The Highlander’s Lady: Highlands Forever Read online

  More than anything else, it was knowing there was nothing she could do or say to make him understand that sent a tightness from her chest and up into her throat, threatening to choke her.

  She could stand nearly anything so long as he did not hate her.

  But it was clear then that he did, that he thought as little of her as he did any woman in her place. She supposed her father would feel the same, knowing she had run from the man whose betrothal he’d so sought. The earl and the Highlander would agree on at least one thing if given a chance to meet and speak.

  “Tell me, then. What is the truth?” He stared at her in that way of his, as if the entire world and everything in it had narrowed down to a single point, and that point was her. If Olivia could find a way to believe there was anything other than disgust in his dark eyes, the effect might have been quite thrilling, indeed.

  For how many times has she closed her eyes and imagined him looking down at her with desire? With yearning, longing? The way he had just before everything was ruined.

  What did it matter if she told him the truth? If anything, she would humiliate herself and destroy any meager shreds of pride left her. Rather than discard them, then, she gathered them around herself with all the dignity she could muster.

  “Why did you really come here? You might tell me a thing or two. Why did you come out here to find me? Did George send you looking for me? Will you find a way to send word to him? How much is he paying you?”

  Boyd’s eyes were no longer warm, or even flat. They flashed fire while his jaw worked, his very face seeming to darken as his brows drew together.

  For the first time, she was truly frightened of him. His arms felt to his sides, his fists curling and tightening and promising any number of rather painful blows. If she were a man, she thought, she would feel those fists against her.

  “Who goes there?”

  Olivia jumped, turning to find the captain of the guard approaching. He walked with his usual swagger, his chin held high enough that she sometimes wondered how he managed to see over it.

  “What is this, then?” he asked, eyeing her up and down as was his normal manner.

  His normal manner, indeed, from one side of his mouth in a suggestive smirk. “What, are ye waiting for me to return, lassie?” he asked with a nasty little laugh. “Could it be that ye finally see the sense in being my friend? Dinna fret. I will not tell the laird that ye like to roll about in the hay.”

  “She does not need friends such as the likes of ye.” Boyd all but pushed her out of the way as he stepped in front of her, blocking her entirely from the man’s view. “I dinna know how Calan Stewart asks his guards to conduct themselves, but I do know that if any of my men spoke to a lass the way I have heard ye speak to this one, I would send him on his way before the sun breached the horizon.”

  How thrilling it was, having him to stand up for her. Never on her own would she have found the courage to tell the man just what he could do with his suggestive words and overly familiar matter. For one brief, shining moment, Boyd was her champion. She need fear nothing so long as he was with her.

  She could not see Alec Stewart with Boyd standing in the way, but she heard his sputtering response all too clearly. “It does not seem to me as though this is any concern of yours,” he muttered once he had composed himself enough to speak.

  “Just as it does not seem to me that this lass is any concern of yours,” Boyd returned, and one downward glance told her his fists were clenched tight. “If ye have just returned from your patrol, you might go inside and refresh yourself. The lass and I were only just finishing speaking with each other, and she was on her way back into the house.”

  He turned his head just enough to catch her from the corner of his eye, and she took this as a sign to go inside without delay. She did just that, wishing she might have the chance to speak further with him but knowing that even if she had, it would make no difference.

  He had made up his mind about her, declared her faithless and possibly worthless, and there would be no convincing him otherwise.

  She had been a fool to think anything else.

  Taking care to avoid meeting Alec’s doleful gaze, she hurried from the stables and across the courtyard, returning to the kitchen and glad to do so.

  What would she do about Alec Stewart after Boyd had gone for good?

  14

  Boyd did not like the looks of the man. He had the narrowed eyes, the smirking smile, of one who enjoyed making those around him feel small and weak. He took pleasure from frightening others. Women, especially.

  He did not need to know this man to know the way he thought.

  “Who are ye to tell me how to speak to a lass?” the guardsman demanded, one hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. A silent threat, Boyd knew, which did nothing to improve his estimation of the man.

  “I am Boyd MacPherson, laird of Clan MacPherson and a good friend of Calan Stewart’s,” he announced, relishing the sight of color draining from the man’s face. Yes, he was very brave and daring when it came to threatening a woman, yet when a man with a name and the support of an entire clan stood before him, he may as well have been a trembling woman himself.

  That was the way of men such as this. Nothing more than a false show of bravery and daring. He might be a good man to have beside oneself in battle, but his way of fighting was more than likely performed out of a desire for violence than a desire to protect and defend.

  He merely wished for an excuse to be cruel and violent.

  Boyd knew this might have been nothing more than his imagination creating false notions, but he doubted it just the same. Not only were his instincts normally sharp when it came to such matters, but he had seen enough men such as this one over his years to know him on sight.

  Especially the sort who would take advantage of a woman half his size, which to Boyd, and any decent man, was a shameful thing.

  This man had no shame. He tossed his head back. “And I am Alec Stewart, nephew of the laird, captain of his guard.” He said it in such a way that Boyd imagined him having said it many times, to many people, all of whom either stepped out of his way or apologized for having been there at all.

  They took each other’s measure for a time, silently staring, until Boyd broke the uneasy silence. “Be aware that I will know if ye interfere with the lass in any way. With her or with any of the lasses in the place,” he added, lest this Alec assumed it was only Olivia he ought to stay away from.

  Alec scoffed. “How would ye know such a thing?”

  “I have my ways of knowing,” Boyd assured him. “As I told ye, I have been a friend to the Stewarts all my life, and my father before me.”

  “Aye, I know it,” Alec yawned. “And I know ye would not wish to break a friendship after such a great many years over nothing but a maid.” He raised one eyebrow as if presenting a challenge.

  “Do ye believe your uncle would break a friendship with a lifelong ally because I told him ye were interfering with a maid? Or trying to interfere, since she wishes to have nothing to do with ye?” He shook his head, laughing softly. “Nay, anything between ye and myself will remain there. That will be enough, I believe.”

  Alec scoffed, but Boyd noted that his sword did not leave its sheath. Indeed, the man was all bluster and threat but no substance. Just as he’d suspected.

  He returned to the keep without another word, wondering if he ought to search for Olivia or let her go. His head still spun after their brief, unfortunate meeting.

  Unfortunate because he had allowed his mouth to get the better of him, and he’d known it even as his words hung in the air. He’d known it, thanks to the tears which had welled in her eyes and the bright spots of color on her cheeks.

  What was it about the lass that turned him to a tongue-tied fool? No, not tongue-tied. In fact, he wished that were so, for he would not be able to say such hurtful, shameful things without the use of his tongue.

  It would be best not to look for her, as it would
only raise questions from anyone who happened to witness them together. It was enough of a problem that Alec had noticed them.

  Though he suspected the man would keep their meeting a secret if he knew what was good for him.

  “Och, there ye are.” Calan met him in the entry hall. “I had asked myself where ye might have escaped to. I suspected Greer had pulled ye aside to ask about yer Innis.”

  As if Innis mattered. As if she deserved a single thought. “Nay. I wished to see to my palfrey’s comfort before I saw to my own. Nothing more.”

  “I suspect ye shall both spend a more comfortable night than ye have in a while,” Calan observed. “The laird’s duties are never simple, man. I know we are all grateful to ye for visiting yer allies and seeing to it we are all prepared for the days to come.”

  Yes, and that was all he could allow his friend to believe. That he had been riding only to inquire after his allies’ well-being and nothing more.

  He cast a wary eye toward the kitchen, where Alec might well be taking his supper. “There is something I wish to discuss with ye. Something private.” He pulled Calan aside. “I know the captain of your guard is your nephew.”

  “Aye. Alec.” Calan frowned. “Why?”

  “I witnessed him… speaking in a forward manner to one of the maids while I was in the stables,” he confessed. “I dinna wish to cause trouble, but the lass was upset and ran to the keep while I held him back and warned him against doing such a thing again. I told him I would say nothing of it, but…”

  “Nay. ‘Tis glad I am ye did,” Calan growled. “That lad. No matter how many winters he passes, he will ever behave as a spoiled lad. My sister ruined him, ‘tis true, doting on him from the day he was born until the day she dropped him in my lap and told me to make a man of him.”

  Boyd snorted. That came as little surprise after what he had seen. “Forgive me for bringing it to your attention, but I would not wish to see ye lose a maid because of his lewdness. I enjoy the sight of a lass, ye ken, but—”

  “Say no more,” Calan muttered, his tone and expression bringing to mind the man who had struck fear and admiration in Boyd’s heart when he was a lad. “I will watch him more carefully.”

  Boyd snickered in an effort to turn the mood about. “I believe it was he who ought to be watching ye.”

  Calan snorted. “Truth be told, he is a good captain. When he is not strutting about like a rooster in the hen house, he is a good man to have in a fight.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  A woman’s gasp turned Boyd’s attention away from Calan and Alec and toward the lady of the house. Greer Stewart was a large woman in every sense. Tall, wide in just about every part of her body, with a large and loving heart and a voice that could be heard throughout the entire keep.

  “Boyd MacPherson! Just like my husband to keep ye from me!” she called out, clapping him on the back nearly hard enough to hurt. “What brings ye to us? I didna even know ye were here! Are ye staying the night? I will have one of the maids see to yer—”

  “Tis already done, my love,” Calan assured her, cutting in before she had the chance to ask another dozen questions without taking so much as a single breath. “Rest easy.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Ye know I will do no such thing. As if I could rest. I must have a moment with ye, Boyd, before ye leave us,” she warned, waving a finger in his face before rushing off to manage some other thing.

  Boyd chuckled, reeling back. “She is just as impressive as ever.”

  Calan winked. “An impressive laird must have an impressive lady. Remember that, man.”

  Yes. He would remember. Not that it would do him any good when there was only one lady who held any interest for him, and he had all but pushed her away with both hands and closed a door between them with his cruel judgment. What had he been thinking when he’d spoken so harshly?

  “I had best be retiring,” he murmured, wanting nothing but to be alone with his misery. Part of him wished he’d never found her, no matter how preferable it was for the lass to be safe in the presence of so many others.

  It was a sight better than dying in the Highlands or being left for dead by a roadside thief.

  Yet he would always know she was there. Only a half-day’s ride from his home. Each day would come the temptation, the desire to see her. To inquire after her. To perhaps ride into the village on the hope that she would be there, that he might steal a moment in her presence.

  Even as he imagined himself doing this very thing, he cursed his weakness. He was no lovesick fool, or at least he ought not behave as one. He was Boyd MacPherson. A laird. A man in a position of great power.

  A man whose heart belonged entirely to a woman he had no business giving his heart to. English! To think of it! His father would rise from the grave if he were aware of this.

  Yet it would be for naught, for she was as far from him as she had ever been. This was the way it ought to be, and he knew it.

  She was of one world. He was of another. And even if she had no desire to wed one of her kind, it did not mean she desired him.

  Why would she after he’d all but spat upon her?

  He stripped out of his tunic and settled into the comfortable bed, the window just beside it allowing in the fresh, night air which did little to clear his muddled thoughts of a lass who might be doing the same thing at that very moment.

  Though she’d be hating him as she did it.

  Olivia. Forgive me, lass.

  15

  She was up well before the sun the following morning, shaking Mairi then darting to the basin to splash her face with water chilled by the night air.

  “Wake up,” she hissed before the cold water struck her sleep-warmed skin, causing her to shiver.

  “Hmm?” Mairi mumbled, still huddled beneath her blanket.

  “I told ye to wake up,” Olivia whispered, careful not to wake the other two girls asleep across the room. All of the maids slept this way, four or even five to a cramped room situated in a stone structure separate from the keep. There were eight rooms in all, a few of them used by the stable lads.

  “What are ye out of bed so early for?” Mairi mumbled before yawning wide enough to nearly split her head in two. She sat up in bed, her dark hair sticking out in all directions from its braid.

  Olivia was just combing out her own braid before nimbly braiding it again. “To begin the day’s work, of course. Why else?”

  “Since when are ye—” Another yawn. “—so intent on getting to your work before the cock crows?”

  Since Boyd might have given her away after they’d parted the night before. Since she had hardly slept a wink for fear of him revealing her. Since it would kill her to wait another moment without knowing for certain whether she still had a place in the household.

  For while she doubted any of the Stewarts would wish to keep an Englishwoman on as a maid or any other part of their household, she doubted even more that they would throw a woman bodily from the castle in the middle of the night. They would at the very least allow her to wait until morning.

  All night, she had both dreaded the coming morning and counted the moments until it arrived. Anything had to be better than the not knowing. The wondering.

  Could she rely on him to keep her secret?

  “Make haste,” Olivia implored before stepping out of the room and into the chill morning. It was still early in the spring, and as such the mornings were quite cool. She enjoyed this, especially when she’d had little sleep. The cool air roused her just as the cold water had done.

  None in the kitchen seemed to find it strange that she was still there. She took a quick meal while standing; a custom she had not been familiar with before leaving England, breaking her fast in the morning. There had never been reason to eat until midday, as nothing she’d ever done in the morning roused her appetite.

  Now, she could not imagine running about the keep for several hours without first swallowing a few bites of porridge, at the ver
y least. Only the knowing that she would later regret not having eaten forced her to take bite after bite, scooped into her mouth on a piece of bread.

  What if they told her to leave and she had not eaten anything?

  While she ate, keeping her eyes cast downward, she listened for any hint of gossip. No one treated her differently than they had before, and there seemed to be no great secrets floating about.

  Except for talk of their handsome visitor, which was no secret.

  “Och, and that Innis Murray ran away from him,” one of the cooks grumbled while kneading dough for the day’s bread. “A foolish lass, indeed.”

  “What I wouldna give to have one such as him warmin’ my bed at night,” another of the women laughed.

  “Or any time o’ the day!” The room broke out in loud, knowing laughter, the women then swooning over Boyd’s shoulders and arms and chest, his face and his eyes. Every part of him, it seemed.

  All the while, she ate and listened. Perhaps she did more listening than eating, but the conversation was worth lingering for. This was the way women spoke of men? They were nearly as bad as the men who laughed and made suggestive sounds when women passed!

  Though at least the women did their laughing privately.

  She found herself smiling and even chuckling along, though she offered nothing new. It was better to listen. What would they think if they knew he’d kissed her? And how he’d kissed her! As if he believed he would never kiss again and as such had thrown every last bit of everything in him into it.

  Though she had never been kissed before then, had she? Perhaps he kissed all girls that way. Perhaps all men did.

  Mairi joined them and was quick to fetch herself a piece of bread torn from a loaf left after the previous evening’s supper. “I hope to see him today,” she confided with a wink.