To Love A Highlander (Highland Warriors Book 1)

by Donna Fletcher

  An awkward silence fell between them, Espy feeling comfortable in his arms, yet knowing it was foolish. Sound reason or perhaps it was an attempt to control desires that would not serve her well that had her trying not to lean against him, to keep a space, if a narrow one, between them.

  Fate seemed to be against her, since she found herself jostled against him as they rode until finally Craven hooked his arm tighter around her, settling her more firmly against him. As foolish as it was, she let it be. She enjoyed how his strength embraced her, coiled around her, comforted her. She would allow herself this brief time of feeling protected, of feeling that no one could hurt her while she was wrapped in his arms.

  Craven wished the ride would take longer. He favored having her in his arms, the fresh scent of lavender filling his nostrils and stirring his senses. Then there was the fit of her against him, like two pieces of a puzzle or mystery coming together and fitting perfectly. Like a mystery, he wondered about the why of it. Why did they fit so well? Why did she feel so right in his arms?

  They passed through the MacCara village, all eyes on them and Espy wondered what they had heard about her and Craven. She had brought enough misery to her grandmother, she did not need to bring disgrace as well.

  She kept herself erect, showing no shame, for she had done nothing wrong. She did not shy away when people glanced her way. She smiled and nodded and all returned her acknowledgement in kind, as if they admired her, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the women believing she had quieted the beast.

  As they passed the stocks, she saw that they were empty. Howe had been released. She turned her head, their faces so close that she could see his fine looks appeared even finer when having the chance to look upon him without haste. She noticed for the first time, the tiny scar that sat at the right corner of his mouth and was barely noticeable unless up close and in good light. She felt it an intimate discovery as if no one knew about it but her.

  “You wish to say something?” he asked, looking into her upturned face and thinking how tempting her lips looked.

  His words caught her unaware and she nodded, trying not to look at his lips that had kissed her nearly senseless. She mentally shook her head and silently admonished herself. His kiss had meant nothing and she almost laughed at the foolishness of her own thought. A kiss always meant something, though not always what we wanted it to mean.

  “Howe has been freed?” she asked.

  “He has and he has been warned to stay away from Bonnie and Cyra.”

  “But she is his wife. He will want her back. Have you at least sent warriors to ensure their safety?”

  “Howe will not be foolish enough to disobey me.”

  “You cannot be sure of that. He is unpredictable,” she argued worried for her grandmother and Bonnie.

  “You question my authority?” he asked, finding it difficult to believe that while men would dare not attempt to challenge him, this woman had the courage to speak her mind to him, and he admired her boldness.

  “I would not do that, my lord, however, I do question Howe’s anger and his temper that he cannot control.” She rested her hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Please, I worry what he might do.”

  Her delicate features were marred by her heavy frown, but somehow a spark of beauty escaped, her scar even unable to diminish it. She was brave enough to question him, yet wise enough to placate him as well.

  “They are safe. Worry not,” Craven assured her.

  “My grandmother is all the family I have left. I have no clan. I have no one but her.”

  It had been difficult enough when he had lost Aubrey, but he still had his clan and a good friend in Dylan. He had been foolish not to realize it and turn to them in his time of grief as he had done once before. Espy had had no one but Cyra, and he had banished her from the only person who loved her.

  “I have sent warriors to watch over Cyra and Bonnie,” he said, not wanting her to worry needlessly. He felt her body jump and turn a bit as if she intended to hug him, then stopped, and he wished she had not stopped. He would have loved to feel her arms around his neck again and he would love to feel her cheek, tinged pink from the ride, pressed to his.

  Thrilled that he had been so considerate of her grandmother, Espy almost went to hug him, but caught herself. Instead, she said, “I am most grateful, Lord Craven.”

  The sun disappeared behind clouds and the air had chilled considerably when they passed through the MacVarish village, on their way to the keep. Somber and worried faces greeted them and as they dismounted and were directed to the old laird’s bedchamber Espy sensed one thing.

  Death waited for someone here today.

  Chapter 11

  A healer often acquired a sense of death after battling it so often. Espy had fought death on many occasions and had been victorious, but there were those times death lingered near, waiting impatiently. That was the sense Espy got now. Death waited. He was here to collect a soul and she was here to battle him.

  Espy stepped into a barely lit room, the odor so pungent she raised her hand to cover her nose.

  Craven stepped around her and went to the lone window to swiftly draw back the tapestry covering it. Light blasted through the window, filling the room and Craven’s jaw tightened and he clenched his hands when he looked upon the withered man in the bed.

  “You leave your laird uncared for?” he roared at the servant who immediately cowered. “Why was I not summoned sooner?”

  The lass trembled as she raised her head. “We sent a message before this recent one, but you never came.”

  Craven clenched his hands tighter, his knuckles turning white as his anger mounted, though not at the lass, at himself. He was reminded once again how others had suffered while he had buried himself in his grief.

  Espy stepped forward, smiled, and calmly said, “Lord Craven is here now and will see to what must be done.”

  Espy’s sincere smile and reassuring words had the lass’ eyes brighten with relief.

  “I will need several servants, some to help me with the laird, and others to clean this room,” Espy said, slipping her cloak off and draping it over the back of a dusty chair and wasting no time in rolling up her sleeves, showing the young lass she was here to work along with them. “I will also need plenty of water, soap, and clean cloths. Fresh bed linens as well.”

  “Do as the healer instructs,” Craven said, his anger subsiding with how gently and encouragingly Espy handled the situation.

  The lass bobbed her head, turned a smile on Espy, and rushed out of the room.

  Espy went to the frail man in the bed who appeared to be barely breathing.

  “Owen, his name is Owen and he was a brave warrior in his day,” Craven said with respect for the old man.

  “Owen, I am here to help you,” Espy said softly, placing her hand on the man’s brow.

  “Au—” A cough racked his body, shaking the whole of him.

  Espy slipped her hand beneath his head, lifting it and looked to Craven, then to the pillow.

  Craven cringed in disgust at the soiled pillow as he placed it beneath Owen’s head.

  The old man stopped coughing and breathed a bit easier. He managed to reach up and place his weak hand on Espy’s arm as he struggled to speak. “Do not leave me, Aubrey.” He gasped for breath, fighting to continue. “I do not want to die alone.”

  “I will not leave you, Owen,” Espy assured him, “and while death may knock, we do not have to answer.”

  Servants entered the room and a flurry of activity began under Espy’s direction.

  Craven looked to Espy. “I will speak to you.”

  She nodded and followed him out of the room.

  “Tell me,” Craven said, fearing the worst.

  “I cannot say since I do not know enough of what he has suffered.”

  “He looks close to death.”

  “I have seen men in worse shape who have recovered, so I cannot say for sure,” Espy said.


  “You cannot perform miracles. If you could, my wife would still be alive.”

  The barb stung Espy until he continued speaking.

  “You would have saved Aubrey from whatever evil was after her.”

  Was he admitting she was not at fault? That he had wrongly blamed her? Did he now think that Aubrey’s death was no accident, but intentional? Hope soared in her heart along with sorrow for him.

  Instinct to help and to heal had her reaching out to rest a gentle hand on his arm. “Knowledge can be as powerful as miracles. We must find out what happened to Aubrey and let her finally rest in peace.”

  A hacking cough from Owen had Espy giving Craven’s arm a squeeze before hurrying into the room.

  Craven turned and took the stairs slowly, wondering how after all Espy had been through because of him, she would want to help him. The answer came easily.

  She continued to fight for Aubrey.

  While he had wallowed in sorrow, she had fought to survive and questioned what had happened, the intense bleeding not having made sense to her. Where he blamed, she searched for answers. Where he let guilt nearly destroy him, guilt grew Espy more determined. She was more a warrior than he was… but no more would he languish in grief.

  He had unknowingly helped the culprit, forcing Aubrey to take the mixture the physician had insisted upon, making him culpable in her death. If it was not Espy’s fault, then someone had used him to help murder his wife and, if that was so, he intended to find out who, and when he did… he would let the beast loose.

  Craven hoped Owen would survive at least the night, though he had his doubts. There was much he wanted to ask the man about Aubrey, things he should have asked long before this, but at the time he cared nothing about. He had fallen in love with Aubrey and nothing could have stopped him from marrying her. But what if there had been something in her past he should have known about? What if there was a reason someone wished Aubrey harm? The more important question that nagged at him was that if there was something in Aubrey’s past she ran from, why had she not shared it with him?

  Please, I beg you, do not let him get me.

  He heard Espy’s words as clearly as she had spoken them to him. Was Espy running from something as well? His stomach clenched tight. He would let nothing happen to her. He would keep her safe, unlike his wife. He would find out what happened to Aubrey and, if it proved so, free Espy of the guilt and place it where it belonged… on himself.

  Craven climbed the stairs to Owen’s bedchamber after several hours of seeing how the Clan MacVarish fared. It did not take long to see how the clan had suffered this past year with their laird taking ill. Much work would be required to rebuild the clan and have it prosper once again. The clan was an aged one, not enough young hardy men to share in the work or young enough women to bear more children to strengthen and grow the clan.

  Owen had realized it and it was why he had been so pleased when Aubrey had joined with Craven in marriage. With Craven as heir, the Clan MacVarish was safe when Owen died.

  Craven stopped upon entering Owen’s bedchamber, the difference from only a few hours ago was remarkable. Daylight not only shined in through the lone window, but light also filtered through the room from a fire blazing in the hearth and several candles. The odor was gone, the air now having a pleasant scent of lavender about it and there was not a spot of dust or dirt anywhere. But the most remarkable change of all was Owen.

  He was sitting up in bed, braced against pillows that were covered in clean linens and he wore a clean nightshirt. He appeared freshly scrubbed, his face having a pink hue to it, and his long gray hair had been combed and tied back away from his thin face. He also wore a smile.

  Craven could not believe the difference. It was as if Espy had performed a miracle, but then what was it she had said... knowledge can be as powerful as miracles. Obviously Espy was an extremely knowledgeable woman.

  “Craven my dear friend, you brought me an angel,” Owen said and turned teary eyes on Espy.

  “I brought you a skilled healer,” Craven said, walking over to the bed and Espy stepped aside as he did.

  “She cleaned me up and forced a potion on me that has me feeling better than I have in some time,” Owen said, extending his hand out to Craven. “It is good to see you, Craven, and I am grateful for your help.”

  Craven took his frail hand and squeezed gently. “You have only to call on me, Owen.”

  “You have proven that to me many times and I believe it is time, and also a wise decision, for me to formally yield the Clan MacVarish to you. I want my clan not only protected but to prosper and grow and it can do that by being part of Clan MacCara.”

  “We had agreed for that to take place once you passed, but seeing that your clan is in dire need of help, I agree with your wise decision. I will have the documents drawn and the word spread, and I will begin to move some of my clan here to help rebuild.”

  “I wish I could live to see that,” Owen said, fighting the tears in his eyes.

  “You will, if you do as I say,” Espy said.

  Craven turned, arching his brow.

  “He is weak from an illness that took a toll on him, but with proper care, he will grow strong again,” Espy explained. “He will need to be looked after and made to do as told, since I believe he is a stubborn man, which is why he probably survived the illness. He was simply too tenacious to die.”

  Craven turned a smile on Owen.

  Owen returned it as his tears continued to fall. “Aubrey always said the same thing about me… I was too stubborn to die.” Owen’s smile faded as soon as Craven’s smile vanished. “I am sorry. I should not have mentioned my niece.”

  “Of course, you should,” Craven said. “Aubrey was a good and loving woman and should always be remembered.”

  Owen smiled. “I am glad you feel that way. I miss her. She would sit and listen to me ramble on for hours without complaint. I thought she would forget about me once she wed you, but she visited me weekly and I looked forward to seeing her smiling face.”

  Memories stirred in Craven, the all too familiar pain of losing her returning and though he would have much preferred for talk of her to end, he needed to know more about her.

  “Aubrey rarely talked about her life before she came to live with you. Tell me about it,” Craven said.

  “I know little myself,” Owen admitted. “Aubrey arrived on my doorstep one cold winter day, shivering and nearly frozen, telling me that my sister Faline and her husband Gregory were dead and she had no place to go. I had not seen her since she was a wee bairn, but there was some slight resemblance of my sister in her and she was as kind as her as well. I could tell the memory of losing her parents was a painful one, so I did not ask her more.”

  “Where was that?”

  “High in the Highlands where old ways and beliefs still exist. Where most fear to travel, even the King himself.” Owen shook his head slowly. “I warned my sister against going where no Godly man would go. I even begged her to leave her wee daughter with me and come for her when she was sure all was safe. But there was no stopping her and off she went, taking Aubrey with her, and I never saw her again until Aubrey landed on my doorstep.”

  “Do you know exactly where in the Highlands?’ Craven asked.

  Owen lowered his voice as if fearful of being heard. “Where evil lives.”

  A loud sound had Owen’s body jolting in fright and Craven spinning around to see that Espy had dropped a bucket on the floor, what little water was left spilling out.

  “Forgive me, it slipped from my hands,” she said, stooping down to pick it up.

  Craven did not believe her. He had caught the flash of terror in her eyes and the gasp she tried to hide. Was that where she had been this past year… where evil lives?

  “I must get more water,” she said and hurried out of the room.

  Craven wanted to follow after her, but Owen said something that stopped him.

  “Espy looked as terrified as Aub
rey did when she told me that evil had claimed their clan. I should not have spoken of such horror in front of her.” Owen tilted his head, his brow scrunching. “But then she must be a brave one to return and face you, for is she not the one you blamed for Aubrey’s death? Cyra’s granddaughter, if I remember correctly.”

  “She is on both accounts,” Craven confirmed, “though I no longer believe she is responsible for Aubrey’s death.”

  “I am glad to hear that. Aubrey trusted her and Aubrey was good at knowing the good and bad of people. Look how she saw the good in you.” Owen yawned and his eyes began to droop with fatigue. “I recall her saying that if anyone could save her the young healer could.”

  “Save her?” Why would she think the healer could save her and not him? He voiced his other thought. “Save her from what?”

  “Evil,” Owen whispered as his eyes closed in sleep.

  Craven sat there staring at the old warrior, wondering what he meant, what Aubrey could have meant. And why had she spoken of this with Owen and not him? He had thought they shared everything. Now he wondered how much Aubrey had kept from him and why?

  He stood, disgusted with himself. If he had not been so consumed by anger and sorrow, he may have seen the truth in his wife’s death and had found the one responsible for it by now. Instead, he had turned all his anger toward Espy. The one person his wife believed could save her.

  Questions he should have asked back then needed to be asked now, and he did not care what it would take to find the answers.

  Patience was not one of Craven’s virtues, but he found it forced upon him. Every time he found Espy to speak with her, she was engaged in conversation with those who looked after Owen or she was teaching the MacVarish healer, who did not have near the skill that Espy did, how to prepare the potion Owen required.

  When he finally found her alone, later that night, her head was nodding with fatigue, and her eyes fighting to remain open as she sat in a chair beside Owen’s bed.