The Highlander & the Unlikely Heir_Scottish Highland Romance

by Fiona MacEwen

  “Lady Sutherland,” John’s tone was surprisingly compassionate considering the circumstances, “I understand yer frustration, but I am as baffled as ye are about where he could be.”

  Isobel was currently standing at the window, one hand to her face, and though she looked every bit the despondent wife-to-be, there was something about her stance that was so very similar to her mother. “Why would he leave?”

  The other person in the room, Robert, who Hamish was almost certain was here to keep people from the Sutherland Clan revealing the deceit Margaret had initiated. He was red in the face, almost in tandem with his hair, and he had his hands curled into fists. “If ye expect us to believe ye had nothing to do with this–“

  “Do nae question my honor,” John snapped, drawing himself to his full height. Although a head taller than everyone else in the room, no one backed down.

  Margaret took a step toward John, her mouth twisted. Hamish had once thought her beautiful, but the only thing he could think of when she was this angry was how ugly she appeared. Perhaps it matched her ugly attitude and the way she had handled Catriona. “The Grant has made a promise to the Sutherland Clan, and that promise will be kept. If he is not back three days hence, the slight will be answered by the clan.”

  Without waiting for a response, she strode from the room. Her dress was not altogether loose, but it seemed to billow as she left, adding to the dramatics of the moment. Robert waited only for Isobel to turn from the window, and then he cupped her arm, dragging her out of the room.

  John let out a slow breath and then met Hamish’s gaze. “We widnae just be facing Clan Sutherland,” he admitted slowly. “There’s nae doubt Clan MacNeill would heed their call.”

  “Twill nae come to that,” Hamish said, certain. He had no doubt that Alastair would accomplish his mission and would return in time.

  “We only have until tomorrow,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Then we’re going to have to find these documents faster, aren’t we?” Hamish uncrossed his arms and stared out of the window, at the lay of the land. This was his home, and he would not see it trampled underfoot by an army of usurpers. “I’ll ride to Sutherland. We have time enough for that. If they call to arms, it will take that long for messengers to get anywhere.”

  John nodded, but he looked exhausted. It was, Hamish thought, a measure of how strong both he and Alastair were that they continued to fight this.

  “We will find them,” Hamish said, his voice softer. “Everything will work itself out.”

  The look John gave him was equal parts impressed and grateful. “To have your optimism, Hamish.”

  “Och,” Hamish said, with a wave of his hand. “Tis easy to be optimistic. Nae so easy to face what ye are to face.”

  There was a moments peace while the two of them considered what they were about to do, but then John was once more the interim Laird-in-waiting until Alastair returned, and he gave Hamish a grim look. “Ride out as soon as ye can, Hamish. We have to have that document so that Alastair can return.”

  Chapter 20

  A Forest of Hope

  “Are we safe?” Catriona leaned more heavily into Alastair’s back, her arms tight around his waist. Her legs and back were sore from riding for so long over rough terrain, but she remained seated.

  Alastair kept the horse’s pace gentle as much as he could, but they were still trying to outstrip both the convent—if any of them were to bother trying to find her—and whoever Lady Sutherland would inevitably send out.

  Catriona had been silent since they left the convent, scared to voice any of the feelings currently running through her head. She had been startled by Alastair’s arrival at the convent, almost afraid that it would be a dream, but he had been real. The other nuns’ reactions to him were too genuine, and she had splashed enough water on her face to be certain.

  After he had finished eating, Alastair had brushed off the nuns’ concerns, and insisted on helping them clean up, and then he would take his leave. As soon as he stood next to her, Catriona had been relieved, could feel the heat pressing against her arm. She had been trembling, out of fear or relief she didn’t know, but as soon as his fingers had curled around her wrist, she had been ready. She had been ready from the moment she knew it was him.

  They had fled the kitchens, ignoring the shouts for them to wait, and they had not stopped until they were out of the door and running towards the horse. Catriona tried not to think about what the Abbess would say, or how she would be viewed for this. She was just grateful; just the night before she had begged for help, and it had come. She could not have predicted that it would be Alastair, but in her heart of hearts, she had hoped for him.

  The feelings that had been weighing on her since that night, having to lie to him that she did not care for nor love him, had been harder to bear than she could have imagined.

  “We are safe,” Alastair said, drawing her from her reverie.

  “How can ye be certain?” Catriona closed her eyes, forehead to Alastair’s back. She could feel his muscles flexing as they rode.

  “I cannae,” Alastair admitted slowly. “But I would nae put you in danger if I could help it.”

  Catriona’s heart clenched. “I ken.”

  The horse slowed to a walk as they picked their way through the sparse forest. The silence stretched between them, but it was comfortable.

  “Why did ye come fer me?” Catriona asked.

  Alastair did not answer for a moment. He stopped the horse at the edge of a clearing and patted her hand. She pulled away from him, giving him room to slide off the horse. When he held out his hands, she leaned into his hold and allowed him to lift her down. Cheeks warm, she distracted herself by taking the reins herself, and leading the horse into the clearing.

  Alastair followed, and she could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her head. “Did ye ever meet my servant, Hamish?”

  Catriona frowned, running through the servants she had run into at the castle. “An elderly man? His accent is thick.”

  Alastair’s smile was more than amused. “Indeed. He discovered something about yer stepmother.”

  A shiver ran down Catriona’s spine, and she could not raise her head to look him in the eye. She was afraid to know what had been discovered.

  “She sent ye here,” Alastair said, keeping his voice gentle. “Did she ask ye to write the letter?”

  There was something in Alastair’s tone that made Catriona pause. She wanted to deny, to claim that she could not be what he wanted from her, but she wondered if she did not want that. Had he not come all this way to find her and help her? He had risked so much, his very standing with his own clan, to come and get her away from the convent. She had longed for someone to see her and care about her the way she had been so desperate for.

  “Alastair,” she said, taking a step towards him and then pausing. Catriona had the truth, and she would have to give it to him if they were to move past this. “When she found us, she was furious. She demanded I write to ye and tell ye that I could nae be with ye.”

  Alastair nodded, looking unsurprised. He gave her a small, relieved smile. “I had hoped,” he said, voice trembling. “I didnae want to presume.”

  “Ye didnae,” Catriona promised, feeling her heart beat wildly as she returned his smile.

  “That’s nae all,” Alastair admitted, and he closed the distance between them, taking her hands in his. He squeezed them gently. “He revealed that ye may not be merely a servant.”

  Catriona’s world narrowed down to this point, fear and hope battling in equal measure in her chest, as if trying to escape her ribcage. She hardly dared breathe, for fear the moment would stretch and break.

  Alastair squeezed her hands again, voice barely above a whisper. “I promise it will be okay.”

  “He was right,” Catriona said, and the world did not end. Gaining confidence, she breathed out slowly. “I am the rightful Lady of Sutherland Clan.”

  Rel
ief, happiness, a myriad of other emotions erupted between them and Catriona felt as if they could hold this moment in eternity, she would never tire of the expression on Alastair’s face.

  Chapter 21

  Revelation

  Alastair was sure he would burst with the happiness and contentment in his chest.

  Catriona was currently seated against a tree, one hand on the neck of the horse as he munched on the grass at her feet. Alastair was stoking a fire in the middle of the clearing, a rabbit at his feet. It was simple fair, there would be no finesse to the cooking, but it did not seem to matter to Catriona.

  “I hae never eaten out like this before,” Catriona admitted, when she caught him looking.

  “It will nae be for long,” Alastair assured her. Content that the fire was warm enough, he started to cook the rabbit in earnest. When he met her eyes, his smile widened. “As soon as John arrives, we will return to the Castle.”

  Something wistful crossed Catriona’s face. “I long to return home.”

  There was something reluctant in her tone, and her expression gave him the rest of the story. She looked fearful, her eyes wide, and he rushed to assure her. He gestured for her to come closer. She gave the horse a conciliatory pat as she disturbed him, but he shook his head and moved on to another patch of grass. Dropping down next to him, Catriona curled against him, and Alastair wrapped an arm about her shoulders. It was not, perhaps, the way he had imagined spending a night like this, but it was comfortable, content.

  “I promise ye,” Alastair said, meeting her eyes, “that ye will nae be torn from Sutherland. I widnae keep ye from yer home.”

  “If we do manage to find the documents,” Catriona said, and her voice was even, if her hands were shaking. “I suppose the merrig would be void.”

  Alastair understood then, Catriona’s fear. “Ye believe I widnae want to merri ye?”

  Catriona’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “I widnae hold ye to an arrangement ye made with La– Isobel.”

  “Catriona,” Alastair said, and he put his hands on her shoulders, turning her gently. “I would take ye over Isobel a hundred times.”

  If Alastair had thought Catriona beautiful before, it was nothing to her beauty when she smiled at him like that, like the sun cresting the edge of Loch Ness. Cupping her cheek, it was a mirror image of their moment at the edge of the Loch, but this time there was nobody to interrupt.

  “Alastair.” Catriona’s voice was but a whisper.

  “Catriona,” Alastair returned, pressing in closer. Their lips met, chaste and calm, but it was as if Alastair’s whole life was just a placeholder until this moment.

  They pulled apart slowly, Catriona still smiling widely. Alastair caressed her cheek gently and wondered what he could say to make this moment all the more special. The decision was taken out of his hands by the sounds of hooves and snapping of leaves off in the distance. Alastair was immediately on his feet, drawing Catriona up with him.

  “They will have seen the smoke,” Catriona whispered furiously.

  “Aye,” Alastair said, and he cursed that he had not thought to bring a weapon. What kind of Laird! “It will be alright.”

  “I trust ye,” Catriona said.

  Alastair trusted John implicitly, and it was this fervent hope that kept the fear at bay. The only other person who knew of this clearing would go to his grave keeping the secret, but he did not want to tell Catriona this. If he was wrong, if John had somehow been coerced, he did not want to stand by his conviction and have it affect Catriona.

  His trust was rewarded when not a few moments later, the hoofbeats burst into the clearing. Alastair’s horse let out a startled whinny and danced away but stayed secure to the tree.

  “Hamish,” Alastair said, out of relief. He was surprised that it was not John, but he was not about to overlook the safety of someone he trusted.

  Hamish slid off his horse and jumped down. “Sire,” he said, quickly, and then giving Catriona a once over, bowed his head again. “My Lady.”

  Catriona looked startled, whether out of surprise or genuine disbelief, Alastair did not know. “Th-thank ye.”

  “Aye,” Hamish said, seeing the look on Alastair’s face. “Sean found the document.”

  Sean, John’s son. So, they had taken somebody else under their confidence. Alastair had always trusted Sean, but the fact that he had found the document, cemented him in Alastair’s graces.

  “Do ye have it?”

  Hamish tugged a large piece of parchment from his jacket and handed it over.

  Catriona clutched at Alastair’s arm, peering over his shoulder as he read the document in its entirety. It did indeed proclaim Catriona as the daughter and heir of Bryce, Laird of the Clan Sutherland, and it proved just how devious and sly Margaret had been.

  “Where was it found?”

  “Behind a painting relegated to the store rooms, sir.”

  “My mother’s painting,” Catriona breathed, and Alastair watched her face briefly settle on pain before she smiled, wide and bright. “Even after death, she is looking out for me.”

  Alastair nodded. “Aye, I would say she is.”

  There was a moment of relief when nobody seemed to know what to say. Alastair could not stop staring at the document, and all the implications it presented. It had seemed like such a futile endeavor to not only find the document but prove that Catriona was the daughter who should have been presented as the Lady of the Sutherland Clan and not Isobel. Now they had the evidence, and Catriona seemed ready to present herself as Bryce’s daughter.

  Catriona was still reading the document. “Me faither wed my mother before she died.”

  Alastair nodded. “That makes ye the legitimate daughter, and the Lady of the clan.”

  Hamish coughed politely, trying to respect their moment, but seemed to be operating under a sense of urgency. “When ye left, sire, Lady Sutherland had given Clan Grant just three days to get you back, else she would bring war to the land.”

  “She is nae only backed by the Sutherland Clan,” Catriona said, her face white. “Clan MacNeill came to the castle after me faither died, and she has been able to threaten or intimidate her way into a secure future for herself, her daughter, and her Clan.”

  “Nae more,” Alastair promised, taking Catriona’s hands in his own. He squeezed them gently, then turned to Hamish. “We must ride for Grant Castle and prevent whatever game she is playing from coming to fruition.”

  “Aye,” Hamish agreed, and approached his horse. “Would the Lady like her own?”

  “Nae,” Catriona said, cheeks blushing red. “I will ride with Alastair.”

  “As ye say,” Hamish said, with a smile that told them both he understood.

  Alastair ignored him, aiding Catriona onto the horse and hoisting himself on behind her. She lay back against him as much as she was able, and Alastair, despite the situation at hand, found himself content. Time would only tell if that contentment would last. They had to ride to Grant Castle and convince everyone the document they held was true, and that they had all been taken in by the Lady. She had thus far charmed her way into the graces of most of the Highland clans, so they would have a fight on their hands.

  Alastair, with Hamish, and Sean behind him, and Catriona pressed against him with all the trust she had ever shown him, knew they could do it.

  Chapter 22

  Unravel

  John was concerned.

  Margaret was striding about the castle as if she had already won the war and procured both Sutherland and Grant clans for her own. Isobel was prone to bouts of sitting still, affecting the guise of someone who had been jilted, but there would also be times when she would be angry and bitter in equal measure. It was no small wonder, John thought, how they had managed to get away with their plan for so long.

  “It is only a matter of time,” Margaret was saying, eyes dark as she stared at him. “Me people will be here in a matter of days. If yer Laird is nae found–“

  “We h
ave people searching,” John told her, and not for the first time. It seemed exhausting to have to do so over and over, but her theatrics were drawing more attention than he would have liked. By now, he was sure the gossip had spread further than just the clans involved. “They will be found.”

  “We are just supposed to wait for ‘em, are we?” Robert said, his voice barely above a growl.

  John had little patience for the kind of attitude he presented. A Highland man through and through John knew a lot about intimidation and presenting himself as a proud Scotsman, but that was a far cry from the way Robert acted. “Aye.”

  Robert’s eyes narrowed, but John ignored him. He had people waiting on the border, ready to alert him should Alastair, Hamish, or any army approach. Time had been dragging since Hamish had left to rendezvous with Sean, and though Sean had been successful in his mission—something for which John was very grateful—Hamish still had to meet up with Alastair, and hopefully Catriona, and get them back here before war erupted.

  It irked John to not be able to reveal what he knew, especially with the kind of behavior that Lady Margaret was exhibiting, but there was little else for him to do. It would all come together in the end, and while waiting was difficult, it was all he had.

  Moving away from Margaret, attempting to catch his breath for a moment before he would be dragged back in to a war of words, he stood at the window, looking down at the Loch and the land beyond. It was there he caught sight of a horseman coming down the main trail, waving an arm frantically, and clutched in his hand was a piece of cloth. It was an unmistakable Grant tartan, which meant Alastair was on his way.

  Relieved, John could not help but smile. “It would seem the messengers have found Laird Grant.”

  Margaret’s face, which had been a bright shade of red, now seemed to shift into something whiter. “Are ye certain?”