Deception of a Highlander

by Madeline Martin

  She would have to lie down for him to do this, and the only place she could do so was his bed. His mouth went dry.

  “Ye need to lie down,” he said in a gruff tone and nodded toward his bed.

  He held her slender arm, bracing her as they walked to the other side of the room. She was delicate in his hand, as if squeezing his fingers into a fist would shatter her bone. Apprehension knotted his stomach.

  He helped lower Mariel to the bed, her wide gaze fixed on him. Did she have to look at him like that? Kieran clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the way her hair splayed over his pillow, the way her long legs lay across the sheets.

  He focused on threading the needle. “Ready?”

  She balled her hand into a fist and gave a short nod.

  Mariel did not so much as flinch while he stitched the gash closed. He hadn’t expected her to weep, he knew her better than that by now, but he had expected her to at least react in some way to the pointed bite of the needle. Instead her eyes had focused on the ceiling, unseeing, and her face remained expressionless throughout.

  Men had stronger reactions when sewn on the battlefield than did the gentle woman beneath his fingers. He understood then that Mariel’s indifference did not stem from bravery, but was the product of a life of incredible pain and the necessity of endurance. He tied off the string and his gut churned.

  In a world where she had been forced to abandon herself to escape any sense of feeling, he had caused her further injury with his overzealous lust. Was there any wonder she did not trust him enough to tell him of her past?

  “I’m finished.” His voice was loud against the silence.

  Dark lashes swept over pallid cheeks as she examined his work. “Well done, Kieran.” She let the ruined night rail fall back into place. “Almost as good as the healer.”

  Her eyes met his, and the memory of their shared intimacy hummed between them as the room fell quiet once more. Her lips were swollen with the force of their kisses. His desire was still hard and pulsing beneath his plaid.

  His body longed for what his mind would not allow. She had been injured too much in the past, and she didn’t trust him enough to tell him how. He refused to be another man in the list of those who hurt her. He would cause her no more pain.

  As though sensing him pull away, Mariel stepped forward. “Kieran.” His name was a whispered sigh on her lips.

  He did not open his arms to her. “Ye should return to yer room.” She needed rest, she needed to heal.

  And he needed to think.

  • • •

  Tufts of wool slid from between Mariel’s fingers into the turning wheels of the wooden contraption and emerged as coarse thread winding against a spindle. Kieran spoke to Innes in low tones several paces away. The chattering gossip around her coupled with the noise of the spinning wheel kept the conversation blocked from Mariel’s ears, no matter how hard she strained.

  Desperate to catch Kieran’s gaze, she looked up, silently willing him to glance in her direction. He shifted his weight and clenched his hand at his side, but did not look her way.

  Her sigh sent the small fibers of wool fluttering. A fortnight had passed from the evening of her botched seduction, and he had not spoken to her since.

  Doubtless he was angry with her for disobeying his orders to cease her work and stay in bed until she was recovered from her injury. She had thought he would get over the offense quickly, that he would realize the necessity of her disobedience. She would never earn the respect of the Highlanders if she allowed herself to be coddled.

  While no one had threatened her or harmed her, Mariel was not well liked. With Kieran avoiding her, she had only Colin’s misguided friendship and Alec’s toleration.

  She fed the wool with ease and realized she was frowning. Why did being ostracized suddenly bother her so much? Wasn’t she used to living alone? After all, she had spent the last two years in voluntary solitude.

  Without so much as a glance in her direction, Kieran turned and strode from the room, leaving Mariel immersed in a room of strangers and hate.

  “Did ye see how he dinna even look at her? He’s already moved on.” The woman behind her spoke out loud in Gaelic.

  Mariel kept her face impassive, but the cruel words found their mark and lashed against her heart. She grasped another wad of wool and layered it between the wooden gears.

  “Ach, do ye blame him? Look at her! With his virility, he’d break her.” Another woman snickered behind her.

  Mariel’s back straightened unnaturally as she spun the wheel and worked the clump into fine, blue thread.

  “I think it’s good he’s making the whore work with her hands instead of keeping her on the flat of her back.”

  Mariel did not have to turn to see their angry stares as they pierced into her back from every angle, like an assault of vile daggers. No matter how wicked their words, she could not let on that she understood them. Instead, she lowered her head and focused intently on the endless blue fluff slipping between her fingers.

  “Ye’re verra pretty.” The words were spoken in Gaelic, the voice little more than a small, timid whisper.

  Mariel looked up from her work and found herself face-to-face with a cherub. Golden hair curled around an angelic face that had yet to lose the plumpness of infancy. Large, brown eyes stared up at her, curious. A smattering of freckles dotted the little upturned nose and rosebud lips pursed with a seriousness that should not belong to one so young.

  “Are ye a princess?” The girl’s chubby hands twisted against one another as though she knew how whimsical her question sounded.

  In a world of hatred, this one little girl was brave enough to offer kindness as if there were no boundary between Scottish and English, as if fear and anger had never existed. The way it should be. Mariel smiled down at the child.

  “Coira!” Innes growled and grabbed the little girl by the arm. “Dinna talk to her. She canna even understand ye.”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” Coira said as Innes began to pull her away from Mariel.

  The little girl looked up and studied Mariel with a furrowed brow as though unsure what to make of her.

  Mariel met the girl’s wide-eyed stare and mouthed the words, “Tapadh leat.” Thank you.

  A brilliant smile spread over Coira’s lips and lit her small face.

  A bittersweet sensation filled Mariel’s chest. Jack had been about that age when she saw him last. Although the two years of growth since they had seen one another would have stripped away the remaining vestiges of the chubby-cheeked boy she remembered. Nostalgia stung at her heart. Were he with her now, she would be able to take the ridicule with the nonchalant stride she’d maintained in her youth. They could be happy.

  Though exhausting, this was the life she had envisioned for Jack and herself. A humble living earned by the hard work of her hands. A life where she went to bed tired, but honest. A life where Jack had everything he needed and was not subjected to the darkness of Aaron’s underworld.

  The women’s sharp words gave her an idea, one that would have made the old Mariel smile. The Mariel who would have never let herself be so hated. She would have taken the slights of the clan and turned them into jests. The life she lived would have been embraced and cherished. As it should be.

  If she had the acceptance of the clan, Kieran would not be able to ignore her.

  A slow smile quirked on her lips as a thought came to her. She knew the Highlanders did not care for King James despite his Scottish blood. Likewise, the peasants of England bristled against the jeweled hand that lay heavy over their heads. As a result, she had learned quite a few interesting ditties during her time in the streets of London.

  She hummed softly for a moment, remembering the tune and then sang the first line.

  “King James, so powerful and great,

  With mighty stance and graceful gait.

  Several women cast her angry looks.

  “Dressed in silks and jewels and pearls,

&nb
sp; Decadent fans and lots of curls.

  Brows furrowed and eyes narrowed.

  “He wins at cards as only king can,

  And rejects lady love for that of a…

  The few women who spoke English gave shuttered smiles as their friends asked for translation. After a quick glance to ensure Coira was not within earshot, she sang the last word.

  “Man.”

  One woman laughed out loud, and a couple others grinned at her. Mariel cast them a glance and winked before turning back to her wool.

  Perhaps she could win them over yet.

  • • •

  Mariel hefted the weight of the basket off the tender scar on her hip where the bothersome wound had finally healed. The sun shimmered like a medallion of gold in the clear blue sky, and the pale green grass spread before her. Perfect weather, were it not for the gusts that whipped against her with such force it lifted her braid from her back and threatened to pull the basket from her tightly clenched fingers. While Skye was not as cold as the rest of Scotland, the wind was merciless.

  The sight of the stables in the distance caught her eye, and she quickened her pace. She was almost to the small building they used for storing dyed wool where she would get a reprieve from the merciless gusts.

  She knew the surrounding area well. In the time since she’d arrived, she’d spent hours combing through the area, plotting out an escape if necessary. Just over the hill opposite the stables is where the boats were kept. Small ones she could operate. She already knew the one she would take if need be.

  Excited shouts came from the stable, muffled by the howling winds. Her step faltered.

  “Coira!” Innes’s voice rang out.

  A shrill cry laced with fear answered the call. “Grandmother!”

  Coira raced through the field. Her little legs blurred with her speed, chubby arms outstretched as she screeched in panicked wails. Mariel dropped the basket and was already darting down the steep hill when she saw the large horse thundering behind Coira. He matched her turns and dodges, easily closing the distance between them as breath steamed from his nose like billowing smoke.

  Mariel charged across the field, her feet barely touching the ground in her determination to place herself between Coira and the beast before it was too late.

  Mariel streaked across the stretch of grass to where the powerful horse charged. The little girl stumbled over the hem of her plain brown dress and tumbled to the ground in a pile of small arms and legs, flailing and shrieking pitifully.

  The horse’s shadow loomed over her. The beast reared back on powerful hindquarters, his front legs savage as they slashed the empty air.

  A burst of energy propelled Mariel forward, driving her burning muscles onward as she dove toward the ground. She threw her body over Coira, wrapped the child in the shield of her arms, and rolled them both away. Hooves slammed into the soft ground where Coira’s head had been and the earth shuddered.

  Without waiting for a second attack, Mariel scrambled to her feet with the little girl still clutched against her. A crude wooden fence lay on the other end of the field. Its slats were crooked and leaned against one another, but it was their only hope for escape.

  Mariel did not hesitate. She darted forward with the girl cradled against her chest, focus aimed on the high fence. The horse thundered closer, and the grass shivered under Mariel’s feet. Almost there. Her legs quivered with exertion, but she refused to give up.

  Using the last of her energy, she leapt into the air toward the fence. Her feet kicked against the wooden planks and shot her higher. She didn’t think about what needed to be done, she fell back on her rigorous training. Her hand darted out automatically, bracing their weight and pushing them over the top of the fence to where they landed safe on the other side.

  Through the visible gaps of their barrier, Mariel saw the horse rear back in anger. His hooves stomped the worn soil and his eyes rolled. With a toss of his head, he charged toward the rickety fence.

  Mariel’s heart sank. He would burst through the aged wood without issue. Her muscles trembled with such exhaustion she could barely stand. Outrunning him was impossible.

  In a desperate move to protect the girl from as much impact as possible, Mariel crouched to the ground with her back toward the fence and wrapped Coira tight one final time.

  Mariel waited for the crack of rotted wood as the fence splintered apart. She waited for the victorious snort of the beast as it charged at them in their vulnerable position. She waited and yet they never came.

  “Mariel.” Colin’s voice sounded overhead. “We’ve caught him. Ye can let her go.”

  Her eyes flew open and glanced to the empty field beyond the slatted fence. A whimper sounded from her arms. Coira. Mariel released her grip on the girl and scanned over the delicate face and tiny limbs. Aside from bits of grass and dirt clinging to her dress, the girl appeared unharmed.

  Mariel’s chest burned with the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The air rasped from her tight chest and sent her heart hammering anew.

  Had the horse not been caught, he surely would have broken through the rickety fence.

  They would have been killed.

  Then Jack would have no one.

  The strength drained from Mariel’s body, and it was only the bones within that left her standing upright by some miracle.

  Innes appeared beside her and grasped Coira by the shoulders, inspecting her as Mariel had done. Innes’s gnarled hand patted one chubby cheek before she straightened and faced Mariel.

  The old woman’s face was flushed.

  “Thank ye.” She spoke in English thickened by lack of use. “I dinna know how ye did it. I dinna care. Ye risked yerself to save my Coira.” She looked down, her translucent lips pressed against one another. When she looked up, unshed tears shimmered in the depths of her icy blue eyes. “I willna forget this.”

  Mariel’s mouth fell open, yet nothing came out. Innes did not appear to want a response. She turned, gathered the softly sobbing Coira into her arms, and shuffled away.

  “Ye saved her.” Colin squeezed Mariel’s shoulder, breaking her from her trance.

  She watched the little blond head nuzzle into Innes’s sturdy chest, and Mariel’s heart swelled with a lightness she had not known in some time. She had saved a young life with the very skills she had been taught to kill with.

  Mariel turned toward Colin’s charming smile. “It was just luck,” she said, brushing off the compliment and heading back toward her fallen basket with Colin at her side. “Anyone would have done the same had they been closer.” Her legs wobbled with the exertion of her feat. And with the fear of everything she almost lost.

  Colin edged closer to her as if sensing her depleted strength. “I’ve no ever seen someone leap a fence like that. Where did ye learn how to do that?”

  Mariel lifted the discarded basket to her hip and regarded him from of the corner of her eye, suddenly wary. Was he asking in true curiosity or suspicion?

  “I played with boys when I was younger. If you couldn’t jump a fence, you got left behind.” She gave him a playful wink and added, “I never got left behind.”

  He grinned down at her and stopped in front of the small hut. “I can see that. I bet ye gave those lads quite a challenge.”

  Before she could grasp the handle, Colin tugged the door open for her. Mariel shifted the basked to the front of her hips and angled her way into the doorway. The room was cold inside. Cold and dark and reeking of soggy wode. The sudden loss of sunlight left her momentarily blinded. She patted her hands around for the baskets of wool until her fingers skimmed the smooth braiding of wood, and she knew she had the one she sought. She lifted it and felt its weight pulled from her hands.

  “I’ll get that for ye,” Colin said in the darkness.

  She glanced at him as they exited the narrow building, noting the lazy lopsided smile and the flash of a dimple.

  Almost two months had passed, and she had made little pr
ogress with Kieran. That he was no longer speaking to her only exacerbated the issue. Colin, however, seemed willing and eager to accommodate her in any way possible.

  Guilt churned in her stomach and left her palms damp. She did not have the luxury of being fair. Time was running out and Jack was counting on her.

  If she could not use Colin to make Kieran jealous enough to speak to her again, then perhaps she could glean the information from Colin and bypass Kieran all together.

  If neither plan worked, she would be on her own to save Jack.

  Mariel rested her hand on Colin’s bulging forearm. “You’re very strong. I’m sure the basket weighs nothing to you.” She tilted her head to the side so he could glimpse the smooth expanse of her neck.

  The proud puff of his chest let her know the seed of seduction was already beginning to grow. Certainly it took almost no encouragement.

  Mariel swallowed the bitterness of her shame and pressed her control. “I’ve never told you before, but your friendship means a lot to me.” Her hand lingered on his arm, a quiet indication to let him know that by friendship, she referred to something more. “I don’t have many friends here, but I’m glad I have you.”

  He eased the basket into one arm and slid his free hand around her waist. “My friendship is always yers to be had, my lady.”

  They stepped into the courtyard, and she allowed herself to be pulled closer to him. “I look forward to seeing you at supper tonight, Colin.” She lifted the weight of the basket from him and let her hands caress his.

  His green eyes burned a path of interest down the length of her body. “No as much as I do.”

  • • •

  That evening at supper, Mariel positioned herself beside Colin and in the direct line of Kieran. By the end of the meal, Colin’s eyes were bleary, and his speech garbled with drink. It had taken a considerable amount of whisky and persuasion to get him to such a state. He leaned the side of his head against his fist with an arm propped against the table and gave her a crooked smile. Doubtless many a woman had fallen for that charming grin.