Rogue Highlander

by Sondra Grey

  “That’s how you make enemies, girl.”

  Isla tried to look repentant, but she wasn’t. So she simply nodded.

  “Maggie has a mouth, and she’ll use it to slander you,” said Mrs. Allan who was frowning.

  “What will she call me, Mrs. Allan? I don’t know many people here and Geordie is kind. Will she say I’m a flirt? I’ve been called worse.” Witch.

  “Suit yourself,” said Mrs. Allan.

  Dinner was a simple but hearty fare of roasted carrots, parsnips, and turnips. There was roasted pig, and crusty brown bread. Isla hadn’t eaten all day, and she dove into her meal with single-minded intensity. When she was finished, fatigue settled over her, and she sipped at her wine while, around her, people laughed and joked with their neighbors.

  It felt like those nights when her father was alive and they were invited to Appin to dine with the Stewarts. It was always a loud and merry affair, full of friends and familiar faces. Isla was inundated by a sudden sadness that she couldn’t quite hold back. She ducked her head, hoping no one would notice as she swiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

  But someone was watching. She felt it, and she lifted her head, startled when she looked down the table to meet the laird’s eyes. They held hers for a moment, and Isla felt the air leave her lungs, felt sadness and longing rise up. There was surprise in Calum Grant’s gaze, and then it hardened and the expression turned into something else, something darker. But then someone called his name, and he looked away, turning to engage a family member on his right.

  Isla waited a few more minutes until it was clear that conversation at the dinner table was winding down. Then she excused herself with a soft word to Mrs. Allan and walked swiftly from the hall. She followed a serving woman back towards the kitchen, down a long corridor filled with the rich smells of hearty food.

  “Your rooms are the other way.”

  The voice startled her, and she nearly leapt out of her skin. She whirled, glaring daggers at the laird where he stood, feet braced and arms crossed over his chest. But he stared back, implacable, silently demanding she account for herself.

  “I’m trying to run away to the kitchen,” she huffed. “I’m going to bring your nephew a plate. He’ll need food if he’s to regain his strength.”

  The laird frowned, as if he hadn’t thought of feeding his nephew, and he inclined his head in silent apology. “In that case, please continue. And I will join you and see how he fares.”

  Isla turned and continued down the hall. The kitchen was at the end and, as she neared, she was suffused with an intense and succulent heat. There were ten people in the kitchens, mostly women but three men who were in the process of cleaning. They didn’t so much as look up as the laird entered, suggesting that he was accustomed to visiting the kitchens. Isla grabbed the attention of the nearest young woman who looked at her for a confused moment before her gaze inexplicably darkened.

  Ah. So Mrs. Allan was right, and the girl Maggie had already started to speak ill of her. It wasn’t the first time Isla had run afoul of the lasses. Her mother often told her she was the most beautiful girl in Elleric with the most terrible mouth. “Beauty and bad manners Isla, neither will make you friends with women.” Which wasn’t entirely true, she’d had plenty of friends, but she’d had several problems with Laire MacRobb until the lass married the blacksmith’s boy.

  “Is it possible to fix a plate for the Laird’s nephew?” she asked, using her most polite voice.

  The young woman hesitated a moment, as if trying to figure out how she might defy the request, but then she nodded, smiling up at the laird as she passed.

  Isla waited in silence while leftover turnips and a few remaining slabs of pork were placed on a tray.

  As the young woman made to hand it to Isla, the laird intercepted it.

  “Thank you Bridgette,” he said, and she young woman blushed.

  Isla frowned and followed him out. “No wonder you are so high handed, the women here fawn all over you.”

  “Excuse me?” He asked, sounding incredulous.

  Isla couldn’t quite believe it herself. What had possessed her? But she continued, “Do you hand pick them to serve in your household? Half of them in there were under the age of twenty.”

  There was silence, and Isla could almost feel the tension building in the hall. Then the laird laughed, a loud and sudden explosion of sound that echoed down the corridor. He stopped and doubled over, nearly dropping the tray.

  “Lord what a mouth on you!” he said, breathless as he stood. “Do you respect no one?”

  Isla was thankful that the hall was dark and he couldn’t see how embarrassed she was. She hated being embarrassed and so she covered it with bluster. “Why should I respect you? Because this is your castle? Respect is to be earned, Malcolm. And mine isn’t earned by keeping me here against my will.”

  She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but saw his head quirk to the side. “I suppose that is fair enough, Thomasina. But that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.” With his elbow, he gestured for her to continue on, and she did, sweeping haughtily up the stairs and down the hall to Hugh’s room.

  Hugh still looked weak but, blessedly, no worse than yesterday. The laird set down the food and engaged his nephew in conversation, distracting him as Isla cleaned his wound and re-bandaged it.

  “I’ve written your mother. So unless she’s dead herself, she’ll be here within the week.”

  “She’ll bring father too, no doubt. With the weather turning soon, it’ll be peak stag season.” Hugh looked wistful. “I’d be lying if I said I wanted to go. I’m in so much pain now I’m wishing the axe had been aimed at my head.”

  Isla stood up and brought over a piece of the willow bark. “Eat a bit first and I’ll let you chew on this. It’ll help.”

  “I’d do as she says, lad,” said the laird, catching Isla’s eye and smiling wryly. “I’ve decided it’s best not to be on her bad side.”

  Hugh looked surprised. But before he could ask a question the Laird straightened from his position against the wall. “I’m off.”

  And he left without another word.

  Isla watched him, frowning and when she looked back at Hugh she saw that the boy was frowning also. “What did he do to upset you?” he asked.

  Isla pursed her lips and ignored the question. “How does a sweet, kind young man like you share blood with a curt brute like that?”

  “Is uncle Calum curt?” asked Hugh, brows rising like two black strikes against his pale face. “I never thought so. But then again, I only ever see him around my mother, and you’d cross her at your own peril. She speaks to him like she speaks to me, and he treats her with the same deference I do. It’s that or get your ears boxed.”

  “At least someone tells him off,” said Isla. “Seems like too many people here fall all over themselves to please him.”

  Hugh looked thoughtful as he chewed a bit of root vegetable and then swallowed. “I don’t know if they try to please him. He’s well liked here. My grandfather was a terror, my mother’s told me many a story, and I remember when I upset him once and he threw me against the fire place. Uncle Calum is much less excitable, and a good deal friendlier.”

  “Friendly?”

  Hugh thought about that, too. “Well maybe not friendly. But certainly not hostile like his father. He listens when you talk to him, which I think most people enjoy.”

  “You’re a bright one, aren’t you?” Isla noted, interested in how careful the boy was in his replies. If Hugh hadn’t lost so much blood he might have blushed. As it was he lowered his lids and murmured something unintelligible.

  “Eat a bit more, I’ll give you the bark and leave you,” Isla said.

  Hugh did as he was bid, and Isla disappeared into her adjoining room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  T he next few days were uneventful, though they proved that Mrs. Allan’s warning about Maggie was correct. The young women in the keep stayed away from Isl
a, so much so that Mrs. Allan seemed to make it her personal mission to keep Isla company.

  Isla was glad for Mrs. Allan’ company. While they were not fast friends, neither were they unfriendly towards one another. But spending time with Mrs. Allan was also trying. The woman was not subtle about her interest in Isla and her background. Isla found herself lying more than she wanted. She lied about where she lived, lied about why she left, and felt terrible for deceiving the woman.

  Geordie joined Isla in the afternoons, asking questions about healing and the properties of herbs. It was clear that he had some basic knowledge and was interested in learning more. Isla suspected that he’d also been charged with guarding her, but she couldn’t fault that much. Geordie was patient and pleasant, if a bit boring. Isla found her attempts to flirt and tease went mostly unnoticed. He interpreted her literally, so any joke was met with a bemused smile, any sarcasm met with apology.

  Of the laird, she saw not a hair. He’d ridden out the morning after he’d sat with his nephew, and Isla was too proud to ask where he’d gone – though she desperately wanted to know. It wouldn’t do for anyone in the keep to think that she was just another young woman lusting after the handsome laird, blushing when he paid her any small bit of attention. And she didn’t want it to get back to him that she’d asked after him.

  With the laird gone, she thought a great deal about trying to escape, but she was worried about his threat to throw her in the dungeon, worried about Geordie taking the blame for her escape, and – to be honest – she was well fed and comfortable, and found she wasn’t that interested in leaving the comfort of the castle for an uncertain future with an unknown aunt.

  The laird was back on the fourth day, looking tired and a bit sour. He stayed in his rooms that evening, and when he visited his nephew that night, he said not a word; he let Hugh do most of the talking. To Isla, he said nothing. In fact, he seemed to not notice her at all, which irritated her greatly. She wasn’t used to going unnoticed by men and wasn’t sure how to gain his attention. When she found herself concocting ways to get noticed, she immediately reproached herself. Why was she trying to get the laird to notice her?

  The next day he seemed less sour, emerging from his rooms for dinner, where he sat at the end of his table, engaging his clansmen in conversation and even smiling at some of their jests.

  Isla found herself staring at him, trying to figure out what was said to make him smile, wanting to catch him staring down the table at her, like he had that first night. Her attention was so focused that Mrs. Allan finally commented, “He’s fine to look at, lass, but watch he doesn’t see you looking. All that man needs is one more lass lusting after him. It’ll go right to his head.” When Isla blushed, Mrs. Allan winked at her. It was the first time she’d seen the lady playful.

  Isla kept her eyes on her plate for the rest of the night, and she left early to take food to Hugh. She found herself nursing disappointment when the laird didn’t follow her. And she berated herself all the way up to Hugh’s room. Did she think she was special because she’d made him laugh that first night?

  When she opened Hugh’s door, her eyes lit on the laird, who’d beaten her upstairs. He was sitting on her stool, speaking to his nephew in a low voice. He stopped as she swung the door open and stood, offering her the seat. As he reached out to take the tray from her, their fingers brushed and Isla’s pulse jumped. Stop it! She chided herself. How fickle was she? Engaged to be married not a week ago, and now going silly over another man.

  Thankfully, neither the laird nor his nephew seemed to notice her fluster. In fact, there was an awkward silence that descended for a few minutes until the laird excused himself and left the room.

  On the sixth day, Hugh’s mother arrived.

  She must have arrived late morning, when Isla was out in the woods searching for mushrooms with Mrs. Allan and a few other castle women (who were not nearly as concerned about Isla as the serving girls). The women had just dumped their findings on the large kitchen table and were looking for some bread and cheese when the door to the kitchens was flung open, and Isla was herself hauled into an aggressive and bosomy embrace.

  “You angel! You perfect miracle! God you sent you, I know he did!”

  Isla gasped, jerked back by firm hands on her shoulder, and she found her face being searched thoroughly by a woman who could only be Hugh’s mother. They had the same warm, brown eyes – the Laird’s eyes. But this woman was older. Though no grey streaked honey brown hair yet, strong crow’s feet spread from eyes pooling with tears. She was Isla’s height, several stone heavier, and contained such force of personality that Isla found herself speechless.

  “How do I repay you?” The woman demanded.

  Isla opened her mouth, uncertain of how to respond to such gratitude. In fact, she felt almost guilty. She would have left Hugh in the careless care of his uncle had the laird not accosted her and dragged her back to Dundur.

  “I was in the right place at the right time,” she responded, inadequately.

  Hugh’s mother stared at her, tears now spilling over to race down her cheeks. “Bless you,” she said. “Thank you.” She gave Isla another strong hug, a firm kiss on the cheek, and swept off as abruptly as she’d swept in.

  Isla stood there speechless for a moment.

  “Can you imagine how she was as a girl,” asked Mrs. Allan dryly, coming up to stand by Isla’s shoulder. “Uncontainable. Bursting from one room to the next, laughing or sobbing.”

  “Wait for tonight when she’s in her cups,” murmured one of the other women. There was muted laughter, but then everyone went back to work.

  True to prophecy, the laird’s sister, who people referred to as Lady Campbell, drank avidly. So did her husband, a Campbell chieftain who had lands in Inverawe. Unlike other nights, the Laird sat on the dais table with his sister, brother-in-law, and a few cousins.

  It was difficult for anyone to keep their attention on their plates, or their dinner companions. Whenever Lady Campbell laughed, it was with such force that all would turn their heads to watch. Her husband, a slim shouldered man with receding hair of indeterminate color was ignoring her, in animated conversation with the laird, who looked like he was waffling between amusement and irritation.

  “I see why their child is so quiet,” said Isla to Mrs. Allan.

  The woman smiled and looked thoughtful. “He’s a good lad,” she said finally. “And I think he does a fair sight better living with his Uncle than with his mother and father.”

  Because there were visitors to the hall, a few of Grant clansmen brought out instruments. There was playing and some drunken singing. Instead of getting up and leaving, people lingered over the music.

  Isla was in conversation with one of the castle ladies when she felt a plump and heavy arm sling through hers and pull her rudely away from the conversation.

  “Now!” said Lady Campbell in a loud voice. “You tell me how you came to be in the same woods as my son. On the same hill?” she hung heavily on Isla’s arm and Isla put her weight into the keeping the woman steady. “I say it was god! God picked you up and put you right in my son’s path!”

  “God is benevolent,” said Isla, for lack of anything more useful to say. Where she was barely cowed by Dundur, she found herself at a loss for words around his sister.

  “Did you come by way of Stewart land? Or were you near the Macdonalds? Does God watch the Stewarts or is he watching David and his clan?” She hiccupped loudly in Isla’s ear.

  “Inquiring as to the past of our healer, Maire?” The laird approached then from behind, rounding the woman in time to interrupt whatever response Isla was going to have to give. She stared up at him and from the easy grin on his lips; she’d guess he’d been a bit deeper in his cups tonight, too. “You’ll not get much. She holds her secrets tight as a snared trap.”

  “Oh hoh! Brother! Have you been snaring her tight trap??” Lady Campbell gave her brother an exaggerated wink and Isla blinked, uncertain of where the
conversation had turned. Apparently Dundur comprehended his sister though, because he cleared his throat pointedly.

  “She’s a pretty little apple,” said Lady Campbell, gripping Isla’s chin the same way that Dundur had done that first night. Isla resisted the urge to jerk her face away. “What kind of clan chief would let his pretty little healer just up and wander away.”

  “Indeed,” agreed the laird, dark eyes fastening on hers, curiosity burning brightly there. Isla held his gaze and tried not to be distracted by his nearness, the raw masculinity he exuded. Out on her wandering that day, she and the castle women had passed field laborers with their shirts off. Her mind had jumped immediately to the laird, how he’d looked when she first laid eyes on him, shirtless, heavily muscled, with dark hair curling across his sun-tanned chest.

  “Hsst, brother,” said lady Campbell. She motioned for the laird to come closer and he bent his head down, eyes still locked with Isla’s. She felt flushed, strangely needy, and she wanted to look away but couldn’t make herself.

  “That,” said his sister, jabbing Isla in the ribs with a thick finger. “That is the look of a lass who wants a good trap snaring.” Then she guffawed, loudly.

  Isla felt herself turn red. She didn’t need to know what Lady Campbell was talking about to understand the tenor of her comment.

  “Excuse me,” she said, only just audible over Lady’ Campbell’s laughter. The woman let her go and Isla hurried from the hall.

  Rather than go back upstairs to check on Hugh, Isla headed outside to the courtyard. There was nobody outside. The courtyard was deserted save for two chickens who bobbed across the lawn, reaching down every so often to peck at the ground for worms. The air felt good on her overheated face. She looked up, trying to find peace in the sky, but there was none to be had. The moon was a small crescent, casting barely any light, and so the sky was thick and riotous with stars.