Highland Captive

by Alyson McLayne

“Nay. I was just so grateful to have a child to love.”

  “Exactly. And if someone does get the blame, it’s ne’er the man, it’s the poor lass who carries the bairn. And she’s left to raise the child herself if she doesn’t die during childbirth.”

  Deirdre squeezed her friend’s hand. “What a sad tale you’ve just told. Isobel, are you thinking of…?” She couldn’t say the words, almost as if saying them would give permission to Isobel—and to herself—to do exactly that, consequences be damned.

  She left it up to Isobel to understand her meaning.

  Isobel’s eyes went wide. “Nay. ’Tis as I said before, no man would dare come near me because of Kerr. But my point is still valid.”

  “And what would Gavin do if you fell pregnant out of wedlock?” Deirdre’s breath locked in her throat as she waited for the answer.

  “He would bluster, of course, and demand I tell him the father’s name. He’d probably insist I marry the poor man, and then at the last minute take it all back and tell me it’s my choice. So I’d ne’er tell him in the first place.”

  “And would he allow you to raise your child here? His sister’s bastard growing up beside his heir?”

  “Aye. I have no doubt he would love my child the same way he loves me, legitimate or otherwise.”

  Deirdre’s eyes misted over suddenly, and she reached across to hug this woman with whom she felt so close. “As would I,” she said.

  They broke apart when one of the village girls came running up to them, the breath huffing past her lips. She bobbed a quick, respectful curtsy to both before she turned to Isobel.

  “Lady Isobel, Ophelia has gone into labor. My father is asking for you.”

  “Thank you, Pip. It’s about time. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Go in and see Bonni for some milk and food if you like and take some back for your brothers and sisters. Have one of the men help you carry it.”

  The lass bobbed another curtsy. “I will, m’lady. Thank you.”

  Deirdre’s brows rose. “And here we were just talking about childbirth. That’s a coincidence if ever I’ve seen one. Maybe even a sign from above?”

  Isobel let out a wee snicker. “Ophelia has about seven bairns in her, I wager. So, seven signs?”

  “Seven? She’s a dog?”

  “A pig. A favorite of mine for several years. I made farmer Busby swear to never butcher the dear thing. He made me swear to come to every birthing then and help out.” Her smile faded and sadness filled her eyes. “His wife died last year—from fever, not childbirth. ’Twas an awful time. She left five bairns behind, and the littlest one was only Ewan’s age.”

  Deirdre pressed her hand to her heart. It hurt just thinking about it.

  Isobel sighed and rose to her feet. “You can come with me, if you like, but it’ll require a ride to the village. Although I suppose we could ask them to prepare a wagon for you.”

  “Nay, thank you. Another time.”

  “Maybe I’ll take Ewan with me?”

  “Are you sure? He can be a handful.”

  “I’m sure. He can play with the other children if he loses interest.” Isobel whistled to get his attention. “Ewan, do you want to go to a farm with me? My favorite sow is giving birth.”

  Ewan’s face lit up, and he dropped his twig. “Aye! I do, I do!”

  “Enjoy yourselves!” Deirdre yelled as they headed into the stable, followed, as always, by their guard. Gavin wasn’t taking any chances with their safety. He’d even put a guard on her, which made her feel protected and cherished.

  Suddenly at loose ends for the first time since she’d left her keep, she looked out toward the bailey, watching all the people go about their day. A few young lads and lasses ran around waiting for their parents, a groomsman led several mares toward the corral, the laundress and two of her helpers carried big baskets of clean clothes toward the keep, the blacksmith, still wearing his heavy, leather apron, chatted with the housekeeper, and in the distance, several groups of warriors drilled with their weapons, overseen by Clyde.

  She spotted one of the serving girls holding a tray and an empty pitcher, laughing and flirting with a stable hand. Another couple walked by, their fingers twined together the same way Gavin had twined his fingers with hers. The couple reached the kitchens and shared a kiss before they parted ways.

  Longing wound through Deirdre. All those people out there, free to follow wherever their hearts led. Free to make connections and love each other. And all she could think about was how unfair it all was. She married Lewis when she was fifteen, had no say in the matter, and now she was supposed to spend the rest of her life alone? And if not for Ewan, childless?

  Lewis didn’t want her—he’d been staying away longer and longer each time he left—and yet she wasn’t allowed to be with a man who might want to spend time with her. Want to make love to her.

  And it wasn’t as though she’d even chosen Lewis. Aye, he was a good man, and living with him had been better than living with her family, but it seemed unjust that she couldn’t now move on.

  Isobel was right. It wasn’t fair that men could tup outside of marriage, but women could not. Would it be so bad to crawl into bed beside Gavin again? And often? The next time without Ewan between them? She wanted desperately to be touched by him. To be joined with him.

  And if a child came of their coupling, she knew he would take responsibility for the bairn. For her as well. It was in his nature.

  Conversely, if Gavin didn’t want to be with her, he would make sure she never crossed his bedchamber threshold again. Aye, he wasn’t one to mince words. What had he said to her as they’d left her keep, so many days ago? He would always be truthful with her, even if she didn’t like what he had to say.

  Was she willing to find out his true feelings now? Ewan had called her a dragon earlier, and then Gavin had asked to be turned into one too. So that he could fly with her and have bairns with her. That had to mean something. Didn’t it?

  She pressed her hands over her belly, thinking of her empty womb and of a bairn she might someday grow within it. Gavin’s bairn. She pushed her hands lower and squeezed them between her knees, thinking of his body wedged there instead, giving her pleasure.

  He’d rebuffed her up on the turret for a host of good reasons, but not before he’d groaned with pure carnality at the feel of her.

  Aye. Gavin MacKinnon, her son’s father, desired her. And his bedchamber was right next to hers.

  Now the question was what to do about it. Could she be a lion? Or was she still a mouse?

  She settled her hands just below her breasts, where her stomach had started to churn at just the thought of what she might do. She sighed. Being a lion was much harder than being a mouse.

  She’d returned to idly watching the castle folk in the bailey when O’Rourke, the master builder, appeared, heading toward the keep. Deirdre jumped up from the hay bale and almost called his name before she stopped herself. If she got his attention, would he run again? Or was he here looking for her? Maybe he had the numbers ready for her?

  Aye, that must be it—although she was surprised he wouldn’t just send the measurements to the castle with one of his men.

  Maybe he wanted to make amends for his rude behavior?

  She hurried to catch him…and then he did something odd. He stopped at the side of the stairs to the keep and bent down to adjust his hose. Well, that wasn’t too odd, she supposed. Except he glanced around the bailey like he was looking for someone—or maybe avoiding someone—before he climbed the stairs.

  She gasped. Was he looking for her? Making sure she wasn’t there? Gaze narrowing and jaw setting, her lion settled into her heart and peered through her eyes. Finally.

  She did not like this man.

  Hurrying forward, she ran up the steps, passing one of the guards she hadn’t seen before. “Lady Deirdre,” he sa
id. She raised her eyes to his in greeting but was shocked to see his gaze wasn’t on her face. He was staring at her breasts, and not in a discreet way. Nay, he was almost insolent about it.

  She crossed her arm over her chest protectively, and he finally met her gaze—with no apology whatsoever in his face. Nay, she’d swear he was smirking inside. She walked past him stiffly, determined to report him. Or she’d take a page from Isobel’s book and get back at him in another way. Arrogant ablach.

  Deirdre crossed into the great hall and looked for Master O’Rourke. There he was, at the far end of the hall over by the entrance that led to the kitchens. He disappeared down the passageway, and she raced after him. She was about to turn into the kitchens when she heard footsteps in the circular staircase beside her.

  Was this the same staircase she and Gavin had taken up to the turret? Aye, it was. They just hadn’t taken it all the way down. She hesitated, then decided to climb upward. She spotted a candle flickering in a wall sconce just a few steps away and picked it up.

  After a brief hesitation, she squared her shoulders and ascended the stairs rather than going for help. Her guard had stayed outside, and the other guard who’d stared so rudely at her was not an option.

  Maybe O’Rourke was meeting someone and would exit the staircase before he reached the turret. At every new rotation of the stairwell, she listened for him—in the passageway toward the chambers and farther up.

  Then she heard echoed cursing, and the door at the top scraped open. He’d gone all the way. What could he possibly be doing up there?

  She hesitated again and almost went back down. That warrior at the main door to the keep had left her feeling vulnerable, and she would never trust being alone with him. But the master builder had never threatened her in any way. She might not like him, but she didn’t fear for her safety. Lifting her chin, she quietly continued upward.

  The door at the top was propped open with a heavy rock. Deirdre crept forward and peered out…and then frowned in confusion. The master builder was alone, and he had an object in his hands that Deirdre couldn’t identify. Something that he was holding in the direction of the cathedral—or out toward the forest? The wind whipped his hair and plaid in all different directions.

  He mumbled under his breath and then turned far enough for her to see that he held a circular magnifying glass, about the circumference of his spread hand. What on earth was he using that for?

  She put down the candle and stepped through the doorway, curiosity driving her. Immediately, the wind grabbed her hair and blew it around her face. She gathered it into her fist. “Master O’Rourke.”

  The master builder jumped and yelped with fright, almost dropping the magnifying glass. He turned to her, a scowl on his face, and Deirdre took a nervous step backward.

  “What are you doing sneaking up on me? Look what you almost made me do!” He gingerly laid the glass on top of one of the merlons.

  Guilt washed through her and her insecurities rose again. The mouse overtook the lion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Pray forgive me, sir.” She dropped her gaze and then realized what she’d done and forced her chin back into place.

  Now he looked offended. “I wasn’t frightened. You startled me, is all.”

  She almost rolled her eyes. What a touchy man he was. Her dislike simmered, and she held on to it, gaining some strength from the whisper of anger that threaded through her. “Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” She looked from him, out to the cathedral, and then back again. “What are you doing up here?”

  He puffed up with indignation. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’m…examining the winds on the castle this high up. Seeing how the structure is withstanding the extra force.”

  She raised a brow and looked around at the rock-solid walls. “I doona think you have much to worry about. The structure has been withstanding the wind for several centuries.”

  “To your uneducated eyes, perhaps. But as master builder, I see things differently. And what I find will help determine how I proceed with the cathedral dome.”

  Now it was her turn to be offended. “I am not uneducated, sir. I’ve read extensively about cathedrals and their construction, and I have a head for mathematics, geometry in particular. Laird MacKinnon has put his trust in me, and I doona intend to let him down. I’ve asked you before for the exact dimensions of the cathedral, and I expect to receive them tonight. I noticed several irregularities in the construction so far that you need to address before you move forward.”

  She fought to hold his gaze, and for the first time, she felt a niggle of fear. Perhaps she’d miscalculated. His eyes had narrowed on her, and she could feel his enmity.

  “As you wish, Lady Deirdre, but I’ll need longer than half a day. Will tomorrow be soon enough for you? And if there’s any further delay, I’ll be sure to inform you of it right away.”

  Her breath released from her lungs in relief. Fortunately, the wind whipped the sound away, so he didn’t hear it. “Aye, master builder. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

  He nodded once, then stepped past her toward the door.

  “Master O’Rourke,” she said, and he paused with one foot over the threshold. “Thank you. I’d like us to work together on this. I truly am an admirer of your profession.”

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, then changed his mind and closed it. After another nod, he disappeared into the castle. Deirdre listened to make sure he’d left, then moved to the castle wall and looked at it closely. She didn’t see any wear and tear on the stone, other than what would be considered normal erosion, and there weren’t any obvious signs of stress or undue fatigue.

  Had he been lying to her?

  She looked out toward the cathedral once more and noticed the magnifying glass laying on the merlon. She hurried over and gently picked it up. She’d never seen one this big before, or this heavy, and wondered where he’d gotten it.

  She lifted it to eye level and looked out into the distance—first to the cathedral and past that to the village and the forest beyond, where Gavin had told her the quarry was located. The image in the glass jumped significantly closer. She focused it on the cathedral.

  What else would the master builder have been looking at?

  The walls looked stable and straight. They must have been built when the first master builder was still there. She looked higher, at the dome, inspecting it, and gasped. Aye, that is what O’Rourke must have been looking at. She could see cracks and depressions where the mortar and stone weren’t holding up properly—whether because the mortar hadn’t dried all the way through before the support was taken away, or because the size of the stones hadn’t been correctly calculated, and the capstone couldn’t distribute the weight of the ceiling outward rather than down.

  Stunned, she lowered the glass. The master builder must be sick with worry over this—it was at least a year’s worth of work lost. No wonder he’d made up the story about the wind and the castle walls! He was probably still reeling from the shock.

  She felt for the man, but ultimately, the matter had to be corrected and, in all likelihood, a new master builder found. Unless the problems were left over from when the old master builder was here. But how would they know?

  Either way, she had to tell Gavin. But first she’d talk to O’Rourke when he brought the building dimensions up to her tomorrow—if he came.

  She shook her head, her stomach curdling with disappointment. It was almost as if the man didn’t know what he was doing.

  Sixteen

  Deirdre sat on the bench in the great hall, tapping her fingers and toes to the music. A bagpiper and fiddler had arrived after the evening meal, and an impromptu celebration had broken out. More people streamed into the castle as day turned to dusk, and more and more ale and honey mead was consumed.

  She hadn’t heard music like this since before she�
��d left home to marry Lewis. Her marriage had been a dull event, and since then, there had never been any money for a musician. And none had wandered off the beaten track to find them in her small keep anyway.

  But this was heavenly! Although it was much too rambunctious a rhythm for the angels. Nay, this was music for the sprites and pixies.

  Ewan was out there running around with some of the other children, and Isobel was dancing a lively Highland reel with Gregor, Gavin, and some other castle folk. Kerr stood at the edge of the dancers, talking to Father Lundie, the priest who had arrived earlier. He’d been at Callum’s keep when word was received that Ewan had been found, and he had followed Callum and the other lairds in the wagon with the supplies. Deirdre had had a lovely time meeting him earlier when the caravan had arrived, and she’d found him to be a kind man with a sincere desire to help people. He was a favorite of all the lairds and had officiated at three of the lairds’ weddings only last year.

  Darach, Lachlan, and Callum, the lairds in question, sat drinking and laughing together at a table back from the music but still in front of her.

  As always, Clyde stood guard by the door, his expression stony and his eyes alert.

  She knew the moment Gavin noticed her sitting by herself on one of the benches pushed back against the wall. She’d made her excuses earlier and gone upstairs to her bedchamber as soon as the music looked like it was about to begin. But she’d listened to it, her door open a crack, her hips swaying, and humming under her breath.

  She’d felt thirteen again, longing to partake in the fun but almost sick to her stomach at the thought. Sometimes she’d been forced to participate in events like this back home, and that was even worse than being excluded. Her mother had always made a special point of telling Deirdre not to embarrass them. But what she was really saying was you’re such an embarrassment.

  And she would hear the snickers and the mean-spirited comments about her body from her siblings, all the jests about her breasts bouncing and arse flapping as she danced. Those had made her stiffen up and feel awkward and clumsy, when before that, in her rooms, her nursemaids, tutor, and several other servants had practiced all the dances with her and they’d had a wonderful time. Someone would hum or sing the tune, and someone else would drum out the beat, all while Deirdre whirled around the room, quickly memorizing the steps and instinctively feeling the music.