Healing the Highlander

by Melissa Mayhue

  “Good God, Peter. Excellent point.” The old man’s head wobbled back and forth as he spoke, almost as if he’d lost all control of it. “Very well. I’ll leave it in your capable hands to determine when and how to dispose of the man. As for you, girl . . .” He peered at her with glassy eyes, as if he couldn’t quite bring her into focus. “I’ll give you a month, maybe two to prove you’re ready to breed, but no more. I’ll not be cuckolding another man’s spawn.”

  Disgusting old man.

  “All settled, then?” Richard beamed at the man next to him, rising to his feet with a parchment clutched in his hand. “I’ve the document here for your seal, authorizing me to act as guardian for any children resulting from the union between you and my beloved niece.”

  Next to her, Sir Peter tensed, his head slowly swiveling up to focus on his uncle.

  “We’ll see, we’ll see,” the old lord consoled, his glassy eyes darting around the room like those of a man watching an insect. “For now my nephew remains as my designate.”

  “But, your lordship.” Richard sat back down heavily, the parchment still in his fist. “I’ve proven my trust and fidelity in giving my only son to be your page. Surely that has to influence your decision. Your nephew is but a soldier.”

  “A soldier, yes.” The old man repeated the words, his head bobbling back and forth again. “With a good head on his shoulders. A soldier, as you say. But my designate nevertheless. For now at least. We’ll see, Hawthorne. I had a great fondness for your wife’s father. That he left his title and properties to you speaks well for you. We’ll see.”

  None of this was getting Leah any closer to the resolution she’d imagined. She’d been ignored long enough. “And what of my offer of bargain? I’d have my answer now.”

  Her words were once again greeted with howls of laughter from the two men at the table in front of her.

  “Take her to the rooms where my parents are held,” Richard ordered, completely ignoring her demand. “In order that she might make herself presentable before dinner.”

  One of Richard’s guards stepped closer, giving her a little push forward.

  “I’ll see her delivered to her grandmother’s keeping,” Sir Peter offered. “Perhaps my lord’s page would be able to show us the way?”

  After a nod from his lord, the child ran to Moreland’s side, a grin covering his face. “Thank you, Sir Peter,” he whispered, hurrying on ahead of them.

  “Her bargain,” the old lord cackled as they left the room. “I do like a woman who tickles my humor.”

  Humor? If the old bastard found that funny, just wait until he tried to get her alone in a bedchamber. She’d do her best to kill him with laughter.

  The child led them up the staircase and toward the back of MacQuarrie Keep, to the little-used rooms that had once been set aside for Hugh and Margery’s boys. Now, it appeared from the guards stationed at either side of the corridor, it served as their prison.

  “So you’re my cousin,” the boy said out of the blue.

  This child was the page Richard had mentioned?

  “If Richard’s your father, I suppose I am,” she answered. “I’m Leah. What’s your name?”

  “Edward,” the boy offered at last, stopping to turn and study her, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “I have no other first cousins. I didn’t think you’d be so old.”

  What a delightful child. Not.

  “Well, she is,” the knight interrupted. “So best you mind your manners, boy, and take us where we need to be. Quickly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Edward agreed with an infectious grin. “This way, sir.” He took off at a run, racing down the hall ahead of them.

  For a bad guy, Peter Moreland wasn’t turning out to be so awful. Or maybe, it was just that he didn’t look so bad in comparison to the “good” guys she’d spent time with.

  By the blood of the Faerie Queen herself.

  Drew sat back on his haunches, his fist clutched to his chest cradling the treasure he’d found at his feet.

  “My gut tells me it’s the English who camped outside Dun Ard that we’re following now.” Sim stood above him, his nose lifted, scenting.

  From a short distance away where Dair crouched, his finger tracing a footprint, he confirmed Sim’s assertion. “The markings here tell the same story. English soldiers.”

  “And yer wife,” Colin added.

  “Aye,” Dair agreed. “I’d bet my life she was here, too.”

  “A safe bet,” Drew managed at last to force out around the fear lumped in his throat. He held out his hand, offering his evidence for the others to see.

  “Leah’s necklace. She never took it off. Moreland found her. Out here alone. Defenseless. He and his men found her.”

  Colin took the necklace, examined it front and back before passing it on to Sim.

  “Bloodstains the ribbon,” he growled, his hard eyes masking any emotion he might feel. “And signs here of a struggle. And here.” He pointed with his toe.

  “Aye,” Dair agreed, dropping a hand to Drew’s shoulder as he stepped close. “But nary a drop of blood on the ground. What stains this ribbon is no enough blood to bring yer lady permanent harm.”

  Permanent harm? Death, his friend meant, too kind to say the word aloud.

  “Permanent or no, they’ll have me to answer to for any harm she’s suffered.”

  He swore it. By the blood of the Faerie Queen herself. If they’d hurt Leah, he’d carve them open with his sword and roast their innards in the nearest firepit.

  “She’s family, Drew.” Colin reached down a hand to help him stand. “They’ll answer to all of us.”

  Thirty-two

  Run down to the kitchens, sweetling, and tell cook that I said you were to have a sweetcake. If she refuses, you tell her she’ll have me and Maisey to deal with on the matter, aye?”

  Margery kissed the top of Edward’s head and sent him on his way.

  “He’s the spitting image of Robbie at that age, is he no?” Maisey shook her head as she stared at the closed door. “Exactly like yer father, Leah, right down to the wee pink cheeks I always loved to squeeze.”

  Margery sighed, brushing at the wrinkles in her skirt. “Gives me hope that Richard hasn’t wasted his life after all.”

  Leah clamped her jaws together to refrain from saying anything. If getting to spend a little time with her grandson made all this any easier on Margery, well then, so be it. After all, she couldn’t heap blame on a child who looked hardly a day over seven, if that.

  His father, on the other hand?

  For her money, Richard was still in the running for the biggest dick on the face of the planet, even if his little boy was a sweetheart.

  “Why are you wearing this old thing about yer neck? It’s no a complement to yer frock, lass.”

  “Leave it.” Leah pushed away Maisey’s hand as the old woman reached toward the scarf she’d wound around her throat. Though it wasn’t the fashion of the day, it hid the thin scabbed line left behind when Sir Peter had broken her necklace.

  Rather, it hid where the line should be. Under the scarf, her skin was as clear and unmarked as it had ever been, but only Grandma Mac knew that. She’d told her as much when she’d confessed to losing the stone.

  She glanced up to meet Margery’s eyes, the guilt of having lost the stone the woman had given her weighing heavy on her heart.

  “I like it,” her grandmother declared, turning to dig through the chest behind her.

  With a satisfied smile, she held up the item she’d sought, another of the scarves Leah had made when she’d first learned to knit.

  “There.” Margery draped the scarf around her throat, a match to the way Leah wore hers.

  With a shake of her head and a resigned sigh, Maisey pulled the comb through Leah’s hair one more time, pronouncing herself satisfied at last when she laid the comb down.

  “That’s it then, my ladies. Yer ready for yer grand appearance at dinner.”

  Ugh. An evenin
g with the ogre and the Dick.

  “I’d give anything not to go. I can’t think of a single thing less appealing to my appetite that sitting in a room with Richard and that old prune Moreland.”

  “Now, Leah,” Grandma Mac began, but stopped with a sigh. “Yer grandpa Hugh will be there. Do you no want to let him see you’ve returned safe and sound? He’s fashed himself something awful over yer being gone.”

  It had been the only thing even resembling good news she’d had since her return. Once Richard’s son had arrived, his mood had improved and he’d had Hugh brought to the children’s wing along with Margery. They were kept separately—apparently the Dick feared his parents might plot against him if they were left alone together—but at least they were both in a warm, secure place.

  “All right, fine.” She’d go without fuss for her grandpa Hugh’s sake. “But I can’t guarantee I have it in me to be the least bit civil to either Lord Moreland or your son.”

  “Nor can I, sweetling,” Grandma Mac retorted, taking her hand as they opened the door. “Nor can I.”

  “The portcullis is in place and they’ve archers posted along the perimeter of the wall walk. Gaining entry will be a bit of challenge, I’d say.” Sim scratched his chin as he studied MacQuarrie Keep in the distance.

  The four of them crouched in the forest outside the castle walls. They planned to take their rest here until nightfall.

  “Their guards are of no concern,” Drew answered. “We need only wait for moonrise. We’ll enter the same way Leah got out in the first place.”

  Thank the Fates she’d told him the story of her harrowing escape.

  “Moonrise,” Dair repeated. “And how will that aid us in finding our entry?”

  “At moonrise, we’ll make our way to a hidden entrance at the back of the castle.”

  “You do ken that there’s naught but a loch surrounding three sides of the castle, do you no, Drew?” Dair squatted in front of him, looking from him to the castle in the distance and back again. “Three sides including the back where you say you plan to gain entrance.”

  “Aye. That’s why I said it’s a hidden entrance we’ll be using.”

  “From the sound of it, lads, we’re in for a wee swim this night.” Colin scrunched down, propping his head against a tree trunk. Eyes closed, he stretched out his legs, apparently settling himself in.

  Not for the first time, Drew marveled at his brother’s ability to sleep anywhere, at any time.

  “A swim, eh?” Sim asked, his attention still focused on the castle and the surrounding countryside.

  Indeed. According to Leah, when the water rolled out to sea and reached its lowest point in the loch, the entryway and tunnel would be open to them. They’d have until the water rushed back in to find their way into the bowels of MacQuarrie Keep. And from there?

  From there they’d rescue his wife.

  There’d be no sleep for him. Instead he rested his back against a nearby trunk and dug into his sporran until his fingers closed over the carved stone Leah had worn around her neck. He lifted it from his bag before knotting the ribbon where it had been ripped apart and slipping it down over his head.

  The stone slipped inside his shirt, smooth and hot against his skin.

  They’d find her. He could not bear to think otherwise. Find her and take her home to Dun Ard, where she belonged.

  Seeing Richard sitting in Hugh’s spot at the table ground on Leah’s nerves. Thankfully Grandma Mac had warned her about it. Still, it took more willpower than she’d given herself credit for to keep her mouth shut.

  “She’s decent enough table manners, I’ll give you that about her, Hawthorne. And pleasant on the old eyes as well.”

  Leah’s ears rang from Lord Moreland’s incessant shouting. If she actually ended up married to this old relic, she’d have to work on seating arrangements so she didn’t occupy the chair next to his like she did now.

  Maybe she could arrange for them to eat in different castles. Or different countries.

  Next to her, he coughed again, sending the food he’d just stuffed in his mouth drooling down his chin. With his fingers, he wiped it away and then dug down into the trencher that sat between them scooping up another bite.

  Their shared trencher.

  She allowed the stew-laden piece of bread in her hand to drop to the table untouched. She’d starve before she’d eat off of the same platter as that pig again. Him with the conceit and gall to comment on her table manners!

  Another coughing fit next to her, followed by an ungodly loud shout at poor little Edward. “Potion, blast it!”

  The boy ran forward, handing over the flask, eyes to the ground, but not even his subservience saved him the back of the old man’s hand.

  The resounding smack snapped the child’s head back, causing him to stumble and bringing his father to his feet.

  But only for a moment. As soon as Richard realized himself, he sat back down.

  Coward.

  Was no one going to protect this child? If someone had dared do something like that to her when she was his age, her older sister Destiny would have been all over the culprit like a wildcat. What this poor little kid needed was a Destiny of his own and it sure didn’t look like his dad was up to the job.

  “You’ve been warned to have my flask at the ready,” the ogre beside her yelled. “You’re to wait on me, you stupid cur. I don’t intend that I should have to wait on you!”

  Lord Moreland drew back his hand to strike the boy again and Leah’s choice seemed clear. She grabbed his thin wrist, easily holding it in place.

  The eyes he turned on her were fevered. “Don’t be fooled, girl. I’ll warn you only once. Being my wife won’t save you from the same as I’ve given him.”

  “Then I’ll grant you the same courtesy, your lordship,” she hissed, digging her nails into his wrist. “Be warned that, unlike that child, I’ll hit back.”

  She released his wrist to reach for her cup, irritated beyond measure to find her hand shaking. No matter that it was anger and not fear that fueled the movement.

  Next to her, the old man laughed, irrationally. Almost hysterically. Whatever was in that potion he drank to control his cough, she’d be willing to bet it would be very expensive and very illegal in about seven hundred years.

  The remainder of the meal passed uneventfully. Uneventful if she ignored the old man beside her, head lolled back against his chair, snoring. When those around them began to stand, two of Lord Moreland’s guards stepped forward and lifted him to his feet, all but carrying him from the hall.

  Oh, there was something to look forward to in a husband.

  She stood to make her way to Grandma Mac’s side, only to feel a small hand slide into hers.

  Edward waited, looking up at her as if he feared she might reject him.

  No chance of that. She squeezed his little fingers reassuringly and dropped to her knees to face him, running her forefinger softly over his swollen cheek.

  “He’s not doing that to you anymore, baby, you understand me?”

  “I’m not a baby. I’m a page.”

  “And if he does,” she continued on, ignoring his halfhearted protest just as she ignored that she sounded exactly like Destiny had sounded when lecturing her as a child. “Listen to me. If he does? And I’m not there when it happens? I expect you to tell me immediately. I’m not letting that old bastard hurt you again. Not ever.”

  The child’s eyes rounded and he nodded his understanding, but he stepped quickly back when he realized his father stood over them.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Richard reached out as if to touch his son, stopping at the last minute and clasping his hands behind him. “It won’t always go so well for you if you repeat your actions. Lord Moreland isn’t a particularly patient man. He’s a man who likes to have his own way.”

  As if she cared what that asshole liked.

  “First off, I didn’t see anyone else doing much about it, Richard. And second, I’
d say that old bastard’s got a long way to go to actually qualify as a man. Men, real men, don’t hit defenseless children.” She glared at him as she rose to her feet. “And they don’t let anyone else get away with it either.”

  She’d like to say more to the spineless jellyfish who was supposed to be her uncle, but it wouldn’t be fair to Edward. One look at the child told her he worshiped his father. She couldn’t, however, resist a parting shot once Edward raced to hold the door for Margery.

  “You should try harder to be the man that little boy thinks you are.”

  She followed along with Margery and Hugh to the corridor where they were being confined, the guards trailing only steps behind them. Next to her, Edward kept pace, his little hand snugly fit in hers.

  From the moment Richard had arrived, nothing had worked out as she’d planned. Not getting help from the MacKiernan laird, not trying to bargain for the MacQuarries’ freedom, and certainly not her misguided love for Drew.

  But perhaps there was a greater reason why it hadn’t. Maybe the Fates had determined it was time for her to pay back the kindness that had been shown to her in her time of need. Maybe it was her turn to help someone and she’d been directed back to MacQuarrie Keep to do exactly that.

  She squeezed Edward’s little hand.

  If this was payback time, she didn’t intend to let the Fates, or Edward, down.

  Thirty-three

  They were in!

  Knee-deep water swirled in the tunnel. Currents, like invisible fingers, pulled at their legs, making each step an effort.

  Drew braced a hand against the slimy wall, giving himself a moment to regain his strength. If the damned tunnel were only large enough to allow them to stand upright, it would be so much easier.

  Behind him Dair slid to a stop. “I say we opt for a boat the next time we try such as this.”

  “Bothered by yer wee swim, Maxwell?” Simeon pulled up the rear.