Highlander’s Unexpected Love: A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book

by Adams, Alisa

  Heather sighed. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," she replied, putting all the books on a shelf.

  "I'll be the judge of that," Jessica replied smartly.

  "Bruce the blacksmith," she answered flatly.

  "You're not going to tell me, are you?" Jessica giggled.

  "It's Bruce the blacksmith," Heather said mischievously. "We've been pretending to hate each other because we are secretly madly in love and have regular trysts at midnight. I climb down the ivy under my window so nobody sees me and he waits in the shadow of the big tree just outside the gate. Then we go to our secret hiding place and make mad passionate love all night. Now, do you believe me?"

  "Heather, you are mad!" Jessica giggled.

  Heather hugged her. "I'm just happy," she admitted, "I love summer, and I am still free. I thought I could marry Kenneth, Jessica, but I can't."

  "He's a good man, Heather," Jessica pointed out.

  "He is, but he's a traditional man." She sighed. "He needs a nice quiet woman."

  "I could do that," Jessica mused, "I could be quiet if he looked after me."

  "You marry him then!" Heather said, looking at Jessica thoughtfully. "You would have lovely children. Blond hair and green eyes or dark hair and hazel eyes."

  Jessica flapped a hand at her and they left to go back to the castle. On the way, they saw Bruce in the distance. Jessica waved to him, and he waved back. Heather looked the other way, studiously ignoring him, even though it was taking all her willpower to stay where she was and not run down the hill and jump into his arms.

  "You two!" Jessica said, exasperated. "You should get together and talk."

  Heather said nothing. If only you knew, she thought.

  James had enjoyed increasing his strength working on the land. He was developing muscles, increasing his stamina and gaining a great respect for the men with whom he worked. He hoped that the respect was mutual, but he had no way of telling, except that they allowed him to participate in their jokes and stories. He, for his part, could make them laugh with some of the more ridiculous stories about the upper classes and their snobbery.

  The men, who liked things to be easily expressed, began to call him the ‘Wee Laird’, reasoning that he might as well get used to the title for one day he would be the ‘Big Laird’.

  James loved being in the company of the coarse, funny and hard-working laborers. He often brought down food from the castle, particularly if there had been a dinner party when a lot was returned to the kitchen untouched. He went around to several farms to help and they all got to know him and like him.

  "Hey, Wee Laird, see you?" said Archie, one of the biggest and most powerful men on the job. "I thought ye were a snooty wee nyaff but ye're no' bad at a', eh boys?"

  "Aye!" said a chorus of others.

  James felt a warm glow of happiness flow over him. "Thank you, Archie," he said warmly, "I am very glad to hear that. And now a toast to your health!" He held up his mug of tea. "Slàinte mhath! Good health!"

  There was a general cheer and much slurping and patting of backs before work resumed. At the end of the day James was exhausted, but he had a surprise for the men.

  "Gentlemen!" he announced, "what is the thing you would most like right now—no, not that, Murdo!" He pointed to one of the big men who was leering suggestively.

  "Uisquebae!" Someone shouted, and the chorus was taken up.

  James, like a conjurer, pulled a bottle of whiskey from behind his back and a huge cheer erupted.

  "Slàinte mhath!" they chorused, then a measure of whiskey was tossed down seven thirsty throats. There were seven very happy working men that day and James was a hero.

  "Hey, Wee Laird Jamie," Archie said curiously, "this is good stuff. Yer faither must hae a loch full o' it at the castle."

  "He does," James admitted, "but he keeps it under lock and key—I had to bribe one of the servants to get this!"

  "How much?" Archie asked eagerly.

  "I'm not allowed to say," James looked around furtively, "in case my father misses the money. I had to steal that too." His voice had dropped to a whisper, and he tapped the side of his nose. "Not a word."

  Archie's blue eyes were wide with wonder. "Ye can count on me, Wee Laird."

  James had one dram with them and left the rest with the men. He was tired but very, very contented. He heard raucous celebrations all the way up the hill and laughed heartily. The outrageous story had been swallowed hook, line, and sinker.

  * * *

  When he got to the castle the first member of his family he saw was Heather. She looked strangely joyful, and he couldn't help but smile at her. "Sister!" he cried, with a puzzled look on his face. "Why are you so happy?"

  She clasped her hands together. "Because it is a beautiful day and I am free!" She laughed, then she grabbed him and hugged him so tightly he thought his ribs would crack. He joined in her laughter, but he was not convinced by her explanation, "also I have had a few glasses of wine.

  "Let me go!" he protested, "Heather, you are lying to me. There is another reason and I would like to know what it is."

  "Why?" She stopped laughing. "Do I need a reason to be happy? It's better than being miserable." Then she sniffed, "James, you need a bath."

  "I know," he replied, "but you have been embracing me, so now you need one too."

  Heather looked down at her dress and brushed off a few crumbs of dirt. "There," she said airily, "nae harm done!"

  "No harm done," he corrected her. Where have I heard that before? He thought, who says that all the time?

  "How was your day?" she asked, falling into step beside him.

  He sighed, smiling. "I never knew what fun the ordinary people could be," he confessed, "they work hard, but they are humorous and cheerful. They call me 'The Wee Laird'."

  "I am glad you've found that out, Jamie," she replied, "working with the children has taught me that too. I may give them knowledge about writing and counting, but they are teaching me far more. Jessica is a wonderful girl and a wonderful friend. At this moment, I could not be happier."

  "Really?" James smiled, "because I would have wagered you were in love."

  "I think it will be a long time before that happens," she said wryly.

  "Careful, Heather," James said mischievously, "you are nineteen – you’re not getting any younger - soon you will be an old maid and quite without prospects."

  "I don't care if I never marry," she replied sharply, "I realize now that I was a fool to ever let Father persuade me to become engaged to Kenneth. I would have been bored to tears."

  James laughed. "I always thought so," he confessed, "but it was not my place to say anything."

  "When has that ever stopped you?" Heather asked mischievously, giving him a playful push.

  When they reached his room, he hugged her and she sniffed.

  "Go for a bath," she grimaced, "I have smelled more fragrant pigs!"

  James walked away, calling her every bad name he could think of. When he got out of his bath he sent for David and asked him for a strong cup of black tea.

  "Tea, sir?" David asked incredulously, "is sir feeling all right?"

  "Sir is feeling fine," James replied acidly, "but sir would like a cup of tea!"

  "Laced with a wee dram?" David asked with a smug smile.

  "I said tea!" James roared, "I have had one dram today and one is all I want. So, I would greatly appreciate it if you would indulge me and actually do some work!"

  David scampered off to do James's bidding, swearing under his breath.

  James had never enjoyed a cup of tea so much in his life. When it was finished he poured another then ordered his dinner to be brought to his room on a tray, but by the time it had arrived he was asleep.

  20

  Goodbye and Welcome

  Bruce couldn't stop thinking about Heather. He was fascinated by her while feeling guilty that such a short time had elapsed since Bridie's death. He was able to distract himself while he was at work,
but at night time, lying on the bed that had been his and Bridie's, he went over and over the last few moments of her life. Heather was the woman who had stopped him from saying goodbye to Bridie, the one who had adopted such a condescending attitude towards him that he had hated her for it. What had changed?

  He supposed that they had both changed, she because she had begun to think of the villagers as real people, he because he no longer thought of her as the enemy. In fact, he realized, he had forgiven her. That realization in itself was incredible since he hadn't known he had it within him to forgive like that - he had always been a grudge holder. It was one of his biggest flaws and he knew it.

  However, he knew also that he was counting the minutes until he saw her again until he kissed her and felt his body respond in the way a man's should to the nearness of a beautiful woman. It was something he had not thought would happen again when Bridie died and all his passion went with her.

  Now Heather had brought it back. He knew it couldn't last. He knew that it was a brief interval between Heather disposing of one fiancé and marrying another. He didn't think his heart would break when she left him, so he would take this whence it came and for what it was, just a pleasant interlude for both of them. That was all it could be.

  It was inconvenient to have to hide, he thought, but it would add to the adventure. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Which man would not? He laughed softly into the darkness, and for the first time since her death, he didn't wish that Bridie was lying beside him. For the first time, he knew she had left him forever, satisfied that he could go on without her.

  Jessica was learning to ride. The first day all she could accomplish was the art of sitting in the saddle without falling off. The next day she had progressed to walking around the courtyard with the horse on a leading rein and not falling off. Now, Heather was going to take her outside without a rein to see if she could manage without any support at all. The horse had a very quiet temperament, but Jessica was a very nervous pupil and Heather was nervous too because picking Jessica up off the ground and lifting her onto the saddle was not her idea of a good time. However, Jessica was getting better, and soon they both began to relax, or at least Jessica did.

  In front of them, coming towards them was Kenneth, riding the roan stallion Rufus which was his pride and joy, and had sired the most foals of any horse in history, according to him. Both he and Heather felt awkward and embarrassed, though each of them was determined not to show it. Heather tilted her chin up and pinned a pleasant smile on her face.

  "My Laird Jamieson!" she greeted him cheerfully, "good afternoon! How are you?"

  Kenneth smiled back. "Very well, milady, and you?"

  "Well, thank you." Heather inclined her head politely and indicated Jessica. "I don't believe you two have been introduced. This is Mistress Jessica Farquhar, my colleague, and friend."

  "Pleased to meet you, miss," he answered. The tone of his voice suggested that he was very pleased.

  Kenneth had maintained the trim figure he had acquired through his strict exercise regime and Jessica had acquired some feminine curves during her stay in Invergar, so both of them were now very attractive people. Heather could see by Jessica's star-struck face that she was not blind to Kenneth's considerable charms, so she decided to ride on.

  "Goodbye, m'laird," Heather said with a polite nod.

  "Goodbye m'laird," Jessica said shyly.

  "Goodbye Lady McVey, goodbye Miss Farquhar," Kenneth replied, before urging Rufus into a trot and moving on.

  There was silence for a moment.

  "He's very handsome," Jessica observed, "why did you break your engagement? You told me he wanted someone quiet, but you have never been quiet, so that cannot be the only reason."

  "Pfft!" Heather flapped her hand. "Because he doesn't want a wife, he wants a doormat. I would never have chosen him—my father arranged the engagement. He wants someone to bow and scrape to him. I cannot, Jessica. I am not that kind of woman—that is one reason. And my body has no attraction to him."

  "You don't love him, then?"

  "I never did," Heather sighed, "but I liked him and I thought that was enough."

  "But you love someone else, do you not?" Jessica asked shrewdly.

  "What makes you think that?" Heather asked, astonished, "have you seen me with anyone else?"

  Jessica shook her head. "No," she replied, "but I know the look."

  Heather stared at her for a long while. "To whom do I give this 'look?' she asked sharply.

  "Bruce," Jessica answered simply, "Bruce the blacksmith."

  "But I—"

  "Hate him?" Jessica smiled. "Oh, no, Heather. You only told yourself you did. The first time I saw you two together I saw the passion crackling between you. Now tell me this scenario is right." She paused a moment to collect her thoughts. "You were disguising it with anger—indeed you were both very angry. He was angry and guilty because he felt that his attraction to you was a betrayal of his wife's memory. You were angry with him because you were beginning to realize that the man you were to marry was just not a person you could live with. That person was and still is, Bruce. Does that sound right?"

  Heather stared at Jessica incredulously.

  "And," she went on, "neither of you was even aware of it."

  "Jessica," Heather asked at last, "do you have the Sight? How did you become so wise?"

  Jessica smiled and shrugged. "I am not wise," she replied, "but my sister made games out of watching people. She could nearly always tell what a person was thinking or feeling by their faces or the way they moved their bodies."

  "I was always told that I was gifted with intuition," Heather said thoughtfully, "I obviously do not have as much as you!"

  "You probably are," Jessica answered, "but it might not work for you with your own problems. Anyway, what you call intuition is not magic—it is the art of watching people."

  Heather shook her head in wonder. "Jessica, you are amazing," she laughed.

  They were riding downhill now toward the forge, and as they looked Bruce came out carrying a huge hammer.

  "I'm turning back," Heather said at once.

  "You can't," Jessica replied, "he's seen you."

  "Please don't tell him you know!" Heather said desperately.

  "Are you mad?" Jessica said, laughing, "look at those arms! He might kill me!"

  Bruce did not smile or wave, but got on with his work, wielding the hammer and beating a red-hot piece of metal with it till he had bent it to his will. When the two women got up to him, he straightened up and smiled. His face, as usual, was filthy.

  "Afternoon, milady, miss," he greeted them formally.

  "Are we disturbing you?" Jessica asked.

  He laughed and wiped his forehead with his arm. "Aye," he replied, "but truth be told, I'm fair glad o'it!" He looked at both of them but his eyes rested on Heather for a fraction of a second too long.

  The look on Heather's face could not be hidden, but Bruce turned away. He fetched a cup of water that had been standing nearby and drained it in one draught.

  "Making horseshoes is thirsty work," he said, grinning, his teeth showing snow white in his black face. Jessica took her horse around the corner of the forge as if to look at the view and they heard its hooves meander away. The moment they were alone Heather dismounted from Tommy and stood in front of Bruce at a discreet distance, gazing at him helplessly. His hands were clenched into fists with the effort of not touching her and hers were twisting together nervously. At last, he spoke.

  "Well, milady," he said, a teasing note in his voice, "have ye found a secret place for us tae meet?"

  "Not yet," she confessed, "but I will—soon."

  He sighed. "The other night when ye left," he said quietly, "I-I felt Bridie lettin' me go. I used tae imagine her lyin' beside me, jist so I could get tae sleep, but that night I didnae feel the need. Does that sound daft?"

  "Not to me," she whispered. She looked around her and saw
that there were people in the distance who could see the forge, so she held out her hand to him as if she was saying a polite goodbye.

  "Consider yourself kissed," she whispered.

  "I wish it could be the real thing, milady," he smiled sadly.

  Her heart leaped. "Do you? Really?" she asked.

  "Aye," he said, nodding slowly.

  "I need to get back." She swiftly mounted Tommy again, then looked down at Bruce, frowning. "I—" she began, but did not finish.

  "Aye?" he was puzzled.

  She lost her nerve. She had been about to say ‘I love you’, but it was too soon for that—much too soon. "Nothing," she replied, "goodbye, Bruce." Then she called for Jessica and they went up the hill toward the castle.

  Jessica said nothing, but watched Heather's face for a while, then after a little while she asked, "Would you like to talk about it, Heather?"

  Heather shook her head, smiling sadly. "Not yet, Jessica, but thank you," she sighed, "I need to find a safe place."

  Jessica did not ask why. She already knew.

  21

  A Trysting Place

  Heather had found a place where she and Bruce could be alone. There was a small unused portion of the castle which had virtually been forgotten about, having been sealed off years before. No-one could remember exactly why, but it had never been opened again. She had found the keys in her father's office while looking around for a document he wanted. Curious, she went into the corridor that led to it.

  There was a wall in front of the main door, but the mortar was old and crumbling, and she used the big keys to dislodge one stone after another to make a big enough hole for her to squeeze through. The shutters were all nailed shut, but there was just enough light from the daylight behind her to see one big room, and she was sure that there were others. She wedged the bricks in place again, hoping that no-one would take a close look, then locked up and left. She could hardly sleep that night.