A Highland Sailor: Highland Heartbeats

by Adams, Aileen

  The way his hand curled at the back of her neck, holding her closer? And her hand, moving up to his shoulder, clutching at the bulging muscles there?

  Was this passion, the heat which swept over her, which made her tremble so? Was that what seemed to pull a soft sigh from the back of her throat, was it what made her want more?

  He pulled back, taking a shaky breath as he did. “It might be for the best I’m injured, lass,” he chuckled, his voice deeper than normal. “I might not be able to control myself.”

  She opened her eyes, finding his so close to hers. “I would never agree with you otherwise, but perhaps you’re right.” Because she wasn’t certain she’d be able to control her passion, either.

  28

  Beatrice worried more than once during the journey over land that they would never reach the Highlands. Once they did, she was certain they’d never reach the Duncan manor. The fact that she’d ever considered the flat, smooth ride to Silloth difficult was laughable.

  Especially when she slid from her mare at the end of the day and groaned in discomfort from the considerable saddle sores she’d developed.

  Broc always expressed sympathy. So did the others, though she noticed more than once the way they appeared to be holding back laughter whenever Broc offered to help her from the saddle. She finally couldn’t help but ask what they found so amusing.

  “Ask Broc,” Derek replied, snorting.

  She turned to him in time to note the way he glared at his friend. “He’s remembering the discomfort I suffered during my first stretch of long riding, lass. He finds it funny that I struggled so.”

  “As if you wouldn’t laugh at my expense,” Derek chuckled.

  She saw nothing funny about it. This was the way the men lived, riding out every day to survey the land and make certain there were no threats from rival clans or wild animals encroaching on Duncan territory.

  How did they manage it?

  And injured, at that, though it looked as though all of the men were recovering well. Hugh brushed off the wound to his shoulder as though it were nothing more serious than the bite from a bug. The same for Derek, who managed to ride masterfully even with one arm in a sling. They were downright cheerful, as though they took pride in getting hurt.

  Perhaps they did. Those wounds were a reminder of how brave they’d been.

  The same was true of Broc. The items which Sarah had provided seemed to be helping with healing and to ease the pain—a relief for Beatrice, who worried for him night and day—but to a stranger, it would never be evident that the man bore a slashing wound across his chest and torso.

  Only from time to time did he wince when he moved a certain way, perhaps forgetting his limited abilities. When he did, Beatrice’s head would immediately snap around in his direction, and he would offer a smile of reassurance. Even if that smile was sometimes tight, sometimes pained, she would remind herself that he was a man who did not wish to be hovered over.

  He did not enjoy having others hover over him any more than she enjoyed when people did it to her.

  “What do you think of the Highlands, Beatrice?” Derek sounded jubilant, his excitement having grown the closer they came to arriving home. It wasn’t because he felt particularly attached to the Duncans—though he did, naturally—but because of her sister, and the baby.

  He loved her so. Anyone could see it, could hear it. More than once had Hugh or Derek been moved to ask him to slow his horse, whenever he’d ridden too far ahead. As though he couldn’t hold himself back.

  In spite of the heaviness in her chest when she considered her future with Broc, or whether there would be one at all, she always smiled to herself when Derek’s love made itself evident. Margery had found a good, honest, strong man who adored her. What more could she want for her sister?

  If only her own fate were so neatly cinched.

  * * *

  “There it is.” When Derek used his good arm to point to the mountain rising in the distance, and the house which sat nestled against the side of it. “There’s Ben Nevis, and before it sits the manor house.”

  “A manor house?” she gasped, wondering if she were only imagining what had revealed itself in the distance. “A castle, more like.”

  It was lovely, far more impressive than the house which Randall had called home, and even more so, thanks to the mountain which towered over it. The effect was stunning, awe-inspiring, and it reminded her just how small she was in comparison.

  She admired the turrets which rose high over the ground, allowing lookouts to watch for threats from all directions. Were one of Phillip Duncan’s men looking out for them? Would they spy the band of travelers from a distance?

  It was still early morning, the castle-like manor house coming into view once the four of them had slowly crested an almost improbably steep hill. They would make it to that mountain and the manor house which sat in its shadows before the end of the day, certainly.

  Her hands tingled when she realized she would be with her sister before the sun set. When she looked to Derek, she saw the same excitement written on his rugged face.

  “Are ye glad, lass?” Broc’s voice was soft, the question meant only for her ears.

  “Glad to be finished with the riding? Yes,” she grinned. “I will not regret staying in the same place for more than a day at a time, either.”

  He did not share her mirth. “It hasn’t all been bad, has it?”

  No, it hadn’t. The hours they’d spent talking quietly in the firelight, sometimes speaking of nothing important at all. Talking for the sake of talking, for the sake of being together. Their hands clasped beneath a blanket, outside the reach of prying eyes.

  Not that Hugh or Derek weren’t gentlemen, turning their backs to the fire when they settled in for the night. Giving them some measure of privacy.

  They exchanged a long look, the McInnis twins riding ahead of them, once again, pretending they didn’t know what was happening behind their backs.

  “I’ve enjoyed many parts of the journey,” she murmured, admiring the way the sun seemed to form a glowing haze around his head as it rose behind him. She would remember that moment always, along with so many others. She would carry it in her heart and reflect on it whenever she longed for him.

  The longing would ease with time. She need only wait for enough of her life to pass, until she would forget the way his kiss made her heart race. Until the pressure of his hand on hers faded in her memory to nothing more than a vague remembrance of fierce, blazing happiness.

  At least she’d had that happiness. So many never had the chance to feel it at all.

  By the time the sun reached the midpoint of its journey across the sky, they were greeted by a band of riders. Judging by the nearly identical smiles on the faces of the men around her, she felt confident that they were friends rather than foes.

  One of the riders was a young woman with light blonde hair, Beatrice was surprised to find a woman riding with the men, but not after Hugh took off at a trot to greet her. Soon, she was on the ground and running for him, jumping into his arms the moment he dismounted.

  “Dalla,” Broc chuckled. “His wife.”

  Her eyes stung as she watched the touching reunion, gladness and a sense of envy fighting for control. Envy was a sin, she knew, but there was no stopping its tug on her.

  “I’m glad to meet you!” Dalla beamed once she was finally disentangled from her husband’s arms, reaching Beatrice’s side. “We’ve already made preparations for you, and your sister is fairly bursting with excitement, when the lookouts spotted you, she tried to get out of bed to greet you, but Sarah ordered her back.”

  “How is she?” Derek asked.

  “Just fine. Healthy, though still ill throughout the day. But Sarah is confident all is progressing well.”

  He exchanged a look with Beatrice, whose heart swelled with anticipation. They didn’t need to say a word in order for the other to understand what they had in mind.

  “Yah!” he crie
d out, spurring his horse to a gallop, which Beatrice’s mare matched. The two of them rode abreast until they reached the manor house, far ahead of the others. She felt as though she was flying all the way.

  “Come,” he gasped, all but running to the door after leaving the saddle.

  She hardly felt the pain in her thighs and rear anymore as she followed, barely noticing the inside of the house as she ran up the stairs at his heels.

  He looked guilty when they came to a stop at one of the many doors which lined both sides of a long corridor. “Would you mind giving us just a minute?” he asked, his hand on the leather latch.

  “Of course not,” she whispered, patting his shoulder. The least she could do after what he’d done for her was to allow him a little privacy.

  He hurried into the room, and the sounds of Margery’s muffled, happy cries greeted her ears moments later. She felt as though she might burst from her skin, so anxious was she to have her reunion.

  “Is she with you?” That familiar voice, and the hope in it.

  The knowing that her sister had missed her just as much as she’d been missed, that she was just as eager for them to be together again.

  Tears sprang to Beatrice’s eyes. She couldn’t stay away any longer, no matter whether or not Derek wished to spend more time alone with his wife. They had all the time in the world to be together, and he’d had her all these many months, while Beatrice could only long for Margery and question whether she’d survived.

  She tiptoed into the room, peering around the doorway to the large, carved wooden bed with its many pillows, against which her sister rested.

  “Margery?” she whispered, almost unable to believe what she saw.

  It was her. It was really her, at last. Loved, cared for, looked after.

  “Beatrice!” Margery held out her arms, sobs wracking her by the time the two of them fell against each other.

  It was the fulfillment of her heart’s greatest desire, one she’d held onto ever since the day Margery first left home. Watching her walk down the road, so resolute, her head held high and her shoulders thrown back as she’d marched toward the future.

  Ever since that morning, she had wished for them to be together again.

  She had Derek to thank for this moment. And Hugh. And Broc.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” Beatrice wept, kissing her sister’s damp cheeks before wrapping her in a hug. “I was so afraid for you. I missed you so terribly.”

  “You were the only reason I didn’t give up when things looked darkest,” Margery whispered, burying her face in Beatrice’s neck. “I wanted so much for you, for both of us.”

  “It looks as though you found it.” She was laughing when she pulled away, holding her sister’s face in her hands. “It’s so good to see you, my dearest.”

  “I have much to tell you.”

  “I have much to tell you!” Beatrice laughed through her tears.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come with them.”

  “Oh, my darling.” Derek lingered in one corner of the room, and Beatrice exchanged a knowing look with him. “It’s likely for the best you didn’t.”

  “Why?” Margery shot Derek a frightened look. “What happened? Are Hugh and Broc well? Are they here with you?”

  “Aye, lass,” Derek murmured. “All is well. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “We can talk all about it,” Beatrice assured her, holding her hands. “And you can tell me why you never wrote to me, to at least let me know you were alive.”

  Margery’s sigh was almost comically loud. “I knew you were going to bring that up.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? I was all but ready to mourn your passing, sister.”

  “I wanted to send word, but we had a lot of trouble at first.”

  “And so did we!” Beatrice argued. “But I would have found a way ease your mind.”

  Derek cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should leave the two of you alone,” he suggested, easing his way from the room. “One of you at a time is difficult enough. Together? You may be too much for me.”

  * * *

  They had passed much of the day together, Beatrice lying beside Margery in the large bed while they poured their hearts out to each other and caught up on what the other had been through.

  It was like being girls again.

  Warm, fresh air flowed in through the open windows, bringing with it the scent of heather and pine. The sky beyond seemed to be made of soft lamb’s wool, the clouds wispy and light. Margery was able to lie in bed and admire that sky, and the proud, majestic Grampian mountains in the distance.

  It was a beautiful land, to be sure. Just the sort of place she’d always imagined them living one day.

  “And so,” Beatrice finished, whispering as she came to the end of the tale, “that was that. He’s no longer a threat to anyone, and I suppose the family name will die with him. Between us, I do not believe the world will be the worse for it.”

  “My goodness.” Margery’s fingers laced with Beatrice’s, squeezing tight. “You could’ve been killed.”

  “I wasn’t, remember. Do not upset yourself overmuch. I’m here with you now. And you had adventures of your own, and dangers.”

  “That I had.” She giggled softly, then sighed. “Perhaps we spent so much of our lives doing nothing more than sitting by Mother’s bed, an entire lifetime’s worth of adventure caught up to us at once.”

  It was as good an explanation as any, Beatrice supposed.

  “Who would’ve imagined it? Would you have?” Margery asked.

  Beatrice chuckled. “I can’t say that I would have. The next time I long for adventure, I believe I’ll be a bit more specific in what I wish for. There are all sorts of adventures, after all. One in which I don’t fear for my life would be a start.”

  “Aye,” Margery giggled.

  “Aye? You sound like a Scot already!”

  “I suppose it’s inevitable. Wait and see. You’ll be calling women “lasses” before long.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Beatrice sighed, began playing with the ends of Margery’s hair, winding and unwinding the long braid which lay coiled over the pillows.

  Keen as always, her sister took note of the change in her voice. “What is it? Why do you sound so sad, of a sudden?”

  A soft smile touched the corners of her mouth. “You know, it’s been a long time since anyone asked of my troubles. I told them to Cecil time and again. I cried against his neck and soaked his mane when I felt worst. He was wonderful to talk to. But you know what he never did?”

  “Speak back?”

  “Only to ask questions which made me uncomfortable,” Beatrice nodded.

  “I’m sorry, I only wondered…”

  “It’s not your fault. I would ask you the same if I saw you suddenly look… disappointed, or sad.”

  Margery waited a long time, while silence spread over the chambers and the only sound was that of the birds singing beneath the open window and the laughter of manor house workers outside.

  How different it was from Randall’s manor, Beatrice noted. Everyone sounded happy, glad to be there, glad to be at their work.

  From what she’d seen already, Phillip Duncan was a far different and better man and laird.

  Beatrice’s mouth didn’t seem to want to open in order to explain her feelings. To do so would mean to admit a great many things she did not feel comfortable admitting. But this was her sister, the one person she’d always been able to bear her heart to.

  Regardless of where they were or Margery’s condition, that would never change.

  “I’m glad to be here,” Beatrice whispered, still working and unworking the braid which sat between them. “Truly, I am. I couldn’t have imagined anything as wonderful as this, it’s far beyond my dreams, and I’ve had a long time in which to dream.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Something changed in me while making the journey here, I suppose.” She dropped the brai
d, frustrated with herself for being unable to speak the full truth. “I’m uncertain what it is I want to do, or where it is I want to live.”

  “I have a lovely house in the village, outside the manor house,” Margery was quick to point out. “And I’m certain Phillip would allow you to live there, as well. You would never need to be far from me again.”

  “I don’t want to be far from you.”

  A soft sound came from her mouth. “Ah. I think I’m beginning to see.”

  “What do you think you’re beginning to see?” Beatrice asked, irritation plain in her voice.

  “That you don’t know if you want to stay nearby or elsewhere. That you might be happier somewhere else. Dearest.” She craned her neck, searching for Beatrice’s eyes, and wouldn’t continue until their gazes locked. “Go wherever you wish to go. With whomever you wish to go.”

  Beatrice stiffened, surprised.

  Margery chuckled. “Do you know how you sound when you speak of him? When you told me the story of what happened to bring you here, he was your hero. Your champion. You put yourself in great danger to free him from Randall. He placed himself in danger to rescue you, as well. It’s only natural that you care for Broc.”

  “I certainly never expected to.”

  “Does he care for you?”

  Beatrice blushed.

  “I see,” her sister giggled, wrapping her arms around one of Beatrice’s and resting her head on her shoulder. “How exciting for you!”

  “He doesn’t want a wife.”

  “Did he tell you this?”

  She shook her head. “No. He doesn’t have to.”

  “What makes you think he doesn’t, then? If he hasn’t spoken the words?”

  “He wants the sort of life he had before. With Derek, while they worked together. You ought to see him on the ship,” she explained, her voice wistful when she remembered. “He looked so… Dashing. Proud. Thrilled. I could never take him from that, and he would never want to leave it.”