A Highlander’s Homecoming

by Melissa Mayhue

  Isa dropped to her knees to speak directly to the boy. “I spoke to yer grandmother, lad. She’s asked that you come home with me to stay since she canna look after you. I’m going now and I’d like for you to come along with me. Will you do that for me?”

  Jamie’s one-sided smile faltered and he looked from Isa back over his shoulder to where the young woman waited.

  “Oh, Mistress Isa, that will be wonderful since I never see my gran anymore. But I canna today. It’s my turn at last to help with the churns. There’s fresh butter on warm sweet bread as a reward when the butter’s done. I’ve waited so long for my turn to help them.”

  “But, Jamie,” she began, stopping as Robbie laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “You go to yer churning, lad. And when you’ve finished, you come to Isa’s cottage, aye? But do so in secret, lad. Dinna speak of it to anyone, you ken?”

  “Aye,” Jamie agreed, running back to the waiting maid.

  “Why did you do that? If what you spoke of with Annie is true, he’s no safe here.” And the thought of Jamie being in danger curdled her stomach.

  “Because making an issue of it here, drawing attention to the lad, creates more of a danger for him than simply having him go about his business as usual.”

  It made sense when he explained it that way so she let it drop, following him into the stable and waiting quietly while he readied his horse.

  Her nerves were on edge from her worry over Jamie’s safety, and now, not knowing what would happen in the next few minutes was almost more than she could bear. She had no idea whether Robbie would lift her onto his mount with him to return to her cottage or simply ride away and leave her standing here.

  Outside, the wind whipped through the stable yard, blowing bits of rubbish and sticks in harsh little whirlpools of air.

  She had to get hold of her thoughts and emotions.

  “No another storm coming on,” Robbie grumbled. “I’d appreciate at bit of calm weather, thank you very much.”

  “I’m doing my best,” she muttered in return, not realizing she’d spoken aloud until he laughed as if she’d made a joke.

  “Come on, then, let’s get you mounted.”

  She hesitated, wondering if he understood she would go nowhere but to her own home.

  “Yer taking me to the cottage, aye?”

  “Aye.”

  His response was tight and clipped, as closed as his expression, not telling her at all what she really wanted to know. Learning any more would require swallowing a bit of her pride and asking.

  Ah, well, pride was highly overrated anyway.

  “And once we’re there? You’ll be leaving, I suppose. To return to yer family?”

  Not knowing exactly what answer she really wanted, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.

  He, however, seemed not to suffer from that problem. He grasped her chin gently between his fingers, turning her face to his. The eyes she looked into were dark and troubled, but bore not the smallest sign of doubt.

  “I mean stay at the cottage with you.”

  No, he was supposed to go! That was what she had counted on, what she had wanted. Wasn’t it? She was so confused, she wasn’t sure she knew what she wanted anymore.

  But what she didn’t want was another matter. She didn’t want him staying with her because he felt some ridiculous responsibility as a result of having made love to her. She had to know the truth. Her pride would simply have to take one more hit.

  “Are you staying because we . . . because of what we did last night?”

  “No. What passed between us has nothing to do with my staying.” He brushed one thumb up over her cheek. “Know this, Isa: Where you go, I go, as long as I am able. I’d have you safe in my family keep if I were to have my way. But if you’ll no agree to that, then I’ll stay by yer side to my last breath. That’s my pledge to you.”

  His words slammed into her with a force of their own so that she barely noticed when he let go of her chin and lifted her to his horse or when he climbed up behind her and pulled her close against him.

  “I’ll stay by yer side to my last breath.”

  His words should terrify her, threatening as they did her freedom and independence. Instead her heart felt as warm as her body did, ensconced in his arms.

  Chapter 19

  “Agneys Lardiner MacGahan.” Agneys shook her head and made another try at it. “Agneys MacGahan. Lady MacGahan.”

  Oh, she liked the sound of that! Perhaps she’d speak to the laird tomorrow and request that he order his people to address her by that title. She twirled in a little circle, reveling in the feel of the fine linen nightdress the laird had gifted her, clasping a tiny cup to her breast.

  With a great sigh, she spun around once more, slowly this time, admiring her new bedchamber. All hers. The bedchamber of the wife of the laird.

  What a fantastically lovely room! So much larger than the chamber she’d occupied since she and her father had first come to this place all those years ago. At one time she’d hoped to move into Isabella’s quarters after that pathetic creature had slithered off into the woods to live alone, but the laird had refused her that boon, leaving her where she’d been for so long.

  But now! This was so much better, from the beautiful tapestries on the walls to the rich, heavy curtains enclosing the bed. She loved it. She loved being the laird’s wife.

  Too bad she couldn’t love the laird who’d put her here.

  With another sigh, she crept back to the opening between their rooms, peeking through at the old man snoring loudly in his bed.

  The racket he made was horrible, but the worst was when he seemed to hold his breath for long seconds at a time, finally gasping loudly before resuming his infernal snoring. In those moments she feared the potion might have been too strong this time or that she’d put too much in his ale.

  Crossing the room, she dropped down into the big, hand-carved chair with its wonderfully soft cushions, facing the most beautiful fireplace she’d ever seen. The older servants told stories of the laird’s devotion for his wife and how he had brought masons all the way from France to carve intricate details into the stones above the fireplace simply to see her smile.

  Agneys closed her eyes and tried to imagine a young Randulf MacGahan so smitten by a woman that he’d spend all that money. It would be her dream to find a man who felt that way about her.

  Just not the one sleeping in the adjoining room. The very thought of allowing him into her bed made her physically ill.

  And yet she truly didn’t dislike the old man. He’d always been kind enough to her. Kinder than her own father, in truth.

  She certainly didn’t want him dead. Not yet. Only asleep so that he wouldn’t be pawing at her body.

  Dead, and her lovely new existence would be complicated beyond reason. Dead, and her father would be in charge. And that was not an acceptable outcome by any means. She’d been under her father’s thumb for too long as it was.

  Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed the knock at her door.

  Who in the world would bother her at this hour of the night?

  Agneys opened the door a crack, only to have it shoved full open, her father striding into her chamber without even the pretense of respect for his laird’s new lady—as if it were his right to enter.

  “Well? I’ve had no word as to yer . . . condition.”

  “No word?” She all but snarled her response, forgetting to temper her words. “Are you fool enough to think I’d have a answer when it’s been only two days since the last—”

  The shock of his knuckles slammed into her jaw, his backhand sending her to the floor. The pain radiating through her face kept her there as her mouth filled with the metallic taste of her own blood.

  Roland’s eyes shone with the unholy madness of his anger when he leaned down over her. “Dinna you ever take that tone with me, Daughter. You may think yer something special because yer laird moved you into his wife’s quarters, but yer no. You
’ll never be more than a worthless whore, no even capable of carrying an old man’s seed to fruit.”

  Agneys threw her hands up in front of her face and he grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her to her feet. Her muscles tightened involuntarily, preparing for the blow from his upraised fist.

  “Christ’s blood, man, stop that! What do you think yer doing?”

  Randulf leaned against the doorway in between his bedchamber and hers, his plaid hanging around his bony hips, partially unwrapped as it had been when he’d fallen asleep.

  “Disciplining my daughter, my laird, as is my right as her father.”

  Roland released his hold and Agneys stumbled backward, seeking to put distance between the two of them.

  “It’s no yer right anymore, Lardiner.” Randulf took a step forward, his body unsteady. “You lost that right when you forced me to take the lass to wife.”

  It was obvious to Agneys from the laird’s slurred speech and hesitant movements that the dwale still affected him.

  Randulf licked his lips and reached out a hand to steady himself as he drew even with the big chair Agneys had sat in earlier. “I’ll no have you attacking yer laird’s wife. No you or anyone else. Yer banished, Roland. I want you out of my castle and off my lands this very night.”

  For a moment, Agneys thought her father might have swallowed his tongue as fury turned his face a bright red.

  “You canna mean that. Yer mind is clouded by the whisky, old man. You dinna ken the words you speak,” Roland at last managed to respond.

  “My mind may be clouded, but my decision’s made. I want you gone, now, you wicked bastard. You’ve tormented poor Agneys for the last—”

  Agneys screamed as her father launched his body at the laird, knocking the old man over backward, smashing his head into the corner of the hearth.

  “You canna do this to me,” Roland yelled, repeatedly slamming the back of the laird’s head against the stones. “No after all the years I’ve given you!”

  “Father, you must stop!” Agneys pulled at her father’s shoulder, backing away as soon as he dropped his hold on the laird.

  Roland slowly got to his feet before he turned to her. His earlier fury spent, his eyes lit in instant panic before he regained control.

  Agneys hurried forward, dropping to her knees by the laird’s body. “No,” she moaned, the denial ripped from deep inside. Not now. Not yet. Not like this.

  “It will look like an accident. Yer husband, well in his cups, attacked you, and then he staggered out for more drink, ordering you to wait in his bed for his return.”

  She struggled through her shock, through the emotions threatening to overwhelm her, fear and anger chief among them.

  How convenient her father had a story ready to feed to the people of the castle. A story that covered everything, right down to the painful swelling he himself had left on her face.

  Roland hurried into the laird’s chamber, returning with the tankard that had sat on Randulf’s table.

  “This little . . . incident will simply speed up our original plans. Now get out of that nightdress and into his bed. You’ll remain there until someone comes to tell you they’ve found yer husband. I’ll throw his body down the stairs. Once he’s found, I’ll ride out to meet the MacDowylt as if it was what the laird had instructed me to do. No one will question any of it.”

  “Randulf MacGahan would never have struck me. No one will ever believe—”

  Roland flew at her, his eyes glittering with his anger. Before she could run, he grabbed the neck of her nightdress, ripping in down the front with a force that caused the material to bite into the back of her neck, surely marking her tender skin.

  “Now take off that rag and get into the old man’s bed.” He hissed the command through his teeth, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, reminding Agneys of a mad dog she’d once seen.

  As was necessary, the dog had quickly been put out of his misery.

  She backed away from her father, turning once she was out of his reach to hurry into the laird’s chamber. She stepped out of the tatters that remained of her lovely, soft nightdress and climbed into the high bed, pulling the curtains shut around her.

  Damn her father! He’d stolen from her the time she’d hoped to use to come up with a logical course of action. His temper had cost her the weeks she’d expected to have for planning. Just as his impatience had forced her to pretend a pregnancy he still hoped would be true. A pregnancy she knew was impossible since the old laird had never actually lain with her.

  Agneys wiped at the tears streaming down her face and curled under the covers, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

  Poor Randulf. He’d been nothing but nice to her over the years, and though she could never have loved him as his wife, she had cared for him in her own way.

  With a deep shuddering breath, she fought to clear her mind. Everything had changed with her father’s actions this night. She had to decide, and quickly, what to do next.

  Within hours, the whole of the castle would know their laird was dead. Shortly after, the MacDowylt would arrive. Her father might have managed to trick the poor old laird, but she suspected he’d find less success in using his wiles on the warrior. Unless she missed her guess, MacDowylt wouldn’t be satisfied with waiting outside the castle walls as her father planned. She had no doubt he’d be riding through those gates within a day or two, more anxious than ever to get his hands on that half-wit, Isabella, in order to secure a hold on the MacGahan lands.

  None of these things worked to her advantage.

  Or did they?

  She rolled onto her back, concentrating on the thin edge of an idea. Perhaps, with some clever planning and a little luck, she could use her father’s blunders to her advantage.

  Thanks to his ill-conceived announcement at the wedding feast, everyone assumed she carried the laird’s child. Her father told her he’d already sent for the MacDowylt to return and would be riding out to meet him tomorrow. Surely the warrior would want to come to the castle.

  If she arranged to find herself in the MacDowylt’s bed soon enough, a pregnancy might still be possible. It could be his child she carried. And with the old laird out of the way, MacDowylt could claim her in marriage.

  Now that sounded like a scheme that would surely appeal to the handsome warrior. After all, he wanted the MacGahan lands and she wanted to be taken care of. It was an arrangement that would suit them both.

  Her father’s plans to deal with Isabella still bothered her, but she could only deal with what was before her right now.

  That still left her father as a major loose end. He’d reached a point where his temper made him more liability than asset. And after what he’d done to Randulf? He needed to be dealt with. Perhaps a grateful MacDowylt could be persuaded to dispatch of him. Especially once he learned of her father’s plans to have him killed along with Isabella.

  In the dark, Agneys smiled to herself as she considered her new course of action. Her father’s impatient bumbling could well have provided her all the cards she needed to play out this hand to her own advantage.

  Foolishly Roland had always underestimated her. Because she had her mother’s beauty, he saw her only as her mother’s daughter. Too bad for him, he didn’t seem to understand that she was her father’s daughter as well.

  Only smarter.

  Chapter 20

  Robert stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle as he stared into the flowing stream that ran past Isabella’s cottage. The dark ripples seemed to take on a mesmerizing life of their own as they reflected the light of the full moon.

  After what felt like the longest two days of his life, he was not at all anxious to begin another night in the cottage. He needed time alone to unravel his tangled thoughts.

  Time alone to face his demons.

  He and Isa had made the trek back from Castle MacGahan in silence, his guilt and worry building a wall he wasn’t sure he’d ever be
able to scale—guilt over the secrets he kept from Isa, worry about his inability to ensure the obstinate woman’s safety.

  From the moment he’d seen the burn mark on the bedchamber floor, he’d begun to suspect that his relationship with Isa was far more than either of them had bargained for. That suspicion made his not having any control over what would happen to Isa when the Faerie Magic overtook him all the more painful.

  And the Magic would overtake him. Of that he had absolutely no doubt. The daily changes in his old wound assured him of that fact.

  He felt powerless for perhaps the first time in his adult life, and he hated it.

  When had he so completely lost control over the direction of his life? That was easy. The moment he’d come in contact with his first Faerie.

  The mark on his arm prickled, and he squeezed his eyes shut in a useless attempt to quiet his equally prickly conscience. Apparently the Fae Magic that infused his body wouldn’t allow him to wallow in self-deception.

  Fine. He’d admit that the Fae weren’t entirely to blame for his current dilemma. Though he did fully expect the Faerie Magic would be the death of him, in fairness, it had also saved him. It had swept him into the future and allowed him the most amazing decade of experiences any man could imagine.

  No, the problems troubling him tonight were of his own making. He had kept information from Isa. He had failed to convince her to leave this place for her own safety. He had slept with her. Willingly. Eagerly.

  Then he had gone and made everything worse for the past two days by shutting her out, denying them both what little time they might actually have together.

  “Great dunderheaded fool,” he muttered into the night.

  “Pardon?”

  Robert’s eyes flew open at the sweet sound of her voice so close. Her hair was loose, the long curls flowing around her.

  “I dinna mean to interrupt yer . . . yer thinking time, but I worried when you remained out in the dark for so long.”