A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2)

by Darcy Armstrong

  “Ye're bonny,” he whispered.

  “Ye're saying that because ye’re about to get what ye want,” she whispered back and he could hear the laughter in her voice.

  “I wonder if we’re both about to get what we want,” he said.

  “Then why dinnae ye stop talking and give it to me?”

  “Oh, my pleasure,” he rumbled, reaching underneath the sheets to pull her atop him. Lilidh rolled, sitting upright with her legs on either side of him, pulling the sheet around her like a cloak. Only her breasts and stomach were visible. He ran his hand over the faint lines on her belly; a legacy of childbirth, a reminder of his absence. She took his hands and moved them up to her breasts and he wrapped his hands around each one, squeezing gently, pulling his hands back and pinching her nipples. From within the cloak of sheets, Lilidh moaned.

  “No' so loud,” Mathe warned. “I dinnae want to get interrupted again.”

  She lifted a pillow and put it over her face with one hand, even as she lifted her pelvis up and used the other hand to ease him in. They both gasped and then he reached down and placed both hands on her arse, guiding her back and forth, silently marvelling at the waves of pleasure that rolled over him at her sliding touch. She needed little encouragement from him, though; after a few tentative rocks, her own movements became more forceful, more insistent. The pillow dropped away, and she panted into the darkness. Mathe put his head back and she leant forward, lowering her breasts to his mouth, and the sensation made him grunt with urgent need.

  She was everything he ever needed for the rest of his life.

  “Mathe,” she whispered as she rocked back and forth, repeating it over and over. “Mathe.”

  Her breath was hot in his ear, and his nose was filled with the musky smell of her. It was intoxicating, and he slowly lost himself to the sound of her voice and the sensations that rippled outwards from his core. He floated on a wave of feverish intensity, feeling it build, becoming something both mighty and profound. His hands tightened on her and he groaned as he found release, pushing harder, deeper, feeling himself connected to his wife as he never had before.

  Then he fell back with a sigh, and she lay her head down on his chest. Mathe relaxed, feeling his breathing slow, and watched the room around them lighten with the coming of dawn.

  “What are yer plans today?” Lilidh asked sleepily without raising her head. He felt her voice rumble through his chest.

  “I have a surprise for the lad,” he whispered.

  “Aye?” Lilidh asked.

  “Aye. They’re over in the stables. I might get them soon, before he wakes.”

  “I really dinnae want to move, but I’m intrigued,” Lilidh admitted.

  “Well, ye can wait, just like Fynn,” Mathe said with a smile. “Now where are my pants?”

  Lilidh reached under the sheet and pulled them out. “Ye need to keep better track of these.”

  Mathe laughed softly. “Then stop giving me a reason to take them off.”

  “Never,” she declared. “That was too good.”

  “Aye, it was. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Why dinnae ye wake the lad up for when I return? He’s going to love it, I promise.”

  “Alright. Anything else?”

  He paused, then looked back. “Aye. Ye're bonny.”

  Mathe hurried back to the West Gate, wearing a smile that he couldn’t seem to smooth over. Would every morning start like this one, when they had their own house and Fynn slept in his own room? He had a spring in his step and felt refreshed despite the late night. The inn looked dark, so Mathe let himself into the stables through the side alleyway, picked up the two fishing rods, and returned. As he skipped over the wooden planks the neighbour watched him in silence, still sitting on his porch despite the early hour. Mathe lifted his hand in a wave, but the man ignored the gesture and turned away. He set the rods on the porch and popped his head back through the front door.

  “Fynn,” he said, “Good morning. I have a surprise for ye.”

  “For me?” the boy asked, leaping up from the floor. “What is it?”

  “Ye’ll have to see for yerself,” Mathe replied, giving Lilidh a wink. He retreated out to the porch and Fynn followed him, looking around eagerly, until he spotted the rods. He froze and his face light up brighter than the rising sun breaking over the town.

  “Mama!” he screamed, unable to contain his excitement. “Mathe got me a fishing rod!”

  “Aye, a rod for ye, and one for me. I figure it’s about time ye learnt how to fish properly.” He smiled at Lilidh. “And I promised yer mother that we’d eat more than just potatoes tonight.”

  “Nay potatoes?” the boy asked, his smile getting even wider.

  “Potatoes and fish,” Mathe said. “Hopefully. Let’s no' get ahead of ourselves though; I was never a good fisherman.”

  “Where did ye get them?” Lilidh asked.

  “I found them down the back of the stables,” Mathe explained. “I asked Rabby about them, and he said they hadnae been used in years. If I could clean them up, I could have them. I’ve been working on them whenever I get a chance.”

  She nodded. “Thank ye, Mathe. This will mean a lot to Fynn.”

  “Aye, mama,” the boy replied. “I’m going to catch a hundred fish.”

  “A hundred?” Mathe asked. “Fynn, that’s a lot of fish.”

  “Aye,” he said happily. “So many fish we willnae even need potatoes.”

  Mathe chuckled. “Why dinnae ye get dressed and we’ll head down to the Dundonnell? We might need all day, so we might as well get an early start.”

  The boy ran back inside, Lilidh following, and Mathe gathered his things; the two rods, a small knife, an old bucket, and a handful of rags. He hadn’t been lying to the boy; he was a terrible fisherman, but was looking forward to it all the same. A chance to get out of the town and relax, where the most important thing in life was the twitch of the rod.

  Fynn came back out with his mother, and Mathe gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Wish us luck,” he said.

  “Bring me a hundred fish,” she replied.

  He took the boy and balanced across the wooden planks and turned their direction towards the south gate. The townspeople were rising, and the streets were becoming busy with merchants and workers starting their day. Chimney smoke hung heavy in the air. The sky was lightening into a brilliant blue without a cloud to be seen, holding in it the promise of a glorious morning. Whether it stayed like that all day was another matter, of course, but Mathe didn’t mind.

  “Where are we going?” the boy asked.

  “Out through the south gate, then down to the Dundonnell. There’s an auld jetty there, past the water mill. We should be able to sit at the end and drop our lines in.”

  “And there’s lots of fish there?”

  “I have nay idea,” Mathe said truthfully. “That’s the thing about fishing; ye dinnae actually know until ye start.”

  Fynn considered this. “I hope there’s fish there,” he finally said. “It’s a long walk.”

  They departed through the south gate and followed the road until it veered sharply to the left, then stepped off onto an old trail that passed through a scattered forest. Mathe hadn’t been down there for many years and had a sudden memory of all the times he came to fetch back the McCaskill boys. They were both smitten with the young McPhee lass, although Blaine tried to hide it, and Kenzie only had eyes for Arran.

  They were good boys, those two, and Mathe felt the sting of guilt at the way he used to treat them. Not rude, exactly, but always remaining cold and aloof. The old laird had no patience for the games of childhood and seemed almost impatient for them both to grow into men, and so Mathe always made sure he didn’t pay them any undue attention. Even so, there were times when he could only regard them with silent admiration as they did their best to grow and live and love under their father’s influence.

  The trees thinned and the jetty appeared, stretching out over the Dundonnell. The old mill w
as still there. It seemed to be in considerably worse shape and the door hung by one hinge, as if it had weathered a mighty kick. In fact, the whole building looked in danger of collapsing altogether.

  “Is that it?” asked Fynn.

  “Aye, that’s our jetty,” Mathe replied. “So are ye ready to catch some fish?”

  “Aye!” the boy shouted.

  The sun continued its ascent, stretching upwards towards the sky. It sparkled on the water and Mathe squinted as he looked down, frowning.

  Half of the morning gone, and not one fish to show for it.

  Fynn had long ago given up and lay on his back, one arm draped over his face, resting lazily in the sun. Mathe remained on the end of the jetty with his legs hanging over. His bare feet dipped in the cold water as he scanned intently. He could see shapes down there. He knew there were fish. They just couldn’t catch one. His neck ached and his back hurt, and he finally threw down the rod in disgust. The noise alerted Fynn, and he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  “Anything?” the boy asked hopefully.

  “Nay,” Mathe replied, shaking his head mournfully. “No' one thing.”

  Fynn nodded and looked around. He frowned at something behind them.

  “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing to the bank.

  Mathe turned and saw Fergus standing by the old mill, watching them with his arms crossed. The old man raised one hand in greeting and Mathe waved back, getting slowly to his feet with a groan.

  “Ye wait here, Fynn,” he said. “I need to speak to that man for a few moments.”

  “Alright,” Fynn said. “Who is he?”

  “Remember that job I told ye about?”

  “Aye, the com… the coma…”

  “Commission. I need to speak to him about that. I’ll be back soon.”

  Mathe walked back along the length of the jetty and to the shade of the mill. It was hot in the sun, and he was grateful for the respite. Fergus joined him and looked around rather casually, but there was no mistaking the sharpness of his eyes.

  “Any luck?” the old man asked.

  Mathe snorted. “I’ve been lucky enough to waste my morning. No' even a bite.”

  “Where have ye been casting?”

  “At our feet and as far out as we can go.”

  Fergus nodded. “Why dinnae ye try turning around and casting towards the bank. Sometimes, on a hot day like this, the fish like to move through the weeds in the shallow water.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Anything to report?”

  Mathe shook his head. “Naught substantial. I went down to the Dog Ear yesterday, had a drink, and let the innkeeper know I was back.”

  “And how was that?”

  “Uncomfortable,” Matte admitted. “It’s a place I never wanted to step back into. Anyway, the innkeeper said little, just a few vague complaints about the laird, and then I left. Didnae want to seem too eager.”

  Fergus nodded. “Ye think he’s part of something?”

  “Hard to say, just yet. Could have been he was feeling me out, or maybe he just likes to complain. I told him I’d go back tonight for dinner though, so I guess we’ll see if it brings anyone else out of the woodwork.”

  “Tonight, ye say?” Fergus asked. “Think we can meet here again tomorrow, then?”

  “I’d rather no',” Mathe said. “We probably shouldnae be doing this at all.”

  “Aye, I hear ye, but Blaine is getting a little nervous about all of this. He wants it resolved as quickly as possible.”

  “Believe me, so do I,” Mathe replied, “But why is Blaine suddenly more nervous now than he was two days ago? He seemed fine with the timeline that I gave him.”

  “Yesterday we heard a rumour that King James has finally defeated the Douglases in the south. Could have been unfounded, but we heard it twice more this morning. If it’s true, it means the king will probably look north, and soon. War in the Highlands just came one step closer, which only increases the pressure on Blaine to choose a side.”

  Mathe nodded, wondering if this was good timing or bad. “Fine, let me go back tonight, see who I can see, and I’ll meet ye back here again tomorrow.”

  “Aye. Let’s make it early though; I have a big day.”

  “Fine. A morning walk by the river could be good for my disposition. And I might need to take a swim, to get the stench of the Dog Ear out of my clothes.”

  Fergus barked a laugh. “Good luck, MacBrennan.”

  “Just Mathe.”

  “Aye,” the old man said with a nod. “Good luck, Mathe.”

  Fergus turned and walked back into the trees, and Mathe returned to Fynn at the end of the jetty. The boy was looking out to the lands of the McPhees.

  “What do ye say we try one more time for a fish, before we pack it in,” Mathe called to him. “I’d hate to think our dinner was swimming underneath us right now and we didnae even try.”

  “Alright,” Fynn said dubiously, standing and preparing to throw his line out to into the river.

  “This way,” Mathe said, nodding back to the bank. “I have an idea.”

  Together they cast back into the shallow water at the edge of the Dundonnell and fished under the midday sun. It slowly reached its zenith and began to drop, and Mathe was about to call it a day when Fynn’s rod jerked. The boy was half asleep and his head raised in confusion and he looked around.

  “What was that?” he asked, but before Mathe could answer the rod bounced again, then the end bent down towards the water.

  “Ye have a fish, lad,” Mathe said, “Quickly, like I taught ye.”

  Fynn pulled the rod up and to one side, counteracting against the fish trailing away to their left. With his other hand he grasped the line and pulled it up, and Mathe reached over to help steady the rod. It bucked and jumped and bent alarmingly.

  “Let some line out, lad,” Mathe said. “Give it a bit of room to tire itself out.”

  Fynn nodded, his face scrunched in concentration, and let some line slip through his fingers. “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Good. Now let’s pull him in again.”

  Slowly they worked, letting the line out before pulling it back, feeling the fish’s attempts at escape grow weaker over time, and then it breached the surface, sparkling with a brilliant silver in the sun.

  “There it is,” Fynn called excitedly. “It’s big!”

  “Aye, it is,” Mathe said. “This is the most important part; ye dinnae want to get ahead of yerself. Slow and steady, just like we’ve been doing.”

  The fish breached again and Mathe rolled onto his stomach, reaching one long arm down to the water, the bucket in his hand. Fynn worked the line and pulled the fish closer, and all at once Mathe scooped the bucket into the water and pulled it out in triumph. The fish jerked around violently, so big that it’s tail twitched out over the top. Mathe crawled back and put the bucket onto the jetty and covered it with a rag, pulling it tight down the sides, until the fish stopped moving. Fynn watched with wide eyes.

  “Ready?” Mathe asked, and the boy nodded eagerly. He pulled the rag off slowly, revealing a very good sized fish, silver with a hint of yellow, and black spots covering its back. It was as long as his arm.

  “What is it?” Fynn asked breathlessly.

  “It’s a trout, and a verra good one,” Mathe replied with a smile. “Well done, lad, ye saved the day.”

  18

  Lilidh MacBrennan

  It wasn’t until late afternoon that Cora entered the kitchens, walking with her back straight and studiously ignoring both Lilidh and Torrey.

  Lilidh didn’t mind, and decided that if that was the sort of treatment they could expect, then it was actually an improvement. She wondered what Margaret had said to the other girl, and if she’d also received a warning. No matter; it wasn’t any of her business, and she wasn’t going to waste any of her time thinking about it. Instead, Lilidh busied herself in her work, scrubbing the flat pans from the ovens and stacking them to dry. The o
nly way to look was forward, after all.

  A bell rang out, signifying the end of the day, and she stretched and untied her apron. Her body must have been getting stronger, as her fingers no longer stung from the effort of scrubbing and constant exposure to hot water, and her back didn’t ache like it used to. She’d been worried that the job might break her, but it seemed she only needed to toughen to its demands. Who would have thought; Lilidh MacBrennan, the successful kitchen-hand. And yet, for her son, Lilidh would be the best damn kitchen-hand in Dun Lagaidh.

  Torrey gave her a quick wave goodbye, which Lilidh returned. Even as her relationship with Cora seemed beyond any hope of salvation, Torrey was warming to her. It was a strange feeling to have something almost like a friend, to greet in the morning and say goodbye to after a long day. Lilidh decided she liked the feeling.

  And then Cora’s voice cut through the air.

  “Back to yer husband, aye?” she asked, mouth twisting.

  Lilidh paused, feeling something take hold deep in the pit of her stomach. She knew Mathe was lying low, and they both accepted that it was only a matter of time before his return became common knowledge, but to hear it so bluntly from Cora made her feel cold. Torrey had also paused and looked over.

  “That’s right,” Cora said in disgust. “I heard last night. The return of the monster MacBrennan.” She shook her head. “Just what this town needs.”

  “Where did ye hear that?” Lilidh asked as calmly as she could.

  Cora shrugged. “A friend told me. He spends time in those disgusting inns down in the auld quarter. I guess MacBrennan is up to his auld tricks again.”

  “Lilidh, is it true?” Torrey asked.

  Lilidh looked across at the girl who had worked by her side, shoulder to shoulder, and who had defended her against Cora. Torrey’s eyes were wide in disbelief, and Lilidh could see the fear that lay underneath. So strange, to be reminded that Mathe’s very name could still cause such a reaction in people.