by B. J. Scott
Before he’d gone to chop wood the first time, he’d hung a pot of soup over the fire to simmer and had made some oatcakes. Mayhap the lass would be hungry. He’d allowed sufficient time for her to get dressed and hoped after a rest and something to eat, she might be ready to travel. If not, he prayed she’d at least be more amiable. Despite what she insinuated, his intentions and behavior had been strictly honorable and he was not in the mood for another battle of words. He shifted the load of logs in his arms, sucked in a fortifying breath, and nudged open the door to the croft open with the toe of his boot, just as he heard her scream.
Chapter 4
No one could have entered the croft without him noticing, so when he heard her cry out, Alasdair could not imagine she was in any physical danger. If the thrawn lass tried to get up again without his assistance and had fallen, he’d not be pleased. He’d never met a more stubborn female. He dropped the heavy load he carried and entered.
Alone in the croft, she sat on the pallet with a pelt clutched beneath her chin. Wide-eyed and visibly shaken, the lass appeared unharmed.
“Are you ailing, Lauren?” he asked. Rather than approach the pallet, he stood in the doorway, waiting for her to reply.
She shook her head, but didn’t speak.
Since she was in bed where he’d told her to stay and there was no apparent cause for alarm, he picked up the wood, then strode with purpose toward to the hearth. When he dropped the logs again, they hit the floor with a loud thud.
After stirring the fire and adding more peat, his thoughts turned to their meal. He plucked a wooden ladle from a hook on the wall, then swirled it in the soup he’d left simmering. The pungent aroma of boiled onions and turnip wafting from the pot caused his stomach to growl and he could not resist the urge to sample his culinary creation. He blew on the contents of the ladle, then brought it to his lips. After all, he did not want to sicken the lass with his cooking.
She didn’t utter a sound, but was watching his every move, of that he was certain. “Are you hungry?” he asked, but did not turn around. “I’ve made some soup and oatcakes.” He grabbed one of the baked treats from a trencher, broke off a piece, and popped it into his mouth.
She didn’t reply.
“Are you feeling up to having a wee bite?” he inquired over his shoulder. “It might be simple fare, but will fill your belly.” He retrieved a wooden bowl from a shelf by the hearth and filled it with broth and vegetables. “Well, are you hungry or not?”
He whipped around and found her staring at him, the pelts still fisted tightly under her chin. “First I couldna get you tae stop talking and now you willna answer me. Is this how the next few days are going tae be?” He approached her, carrying the bowl in one hand and an oatcake in the other. “Either you want this or I’ll eat it myself. I’ve never been one to let good food go tae waste.”
“Judging by the size of you, I dinna suppose you have missed many meals,” she blurted out, bringing him to an abrupt halt at the end of the pallet.
“What do you mean by that remark?” He’d been mocked his entire life because of his size. Why should she be any different from everyone else?
“I only meant that you are a very tall, brawny man.” Her cheeks reddened to a dark crimson and she momentarily glanced away.
“Are you going tae eat or should I toss it back intae the pot?” he growled.
“Leave the food there and I will try tae eat a wee bit once it cools.” She nodded toward the table.
“As you wish, m’lady.” Alasdair bowed at the waist in a mock gesture of subservience, but did not hide the sarcasm in his tone. This woman had a way of stirring his blood in more ways than one. “Will there be anything else, Madame? Have you any further orders, or am I dismissed?”
“I-I mean . . . The soup will be fine. Please put it on the table,” she stammered, clearly taken aback by his hostile reply. “I dinna mean tae be a bother or tae sound ungrateful. Thank you. I am in your debt.” She lowered her gaze.
Was he finally making some headway with the lass? At least she was no longer giving him orders or questioning his motives. When she glanced up, and he gazed into huge hazel eyes, brimming with tears, remorse for his boorish behavior gnawed at his belly. Now, he really felt like an ogre. “I dinna mean to snap at you.”
“I understand and dinna blame you. I have not been very gracious. But we got off tae a bad start and neither of us has been very cordial.” She quickly added, “I dinna know you or who I am for that matter. I am thankful you found me and for your kindness.”
“Dinna give it another thought. As I already told you, I mean you no harm and am as anxious as you are tae be away from here.” He placed the food on the table and backed away. “You really should try tae eat something.”
The smile that curled her lips as she lifted the bowl of soup caught him completely off guard, giving his heart an unexpected jolt. Never had he been affected by a woman to this extent, and he was not sure he liked this newfound emotional turmoil one bit.
She brought the bowl to her nose and inhaled deeply. “The soup does smell wonderful.” Her stomach gurgled. “I guess I am hungrier than I thought.” She lifted the wooden spoon to her lips, then blew on the content before tasting it.
“There wasna much tae choose from, but I did what I could with the supplies I found in the larder. Some vegetables, herbs, and a bit of dried venison. If we are holed up here longer than a day, I will have tae go hunting.”
“This is very tasty.” She downed another mouthful and smiled.
Breathtakingly beautiful, she lit up the room. If this was a great hall instead of a hunt camp, he could only imagine how heads would turn when she entered. This time when she smiled, it was like he’d been horse-kicked in the chest and had the wind knocked from his lungs.
“You dinna strike me as a man who would be able tae cook.”
“Nay? And what sort of man did you take me for?” Alasdair scooped out a ration of soup for himself, then sat on a wooden stool beside the hearth, giving them both some space while he tried to get his own thoughts under control.
She almost choked at his question, and he fought the urge to jump up and pat her on the back. “When you are at war and spend as many days in camp as I have, you either learn tae cook or starve,” he said, hoping to ease the tension.
“War?” She raised a brow. “Who may I ask are you at war with?”
He heard a nervous tremor in her voice again. If what she claimed was true and she had no memory past the day he’d found her, it stood to reason she would question him on a subject. “It is not me personally who is at war, but all of Scotland. For many years the English have tried tae impose their rule and deny us the right tae govern our own country. King Robert the Bruce, the rightful sovereign, is doing his best tae regain his throne and oust the English vermin from Scottish soil.”
“And you follow this King Robert?” she asked, then sipped another spoonful of soup.
“Aye, my clan has long supported the Scottish crown. My father—” He paused and crossed himself. “Lord, rest his soul, fought for the cause and when he was killed in a massacre at Berwick on Tweed, along with my older brother, I vowed tae avenge their deaths as soon as I was old enough tae wield a sword. This war has taken too many good men and women. The time has come tae put a stop to it.”
“I’m sorry you lost your da and brother. What of your mam? Did you have any other kin?”
“My mam was killed the summer afore my da died. The English attacked our village when the men were out hunting, took the crops and livestock, then burned our crofts. The women were repeatedly used for their pleasure then put tae sword when the blackguards had their fill.” He ran a shaky hand across his brow.
Memories of the torture his mother was forced to endure caused his stomach to churn and his heart to clench. A knot quickly formed in his throat and he coughed to clear it. “They did the same tae the bairns and old ones, those too feeble or too young tae join the hunt. My brother had only
seen six summers and was among the wee ones slaughtered.” He placed his empty bowl on the floor and turned his head so she would not see the tears welling in his eyes.
He scrubbed his damp cheek with the back of his hand and gave his head a shake. He’d never spoken to a woman about his past. Hell, he’d barely said more than a few words to a woman at any given time. He had never been comfortable around them and usually ended up saying something foolish or offensive. How had the lass gotten him to open up the way she did? This was the same person he was ready to throttle not more than an hour ago for her obstinacy.
Lauren lowered her head. “I’m verra sorry for your loss. It must have been very difficult for you, being so young and all. I canna imagine.”
Alasdair’s stiffened his posture. “These events happened more than a dozen summers ago and I am no longer a lad. True, my two remaining brothers and I were forced tae grow into men in a hurry, but we were proud tae join the cause and to do our part to see justice served.”
“Do they live nearby?”
“Who?” Alasdair rubbed his hand across his chin and at least a month’s worth of beard and stubble.
“Your brothers.”
“Nay, Connor and our youngest brother, Bryce, live in Beauly with their wives and bairns. It is a small town near Inverness and a few days hard ride. My brother, Connor, is laird of Clan Fraser.”
“Is Connor your older brother then?”
“Nay, I am the eldest.”
She cocked her head to one side and studied him for a moment before speaking. “If that is so, why are you not laird?”
“I’m not, and dinna wish to discuss my reasons. Why must women always meddle in things that are none of their affair?”
“And you are not married? Have you never thought about taking a wife and having bairns of your own?” she pressed.
Alasdair’s mood soured. Uncomfortable where the conversation was headed, he rose from his stool. He’d already shared too much and was not about to discuss his shortcomings and inadequacy as a leader or a husband with this woman. Best the conversation end here and now.
“Women are trouble and I have no use for one in my life,” he snapped. “Have you had enough to eat? Would you like something tae drink?” He quickly changed the subject.
“There is nothing more I need.”
He approached the pallet. “If you dinna want anything else, mayhap you should rest.”
She studied his stern features, furrowed brow, and noticed the catch in his voice when she asked about his brothers and why he’d never taken a bride. This was obviously a sensitive topic of discussion and mayhap one best avoided. For a brief time, Alasdair had almost been approachable, and she’d started to let down her guard. But his gruff demeanor had returned and she decided to trust this man might be a huge mistake.
She shifted beneath the covers and winced when a pain shot up her leg and her ankle began to throb.
“Are you certain naught is amiss?” he asked, his voice softening a little. “When I was outside chopping wood, I heard you call out and wondered why.”
“I fell asleep and had a bad dream. I wasna aware that I shouted.”
“Aye, you screeched like the devil himself was dancing on your heels. What was the dream about?”
A sudden chill ran down her spine. She clutched the pelt beneath her chin again, the question making her feel ill at ease. “I dinna remember. I just know it frightened me. When I awoke, my heart was pounding and I found it hard to catch my breath. Why do you ask?”
“I thought mayhap it would give us a clue as tae who you are and where you belong. You still do not remember how you came tae be on the beach or your name?”
She shook her head. “Nay, but I wish I did.” She shifted her position beneath the covers again then covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. “I am suddenly feeling verra tired. Mayhap a rest would be helpful.”
Alasdair gave a curt nod and after taking the empty bowl, returned to the hearth. “The more rest you get, the sooner we can leave. I will tend tae my horse and then see if I canna find a hare or grouse for the evening meal.”
She didn’t reply, but watched as he moved with surprising stealth for a man of his build. He cleaned the bowls, placed them back on the shelf, then went to the woodpile. His sun-bronzed skin glistened in the firelight and her stomach gave an odd twist, her heart a little flutter as she observed the bunch of the muscles across his broad back, when he lifted several heavy logs and tossed them into the hearth.
She found herself wondering what it would be like if they’d met under different circumstances. She’d gotten lost in his deep blue eyes more than once and imagined that if he combed his hair and shaved off his beard, Alasdair Fraser might be quite handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Judging by his tone when he spoke about his brothers and the loss of his parents, it was obvious he had a caring, sensitive side, despite the front he presented to the world.
Had she lost her senses along with her memory? She closed her eyes and shook her head, then brought the back of her hand to her forehead to check for fever. While she might not know her identity or remember anything about her past, common sense told her it was wise to be wary of strangers. He’d told her more than once he was anxious to leave and planned to take her to the castle of his friend. She had no intention of going anywhere with him. However, until she was stronger and her ankle had mended, she was stuck here. She balled her fist and pounded it in frustration against the mattress. She’d have to bide her time, but vowed she’d be more cautious when interacting with Alasdair and leave on her own as soon as she was able.
Chapter 5
The roar of waves pummeling the ship’s wooden hull was deafening. Icy rain stung her cheeks and a fierce north wind whipped through her tangle of unbound hair. She fisted the rail with both hands and called on the last of her strength in an attempt to remain standing upright on the slick deck. She wasn’t alone. There was someone standing a few feet away, but she couldn’t make out his face, and he offered no assistance. When the vessel pitched to the left, she lost her grip and toppled over the rail.
The only thing between her and the ocean’s depths was darkness. In that prelude to what she was certain would be her untimely death, she prayed the Almighty would be merciful and forgive her earthly sins.
Her breath caught as she hit the frigid water and sank like a stone. Her nightrail tangled around her legs, but she kicked with all her might. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die, but there was no time for that. She was not going to drown without a fight.
Salt water stung her eyes and nose. Her lungs burned and her head felt like it was about to burst from the pressure. Panic squeezed her heart as she pumped her arms and legs in a desperate attempt to reach the surface. She tilted her head back and kicked hard, thankful when her face popped above the waves.
Gasping, she sucked in a much needed gulp of air, and then another. She’d managed to swim to the top, but was by no means out of danger. The storm raged on and a dense layer of fog hung over the water, making it impossible for her to see or get her bearings. Her body trembled uncontrollably and her teeth chattered. If she did not get out of the water and fast, there was no hope of survival. Even though it was summer, the stretch of ocean separating the Orkney Islands from mainland Scotland never warmed much above freezing.
Treading for her life, she turned full circle, searching for the ship. Her arms and legs felt like iron weights, growing heavier by the minute. How long could she keep this up before the ocean claimed her?
A sliver of moonlight poked through the clouds and she narrowed her eyes. Something large loomed straight ahead, but when she reached out to touch it, the object was closer than she thought. A sharp pain lanced across her forehead when she struck her head, then everything went black.
She awakened with a start and brought her hand to her brow. Was it a nightmare or had the events in her dream really happened?
This would explain how she got the bump abov
e her left eye and ended up alone on the beach. However, the events leading up to her fall from the ship remained a mystery, as did her identity. She had no idea how she wound up onboard or why, but could not shake the gut-twisting feeling that in addition to the storm, something or someone posed an even greater danger on that fateful night.
Why couldn’t she remember?
She pounded her balled fist against the mattress. It had been almost a sennight since Alasdair found her on the beach and her memory had yet to return. It would not be long before he insisted they leave.
So far, Alasdair had posed her no threat, but she could not be certain about the Clan Sinclair. In her dream, she’d seen the silhouette of a stranger who meant to do her harm, but not his face. Until her memory returned, she remembered where she belonged, and knew who attacked her, there was no telling what danger she might be walking into if she accompanied Alasdair to the castle of his friend. She could not go with him.
True to his word, he’d done nothing to harm her and had made no improper advances. He also kept his distance. In fact, she seldom saw her benefactor. Conversations between them, while civil, were kept to a minimum. He spent very little time inside the croft, which should have made her happy, but she could not help wondering what this man was about. Despite his gruffness, he’d made an effort to dust and clean, prepared and served her meals, saw to her ankle, and tended the fire.
At night, he slept on a pelt in front of the hearth, but usually rose before dawn and was nowhere to be seen when she awakened. His evasive behavior, moodiness, and grumbling beneath his breath while he saw to her needs indicated he grew weary of waiting for her ankle to mend, but she was in no hurry to leave.