Highland Savior: A Medieval Scottish Highlander Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  "Then why did you not warn me, Connor?" she asked angrily. Her father put a warning hand on her arm but she shook it off. "If you thought that he might seriously hurt me, why did you not tell me? What if he had killed me?"

  "Yes," Hugh added angrily, "Rosina could have been injured - or worse!"

  Connor said nothing for a few moments. When at last he did speak, it was as if the words were being dragged out of him. But he could not say 'because I thought you might think I was being jealous. Because I love you.'

  "Because I am a coward," he admitted, "I looked at your invitation to the wedding and I refused. I thought that would be the end of it, then when your letters kept coming I thought you must be planning some kind of reconciliation for us at the wedding. I didn't know what Alasdair would do. he was so unpredictable, and I did not want to be there in case he was violent."

  "But a letter, surely? Even a note?" Rosina went on insistently, "he would never have known!"

  "As I said, Rosina, I was a coward, and I put the whole matter into a little cupboard in the back of my mind to forget about it, which I did. I told myself I did not want to become involved, and that it was your business. Likely, knowing your relationship, you would not believe me anyway, but think I was trying to ruin your relationship. But I should have tried - it would have cost me so little effort." He took a deep breath, "I am sorrier than I can say - did he hurt you at all?"

  * * *

  "No - he did not, but he could have done." She glared at him ferociously then looked at Hugh, "take me home, Father. Let us leave this wretch to himself. Thank you for the food, Laird McPhail. It was delicious, and my compliments to your chef, but we will not be dining here again. Goodnight."

  She strode out, but Connor followed her.

  "Rosina - please forgive me," he pleaded, clasping his hands together and holding them in front of himself as if in prayer, "please - I will do anything to make it up to you!"

  Hugh put his arm in front of Rosina and swept Connor aside

  "Listen to my daughter. She wants nothing more to do with you." he said disgustedly, "good evening."

  * * *

  Hugh gave Connor a hefty shove and he staggered backward.

  In the carriage on the way home, Hugh put his arm around Rosina.

  "I am beginning to think that whoever killed your husband may have done you a favor, Rosie," he said heavily.

  "Don't say that, Father!" She was crying now, a little because of grief for the happiness which had been a fantasy, but also because of shame, guilt, and something which she had just realized. The man she truly loved had ridden out of the castle without her.

  The man Rosina truly loved was sitting by a campfire he had lit beside the road to Fort William. He had made sure that he was well concealed and had good grazing for his horse, and he was plentifully supplied with food and blankets. It was not yet September, but already the evenings were becoming longer, the days shorter, and an early winter chill was in the air.

  Logan made himself a meal of bread, cheese, oatcakes, and apples. He was saving his dried fruit and salted meat for further on in the journey. He did not know the road to Fort William as well as the one to Inverness, and for all, he knew there were no little villages on the road at all where he could resupply himself. As he lay down to sleep he was thinking about Rosina. He had been steadfastly forcing her to the back of his mind all along the road, trying to focus on how he could make right the situation in which he found himself, but now in the drowsy moments before sleep, those kisses came back to him. He could taste the coffee on her lips and feel their sweet pressure against his. Their tongues had touched briefly, and he had begun to feel an arousal that he had not felt for many years. But he did not love her. He hardly knew her, for God's sake! And love was not for him because it had burned him once before and once was enough.

  No, he did not, would not, could not love her just because she was beautiful and had been so helpless she needed a champion. Look at where it had got him! He would not even let her own up. Was that because he wanted to be a hero in her eyes? Was that worth dying for? Probably not, but somehow he just could not let her do it. He was a foolish, arrogant, prideful man, who would likely go to the gallows for the sake of a woman. But then, would she let him do that, or had the whole exercise been a total waste of time and effort? He groaned. This was getting him nowhere. He fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion after another half-an-hour of tossing and turning, and the only creatures who saw him were the owls and the deer.

  24

  Connor's Proposition

  Connor spent the whole of the day after the disastrous dinner party in bed. All in all he slept for nineteen hours. It was his body's way of handling stress. Some people were unable to rest at all, but Connor was not one of them. He slept, and slept, and slept. When he woke up he felt a little better till the events of the night before came crowding into his mind. He was not one of those people who analyzed things till the whole process made him sick, however, and he quickly resolved to remedy the situation. He knew that no amount of pleading or prostrating himself at her feet would soften Rosina - she despised weakness - so he would work on her father, man to man. Accordingly he made an appointment with Hugh, arguing that it was not right that close neighbors like them should be at loggerheads since it would affect the productivity of both their lands.

  * * *

  When Hugh Buchanan saw the letter he was tempted to tear it up, but when he had given it some thought he decided that there was some sense in what Connor said, so he invited him over for a glass of whiskey one night when Rosina was visiting a lady friend. Connor was pleased, though nervous, and he dressed carefully for the occasion in semi-formal attire. He was shown into Hugh's private apartments and not his dining room, which he took to be a good sign. Connor bowed formally and shook Hugh's hand.

  "Good evening, my Laird - do I find you well?" he asked formally, smiling.

  "Thank you, Laird, you find me very well - and you?" He raised his eyebrows but otherwise his face was expressionless.

  "Fine, thank you, Sir, but for one thing - of course you know to what I refer?"

  "I do," Hugh said cautiously, "but we cannot undo the past, Sir. You cannot warn Rosie now."

  "No, Connor sighed," but I wanted her to at least be able to tolerate me till she can find it in her heart to forgive me. I know she has no reason to love my family, but, Sir Hugh - I am not my brother. And, thank the Lord, she was not molested in any way - wait -" he held up

  * * *

  his hand as Hugh began to protest, "would anything I said have stopped the marriage?"

  "I do not know," Hugh replied, "Rosina has always been a headstrong girl, but she is not foolhardy. She would probably have considered it carefully and given him a chance to explain himself. She would have asked for my opinion, and between us, we would have come to some sort of solution or compromise. She may still have married him, whatever I said, but forewarned is forearmed."

  * * *

  Hugh was pouring out two generous measures of whiskey as he spoke and he pushed a plate of butter shortbread towards Connor.

  * * *

  "To soak up the whiskey," he smiled slightly, and Connor took it as another good sign. "My cook is my treasure," he went on, "she is an artist and has been with us since Rosie was a baby. Laird Fraser was here a wee while ago for dinner and he said he had never tasted anything so delicious as her roast lamb."

  * * *

  Connor raised his eyebrows.

  "You managed to prise him out of his castle then?" he asked, surprised.

  "Aye, Rosie invited him," Hugh replied, "he is not such a bad fellow when you get to know him. He is shy, I think. He does not speak or smile unless there is anything to speak or smile about, but what he says is worth hearing. Rosie likes him."

  "You know he is suspected of the murder of my brother?"

  "Aye!" Hugh took a sip of his whiskey and looked Connor straight in the eye. "And I do not believe a word of it!"

&nbs
p; Connor nodded slowly.

  "You must do what is in your heart. I did not come here to quarrel, but to make amends," his tone was conciliatory, and Hugh relaxed, "we cannot listen to every rumor!"

  * * *

  They were quiet for a moment, each thinking his own thoughts.

  "Rosina has two things to forgive me for," he said, at last, gazing into the fire, "one for the lack of warning, and the other for being a McPhail. If she ever does forgive me for both those things, do you -"

  * * *

  he took a deep breath, "do you think she would let me court her? If she has no-one else in mind? And would you object? I would lay all my affairs open for your scrutiny and you could ask every person in my acquaintance about my character. "

  Hugh was stunned. He took a great gulp of his whiskey and looked at Connor in astonishment.

  "I have no idea," he replied, "as I said, she is stubborn. I tried to marry her to the Laird of Mhor when she was sixteen, and she rebelled so strongly that I had to call it off. She said he was too old."

  "How old was he?" Connor asked curiously.

  "Twenty-eight!" Hugh replied, laughing, "then he was too fat - that was true - then he was going bald. He was a man of means and had a very kindly disposition, but Rosie said she had means and she wasn't marrying anyone so ugly."

  They laughed, and Connor suddenly felt happier. If Rosina would not have him then so be it. There was no helping it, but at least he seemed to have snapped out of the depression he had been in since his brother's death.

  Presently Connor took out his pocket watch.

  "I had better go, or Lady Rosina will discover that I have been here," he said regretfully, "thank you, Sir. It has been a very pleasant evening. But I meant what I said. I am most abjectly sorry for my cowardice and if I would do anything if I could make it up to Lady Rosina."

  Neither of them had heard the door opening quietly behind them.

  "I fear it is too late, Laird Connor," Rosina said angrily, "for Rosina has already discovered it!"

  Connor saw red. He was tired of abasing himself, but being the man he was, he did not raise his voice but said what he had to say in his calm, measured manner.

  * * *

  "Then so be it, My Lady Rosina," he replied, bowing, "is it, Buchanan or McPhail?"

  * * *

  "Happily it is still Buchanan," she replied haughtily.

  "As you wish," he said calmly, "I have apologized over and over again, and I had hoped to mend fences once and for all, but it seems that you are determined to bear a grudge. I have some dignity left, so I will not say sorry again. Have it your own way, lady. You will not see me again unless you wish to, which is a pity because I think we could have been good friends. Goodnight."

  * * *

  He turned and left.

  Hugh Buchanan looked at his daughter for a full minute as she moved restlessly about the room, trying to calm down. Eventually, he drained his glass and put it down on the table with a thud. His blue eyes were like chips of ice.

  * * *

  "I never thought I would ever say this to you, my daughter, but I am ashamed of you. Goodnight."

  Maisie was undressing Rosina, who was uncharacteristically quiet when she began to tell her about the episode with Connor. As she listened, Maisie formed her own opinion and knew that it would not be what Maisie wanted to hear. She let her mistress go on with her monologue, however, then, when Maisie had laced up her nightdress, Rosina asked her what she thought. Maisie considered a moment as she picked up Rosina's tortoiseshell hairbrush. As she began to draw it down her hair with sure, slow strokes, she frowned at her mistress in the mirror.

  * * *

  "Truly, Mistress, I think you were very harsh," she said sadly, "Laird Connor is not his brother and he has tried in every way he can to say how sorry he is for his mistake. I think he is a good man, and if you are going to be angry with anyone, then be angry with me. I also doubted Alasdair from the first time I saw him."

  Rosina looked at her, stunned.

  "Am I the only one who never saw the truth?" she asked incredulously.

  "No, Mistress," she replied, shaking her head, "your father had no idea either. Neither did any of the staff."

  "But why did you not tell me of your suspicions?" Rosina asked angrily.

  "Because they were ONLY superstitions, Mistress. There was no evidence. It was just a feeling, and you would have been furious!" she

  * * *

  carried on with her brushing for a moment, "am I dismissed from your service now?" she looked up fearfully and met Rosina's eyes in the mirror. Rosina laughed softly.

  "No dear Maisie, for I could not live without you!" She leaned her head backward on Maisie's body, "who else would endure my moods, my outbursts, and my stubbornness?"

  * * *

  Maisie laughed,

  "That is true, Mistress!"

  "Is there no young man who catches your eye?" Rosina asked, "because a lovely dark mysterious lady like yourself should have many admirers! Even Lairds!"

  * * *

  Maisie shook her head, blushing.

  "Marriage is the last thing on my mind, Mistress," she replied, "I have a comfortable place to stay, enough to eat, and a considerate employer who treats me well and pays me generously. Why do I need a husband?"

  "Maybe you will want children one day."

  Maisie shrugged.

  "I would like to have them, but I think if I live the remainder of my days without them I will still die happy!" she began to expertly plait Rosina's hair as she spoke.

  "I wish we were sisters," Rosina said wistfully. Maisie smiled.

  "I wish so too, Mistress," she got to the end of the plait and tied a silk ribbon around it, then went to turn down her bed.

  "What should I do about Connor, Maisie?" Rosina asked.

  "Let it settle awhile, mistress," Maisie advised "when you see each other again he will have cooled off a little, I suspect, and you can say what you want to say. But grudges are not a good idea. They eat away your soul, and they are very heavy to carry, Mistress."

  "You are right, Maisie," she sighed, but then you are nearly always right!"

  Maisie helped Rosina to bed and bade her goodnight, leaving her, hopefully, to sleep, but Rosina had a lot to think about.

  25

  Fort William

  When Logan arrived in Fort William two days later he liked it immediately. It was at the western end of the Caledonian Canal, part of the Highland Boundary Fault, the great fissure that separates the north of Scotland from the south. Fort Augustus, where he had lived as a child and young man, stood on the north eastern shore of Loch Ness, where a monster reputedly lived. Fort William, even though it had been named after an English king and built to control the unruly Cameron clan, was clean and prosperous. It stood on the banks of Loch Linnhe where it emptied into the sea, and Logan loved the sea. Even though it had been besieged by Jacobite forces for a while and there was still a military garrison full of English soldiers there he felt safe, but he couldn't wait to rest his head in a comfortable bed in Rosina's house. He stood for a while looking at the gray waters of the loch, breathing in great lungfuls of fresh air, then he went to find what he hoped would be his sanctuary.

  * * *

  Rosina had had no time to give him a description of the house, which was very new, probably not more than ten years old, he thought as he looked at it. It had the same forbidding grey walls as most of the houses and its sturdy roof was tiled in slate. There was a shiny black front door which had a huge brass knocker in the shape of a roaring lion with inch-long fangs.

  Logan knew that there was a housekeeper who lived in the house permanently, and he had his letter of introduction, but he was still very nervous as he rattled the brass knocker against the door. When it opened, a tall, handsome gray-haired woman stood there looking at him questioningly. She must have been in her fifties, he thought, though she had the trim figure of a much younger woman. The green eyes inspecting him
had the suggestion of a twinkle in them, although her expression was stern.

  * * *

  "And who might you be?" she asked haughtily. Logan bowed.

  "I am Logan Fraser," he announced, "and do I have the pleasure of addressing Mistress McNab?"

  "Aye," she replied suspiciously, looking him up and down.

  "A letter of introduction from my friend the Lady Rosina Buchanan." He presented the letter and she read it. At once her expression changed and her whole face broke into a beaming smile.

  "Oh, my wee Rosina!" she put her hand to her chest and shook her head, smiling all the while. "How is she? Is she well? Is she still as bonnie as ever? I havena' seen her for nigh on two years! Come in, sir, and take the weight aff yer feet." She ushered him into the house and relieved him of his top coat.

  "Now, what can I get ye tae drink?" she asked, looking as though her only wish in life was to serve him, "I have milk, ale, whiskey - after yer journey ye might want a bit o' the hard stuff - or tea."

  "Tea, please," he smiled at her, "I'll leave the hard stuff for another time!"

  "As you wish, Sir," she smiled and bustled off to do his bidding, then he had time to look around and take stock. The house, though sizeable, was not huge, but it was beautifully decorated and furnished. The walls were all of fine-grained oak, shining like satin, the furniture made of the same wood, beautifully carved and polished. The curtains, like the ones in Rosina's own house, were made of thick crimson brocade, and all the furniture was upholstered with the same fabric. There were Turkish rugs on the floor in bright jewel colors and paintings, mostly landscapes glowed on the walls. The ceilings were richly carved with stylized flowers and Corinthian columns upheld the roof.