A Highland Pearl (Highland Treasures Book 1)

by Taylor, Brenda B.

  Kenneth promised to build a larger house on the two-pennyland tract Chief William had granted him. They would need more room for their many children, he told Maidie. Tears brimmed over in her eyes on remembering Kenneth and the love between them. Oh, how she missed him, his warm embrace, his gentleness. Kenneth, Kenneth, came the name from the depths of her heart.

  Upon reaching the abbey’s kirk, Maidie sat her wicker basket on the stoop, opened the studded oak door, and entered the quiet sanctuary. She stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light while reveling in the quiet surroundings. Moving forward, she genuflected and then dipped a finger in the stoup of holy water, making the sign of the cross toward the wooden crucifix behind the altar. Maidie knelt at the altar’s railing to pray. Surely, the Lord would hear her cry for peace to be restored between the clans of Munro and Cameron. While fingering a small gold crucifix around her neck, she prayed for Chief Andrew’s healing and the healing of her own heart.

  A figure knelt at the railing beside her—most likely one of the villagers. Maidie did not look up, not wanting to intrude on someone else’s prayer because of her curiosity. After a long while and many pleadings with the Lord, she rose. The figure slowly pushed up from the railing to stand. Maidie turned to see who prayed with her.

  “Laird Andrew,” she whispered.

  He answered in a quiet voice and a bow of his head, “Madam.”

  Shocked to see the Munro chief, Maidie could only stare at the striking leader. He looked pale beneath the dark hair now plaited in two braids hanging to his shoulders. The dim light from the kirk windows cast a gleam along the black sheen. His grey eyes under heavy brows pierced through her until a shiver ran up her spine. He appeared to be dressed for a special occasion in a belted plaide of Munro colors, billowing sleeve léine, and quilted waistcoat. A large silver brooch secured the plaide on his broad shoulder with a deerskin sporran trimmed in silver hanging on a wide leather belt. Red garters held white woolen knee socks to muscular legs with black leather brogans on his feet. He looked every bit the chief of a Highland clan.

  “You look well, M’Laird.” Maidie smiled, clasping trembling hands together.

  “Thanks to your tender care I can now get out of my bed. You’re a fine healer, Madam Munro. Our village is fortunate to have one such as you.” The corners of his fine mouth and twinkling eyes turned up.

  “I’m afraid the villagers dinna share your sentiment, M’Laird. They have grown to hate me since the feud between our clans killed Randal and wounded so many others, including yourself.”

  The laird stared at her without comment and then looked around the small sanctuary. The smile vanished. “Tavish should accompany you when you’re out in the village.”

  “He and Sven are grooming his steed, M’Laird. I really dinna need an escort.” Maidie could not understand his concern.

  The villagers were angry with her at present, but they were her friends, and had been for seven years now. ‘Twas not her fault the Camerons raided the Munro lands.

  “There are Cameron and MacKenzie reivers about.” A crease formed between his brows.

  “You would need to put a guard on every person in this village if that be the case. They make no distinction on whom they cast their thieving.” Maidie could not understand his concern for her and not the rest of the village.

  “I have my reasons, Madam. I would be very pleased if you trusted me in this and did my bidding.” His voice rang with authority.

  Maidie quickly balked at his dictatorial attitude. Chief or no, she hated to be robbed of her freedom and told what to do. “I dinna understand and will not be told where and when I should go, M’Laird.”

  The chief dropped his clenched fists, probably to keep them from around her neck. She felt a slight wave of anxiety. He was a strong man and could do her much bodily harm, if he so desired.

  “I dinna wish to fight, Madam. My horse is outside, and you’ll ride with me to your cottage, and not leave without Tavish again.” He leaned forward to stare into her eyes. His lips pursed together.

  She felt his hot breath in her face and could find no answer. Andrew took her arm, pushing her down the aisle of the kirk toward the door. Although weakened from injury, she could feel strength in his powerful grip. She didn’t resist and let herself be pulled along. He opened the kirk door, still holding to her arm, untied his horse, and pushed her onto the large animal in front of his saddle. He climbed to take his place in the saddle behind her, wrapping strong arms around her waist to grasp the reins. Two monks came from inside the abbey’s fenced garden and watched the scene. Three of the luchd-taighe waiting outside the kirk on their horses turned to accompany Chief Andrew.

  Maidie’s face burned with anger. How dare the chief treat her in such a disgraceful, embarrassing manner. She wanted to turn and slap his face, but couldn’t move in the firm grip around her waist. Andrew walked the horse slowly down the street to her cottage while many heads turned to observe the passersby. Now her neighbors would have more to talk about.

  Tavish stood in the doorway of the byre with Sven beside him. Both watched with wide eyes. Andrew reined the steed to a halt in front of the cottage. Tavish rushed to grab the reins while the chief dismounted, and then clasped Maidie firmly around the waist to help her down. Making a pretense of straightening her skirt, she refused to look at the man. He stood too close. She couldn’t move. His chest rose and fell with heavy breathing.

  Sven ran to her. “Mam, are you hurt?”

  She took his hand. “Nae.” She looked down at her son, clutching his hand until he winced.

  Finally, Andrew backed away and let her lead Sven into the cottage. She did not look back but sensed he followed. She entered her cottage, removed the heavy arisaid, and hung it on a peg beside the door. The chief stood in the doorway, filling it with his large frame. The luchd-taighe remained on their horses.

  Although still furious, Maidie turned to the man. After all he was the clan chief, which demanded her respect. “Chief Munro, would you care to come inside? I have some leann fraoch to offer you, made fresh from the summer heather.”

  “Humph,” he grunted then took a seat on a chair nearest the fire. He looked around the small cottage with one brow arched and lips pressed into a hard line. The angry glint in his eyes changed to one of curiosity as he scrutinized the contents and furnishings of her small home.

  Maidie busily stoked the peat fire to warm the room and keep her eyes diverted from the laird’s penetrating gaze. A puff of smoke escaped. The chief coughed. How embarrassing, but she couldn’t help living in a black house and it did belong to him. She was his tenant, making do the best she could. She removed a wooden cup from the single shelf and sat it on the table, then took a jug from the same shelf, removed the wooden stopper, and poured heather ale into the cup. Her skin prickled under the scrutiny of the Munro chief. She felt ashamed of her humble dwelling and meager offerings of hospitality to the noble man.

  Without a word, she offered him the cup of leann fraoich, which he took and slowly sipped. She sat on the opposite chair with hands in her lap while his silver eyes stared over the brim of the cup.

  “A tasty brew, Madam. I’ll have you show my servants how to brew it. They try, but dinna have your skill.” He smiled.

  Maidie realized he was only trying to ease the tension between them and smiled in return. “Thank you, M’Laird.”

  Sven came closer to sit at her feet. She could not read the chief’s expression but finally broke the silence. “Chief Munro, how is your wound fairing? I am verra surprised to see you about and riding your horse so soon. Angus must be taking good care of you.”

  “Humph.” He paused in sipping the ale. “Angus is still the butcher. I dinna let him near me unless absolutely necessary. Davina tends my wound and dresses it with your salve.”

  “I’m happy to see you healing so quickly. How fairs Alan?” She continued to stare at her hands, twisting them in her skirt.

  “Alan is up a
nd about. He does well.” The big man sipped at the ale. He lowered the cup. “The reason I came to call this morn was to thank you properly for the care you gave me and the other wounded. You saved my life. I wish to repay you.”

  Maidie looked up from her skirt. He smiled with white teeth showing through the shadow of a beard on the strong square jaw. She was taken aback by his expression of gratitude, thinking the chief and all of Clan Munro now hated her.

  “My thanks, Chief Munro, is to see you doing so verra well after a brutal encounter with a battleax.” He nodded and smiled once more. She grew braver. “I’m surprised Davina let you grow a beard, but it suits you.”

  “I out voted her. It hides the hateful scar.” The silver eyes twinkled.

  So the tough chief with a tender heart for his young eighteen-year-old sister could be firm with her. Maidie wondered if Davina always got her way with the Munro brothers.

  “Will you accompany me to Randal’s burial on the morrow?” he asked while scrutinizing her.

  Maidie looked at her hands in her lap. “Nae. The villagers hold me responsible for Randal’s death, since my kin slew him. I wanna be attending.”

  “Nonsense. Your kin gave me a terrible stomachache.” The big hand rubbed across his abdomen and a crease formed between the heavy brows. “And I dinna hold you responsible. You saved my life.”

  “My neighbors dinna share your feelings, I’m afraid.”

  “They’ll get over it. Tavish should attend the burial and you canna stay here alone. Be ready on the morrow. I shall bring a fine horse for you to ride.”

  Maidie looked into the handsome face. He truly meant to take her to the burial. Tongues would wag and the flame of Angus’s hate fanned. She could not face the ire of her neighbors.

  “I canna attend, M’Laird. “How could she make him understand? “Sven and I will stay inside the cottage and bolt the door. Naught a person will enter until Tavish returns.”

  “I mean to escort you and Sven to the burial.” Darts flashed from his eyes, making her tremble. “And why did you go to the kirk alone?”

  “I am verra sorry I was no’ at home when you arrived, but I went to the abbey to ask Maighstir Tam if I might pick some herbs from his garden to replenish those that are missing.” She hated his penetrating gaze. Maidie looked down at her hands, remembering the basket she left beside the abbey door. Mayhap the maighstir would keep it for her.

  “Madam Munro, do no’ leave your home without Tavish.” He sat the cup on the table with a thud that sent the amber liquid splashing over the edge.

  Maidie dared look directly into the steel grey orbs. “I dinna need a watch dog trailing after me.”

  “I wanna explain my actions, Madam.” His eyes flashed with rising ire. “Take Tavish with you.” He stood and looked down at Sven with a softening expression. “And make sure your son goes along also. I’ll have naught happening to him while under my care.”

  Maidie rose to follow the chief to the door. She watched from the doorway while he mounted the great black horse, took the reins from Tavish, and rode toward the castle without another glance her way. The luchd-taighe followed.

  Rage swelled inside once more. How dare the man come into her home and treat her like his chattel. She was a free woman, direct kindred to Chief Ewin Cameron. Her father had an inheritance of Cameron land that would pass to Maidie, his only child, at his death.

  She still owned the Munro land with three tenants to help pay the rent, and would someday build the house for Sven that Kenneth wanted for them—if she stayed with Clan Munro. Her thoughts of late drifted back to the lands of her birth. Maybe Sven and she should return to Clan Cameron and pledge fealty to her father’s people.

  Maidie turned to Sven. The boy stared after the Munro with a creased brow. She took him into her arms and held him close. “I’m sorry you had to hear me argue with the chief. As long as we live on his lands, we owe him our fealty. I wanna disagree with him again.”

  Sven nodded his head with tears pooling in the large green eyes. The lad rested a tussled head on her shoulder while she smoothed the fine hair with her hand.

  “I wish to see the pups and play with Effie and Dan,” he whined.

  “I dinna ken, Sven. The chief seems to think the castle holds danger for the two of us. We wanna return until invited.” Maidie’s heart broke for her young son. “Where is Phillip? You can play with him.”

  “I canna leave without Tavish and Phillip wanna come here. He said his mither forbids him.”

  “Did you see Phillip this morn?” Maidie lifted Sven’s chin.

  “He came with his mam. We heard what Flora said. Phillip said he dinna believe you to be a black witch. Tavish said he dinna believe such a thing, either, and Flora needs to stop spreading rumors.”

  “A black witch? Flora said I am a witch?”

  “Aye, Mam. Phillip said his mam said you heal by the use of black magic.” He sniffed.

  She looked into Sven’s sad eyes. “Dinna believe such a thing, Sven. You ken I’m no’ a witch using black magic to heal. Healing is a good thing that helps people, and black witches dinna like helping. Their intentions are to harm, not help.”

  “Tavish said you’re too kind and good to be a witch of any kind.”

  Maidie hugged her son close. So the villagers were talking about her being not only a Cameron, but a black witch also. How could she fight such gossip and protect her son? The chief knew of the talk and possible threats to her life. Was someone in the castle spreading rumors? He certainly didn’t want her there, or mayhap he only wished to be rid of the Cameron in his home. She decided to think seriously about returning to her father.

  Chapter Eight

  Andrew spurred his horse to a full gallop and winced with pain. A more exasperating woman he had not encountered. He drove himself to get up from the bed, dress, and pay her a visit, because he missed her and wanted to see to her welfare and the lad’s. Now, her strong will, so like that of his sister, made him angry. Seems all the females he cared about were strong-willed and defiant, even to open rebellion against his wishes. He only wanted to protect the lass from the harm lurking about, from the Camerons, and those of his clan who hated her. Andrew realized all too well the prize now dwelling on his lands and the great bargaining leverage he had against the Camerons as long as he held the woman and her son. Ewin Cameron would give much to get the lad and his mother. The Clan Cameron chief had sent several missives asking for a parley to discuss the matter. Andrew ignored them all.

  The lad, Sven, was another matter. Clan Munro needed more males. Too many had been killed in the feuds and fighting others like the sasannach. Sven had the makings of a mighty warrior if trained properly, but his training must begin soon. Maybe the woman and her son should be brought back to the castle.

  The problem with a beautiful lass taking up residence in the castle, however, was his brother. Knowing Gavin, she would not be safe from his amorous attentions. Still, Andrew liked the idea of Maidie being close. Such a thought of a lass had not entered his mind since Tara Fraser rent his heart. The memory of the healer’s tender touch, the sweet odor about her, the full pink lips, and pretty smile made his stomach flip. And of a sudden he had become self-conscious of the scar on his face when he had never cared about the hideous thing before. Yes, having Maidie Munro nearby in the castle would be a good thing. Andrew intended to see to the matter on the morrow after Randal’s burial.

  ***

  The morning of the burial dawned fair and cold with the mist soon evaporating into a brilliant blue sky. Andrew wrapped the heavy fur-lined leather jacket closer about his finely girded frame when he stepped from the castle keep. He straightened the silver brooch adorned with a large pear-shaped crystal that held the plaide on his broad shoulder. His men were mounted and waiting. Gavin and Davina walked behind him. Both quickly mounted their steeds. Andrew examined the handsome strawberry roan mare the stable boy held—the one Maidie and her son would ride to the kirk. The lass should be
pleased to ride such a fine horse. He mounted his own black destrier, fitted with a black leather saddle tipped in silver and matching harness. The horse snorted when Andrew mounted. He should have the stallion gelded, but then Scara may not possess the fighting spirit needed for a warhorse.

  Andrew led the solemn procession followed by Gavin, Davina, and then the luchd-taighe. Other castle servants and their families followed the procession on foot. Anne had been sent ahead to spend time with Randal’s corpse before the services. Nellie and Alan accompanied her. The villagers would fall in behind the castle servants as the chief and his party rode through the village streets to the kirk. Randal was well-liked and many would attend his burial.

  When the procession reached Maidie’s cottage, Andrew held up a leather-gloved hand. All stopped while he dismounted. Tavish joined the mounted warriors and waited while the chief pounded on the cottage door. The door slowly opened and Maidie, with Sven at her side, stood in the doorway. Andrew stopped for a moment to enjoy her fresh, ruddy beauty. Her golden locks were caught in a long braid down her back, and the skin of her face looked freshly scrubbed, glowing with health and youth. She smiled, but her eyes did not twinkle. She seemed nervous.

  “Madam.” He gave a small bow, not knowing what to say to the lass. She was attending this burial against her wishes, but he would not leave her alone. If she were seen in his company, the villagers may be more accepting. “Your horse awaits.” He motioned toward her mount.

  Maidie pulled her woolen arisaid closely about her slender figure, took Sven’s hand in hers, and moved past Andrew without a word or look in his direction.