by B. J. Scott
Things were taking longer than either of them had expected. The swelling had gone down in her ankle, thanks in part to the cold, wet rags Alasdair insisted on draping over her injury a couple of times a day. The angry purple discoloration had faded to a greenish yellow tint and the discomfort had lessened considerably. But when he asked how she fared, if she thought she could soon sit a horse, she lied, telling him she had not healed sufficiently to walk or ride.
She also refrained from telling him that over the last couple of days, when he’d left the croft for extended periods of time, she had managed to stand and had hobbled to the table and back several times. But that was a secret she meant to keep to herself.
Guilt tugged at her belly. She would surely burn in Hell for her deception, but she did not really know the man or the people he planned to visit. Despite his kindness, a tiny voice in the back of her mind warned her to be cautious. Other than their brief discussion about the war with England and his brothers, Alasdair had revealed very little about himself, except that he planned leave and take her with him as soon as she was able to make the journey.
Her ankle was healing, but she had not come up with a means to get away, and even if she had, was not strong enough to effect an escape. Until then, she would continue to pretend her injury was worse off than it actually was. Hopefully buying her some more time.
In the interim, she needed to practice walking and rebuild her strength. Now was the perfect time. Alasdair went hunting at dawn. Before he left, he told her he’d not return until mid-afternoon, so she did not expect him back for several hours.
She slid to the edge of the pallet and allowed her legs to dangle over the side. Her stomach growled. She’d eaten very little at the evening meal and it was well past the time she would normally break her fast. She nibbled on an oatcake and a bit of dried venison Alasdair had left at her bedside before he departed.
After finishing the modest meal, she planted her hands on the pallet for support, and rose. She inhaled deeply, took one wobbly step and then another. Before long, she’d managed to limp to the hearth—farther than she’d gone in the past. Thrilled by her accomplishment and ignoring the pain, she turned, and walked, albeit with difficulty, back to the pallet. Winded from the exertion, she sat on the edge of the mattress, taking some time to catch her breath.
Determined to repeat the trek, she pushed herself to a stance, then gingerly moved forward, her eyes focusing on a stool near the fire. There, she’d sit and warm herself before returning to bed. She ran her hand through her disheveled hair.
“What I wouldna give for a brush and a looking glass.”
A noise from outside caught her attention. She grabbed the edge of the table for support and her heart began to race. Had Alasdair returned early? Could it be a wild animal or, worse, another stranger who happened along? Mayhap the man who tried to assault her had returned to finish the deed.
She released the breath she held when she recognized Alasdair’s voice. He was talking to Odin, but they were right outside the door. Her pulse sped up a notch. He’d be here any minute. She needed to return to the pallet or he’d know she had been deceiving him.
“Please, Lord, let me make it afore he comes in. I promise tae see the error of my ways and make amends,” she muttered aloud as she quickened her pace. She could do this . . . had to do this.
In her haste, she knocked over a stool in her path. While Alasdair was certain to notice the seat was not as he’d left it, there was no time to set it right. Relief washed over her as she reached her destination and slid beneath the pelts. She crossed herself, convinced if she kept asking the Almighty for favors, she’d be doing penance for the rest of her days.
The door opened and Alasdair entered, carrying two fat hares. “It dinna take me as long as I expected.” He moved across the croft, placed the game on a table, then glanced in her direction. His eyes stalled on the toppled stool. “Are you well, lass?” he asked as he picked it up. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t ask how it got upended.
The lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. “Aye. I’m fine.” When she finally forced out the words, she heard the tremor in her voice.
He watched her for a moment before he spoke again. Did he know she was lying?
“Are you sure you’re not ailing? Your face is flushed and you appear tae be out of breath,” he finally said.
“I told you I’m fine. I was sleeping and woke when I heard you enter. It must have startled me.” She twisted a corner of the pelt around her finger. “I can see your hunt was successful.”
Alasdair gave a curt nod. “Game is abundant at this time of year. I hope you like rabbit stew.”
“Aye.” She kept her answer simple. The less said the better.
“Guid. You need tae eat if you want tae regain your strength. Mayhap you should try getting up and putting some weight on your ankle. The weather is bonny and thought you might be tired of looking at these four dreary walls. If you like, we could go outside for a spell. It wouldna hurt for you tae get some fresh air.”
“A change of scenery would be lovely, but I’m feeling very weak and am not sure I am ready to stand. I—”
“All the more reason tae get you up and about. You’ve been abed long enough.” Before she could protest, he threw back the pelts, wrapped a length of woolen plaid around her shoulders, then lifted her into his arms.
“What do you think you’re doing? Put me down.” She gasped and brought her hand up to cover her mouth, while holding the plaid securely in place with the other.
“I’m taking you outside so you can get some sun. Would you rather I let you walk?” He arched a brow and waited for her to reply.
She shook her head. “Nay. You know I canna walk.” Alasdair was not about to give in to her wishes, of that she had no doubt. So she decided it was best she go along with his request for now and not give him any reason to be suspicious.
He carried her across the room and nudged the door open with his elbow. “If you tire, we can go back inside.”
The abrupt transition from the darkly lit croft into bright sunlight caused her to squeeze her eyes shut. She tilted her head skyward, hoping to catch the warmth, while the combination of forest scents, tangy sea air, and spring flowers filled her lungs.
She glanced around at her surroundings, hoping that something might jog her memory, but nothing looked familiar.
He crossed a small clearing, then set her down on a fallen log. “Are you comfortable?”
She nodded.
He flashed a crooked grin, then adjusted the plaid around her shoulders. “If you get too tired or cold let me know. I dinna want tae do anything that will further delay our departure,” he said, then moved to a spot a few feet away and stared off into the distance.
His concern was touching, even if he did have a reason to wish her a speedy recovery. While she knew very little about Alasdair, she found herself admiring his finely honed physique and chiseled features, what she could see of them beneath the dense overgrowth of facial hair.
“You are a man of verra few words,” she said in an attempt tae break the uncomfortable silence.
“I dinna have much tae say. But my brothers would argue that fact. They are forever accusing me of talking more than I should.”
“Do you miss your brothers?”
“Connor and Bryce have their wives and bairns tae keep them busy.”
“That may be, but it doesna mean you canna miss your kin. This is the second time you’ve spoken about them and their bairns.”
His expression hardened. “I learned at a young age not tae count on anyone but myself.” He absently touched a strip of plaid he wore around his upper left arm.
“Why do you wear that? I have noticed you never take it off.”
He coughed to clear his throat and lowered his eyes. “This piece of plaid was taken from my mother’s skirt. The one she wore the day she died. I wear it in her memory and tae remind me of a pledge I made as a lad tae avenge her death
.”
She noticed the glint in his eyes and catch in his voice. The topic of his mother’s demise obviously caused him great pain. “I am sure she would be proud of the man you have become and your tribute tae her.”
“She was a verra special lady and I miss her verra much.” He brought his beefy hand toward his eyes and scrubbed it across his cheek.
The sentiment with which he spoke of his mother touched her heart and she choked back tears. She wished she could remember her own family. Was she close to her mam and da? Did she have any brothers or sisters? “You must have loved her verra much.”
“If not for her determination tae see me hail and hardy, I am not sure I’d be alive today.” He exhaled sharply and raked his fingers through his hair. “When I was a wee laddie, I was quite sickly. I know it’s hard tae believe if you look at the brute I am now,” he quickly added and laughed.
He drew in a slow deep breath before he continued. “She never gave up on me and wouldna let me give up on myself.”
“A mother’s love can be a powerful thing. She was obviously right. You grew tae be a strong, healthy man.”
“Aye, but it wasna always like that. I was born early and the midwife told my parents if I survived the night, I wouldna likely live beyond a summer. But Mam would hear none of it.” He absently touched the plaid cloth around his arm.
“When I was a lad, I spent many days abed. By the time I was ten summers, I had seen my share of healers, sorcerers, herbal remedies, blood letting, and leaches.” He closed his yes and shuddered.
“That must have been horrible.” The thought of the age-old practices, remedies and the slimy, bloodsucking creatures used to release the poison from a body was enough to make a person’s skin crawl with disgust. Odd she knew what he was talking about, but still remembered nothing about herself or her past. “Yet you wouldna know that you had a rough start by looking at you now. I have seen verra few men of your size and strength.”
“I might be the tallest and strongest son now, but believe it or not when we were growing up, my brother, Connor, and my older brother, Blaine.” He paused and crossed himself. “May the Almighty bless his soul. They stood up for me when other bairns called me names or tried tae do me harm.”
“You look like you could have taken care of yourself.”
“Mayhap now, but back then, I was a tall, lanky lad with flaming red hair and a strong wind could blow me over.”
“A lot has changed. You are no longer of slight build and your hair and beard, while they both have streaks of red running through them, are fairly dark.”
“I took after my da. He had plain features, red hair, and blue eyes. My brothers resemble our mother, with their raven locks, brown eyes, and guid looks. I was never as handsome and it wasna until I reached manhood that my hair began tae change color. Tae be honest, I never thought it would. Even though as a lad I prayed for it nightly. You know what they say about red hair.”
“I’m afraid I dinna recall.”
“Tae be born with hair of fire is a curse.”
“Dinna tell me you believe in such nonsense. I wouldna have taken you for a superstitious man.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue.
“I’m not. But when you are a bairn and people taunt and belittle you, claim you were born under an unlucky star, you find it hard tae discount. There were times when even my brothers teased me about my appearance because they knew it would get a rise out of me. Especially Bryce. He never missed a chance tae annoy me or tae point out the fact that I dinna have his winning way with the lassies.”
“If you were tae shave, you would be quite pleasing tae look at. I think I would find you verra handsome.”
Alasdair stiffened his spine and his brows knit together. “It matters not if you find me appealing or not,” he snapped. “I think you have been up long our first time and I best take you back inside.” He stomped toward her and bent to lift her. “I’ll make some stew while you rest.”
“I dinna mean tae upset you. But if you were tae—” Given the sudden scowl on his face, she decided, she’d said too much, again, and it was best not to continue.
Without saying another word, Alasdair strode toward the croft with her tucked securely in his arms. It broke her heart to learn he thought so little of himself and believed he did not deserve the same kind of love and happiness his brothers had found. No wonder he went out of his way to put on a harsh front.
Chapter 6
After placing her onto the pallet, Alasdair quickly backed away. “Get some rest. When you awaken, the stew will be ready. Mayhap you can try walking a wee bit after we eat. The sooner we get you on your feet, the sooner we can be away. My friend Jayden must be wondering what happened tae me by now.”
He was babbling like an idiot and didn’t wait for her to respond. For some unknown reason, Lauren had gotten him to open up and talk about his past, again. But what bothered him more was the way his senses, every fiber of his being, came alive in her presence.
His body ablaze with desire, Alasdair needed some space between them. He’d not be swayed by a comely face or her flattery. He spun on his heel and exited the croft.
He paused on the porch, his heart hammering against his ribs, his palms sweating, and his loins on fire. The lass had burrowed under his skin and he dinna like it one bit. No matter how hard he tried to keep his distance and stay his randy thoughts, his pulse raced whenever he looked into her beautiful hazel eyes. Her delicate, sweet scent drove him wild, and when he carried her in his arms, the rush of heat and carnal need was stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. It was as if she had been made for him.
The soft lilt of her voice haunted his dreams and thoughts of her occupied his waking hours. What’s more, with her feisty spirit, she commanded his respect. He actually liked the lass and being in her company. Was he losing his mind?
“Mo chreach!” he cursed aloud and gave his head a quick shake. It wasn’t like him to be so distracted by a woman’s wiles. Not that many ladies had bothered showing him any interest. He wasn’t the sort of man women fawned over. Actually, the lassies seldom acknowledged his existence. They were too busy trying to impress his handsome younger brothers.
He clenched his fists and his blood began to boil when he thought about the one and only time a lass had prompted him to let down his guard. “Mhic na galla!” he cursed again as he remembered the humiliation and anger he felt when he learned he’d been played for a fool. He could still hear the crofters snickering when he passed them on the street.
He had just seen his twenty-third summer when Lillian MacCloud, a fae creature with ebony tresses, bewitching features, sea-green eyes, and kisses as sweet as honey, had all but thrown herself at him. She was the kind of lass he had only fantasized about and never believed would pay him any mind. At first, he thought it a ruse, a cruel trick, but when she persisted in her flirtation, he believed she truly found him appealing.
He’d fallen hard and was prepared to put aside his pledge to the cause, his vows to avenge deaths of his family members, and ask for her hand. When Connor cautioned him to beware, told him she was a cunning shrew, and had tried to tempt him in the same way, rage consumed him. Alasdair drew his sword, ready to lop of his brother head for speaking ill of the woman he loved. Had Bryce not intervened and supported Connor’s claim, he might have gone through with the deed.
Unwilling to believe his traitorous siblings spoke the truth and determined to prove them wrong, he went to her family’s croft, to ask her to marry him. When he came upon Lillian with Gavin Maclean, wrapped in each other’s arms, and rolling in the hay behind the barn, the bugger’s hand beneath her skirt, Alasdair had been devastated. When he challenged MacLean to a battle of swords and informed Lillian of his intent to propose, she’d laughed in his face and called him a buffoon.
“Women are selfish, conniving, and are not tae be trusted. I’ve managed this long on my own and dinna need one in my life,” he grumbled as he trotted down the stairs, then ra
ced toward the shore. Another dip in the cold ocean surf would get his muddled mind and lust-ravaged body under control.
Unfortunately, his plan failed and he emerged from the frigid water even more frustrated and confused than before he took the plunge. He dried off using a length of plaid, tugged on his trews and boots, then trudged up the beach, stopping when he came across a huge boulder and plunked himself down.
Things had not gone as planned and he had to put Lauren out of his mind. Hell, she could be married for all he knew. If not, a lass that comely would surely be spoken for. Given his penchant for bad luck, she most likely had bairns, too.
But what if she wasna wed? He scrubbed his hand across his bearded chin. Was what she said true? Could she possibly find him good-looking if he were clean-shaven and brushed his hair?
Nay. He slammed his fist on the rock, the blow causing his knuckles to bleed. He was only setting himself up for a major disappointment by even thinking such a thing. If she claimed to have any feelings for him, they would only be out of gratitude for saving her life or because she felt sorry for him. He didn’t want her pity. Once her ankle healed, she would be anxious to see the last of him. Besides, Robert the Bruce was counting on him to rejoin the cause at the end of the summer. He’d pledged his sword, and if need be his life, to his king, and had no time or desire to court a lass. Or so he tried to convince himself.
She dragged her hand across her eyes, then cupped her mouth and yawned. How long had she slept? She glanced around the dimly lit room. A half-spent candle and the soft glow of the fire burning in the hearth provided the only light.
The aroma of stew simmering over the fire filled the room. Her stomach growled. Alasdair promised it would be ready when she woke up, but he was nowhere around. He’d been cross and evasive when he’d brought her back to the croft. Talking about his mother and his past obviously made him uncomfortable. She’d meant no harm in asking.