Highland Savior: A Medieval Scottish Highlander Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  The innkeeper, a stout, plain woman with a ready smile and a cheery manner, was friendly and welcoming. Rosina asked for two rooms, but there was only one left, so Malcolm slept on the floor.

  * * *

  "Milady," he said, laughing, "I am weel used tae it. Dinnae fash yersel.'"

  Rosina looked at him doubtfully.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Sure as sure can be," he replied definitely.

  They dined on thick vegetable soup for supper into which they dipped bannocks cooked over the big open fire in the kitchen. The food at the castle was delicious, but this was even more so because as Rosina had discovered, hunger was a great seasoning. They had great mugs of ale and tumbled into sleep to wake in the morning rested and ready for the new day.

  Both Rosina and Maisie were sore in every muscle from the unaccustomed exercise, but they had to go on, so they did. Both of them were soaked by the end of the day when they found a farmhouse whose owner allowed them to sleep on the floor of the barn.

  * * *

  "Do you think Logan slept here?" Rosina asked Malcolm as she looked back at the inn. He shook his head.

  * * *

  "Naw, my Lady," he replied, "he willnae' hae wanted tae leave a trail. Likely he'll hae slept under the trees. He has a wee tent tae shelter under. Bought it aff ane o' thae Romany folk."

  'He thinks of everything,' she thought.

  After they had been riding for a few moments Rosina brought up the subject which had been on her mind ever since she met Logan.

  "Malcolm, why is he always so grim? He told me he was a 'lost cause' whatever that means."

  "My Lady, he never speaks o' it" Malcolm answered, "I am the closest person he has tae a friend an' I did ask him ance, but" he shook his head, "it was the only time he was ever angry wi' me. Asked me to please mind my ain affairs. That's like him - polite even when he's bein' rude! So I knaw nae mair than you!"

  * * *

  "Do you think he will marry?"

  "I cannae' say, my Lady, but I dinnae' think so."

  "No heirs then?"

  Malcolm shook his head.

  "Naw," he said sadly, "I dinnae knaw wha is gaunnae' inherit the castle an' land. He seems tae have nae faimly at a'. but I darenae' ask him ony mair. He is a stubborn man."

  'But he is still the man I love.' Rosina thought sadly.

  28

  Arriving at Annie's

  When Rosina arrived Logan was not even aware of it. It was very early in the morning and he was still snuggled under his blankets. It was a peculiarity of his that he slept with his whole body covered, even his head, because it gave him a great sense of security. When Logan slept, he did not just fall into a state of slumber, he cast himself headlong into a pit of unconsciousness. Many were the times when Malcolm had had to shake him awake with such force that he fell off the bed. Once awake he was alert and ready to face the day, but negotiating the transition between sleep and wakefulness had never been his strong point, so when Annie heard the horses' hooves and rushed out to meet Rosina he was still deeply asleep.

  * * *

  Annie looked out of her bedroom window and saw Rosina, Maisie, and a stranger whom she took to be a servant dismounting in the

  cobbled courtyard. She put a shawl on over her nightdress and threw the front door open, then went forward, smiling from ear to ear, to kiss her hand and curtsey.

  "Lady Rosina!" she said joyously, "how are you? You look just like your name - a little Rose!"

  Rosina laughed.

  "How often have I told you to call me 'Rosie,' you stubborn woman?" she went forward to embrace Annie and after a moment's hesitation, Annie returned the hug.

  "And Miss Maisie!" Annie put her hands out to clasp Maisie's, "ye get prettier every time I see ye!"

  "Thank you, Mrs McNab!" Maisie laughed.

  "Ye willnae' be calling me that for much longer!" Annie said mischievously, "in November I will be Mistress Anderson!"

  Rosina put her hands on her cheeks and squealed in delight. She took Annie's hands in hers and congratulated her.

  * * *

  "That is wonderful news, Annie!" she said rapturously, "a beautiful woman like you should not be alone so long - you have been a widow for ten years and it is past time you were married again!" 'Then she turned around and brought Malcolm forward. "Forgive me, Malcolm, I am being very rude, but I was so pleased to hear your news, Annie! This is Malcolm, Logan's man. He has escorted us two chattering impossible women all the way from Dumbarton."

  In all the excitement they had forgotten about Logan.

  "Is Logan here?" Rosina asked, at last, looking around as though he were standing behind him.

  * * *

  "Naw, he's still sleeping, but he will likely wake wi' a' the racket we're makin!" Annie laughed.

  "Naw he willnae', Mistress McNab!" Malcolm put in, his eyes twinkling, "yon big lump could sleep through a cannon firin' next tae his lugs! He will likely sleep through the Last Trump itsel'!"

  Everyone was laughing heartily by this time, trying to picture the scene. Annie made tea, then scrambled eggs and fried home-made black puddings for breakfast. The bread would not be ready for a while, so the women busied themselves tidying the kitchen while Malcolm saw to the horses. Annie was always uncomfortable when she gave Rosina manual labor to do, but she laughed.

  "Annie, I have been cosseted all my life. It's time I learned to do a few things for myself," she was brushing the floor as she spoke, and looked up, "and it will not kill me!"

  "I suppose not, my Lady, but those nice soft hauns o' yours will be a thing o' the past!"

  When the bread came out of the oven an hour later, Logan had still not arisen.

  "I will wake him, my Lady," Malcolm said grimly, standing up and making for the stairs.

  "No," Rosina's voice was mischievous but wicked, "I will do it. I want to see his face!"

  * * *

  "But my Lady," Malcolm objected, "the Laird aye sleeps - ye knaw - wi' nae claes."

  "I have seen a naked man before," Rosina lied primly. Alasdair had died before managing to disrobe.

  * * *

  Malcolm looked at Maisie, who shrugged. Rosina had made up her mind, and short of knocking her unconscious, there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it.

  She went upstairs. then stood outside Logan's door and knocked tentatively, then, when there was no response, she knocked a bit harder, till finally, she was banging on it so hard the walls were vibrating. She took a deep breath and opened it, to see the blanket-shrouded bump in the middle of the bed. When Maisie came up to see if anything was amiss, Rosina shushed her and went to the foot of the bed.

  She had always had a well-developed sense of mischief and now she put both hands underneath the blankets and began to tickle his feet. There was a grunt from the other end of the bed, and she began to tickle the feet harder, all the while giggling herself. Then they began to kick and eventually Logan erupted into a roar of laughter. He pulled his feet up and his head emerged from under the blankets, hair endearingly tousled. He looked gorgeous. Then she saw with astonishment that he was laughing in his sleep, and as she took her hands away he turned over, flicked the cover over his head, and abandoned himself to slumber once more. Maisie shook her head and ducked out of the room.

  * * *

  Rosina went around the side of the bed and climbed onto it, then lay down looking into his face. He was flushed from having his head submerged under the blankets and his long lashes were lying on his cheekbones. There was a sheen of blue stubble on his cheeks and she ran her fingertips down it, feeling it rasp against her skin. A jet of desire shot through her and she felt like lifting up the blanket and climbing inside the bed with him, but she resisted, knowing that there were too many people around, and the time was still not right. But she kissed him, slowly and sensually on his mouth, and when she drew away he was looking at her in a puzzled fashion.

  "Rosina?" he frowned, "am I dreaming?"

&nb
sp; She laughed and brushed back a lock of black hair.

  "No, Logan, you're not," she said quietly.

  Tentatively he raised a hand to touch her cheek, and the corners of his mouth twitched up in a little smile.

  "They told me that getting you out of bed was a mission that needed the services of a cannon," she laughed, "but I think kisses work better."

  "Oh god, Rosina," he said huskily, "you are irresistible."

  Then he kissed her, passionately, almost painfully, and she heard herself make a little involuntary moan. He tore his mouth away from hers to look into her eyes and whispered:

  "I told myself this would never happen again. I told myself that the things I felt for you were just the urges of my body, but they are not," he searched her face as if trying to memorize every one of her features. "But this will not - cannot happen again, although you will never know how much I want it to."

  "But why not?" she asked desperately, "you are a free man, and my husband is dead, so I am a free woman. My marriage was not consummated so I can even offer you the gift of my virginity. Why not, Logan? Why can we not be wed?" she took his hand and put it on her breast where he let it rest. He squeezed a little, feeling its soft roundness under his fingers. He groaned, sighed and took it away. His body was beginning to react to her, as hers was to him, and it was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do. He kissed her hand.

  "Because I am not the man you think I am, Rosie," he said huskily, "and now I think I should get up. Will you go downstairs, please?"

  She got up off the bed and went to the door, then paused and turned around to say something, but he had stood up and was facing her, naked. Her whole body trembled. She put her hand to her mouth.

  "Oh, god," she said hoarsely, "you are so beautiful." Then she fled.

  29

  Monique

  As Hugh watched them ride away it occurred to him that his proposal to Maisie had been born out of loneliness than anything else. He had a comfortable life, like so many of his friends. He could go out and hunt deer or pheasant, go fishing, dancing, drinking or gambling with friends and even flirt with their wives and daughters if he chose. His land was productive, his tenants happy, and even if he were as poor as a church mouse, he would never starve with the river on his doorstep. And when he looked out at the busy, squally, temperamental River Clyde that ran past his home, he felt almost painfully happy, except for one thing. When his wife had died and left the care of their only daughter to him, he had had no idea how to begin, and it was only with the help of a capable nanny, and later, Maisie, that he had been able to get it right.

  But he had done a good job. Rosina was everything a father could have wanted in a daughter, but although she was a delight she was not enough. Perhaps he had spotted a kindred spirit in Maisie. Perhaps she had been lonely too, and somehow they had sensed it in each other. But that was over, and both of them were glad it had come to nothing. Still, alone in his cold bed in the middle of the night, Hugh was lonely for a warm body to hold on to, and a pair of woman's arms to encircle him.

  And he had needs that he could not express to Rosina. He was still a vital, vigorous man whose bodily urges were not being satisfied. He could, of course, have gone and paid for the services of a certain type of woman in Dumbarton, but he could not cheapen himself by resorting to that, even if it were safe. He had seen men suffering the diseases borne by these women, and they died a horrible, slow, agonizing death. He shuddered and drank another measure of whiskey, then another.

  Vaguely he realized that he was imbibing too much of the single malt that he particularly loved. It soothed him to sleep most nights. and the next morning he would wake up with a splitting headache which could only be cured by more whiskey. Accordingly, he made a huge sacrifice and gave it to a friend's son on the occasion of his

  * * *

  twenty-first birthday and gave it to him when he was invited to his party.

  He felt very depressed. Even here there was still no woman with whom he could socialize, even casually. He felt like giving up, but then he saw a new face and he was immediately smitten. She had lustrous auburn curls piled high atop her head, a swan-like neck, and a tiny waist. He begged his friend's wife Caroline to introduce them.

  * * *

  "Juliette Fontaigne," Caroline McEwan tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around to face him. Her almond-shaped eyes were a light hazel, and he felt like the only man in the room as she smiled at him, "this is Laird Hugh McPhail."

  "Madame Fontaigne," he bowed over her hand before kissing it.

  "Ah, Laird Hugh!" she pronounced it 'Oooh" and he was enchanted by her exotic accent, "I have heard so much about you!"

  * * *

  "But I have heard very little about you, Madame!" he replied, smiling his most winning smile at him, "only that you come from Nice?"

  "Oui, I have a cousin who met and married a Scottish man and has come to live here. I came to visit. My husband left me my two children to keep me from being too lonely."

  Hugh sighed.

  "I too suffer from loneliness," he said sadly. "My wife passed on twelve years past and I have never found her equal."

  "My husband Henri was a diamond among men," she looked sad suddenly, then brightened up. "There are my children!" she pointed to two mop-headed little blond boys of around ten years old who ran over and threw their arms around Juliette. She bent down then hugged and kissed them both, laughing delightedly.

  "These are my two sons Jacques and Jean-Pierre," Juliette introduced them and Hugh bowed solemnly and shook each boy's hand.

  "Twins?" he asked, smiling at them. Jacques whispered something in Juliette's ear.

  "He says you are very tall! Ah!" she turned to face the main door, "here is ma soeur - my sister - Monique. The boys adore her - she spends nearly all 'er time with them. Monique! Viens recontrer Laird Hugh! Come and meet Laird Hugh!"

  Hugh, who had been looking down at the boys, now looked up. His eyes widened and his throat constricted as he looked into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He could not tear his eyes away from her face. She was a natural blonde, with the same slender neck and tiny waist as her sister, but her bosom was fuller, and her hair was not dressed flamboyantly like Juliette's but wound in a large coil at the nape of her neck. Her chocolate brown eyes looked deeply into his and he watched as her cheeks flushed and her full lips parted. He might have been smitten by Juliette, but with Monique - this was love - love at first sight.

  "My Laird," she stepped forward and curtsied, holding out her hand so that he could kiss it. Her blushing complexion and dilated pupils gave away the fact that she was feeling just the same way as he was.

  "Enchanté, Mademoiselle," he said gallantly as he kissed the proffered hand. "For a moment he stood still, not knowing quite what to do or say next, then Monique turned around just as Connor came into the great hall. He was formally dressed and carried his usual air of confident calmness. He smiled as he approached them.

  * * *

  "Good evening, Hugh," they shook hands.

  "Well thank you, Connor," he replied, "yourself?"

  "Excellent!" then he turned and smiled at Monique, kissing her cheek lightly, "Hugh, I see you’ve met my beautiful fianceé, Monique."

  Hugh managed to keep his smile fixed in place even though he felt as if his heart had plummeted into his stomach.

  "Congratulations to both of you!" he said, a little too heartily. "I am happy to hear you are settling down, Connor. It's about time!"

  "Aye, you are right," Connor laughed.

  "And how did you meet?" Hugh asked, trying to make a decent amount of small talk before he went to mingle with the other guests.

  "Our marriage was arranged," he answered frankly, smiling, "but I think we each liked what we saw."

  * * *

  Monique gave Connor a shy smile but said nothing. When she looked back at Hugh again her eyes were sad, as if to say: 'I'm sorry I didn't meet you first.' Then she
went over to greet her nephews.

  * * *

  "Jealous?" Connor winked at Hugh, who laughed.

  "Which man would not be?"

  They watched the back of her blonde head as she tousled the hair of the little boys.

  "She will make a fine mother," he said fondly, "she loves children, and longs to have one of her own - our own."

  "I am happy for you, Connor," Hugh said warmly, "and now I must go and greet a few old friends. Good evening to you and Monique." Then he left as fast as he decently could.

  30

  The Promise

  He had imagined it, he thought. There was no such thing as love at first sight. She was pretty, demure, with a certain helplessness that brought out the protective instinct in most males. It was a lethal combination that could turn the head of any man, especially one as lonely and susceptible as he was at this moment. His heart was aching with longing, but he put it all down to his solitude. He was only thinking this way because he had nobody to keep him company at the castle.

  Monique looked at the man before her and felt sad. He was so handsome! Connor was too, of course, and this man was old enough to be her father, but that air of maturity only attracted her more. His silver-streaked brown hair was drawn back from his forehead and caught in a leather thong at the nape of his neck, and she could see that he had a gold earring in his left ear. He was straight, tall, and his blue eyes, deep-set under thick brows, had a way of looking at her that made he want to jump into his arms and cry -: 'hold me - you are my safety. Look after me always.' But of course, she did nothing, just watched him walk away and melt into the crowd at the reception.