Chapter Six
Craigleith Moor
THE WIND CARRIED the scent of tobacco smoke to Iain before Sandy MacGillivray came into view. Iain smiled when he saw Craigleith’s gamekeeper riding toward him over the snow.
The old man’s frill of white hair floated around his bonnet like a cloud, and he grinned, showing both his remaining teeth as their garrons drew even. “Good day, Laird.”
Sandy regarded the bundle in Iain’s lap for a moment. If he was surprised to see Iain carrying a woman wrapped in his plaid, he didn’t make any comment. He merely nodded. “Auld Annie said I’d find you right about here this morning—and she said the signs pointed to a visitor coming to Craigleith. I suppose this must be she.”
Iain chuckled as Sandy fell in beside him. “What did Annie use this time? Dreams, scrying?”
Sandy squinted. “She saw it in the ashes yesterday, and again today in the bannock batter.” His eyes fell on Alanna again. “Is she hurt?”
“Yes, and asleep for the moment. She got lost in the storm. We spent the night in Ewan’s cott. She injured her knee,” Iain said, offering the short explanation of things.
Sandy gave Iain a manly grin. “A night in Ewan’s cott, eh?”
Iain thought of holding Alanna’s icy body against his own through the night, willing warmth and life back into her limbs. It hadn’t been even remotely romantic. Still, he’d woken this morning, and she’d been warm and soft and curled against him like a lover. He’d never gotten out of bed so fast in his life. He looked down at her now, sleeping like the dead in his arms. But she wasn’t dead. He’d saved her. He pulled a fold of his plaid tighter around her face to keep out the cold, and Sandy chuckled at the gesture.
Iain glowered at him. “She was unconscious. All night.”
Sandy waggled his brows. “Och, aye, just as you say, Laird. Still, your Sassenach won’t like this, especially if this lass is bonnie. Is she? I can’t tell with her wrapped so tightly against your heart.”
“Penelope is hardly my Sassenach. She’s my cousin, just here to visit.” And yes, Alanna McNabb is bonnie indeed . . . His hand tightened on her shoulder, possessively, unwilling to share her, even with Sandy.
Sandy puffed his pipe, his white eyebrows winging toward the edge of his bonnet. “As you say, Laird, as you say,” he said again. “It’s just that you’re the only one who believes that. We’d better hurry home,” Sandy said. “The storm won’t be long in coming.”
Iain held his tongue and almost sighed with relief when Craigleith Castle came into view. The sickly yellow-gray storm light loomed behind the sturdy square tower and its pointed roof. Snow clung to the weathered stones, giving the castle a speckled appearance. It looked magical, and as always, he felt a sense of contentment and pride at coming home. Would he feel that in England, at Woodford Park?
They rode into the bailey, to the kitchen door. It swung open as they brought the garrons to a stop, and Annie stood in the doorway regarding Iain fondly as he slid off the horse with Alanna still in his arms. She didn’t bother with a greeting. “Our visitor, no doubt. Bring her inside out of the cold,” she commanded, standing back, pulling her arisaid closer against the chill. She cackled softly as Iain carried Alanna over the threshold of his home like a bride. He sent the old seer a quelling look. Alanna was a bride indeed, though not his. This was to have been her wedding day, a joyful occasion, but at Craigleith she was just an injured stranger. Poor lass.
She woke and looked up at him in surprise, her hazel eyes widening, her lips parting. Iain’s breath caught in his throat, and he forced a smile. “We’re here, lass—Craigleith.”
“There’s a fire in the kitchen—I’ll tend to her there,” Annie directed him, and Alanna glanced at her. “Annie MacIntosh, this is Alanna McNabb,” Iain said and set Alanna carefully on the bench near the fire. She clung to his shoulder a moment, and he had the urge to keep hold of her, but he stepped back, his body cold where she’d lain against him. Alanna looked around at the curious eyes regarding her—Sandy, his daughter-in-law Seonag the cook, and wee Janet, Seonag’s eldest daughter. He introduced them, and Alanna smiled at each one in turn, as if she was glad to know them. They beamed right back at her as if they were all simple and had never seen a pretty lass before this moment. Iain frowned at them over the top of Alanna’s head, but they didn’t take the hint. They stayed right where they were, staring. Alanna folded back the plaid from her hair and blushed.
“Why, aren’t you a bonnie lass!” Annie said, peering at her. She looked at Iain with a grin. “This will set the cat among the pigeons, Iain, you mark my words, and neither one of us needs the sight to ken that.”
Iain ignored the comment and leaned on the mantel, loathe to leave Alanna, even in Annie’s gentle care. Annie poured a cup of whisky, went to the cupboard, and took out a pot of herbs. She put a generous pinch into the cup, added some honey, and took a poker out of the fire to stir the brew. The whisky hissed and bubbled, and she pressed it into Alanna’s hands. “You drink that down while it’s hot,” she instructed.
Alanna looked at the faces around her. Was the pregnant woman with her sleeves rolled high on her arms Iain’s wife? She had eyes only for Alanna, it seemed, and had barely looked at Iain. Alanna was glad he stayed, stood close by, leaning against the fireplace.
They did not look unkind—far from it—but they were staring at her. She supposed she was a dreadful mess, her hair uncombed, her clothing wrinkled. Her face heated, and she looked around the kitchen. It was big and homey, and it reminded her of Glenlorne, where she’d grown up. There was the same scrubbed wooden table, the same pots and pans and bundles of drying herbs, the same kettle hanging over the fire, and the familiar scent of fresh baked bread and hot soup. She felt tears prick her eyes.
Seonag MacGillivray made a soft sound of sympathy and caught Alanna’s hand. She patted it and called her a poor wee lass to be caught in such terrible weather. She rested her other hand, flour-coated, on her pregnant belly.
Wee Janet smiled and leaned against Sandy MacGillivray, introduced as her grandfather. Sandy MacGillivray regarded Alanna with a fond smile, his white hair orange in the firelight, the color it must have been in his youth.
Annie MacIntosh studied her even more carefully than the rest, her eyes dark and shiny amid deep wrinkles and crags. Alanna had the feeling Annie could see right inside her skull and read her thoughts. She was aware of Iain behind her, resisted the urge to reach for his hand. She straightened her spine instead and looked down into the amber brew in her hands. The cup was soothingly warm against her palms, and she sipped it. The honey soothed the whisky’s burn and the bitter edge of the herbs. The hot liquid made her limbs light and warm. As everyone leaned in to watch her, she wondered what was in the brew, but Annie smiled reassuringly, just the way Muira might have done if Alanna had been home at Glenlorne. “That’s it, lass.”
The door burst open, and a young girl hurried through the door and flew into Iain’s arms. Alanna noticed she limped. “You’re back!” the girl said as he wrapped her in a hug and kissed the top of her head. “We were so worried—well, I was,” the girl said, pulling back to look up at Iain. “Annie said you’d be fine. Was it the storm that kept you out all night?”
“Yes. We were forced to spend the night at Ewan’s cott, but all is well,” Iain said.
The girl grinned. “Well, you’re here now, and safe. Annie says there’s another storm coming.”
“More of the same—snow, wind, and cold. Winter’s early this year, and fierce,” Annie said, and made a sign against ill fortune.
“Come and meet our guest,” Iain said, his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Alanna McNabb, this is my sister, Fiona MacGillivray.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “Annie said we should expect a visitor. How do you do?”
Alanna smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She had no ch
ance to say more than that as Annie bent over her leg.
“You’ll turn away now, Iain, and Sandy, out you go too, old man. This isn’t for your eyes,” Annie instructed, her gnarled hands on the hem of Alanna’s skirt.
Alanna looked up at Iain. He was looking back at her, his eyes shadowed with the fire behind him. She wished he would stay. Did propriety matter now? He’d seen far more than just her injured knee—he’d seen everything. He’d stripped her of her clothing, held her naked body against his own, kept her warm and safe. She felt heat rise in earnest now.
“I’d better see to the garron. I’ll leave you in Annie’s capable hands,” he said and gave her a reassuring smile. So he was a groom here at Craigleith, perhaps, and likely used to healing horses with injured legs, which explained his care of her. She watched as he left the room, and felt strangely alone without him, though she’d only known him for a matter of a few short hours—did all the hours she was unconscious count? She supposed in this case they most certainly did, but still, he was a stranger. Yet it felt as if the light and heat went out of the room when he left it. Perhaps it was because he’d rescued her. Perhaps it was because he was the tallest, handsomest man she’d ever seen. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d saved her from a fate almost worse than death: If she were at Dundrummie at this very moment, she would be reciting the wedding vows that would bind her for life to the Marquess of Merridew. Iain MacGillivray had given her a reprieve from that. She felt gratitude bloom in her breast.
Annie laid a wrinkled hand on Alanna’s cheek. “You’re flushed like a summer rose. I feared you were fevered, but you’re not.” The old woman glanced after Iain, her eyes speculative. Alanna lowered her gaze.
“I’m well, I think, except for my leg.”
Annie moved the tattered edges of her skirt away.
Janet gasped at the sight of her injuries, and Seonag made a sound of pity. Fiona pointed. “That’s Iain’s handkerchief!” she said in a half whisper. “The one I embroidered with his initials last Christmas.”
Annie cackled. “Perhaps we needn’t have sent him out after all. I trust he was the one that bandaged you up in the first place?”
Alanna felt more fiery blood fill her cheeks. She pictured his naked body in the firelight, the sensation of his strong hands on her leg, the way he’d held her on the horse, the ease with which he lifted her, carried her. She kept her eyes on her leg. “Yes, he was the one who bandaged it,” she said. “Is it as bad as it looks?”
Annie probed carefully and squinted before replying. “Sprained and swollen, bruised and scratched too, but not broken. No wonder Iain was carrying you about the way he was. He’ll be carrying you for a few days more.”
“Oh, no, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I can manage,” Alanna said. “I really can’t stay here for so long as that. I am grateful for your kindness, but I must get home.”
“Where’s that?” Annie demanded as she poured hot water into a bowl and added a handful of herbs. She mixed them with her hands.
“Glenlorne—well, Dundrummie,” Alanna said. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to go home to her brother, and Muira, and the people she loved—not that she didn’t love her mother, or her aunt Eleanor, but she decidedly did not love the Marquess of Merridew. She felt fresh tears sting her eyes.
“Och, lass, don’t cry. You’ll be fine. We may be strangers now, but we’re good, kind folk, and Iain . . . well, there’s no better man than Iain,” Seonag soothed, laying a reassuring hand on Alanna’s shoulder.
Annie spread the warm poultice on Alanna’s knee, her fingers gentle. The strong summer smell of the herbs filled the air, another reminder of home. “You’ll need to stay put,” Annie said firmly, but not unkindly. “You mentioned a healer named Muira—I’ve no doubt at all that she’d tell you the same.”
“What of the Laird of Craigleith?” Alanna asked. “I should speak to him, ask his permission—”
Annie looked surprised, and Seonag chuckled.
“But Iain is the Laird of Craigleith. Did he not introduce himself properly?” Annie asked.
“We did not—talk—very much.” Alanna swallowed, and Annie cackled again.
“My brother is also the Earl of Purbrick in England . . . well, he’s going to be. The old earl was our great-uncle, and he died this past autumn. Iain will go to England in the spring and take up his duties there,” Fiona said.
An earl? Alanna swallowed. And she’d imagined him to be a tacksman or a stable hand. She should have known of course, by the confidence in his eyes, the innate attitude of a man in charge. Yet everyone here was at ease with him, and he had a way of making even a stranger feel comfortable and safe.
Annie made a sour face. She uttered something dark under her breath in Gaelic about Sassenachs, and Fiona clasped her hands together anxiously.
“My brother’s an earl too,” Alanna said quickly. “A Scottish one—the Earl of Glenlorne.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. Annie’s brow unfurled at once, and her eyes twinkled. “An earl’s sister?” She began to laugh, her mouth wide to expose her missing teeth. “Aye, you will indeed set the cat among the pigeons,” she said cryptically. “Wait until the ladies upstairs meet you, my lady!”
“Ladies?” Alanna asked.
“Sassenachs,” Annie whispered the word again, her lips pinching.
“My aunt Marjorie and my cousins Lady Penelope and Lady Elizabeth, from England,” Fiona explained. “Elizabeth is very nice . . .”
“Och, they expect English food, English manners, and an English Christmas. I wonder if they realize that this is Scotland they’re in,” Seonag said. “And they’re determined to give our laird lessons, teach him how to be English—as if Iain MacGillivray could ever be mistaken for an Englishman! They can take him out of the Highlands, I say, but they will not take the Highlands out of Iain.”
Alanna knew all about lessons in English manners, language and customs, and felt sympathy for the laird. Was it worse if one was a man? Her own mother had decided long ago that her daughters would marry English lords. She had raised them to make their debuts in London, had hired English tutors, governesses, maids, and even an English butler. When Alanna married the Marquess of Merridew and took her place as an English Marchioness, every aspect of her Scottishness would be hidden or banished. Even the lilt of Alanna’s accent would be crushed after many hours of correction. Well, almost crushed. They could never entirely take the Highlands out of her either.
She tried to imagine Iain MacGillivray walking into an English drawing room, tall and redheaded, broad-shouldered and tanned, his plaid across his shoulders, his hair windblown. No, Seonag was right—no one would mistake Craigleith’s laird for an Englishman. He was as different from an Englishman as eagles were from blackbirds. At least the Englishmen Alanna had met.
“Then I should perhaps pay my respects to Lady MacGillivray,” Alanna said.
“My mother has been dead for many years,” Fiona said, misunderstanding.
“She means Iain’s wife, I believe,” Annie corrected her, and Fiona blushed.
“Oh! He isn’t married. There isn’t a Lady MacGillivray,” Fiona said.
“Yet,” Annie muttered under her breath, and Fiona hid a frown.
Alanna didn’t ask what that might mean. She watched as Annie bound her leg in strips of clean linen, sat back, and wiped her hands on her apron. “There now. You’ll need a bit of quiet and a long sleep. I’ll go get Iain, have him carry you upstairs. Sit for the moment, and finish the draught I gave you. Fiona will keep you company.”
Alanna felt her face flame. “I don’t wish to trouble Ia—the laird,” she said. He wasn’t just her rescuer anymore—he was the master of this place, a man with responsibilities, and better things to do. She began to rise. She hadn’t realized she was so tired, or that her knee was so very sore. The room dissolved, a
nd Annie set a hand on her shoulder and pressed her back into her seat.
“Iain won’t be troubled in the least. I’ve seen him lift heifers heavier than you, carry them a mile across rough pasture. ’Tis best if you rest. Wee Janet, go and get the warming pan, and take it up to the green bedchamber.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “The green chamber? But that’s—”
“Whisht!” Annie said, snapping her fingers. Silence fell, as if by magic. “Go on now.” Wee Janet went at once.
Alanna stared into her cup. It was the herbs—and the whisky—that had made her sleepy and weak, made her mind move more slowly than usual, made her content to sit and drowse by the fire. She stared at the grayish bits of herbs that swam in drunken circles in the whisky, let them draw her into the brew. Perhaps it was a magic potion, something to make her forget Merridew, and dull duty, and her mother’s lofty ambitions. She put the cup to her lips and drank it to the dregs, wishing she could sleep until spring, wake at home in her own bed at Glenlorne, with the marquess long gone. She looked into the empty cup. She could see his face—Iain’s, not Merridew’s. It was a very nice face. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. She looked up to find Annie watching her with a keen expression.
She felt the thump of her heart against her ribs, the whoosh of light-headedness and heat that swept through her.
“Are you all right?” Fiona asked from far away.
Alanna grinned at her. “Oh yes, thank you, I’m very well,” she said, as she’d been taught—polite, ladylike, and gracious. To her ears, she sounded like she was speaking from the bottom of a very deep well. She grinned, resisted the urge to laugh out loud. There would be no wedding today. She had a reprieve, even if it was only a short one.
She sobered. She would take a brief nap, she decided, and then she would ask for pen and paper, or borrow a cart and horse, or even a garron. Would she go to Dundrummie or Glenlorne? One was west, one north. She shut her eyes.
Once Upon a Highland Christmas Page 5