Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides)

by Lynsay Sands

  “Lady Jetta suggested I pack ye some food fer yer walk in case ye get hungry,” the lass said a little breathlessly, holding out a large sack to him. “I put some peaches, bread, cheese and meat in there fer ye.”

  “Thank ye, lass. Ye’re a good girl,” Geordie said on a sigh as he accepted the bag.

  Katie beamed at the compliment and slid a little closer, her hand coming up to brush his chest gently. “Would ye like me to come with ye, m’laird? We could go to the loch fer a night swim.”

  Geordie raised his eyebrows at that. “I thought ye were spending time with Simon?”

  She shrugged slightly, her hand gliding down his chest to his stomach and continuing lower. “I do on occasion, but I’m no’ right now.”

  Geordie caught her hand just as it dropped below his waist. “Thank ye fer the kind offer, lass. But I think I’d just like to be alone with me thoughts right now.”

  Katie made a moue of disappointment, but released him and stepped back. “As ye wish, m’laird.”

  “Thank ye fer bringing me the food, lass,” Geordie murmured, and then watched her make her way back to the keep doors before turning away. He paused then, unsure where he should go. He usually enjoyed a swim in the loch of an evening, but another swim didn’t really appeal to him just now. He didn’t feel like riding his horse either. Or seeking out one of the female servants or village lasses to pass time with.

  Geordie glanced down at the sack of food in his hand, and then turned to walk around the keep toward the gardens in the back. He’d eat and then roll himself up in his plaid and make an early night of it. That seemed a good plan. He hadn’t really got a lot of sleep last night before Dwyn and her pursuers had woken him shortly after dawn. He also hadn’t had anything to eat that day. He’d avoided the nooning meal and spent the afternoon practicing at battle with the men in hopes of avoiding the women overrunning his home, only to find that they’d tracked him down there and were watching him cross swords with man after man.

  Dwyn, he’d noticed, was the only female at the keep who hadn’t been among them. For some reason that had disappointed Geordie and he’d soon grown tired of sparring. Sheathing his sword, he’d avoided the women again and collected his horse to ride out to the loch to wash away the dirt and sweat he’d accumulated from his efforts. He’d then dressed and returned for the evening meal, but hadn’t had even a bite of the food circulating before irritation had sent him from the table.

  His uncle was acting like an ass around Dwyn, Geordie thought irritably, but then pushed the thought away. It was like to give him indigestion. Best just to push any thoughts about his uncle, Dwyn and any of the other women from his mind and concentrate on relaxing so he could sleep after he ate.

  “Here now, lass. Eat. Ye’ve hardly touched yer food. A bird eats more than ye have.”

  Dwyn tore her gaze away from the keep doors Geordie had disappeared through several minutes ago and forced a smile for the kind man at her side. She was sure Acair Buchanan was just paying attention to her to make her feel good, and while she appreciated the thought, she really disliked being made the focus of attention. Unfortunately, the way he was hovering over her and giving her loud compliments seemed to be gaining the interest of everyone else in the keep. The other women here to meet the single Buchanans were whispering and giggling among themselves while watching her with condescending smiles, and her father was looking concerned. As for everyone else . . . Well, she’d noted the strange looks the people of Buchanan were sending toward her and Acair Buchanan, and got the feeling that they either didn’t like, or didn’t approve of, the attention he was giving her.

  “So, what do ye think o’ our Geordie?”

  Dwyn glanced to the older man with surprise at that question, and felt herself flush. “Oh. I— Well, I’ve only spoken to him once.”

  “Did ye now?” he asked with interest. “And when was that?”

  “This morning,” she admitted, ducking her head to peer down at the food on her trencher.

  “This morning, eh? And where was this?”

  “In the orchard,” Dwyn murmured, toying with the chicken leg Acair had put in her trencher. “I had climbed a tree to escape—well, to find a moment alone—and he . . . I think he thought I was stuck up there,” she realized suddenly as she recalled his offers to help her down. Shrugging, she added, “He climbed up and we talked a bit, and then—” Realizing she was babbling a lot more information than she probably should, Dwyn snapped her mouth closed.

  “And then what, lass?” Acair asked gently.

  Dwyn swallowed, and then said, “And then he climbed down and I continued to sit there for a while.”

  “So, there was no—”

  “Acair?”

  Frowning, he broke off his question and glanced around.

  Curious as to who had saved her from what she suspected might be an embarrassing question from a man she feared was far too discerning for her good, Dwyn glanced around as well and saw Lady Buchanan moving toward them. Once Jetta had their attention, she stopped walking, smiled crookedly at Dwyn, but then waved Acair over to her.

  “Excuse me, lass. I’m needed, I guess,” Acair murmured, and stood to move to the pretty dark-haired lady.

  Dwyn watched as the couple talked. She couldn’t hear much of what was said, but caught the name “Mavis,” and something about crying, and then Acair followed Lady Buchanan to the kitchens.

  “Did ye lose yer beau?”

  Dwyn turned to peer at Catriona at that taunt. Her sisters were down the table talking to their father, and Catriona and Sasha had slid closer, taking up the space again, she saw. Ignoring them, she turned to her food, but her appetite was suddenly gone.

  “Well, cheer up, I’m sure he’ll return, and at least someone is interested in you,” Catriona said with a cruel gleam in her eye.

  “Aye,” Sasha added, leaning around Catriona to add, “And an old Buchanan is better than no Buchanan. ’Tis certainly more than I expected ye to manage, Whinnie.”

  “Ladies, a word. Please?”

  Dwyn glanced around quickly at those sharp words from Aulay, but he wasn’t looking at her. His steely gaze was focused on Catriona and Sasha as he stood up.

  For a moment, both women looked frozen, but then Catriona stood, dragging Sasha up by the elbow with her. “Of course, m’laird.”

  Dwyn watched them go with wide eyes, and then noted that everyone was looking at her again. Flushing, she stood up as well.

  “Where are they going?” Aileen asked, rushing back to her side.

  “I do no’ ken. Laird Buchanan said he wanted to speak to them,” she said uncomfortably.

  “Were they picking on ye again?” Una asked at once. “Did he hear?”

  Dwyn shrugged helplessly, and started to move past them.

  “Where are ye going?” Aileen asked with concern, catching her hand to stop her.

  “To the garderobe,” Dwyn muttered, tugging her hand free and slipping away from the table. But she didn’t go to the garderobe. She bypassed the small door and weaved her way around to the keep doors instead.

  Relief washed through her as she stepped out into the cool night air. She hated being the cynosure of attention, especially when she got the feeling she’d done something wrong but didn’t know what, and that was how she’d felt under the disapproving eyes of the people of Buchanan.

  Shaking her head, Dwyn descended the steps of the keep, and then wandered around the side of the building to make her way back to the gardens behind the keep. More specifically, she was headed for her tree. That’s how she’d started to think of it. She’d climbed that tree three times now since arriving at Buchanan and it had served her well all three times. People never looked up. Dwyn had learned that years ago as a small child of five when she’d climbed her first tree. Her mother and the maids had looked for her for hours and she’d sat in the tree, watching, but never making a sound. Mind you, she’d got her bottom paddled when she’d finally made her way down and h
er mother had found her, but it hadn’t stopped her from climbing back up that tree the next time she wanted to escape whatever was happening in Innes.

  Of course, Geordie had looked up this morning, but she suspected he must have seen her climb up first. A small smile curved her lips as she recalled that he’d offered to help her down. She could hardly believe the man she’d been talking to and who had kissed her was Geordie Buchanan. Dwyn shook her head at the thought, and recalled his surprise when she’d explained why the house was full of guests. He hadn’t seemed to know anything about what was happening, and she wondered now what he thought of the whole business of finding him a bride. She suspected not much since he wasn’t being very cooperative. The man had made himself scarce all day and then walked out of the great hall at dinner.

  Dwyn couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t like half a dozen or more men and their families showing up at Innes purely in the hopes that she’d pick them to husband. Her sisters would probably like that, but she wouldn’t. Dwyn liked a nice quiet life. She went about her business, doing what needed to be done and waving away any thanks or compliments she received for it. She didn’t do it for gratitude or to impress people; she just did what she felt should be done because it was her duty.

  The sound of a door opening drew her to a halt as she rounded the back corner of the keep. Dwyn glanced warily toward the door, half expecting to see one of her sisters or both, or perhaps even Lady Catriona and Lady Sasha, rushing out in search of her. Spotting the small, dark-haired maid who stepped out with a basket in hand, she offered a smile and then left her to her business and started along the garden path toward the trees at the back.

  Dwyn loved a garden in the evening. The sun was low in the sky, and darkness was falling, but she could still see well enough to avoid trampling on plants or vegetables. Once at the back, she turned into the trees, moving past the peach trees to the larger cherry trees beyond them. She glanced around quickly once she reached her tree, and then quickly scrambled upward, but came to an abrupt halt and nearly tumbled back down when she went to put her hand on a branch and felt soft leather rather than hard wood. It was only a firm hand catching her upper arm that kept her from a nasty fall.

  “Careful, lass.”

  Raising her head, Dwyn blinked at Geordie through the growing gloom and then hesitated. Like everyone else, she hadn’t looked up, she realized, or she surely would have realized her spot was occupied and would not have climbed up.

  “I’m sorry, m’laird,” she said after a moment. “I did no’ realize anyone was up here. I’ll leave and—”

  “Nay,” Geordie interrupted, urging her up with his hold on her arm. “Ye’re welcome to join me. It was yer tree first, after all.”

  When she hesitated, undecided, he added, “I have food.”

  Dwyn blinked in confusion at the words.

  “Jetta sent one o’ the maids after me with a sack o’ food, but they packed enough bread, cheese, meat and peaches for two or three people,” he said with amusement. “Ye’re welcome to join me.”

  That decided her. Dwyn loved peaches and she hadn’t eaten much at dinner, so she continued climbing until she could settle on the branch across from him. The very same branch she’d been on when he found her there earlier, she realized. And he was on the branch he’d claimed earlier too, she thought, and wondered if he’d kiss her again as she watched him untie a heavy sack that hung from a thick branch just above him.

  “What would ye like first?” Geordie asked, setting the sack in his lap and opening it to peer inside.

  “Whatever’s on top,” Dwyn said with a shrug, and watched as he reached in and pulled out a chicken leg. Smiling, she accepted the offering and took a bite as she watched him pull out a second leg for himself.

  “Legs are me favorite,” Geordie announced, adjusting the sack so that it was safe in his lap and not likely to tumble off.

  “Mine too,” Dwyn admitted after swallowing what was in her mouth. “Dark meat is always moist.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, and then fell silent as they ate their chicken. He was done with his leg first, but waited until she finished and then held out his hand.

  Dwyn hesitated, but when his fingers wiggled in a “give it here” motion she gave him the stripped chicken bone and watched him toss both her bone and his toward the wall. She saw them sail through the branches unhindered, but wasn’t sure they’d made it over the wall until a wet splash reached her ears. They’d landed in the moat beyond the wall.

  “Ah. Cheese and bread.”

  Dwyn glanced back toward him, but it had grown darker while they ate and he was just a dark shadow in front of her.

  “Put yer hand out,” he instructed, apparently understanding the problem.

  Dwyn reached out, felt his hand bump hers, and then he placed a hunk of bread and a smaller hunk of cheese in her palm. She pulled them toward herself, murmuring, “Thank ye.”

  “Me pleasure,” Geordie assured her, and she heard a rustle as he dug in the bag again.

  “So, tell me, do ye often hang about in trees?” Geordie asked lightly as he resituated the bag in his lap.

  She smiled faintly at the teasing question, but pointed out, “You were here first.”

  “This time,” he agreed.

  Dwyn shrugged, but then realizing he might not have seen that in the darkening night, she said, “Aye. I like trees. They do no’ pinch me cheeks to try to force color into them, and make me wear dresses better suited to a lightskirt.”

  Geordie laughed at that, a very nice, deep rumble of sound that made her grin and shiver all at once. When his laughter faded, he said, “Una seems . . .”

  “Pushy?” she suggested, and then added, “Bossy? Bold?”

  “Aye,” he chuckled. “She certainly had no problem making Catriona and Sasha move along the bench to make room for her and Aileen to sit beside ye.”

  “Aye,” Dwyn agreed, and explained, “Una is very protective of me, which is strange, because I took over mothering her when her own mother died. I was always the one protecting her then. But now, the roles seem to have reversed and she natters after me like she is the mother.”

  “Ye said her own mother?” he queried. “Do ye no’ have the same mother?”

  Dwyn shook her head, and then said, “Nay. Me mother died when I was six.”

  “How did she die?” Geordie asked, his voice sounding solemn.

  “Trying to birth me little brother or sister,” she said sadly. “After me she lost several babes ere they were full ready to be born, but this one survived to the birthing. Unfortunately, the healer said it was turned wrong inside her. Mother labored for three days trying to push the babe into the world and just could no’ do it. She died with it still in her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Geordie said softly.

  “So am I,” Dwyn admitted solemnly. “She was a good mother and I missed her terribly. But about a year later Father married Una and Aileen’s mother, Lady Rhona. She was kind to me. Una was born nine months after that, and Aileen followed two years later. Unfortunately, Lady Rhona died a couple days after Aileen was born. An infection, the healer said.”

  “From the birth,” Geordie said without a hint of doubt, and then clucked his tongue impatiently. “So many women die while trying to bring new life into the world. ’Tis how most men lose their wives.”

  “And most women lose their men to battle,” Dwyn pointed out quietly.

  “But me brother Rory says many o’ the women die unnecessarily. That it’s ignorance and a lack o’ cleanliness that cause the death.”

  “And ye do no’ think death in battle could be avoided?” she asked dryly. “If you men were no’ so eager to rush off to battle, we’d lose a lot less men.”

  “Aye,” Geordie allowed. “But a good man canno’ stand idly by and allow evil to grow and spread across the land.”

  They both fell silent for a moment and concentrated on eating, but once the cheese and bread were gone, she heard the rustle as he
dug in the bag again, and then he asked, “How old are yer sisters?”

  “Una is sixteen, and Aileen fourteen,” she answered. “And both o’ them act twice that.”

  Geordie chuckled and then said, “So ye’ve seen twenty-four years?”

  Dwyn stilled with surprise, and then realized that he’d worked it out from what she’d told him. Clearing her throat, she said, “I will be in a month.”

  “Ah. Put yer hand out,” he ordered, and when she did he found it and placed a round, cool peach into it, and then asked, “How long ago did yer betrothed die?”

  “Seven years ago,” she answered, and then raised the peach to take a bite. A soft “mmm” of pleasure slid from her throat as her mouth filled with the sweet juice and peach meat.

  “Good?”

  Dwyn opened eyes she’d closed in pleasure, and peered at his dark shape. His voice had sounded husky, and she wondered why, but said, “Aye. Very. Peaches are the loveliest fruit . . . Except for the mess they make,” she added as she felt a trail of liquid slide down her hand. “I do no’ suppose they put a scrap o’ linen in the bag or something?”

  “I’m afraid no’,” Geordie said on a chuckle. “Ye’ll just have to lick away the juices.”

  “That’s no’ very ladylike,” she said primly.

  “Lass, ye’re up a tree,” he pointed out with amusement. “Is that very ladylike?”

  “’Tis if ye do no’ get caught,” Dwyn assured him.

  Geordie burst out in laughter at that, and she smiled at the sound as she ate her peach. When the laughter faded, he commented, “Ye’re an interesting woman, Dwyn Innes.”

  “Aye,” she agreed easily. “Una is always telling me I’m a strange one.”

  “I said interesting, no’ strange,” he protested.

  “Is it no’ the same thing?” Dwyn asked innocently, and he chuckled again. They stopped talking then to concentrate on their peaches, and the night was filled with chomping and slurping sounds as they did their best to eat the fruits without getting completely covered with the sticky juice. At least, that’s what Dwyn was trying to do, but her peach was so ripe and bursting with the sweet liquid, she feared she’d made a terrible mess. Certainly her hand was wet and sticky when she was done.