Rogue Highlander: Played Like a Fiddle

by Sondra Grey

  “I’d like you to sit,” he said, raising a dark brow at me, wryly. “One would think you’ve no idea how to flirt.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?” I asked him, matching his brow with a raised one of my own.

  “Much better,” he agreed.

  I sat, leaving a foot of space between us and resisting the urge to tear up tufts of grass with my nerves. The sweet smell that had hung about him at the castle was gone, replaced with the earthier smells of travel.

  “So, what is your story, Meg?”

  “It’s an uninterested tale and I don’t like telling it,” I said.

  “Abusive husband, I’m told,” said Brandon, looking concerned. I preferred the teasing Brandon to the concerned one.

  “It’s in the past,” I said. “I don’t want to go back there.”

  “All right. Although I think these things are important to know.”

  “And why is that?”

  Brandon’s smile was slow and he leaned towards me, falling onto one elbow. He reached out, his grass tickling inside of my bare elbow and raising goosebumps along the skin. “If a woman’s been abused, she tends to shy from a man’s touch.” And I was not shying as the grass strayed up my arm. I could feel Brandon’s eyes on his task.

  “I do not let my earlier life define the one I’ve chosen for myself,” I said simply, reaching out to brush my fingers along the rough fabric of his shirt. Meg, what are you doing?

  I was nineteen years old, what was I holding onto my virginity for?

  But to give it to just anyone… Still, I didn’t feel like Brandon was just anyone. He felt… different.

  “That’s a brave way of looking at things,” said Brandon, somberly, watching my fingers where they trailed up his shirt and then rested against his shoulder. He sat up, slowly, intentionally.

  “Is it? It’s just practical.”

  “Is it strange that I’m finding practical very appealing?” he asked. There was no playing now, his hand reached out and grabbed mine, turning it over and lifting it slowly. His eyes met mine as he drew my hand close to his mouth. He kissed the palm.

  Heat shot through me, so unexpected I gasped. He lifted his lips, my palm tingling, warm and slightly wet from where his tongue had caressed it. A strange heat suffused me, head to toe. I felt heavy, wanton. I leaned in, not knowing what to do, and he leaned forward too. His lips brushed mine once, twice. Then he stilled.

  A virgin. She was a virgin. Brandon nearly groaned out loud as the realization crashed over him. That strange modesty was not flirtation at all, but maidenly ignorance. She’d no idea how to kiss. No idea how to touch a man. Her fingers, hovering by his shoulder were evidence enough of this.

  A dozen thoughts went through his head at once: Who cares? She wants you and she willing. What would it cost you to take her virginity? She’s old enough to be married with at least one child by now!

  Brandon pulled back slowly, giving her time to adjust to his retreat. It was dark, but the stars were bright enough that he could see her expression, see the confusion in her gaze. Her fingers, still hovering near his shoulder, pulled back. Dropped.

  “Let me walk you back,” he said, his voice throaty with the pent-up desire that was coursing hotly through him. When she’d agreed to go out here with him, oh the things he’d imagined they’d do together.

  “Don’t bother,” she said, her voice sounding strained. “Why make this more awkward than it needs to be.” And with that, she picked herself up and hurried off.

  Brandon watched her go, cursing himself eight times for a fool.

  Chapter 15

  I haven’t been that embarrassed in a long time. And everybody seemed to notice that something was wrong. Even Babette asked about it.

  We left the village around midday and headed towards Kilchurn. There weren’t many Campbells at home, and the price was not as good as what we’d received in the village, but we were able to sleep in the barn loft and we got to play some of the English tunes that Robin knew so well.

  Brandon had tried to speak to me twice, but I was too embarrassed and avoided him. I felt like the world’s biggest fool, and I’d been thinking all day of how I must have misread the signals. But no. I hadn’t. And so, it must have been that kiss. I’d done it all wrong. I wanted desperately to know how to the right the situation, how to kiss. But the only people I could ask were Babette and Glenna. And I didn’t dare ask either. Babette wouldn’t take my request seriously, and Glenna…

  Glenna had seen us disappear last night and was as sour as I was ashamed this morning. She was moaning about how ugly she felt, how gauche. She was upset enough to not even try to flirt with the Campbell boys, and her singing was barely inspired. Ned ended up pulling her off the stage halfway through and letting Brandon take over the songs.

  Later that evening, when the revelry ended and Duncan Campbell invited them to sit at the end of the long table and drink with them, Glenna sat down beside me and all but slammed her drink against the table. “I saw you walk off with him.”

  I felt my cheeks heat, and I resisted the urge to stare over at Brandon and see if he was looking back. I’d felt his eyes on me all day, but didn’t dare look over. If I were being honest with myself, my feelings were hurt as was my pride. But if I were being truly honest with myself, I still wanted him. I wanted him to distraction. I wanted him to kiss me again, to tell me what he wanted me to do.

  “Well,” snapped Glenna when I didn’t respond.

  “Well what?” I asked her.

  “Well did you let him have his way with you?” she all but hissed into my ear.

  I turned and frowned at her. Couldn’t she just leave me alone. She had every guy we came across, and Brandon wasn’t interested in her. Could she not just let me alone about it?

  “No,” I said, finally. “I did not.”

  A smirk transformed Glenna’s features. “I knew it,” she said. “You’re too inexperienced for someone like him. He’s just so virile.”

  Brandon had risen from his seat at the table and was speaking with some of the clansmen. I watched him with them, so different from the quiet and contemplative man on the road. He grinned, he laughed when one of the men gestured at a buxom serving woman.

  “I’ll show you how it’s done,” said Glenna, placing her cup on the table and tossing her hair back off her long neck. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she wandered over towards Brandon. But she didn’t lean on him this time, she leaned on his friend, taking up their conversation and inserting herself into the laughter. I watched Brandon grin at some joke she’d made and then I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned to Thomas, and tried to lose myself in the conversation he was having with one of the Campbell clansmen.

  When I looked back, a few minutes later, I was just in time to see them both strolling out of the hall together.

  “Don’t worry, love,” said Babette, and I started. I’d no idea she was behind me and as she stared at me, I knew I was blushing. “He’ll come around,” she said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lied.

  Babette rubbed a hand across my shoulder. “Of course you don’t, my dear,” she said. Then she stood and went in search of her husband.

  Brandon knew leaving the hall with Glenna was a mistake, but he’d had too much beer to be making good decisions. And to be honest, he was aching for release. Being so close to Meg last night, and pulling back at the last minute – it had left him cranky and in need of someone warm to sink into.

  Glenna was more than willing, and the Campbell clansmen he’d been talking too had been green with jealousy when Glenna had chosen to pass her time with him. He’d wandered outside with her at her invitation and immediately had second thoughts about it, so he’d toured her around the grounds, instead, making up stories about life in the castle and doing his best to ignore her breasts brushing his arm, or her hand as it wrapped around his wrist.

  Thirty minutes of droning about how to put a castle horse through his
paces, and Glenna finally cracked a yawn and told him it was time for her to go inside. Brandon had muttered something about having to take a leak and had sat on the castle wall instead, staring out into the forest and cursing himself for being ten kinds of idiot.

  He was supposed to be searching for Black Angus MacDonald. He needed to focus. And yet his mind kept straying back: to Meg, and the tiny golden highlights in her hair, the way the pieces had curled up around her face when it had rained the other day. The way her eyes stared out at her face, brimming with secrets he wanted to unlock.

  Chapter 16

  “I ’ve had enough,” Babette announced, grabbing my arm and dragging me away from the wagon and towards the privacy of the copse nearby. We’d stopped along the road to rest the horses before reaching Malaig. We would take the ferry over to Skye, with the goal of playing Duart, and then heading to Lewis and playing the Hebrides before heading back to the mainland.

  Since we’d left Kilchurn, everybody had seemed tense. Glenna had been her usual self – only I couldn’t tolerate her anymore. Not since I’d joined up with the players had I thought such terrible things: Why would he go off with her? She’s so obvious! Doesn’t he want something more? As if I could give him more. As if I had anything to offer. Just myself, and that clearly wasn’t good enough for Brandon.

  Whenever she would try and speak to me, I found myself boiling over with anger for Glenna. It was either hit or leave, and so I’d been doing a lot of walking off on my own. Whenever Brandon tried to strike up a conversation, I found myself acting terribly: any response to him was terse and biting. He’d stopped trying to talk to me, but I could still feel him looking at me.

  I’d never hated anyone before, but this must be what it felt like. I hated both Brandon and Glenna. I hated Brandon for rejecting me, for sending me back to that place of insecurity, which I’d hoped to leave behind when I left Anstruther. I hated Glenna for her false friendship, for her self-centeredness. She didn’t care that I was hurting. In fact, she was mad at me for being rude to her.

  “All right!” Babette declared. “What on earth is going on with you!?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, sullenly.

  “Oh, yes you do,” said Babette. “You’ve been sulky and sullen, snapping at Glenna, ignoring the rest of us. I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “What do you want from me?” I said, throwing my hands up. “I’m allowed to have feelings.”

  Babette looked at me a moment, and then reached out and squeezed my arm in a reassuring and motherly way. “Of course you’re allowed to have feelings. But you usually pour your feelings into your playing. Now it’s as if they’ve all bubbled and spilled over. What’s the matter sweet? What has you so upset that you’ve lost all your patience and goodwill?”

  I bit my lip and turned by back on Babette before she could see me cry. In my father’s house, you weren’t allowed to cry. You were biddable. You did as you were told. You were better seen, and not heard. Old habits die hard.

  “Oh sweet,” said Babette, her voice softening as I wiped angrily at the fat tear that escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek. “It’s Brandon.”

  “Brandon,” I said, his name tasting like ashes in my mouth. “Does he even have a last name?”

  “Sorely,” said Babette absently, “But that isn’t the point is it. Tell me what happened.”

  And so I told her. I told her about his kiss, about not knowing what to do and about how he pulled back, and went off with Glenna the next evening.

  Babette sighed. “Oh good. It’s not as bad as I thought.”

  I stared at her. “What did you think?” was all I could think to ask. It felt pretty terrible to me.

  “I thought perhaps you’d already had your dalliance with him. That maybe you hadn’t taken precautions and were pregnant.”

  I felt my cheeks flame and shook my head.

  “Sweet.” Babette reached out and took my hand in hers. “Didn’t your husband teach you how to kiss?”

  I felt my cheeks grow even hotter. “He wasn’t, ah, interested in that.” I said.

  “I see.” Babette’s expression grew thoughtful. “There are men like that… well never mind,” she said, waving away what she was going to say.

  “I don’t know anything,” I admitted.

  “But you’d like to know,” said Babette. “And you want Brandon to be the one to show you.”

  “Is that so wrong?” It felt wrong. I felt guilty.

  “Well,” said Babette thoughtfully. “I suppose that depends on who you ask. If you ask Thamas’ wife Jenny.”

  I pressed my lips together. Jenny had a lot of opinions about what women should and shouldn’t do.

  “Sometimes, Meg, a woman wants to wait for marriage…”

  “I don’t think I’ll marry again,” I said, quickly. Marriage would mean living under a man’s roof, and abiding by a man’s rules, as I’d once abided by my fathers. I preferred the musician’s life. I preferred my freedom.

  “Well if that’s the case dear, then there’s no reason you can’t have your fun. Just don’t go letting him put a babe in your belly.” Babette shook her head. “You’ll be taking care of yourself and a wee one, then. And it’s hard enough being a woman on her own without having a child to take care of.”

  I brushed that away. I wasn’t worried about children. I never planned on having any. “Why wouldn’t he kiss me?” I asked. “Why would he go off to tumble Glenna, but not me?”

  “Is that what’s making you miserable, sweet?” asked Babette. “That he’d choose Glenna over you?”

  I shrugged.

  As did Babette. “Most likely, it’s because he sensed you were a virgin. Men like Brandon can’t be hampered by responsibility. A woman with her virginity intact – well she is pure. Someone might marry her one day, and being the man to rid her of that purity… that’s a heavy burden for a man to bear.”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t realized that was the issue.

  “But I’m glad he didn’t kiss you further,” said Babette. “Take it from me, lovie, you don’t want to lose a most precious gift to a man who won’t cherish it. Brandon Sorely is not a man who can treasure it. You can tell. He values his freedom as much as you do – not much will tie a man like that down. And to look at him – handsome, tall, capable – he’s a man who’s been with many women.”

  “And I just can’t compare?” If Babette was trying to make me feel better, she was making me feel worse.

  “I suppose that depends on what it is you’re comparing.” Babette shrugged again. “Why is your heart so set on the fiddle player? You may as well set your sights on another, my love.” Said Babette. “Let Glenna and Brandon have each other if they must. Nurse whatever ache is in your heart and try not to blame others for being who they are.”

  I stared at her as she retreated. Her advice did nothing to fill the hollow aching in my chest. I plopped down beneath an ash tree and buried my head in my hands. This was the love and the heartache that all the songs featured. I’d been kissed by three men. The first two took the kiss, used it as an assault. The third had kissed me with lips like butterfly wings.

  Why was my heart set on Brandon? Because I felt like he might understand me. I felt like he might be someone I could tell about my life, and he would understand. I felt a kinship in him that night we lay out under the stars together. I thought he might have felt it too.

  Which is why I was angry with him, I realized. He hadn’t led me on, but he wasn’t who I thought he was. The man I thought Brandon was would not have gone off with Glenna. I was angry at him for betraying my expectations, and I was angry at her for revealing his true nature.

  I sighed. Babette was right then. You can’t blame others for who they are. You just have to accept them.

  I stood, brushing ash leaves from my dress, and went back to the carriage.

  We reached Malaig right around lunch hour. And while Ned and Brandon went to find the ferryman who might tak
e the wagon and horses’ across. The rest of us went to eat lunch at a nearby inn. I wasn’t quite ready to forgive Glenna, but I was more tolerant and less combative. I didn’t even argue with her when she decided to order oysters.

  But I can’t pretend that I wasn’t a bit smug when, on the crossing over, she clutched at her stomach and launched the contents of her lunch over the side of the ferry. I noticed, too, that it was Robin who rushed to help her, not Brandon who looked at her with mild amusement before he turned his eyes to me. I looked away, focusing, instead, on the water, which rolled with an outgoing tide.

  Only when I was sure Brandon wasn’t looking at me did I dare glance back at him. He was staring at the water, jaw clenched, the opening and closing of his fist indicating that he was holding a host of emotions in check.

  I found myself moving to stand beside him. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Don’t you like the sea?”

  Most people did. They found some sort of calm in it. For me, it reminded me of Anstruther, which lay on the west coast. I preferred the highlands for how different they were to the world I’d grown up in.

  “I cannot claim a love for the water, no,” said Brandon, his fist opening and closing again.

  “Most people find it freeing.”

  “Then they’re fools,” said Brandon, his voice low. “The water is just one more way to imprison a man.”

  I stared at him, not understanding its meaning. He looked down and me and smiled, slightly rueful. “Let’s say,” he said, “That we get to Skye. And we wish to leave. But there’s a storm. Or there are no boats. Then on Skye we will remain.”

  I’d never thought of it like that before.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Brandon after a moment, and I had the feeling that he was speaking more to himself than he was to me. "Because storms abate. And because there are boats.”

  I gave in to the urge to comfort him, reaching out and covering his clenched fist with my hand. I felt him start at the contact, and then relax his hand, until he flipped it over and it held mine, loosely. I took a deep breath. I could feel it. That tentative connection restored.