Claiming the Highlander (11 page)

H
ours later, as the sun set over the lush, rolling hills of the Highlands and darkness stretched across the land, Maggie stood in the small courtyard behind the kirk. The entire area was enclosed by shrubs and roses that Father Bede spent most of his days lovingly tending. And those roses smelled wonderful in the early twilight.

A solitary bench rested against the far wall and if she listened closely, she could hear the voices of the women in the nearby dormitory. Faint laughter rode the wind and brought a smile to her lips.

It was beautiful out here, and she loved her blessed Highlands. Even though the sun had descended over the farthest hill, a dapple of pink, purple and magenta played across the dark blue clouds as the first stars of the night came out to
twinkle. A pleasant chill settled on the earth and the night animals began their soft, gentle serenade.

Maggie had seen the evening descend thousands of times in her life, but never before had it struck her quite the way it did tonight. It was then she prayed that when all was said and done, she’d be back to witness another beautiful sunset from MacAllister lands.

A few weeks ago, when she had devised her plan, she’d had no idea that it would lead to this. Any more than she’d guessed Braden MacAllister would step forward to be her defender in this strange sequence of events.

He was a good man, to risk his life for her. And though he had told her he was only doing it for Anghus, she liked to think that maybe there was more to it than that.

Perhaps he would even be a little sad should something happen to her.

What a silly fool you are, thinking such thoughts. The man has better things to worry over than a plain, dowdy lass like you.

Still, Maggie dreamed. Dreamed of impossible things with a man who had stolen her heart.

But most of all, she recalled a time long ago when she had been a wee lass of seven and had first given her heart over to her hero….

“Help, save me!”
she had screamed as she ran through the great hall of the laird’s donjon as fast as her wee legs could carry her. The clip-clopping
of her shoes echoed loudly and was silenced only by her fearful shouts.

She had to get away. She had to escape before the great, angry beastie on her heels overtook her.

“He’s going to kill me for sure,” she shouted as she looked about for someone to deliver her from Satan’s dreadful spawn. “Please, please don’t let me die. I’m just a tiny bairn, too young to die yet.”

“No one’s going to save you from me,” the demon snarled. “So you might as well stop running, so I can kill you right proper.”

Maggie gulped in fear and ran even faster. Where were all the grown-ups?

Where was her da?

Terrified, she glanced over her shoulder to see her twin brother Ian closing in on her.

“Help m—”

Maggie didn’t get a chance to finish the word. Out of nowhere two arms appeared to wrap around her. She thought her father had finally come to her rescue until she realized her rescuer was only slightly taller than she, and her unexpected weight had knocked him off balance.

Falling to the right, she and her savior ended up careening toward one of the castle’s wall hangings, becoming entangled in it, then landing with a solid thump on the floor. A loud rending of fabric filled her ears as the tapestry was torn from its rod and came fluttering down around them.

The rich, red fustian cloth covered her completely.
Maggie tried to pry the fabric loose, but she was hopelessly trapped in it. Worse, her movements unsettled the dust and she began sneezing repeatedly.

This was no good, no good at all! She could hear Ian’s breathing just a hair away from her. And if he laid hands on her, she was certain her young life would be over.

“Get out of there, you fishwife,” Ian snarled as he pulled at the fabric, trying to get to her.

“I’m not a fish’s wife,” she shouted back. “I’m too young to be married, and I don’t like fish.”

From the depth of the fabric, a musical laugh filled her ears. “I doubt if either of you even knows what a fishwife is,” the voice said.

In an instant, she recognized her savior. Her heart stopping, Maggie widened her eyes at the voice of the laird’s youngest son.

Good heavens, she was sitting on top of Braden MacAllister!

Again.

Scrambling to get up, she accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and kneed him in the side. He groaned, then captured her arm in his hand.

“Easy, now, lass,” he said softly. “Let me get us out of here afore you damage me any further.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to kill you.”

“I’m not dead yet,” he said, laughing again. “Though I’m beginning to suspect being around you might be hazardous to a lad’s health.”

Maggie bit her lip as she remembered the last time they had met, just a sennight ago. She’d been up a tree gathering apples when Braden and her brother Jamie had come along. She’d overreached her balance and had toppled out of the tree directly onto poor Braden’s head.

Jamie had called her rotten fruit ever since and had warned her to keep a fair distance from the laird’s son afore she killed him.

She’d tried to do as Jamie had asked, for she liked Braden a great deal. He often brought her small trinkets when he came to visit her brothers Jamie and Anghus, and unlike her brothers, he never tried to truss her up or make her eat worms or other despicable things.

With a few tugs, Braden managed to uncover the two of them.

The first thing Maggie saw was Ian’s enraged face as he lunged for her.

Shrieking, she started to run, but Braden caught her to his side with one hand, while he held Ian back with the other.

“Here, now,” he said to them. “What is all this about?”

Ian held up his toy horse, which had only three legs. “She broke my horse and I’m going to break her head for it.”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Maggie quickly defended herself. “I told you it was an accident. I fell with it because you were trying to hit me.”

“I wouldn’t have been trying to hit you had
you not been playing with it, you reeky, mouse-eaten cotquean!”

Braden threw his head back and laughed mightily. “Cotquean?” he asked Ian. “Lad, do you even ken the word?”

Ian poked his lip out. “Aye, me da uses it all the time.”

“And it means?”

“Faint-livered.”

Braden shook his head. “How old are you now, Ian?”

“Seven, same as
her.”
He sneered the word as if Maggie were the lowest of the low.

“Well, then, for future insults, you should know cotquean is a man who does women’s work, and so is hardly fit for insulting your wee sister.”

“Oh,” Ian said sullenly. “She’s still mouse-eaten, though.”

“I’m not mouse-eaten,” Maggie said. “You toad’s pizzle.”

Braden choked on her insult. “Where on God’s precious soil have the two of you been, to pick up such language?”

“Me older brothers, mostly,” Maggie said.

“Someone should have a talk with Jamie and Anghus,” Braden said as he handed the horse back to Ian. “I tell you what, Ian MacBlar, I have a painted horse in my bower. If I give it to you, do you promise to leave your sister alone?”

“Only if she promises not to touch it.” His glare intensified as he stared at her. “Ever.”

Maggie pursed her lips and felt tears prick at her eyes at his words. She wasn’t a bad girl, and she never meant to hurt his toy. “It’s not my fault. I only wanted to hold it.”

She looked up at Braden. “They never let me play with their toys. And since our mother died last winter I haven’t had anything new to play with at all.”

“It’s because you’re a girl,” Ian spat the word. “Girls don’t play with horses. Girls don’t deserve them.”

Maggie reached to strike him, but Braden caught her again.

“You know, Ian,” he said to her brother, “you should take more care with Maggie. Sisters are special treasures.”

“How would you know? You’ve only got brothers.”

“That’s how I know. If I had such a special little blossom for a sister, I would take care of her. Watch after her.”

Ian sneered. “Then you can have her. Just give me the horse and she’s yours.”

Maggie looked up at Braden as a tear fell down her cheek. “I don’t want to be a pest,” she said to him. “I just want to play with them, but they think I’m no fun. They say I can’t play anything because I’m a girl.” More tears fell. “I hate being a girl. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”

Braden drew her into a tight hug. “There, now, little blossom. There’s nothing wrong with being
a lass. The good Lord made you what you are, and one day your brothers will come to realize just what a special gift they’ve been given.”

For the first time in her seven years of living, she believed that. If Braden liked her, she couldn’t be all bad, could she?

Her brothers were just mean.

“What are the two of you doing in here?” Her father’s angry tone split the air.

Maggie pulled away from Braden to see her father’s irate face.

Her father stalked toward them and took her hand, then reached for Ian. “I thought I told the two of you to stay in the wagon until I finished my business with the laird.”

Maggie swallowed. There would be a beating for this, to be sure. And all because she’d wanted to play for a few seconds instead of sitting in the stinky old wagon.

Life was just so terribly unfair!

Her father apologized to Braden, then quickly returned them to the yard where their wagon waited.

Maggie scurried up the back of the empty wagon and took a seat on the remnants of hay while Ian settled up front. Her da left them with a dire warning should either of them move again.

Her heart heavy, she tucked her feet beneath her dirty saffron kirtle and watched her father disappear into the stable.

Oh, what a wretched, awful day. Why couldn’t
she ever listen to what her da told her? Perhaps Anghus was right after all. She did have a demon in her.

Sighing, she kept her head sedately bowed and studied her folded hands, and prayed that her da wouldn’t be overly harsh with his beating.

A few minutes later, a painted horse appeared just before her teary eyes.

Gasping, she looked up to see Braden’s wonderful, ten-year-old face smiling at her.

“I named him Connor,” he told her, “but he said he’d like to play with a wee lass for a bit. He thinks a lass would be more fun than playing with a mean old boy.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she breathed, cradling the horse to her chest. It was painted a deep rich brown with great big black eyes. Never had she seen anything more incredibly beautiful. “I’ll take good care of him for you.”

Braden nodded, then handed Ian a white one. “Remember your promise, Ian. You can’t kill your sister.”

“Can I hit her, then?”

“If you do, I’m taking the horse back.”

“Oh, all right,” Ian said huffily.

Maggie watched as Braden left them and in that instant she realized she loved the young lord.

He was her hero.

Clutching the horse tightly in her hands, she vowed that one day she wouldn’t be a fish’s wife. One day she would be…

One day, she would be Braden MacAllister’s wife.

Maggie smiled at the memory.

Fifteen years had passed since that day, and yet in some ways it seemed like yesterday.

So much had happened to her and Braden since then. So many things had come between them, and her promise to marry him.

Of course, most of those
things
were other women. Women like the tall, beautiful Nera, who had caught Braden’s eye when he turned ten-and-five.

But how she missed those days of childhood when she would go fishing or swimming with Braden and her brothers.

How she wished she could go back for just a moment to when her life was simple.

“Are you ready, then?”

Maggie jumped at Braden’s voice behind her. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t even heard his approach.

She pushed her reminiscing to the back of her mind as she turned to face him. “I was but waiting on you.”

Standing beside the dark kirk with a pack thrown over his shoulder, he was incredibly handsome. The fading light played across his face, which made the angles of his cheeks even more pronounced than normal. Even so, it in no way detracted from the perfection of his tanned face.

At that moment, she wished she were his feminine
equal. That she was as perfectly formed as he, with long ebony tresses and creamy skin unblemished by freckles.

If she were, then perhaps …

Maggie pushed the thought aside. She was what she was and there was no help for it.

Banishing her wishful thinking, she picked her own pack up from the ground at her feet and went to stand beside him.

Braden assessed her as she drew near. Never before, in deference to his friendship with Anghus, had he paid her much notice. But tonight, he saw her in a way he’d never seen her before. As a woman.

With her breasts flattened down to make her look more mannish, she reminded him of some fey creature caught between childhood and womanhood. She’d even added girth to her waist.

Even so, he vividly recalled the luscious curves of her body.

Her breasts were just the perfect size to fit into a man’s hand, and though her waist wasn’t fashionably narrow, it was thin enough to be pleasing, and shapely enough to be all woman.

A tiny smile hovered at the edges of his lips as he dipped his gaze down the red and black plaid she wore draped over her. Like his, it stopped just above her knees and showed her legs off quite nicely.

And what attractive legs she had. Strong and
curvy. He could just imagine running his hand down over the smooth skin, tasting the strength of those legs with his tongue as he trailed it along the curve of her calf, to the back of her thighs, and then higher, to her …

He paused at the thought.

With a curse, Braden realized no one could ever mistake
those
legs for a man’s.

“What is it?” she asked.

Braden gestured toward her. “Your legs.”

Her eyes narrowed in warning an instant before she matched his curse with one of her own. “I am not a chicken!” she snapped with such rancor that it took him aback.