Always. Papa insists upon it.”

  “And ye remember what Lachlan and I taught ye?” Hardi persisted.

  “Aye. Maude and I practiced while she was still here.” Blair blushed as she glanced toward Arabella, who danced three couples down from them. “I taught Arabella when we became roommates, so I would have someone to practice against. And there may or may not be a hundred or so nicks in the walls of the two chambers I’ve occupied from where I practiced throwing them.” Her lips twitched, her unrepentance obvious.

  “Good, lass,” Hardi smiled. He let the matter drop, and they remained quiet for the last strains of music. Another man asked Blair to partner with him before Hardi let go of her hands. She accepted without looking back, and she left Hardi wondering if he’d imagined the kiss they shared. Blair appeared utterly unchanged by it, whereas he’d felt the world shift when she stepped into his arms for the dance.

  “Lachlan asked me before he left to be sure you weren’t left without a partner too often.” Hardi looked down to find Arabella Johnstone’s perfectly sculpted face staring up at him. He agreed that she was the most beautiful woman in the Great Hall, but her features were a little too perfect for Hardi’s taste. He glanced over her head to where Blair’s partner was already moving her through the steps of the country reel. He found he much preferred Blair’s deep chestnut hair and eyes to Arabella’s auburn hair and green eyes. He glanced down and nodded. As they moved into the dancers swirling about the floor, he chatted with Arabella, but after the dance ended, he couldn’t recall what they discussed. He found it was that way with each of the ladies he partnered with.

  Several widows and matrons made their appreciation of his physique apparent by the looks they cast him and how they attempted to press their bodies against his, but he wasn’t interested in a tumble with any of them. Once upon a time, before his life fell apart, he would have gladly accepted one or all of their offers, but now none appealed. He knew it wasn’t just the kiss with Blair that left him unenthusiastic. In fact, kissing Blair was the first time in months his body had stirred at the chance to be intimate. He hadn’t been able to drum up an interest in bed sport when he couldn’t set aside the misery of losing so many family members he’d cared deeply for. He hadn’t always agreed with his cousins or his brother, but the six young men had grown close since he and Dougal returned to Tor Castle just after Angus returned from his fostering.

  “Hardi?” Blair’s voice broke through his haze. He straightened against the wall he leaned against and accepted the mug of ale she offered. “You seemed very far away.”

  “I was,” Hardi conceded.

  “I canna imagine how ye must miss them,” Blair abandoned her courtly speech, disliking its pretentious sound when speaking to Hardi about his grief.

  “I didna ken a heart could ache so much without actually breaking,” Hardi admitted. “One moment I’m fine, and the next, the weight of sadness on ma chest makes it feel as though I canna draw another breath.”

  “Ye dinna have to stay in here,” Blair shifted closer. “Nay one will notice if ye retire for the night. Ye dinna look comfortable here.”

  “I’m nae. I keep thinking the music and dancing will distract me. But each eve it’s the same. I feel as though I’m watching through a window rather than being a part of what’s happening around me.”

  “Go to bed, Hardi. Ye look exhausted.” Blair squeezed his forearm, the wall and her body blocking anyone from seeing the sympathetic gesture. “Meet me in the bailey after ye break yer fast.”

  “I think I will.” Hardi handed his empty mug to Blair, offering her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes before turning toward the door. Blair watched him go before handing over the mugs to a passing servant. She spent the rest of the night dancing, but her mind kept straying. She wished she knew how to bring back some of the light and happiness she’d once seen in Hardi’s hazel eyes.

  Twelve

  Hardi and his guards were already in the bailey with their horses when the Sutherland guards entered with Blair between them. She introduced them as Donald and Tomas. He noticed both guards carried large baskets, while she had a satchel over her shoulder. He cocked an eyebrow as she drew near, but he smelled the scent of freshly baked loaves and understood she’d had a picnic packed for them. By the size of the baskets and how the two men hefted them, he suspected she’d ordered enough food to feed a small army rather than the eight people present. As she came to stand before him, stable boys led the horses to the Sutherland guards.

  “Good morn,” Blair offered as she turned to hook her satchel onto her saddle. “I wasn’t sure how long you could be gone, but I didn’t want hunger to be what brought us back early.”

  “And so ye packed enough food should we decide to ride all the way back to Dunrobin,” Hardi teased.

  “I’ve seen ye eat. Dinna pretend like ye plan to share.” Blair squealed as Hardi wrapped his hands around her waist and hoisted her into the saddle. She was unprepared, and felt like she was soaring through the air even though it was only a few feet.

  “What’s to share when all ye leave me are scraps?” Hardi smirked.

  “If ye’re so feeble from hunger, ye had best pray ye can keep up.” Blair spurred her horse and led the party toward the postern gate. Once she cleared the portal, she
urged her horse into a gallop, taking a low wall without a second thought. She pushed her gelding to stay in the lead despite sensing the stallions trying to draw even. Her horse was as competitive as she and disliked having to ride anywhere but the front of the pack. He’d received more than one angry hoof toward his barrel chest when he was a colt when he nipped and tried to push his way forward. Blair’s father, Hamish, had threated to take the horse from her if she couldn’t control him. Hamish had feared she’d be injured because of her horse’s bad temper, even though he was more like a lamb when she handled him. Blair led them to the ridge where she and Lachlan had first spotted the Cameron party arriving. When she reached the crest, the other horses were neck-and-neck with her mount’s rump.

  “I’m fairly certain yer da doesnae approve of ye taking jumps like that,” Hardi mused.

  “Dinna be a sore loser because ma horse is braver than yers,” Blair quipped. It was a ridiculous statement since it was clear Hardi’s horse was a battled-tested warhorse. But Blair leaned over and patted her horse’s neck, playfully whispering, “We canna win next time, Buannaiche. It makes them feel bad.”

  Hardi growled, and several of the men, both Camerons and Sutherlands, grumbled as Blair hooted with laughter. “I didna name ma horse Winner for naught.” Blair swung down from the saddle and led her animal to a patch of tall grass. She pulled a handful loose and rubbed it over the horse’s neck and flanks before hobbling him. She left him to nibble after lifting the satchel from the saddle. She wasn’t sure what to say to the guards since she didn’t think about how they would entertain themselves, but they’d already broken into pairs and were drawing their swords to practice. A Cameron and a Sutherland stood facing away from the group on either side, on watch.

  Hardi lifted the satchel, which was heavier than he expected, from Blair’s shoulder. He walked beside Blair to a clearing where she spread out a plaid. Once they settled, she opened the bag and withdrew three books. Hardi already felt intimidated by their size. He trusted Blair, but he had no wish to make a fool of himself. He hadn’t had to do much besides listen the day before. Now she would expect him to read.

  “Hardi?” Blair kept her voice low. “Do ye ken any of the letters?”

  Hardi wasn’t sure if it was the situation itself or Blair’s soothing tone that put him on edge. He’d never been ashamed of not knowing how to read or write because he’d never been in a situation where the skills were needed; there was always someone of consequence who possessed them. He’d never felt so lacking in his life.

  “Some,” Hardi answered, but he couldn’t bring himself to look Blair in the eye.

  Blair set aside the book she held and inched closer to Hardi. “We willna get anywhere if ye’re embarrassed around me. I dinna think less of ye because ye dinna ken. I think less of yer father for refusing to accept ma father’s offer for ye and Dougal to learn. It was shortsighted and filled with useless pride. I doubt anyone gave ye another opportunity, so I dinna think ye canna read or write because ye squandered the chance.”

  Blair looked across the meadow as she collected her thoughts. She attempted to bury her frustration because it wasn’t directed at Hardi. It was simmering anger toward the people in Hardi’s life who let him down over the years.

  “I think ye’ve spent yer life serving yer clan on the battlefield and on patrol,” Blair went on. “I’m guessing ye have plowed and reaped acres of fields and built leagues of walls, thatched countless roofs, and ensured the welfare of yer people well before ye became laird. Ye arenae lazy or useless. Ye just dinna ken how to do something that I do. I dinna ken how to build a wall or thatch a roof. Do ye think less of me for it?”

  “Nay. Ye ken I dinna.”

  “Will ye teach me if I teach ye?” Blair asked.

  “I dinna follow.”

  “Will ye teach me aboot building walls and thatching roofs? What aboot kenning what to plant and which fields to leave fallow? What if I marry a useless mon who doesnae ken these things? What if he’s a laird who dies before our son can lead? I would need to ken at least a little aboot these things. I will teach ye to read and write, and ye can teach me aboot how to care for the clan outside of a keep.”

  “I never thought aboot those being skills anyone would think to ask to learn. Either ye’re taught them or ye arenae,” Hardi admitted.

  “That’s the point, Hardi. Either ye’re taught to read and write or ye arenae. Did ye think to have Angus teach ye? Mayhap, but it’s clear it didna happen. But those other skills are ones a laird uses all the time. Ye already ken them. I dinna think ye realize how prepared ye already are to be laird.”

  “Ye really think that?” Hardi hated the uncertainty and neediness he heard in his voice. It sounded pathetic to his own ears, as if he was begging for validation.

  “Hardi, there’s more to being a good laird than any of those things I mentioned. A good laird is patient, forgiving, compassionate, fair, focused, driven, compromising, and more than aught, devoted to his clan. Ye are all of those. Ma da wasna meant to be a laird. He was the third son and never imagined his father and two older brothers would die in battle right before his eyes. He didna ken what he was doing. He was so lost and overwhelmed, that he rode to the Sinclairs as soon as the battle was over to ask ma Aunt Kyla for help. He arrived on her wedding day of all times. Aunt Kyla and Uncle Liam agreed to come back to Dunrobin with him for nearly a moon while he sorted out the mess his father and brothers left behind. Aunt Kyla got the keep back in order, but it was Uncle Liam who taught Da how to carry out the duties of a laird. I mean, Da kenned them, but he’d never had them placed on his shoulder and he wasna trained for them. Uncle Liam had been. Lachlan isnae here to help ye the way Uncle Liam helped Da, but I can do a wee bit.”

  Hardi took in the earnestness in Blair’s eyes and her tone. She was pleading with him to let her help, and he would be a fool not to accept what she offered. He’d never considered himself a prideful man, having seen where that got the other men in his family. He wouldn’t become one because it was a woman and a friend offering him help. He couldn’t ignore the beautiful face staring up at him, waiting for his answer.

  But he didn’t understand how his emotions suddenly vacillated between seeing her as the spindly young girl who would race him up apple trees and lob the fruit at him when he wasn’t fast enough to seeing her as one of the most desirable women he’d ever laid eyes on. One moment she was still much like a younger sister, and the next he wanted to steal more kisses. Hardi forced himself to stop thinking about what he wanted—especially since he didn’t even know what that was—and start thinking about what was best for his clan.

  She’s what’s best for the clan. A nagging voice kept echoing in his head. She’s who’s best for ye. Nae that horrid Una Macquarie. Nae any other woman. But I amnae what’s best for her. She deserves to marry a mon, a laird, who isnae little more than an ignorant warrior.

  Hardi nodded his head, and Blair picked up the book she’d put down. She opened it to the middle and rested a cover on each of their thighs, making it easy for them both to see. Hardi looked at the jumble of shapes and marks, not understanding any of it.

  “I dinna expect ye to read this by the nooning, Hardi,” Blair reassured. “I just want to ken if there are any letters ye recognize.”

  Hardi stared at the pages, certain he knew nothing and that he was bound to fail, but as he swept his eyes over the letters before him, he remembered some of them. “I can find the ones that spell ma name.” He pointed to an “h”, an “a,” an “n,” a “d,” an “r,” and an “i,” but he didn’t recognize a “w.” He lowered his eyes, his excitement fizzling.

  “There isnae one, Hardi. There’s nae a “w” on this page. Ye did vera well.”

  “Ye were the one who insisted I at least learn to read and write ma own name.” Hardi looked back at the page and pointed to each letter in his surname. He was proud of himself, and much of the dread slipped away.

  “Do ye recall what order the
letters go in?” Blair tilted her head to see his face since he’d lowered it to look at the book.

  “Aye,” Hardi nodded. He pointed to each letter, but he forced himself to find ones that weren’t the original ones he’d picked out.

  “Excellent. Do ye ken the sounds they make? I mean if ye think aboot how yer name sounds, do ye ken which one is which?”

  “Aye. ‘H’ is the h-h at the beginning.” Hardi repeated the sound twice. “‘A’ is the arr sound.” Hardi stopped when Blair shook her head.

  “Nae quite. In yer Christian name, the ‘a’ doesnae follow the regular rules. It does in yer clan name. C-ahh-meron.” Blair sounded out. “Because there is an ‘r’ next to the ‘a', the ‘r’ sound is stronger. H-arr-dwin. Besides that sneaky ‘a,’ what other sounds do ye hear?”

  Hardi appreciated that Blair attempted to downplay what he didn’t know and acknowledge what he did. He continued. “The ‘d’ is d-d in the middle, then the ‘w’ is the w-w. The ‘i’ is ih, and the ‘n’ is n-n.”

  “Vera good. Are there any others ye can find?” Blair waited as Hardi scanned the rows of letters before him and slowly pointed out one letter after another until he had half of the alphabet identified. He recalled all the sounds of the letters he found. Once he could find no more, Blair asked him to recite as many in order as he could. He stumbled over a few in the middle, but they were both surprised that he only left out three.

  “I didna believe I kenned any of that.” Hardi’s voice reflected his shock.