A Highlander's Second Chance: Highland Temptations Read online

  He was of a mind to accept the offer and be glad of it, but Ailsa appeared unconvinced. “We would hardly make much progress during a storm,” he reminded her with a shrug. “Would it not be better to start again once it has passed and the ground has dried some?”

  Her cheeks turned as red, but she handled herself better than he would have expected. “I suppose so. And thank you for your generosity,” she added with a smile for his friends.

  But for him, Clyde suspected, she would have a considerably less polite manner.

  17

  “Do ye believe this will be of service to ye?”

  Clyde looked at the wood floor. Clean enough, yet worn and cracked. He had not looked her in the eye since Rufus had shown it to her. He and Drew were in the next room over.

  “It is quite small,” she murmured, turning in a slow circle.

  “I was not aware ye needed such a great deal of space.”

  She scowled. “I was thinking more of you. Imagining the next room over is the same size, and three of you trying to sleep in it all at once.”

  “Dinna worry for us. We have—”

  “Slept in worse. You do not need to tell me.” The number of stories she’d heard around the table had granted a new wealth of understanding. Clyde would be no stranger to sleeping in rough, unforgiving conditions. None of them would.

  Even so, the entire situation caused her distress. She wanted to be on her way. She wanted to have the entire matter over and complete so she might return to the convent.

  Perhaps she had come to rely on those tall, thick walls a bit more than she’d understood until now, standing before Clyde in a cramped room like so many others, and all of them filled with strangers. Perhaps she had forgotten what it meant to live in the world.

  Rather than leave her by herself, which she wished most fervently he would do, he hesitated. “Erm, something else I wished to discuss with ye.”

  “Can it not wait until morning?” she asked. It was not so very late in the evening. In fact, were it not so stormy she would have imagined many happy festival goers wandering the streets, but she was tired and wanted nothing more than a bit of peace.

  “Nay, for ye will see in the morning what it is I wish to speak about.”

  “Be quick about it then, please.” She turned her back to him, looking out the single pane of glass in the center of the wall facing the street. All was a sopping disaster out there, the boats in the harbor moving back and forth thanks to the wind-whipped waves. Thunder rumbled overhead, making the very walls tremble.

  “They wish to come with us.”

  She froze like a hare before the hunter. “They what? You told them?” she barely whispered.

  “I told them nothing of where we were going or why.”

  “Yet they wish to come along.”

  He muttered an oath under his breath, barely audible. “I told Rufus what little McTavish told me upon visiting the farm. He deserved to know why I was leaving, of course.”

  “So he already knows.”

  “A thing or two, aye. He guesses whatever ’tis we’re up to is dangerous and wishes to be certain no harm befalls us.”

  She could hardly believe this, and turned to tell him so. “What you mean to say is, neither of them has anything to do with this, neither of them knows what exactly we are doing, yet they wish to accompany us nonetheless?”

  He shrugged, grinning his crooked grin. “That is their way.”

  “Their way is daft.”

  “Take care, now,” he warned. “’Tis my way, as well.”

  “I stand by what I said.”

  His brow lowered. “Ye need not be insulting. Has anyone insulted ye today? Nay, and just the opposite. They have been kind to ye, keepin’ ye laughing and enjoying yourself. Or do ye take unkindly to that?”

  Her hands curled into fists. He did have a way of angering her. “It matters not. They will not come with us, and that is final.”

  He blinked, clearly stunned by her abruptness. “That is final, now, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who says?”

  “I say, and you know it. I would like to remind you of who is in charge,” she whispered, careful to keep her voice low. “We ought not even stay in this inn.”

  “Would ye prefer to sleep in the driving rain?” he challenged. “I can tell ye from experience what an unpleasant night that would be. But please, by all means, if ye would rather—”

  “I would not rather,” she spat. “But we have already been noticed by many—”

  “In Scotland,” he reminded her. “Edinburgh, in the middle of a festival. Do ye believe anyone would remember us if questioned? Do ye have even the first notion how many people come and go through this city every day? I canna imagine it. Can ye?”

  She ground her teeth. “No,” she grunted.

  He laughed in disbelief, shaking his head. “Never have I known a woman so determined to have her way that she would rather sleep in the mud and wind than be comfortable, and then again determined not to put her mind at ease when I am doing everything I know how to help ye do just that.”

  “I do not need my mind to be put at ease, thank you,” she replied. “Besides that, I would rather it not be at ease. I would rather suspect everyone and everything, for that is the only way to remain alert. Otherwise, we might be taken by surprise.”

  “Nothing takes me by surprise.” He was no longer laughing.

  In fact, she thought she’d never heard him sound so serious.

  She stammered, undone by the intensity in his eyes as they locked on to hers. No matter how well she thought she knew the man, he managed to undo her at the strangest times. “You know what I mean to say,” she whispered, determined to get a hold of herself.

  “I ken, and I still disagree. It will be far better for us to have a decent night’s sleep in an establishment such as this, with friends so close should we need them, than to suffer through a night spent in the out of doors. I would not leave a dog I disliked out on a night such as this. Ye must have better sense, woman.”

  “Do not call me that.”

  “Woman?” he asked, snickering.

  This only incensed her further. “I have a name, and you know it quite well.”

  “Forgive me, Ailsa.” He lingered over it, drawing it out. “Ye must have better sense. Accept help when it is offered to ye, for it is not always offered. Learn to leave well enough alone if only to spare the pain your voice leaves in my head when ye fret so.”

  She drew herself up to her full height. Which, when compared to his, was not so very much at all. “If that is the way you wish to speak to me, I believe there is nothing more to be said this evening.” She turned with as much dignity as she could muster and opened the door, standing back. “Please, rest your aching head.”

  “Come, now.”

  “No, no.” She lifted her chin. “Go, speak with your friends. Have a lovely evening. I will be ready to be on our way at dawn.”

  “What am I to tell them?” he asked, pausing before ducking beneath the low doorway.

  “I no longer care.” She would not look at him, no matter how he tried to draw her gaze. “Tell them to come along if it suits you. I merely wish to avoid drawing them into our plight. If it matters not to them, it matters not to me.”

  He growled, muttering a string of filthy words as he ducked into the corridor. She closed the door without another word, then leaned against it with her eyes closed. He was enough to truly exhaust her at times.

  It would appear as though their party of two had become a quartet without her wishing it so.

  Perhaps it would not be so bad, at that. Perhaps she’d made too much fuss over the notion of two of Clyde’s trusted friends joining them. If he trusted them, they could not be bad.

  And truly, they’d done nothing to oppose her to them as men.

  It was the sense of having no control of the situation that perturbed her worse than anything else. Nothing she planned came to pass. None of h
er concerns seemed to matter.

  She sank onto the bed with a sigh when it became clear that at the heart of her upset was the sense that she did not matter. She had no voice.

  Perhaps she would bring this to Clyde’s attention in the morning, explaining that she only wished to be taken seriously. What did she have to do to make him take her seriously? Her concerns, her opinions. It seemed she might as well not speak at all sometimes.

  She fell asleep feeling lower than she had in quite some time, with the rain still lashing against the walls and lulling her into a fretful slumber, leaving her tossing about on the lumpy mattress.

  * * *

  When dawn arrived—bright, filled with sunshine—she welcomed it. Anything was preferable to another minute trying to sleep and failing horribly. She was quick to wash her face in water from the chipped basin on the chipped washstand, then to use the cloudy-looking glass while combing and braiding her hair.

  They would have guests along with them on their ride. The very thought set her teeth on edge. Three men, and two of them strangers. Why did men always have to ruin everything?

  And did these two not have families waiting for them? Did they consider this a game they were playing? If she were wife to either of them, she would hit them about the head when they returned from their adventure after leaving her in care of the children. Fools, they were.

  Her feet were heavy, but she made haste gathering herself and marching down the narrow, creaking stairs to the main room in which she’d taken a meal with Clyde and his friends. There were only a handful of men there at that time of the morning, many of them still abed after a day of frivolity.

  But not Clyde.

  He stood outside. Their horses prepared to go. “Good morning,” he bade when she stepped over the threshold and into the early morning sunshine. The air smelled fresh, washed clean by the heavy rain, and already the sun had begun to dry the great puddles which pitted the road.

  “Good morning to you.” She looked about for Rufus and Drew. “Where are your friends? Do not tell me they are still abed—”

  “They are not coming with us.”

  This stopped her cold. “They aren’t?”

  “Nay. I told them it would be best for only the pair of us to go. They need not be part of this.”

  She squinted up at him, trying to understand. He did not sound angry. He delivered this information with no emotion whatever. He simply stated facts.

  “Why did you truly tell them not to come with us?” she asked, taking her mare’s reins. “Be honest, please.”

  “Honest?”

  “As I said.”

  He looked down at the ground, scuffing it with the toe of his leather boot. “Because it displeased ye, for one, and I have grown tired of being with ye when ye are displeased. For another, because ye made a fair point. They ought not to be part of this. It is for myself and ye, and no one else. That is how it should be.”

  Her heart swelled, and she wondered why it would do such a thing. He’d done nothing but speak the truth, after all. Yet she suddenly felt warm all over.

  It was the sun. It had to be.

  “Shall we start, then?” she asked, sliding her left foot into the stirrup without waiting for him to answer.

  18

  They passed Thirlestane Castle as the sun’s light turned amber, the days growing slightly shorter all the time. But they had still made a great deal of progress over the course of a single day, thanks in no small part to Ailsa’s determination and strength.

  He’d never known a woman so determined to have her way, to the point of straining to be on their way after every short rest they took. He had finally been pressed to remind her of the horses’ need to rest, even more so than themselves.

  That had brought an end to her complaints.

  By the time the castle appeared before them, however, it was clear they would need to stop and set up camp for the evening. It was nearly thirty miles from Edinburgh to this place, he knew, and that was enough for one day. They were not exactly soldiers on the march, and unaccustomed to such lengthy riding.

  They turned off the road and followed the sounds of running water, searching for the nearest stream. He led the way while Ailsa rode behind, incessantly asking questions. She had certainly surprised him in that respect, her tongue wagging with each and every mile they traveled.

  “How did you come to know Rufus?” she asked, as they began walking their horses through the thick woods. It was darker here, trees and their branches blocking out much of the light, but he could still see easily enough. The day had been a warm one, and the coolness was a welcome change.

  “Why are ye suddenly so interested in my past?” he asked, looking over his shoulder with what he supposed would be a scowl. He did not mind, truly, but found it of interest that she suddenly found him of interest.

  She shrugged. “I could not say. I suppose because there is nothing else to talk about.”

  That was a joke on him, certainly, and he laughed at himself for having asked it. Did he not know better by now than to imagine she would admit it was interest in him which led her to question so many things?

  “Rufus is Drew’s cousin,” he explained, facing front again. “Rufus was in need of our help. His family’s land was stolen by a cur named Ian MacFarland. The man killed Rufus’s parents and drove his brother, the rightful heir, from the place.”

  “How dreadful!”

  “Aye, ’tis not only the English capable of such things. Drew asked if I would come along while they sought to return the land to its rightful owner. There was little for me to do but agree. I had nothing to keep me where I was, doing as I was.”

  “And what were you doing?”

  He knew that was coming, and yet he had chosen to use the words he’d used just the same. Knowing she would naturally ask further questions which he did not feel precisely comfortable answering.

  “Selling my sword, to be honest. If a man could pay the price, I would do as he needed. The same sort of aid Rufus needed, really. Men and women both who had been wrongly treated, who had no one to turn to and who were not strong enough to manage on their own.”

  She made a thoughtful sort of noise which he wished he could understand. What did she think of him? Would she blame or shame him for merely doing what had needed to be done to live? If she did, he would waste no time reminding her that some of the coin he’d earned on these missions had in time gone to her, by way of the lass he’d sent it to.

  When enough time passed without her offering her thoughts on the matter, he grew tired of waiting. “Did I offend ye in some way?” he called out without looking back.

  “Oh, no. Forgive me, I did not intend to give you that impression. In fact, I did not know what to say. It strikes me as being honorable and yet rather sad at the same time.”

  That was certainly the last thing he had expected to hear. “Sad?”

  “Yes, rather. Forgive me if I offended you.”

  He was not a woman. He would not declare offense at such a slight thing. Just the same, however, it did rather frustrate him to be considered sad, some object of pity. Like a stray dog or something of the sort.

  “And if you do not mind my asking, just what about my tale struck you as being so sad? Truly, I am interested to know what you think.”

  “I cannot help but feel this is a trap of sorts.” Before he had time to assure her it was not, she continued. “Forgive me, truly, but I do not enjoy imagining you wandering from place to place, no home to return to. It strikes me as a rather lonely life, is all I meant.”

  He would not argue this. “It is, at that,” he confirmed. “Though much the better while in the company of those such as Drew. And dinna forget, I put an end to that wandering some time ago.”

  “And why did you decide to do that?”

  He had the sense that he should tell her to keep her mind on her own affairs, yet for some reason he could not bring himself to do so. Perhaps it was lack of practice making him feel this
way, but he did not feel nearly so tongue-tied any longer while in her presence.

  In fact, it felt almost natural to answer her questions honestly, openly. It had been so long since a woman had taken interest in him.

  “Perhaps for the very reasons I just described. Because it was a rather sad life, at that. Because I’d grown tired of having nothing more to show for a day’s work than a tired horse and saddle sores.”

  He thought he heard her snorting behind him, trying not to laugh at his blunt reply. “It is all right. Ye might laugh. Though there is little amusing about saddle sores.”

  “Oh, you need not tell me. I have done a fair bit of riding in my day, as well.”

  “I had suspected as much. Ye have a great deal of endurance.”

  “Thank you.” She took this as a compliment, which he should have guessed she would. Of course, that was how he had meant it, too.

  How strange, how well they were getting on together. As if they were truly learning to understand each other. He found himself hoping this would continue to be the case as they made their way to their destination.

  She groaned. “My, but I do need a bath. Forgive me if you find me too familiar.”

  He shook his head, not bothering to turn around. “I feel the same.” The sounds of the stream had grown louder all the time, and he could only assume they were very close.

  Sure enough, less than a minute later they arrived at the edge of the clear stream, one which appeared just shallow enough to be useful as a place in which to bathe. “Oh, thank the heavens,” Ailsa breathed. “I’m afraid I have grown too accustomed to rather soft living at the convent.”

  For some reason, this struck him as amusing. “I thought ye were brought up in a wealthy household. That’s certainly soft living, at least as I know it.”

  “Yes, but I came to hate that sort of life.” She said this with disgust in her voice, leaving no question in his mind as to whether she was telling the truth. No one could sound like that and not truly mean what they said.