Highlander 0f The Woods (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Alisa Adams

  Vanora watched the cart as it left, wondering about this big strange man who lived all by himself in the forest, seemingly content to do so. She went inside the little house. It was a typical farmhouse, and it was exceptionally clean and tidy, which astonished her, but it did not have a woman’s touch.

  Rory was not only very capable of work, but he was handsome too. He had long dark brown-red hair that fell to his shoulders and beautiful brown eyes. He had no beard, but he was not shaved either, making the firm shape of his chin impossible to ignore. Vanora found it hard to believe that this man lived without a woman.

  She poured herself a glass of ale and put some logs on the fire, trying to keep her thoughts away from her father. As well as anger and sadness, she was consumed with hate. Her father had been a kind and generous man and these beasts had snuffed his life out in a second. If they were standing in front of her now she knew she would kill them all without a second thought, and smile while she was doing so.

  Still, this lonely stranger had slaughtered all of them. She knew that she should not feel happy about that, but she did—none of them had deserved to live. However, she had a nagging feeling that some other force was at work. How had these outlaws known the time and place that they would be riding past? The more she thought about it, the more she realized that there was a great deal more to all of this than met the eye.

  2

  When Rory brought the body of her father back, he was wrapped in a blanket. He put John’s body on the long table and when he gently peeled away the blanket so that Vanora could see him, she noticed that Rory had composed his arms across his chest.

  “I moved the bandits’ bodies an’ a,’” he said. “Ye will no’ have tae look at them again.”

  “I want to look at them,” she replied bitterly. “It will give me some comfort to see what you did to them.” Then she turned her attention to her father.

  He was very pale and very cold as she had expected, but in death, he looked peaceful in a way that he had never done when he was alive. The burden of all the responsibilities of running the estate had been shed, but although she knew that he was in a better place now, it did not help to ease her sorrow.

  She gazed at the dear face of the man who had helped her when she took her first tentative footsteps, told her bedtime stories to lull her to sleep, and watched over her when she went to her first ceilidh. He had been her hero, and she would be lost without him. Her mother had died giving birth to Ella, so now she and her two sisters were orphans with a very uncertain future.

  Rory had retreated to the back of the room to give Vanora a little privacy, and he heard her begin to pray, then she started to weep again. He remembered how he had felt when he lost Elisaid, and his heart bled for her. Without another thought he sat beside her, hoping that his closeness might make her feel less alone. She wept even harder, but after a while, she began to feel a little better. She looked up at his gentle brown eyes and saw compassion and understanding. Perhaps he too had been where she was now.

  “Ye must eat, milady,” he said at last. “I know that it is hard at a time like this, but ye must.”

  His deep gravelly voice was infinitely soothing, and his sheer size made her feel a little less frightened since she had seen what he was capable of. Her grief was still so new and raw that she could not cope with fear too.

  “I cannot eat,” she murmured.

  “Yes ye can,” he said firmly. “I will help ye.” Then he stood up. “I have a place here where yer father can rest, an’ then we will eat somethin’ light. Ye will feel better, I promise.”

  Vanora went over to John’s body again and kissed his forehead, then stood back to let Rory take him away. She was suddenly chilled to the bone.

  Rory laid the body of Vanora’s father on his bed and then said a silent prayer and went back to join Vanora. She was shivering, and he draped a blanket over her shoulders, wishing he could do more.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, giving him a slight smile. He smiled back, then began to busy himself around the kitchen area. She watched him as he worked, admiring the size and strength of his body. How could a man like this possibly be so gentle when he had just killed four people? Granted, it had been in self-defense, but it must have been an unsettling experience.

  “I have made ye somethin’ ye should be able tae eat,” he said gently. He put a steaming plate of oats porridge in front of her then poured milk on it and added a little honey. “I have my ain hives,” he said with a touch of pride.

  Vanora looked at the simple food and shook her head. “I cannot eat,” she told him, pushing her plate away. “I am so sorry.”

  He did not answer, but took a spoonful of porridge from the bowl, blew on it to cool it down, and raised it to her lips. “Open yer mouth, milady,” he ordered.

  Mesmerized by his gentle brown eyes, she did so, and he coaxed a spoonful into her mouth. He repeated it again and again, feeding her like a child until the bowl was finished.

  “More?” he asked.

  “Thank you, no,” she replied, slightly bemused. “I did not think I could eat a thing.” She was still gazing at him. He was quite the most attractive man she had ever seen.

  It would have surprised her to know that he was thinking the same thing about her, as he looked into her lovely silver-gray eyes. He had not wanted to be with a woman since Elisaid died, and because he lived like a hermit, he came across very few of them anyway. Now this lovely woman had come into his tranquil life, intruding into his self-imposed solitude and disturbing its rhythm. Still, she would be gone soon and everything would go back to normal. It had been a pleasant interlude in an otherwise ghastly day.

  Vanora had enjoyed sitting with Rory, looking at him and watching him talking to the dog, who gazed at him adoringly and hung on his every word.

  “May I stay here tonight?” she begged. “It is a long road home and I would be grateful for any help you could give me. I am afraid of more bandits. I can pay you. My father is—was—Laird of Weir Brae, and I am quite well off, especially now, although I would much rather have my father back.” Her gray eyes were begging him to say yes.

  For a moment, Rory gazed at her in astonishment, then he said, “Ye are welcome tae stay here tonight, milady, but beyond that, I cannae help ye. I do not go into town often. Only if I need anythin’. Ye must make yer ain arrangements tae get his body doon the road.”

  “Please,” she pleaded desperately. “What if there are more bandits? I-I would feel safer if a man was with me.”

  “If ye wish tae stay that is fine, but I can dae no more for ye.” He stood, looking down at her sadly. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms again, but he turned away and began to haul a mattress out from a cupboard at the back of the room. He proceeded to put sheets and blankets on it then he sat down on it, drawing his knees up to his chin.

  “Why do you not go into town?” she asked. “Do you have enemies there?”

  His eyes flashed angrily. “No,” he replied shortly. “I just prefer my ain company.”

  She was about to ask why when she realized that he was finding her questions very intrusive and decided to be quiet.

  “Then I am sorry to have disturbed you,” she replied. “I will be gone as soon as I can in the morning.”

  He ran his hands back through his thick hair in a gesture of agitation. He felt dreadful, but he could not become tangled in this woman’s life.

  She sat down by the fire, looking into the flames and thinking about how different her life was going to be from now on. Her father had a very capable estate manager who could take charge of the running of the estate itself, but there were a hundred other things to be done that she had no clue about.

  She had no idea how to manage the running of a castle that had dozens of staff, from the butler and housekeeper at the top to the scullery maid at the bottom.

  Then there was the funeral to organize. She did not know what kind of send-off her father wanted. She walked into the
room where his body was and uncovered his face. By the light of the candle she held she could see all the little things that made him unique; the mole on his hairline, the scar under his chin that he had acquired from playing with his friend Daniel as a boy, the laughter lines around his mouth and eyes. She would never hear his infectious chuckle again.

  Vanora leaned down to kiss her father and started as a deep voice spoke from directly over her shoulder. “Did he suffer?” Rory asked gently.

  “Only for a few seconds,” she replied, turning around to leave the room.

  “He is no’ suffering now,” Rory told her. “Imagine bein’ in a place where ye can see everyone ye ever loved. That is where he is now, happier than we can ever imagine.”

  There was a moment of perfect stillness between them, then she tore her gaze away from him. “I suppose I should try to sleep,” she sighed.

  “Come.” He led her into a little room at the very back of the main cottage. “Ye can sleep here.”

  She was puzzled. “Is this your room?”

  He shook his head. “Yer father is in mine, and he will stay there ’til he leaves. I have slept in far worse places than a mattress on the floor.”

  “Thank you so much, Rory,” she said fervently. “You saved my life and I will always be in your debt.”

  “Anyone would have done the same,” he replied, smiling. “Goodnight.” Then he bowed and left the room.

  She heard him preparing his evening meal, and a short while later she could smell the delicious aroma of roast meat. She could not even imagine how much food a person his size could eat.

  Vanora did not sleep well. The bed was strange and lumpy, her father was dead, and the bottom had just fallen out of her world. This morning he had been laughing and vital, a big vigorous man who had been full of the joy of life with years longer to live. Now he lay still and stiff next door, never to laugh or play with her again. How she wished her father—her rock—would come in and fold his arms around her as he had done countless times before. She would never have his shoulder to cry on or have him listen to her girlish worries ever again.

  Rory was tossing and turning on his mattress too, acutely aware of the lovely woman sleeping a few feet away from him. He tried to think of something, anything else, but his mind’s eye constantly focused on those striking gray eyes.

  Then he thought of her riding back into Gairloch to fetch someone to bring her father’s body back. Why had he refused to help her? She was a woman alone who had to travel five miles to Gairloch through the very countryside in which her father had been murdered the day before.

  What kind o’ a man are you, Rory Murdoch? he thought. He had no illusions about why he hated going into the village. It was because everything there reminded him of Elisaid, but Elisaid had been dead for eight years, whereas he was still alive, hopefully for many more years, so was it not time he started to live again?

  When Vanora got out of bed after a dreadful night’s sleep she wandered, yawning, into the kitchen. She had been obliged to sleep in her clothes, which were now creased and crumpled, and she had no doubt that her eyes were red from weeping.

  Worse thoughts chased those ones, however. Her father was still dead, and she still had to ride alone into the village. The thought was terrifying.

  Rory came in carrying a huge armload of firewood as if it was a basket of eggs. He dropped it by the fireplace then turned to smile at her.

  “Good mornin’,” he said pleasantly as he poured them both a glass of ale. “Did ye sleep well?”

  “No, hardly at all,” she replied, sipping her ale.

  “I am ashamed o’ myself,” he sighed, sitting down beside her.

  “Why?” she asked, frowning. “You saved my life, fetched my father’s body, and gave us both shelter. Why are you ashamed?”

  He looked down at his hands and shook his head. “Because I would have let ye travel a’ that way to Gairloch on yer ain. Forgive me, milady.”

  She shook her head. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Rory, or to forgive.”

  “Thank you,” he said, then grinned at her, showing a row of even white teeth. She was astonished; it was like the sun coming out. She was bemused by his size, his strength, and now his sheer masculinity. She had never imagined that anyone could be so big.

  Out of the blue, Rory remembered the tenderness which he had felt holding Elisaid close to his heart, and for the first time in ages, he did not think of her with pain in his heart. Perhaps milady had been sent to him as a sign that it was time to begin to move forward, and there and then he made up his mind to do just that.

  3

  Rory made them some porridge and scrambled some eggs for breakfast, then took out half a dozen bannocks from a cupboard. They were enormous.

  “Please take whatever ye like,” he invited as he placed them on the table with some freshly-made butter.

  “Do you make these yourself?” Vanora asked, surprised and impressed.

  He smiled. “Aye,” he replied. “I am not goin’ five miles intae Gairloch every day!”

  She took one of the bannocks and spread it with butter, then bit into it. It was delicious. “You are truly gifted,” she remarked. “I need another cook. Would you consider the position?”

  He shook his head emphatically. “No, thank ye” he replied.

  They shared a moment of silence.

  “Man of the Woods.” Rory said. “That's what the villagers call me. And that is what I am. I have found my peace here.”

  He held out the plate of bannocks to her again, but she refused.

  “I am already satisfied, thank you,” she answered, patting her stomach.

  If Vanora had not been utterly heartbroken, she would have enjoyed watching Rory eat—he plowed through an enormous amount of food—but she could not enjoy anything today. Now her mind was busy with thoughts of telling her sisters what had happened, how to lessen the shock, comfort them, and bear her own sorrow. She knew that when she got home there would be hundreds of practical things to attend to, like arranging a funeral, but she could not think so far ahead. She could only manage one moment at a time.

  Rory watched her surreptitiously, feeling helpless and wishing that there was something more he could do to ease her pain because he knew what it felt like to hurt so much that it was almost unbearable.

  “What else do they say about you?” she asked.

  “Lady?”

  “The villagers. They call you Man of the Woods. What else do they say?”

  It had been a while since Rory talked about himself to someone.

  “They say… that I am a loner.” said Rory while thinking of other things he had heard about him. “Which is true.They say... I am seven foot tall.”

  Vanora raised her eyebrows. “Are you that tall?”

  Rory opened his huge mouth and left a sound that felt like thunder.

  “HA! No one is that tall lady. I must be a little taller than six foot and five inches.”

  “Still, that is the tallest I have ever heard. Was your father that tall too?”

  “I think not. But I do not remember.” His eyes darkened.

  Vanora looked at him, asking him with her eyes to go on.

  “Both my parents died when I was a boy. From illness. But my father was never kind to me for as long as he lived. I have cut wood for a living since I was a boy, no more than twelve years old. I was tall so I could lie about my age and work with other men. Tis is what kept me alive.”

  “And your mother? What about her?”

  Rory had never spoken to anyone about his mother. “My mother… She had fair hair. She was not from here. Her family was Danish. She was almost as tall as my father. She was... very kind to me.”

  “That explains the height then,” said Vanora.

  “Maybe.” He paused for a second. “I am sorry for yer loss,” he said gruffly. “But somehow ye must go on.”

  His gaze dropped from hers as he picked up a piece of bread and bit into it, and she had
the impression that he was avoiding something. “We are a’ mortal, an’ death comes to us a’.” He paused, then began to gather the dishes together. “Are ye sure ye will no’ eat anythin’ else?” He sounded rather hasty, as if he was trying to change the subject.

  Vanora shook her head, then looked around the room to find a topic of conversation, since she could think of nothing else to say, and if she stopped speaking she knew she would think of her father again. Her gaze fell on the many little carvings dotted around the room. “Did you do these?” she asked curiously.

  “Aye,” he answered. “I whittle a bit wi’ a’ the bits and pieces left over from the wood cuttin’.”

  “They are lovely,” she said admiringly. He stood up, crossed the room, and picked up a delicate, intricately carved sculpture of a horse.

  “For ye,” he said simply.

  “It is beautiful,” she breathed. “May I pay you?”

  “It is a gift,” he replied. “It is my pleasure tae give it tae ye.” He gave her a little bow.

  Vanora turned it over in her hands, marveling at the detail in every part of it. Rory watched the rapt expression on her face, glad that he had made her so happy—at least for a moment.

  “Thank you, I will treasure it.” She hugged it to her breast.

  When they had finished the food Vanora sighed sadly. “We must go,” she said, her voice breaking. Tears began to leak down her face again and Rory could not bear to watch her. He turned away and began to stack wood outside, only returning when she had stopped weeping. He did not look at her but went to fetch John Weir’s body, feeling a sudden need to be alone again.

  Rory carefully lifted the now-stiff corpse of John Weir from his bed, then gently laid his body on the blanket that Vanora had laid on top of the straw in the cart. Vanora kissed his forehead, which was now completely cold, and climbed up beside Rory. She took one last look at the little cottage and said goodbye to it. She doubted if she would ever see it again.