The Love of Her Life (Highlander Heroes Book 6)

by Rebecca Ruger

  The music seemed to grow louder then, almost as an inducement to move along with it, that soon people began to dance wherever they might find space to do so. A group at the front of the room, in the space between the head table and the rows of trestle tables, was particularly lively, their shouts and laughter sometimes drowning out the notes of the harp and the cithara.

  “I think this is the happiest place on earth,” Henry commented.

  “I think you might be right,” she said, leaning toward her son. “This is our new life, Henry. I’m very excited.”

  His bright eyes lit on her face. “I hope we stay here forever.”

  Nodding, she acknowledged, “Me, too.”

  “Can I go now, to see what they’re about in the corner?”

  Katie swiveled her head, following Henry’s gaze. In the far corner, opposite the kitchen end of the keep, several young boys were bent on their knees, rather tightly in a circle. Two or three of the lads appeared around Henry’s age.

  She turned and nodded. “Have fun,” she said with a smile, heartened by his willingness to engage with strangers, something she found so very difficult to do. He scooted quickly from the bench, his little face lit with no trifling amount of excitement.

  He approached and only stood behind the circle of lads for a few seconds, until one boy lifted his head. The lad said something to Henry, at which her son shrugged. But then the two directly in front of Henry each moved over, just enough to make space for Henry to join their circle.

  Her regard so happily consumed by Henry, Katie was startled by a voice very near to her ear.

  “They say you’re a fine healer.”

  Whirling, her jaw gaped briefly to find the elder MacBriar bent over her, his hand on the back of her chair.

  “I am. Katie Oliver, sir,” she said, by way of introduction. “You are very kind to welcome me—”

  He disappeared, moving to her other side, swinging Katie around as he took the chair next to her.

  He was huge, a big bear of a man, too large for the tragic chair, disappeared now completely from view. His eyes were a light and familiar hazel inside his ruddy cheeks. His hair was thick and rather long, mostly gray but for the near black ends, falling over his shoulder as he leaned forward.

  “My son said you’re competent, so I’ll be asking you what we’re going to do about my knees.”

  “Your knees, sir?”

  “Aye, aching something fierce, have been for years.”

  “Have you prior injuries?”

  “Hundreds,’ he answered, giving her a look that rather hinted, what kind of man would I be if I hadn’t? “But none directly on my knees, but aye how they ache.” Between them, he began to dig into his tall boots, yanking up his hose from near his ankle.

  “Oh, we’re going to address it right now,” Katie said, bemused.

  He proceeded to roll up his breeches from beneath his knee as well.

  “Da’! What are ye about?” Alec appeared across the table, his outrage not feigned at all. “You will no’ be showing the lass your knees just here in the hall.”

  “What? She’s no’ busy at the moment.” Alec’s father appeared truly perplexed by the fuss.

  Alec waved his hand at his father’s leg. “Cover that up. Ask Katie to come by tomorrow and discuss your bluidy knees with you.”

  “It’s fine,” Katie insisted, made merry by the old man. The fierce mien about the man had suggested he’d sooner have lopped off her head with one of his ceremonial swords than have sat beside her and bared his thick legs.

  “Nae,” Alec said, his countenance as grim as usual. “Mother will put a knife through his eye if she finds out.”

  “Perhaps I should return to the keep tomorrow afternoon,” Katie said to Alec’s father. “Will that suit?”

  With a pursed-lip glare at his son, he nodded. “Aye, that’ll do.” He stood then, with a bit of a huff, and walked away.

  Alec took a sip from his tankard, the vessel being quite ornate, possibly made of pewter or a dull silver but cast with a repeating pattern of thistles and wolves and swords. Over the rim he kept his hazel eyes on Katie, his brows yet drawn low.

  Shifting, having too swiftly been put in a mind of their conversation only hours ago, Katie lowered her attention to the precious lace upon the table and the centerpiece of candles. She saw Alec set his tankard down with a pronounced slowness, as if he wanted her to see it, to lift her gaze again.

  She did.

  And he sat down across from her, setting his elbows on the table, crossing his forearms over each other as he leaned toward her.

  She recognized the look he gave her, that devilish one that brightened his hazel eyes and caused her heart to thud unnaturally. She refused to allow him to have any fun at her expense.

  “So, you are the son of the laird, and one day a laird yourself,” she rushed out, before he might have begun to goad her again.

  He grinned, which properly expressed to her that he knew well her ploy, the distraction. But he allowed it, leaning back a bit. “Aye, no’ anytime soon, though. I’d rather keep the old man around for many more years.”

  “But where does all your fierceness come from? Your parents are wonderfully agreeable.”

  The grin became more pronounced while his eyes darkened, as she’d essentially just told him that he was not at all pleasant.

  “Da’ was no’ always like this. Was brutal in his day, greater than I’ll ever be.”

  “Is that...is that a requirement? Brutality? To fight so recklessly, to rule so large a clan?”

  “Aye. And to see the end of southern aggression. England will no’ be sent packing if we welcome them with cheery smiles and trenchers of sweet breads.”

  “And when they’re gone? If they are.”

  The grin faded, replaced by a ruthless frown. “They’ll be gone,” he vowed. “For good one day. Scotland will be free.”

  “And that is your sole desire in life? To soldier? To make war?”

  He stared at her as if she’d given these words in another language. “To live free,” he corrected. “What else is there?”

  Katie’s eyes widened. In spite of herself, and his steady, probing gaze, she laughed. “There is more to life. Family, children, laughter, joy.”

  “Won’t mean a thing, if we’re no’ free.”

  “So....you’ll have none of it, until war is done?

  “You letting yourself have any of that, lass?”

  Swallowing thickly, she defended, “My circumstances are different. I haven’t this fine keep, or a loving family or...or other opportunities.”

  “Aye, you do now,” he countered. “Opportunities. Are you going to chase them, Katie Oliver? Embrace them?”

  “I’ve come here, haven’t I? I’d be a fool to...”

  His lifted brow and the returned smirk gave her pause. He would challenge this, turn it around and accuse her of not truly embracing all that was offered to her.

  She couldn’t help but wonder: if his rare grins and smiles ever reached his eyes, would she react differently to him? Would she be made more susceptible?

  “Very clever,” she said stiffly. “Well done, and we’re back to where we were this afternoon.”

  “It’s a fine subject to address again.”

  “It’s a closed subject.”

  Alec glanced toward the front of the room and the rowdy dancers and then back at Katie, inclining his head at her. She thought his teeth might be clenched now, his jaw shifting from left to right. Again, he tossed his gaze at the dancers and then back at her.

  Her cheeks colored at what she thought was happening, what he might be thinking. His expression was returned to that blustery darkness that was so maddeningly indecipherable, so that it was hard to tell if he were about to ask her to dance.

  Malcolm, merry and mayhap slightly inebriated, suddenly appeared, bending low over the end of the table, his elbows smacking down on the wood, his face close to Katie’s.

  “Katie, la
ss! Come dance with me!”

  Her breath rushed out. Much safer, dancing with Malcolm as opposed to Alec, she decided.

  If she danced at all.

  “I’ve never danced before,” she confessed. “I dinna know the steps.”

  Malcolm didn’t seem to care. He pulled her to her feet. “There are no steps, lass! We just move.”

  She was dragged away but quick, about to panic, unable to throw even a fleeting backward glance at Alec MacBriar. Thankfully, Malcolm had been right. There were no steps, which meant that Katie was spared any larger discomfort. People only moved and swayed and bounced, no rhyme or reason, until arms began to join, slapped onto the nearest shoulder and a circle began to move.

  Katie couldn’t yet lift her arm very high, forced then to swing it around Malcolm’s lower back as he made a face of absurd horror when he had almost plopped his heavy forearm onto her sore shoulder. Catching himself, he did as she had, and set his big hand in the middle of her back. Simon was at her left and thankfully his hold was sloppy that the hand he’d dropped across her neck caused her no pain.

  They spun round and round, two of the women in the circle trying to actually perform some steps, which slowed down the revolving circle. A cheer rose up as several children ducked between the adults, appearing in the empty center, making up their own dance. Henry was with the small group, both lads and lasses, completely at ease and game, and Katie’s heart soared.

  Suddenly a loud ruckus sounded from the front of the room, near the head table. The twirling stopped. All heads swiveled. Katie followed the noise and then the pointing fingers, singling out and shouting cheerily at the MacBriar soldier, John, who stood with slumped shoulders, nodding with a disgruntled smirk as he received all the notice and good-humored censure.

  “What has happened?”

  “He messed the floor,” Simon slurred into her ear.

  He had. While he held in his hand his tankard, it was tipped sideways, the contents on the wooden planked floor at his feet.

  “See you in the morning, dear,” Katie heard Magdalena MacBriar call out and the hall erupted in laughter.

  Katie was enormously confused and sent her questioning gaze to Malcolm.

  “Mistress dinna like the rushes,” Malcolm explained, “says they hold more dirt and debris than they hide. She likes the clean floor and works hard to keep it that way. If you make a mess, that’s you standing next to her, bright and early come morn, mopping and sloshing aside her.”

  Katie’s eyes and mouth widened at this. “That is the most marvelously wicked and ingenious thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Aye? She’s a rascal, is the mistress.”

  “She’s amazing.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such fun. Upon reflection, she wasn’t sure she ever had. She danced for quite a while, until Aymer inadvertently smacked her shoulder and she excused herself. Still, she didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to take Henry from all this merriment.

  Eventually, nearly an hour later, she was approached by a young woman she’d seen throughout the evening but that she hadn’t met. Lifting her gaze to the woman showed Alec standing near as well, his unfathomable gaze upon her once more.

  “I’d be Ann, ma’am,” said the woman. “I wanted to tell you we’re leaving.” At Katie’s blank stare, she explained. “We all head back together, all of us from the village, so no one gets lost or silly.”

  Oh, she liked that idea very much. She stood then to follow Ann, and despite her best efforts, found her eyes straying again to Alec MacBriar.

  He didn’t move, said nothing as she followed Ann, who passed directly in front of him. Katie lowered her gaze as she walked by him, holding her breath lest he was made aware of what his probing and heated regard did to her.

  Katie and Henry joined all the families of the village and walked through the dark night and the dark trees, the group recollecting about the evening already, talking over one another, their gaiety yet curtailed.

  They said goodnight to each person or family who stepped inside their home and Katie was sure she’d never known such a warm and lovely feeling in her life when the last of the group called after her and Henry when they turned at the walkway to their blue door.

  “Goodnight now, ma’am. Goodnight, lad.”

  Chapter Ten

  She was up with the sun, but then pleased to linger inside her bed a wee bit, bringing to mind all the wondrous fun that was last night. But then the day called, she had much to do yet, and she rose quick enough, tickling Henry’s nose that he might rise as well.

  They were dressed, thankfully, when a sharp rap sounded at their door, though Katie had yet to attend her hair. Exchanging a curious face with Henry, she pulled open the short, blue-painted door.

  A woman, shorter and rounder than Katie, but possibly having seen many more years, stood close.

  “Well, here I am, your first customer, aye?” Said the woman with some cheer, despite the bloodied cloth she held wrapped around her left hand. She stepped forward, not exactly waiting an invitation, though Katie had begun to pull the door open.

  She hoped the woman wouldn’t judge her too harshly for the sparse furniture and remaining general clutter, since her unpacking was not yet done. She ushered her over to the stool at the table, and the woman began to unravel the cloth she’d turned round and round her hand, revealing a deep slice running diagonally across her palm.

  “Oh, my,” Katie said and left her there, pivoting to fetch her pouches.

  With no other preamble or explanation for the hideous slice across her palm, the woman called over her shoulder to Katie. “Ye ken why the door is painted blue? The only one, you see.”

  “I did find it curious,” Katie mused.

  “Aye, but was only Martha and Callum lived here, nigh on twenty years. She were sweet, but Callum liked the ale more than I and dinna he have a fine habit of stumbling into different homes each night, too soused to ken which was his own? So the laird heard enough grousing ‘bout it every month at the court sessions, he finally says aye, paint the door so the bugger’ll ken where he lives.”

  Katie found this equally amusing and concerning, giving a spare and charitable thought to poor Martha.

  “But then one day, Callum dinna find the blue door, nor any other. Unearthed him a few days later, in the low spots out in the pasture, blue and bloated. And so Martha took her bairns back down near Glasgow, had a sister there, if I recall.” And with that, apparently the end of the tale, the woman promptly asked, “And how do ye like your payment? Morven, goat that he was, only ever wanted food. Sweets were his favorite. I gave birth seven times and it only ever cost me five puddings and some sweet breads.” She cackled then, her laughter loud and scratchy, but somehow very charming for its hardiness.

  “Well, I’m willing to trade for anything that my son or I might need,” Katie said when she’d returned and sat next to the woman on the long bench. “Presently, I have no kindling or firewood.”

  “Och, that’s an easy one. You sew this pretty and I’ll send down my oldest with your fire-making stuff, and I’m getting the better deal, I ken, so mayhap I’ll send down some ale as well.”

  “Is that your occupation then? Are you the alewife?”

  “Och, nae. But I sure do like it, so I keep plenty on hand.”

  Katie smiled and introduced herself. “And my son is Henry.”

  The woman slapped her forehead with her uninjured hand. “Bluidy—och, sorry, lass. Been sitting here working my jaw all this time, dinna tell you my name. Agnes, I am. And even I canna remember all my bairns’ names, so I won’t bother ye with that yet. The loud, always bellowing ones, those are mine.”

  Her smile never left, seemed just to be permanently fixed in place. Her hair was gray and orange and wiry and her gown tattered but clean, the buttoned front stretching a bit, filled with her soft belly. Katie liked her instantly and they chatted long after her wound was sewn.

  The door hadn’t been
closed but a few minutes after Agnes’s departing figure when another knock came. Swinging the door open once more, she found Eleanor at her stoop. As ever, her expression was filled with that simmering aggression.

  Holding the door with one hand, Katie lifted a brow at the woman.

  Eleanor stood with her left hand covering the top of her bare right arm, just under that ridiculous fur. At Katie’s silent question, she pulled her hand away, showing a deep gash across the tanned and muscled skin of her arm.

  “Good heavens, Eleanor,” Katie exclaimed, throwing the door wide. “Come in.”

  Henry, having lost interest eventually in Agnes, perked up when he saw Eleanor.

  And then wasn’t he a dear, when his jaw dropped and his eyes widened, reaching for Eleanor’s gaze, when he saw the trouble, his concern so endearing.

  Katie handed a strip of linen to Eleanor. “Hold that over it while I fetch my supplies.”

  “Dinna fuss, lad,” Eleanor said, less snarly than any tone she might have used with Katie. “I’ve seen worse.”

  He stood next to Eleanor when she sat where Agnes had. He put his hands at the edge of the table, his thumbs underneath, his gaze moving between Eleanor’s striking blue eyes and the terrific gash in her arm. “Was there another battle?” He asked.

  The woman warrior shook her head. “Nae, there was no’. There was that bugger, Fergus, who dinna ken when to temper his swing during training.”

  Katie returned to the table and laid out her needles and thread, realizing she would need a fire soon, to boil so many of her implements before they were used again. This was her last clean needle.

  First, she addressed the slash, deep enough to bleed but hopefully not carved too deep that any muscle was damaged. She sat close and manipulated the opening as needed to assess it.

  “Any pain other than right there, at the cut?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “It dinna need anything but Alec ordered that I see ye.”

  “It does need to be sewn, Eleanor,” Katie advised. “Will take but a moment and will heal so much quicker.”

  “Aye.”

  “I dinna suppose I need to warn you, this will sting.”