The Highlander's Touch

by D. K. Combs

  He immediately became her hero. What a brave boy, she had thought with wonder, gazing up at him. He was so stern in the face, and looked as if he never smiled, but his young strength and confidence had given her the courage she needed to stop sniveling.

  When he realized she’d calmed down, he began to talk.

  The brogue in his voice was thick and heavy, much more so than hers. It had only added to her adoration of her savior.

  As a young, silly girl, she hadn’t thought to ask his name. Every year during the fair, they would find each other for a day. Talking, laughing, playing. He’d saved her countless times from wandering off, and had even escorted her to events.

  Their fun was always cut short, and so they’d part on sad terms, promising to meet each other the next year.

  Over the years, she’d become so fascinated with his brogue that when she was home, she’d practiced it. “Aye,” she’d say, over and over until she got it just right. Eventually it became habit for her to respond to things, and as hard as her mother had tried to make her change her ways, she hadn’t.

  The year that she’d perfected it, hoping to impress her friend, he hadn’t arrived at the fair.

  He hadn’t arrived that year, or the year after that, or the year after that.

  “Why are you standing there?” Blaine asked, leaning out of the cracked door. Saeran sighed, closing her eyes. “I’m thirsty. I demand a drink, sister.”

  “Yes, Blaine,” she said tiredly, rolling her eyes when Blaine slammed the door in Saeran’s face. Oh, her sister was such a joy these days. As she continued her way down the hall, past her room, she debated with herself. Her feet were sore, her arms were trembling from the work she’d done today, and her backed ached like no other. Mayhap, if she were quiet enough, her sister would forget the demands she could have filled herself, and Saeran could just climb into bed.

  Of course, if that happened, Blaine would only have words for her in the morning.

  She glanced down the hall, in the direction of the kitchen. An apple for her troubles didn’t sound too bad, if she were honest with herself. Saeran rubbed the small of her back, then sighed, slouching her way down the stairs.

  Aye, her sister needed a swift kick in her lumpy arse if she—

  Saeran stopped. Her eyes widened.

  Lumpy arse.

  She’d said her sister had a lumpy arse. She felt guilty. So, so guilty. “Lumpy” was the new “beautiful”, was it not? Her sister was considered gorgeous by today’s standards. She’d said it out of spitefulness, and there was a difference between spite and justification.

  She pressed her lips, continuing her way down the hall, becoming angry at herself.

  “I’ve been at this castle for a full moon,” she whispered to herself angrily. “I’ve been here for a full moon, and every single day, it only gets worse. Why do I put up with her attitude?” she asked herself, throwing up her hands.

  “She isn’t even herself anymore!” She mumbled on about her sister, filling a cup with water. She began her way out of the kitchen. “By all rights, I am her brother. I should be disciplining her! Lord, but even the laird does not favor her attitude.”

  “Mayhap if he knew there was another option, he would further the process along,” a familiar voice said. She froze, hand tightening around the cup. Connor came from around the corner with a raised brow. “Do you talk to yourself often, my lady?”

  Her lips tightened. She’d made an enemy out of Connor and she had no wish to further the reasons why he should report her to the laird. For whatever reasons, the day that he’d stormed away from her, he hadn’t revealed her secret—nor the day after that.

  Every time the laird walked into the hall or called her to his study to discuss something—though the later was rare and had only happened once, concerning a maid her sister had brought into the house without his knowledge—she began to shake with so much force she had to hold onto something to stand. Ever since Connor had made it clear he wanted nothing more than to reveal who and what she really was, she’d lived a life of fear and unluck, watching over her shoulder for a furious laird.

  She passed him, expecting to just breeze away from him without a care in the world, but he took hold of her arm. The cup flew out of her hands and she was turned around, facing Connor.

  Anger burned inside of her.

  “Not only do you make me fear for my life every day, but you feel you need to manhandle me?” she hissed, yanking out of his grip. “I’ve come to the end of my rope with people forcing me to do this and that.”

  He held up his hands defensively.

  “Listen, my lady. I meant no—”

  “Do not call me ‘my lady’ unless you plan on telling the laird. Otherwise, someone could hear you. Or is that what you plan?” she asked, lower lip trembling, even though the force of her anger was still as strong. The days of fear and anxiety had taken their toll on her. She could hardly face the man who could ruin everything.

  “No,” he said vehemently, shaking his head. “No, that is not what I plan.”

  “You want to be the one to tell the laird,” she said, nodding. “Oh, aye. I completely understand. Take the glory of sniffing out a rat in your precious lairds defenses for yourself, true?”

  He frowned. Guilt flickered in his eyes. “No. My lady—”

  The look on her face must have stopped him.

  “My lady,” he said, this time softly, quietly. His voice barely carried to her and she almost sighed with relief. “I have been watching you lately. I...I fear I understand where you are coming from now.”

  Saeran didn’t say anything. Her heart was pounding too forcefully.

  “Although you are wrong about the laird, I know your concerns. And…” He sighed, giving her a beseeching look. “And any woman who has the patience to put up with Blaine’s demands as you have does not deserve to be treated like this.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she said thickly. She forgot all about the water that was soaking into her shoes or the way her hands started to tremble.

  He came closer. “I know that you do, Saeran… I want to help you.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” she said, laughing bitterly. “Nothing you can do besides keep my secret, and you’ve made it perfectly clear that your loyalty lies with the laird—and I understand that.”

  “Which is exactly why I want to help you. Saeran, you understand loyalty. The way you deal with your sister, how you ignore all of her bad habits just so you can make her happy, is what makes you...different.”

  She blushed. Though his words were not said in the most romantic of ways, she couldn’t help herself. Never before had she gotten a compliment, even if it was from a man who preferred men.

  He smiled, and she remembered the first time they spoke, before he found out what she was hiding. He was not a bad person—she could see that clear as day, and knew also because for some reason, he’d chosen to keep her secret to himself. He might have an ulterior motive by doing so, but there was something about Connor that showed he didn’t.

  “I do not agree that keeping this from the laird is your best option.” She opened her mouth to say he was wrong, but he held up a hand. “However, if it makes you feel safe to parade around as a man and get beat up every day while dealing with your witch of a sister, then I will support you.”

  She blinked.

  “You will?”

  “Yes. I will—but only because I know that sooner or later, you’re going to want to reveal yourself to the laird.”

  “Why on earth would I do that?” she asked incredulously. “The man is the devil in pink skin! Have you not seen the way he yells at everything?”

  Connor smiled, a small secret smile that made her frown. “I’ll enjoy watching you be proved wrong, my lady.”

  She returned his smile, though hers was more uneasy. “And I’ll enjoy watching myself be proved correct. There is not a single redeeming fact about the laird that could make me want t
o reveal myself. He is my sister’s betrothed,” she said indignantly. “That is the only thing I see about him.”

  He laughed. “I just bet. You do realize that he hasn’t yet asked for her hand, though, correct? He still has time to decide.”

  “Decide on what? There’s no other choice than for him to marry Blaine.”

  His eyes rolled. “The other option is standing right in front of me.”

  “Ha!” she said, laughing and waving a finger in his face. “You’re wrong about that. He has to marry Blaine. She is the only one that can provide an heir for him.”

  “Whatever you wish to believe,” he said, shrugging. “Oh, and also. I’ve conversed with him about your ‘training’. I pointed out that in the past moon, you’ve managed to break more things than learn, so he has agreed to let you clean the stables instead.”

  Saeran could have cried. Finally, after so long of aching and being hit by men three times her size, she was free of the nightmare. She nodded stiffly, forcing the tears of relief from her eyes. Then dread began to settle in.

  Blaine.

  She’d have to deal with more of Blaine. The only saving grace to her time in the training grounds was that it gave her time to ignore Blaine and everything she wanted or complained about. Now, she wouldn’t have a choice except to put up with the annoyance that was called Blaine.

  “...though I do believe the laird needs someone to help him with accounts.”

  Her ears perked up.

  “Accounts?” She’d done them plenty of times for the Sinclair estate. Her mother had either been too busy prepping Blaine for another ball, and her father had...well, he’d never preferred to work with numbers. That was what had gotten her started on books and accounts and everything not court related. Though it had started out as a bother and a frustration, she’d excelled in her work and had eventually taken over the whole of everything that required running an estate.

  “Yes, accounts. The laird does not have time to do them, and when he leaves, I leave. And with the MacLeod’s waging war, it’s becoming a hassal for him.”

  “Didn’t he have someone to do it before?” she asked, wringing her hands.

  “Blaine scared her away.” Of course she did. Saeran should have been angry over it, but she found her opening.

  “I—I can do the accounts. It’s only fair, since my sister is the reason they aren’t being done now,” she said, practically jumping on her feet. Oh, she’d missed doing them! Numbers were numbers. Simple. Practical. Perfect. There was only one way the sums could come up, and she revelled in knowing she’d done it correctly, since it was the only thing she could do correctly.

  “You?” he asked, raising a brow. “What does a lady know about—”

  “I did them for my family. Could you speak to the laird? About me doing the accounts for him? That would be another way to do my part around here. I’m quite efficient,” she nodded. She needed to do this. It was the only thing she knew she could. And, if she were stuck doing accounts all day, her sister would have no reason to bother her.

  He started to frown. “I know he must seem terrifying to you, but if you want the job, you will have to ask him yourself for it.”

  “But I thought you were going to help me,” she whined playfully, knowing he was right. It didn’t matter to her if she had to talk to The Lion or not—there was now a light at the end of the tunnel and she could practically feel it’s warmth.

  “After the McGregors leave on the morrow, he’ll be free to talk, but only for a moment. After that, he’s paying a visit to the MacLeods and I do not know when we’ll be back.”

  “The MacLeods?” she stilled, meeting his eyes. Trepidation went through her. “Does that mean you’re going to…”

  “No.” He shook his head sternly. “There will not be a battle unless they attack first. I fear the MacLeod is planning more than just taking his revenge for his sister, and if the Campbells are involved…” He swiped a hand over his face. She reached out and rubbed his arm comfortingly. “The laird has been too concerned over this to court your sister.”

  “It’s understandable,” she murmured. She still didn’t have the best of thoughts toward the laird, but at least this gave her a reason as to why he was so barbaric whenever he came around. Too much he’d been out in the fields, talking with the McGregors—who had been there for a fortnight—and too little had he spent time getting to know Blaine.

  She knew her sister was difficult to like, but she was sure that once the laird spent more time with her, he’d realize that he could be happy with her. The only reason Saeran had grown tired of her sister of late was because of him. The more she thought that, the more true it became. Without his lack of ambition in taking Blaine as his wife, Blaine was beginning to feel inferior.

  Saeran knew she’d never felt that a day in her life, and blamed her attitude and selfishness on the lairds negligence. She was terrified of him, but Blaine was stronger than she. Stronger and braver. She could handle him more than Saeran ever would be able to—and lucky for them, she hadn’t had to. He’d been too busy dealing with the impending battle to worry about the Sinclairs that were taking over his keep.

  “You are indeed one of a kind,” he said quietly, gazing at her. There was a look in her eyes, an appreciation that she’d never witnessed directed towards her, that made her blush and back away. He shook his head, and then that same humorous smile lit his face. “It’s late, and I imagine you’re tired. Now that we’ve established I’m your ally, and not your enemy, I think it’s time you go to bed. You’ll have to wake early if you wish to catch him.”

  She blinked. “What do you—oh! The accounts!” She grinned, unable to help herself from hugging him. The joy in her chest was so much that it was practically pouring out. “I’m so thankful,” she said earnestly, clasping him. He returned the hug, then set her away from him.

  “Any woman being put in your situation needs all the help they can get,” he said with a sigh. He nodded his head to her, exiting the kitchen before she could ask what he meant by that.

  “Saeran?”

  The sound of her sister’s ungodly loud shout made her flinch. The water—she’d spilled the water. She heaved a sigh, but it wasn’t as tired as it had grown while she was here. There was a tinge of hope to it—hope that for once, something good might happen to her.

  THT | 11

  Quicker than she would have thought possible and high on happiness, she retrieved more water for her sister, telling herself that she would return to clean up the mess as soon as she was done. When she handed her sister the cup, though, Blaine didn’t let her slip away so easily.

  “What has you in such a good mood?” she asked, taking Saeran by the arm and dragging her into the room. The door closed behind her, cutting her off from the outside world, and her newfound happiness. All of the joy she’d just felt came to a painful end.

  Her sister didn’t sound like she was in the best of moods—not like she ever did, anyways.

  “Nothing,” she said, grateful that the lie sounded natural. “I’m just glad to finally have a chance at rest.” If the words weren’t hint enough, her taking the handle in her hand was. Blaine stared at her with narrowed eyes.

  Just as quickly as the suspicious look had appeared, it was replaced by a woeful sigh and a sad, tortured look. “Does my own sister dislike me so much that she cannot spare a moment to talk?”

  Saeran forced herself not to roll her eyes. “What has you troubled this time, sister?”

  Blaine jumped into the conversation immediately, as she always did. It had become a ritual for this to happen, and each night, it made her tolerance of Blaine less and less. Saeran wasn’t a violent person by nature. Aye, she’d fantasize about strangling her sister when she was ridiculous and occasionally wish death on walls when she stubbed her toe, but other than that, she was subdued in her dislike of things.

  Right now, however, she wanted to shove a stocking in her sister’s mouth and run from the room. It was th
e same thing, every night.

  “If father were alive, he would challenge The Lion for his negligence! Do you know,” Blaine said, sitting on the edge of her bed, “that he hasn’t sat with me to dine at all since we’ve come here? He hasn’t even inquired after my health! I fear that he is going to be a most unreasonable husband.” She reached forward, taking Saeran’s hands. They were cold and pudgy. “I’m terrified of him. He has such cold eyes. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? They’re as dead as a corpse, too!”

  Aye, Saeran had seen them.

  A couple times, in fact. And each time, they hadn’t been cold or dead...they’d been vibrant and gorgeous, hot with life. The image of him flashed in her mind and she swallowed, pulling away from her sister’s hand.

  She nodded, even though she couldn’t agree with complete conviction. He appeared to be and act like a barbarian, but...his eyes spoke otherwise. She looked at her lap, feeling guilty.

  “He can’t be all that bad,” she tried. Every night, Blaine spoke of how murderous and beastly the laird was.

  “Yes, well—I wouldn’t know otherwise! The man cannot spare the time of day for his future wife.”

  “He hasn’t yet asked for your hand,” she pointed out, recalling Connor’s words from just moments ago.

  “What are you trying to say, sister?” Blaine narrowed her eyes on Saeran. “Do you harbor thoughts about a man who is to be mine?”

  Saeran shook her head, reaching out to appease her sister—even though the lie sat like lead in her stomach. Aye, she’d been thinking about the laird. With horrified fascination, each time he came around. He was aptly named—he moved with the grace of a lion. It was hard not to watch him and speculate.

  “Never, Blaine. I just...think you should make more of an effort to know him, besides…” She trailed off, realizing what she had almost said.

  “Besides what, Saeran,” her sister said, dangerously quiet.

  “Besides letting him hide from you,” she filled in. When Blaine only stared at her, she worried her lip. Her sister stood up in a rage. The movement was so quick that Saeran didn’t have time to react, to appease her before she went on a rampage.