Healing the Highlander

by Melissa Mayhue

  “Baby might look a little intimidating at first, but he’s a total sweetie. Keep a good watch on Leah for me, big guy. You two are going to get on just fine.” With that, she hugged the dog’s massive neck and disappeared back into the kitchens.

  Leah eyed the dog for a moment, ultimately deciding he didn’t look like he planned to attack. Though she’d swear he seemed to be grinning at her as she started out to find the lovely bench she’d passed last night.

  It would be the perfect spot to sit quietly and indulge in that fantasy about Drew appearing on her side of the wall down in the bathhouse.

  Drew leaned his head back against the wall of the shed, eyes closed for a moment while he caught his breath. But only for a moment. Any longer and someone might think him weak. He might think himself weak.

  Though there were only four of them training in the lists this morning, it had been a good session. His body was exhausted, but he knew from experience that the workout would pay off for him long into the evening, with hours of lessened muscle pain.

  He opened his eyes and glanced down to the bench where he sat, catching up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face before turning his attention back to the arena where his brother Caden pitted his skills against those of Alasdair Maxwell.

  Dair felt more like another brother than a family friend, having spent more of his life at Dun Ard than at his own family’s home. As they’d grown up together, he, Dair, and Colin, his youngest brother, had been inseparable. They’d planned to become knights together, battling the enemies of their country to protect Scotland’s freedom while Caden would one day take over from Blane as laird.

  They’d had it all figured out.

  But Drew’s injuries in the battle to save Mairi and Sallie from the Faerie masquerading as a duke had changed all that. Dair and Colin had gone on to follow that dream, just without him.

  Drew hardened his heart against the stab of pain, consoling himself with the idea that there could yet be time to join them once he was healed.

  “Good practice.”

  Drew’s thoughts were pulled back to the present when the man he’d trained against, Simeon MacDowell, sat down beside him, offering the wineskin he held.

  Drew accepted the offer, tipping his head back for a long drink. Sim had joined their family just over a year ago when his aunt Catriona had married their laird. There had been some initial suspicion since Sim had fought for Catriona’s brother, Austyn Wodeford, who supported the English, but it hadn’t taken long for him to win them over. It helped that he’d played a major role in aiding Blane and Colin in their escape to freedom when they’d been held for ransom last year.

  Drew liked him. Sim was a quiet one, but he fought hard and Drew honestly believed that once Sim gave his loyalty, he could be trusted no matter what.

  “I’ve no had the opportunity to extend my congratulations on yer marriage. She looks to be a good woman. For yer sake, I pray it’s so.” Sim absently scratched his chin, pausing as if he had more to say.

  “You ken yer welcome to speak yer mind freely with me.”

  The other man shrugged, staring at the ground at his feet. “It’s perhaps naught, but I feel I should tell you anyway. The English you brought to Dun Ard, Moreland? Though I’ve never seen him before, I have met the man he serves, his uncle. Lord Henry Moreland spent time at Wode Castle on two occasions while I was there. He had alliances with Wodeford.”

  Not surprising, really. Those Scots who allied themselves with the English for profit and personal gain were known to have a network of ties within England.

  “I tell you only because I ken that this knight suspects yer woman to be the one he seeks. The one who’s to be bride to his lord. No!” Sim held up his hand to stop Drew from saying anything. “I’m no asking you to confirm or deny his charge. It’s of no matter to me. That she’s yer wife was all I needed to hear. I ken you spoke of the situation with yer brother and the laird, and whatever the three of you decided is what I support. I only want you to ken what manner of man you deal with.”

  “And what kind of man is Lord Henry Moreland?”

  Sim shook his head, lifting his eyes as he spoke. “The worst kind. With his violent temper, he’s a twin for Austyn, if ever one lived. His men gossiped of the death of his second wife, a young lass who gave him a girl-child instead of the son he wanted. Rumor had it, no long after the birth she and the babe plunged to their deaths from the tower of Moreland’s castle.”

  Drew could think of no good response to the story, his mind a jumble of anger and concern. If this was what Leah’s uncle planned for her future, he was grateful he would be the one to wed her instead.

  He held the wineskin out to Sim, who took it as he rose to his feet.

  “I only thought you should be aware of this.” With a careless shrug of his shoulders, Sim strode away toward the keep.

  After last night, he had no alternative but to acknowledge his attraction to Leah was more than a simple dalliance. It was even more than his needing her to heal him. It went much deeper somehow.

  He’d had to fight all his worst personal demons last night to force himself off that bed. Taking his pallet to the floor, he’d slept not one wink. Instead he’d lain awake, listening to Leah breath, his soul at war with the demon Guilt.

  By bringing Leah to Dun Ard, he’d given her no option but to marry him, with no regard for what feelings she might have. Granted, it was no lie that the marriage was a necessity to save her from Moreland’s finding out who she was. Still, he’d known she was desperate to save her grandparents and would agree to anything. He’d been equally confident Blane would refuse the help she sought, not willing to put the people of Dun Ard in harm’s path, distant relations or not.

  So why had he pushed her to this resolution?

  For himself and his desires, plain and simple. He wanted her gift of healing to make him whole. And after last night, he confirmed what he only suspected before.

  He wanted her.

  No matter what she wanted.

  He stood, dragging one hand across his face and into his hair, as if he could wipe away the stain of guilt that colored his soul.

  No, he couldn’t. But after hearing Sim’s story, at least he could console himself that marriage to him was the lesser of two evils Leah faced.

  Even if she never loved him.

  Twenty

  Leah paced back and forth in her bedchamber, impatiently waiting for Drew to return. He’d suggested she go ahead and retire for the night since he had no idea how long his meeting with the laird and others might last.

  Though he hadn’t gone into detail, she suspected he would be speaking to his family of her need for their help. Knowing that might be the case and knowing she wouldn’t be there to speak on her own behalf drove her crazy.

  Retire, indeed. No chance she’d be sleeping any time soon.

  What she needed was a good book.

  Books were probably the one thing Leah missed most from her own time. The ready availability to grab up a book and get lost in the story, transporting her from whatever troubles bothered her to someone else’s fantasy, now that had been a loss, though one she’d been willing to live with.

  One she was still willing to live with. There might be no handy paperbacks here, but there were no Nuadians after her either, and that was a trade-off she could support.

  There were books in this time, just not the stories she loved. They were more manuscript than book, often what she’d consider small works of art. Learning to read the perfectly shaped, decoratively drawn letters had been a challenge, but she’d made it a priority and Hugh and Margery had been amazingly supportive. Hugh still surprised her at least once per year with some new text he’d managed to lay his hands on for her.

  Even the people of Dun Ard must place some value on the written word. She’d seen a few books in the laird’s solar when they’d first arrived. Likely those belonging to the laird were religious in nature, as so many books were in this time, but there mi
ght be at least one book of poetry.

  An enticing thought, indeed.

  What harm would there be in her making a quick visit to the laird’s solar? The men were off somewhere discussing her entire future, so surely no one would mind her borrowing a text she could return tomorrow morning.

  Decision made, she slipped quietly out into the hall, all too aware that behind a door midway to the stairs, Moreland slept. Lurked, was more like it. The man had become the bane of her existence in the last few days. He was always there, always watching, as if just waiting for her to screw up so he could pounce with a snotty aha!

  Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, she hurried past his door and down the stairs, making her way to the laird’s solar.

  She found the door closed when she reached her destination. She lifted her hand to knock but, casting a quick glance to her right and left to make sure the hallway was empty, placed her ear to the wood instead.

  A deep murmur of voices greeted her, too blanketed by the heavy wooden door for her to make out any words.

  Crapola. She should have realized if Drew was meeting with the laird, that meeting would be taking place in the laird’s solar.

  Turning away from the door, she considered her options. Going back to her bedchamber was likely the smart move. But sitting in that room alone, waiting, staring into the fire was driving her up the wall.

  What about the gardens? She’d spent a lovely hour or so there today even if Ellie’s dog had insisted on sitting right next to her as if on guard duty the entire time.

  Deciding she’d hit on the perfect compromise, she set off down the hallway and through the kitchens, out into the gardens. She briefly considered whether or not she should have gone back for a wrap of some sort, but as soon as she stepped into the night, she knew she would be fine as she was.

  Though it was cool, it wasn’t so cold as to drive her back indoors. A late-afternoon rain had left the air smelling fresh and clean in a way she always loved.

  Clouds formed a haze over the waning moon, but there was enough light for her to find her way to the bench as long as she stayed to the path. For the moment, though, she simply stood her ground, enjoying the feel of the evening breeze lightly playing over her face. Yes, coming out here had been a very good decision.

  She’d made it almost all the way to the bench when she heard the noise. A footstep perhaps, or . . . looking up ahead she realized the spot she’d hoped to enjoy was already occupied. When she stopped, hesitating, trying to decide whether to turn around, the decision was made for her.

  “Join me, Leah.”

  Rosalyn MacAlister beckoned to her, patting the seat next to her in invitation to the spot that had been Leah’s intended destination.

  “I’m so pleased you’ve discovered my favorite hideaway.” Rosalyn hugged Leah’s shoulders as she sat down. “At last we’ll have the peace and quiet to chat for a bit.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind my interrupting you?” If she were escaping to this lovely spot, she certainly wouldn’t appreciate having someone disturb her.

  “No at all, child. I’ve those questions I’ve wanted to ask but never the time and place to ask them.”

  Oh, no. The infamous mother-in-law grilling. It would be hard enough if she were truly here to marry Rosalyn’s son, but as an imposter? Not a comfortable situation. Not in the least. Still, she’d given her word to Drew that she wouldn’t speak out before he felt it was safe to do so.

  “I’ll answer anything about me that I can. Ask away.” What else could she say? After all, this woman was to be her mother-in-law.

  “Drew has shared the truth of who you are with us, lass. I’d like to ask about yer father.”

  He’d told them? And he hadn’t told her that he’d told them? She’d be having a thing or two to say to him later this night.

  “A few years back,” Rosalyn continued, “we had a visit from a group of Tinklers. During the course of their stay, one of the women happened to mention yer father to me. She told a story of Robert’s death. Him and his bride both.”

  Leah had almost forgotten the Tinklers who had brought Robert back to MacQuarrie Keep, wounded, dying. Of course they would have believed the story Grandma Mac had given everyone, that Robert had died from the wounds he suffered when he’d been taken prisoner. It wasn’t like she and Grandma Mac could have told anyone the truth, after all. Who would believe Robert and his wife along with the child Jamie had all been swept seven hundred years into the future?

  Come to think of it, this woman sitting at her side might.

  “Yes. Robbie and Isabella both. She wasn’t my mother, in case you’re wondering.” Just in case she was doing the math. If she knew Isa was Robbie’s bride, she’d quickly realize Leah couldn’t be their daughter.

  “So I gathered. Oh! Look up there! Quickly!” Rosalyn grabbed her hand and pointed to the sky, where a shooting star blazed a short streak through an exposed patch of black before disappearing. “It’s a sign of things to come, that. Proof of a Faerie promise delivered.”

  A Faerie promise? Leah barely had time to consider what shooting stars and Faeries could possibly have to do with one another when Rosalyn switched tracks again.

  “Speaking with that Tinkler, that was the second time I heard tell of Robert’s death. Now, I was a party to the first story, so it’s well I ken what really happened, and it set me to wondering, was it the same this time as the first? Is he really dead or has he gone back to . . .” She paused, allowing her words to hang in the air above them.

  “He’s gone back.” Why she’d open up to a complete stranger, one of Faerie blood at that, was beyond her. “Him and his bride.”

  “How lovely.” Rosalyn nodded her head before dropping it back to gaze up at the sky. “Robert was a good man when I knew him. A good friend to my nephew, Connor.”

  “They’re still good friends.” Leah felt almost as if the choice of whether or not to volunteer the information was beyond her control.

  “I canna say I’m surprised, but it is good to hear all the same.”

  Rosalyn patted her hand and they sat quietly together for several minutes before she spoke again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “You come from that time, aye? You’ve the Faerie blood in you, do you no, lass?”

  “No more than you.”

  Rosalyn chuckled, patting her hand once more, her voice returning to normal. “Well said, daughter. Well said.”

  Daughter. Whatever “truth” Drew had told them, he obviously hadn’t shared the real one. No wonder he hadn’t said anything to her about it yet.

  “Is it worries that bring you out here this night? You’ve no call to fash yerself over the wedding tomorrow. All is in order. Cook started preparations yesterday so even the feast is well on its way to being done. Ellie and Sallie have done wonders in organizing everything in record time.”

  Was she suffering from nerves? Yes. About the wedding? In part, maybe. She denied it all the same.

  “I’m not worried. I just needed to get out of the room for a while. I felt like the walls were closing in on me.”

  Again Rosalyn chuckled softly. “Aye, it’s the worries of any new bride. I went through the same myself on the night before my own wedding. Though I’d known Duncan for nigh on thirty years before he finally realized he wanted to wed me, and though I had no a single doubt in my heart that he was my own true love, I still spent the night before my wedding sitting out in this very garden, looking up at the stars for reassurance.”

  Leah dropped her head back, allowing her gaze to rake the sky. Good thing she wasn’t looking for stars to reassure her. Even the small patch of black she’d seen before was covered over now.

  “Though I dinna sit on this bench,” Rosalyn picked up her conversation as though the long pause had never happened. “There was naught but a stump here back in those days. My Duncan made this bench for me with his own two hands. We spent many a night sitting on it, staring up at the stars togethe
r. After he died, I brought it here from Sithean Fardach so I could sit upon it each night when I come out to converse with him.”

  Wait. What? “Converse with who?”

  “Duncan, of course.” This time Rosalyn laughed, a hearty, happy sound. “Before you think yer new mother is addle-brained, rest assured I do it only because it makes me feel as if I still have him to talk to. To share my burdens and my joys. Like this. Duncan!” She called out the name as if she’d just spotted an old friend walking by. “Do you see her? This is to be our new daughter. Drew’s wife. I told you, did I no? They’re slow as a summer day, but eventually, they’ll each find their intended and be as happy as you and I were.”

  How low did she feel right now? Did worms have underbellies? Here was this sweet lady, sitting out here mourning for her lost love, believing her son was to marry the woman of his dreams. Lower than a worm’s underbelly, whatever came lower than that.

  “Drew puts a great deal of effort into trying to convince everyone around him that nothing matters to him but drink and gaming. I ken differently. You do as well, do you no?”

  “I believe he cares about his family.” And that he was a man of great integrity. And trustworthy. And handsome beyond belief.

  “He’s been through a lot, that lad has. He was but a boy when he near gave his life trying to save his sister and his cousin Mairi from evil men who thought to use them for their own evil purposes. When they brought Drew home, his body hacked and bleeding, I thought for sure I’d lose him. But he’s a fighter and he survived. And in spite of the scars he hates so, he’s grown to be a fine, strong man.”

  The scars. She’d seen that horrible scar on his chest. No wonder his mother had thought he might die. From the looks of it, he was lucky he hadn’t.

  “He’s a good heart, that one,” Rosalyn continued. “Caden’s all about responsibility to Dun Ard and Colin’s all about defending Scotland and honor, but Drew . . .” She paused, patting Leah’s hand once more. “Drew is all about heart. No matter what he pretends, his feelings run deep. Perhaps deeper than those of his brothers. He’s spent the last ten years thinking himself less than a man because of the scars marring his body. I’m so grateful he’s found the woman who was able to see through that exterior to heal the scars on his heart.”