Highland Hero

by Hannah Howell

  That was a question Rose heartily wished he had not asked. She knew the food from her gardens did something other food did not, most people calling it a comforting, a soothing, even saying it gave them a sense of peace. Her mother had never truly explained that. Flora Keith had spoken of a blessing by the fairies and that, some day soon, she would tell Rose the whole tale. Sadly, death had stolen her mother’s chance to speak. Sir Adair was not a man who would accept talk of fairies, however.

  “ ’Tis just good food, the fruit plump and sweet, the vegetables and grains hearty and strong. Nay more,” she said.

  “I think ye believe there is more than that. I think ye believe there is magic in this garden, just as so many others do.”

  “Ye think a great deal,” she muttered. “Mayhap ye need more work to do.”

  Adair popped a blackberry into his mouth to halt the smile forming on his lips. He savored the softening that happened within, that continued blunting of the sharp edges of his dark memories. It was impossible to deny what food from Rose’s garden made him feel, but he did not want to attribute it to magic. Something in the water or even in the soil was causing it. That was his preferred explanation. Adair knew he would not cease to eat anything she allowed him to, for he ached for the calm the food gifted him with, the growing ability to look at the past with more understanding and acceptance.

  “For now, my work is to discover why the food from this garden affects what people feel,” he said, stepping a little closer and placing his hands on the trunk of the tree to either side of her head.

  “Why is that so important? It is what it is. It does what it does. It harms no one.”

  “It harms you.”

  “Nay, it—”

  “It harms you. It causes talk, dangerous talk. Dark whispers of magic and witchcraft.”

  “Not everyone thinks such things.”

  “Not now, but we both ken that, at times, such whispers have gained strength, roused the people, and put the Keith women in danger. I want the whispers stopped. I dislike the thought that I might be dragged from my bed some night because some fools have gotten themselves all asweat with fear and are determined to root out the evil at Rose Cottage. I mostly dislike the thought that the chances of getting here too late are verra good.”

  Rose took a deep breath to steady herself only to feel her breasts brush against Adair’s broad chest. She knew he had drawn close to her, but not that close. That nearness made it difficult for her to think clearly. She was far too aware of his strength, his size, and her own deep attraction to the man. Rose knew she should move, that he probably would not try to restrain her, but she lacked the will.

  “If they come hunting me, I will do my best to nay let it wake you,” she said.

  “This isnae a game, Rose.”

  “Do ye think I dinnae ken that? Mayhap better than ye do?” She thought it odd that she could be both tense with unease and tremble with pleasure when he stroked her cheek. “I cannae stop the whispers. I cannae hold back fear and superstition. I am but a wee lass who tries to make a living with what she grows in her garden and, occasionally, with what she can cook. I harm no one and, in truth, have helped many. There is nay more I can do.”

  “Ah, lass, that isnae good enough and weel ye ken it. Ye must openly deny there is magic here. Ye must show people there are reasons why your food tastes better, why your garden stays healthy nay matter what afflicts the others.”

  Adair closely watched her face. It was evident she was trying to neither deny nor admit that there was any magic at Rose Cottage. He wanted denial, but he began to suspect he would not get it. That troubled him, for he also wanted Rose.

  He fixed his gaze upon her mouth. For now he would help himself to a little of what he wanted. All the other complications could be dealt with later. Adair almost smiled when her eyes slowly widened as he lowered his mouth to hers. Since she made no attempt to move, push him away, or speak a denial, he deemed that a silent acquiescence and kissed her.

  Rose felt his warm, surprisingly soft lips touch hers and felt trapped by her own desire. Heat flowed through her body, softening her, rousing a heady welcome. A tiny part of her was shocked when she wrapped her arms around his neck, but it died when she parted her lips and he began to stroke the inside of her mouth with his tongue. Her whole body shivered with the strength of the delight she felt. This was what she wanted, needed, despite every instinct that warned her against reaching so high. Or for a man who was determined to make her deny the magic that was her heritage.

  That thought gave her the strength to pull away when he began to kiss her neck. She met his gaze, saw how passion had darkened and warmed his eyes, and nearly threw herself back into his arms. Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm herself, she stiffened her spine and faced him squarely. Despite her own confusion about magic, whether it even existed and, if it did, where it came from, it was all tangled up with her heritage, with who she was. She had to be wary of a man who scorned it, disliked it, and wished her to do the same.

  “That was unwise,” she said, silently cursing the huskiness of her voice.

  “Aye?” He stroked her cheek and felt her tremble slightly even as she pressed herself back against the tree, away from him. “Ye didnae cry me nay.”

  “I should have—verra loudly.”

  “Ah, lass, ’twas but a kiss. The sweetest I have e’er had, and I ken I shall be longing for another taste, but, when all is said and done, ’twas just a kiss. ’Twas no great stain upon your honor.”

  “I ken it, yet I am a lass who lives alone. I must guard my honor with greater vigilance than some other maid. Since I have no guardian here, if anyone learned ye had kissed me, many would quickly assume there was far more between us. I cannae afford that sort of talk.”

  He reluctantly let her move away. “ ’Tis strange that ye so firmly guard your reputation for virtue yet allow the far more dangerous talk of magic to continue.”

  “Do ye expect me to stand in the middle of the village and vow I have none of this magic, ne’er deal in it, and dinnae believe in it? And why would anyone heed me? They will believe what they wish.”

  “But ye feed these beliefs. All the Keith women have. Ye dinnae seem as bad as the others were—”

  Rose put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “There have been Keith women here since the first Dundas laird claimed these lands. Did ye ne’er think that alone is enough to stir tales? Few women hold land, and we nay only hold some but have done so for more years than most can count.”

  “Your mother did naught to still the whispers. In truth, she often spoke or acted as if it was all true.”

  “Aye, she did, and I willnae dishonor her memory by spitting on all she believed just to make my life easier.” She started toward the cottage. “And I am nay sure I dinnae believe it, too. Some days I do; some days I dinnae.” She reached her door and turned to glare at him again. “Ye are my laird, but ye dinnae have the right to tell me what I can and cannae think, feel, or believe. Good day,” she said as she stepped inside and firmly shut the door behind her.

  Chapter 4

  Adair stared at the door that had been shut in his face. He was not accustomed to such things, especially not when he was in the middle of a conversation. Rose might think it was done, but he did not. Even as he considered the wisdom of following her into the house, he watched Sweetling stretch up, cleverly work the latch, and open the door. The cat then pushed the door open and walked inside, the other three cats right behind him. Adair shrugged and followed the cats inside. He smiled when Rose turned to stare at him in surprise.

  “Your cat let me in,” Adair said as he followed her cats right into her kitchen.

  Rose scowled at Sweetling as the cat sprawled on the hearth and began to clean himself. “Traitor.”

  “I wasnae through talking with ye, Rosebud.” Adair sprawled in a chair at the table and started to look around.

  It annoyed Rose that his use of the name he had given her a
s a little girl should cause a softening within her. “I was done. Just because I hadnae said what ye wished to hear didnae mean I wasnae done discussing the matter.”

  “Ye are a stubborn lass. ’Tis a verra fine cottage ye have here. There are nay too many who have such fine fireplaces, yet ye have two. Or more? Upstairs as weel?” Rose nodded. “And good stone floors. More than one room and the same in the loft, I suspect.”

  “And glass in the windows,” she drawled as she began to chop up some leeks for the stew she was making. “Some years have been verra profitable and we could afford such gentling touches to our home. Some things were done by those helped by the Keith women. We ne’er asked for anything, but people have their pride. I also think that, although a mon might be verra glad there is someone ready to help him feed his family, he needs to pay for that in some way. The fact that it was a woman who did so only makes that need greater. And so we find ourselves living in a verra fine cottage indeed.”

  “Aye, a mon would need to dull the bite of failure e’en if he kenned it was nay his fault.”

  She nodded. “A few things were done in trade. The mon who put a fireplace in my mother’s bedchamber jested that his wife was pinching at him for one. The right stone wasnae easy for him to find, nay on his land. My mother kenned where there was a good supply—right where she wanted to enlarge the garden at the rear of the cottage. The two of us would have needed years to clear that land, but the mon and his sons wouldnae. E’en better, he had the sort of rock that makes a good wall. So we got our garden, a goodly start to the wall, and his wife got a fine fireplace.”

  “And everyone was satisfied.”

  “Exactly. And no magic was used.”

  Adair gave her a narrow-eyed look and helped himself to an apple from a large, elaborately carved wooden bowl on the table. “Lass, ye ken ’tis verra dangerous to let talk of magic continue.” He took a bite of the apple and was no longer startled by how it made him feel. “The way the food makes a person feel—”

  “I ne’er feel anything different or unusual,” she said, staring down at the carrot she had begun to chop, for she found she was unable to directly meet his gaze while telling such a big lie.

  “Ye ne’er were a verra good liar, Rosebud.”

  She scowled at him, annoyed when that only made him smile faintly. “I feel something, but nay so verra much. My mother said that is because I am mostly content, with myself and with my life, and I have few scars upon my heart. When my mother was sad because she so badly missed my father, she said she was comforted by the food, could feel the spirit of the love he had for her. Since my mother died, I have often felt the same, only ’tis her I feel.”

  He nodded. “I felt as if my mother soothed me. I e’en thought I heard her voice in my head.”

  “Ah, ye are a troubled soul, so ye feel it more strongly. Most people feel, weel, soothed.” After her outburst in the garden, she decided it was foolish to continue speaking as if there was nothing odd about her garden.

  “And why should it do that?”

  “I told ye, I dinnae ken. In truth, I am nay sure I would have fully believed whate’er tale my mother may have told me if she had lived long enough.” She shook her head. “Mayhap ’tis just the water,” she muttered as she tossed the chopped vegetables into the stew pot hung over the kitchen fire. “No matter what I do or dinnae believe, it doesnae change things. Again, as I have said, it is what it is and does what it does. I am but the farmer and the harvester.”

  “Weel, I dinnae think it is so verra simple.”

  “Ye are welcome to your opinion.”

  “Kind of ye.” He sniffed the air as she stirred the stew. “Smells good.”

  “I am sure your cook has begun to prepare a verra fine meal for ye,” she said sweetly as she sat down and poured them each a tankard of sweet, cool cider.

  “I wouldnae be so sure. Did ye ken that Old Helga died?”

  “Oh, aye. So who cooks for ye?”

  “Meghan, Old Helga’s niece.” He almost laughed at the grimace she could not fully suppress. “The lass was taught by Old Helga for near to ten years, but ’tis verra clear she ne’er heard a word.”

  “I have heard that said about her.” Rose felt sorry for the people at Duncairn, for Meghan was said to be able to ruin a raw carrot. “Ye cannae keep her as the cook. I ken ’tis an important position, but mayhap ye can find one for her that is nearly as important. Then ye might watch to see which men rarely come to the meals. ’Twould mean they are being fed elsewhere. Ye might find a new cook there.”

  “A good plan.” He smiled faintly. “And ye arenae going to invite me to eat with ye, are ye?”

  “I cannae. By the time the food is ready and ye have eaten your fill ’twill be verra late and ye will have been here, with me, for a verra long time. ’Twill start whispers ye may find as upsetting as the ones about the magic of the garden.”

  Adair finished off his cider and stood up. “I would nay be too sure of that,” he murmured and started out of the kitchen.

  Rose followed him and inwardly cursed herself for a soft fool even as she said, “Send Donald here in an hour. I will send ye enough stew and a few other things to make ye, Robert, and Donald a meal. Just be sure to watch the food carefully around Donald. The lad’s stomach doesnae seem to have any bottom.”

  “Roused your pity, did I?” he drawled as he paused in the doorway and looked at her.

  “Weel, aye. And now I ken why Donald wanders by here more often than he e’er did before, and always near to the time I might be sitting down to a meal.”

  “Clever lad.” He grasped her by the chin and held her face steady as she leaned down. “A fareweel kiss, lass.”

  “Someone might be watching,” she whispered just before he brushed his lips over hers.

  “Ye worry too much for a bonnie wee lass.”

  He pulled her into his arms and gave her a kiss that left her weak in the knees. Rose slumped against her door and watched him stride away as she fought to regain both her wits and her breath. It annoyed her a little that he did not seem to be equally affected, if that confident stride was any indication.

  “Weel, that looked heated.”

  Rose clasped her hand to her chest as her heart briefly leapt into her throat, then glared at Meg, who now stood directly in front of her. “Where did ye pop up from?”

  “Weel, I was just about to rap on your door when the laird stepped out,” replied Meg. “So I slipped into the shadows just off to the side here.”

  “Couldnae ye have just said a cheerful greeting and joined us?”

  “I could have, but then I wondered why he was here. Then I remembered that ye were a wee bit scared when ye went to the keep. That started me thinking ye might have been right to be afraid and that matters had grown verra dire indeed. Thought ye might need rescuing.”

  “Weel, as ye could see, I didnae.”

  “I am nay so sure of that,” murmured Meg.

  “And might I ask why ye are out at such a late hour?”

  “Ah, weel, my father has gone off to a fairing to sell his bowls and the like. He will be gone two days, mayhap a little longer if the weather doesnae hold fine. I told him I could stay with you.”

  Rose shook her head and almost laughed. “Ye are a wretched brat, but come on in. In truth, I shall be glad of the company. Something Mistress Kerr said today revealed that that cursed Geordie is lurking about again.”

  Meg cursed as she stepped inside and set her bag down on a chair. “Someone should do something about that swine.”

  “They should, but it willnae be you.”

  “Weel, I might be able—”

  “Nay. If the fool grabs me again, weel, much as I hate to do it, I will speak to the laird.”

  “Good idea,” Meg said as she followed Rose into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “He certainly wouldnae like anyone mucking about with his woman.”

  Rose sighed, collected a good-sized basket, and started to fill it with
things that Adair and the others might like for their dinner. “I am nay the laird’s woman.”

  “He was kissing you.”

  “I ken it. That doesnae have to mean much at all, Meg. Men like to kiss women. To be honest, I rather liked kissing him. That is all it was, though—a kiss. E’en if I felt like it was more, it wouldnae matter. He is the laird and I am nay much more than a crofter on his lands.”

  Meg snorted and shook her head. “The laird doesnae go about kissing just any lass. Fact is, he has been home a fortnight and hasnae e’en bedded a lass despite all the offers. Nay, ye can think what ye will and I willnae be telling anyone about all of this, but I think ’tis more than just a kiss.”

  “Mayhap he has decided he needs a leman to pass the time whilst he looks for a wife,” she said, hating to even speak the sudden suspicion infecting her heart.

  “And I think the smell of those leeks ye put in the stew have addled your brain. The Keith women may not be lairds’ daughters, but they have all been better born than some crofter’s lass. The laird wouldnae choose ye for a leman. Ye can claim kinship with enough of the high-born Keiths to make ye a dangerous choice. But I am just a wee, skinny lass. I suspect ye will need someone older and wiser to talk sense into ye.”

  “Do ye think ’tis the food that makes him want to kiss me?”

  “If your food made people feel amorous, we would be tripping o’er rutting fools in the road.”

  “Meg!” Rose tried to look shocked and stern but quickly gave in to the urge to laugh. “Ah, weel, I am just confused. Save for that fool Geordie who keeps trying to grab me, no mon has shown much interest in me. For the laird himself to be the first seems most strange.”

  “Most of the men at Duncairn ken ye are a wee bit above their touch, and I think ye scare them a little. Nay because of the magic, but because ye can read and write and ye have these fine lands. I think the laird is a mon who cannae or willnae believe in anything he cannae see, touch, or feel, and he, more or less, owns these fine lands. What makes the other lads timid just isnae important to him.”