Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel (4 page)

She’d only fallen once on the way down the mountain. Afraid she’d break bones, Errol insisted on holding her hand like a mother would a child. They descended slowly at first, testing the condition of the ground. Satisfied no ice had formed under the snow, he walked onward, pulling her along. His big hand swallowed hers, leaving her in awe of his size and brute strength. She’d never held hands with a man before. Yes, Broc had held her wrists above her head while he’d slathered her cheeks and neck with kisses, but this felt different.

She welcomed Errol’s touch, actually liked it, even though their gloves prevented skin-on-skin contact.

“We shall rest,” he announced, stopping abruptly. “Ahead is the boulder field. I willna hold your hand through it, you’ll need to step carefully, lass. Follow my footprints precisely. And if you feel yourself tripping, use your arms for balance or to keep from tumbling headfirst into the rocks.”

Although she appreciated his fatherly concern, she still spoke her mind. “Did you forget I traveled here alone and dinna fall to my death on the way up the mountain, milord?”

“A matter of luck,” he said. “You’ll abide by what I say now—’tis for the best.”

He lowered his leather bag from his shoulder and rummaged through it before producing the cloth bundle Sgùrr had given him. He opened it.

“Dried venison, cheese, and bread. Help yourself, Aileana.”

She held her breath; was that the first time he’d ever spoken her name? She couldn’t remember exactly, but it felt special having the laird’s son use it instead of calling her
girl
or
lass.
Servants weren’t given that courtesy too often.

“Thank you,” she said, careful to leave most of the food for him.

He watched her swallow a small mouthful, and shook his head. “I’ve seen birds eat more.” He ripped the loaf in half. “Take it.”

Once they finished eating, he offered her both skins. “One is filled with wine, the other water. Drink from both.”

She respectfully did, appreciating the warmth that spread through her body from the wine. “Thank ye.”

“Aye,” he said, capping the skins and slinging them over his shoulder again. Then he stepped close, tilting her chin upward and staring deep into her eyes. “Tell me what happened the first time Broc approached you.”

He’d removed his gloves before breaking bread, and though the elements should have made his skin tingle with cold, all she felt was heat. Luxurious warmth that boiled her from the inside out. “There isn’t much to tell.” She’d rather forget his beast of a friend and focus on the man in front of her now. Somehow he soothed her fears, made her feel like everything would be all right.

“If I am going to defend your honor, lass, I must know.”

Those words snapped her out of her fantasy. “Please,” she begged. “Say nothing. I agreed to go home. Does that not satisfy you?”

“Nay.” He stepped back. “If I don’t confront Broc, what will keep him from accosting you again, and you from running back to the witch?”

“She’s not a witch!” Aileana surprised herself with how quickly she came to Sgùrr’s defense. Witches were condemned and tortured, sometimes burned by overzealous holy men. She couldn’t allow the laird’s son to think of her new friend in such a negative way. “Touched by God perhaps, but not an enchantress.”

Errol crossed his arms over his broad chest. “The holy prophets are long gone.”

“And what makes you think the good Lord didn’t replace them with seers?”

His humorless laugh unsettled her. “I forget how young you are. Dinna worry, I won’t reveal her existence to anyone. I’m indebted to the woman, God help me.”

Hours later, travel worn and hungry, Errol spurred his steed through the gates of the MacRae stronghold. Curled against his chest for warmth, Aileana shot her gaze across the bailey. In the fading sunlight, the gray stone tower reminded her of the mountains she’d just left. And the high-set window slits could be caves. Somewhere on the upper floor, maybe she’d find Sgùrr waiting, a pot of stew hanging over the fire. There would be no such comforts found here.

Errol swung down from the saddle, then raised his hands. “Come on, lass.”

Her muscles were achy and stiff, but she managed to slide into his strong arms. He set her on her feet, then left his horse with one of the stable lads. Thinking their dealings together over, she started to walk toward the kitchen. Margot and Edme would be missing her. She owed them an explanation and apology. The poor dears fussed over her too much, and she knew it would break their hearts if they found out why she ran away.

They’d never understand. Her selfish actions had not only hurt her, but the people she cared about.

“Wait.” Errol grabbed her arm from behind. “And where do you think yer going?”

She spun around. “To bed. The kitchens.” Frustrated, she waved her hands wildly. “Away from you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “What wrong have I done, lass?”

Their gazes locked, and something fluttered inside her stomach. Memories of their childhood flashed through her mind, like his curious face peeking through the trees by the loch while she undressed to take a swim. She preferred that Errol—not the stern-faced one before her now. “With your permission,” she said quietly, “I wish nothing more than to go to sleep.”

“All right,” he granted. “But don’t try to slip out in the middle of the night. A guard will be posted at your door. Come morning, dress properly to meet the laird.”

She turned away, devastated he didn’t trust her enough to stay in her room unguarded. But she had no one to blame but herself. Running away had caused enough problems, and Errol was obviously not going to risk it again. Head bowed, Aileana decided to avoid the bustle of the kitchen. The eventide meal was well under way, and if she showed her face, the women would question her and new rumors would circulate around the hall.

She followed the curve of the west wall, making her way to one of the storage rooms that opened up into a hallway with a set of circular stairs that led to the servants’ quarters. She crossed paths with no one, and couldn’t have been happier to reach her chamber door. Once inside, she lit a candle, taking comfort in the familiar surroundings. For a long moment she thought about the last two days. What little taste of freedom she’d had pleased her. It felt like she’d known Sgùrr forever.

She placed her satchel on the bed, then removed her gloves, cloak, and boots, hanging the fur on the peg next to the door. Then with great care, she stripped off the beautiful dress, folding it tenderly, and hiding it underneath the linens in the trunk at the end of her bed.

If nothing changed from this point forward, at least she’d have something precious to look at whenever she had time alone.
Dear Lord…the bag.
How could she have forgotten the treasures? Though she didn’t know why Sgùrr wanted to gift her with anything else, she hurried to the bed and opened it. Within the protective folds of animal skin, she discovered a silver necklace with a pendant shaped like a ship. She flipped it over and found
T.M.
engraved on the back.

A silver bracelet, a bag of coins, and a note were also in the bag. The missive read,
Someday you’ll remember.
Though Aileana didn’t understand, she held the note to her chest, recalling everything Sgùrr had told her in the chamber where lairds and captains met with her.

The seer had promised her father
and
mother were alive. She also said Aileana had brothers and sisters who didn’t know she existed. In time she’d uncover the truth. It had taken several painful minutes to recover from this revelation while she was in the seer’s cave. If Sgùrr sensed all that, why couldn’t she reveal her family’s name, or at least where they lived?
Impossible,
Sgùrr had said.
Give thanks for what comforts the good Lord has already provided.
Left alone in the cramped space, Aileana wept bitterly for the family she didn’t know.

Blessings came in many forms, and Aileana could only pray for Sgùrr’s safety in thanks. She laid the items out on the bed, eyeing each one speculatively. She stroked the pendant, wondering whose initials were on the back. Were the articles linked? The necklace held her attention the most, and she picked it up. She fastened the delicate clasp, staring at the miniature galley hanging between her breasts. All the clans along the coast and on the islands owned galleys. They were as common as the initials
T.M.

Too many clans lived nearby; there were thousands of men to sift through. Feeling disheartened, she tucked the pendant underneath the neckline of her shift. This is what her life would be like, tortured by endless unanswered questions. Now whenever warriors from the neighboring families visited, she’d wonder if one of them was her father. T’would have been better if she’d never met the seer.

Someone knocked on her door, and Aileana reached for the green, red, and blue tartan she used as a shawl. She covered her shoulders and cracked the door. “Who is it?”

“Open the door, lass.” Errol sounded impatient.

She stepped back, and he came through.

“Is something amiss?” she asked.

“No,” he said, finally looking at her. His appraising gaze traveled down her underdressed form, stopping on her exposed ankles and feet. “If this is how you answer the door, no wonder Broc went after you.”

She cleared her throat and tugged the ends of her plaid tight, covering her breasts as best she could. “You’re the first man to visit my room, sir. I expected Edme or Margot, maybe one of the other kitchen maids.”

“I wanted to check on you before I retired. Donnell will stand guard tonight; he’s waiting in the hall for my instructions. Did ye eat anything, lass?”

“No.”

“Shall I send one of the women up with a tray?”

Aileana couldn’t eat if she force-fed herself, especially under Errol’s continued scrutiny. Her heart raced, which made her feel weak-kneed and queasy. She shook her head. “I prefer going to bed.”

“Aye.” His expression softened then, and he reached for her hair, touching a curl. “The same color as fire,” he commented. “Enough to ignite any man’s loins.”

With tension hanging heavy in the air, he turned on his heel and left her chamber.

Errol was convinced his physical reaction to Aileana could be blamed on not bedding a woman for over a sennight. Never mind the sweet smell that lingered in her hair or those sad, wide eyes that gazed up at him whenever he spoke to her. And if he ever saw her tiny feet and ankles again…Toes were the least appealing part of a lass’s body, but he’d do most anything to see Aileana’s again.

As he rounded the stairs leading to the hall, he caught sight of Broc in the shadows. His chest tightened with anger because he knew what his friend was doing. Seducing yet another girl, while the one he swore he loved was upstairs. As soon as his feet hit the landing, Errol walked briskly toward Broc. Better put a stop to the man’s whoring until things were settled with Aileana. With a sigh, he gripped Broc’s shoulder from behind.

“Tell the
leadaidh
good night.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Broc jerked the hand off his shoulder and twisted around. “Do you have good cause to touch me—Errol?” Broc’s tone changed as soon as he recognized him. “Yer back from chasing after the lass?”

“Aye,” Errol said. “We have matters to discuss.”

“Now?”

Errol nodded.

Reluctant, his friend bid farewell to the maid, and both watched as she disappeared into the crowd gathered in the hall.

“You dinna help my cause any, brother.”

Errol regarded Broc’s bearded face. The women favored him. He could outdrink an ox and kill three men with a stroke of his sword. How many nights had the man’s grand tales caused the hall to erupt with laughter and applause? But when it came to the innocent Aileana, Errol couldn’t allow him to humiliate her. The poor lass had already suffered enough ridicule. Spending time with her had changed his perspective; she deserved respect. And as her newly avowed protector, he planned on ending Broc’s obsession with her now.

“Why would a man in love bed another woman?” Errol asked.

“Don’t judge me. I’m drunk.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the name of the lass you love?”

“Is it important?”

“Aye.” Errol held his gaze.

“Aileana told ye about us?”

“According to her, the feelings are one-sided.”

Broc dragged his knuckles across his mouth. “I’m torn between two lines of thought. My heart wants what it wants, and my loins scream for something else.”

Not experienced in love, Errol relied on the memory of the relationship his parents shared when his mother was alive. Not once had his father strayed. And when it came Errol’s time to wed, he’d show his bride the same tender courtesy, whether he loved her or not. He could feel the tension building in Broc’s body and easily recognized his annoyance.

“I must ask you to leave the girl alone.”

“You’re my future laird,” Broc stated. “And I’m sworn to protect you, but you have no right to tell me who I can fuck.”

A mere lump of earth had more sense than Broc at times. Since the man was known for his quick temper, Errol understood it would take time and patience to convince his friend to see things his way. “I’m next in line to the laird, so if I tell you to stick your cock through a goddamned hole in the wall, you’ll do it. And if yer too inebriated to think straight, we can finish our conversation in the morning.”

Broc grimaced and pounded his fist against his chest. “Sometimes excessive amounts of spirits help clarify things for me. And from where I stand, you’re challenging me for the hand of Aileana.”

Errol rolled his eyes. The bastard didn’t know when to shut his mouth. Though the burly Scotsman stood half a head taller, Errol could outfight him any day. “I can’t challenge you for the lass, because she willna have you.”

“And who decided that?”

Errol had hoped to avoid an outright confrontation. “She ran away because you tried to shove your tongue down her throat.”

Broc snorted, looking proud of himself. “Some lasses require more convincing than others.”

“And some men require a fist to understand what the word
nay
means.”

Broc stumbled dangerously close, and Errol mentally prepared for what he was sure would follow.

“She’s no lady,” Broc said. “But a bloody bastard found abandoned in the woods. No other man wants her. I should be given higher regard. I’m willing to marry her.”

“The lass doesna want you.”

“Mind your own affairs,” Broc yelled.

“Remember who you’re addressing, Broc,” Errol said in a tight voice, his composure slipping.

Broc struck awkwardly, his meaty fist missing Errol’s cheek by inches. Something snapped inside Errol and he gripped the warrior by the throat and shoved him so violently his back hit the wall. Errol could hear voices behind him, but cared little for the spectacle they were making. Being the son of the laird required meting out punishment when necessary.

Aileana was the portrait of modesty. She didn’t deserve to spend her days worrying if Broc was going to strike. And though it pained Errol to treat his best friend thusly, some lessons were best learned the hard way. He’d wager a good amount of silver that in the morning, once the effects of the ale wore off, Broc would be ashamed of himself. That’s the companion Errol loved and trusted. Not this sorry excuse for a man.

Broc struggled to free himself, landing a shot on Errol’s shoulder. He sighed and squeezed Broc’s throat tighter. “If you’ll quit squirming like an eel, I’ll let ye go.”

“Let go,” Broc choked out, “and I’ll break your wee neck.”

“Errol?”

As soon as he heard his sire’s voice, Errol flinched and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to give his da another reason to doubt his abilities as a leader. But the man lived in the past and dealt with his subjects too leniently, thinking a firm talking to and prayer could purge a man of evil. “Aye, Father?”

“What game are ye playing, lad?”

Broc chuckled, the stench of his breath enough to make Errol gag. And to think the man wanted to kiss Aileana with that mouth. It was more than Errol could bear. “It isn’t a game, Father,” he answered.

“When were you going to inform me of your return?” Laird MacRae continued to question him.

“Don’t piss yourself,” Broc taunted. “Whenever your father talks, you wilt like a tiny prick in a cold wind.”

Enough.
Errol drew his arm back and landed a cartilage-crushing blow to the nose, which knocked his friend out. Errol let go of his throat, and Broc’s gigantic frame slid down the wall. Errol turned around and found dozens of onlookers.

“I demand an explanation,” his father said.

“Not now, Da.” For the first time in Errol’s twenty-three years, he defied his father and stormed out of the keep, caring little for what people thought of him.