Blessing The Highlander (10 page)

 
           What baffled him was how they could hear each other’s thoughts. He shook his head. In all his thirty years he had never heard tell of such. Was Seonaid a witch? He did not believe in witches. But, if not a witch, then what was she? He pondered the question for a time until...
Nay. Nae a witch! She must be Fae!

 
           He was startled at the revelation. He did not trust the Fae. They played with men as if they were baubles, just to toss them aside when they grew tired of them. He had one bedeviling him a few years back, but when she saw that he would not play her game she ultimately left him alone.

 
           Garrick shook his head again in skepticism. No. He trusted her memory loss was genuine and he had never heard of such a thing happening to Fae. There must be another explanation. One thing was certain...he must come to know how to hinder this thought-sharing between them. At least until he ascertained if she was trustworthy since she was a MacGregor.

 
           Besides, he did not like the idea of her probing into his feelings and memories. He had no wish for tender feelings sprouting up like weeds in his well-ordered life. He would enjoy her body, treat her well and get some heirs on her. She cannot expect more than that in her life. He had no time for such inanity as ‘love’ to play havoc with his structured life.
Tis better to keep things simple
.

 
           A scratching at the door disturbed his contemplations. Garrick rose… giving entrance to the proprietor’s wife who was heavily laden with a tray of food. She was shadowed by her husband bringing a jug of wine and two mugs. They set their burdens down on the table near the hearth. Perceiving his sleeping wife, they left unobtrusively without speaking a word, nodding to Garrick as they departed.

 
           Garrick poured some ale as the aroma from the venison stew wafted past Seonaid’s nose, causing her stomach to rumble as she stirred from her slumber. She stretched her stiff muscles, stopping short when she realized that she could still smell the delicious fare.

 
           She sat up peering in the direction of the table and detected Garrick scrutinizing her. Seonaid self-consciously plucked imaginary lint from the fur coverlet, her green orbs cast downwards, awaiting an invitation to share the repast. She may well just be detecting the remnants of his meal, after all, and she did not want to embarrass herself further after the humiliation of that morn.

 
           She had been flaying herself for most of the day at her imprudent jaunt to the kitchen. She was in unfamiliar lodgings full of individuals she did not discern. What she had done was unwise and the attack was her shame to bear. It would not happen again.

 
           Seonaid elevated her chin to encounter Garrick’s steely blue gaze.

 
           “My Laird, after giving my actions of this day considerable thought, I have come to ken that my activities initiated the assault on my person this morn. Twas my error alone and I ...I humbly ask for forgiveness for forcing your hand.” More softly she added, “If…if you grant me another chance I vow twill nae happen again. But I will abide by your decision...even if you wish me to go.”

 
           Garrick’s eyes widened in disbelief for a flicker of a moment then were shielded from her. She was apologizing to him? Was she daft? An admission of guilt he had not anticipated, although she was right to do so. What actually troubled him, though, was that she believed he would wish to be rid of her over such a small matter. Mayhap this is how her clansmen treated her so she expected it from him as well. His jaw clenched forcefully. It all but confirmed the rumors of her family however. She must be a MacGregor for certain to assume this kind of treatment!

 
           “Our meal grows cold, wife, and your stomach sounds a mite peckish.” he responded gruffly.

 
           Seonaid nodded docilely, arising and walking toward the empty chair near the table. As she passed by him, he reached out and seized her by the hand, drawing her closer.

 
           “I accept your apology, Seonaid. Most people would nae perceive the situation in that light. But there is something ye need ta understand.” He gave her a stern unwavering look. “Nae one is flawless. We all err once in a while...even me. But ye are nae one of them, mo cridhe.” He turned over her hand placing a kiss on her palm. “And I will never send ye away just because ye may have stumbled...or for any other reason. I gave me vows ta ye yester eve and I do nae give them flippantly nor do I break them, once given. I do nae expect ye ta be perfect. All I ask of ye is ta be honest with me and try ta do your finest. Now eat, wife, before ye swoon with hunger.” He flashed a wide grin releasing her.

 
           Seonaid trembled as she sat in the chair. He still sought after her? Flawed as she was? She did not comprehend how he could desire her when she was proving to be such an inconvenience. She would need to give this considerable reflection. But for the moment she was famished and the stew quite delicious. Garrick tore off some fresh bread, passing it to her, and then poured her some ale. She sipped the ale, wrinkling her nose at the unpleasant flavor. He smiled as he surveyed her various facial contortions over the beverage, at length submitting to mercy.

 
           “Ye do nae care for ale, lass?”

 
           “It appears that is so,” she sighed.

 
           He took her mug and poured the remnants into his, then picked up an alternative ewer, filling her cup with a red liquid and handed it to her. “Try this. It may be more ta your taste.”

 
           She sniffed tentatively at the edge of the mug, and then ventured taking a sip. “Mmmmm...tis good. What is it?”

 
           Garrick grinned broadly. “Tis honeyed-wine. I kenned ye might prefer something sweeter than ale or...uisge beatha.”

 
           “Oh aye! I like this very much,” she exclaimed as she held out her cup for more. He eyed her beaker for a moment… then refilled it.

 
           “Tis a wee bit stronger than it tastes wife. Ye should sip it slowly.” She nodded in agreement as she guzzled the second mugful… requesting another refill.

 
           It was not long before Seonaid was thoroughly soused. Garrick knew that what he was doing was a bit under-handed...especially since he was doing it to his wife. But he needed to know if all she had told him was true or not. And strong drink has loosened many a tongue.

 
           “How be ye feeling, lass?”

 
           “Wonerful,” she drawled. “Tha’s good stuff! Do ye ‘ave it at the castle?”

 
           Garrick moved his chair closer to hers wrapping an arm around her, as she began leaning too far from her chair. “Aye, wife. We have it. But I be thinking we may have ta ration yours.” He chuckled as Seonaid giggled at his jest.

 
           As she relaxed alongside him, Garrick determined it as a good time to commence.

 
           “Have ye summoned up anything about your kinfolk, Seonaid? Your clan?” She propped her elbow on the table settling her chin in her hand after several attempts. Her smooth brow creased as she mulled over his query. After a few moments of scrutiny she shook her head.

 
           “Nay. Nothin’ comes ta mind. I seem ta remember somethin’ ‘bout a wraith...and a golden warrior...” she responded dreamily. “He was a fine lookin’ warrior...nae as fine as you tho. Nae one is as fine as you. I am verry lucky you still fancy me...flawed as I yam.” She rambled through her drunkenness…her speech slurring. She leaned toward Garrick conspiratorially whispering, ‘You ken that when I believed you did nae want me anymore it shot a fierce pain through my heart...right here!” She thumped her breast. “Oww… that hurt. Do you think tha’ means I love you?” She hiccupped.

 
           Garrick stilled. His gaze softening as he heeded her confessions. She loved him. His heart warmed in his chest in response, nevertheless he beat it back down ruthlessly. It could just be the wine speaking. And who the hell is her ‘golden warrior’? He thought jealously. He shook his head to clear it deciding to attempt something else.

 
           Eyeing her carefully, he said, “Seamus MacGregor is searching for ye, lass.”

 
           She frowned at that declaration. “Who is this man, Garrick? And why does he search for me?” She gasped in horror! “He’s nae my husband is he?” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she grasped his tunic frantically. “You will nae let him take me from you, will you? I do nae want ta leave you, Garrick! I would jus’ die if I lost you now!” she wailed, tears flowing down her cheeks.

 
           Garrick was mollified. She truly did not know the MacGregors...family or not. He held her tight in his steely embrace as she sobbed into his tunic.

 
           “Shhh wife. Do nae fash yourself. I will never countenance anyone ta take ye from me. Ye are mine! Rest assured, mo cridhe, that I be your only husband. Ye were a maiden… remember?”

 
           Seonaid sat back wiping her eyes as she nodded bashfully at Garrick. “I forgot. This wine has my head turned to mush.” He drew her back into his embrace and held her.

 
           “Tis alright, me sweet. Ye will feel better in the morn.” It was not long before he heard her breathing steady as she drifted to sleep. He kissed her head and disrobed her as they retired for the night.

 
           During the blackest part of the eve, a man appeared in the shadows of their room. He was tall, muscular and quite handsome. His long white hair, secured with a golden cord, reaching near to his trim waist and banded with a gold belt over a royal blue tunic. On his head stood a golden crown with every precious jewel known to man embedded round it. At his side he wore a sword displaying a huge black pearl on the end of the hilt.

 
           He stood stock-still as he observed the sleeping couple.
She was just as beautiful as her mother,
he thought to himself,
and just as sweet natured
. He smiled.

 
           He had attended her wedding, remaining out of sight, of course, but he had to be there. She was all that remained of Corinne MacGregor. And he loved her deeply.

 
           He frowned as he contemplated Diedre’s jealousy. She had all the rewards of being a Fae princess and yet she was envious of her half-sister. He shook his head. Did she truly believe that he did not watch over his progenies? He knew everything Diedre had ever done to Seonaid. But he held out hope that she was maturing as he observed her right the wrong she had inflicted on her sister.

 
           The woman’s form that she had placed her in was Seonaid’s true form. Part of herself had been left there to preserve her body until she could be returned, whether by Diedre...or King Alred. Lucky for her that she chose to do it herself. Still, he will have to punish her in some way. Perhaps her betrothed could think of a just punishment. He chuckled.

 
           He gazed affectionately at his daughter with her mother’s red-gold locks spread out across the furs. He had loved her mother but she had not desired living in the Fae Realm… leaving her clan. He sighed silently. When she had found herself with child she had still refused. Reluctantly, he had agreed to let her go but only if she allowed him to find her a proper husband. Someone who would care for her and his daughter properly. He found Seamus MacGregor.

 
           Seamus agreed to the betrothal after speaking with King Alred. He was promised a measure of good fortune for him and his clan for accepting the child as his. But then the inconceivable occurred. Corinne died in childbirth. His heart wrenched in anguish. His love, though wed to Seamus only a few short months, was gone forever.

 
           He had arrived in time to save his daughter...but not his love. Unshed tears filled his multi-colored eyes. He shook off his remorse as he glanced over at his daughter’s husband... a bit startled to see cobalt eyes flashing with fire, glaring at him. He sighed.
I may as well introduce myself
.

 
           He gestured with his hand in a sweeping motion to keep Seonaid asleep while they spoke. Garrick was out of bed in a flash, his sword in hand, in a battle stance between King Alred and his wife.

 
           “Who are ye and what are ye doing in me room?” he growled threateningly. “Are ye her golden warrior?”

 
           He looked at Garrick disdainfully. “Put away your weapon. It will do you no good.” He snapped his fingers… filling the room with a score of lit tapers. With another snap his throne appeared as he seated himself. “Come. Dress yourself and we will chat over some ale.”

 
           Garrick eyed him suspiciously as he wrapped his tartan about his waist and seated himself in the offered chair. He recognized he was Fae. It took no ability to see that. But beholding his attire, he distinguished this was no common Fae.