The Laird's Return: A Highland Festive Romance Novella (The Immortal Highland Centurions)

by Jayne Castel

  After David’s death, Gavina had forfeited her position as laird by wedding Draco—but she hardly seemed to care.

  “She was as upset as the rest of us,” Donnan replied. “And she didn’t shed a tear when news of Irvine’s death reached us.”

  Robert leaned back in his chair and took a sip of mead. “How did the bastard die?”

  The steward’s mouth curved into a humorless smile. He’d aged a lot since Robert had seen him last, his once brown hair almost entirely grey. However, his gaze was as sharp as ever. “They say it was a hunting accident.”

  Robert cocked an eyebrow, encouraging the steward to continue.

  Donnan cast him a sly look. “It was well known that the Wallace wanted his guts. After William left Dunnottar … I’d wager he paid Irvine a wee visit at Drum Castle.”

  Robert took this news in before he smiled. “We have much to thank the Wallace for, it seems.”

  Indeed, the Wallace had come to their aid years earlier—when the English had taken the stronghold. He’d burned the English garrison to death in the chapel—and the walls of it still bore char marks. However, when he’d eventually chosen Dunnottar as his hiding place, he’d brought Edward of England’s wrath down upon them all.

  Robert’s smile faded. They were both dead now—William Wallace and ‘The Hammer of the Scots’—but the turmoil that had plagued this land for years now hadn’t died with them. Edward’s son was proving to be as problematic as his father had been.

  Loosing a deep breath, Robert met the steward’s eye once more. “God’s teeth, Donnan … why do I suddenly feel weary of it all?” He pulled a face. “I think I’m getting old.”

  Donnan snorted. “Ye are still a pup compared to an old hound like me.” His gaze searched Robert’s face. “Ye have just suffered a lot … and it will take time for ye to feel yer old self again.”

  Robert looked away, at where the hearth crackled and popped, casting a warm embrace over them both.

  Maybe Donnan was right. He expected much of himself, and of Elizabeth. He needed to leave his past resentments and hurts behind—or he would never find the peace that currently eluded him.

  Elizabeth deserved better than the bitter husk that had returned to her.

  “Are ye not happy to have Rob home?”

  Gavina’s question hit Elizabeth in the breast like a well-aimed quarrel. She paused her work on the holly-wreath she was fashioning and glanced up. “Of course I am.”

  Even to her, the words seemed forced.

  And of course, Gavina wasn’t fooled. “Ye don’t look pleased,” she observed, reaching for a length of red ribbon to tie on the wreath she was making.

  The two women sat near the hearth in the women’s solar—hard at work on Yuletide decorations. The ‘Long Night’ was swiftly approaching.

  There were still many preparations to be made, and Elizabeth was glad of it, for the tasks took her mind off her churning belly and her memory of that searing kiss she’d shared with Robert the day before. She’d avoided him ever since, but the time was coming when they’d have to speak again.

  She was dreading it.

  Elizabeth heaved in a deep breath. “I’ve never been able to hide much from ye, have I?”

  Gavina’s mouth curved. “Nor I ye … that’s why we are as close as sisters.”

  Their gazes met, and warmth seeped through Elizabeth. She had two younger sisters, but she hadn’t seen either in years, and they’d never been close as bairns. Gavina didn’t have any sisters—and had only been cursed with a treacherous elder brother. During Gavina’s first years at Dunnottar, the women’s relationship had been pleasant but interlaced by formality—they’d been sisters-by-marriage rather than friends. But the years had forged a bond between them, and once Gavina wed Draco, it was impossible not to be drawn to the happiness that emanated from her.

  The door to the women’s solar opened then, and two pretty brown-haired women hurried in. One had smoke-grey eyes and a slender build, while the other possessed grey-green eyes and lush curves.

  Aila Gaius and Heather Cato—the steward’s daughters. These days, Aila was wed to the Captain of the Dunnottar Guard, while Heather now lived with her husband and two daughters in nearby Stonehaven.

  The sisters carried large baskets filled with ivy, mistletoe, pine sprigs, and holly. Their faces were flushed with cold as they hurried toward Elizabeth and Gavina.

  “Sorry, we’re late,” Aila gasped. “Callum had a tumble in the snow this morning … it took me a while to calm him.”

  Gavina frowned at this news. “Did he hurt himself?”

  Aila shook her head. “Just a fat lip and bruised pride. His brother won’t stop tormenting him over it.”

  Despite her low mood, Elizabeth found herself smiling. Callum and Duncan, born just eighteen months apart, were both tempests, despite that they were only aged four and six.

  “It took me an age to get here from Stonehaven this morning,” Heather announced, taking her place at the table. She then started to pull out the various items she’d collected for wreath-making. “The snow’s deep for this time of year … it was up to my knees in places.”

  “Here.” Elizabeth passed Heather a cup of warmed mead. “This should make the blood return to yer toes.”

  Heather grinned back at her, before she wrapped her pale fingers around the cup, lifting it to her lips.

  Elizabeth watched her, her mood lifting just a little. Heather and Aila were such vibrant company, although now that Heather had moved out of the castle, they didn’t see as much of her as previously.

  Aila set down her basket on the table and took a seat. Her gaze flicked from Gavina to Elizabeth, where it rested. “How is Robert settling back in?”

  Elizabeth tensed. She’d been relieved to have her conversation with Gavina interrupted—she really didn’t want to answer questions about Robert at present.

  Sensing Elizabeth’s mood, Aila’s expression clouded. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Elizabeth lied. Heather was now watching her, a groove etched between her brows. “It’s just taking a bit of getting used to … having my husband home again.”

  “It must feel … strange,” Aila agreed. Her expression turned speculative then, and Elizabeth realized that Cassian had likely told her about the incident in the lower ward bailey.

  “It does,” Elizabeth replied, heaviness settling upon her. “We aren’t the same people we once were … and we’re both struggling to come to terms with that.”

  VII

  DECORATING THE HALL

  GAVINA KNOCKED GENTLY on the door. “Come in,” Father Finlay’s voice greeted her. She pushed the door open to find two figures bent over an open book seated near a glowing hearth. Robbie was haltingly reading out verb conjugations in French, while the chaplain patiently corrected him.

  Robbie glanced up. Usually, if Elizabeth interrupted his lessons with the chaplain, her son favored her with a beaming smile. The lad found hours of Latin and French drills tedious and was always looking for an escape.

  This afternoon though, his gaze was wary.

  Elizabeth had seen little of him since the incident in the lower ward bailey the day before.

  If she hadn’t known better, she’d think her son was avoiding her.

  “I need yer help in the hall,” she greeted her son with a smile before shifting her attention to Father Finlay. “Can I steal Robbie away a little early, Father?”

  Did she imagine it, or did relief flare in the chaplain’s dark eyes? Robbie was a challenging student at the best of times—and since his father’s return to Dunnottar, the lad was understandably distracted. “As luck would have it, we were about to conclude our lessons for the day, My Lady.” Father Finlay deftly closed the book Robbie had been reciting from. “Off ye go, lad.”

  Robbie nodded and rose to his feet. However, he hardly looked joyful at being let away early. Wordlessly, he followed his mother from the chamber.

  Elizabeth led the way down
the stairs to the long gallery below that would take them to Dunnottar’s hall. Finally, when the silence between them drew out, she cut him a glance. “Are ye angry with me, Robbie?”

  “No, Ma,” he replied quickly—too quickly.

  “Ye wish I hadn’t interceded yesterday?”

  A silence followed, and it was only when the oaken doors to the hall loomed ahead that her son answered. “Ye made a fuss about nothing, Ma … we were only sparring.”

  Elizabeth’s spine stiffened. Was that what everyone looking on thought too—that she was an overbearing wife and over-protective mother?

  “He’s three times yer size, Robbie,” she replied, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. “Ye are too young to spar with a blade.”

  “But it’s made of wood,” the lad burst out. “And father … Da … says that he learned how to wield a sword when he was younger than me.”

  Elizabeth’s jaw tightened. Why didn’t that comment surprise her? Robert had been brought up to be a warrior—and he wanted his son to follow him. They were all warriors, the De Keith men.

  Pushing open the doors to the hall, Elizabeth led the way inside. Earlier in the day, the hall had been a flurry of activity as servants decorated the long tables with wreaths of holly and pine. The resinous scent of pine now filled the air, blending with the pungent smell of peat-smoke drifting from the fire.

  Not replying to Robbie’s earlier comment, Elizabeth motioned to the ladder leaning against one wall. “I need someone young and agile to hang mistletoe and ivy from the rafters.”

  Her son nodded, his expression now earnest.

  Elizabeth’s chest constricted.

  Robbie was a good lad—and he always tried so hard to please her. Robert, curse him, was right when he’d accused her of cossetting the lad.

  He was all she had. For years now, it had been her and Robbie against the world.

  The thought of any harm befalling him made her break out in a cold sweat.

  Forcing down her anxiety, Elizabeth passed her son a basket of mistletoe and flashed him a smile. “Up ye go then … I’ll hold the ladder.”

  Heavy oaken beams, blackened with smoke from the fire, hung overhead.

  Elizabeth held the ladder tight while Robbie scaled it, racing up like a squirrel.

  “There are hooks up there,” she called to him. “Just hook the mistletoe over them.”

  Her son did as bid, finishing the task in moments. He then slid down the ladder, a grin plastered on his face.

  Why was it that lads loved to climb and teeter from great heights? At the same age, Elizabeth had been content to play with her poppets and embroider pillowcases. It seemed that from the moment they could walk, lads went looking for danger. Elizabeth wanted to protect him from it, but she knew the day was swiftly coming when she couldn’t.

  They shifted the ladder to the next beam, and Robbie scaled the ladder once more—this time with a basket of ivy.

  He’d just started to hang it when the doors to the hall opened and a tall man strode inside.

  Elizabeth’s grip on the ladder tightened at the sight of her husband walking toward her.

  Curse him, but Robert drew her eye as much as he ever had. Dressed in leather braies and a velvet lèine, a snowy ermine stole around his shoulders with his brown hair spilling over it, he looked every inch the laird.

  “Da!” Robbie called out.

  Something twisted in Elizabeth’s chest. The eagerness in Robbie’s voice caused a strange jealousy to rise inside her. All these years taking care of her son, raising him, and his father only had to walk back into his life to alter their relationship forever.

  Robbie had appeared cowed after being trounced by his father in the lower ward bailey—Elizabeth had expected the incident would make him wary around his father, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

  “Making yerself useful I see,” Robert greeted his son. “Good lad.”

  “Aye … Ma doesn’t want to climb the ladder,” Robbie replied. “So I’m hanging the decorations instead.”

  Robert smiled—and Elizabeth caught her breath. It was the first real smile she’d seen since his return.

  A pity then that it wasn’t for her.

  “Just one more beam should do it,” Elizabeth told Robbie. Her voice had a brittle note to it—but she couldn’t help herself.

  She’d been enjoying having her son’s full attention. But the moment his father walked into the hall, she was all but forgotten.

  “Aye, Ma … shall I hang up some fir boughs on this one?”

  “Go on then.”

  Robert stopped a few yards away, watching silently as Robbie finished his task.

  When the lad slid back down to the floor, empty basket in hand, Robert glanced around, taking in his surroundings. “I’d forgotten how grand this hall is,” he murmured. His gaze went to the De Keith banner hanging over the hearth and the motto inscribed there: Veritas Vincit—Truth prevails.

  Elizabeth saw his gaze rest there, and noted how his handsome features tensed.

  Did truth always conquer all? Elizabeth had been brutally honest with him in the armory—but it hadn’t cleared the air between them. Instead, it had created a gulf.

  “I like the smell of Yuletide, Robbie announced. “It’s like standing in a pine-thicket.”

  Robert tore his gaze from the banner. “Aye, lad … do ye fancy a ride out tomorrow if the weather clears a little? We can see if we can flush out some deer in the woods north of here.”

  Robbie’s face lit up like a candle. “Aye, Da!”

  Robert approached the lad then, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, he reached out and ruffled Robbie’s hair. It was the first gesture of affection toward his son she’d seen since his return. Perhaps their altercation the day before had made him think on things?

  Even so, Robert’s suggestion made Elizabeth tense. Heather had said the snow was deep; she didn’t want Robbie to hurt himself.

  “Run along now, lad,” Robert continued with another smile. “I wish to have a word with yer Ma.”

  “Can we all have supper together today?” Robbie asked, the hope in his voice almost painful. The lad had clearly gotten over his bashfulness in regard to his father.

  Being knocked flat on his back by the man had shattered Robbie’s reserve.

  Elizabeth’s mouth thinned. Sometimes she didn’t understand males at all.

  “Aye … that sounds like a fine idea,” Robert replied, still smiling. “Ye can join us in my solar.”

  With a hurried ‘goodbye’ to Elizabeth, Robbie rushed off, the hall doors thudding shut behind him.

  Silence followed as Robert’s gaze settled upon her.

  “Ye have clearly impressed someone,” she said, inwardly cringing at the bitter edge to her voice.

  Robert’s mouth curved. “Aye … but not ye it seems.”

  He approached her then.

  Elizabeth stood her ground, although the memory of what had passed between them last time he’d moved close, of the passionate kiss they’d shared, made her pulse quicken.

  “The snow’s too deep to take a bairn out riding,” she said after a pause.

  Robert made an irritated sound at the back of his throat. “God’s teeth, woman, the lad longs for some adventure.” His gaze fused with hers. “Sooner or later, ye are going to have to let him grow up.”

  Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath. “He’s still a bairn, Rob. Don’t wish these years away … once they’re gone, they’re gone forever.”

  He snorted. “Taking the lad out on a ride isn’t going to catapult him into manhood.” He moved in closer still, towering over her now. And when he spoke again, his tone had softened. “I’ll not take him from ye, Liz. A son needs a father, that’s all.”

  Elizabeth held his gaze, her throat thickening. Damn him, but the man had read her too well. He’d always done so in the past, yet the detached stranger who’d returned to her had appeared incapable of such empathy.

  But as she stared i
nto his eyes, Elizabeth wondered if some of the man she’d once loved still remained.

  VIII

  STARTING AFRESH

  “CAN YE PASS me the bread, Robbie?” Elizabeth’s request broke the tense silence in the laird’s solar.

  The three of them sat at the huge polished table—a light supper of braised cabbage, goat’s cheese, and fresh oaten bread before them. In the days leading up to Yule, the folk of Dunnottar avoided meat and ate simply, in preparation for the feasting that was to follow.

  The roaring hearth cut through a cold evening. Outdoors the snow had ceased for a while, although a biting wind had sprung up, whistling in from the frozen north. It rattled the shutters and pushed its way in through any gaps it could find, causing a draft that made the flames in the hearth dance.

  Robbie did as bid, his gaze shifting to his father though. “Captain Gaius chose a pony for me last summer … he’s a garron named ‘Hunter’.”

  At the far end of the table, the laird smiled before lifting his pewter goblet to his lips. “A fine name for a pony.”

  “He’s hardy,” Robbie assured his father. “A wee bit of snow won’t bother Hunter.”

  “Even so … if there’s a blizzard, ye won’t be riding out in it.” Elizabeth spoke up, only to earn a reproachful look from her son. She didn’t like the role she’d unconsciously stepped into since her husband’s reappearance—that of watchdog. However, the words of censure flew from her mouth before she could prevent herself.

  With a jolt, she realized that part of her sought to undermine Robert.

  She’d been in charge here until two days ago, and although the responsibilities of laird had weighed upon her at times, she realized now that the power was hard to give up. She was supposed to revert to the role she’d had before Robert’s capture—that of biddable wife.