Reckless Scotland

by Vane, Victoria

  “I should’ve ordered Longford from the hall,” Aaron muttered.

  “Are you daft?” Niall rolled his eyes. “Brodie would’ve removed you, instead. Then, out of spite, the Englishman would’ve murdered you and Connor just as he did your father.”

  “Well, if I—”

  “Nay!” Niall roared as he straightened in his seat. His spine was as straight as an arrow. “When will you ever learn? Accept some matters for what they are—beyond your control. You cannot squander your life, wondering what might’ve happened, because ’tis already come to pass. ’Tis over and done with, Aaron. ’Tis time to move forward. You cannot lie down and concede defeat like a sullen child. Or worse, hide yourself away to assemble pieces of wood each day, merely because you’re too terrified to face your people. The same people who’ve done naught but support you and Connor for years. Saints, I understand you’ve had your fair share of hardships, but damn it, we all have.” Niall leaned closer, impaling Aaron with the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll offer you a warning. Whether you heed my words is your choice. You’re treading down a perilous path, my friend. No longer are you merely hurting yourself.”

  The truth of Niall’s words all but slapped Aaron across the cheek. The horrid whisky he’d consumed soured in his churning belly. For long moments, he could do naught but sit in mute silence, digesting the other man’s jarring speech. Bone-deep regret hammered at him from all sides. Not for the things he could not change, but rather, for the deeds he’d committed.

  Lifting a hand to rub at the mounting ache in his temple, he could not form an adequate response to spare his pathetic life. When had he allowed himself to turn into such a miserable wretch?

  Even worse, his absurd behavior reminded him of another person—someone he’d endeavored never to become—his father. The unsettling notion tolled through his head with startling clarity.

  His own selfish ignorance and arseward way of thinking had shaped him into a person he despised with a vengeance. He’d dismissed everything or shoved aside everyone who mattered most his life. Before, he’d thought himself no better than his negligent, selfish father. Now, they truly were one and the same. And, he’d allowed it to happen.

  He lowered his hand and met his friend’s waiting stare. For years, Niall had offered naught but loyal friendship, and Aaron had taken advantage of the man’s reliable nature and devotion to their clan, leaving him and Connor to hold together the crumbling pieces.

  “I have been a fool.” He owed his old friend far more than a paltry apology but ’twas all he could offer in that instant. “Niall…I’m sorry. Truly, I hope you can forgive me.”

  “I already have.” Niall shrugged. “And, I have no doubt the clan will as well once you speak to them.”

  Aaron grasped the veiled demand in the other man’s words. ’Twas a matter he’d disregarded for too long. “In truth, I’d hoped Connor might one day lead the clan.”

  “I’m well aware,” Niall stated. “You should know your brother has no wish to lead. ’Tis you who the clan looks to for guidance, as does Connor. He’s too young to accept such a burden and far less prepared than you. Aaron, you are the laird, so ’tis time for you to act like one.”

  Though the notion filled him with unease, Niall spoke the truth. Again, in his own selfishness, he’d expected to hoist the burden of leadership upon Connor’s shoulders. He’d not bothered to ask the lad his thoughts on the matter. He’d merely taken for granted his brother would lead.

  Despite his silence and absence from the hall the past year, Aaron truly cared for his clan. From afar, he’d spent his days toiling with repairs around the holding, securing the crumbling walls and faulty structures, or building furniture to replace much of what his father had sold off for a bit of coin over the years. Of course, what good would any of that do when he’d left the MacRaes struggling to keep their heads afloat amid a turbulent sea of uncertainty?

  With a shaky sigh, he raked a hand over his face. “I’ll speak with the clan on the morrow.”

  Niall nodded. “Afterward, you should speak to your brother and Lady Mairi.”

  At the mention of Connor and Mairi, Aaron dropped his pounding head against the back of the chair with a thud. Every wretched word he’d spoken to the pair in anger swarmed in his mind, bombarding him with disgust.

  Saints, how could he have been such a selfish, callous arse? ’Twas possible no amount of groveling might spare him this time.

  His friend rose from his seat, snaring Aaron’s attention. “I shall bid you a good eve. There are still a few matters that demand my attention before I seek my bed.”

  Aaron sat forward in his seat. “Why have you never spoken before now?”

  Niall snorted. “Would you have honestly listened? You never have before.”

  Nay, Aaron admitted to himself. ’Twas truth, he would’ve dismissed the man as easily as he had everything else in the past year.

  “Allow me to make another observation,” Niall said. “Whether you’re ready to admit it or not, the woman’s good for you, so cease blundering things with her, eh?”

  The droll statement wrung a chuckle from Aaron. He acknowledged the words with a grin. “You’re wise beyond your years, old friend.”

  Smirking, Niall lifted the heavy, wooden chair in one hand with ease. “’Tis good of you to notice.”

  Once he replaced the seat to its original place across the solar, Niall tipped his head at Aaron as he reached for the door latch.

  “Niall, wait,” Aaron called out before his friend managed to slip from the solar. “Thank you. For everything. How can I ever repay your loyalty and kindness?”

  ’Twas no price high enough to touch the depth of his gratitude to the man. Niall’s unwavering friendship was invaluable.

  “I’m not seeking recompense. We’re friends, Aaron. I shall always guard your back,” Niall reminded him. “Should I stray from my course, then I expect you to guard mine.”

  “You have my word,” Aaron assured. ’Twas an unbreakable vow he intended to honor.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mairi waded into consciousness with a pained moan. A pounding ache battered the inside of her skull, while her face felt as if someone had clouted her with a pile of stones. Her clogged nose forced her to draw air through her mouth which irritated her sore throat.

  So much for a sound night’s rest to cure her. She’d spent the better part of the eve tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position that enabled her to breathe.

  Flopping on her back, she cracked her bleary eyes open and flinched at the sight of Gertie’s wrinkled face looming over her. A squeal worked its way up her throat which sparked a series of a shuddering coughs.

  Oh, Sweet Mother, help her. She felt utterly wretched.

  “Why did you not send for me during the night?” Glowering her annoyance, Gertie pressed her fists into her ample waist sides.

  “I tried to tell her, Gertie.”

  Mairi shifted her head on the pillow to see Connor standing on the opposite side of the bed, wearing a look akin to worry.

  She swallowed against the scratchiness in her throat. “’Tis naught but a sniffle.”

  By the Saints, was that deep, rasping voice hers?

  “A sniffle my arse,” Gertie groused with a bob of her head. Placing a hand to Mairi’s brow, she shook her head. “You’ve a fever already.”

  Hanging on to the thread of conversation by a hair, Mairi attempted to shove off the furs, but Gertie popped her hand. “Stop that. Leave them on. The cold air shall do more harm than good.”

  With little strength to argue, Mairi dropped her arm and laid there as limp as a scrap of damp cloth. ’Twas doubtful she could manage little more at present.

  Gertie muttered some unintelligible nonsense as she rummaged through her massive medicinal bag on the side table. Procuring a sealed jar from inside, she beamed in satisfaction. “Ah, here we are.”

  Once she uncorked the small pot, Connor waved a hand in front o
f his face. “Saints, what’s that?”

  “Horehound, licorice root and yarrow.” Gertie lifted the jar to her nose and breathed in a whiff. “’Tis not that bad.”

  Either the old healer lied or had a damaged sense of smell. Mairi thanked heaven for her clogged nose. ’Twas a concoction her Aunt Elena administered to anyone ailing with a lung impairment to a simple head cold. She did not need the use of her nose to imagine the offensive odor wafting through the air.

  Gertie poured a healthy dose into a tankard of ale, then rifled through her bag for a larger jar. “We’ll add a touch of honey to help with the bitter taste.”

  If Mairi disliked the smell, then she loathed the taste. Alas, the brew would soothe her ailment and set her to rights in a day or two. At least, she hoped.

  Once Gertie stirred the ingredients, she thrust the cup in Mairi’s face. “No complaints, lass. Just drink.”

  As if she’d argue with the woman.

  Mustering her strength, she lifted her head and gripped the tankard. Tipping the cup back, she hurriedly drank the contents in long, deep gulps. Saints, she’d gladly drink another if the potion would cure her any sooner. With plans to return home as soon as possible, ’twas hardly the time for her to catch cold.

  Passing over the empty tankard, she dropped her head on the mound of pillows beneath her. Frustrated with her sickness, she silently cursed Aaron, remembering his warning the day before. Somehow, blaming him for her illness made her feel slightly better.

  “There’s a good lass.” With a nod of approval, Gertie shoved the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows. “Now, ’tis time to make a poultice. It’ll clear your lungs of congestion and open your nose right up.”

  Mairi groaned aloud. If she despised the rank smell of the potion, then she could not wait for Gertie to slather her in the thick, noxious paste.

  The healer glanced at Connor. “’Tis no place for you to be, lad.”

  “Do you not require aid?” The young man frowned in confusion.

  Pausing in her task of crushing herbs, Gertie lifted her brows to her hairline. “’Tis meant to be applied to her bare chest, Connor.”

  “Oh.” Connor’s cheeks flushed bright crimson. “Forgive me, I was not thinking.”

  If Mairi’s face and throat did not ache, she might’ve laughed at Connor’s obvious embarrassment.

  Gertie waved off his apology. “Actually, I’ve a task for you, lad.”

  Connor nodded. “Anything.”

  “Run below stairs and speak to my sister. Tell her Mairi’s ailing and we shall require a batch of her special pottage.”

  Special pottage? Why did the two words together sound ominous?

  Hesitant, Connor lingered at the bedside. “She’ll not get angry, will she?”

  Gertie wrinkled her nose. “Are you scared of Glinda?”

  “Mayhap, I am.” With a reluctant shrug, Connor admitted, “Mayhap, I’m a bit frightened of you, too. You’re both rather imposing.”

  That did yank a laugh from Mairi. Aggravating her throat, she choked on her laughter.

  Passing Mairi a tankard of water, the old woman grinned in amusement. “I vow you have naught to fear from me or my sister. Now, run along, lad. Glinda shall be pleased to offer her aid.”

  As soon as Connor swung open the door, Gertie screeched in alarm which startled Mairi. Despite the pounding in her skull, she bolted upright which caused her head to spin.

  “Calm yourself, Gertie,” Connor said. “’Tis naught but Aaron’s cat.”

  Within moments, the animal leaped on the bed and sauntered straight for Mairi, rubbing its furry head against her chin. The soft brush of affection brought a smile to her lips.

  “Shall I return the beast to Aaron?” Connor volunteered.

  “Nay.” She sniffled and wrapped a protective arm around Ash. “I believe I’ve found the perfect companion to keep me company.”

  *

  To say facing his clan did not wring a tight grip of dread around Aaron’s chest was a bold falsehood. After a quick peek inside the great hall, he blew out a harsh breath. Almost every MacRae, their numbers nearing a hundred, lined benches around trestle tables, filling their bellies with the morning meal. Fragrant scents of sweet breads and honey drifted from inside, along with the low hum of affable chatter. Lingering on the other side of the threshold, Aaron questioned what the hell he was doing.

  Despite his best efforts, one of the last times he’d entered the hall rushed to the forefront of his mind, clouding his focus. ’Twas the day Longford removed his father’s head from his shoulders. The distinct memory flashed as clear as the shallow waves in summer. Though his father’s lifeless body had unsettled him, ’twas the sight of a sword tip at his brother’s throat that had truly shaken him. The image of Connor’s terrified features had nearly crippled him.

  And now, the same mild-mannered lad that Aaron would’ve sacrificed everything for sat in the very same hall, within steps of where their father’s prone form had cooled on the stone floor. Regardless of what his brother had faced, Connor dined in the hall each day with the rest of the MacRaes, just as Aaron should’ve done. If he’d ever accused his brother of lacking strength, then he was sorely mistaken. The young man displayed more courage and respect than Aaron had of late.

  But no more. He’d wasted enough time disappointing his kin and his clan.

  Intent to honor his pledge to Niall, he vowed to face the MacRaes and move onward in the right direction. Determined, he took the first leap, stepping over the threshold and into a packed hall.

  A hush fell over the chamber, creating a deafening silence that bore in his ears with the rapid thump in his chest. His taut frame grew more rigid as every pair of eyes in the hall settled on him, wary of his sudden entrance. At once, his gaze sought out Connor.

  Seated at the high table at the front of the expansive room, his brother rose to his feet. From Connor’s lax jaw and rounded eyes, Aaron surmised his appearance surprised his brother. After their angry encounter a few days prior in the solar, ’twas astounding a scowl did not mar the lad’s features.

  Before advancing a step further, he held Connor’s stare, hoping to convey an unspoken message. ’Twas acceptance he sought. He offered a single nod and waited for a response from Connor—a signal that Aaron had not irrevocably damaged the bonds that tied them together as brothers.

  To his eternal relief, a slow smile crept over Connor’s features and he returned the gesture with a nod of his own. “Welcome back, Brother. Your absence in the hall has been sorely missed.”

  Connor’s easy reception sliced through the barrier of tension hanging thick in the air. Many of the MacRaes offered a smile or nod, relaying their silent approval. Though Aaron suspected a healthy measure of apprehension remained, ’twas to be expected. They needed time, just as he’d taken more than enough of his own.

  Nonetheless, each show of support eased the burden of guilt he frequently donned as a mantle for so long. With a lighter stride, he ventured deeper into the chamber to join his brother who sat with Niall, Gertie and Kate.

  Though, he noted the absence of one familiar face—Mairi.

  As soon as Aaron paused beside his brother, Connor pounced at him, sweeping him up in a crushing hug that pushed the air from his lungs. For a moment, he stood rooted to the floor, stunned by his brother’s embrace.

  With their heights equally matched, his brother had filled out his lean frame, shed his shyness and acquired a sharp tongue in the last year. At times, ’twas easy to forget Connor’s young age. Heedless of their audience, Aaron enfolded his kin in his arms.

  Saints, he could not remember the last time he’d offered such a show of affection to his brother.

  When they released each other, Aaron clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder. He was a big enough man to swallow his pride and admit his mistakes. “I know I’ve been an arse and, for that, I apologize.”

  The smile on his brother’s lips deepened into a wide grin. “Aye, you have. Bu
t, I’m pleased you’ve come to your senses.” Lowering in his seat, Connor motioned to the fare set out. “Come, let us break our fast.”

  “Aye, but first, there’s something else I must say.” He shifted to face the hall.

  For several long heartbeats, his gaze swept over the range of faces waiting to hear word from him. From gray, wizened elders to a handful of small children, each one of them had experienced the same grief, sorrow, and heartache as he and his brother. Yet, they’d clung to their resilience, picked up the crumbling pieces, and moved forward with their lives. As he noticed the slightest glimmer of hope in their expectant features, his behavior since his father’s death shamed him more.

  “There are no words great enough to express my regret. Too long, I’ve neglected my duties to our clan by holding my tongue and distancing myself. ’Tis truth, I allowed myself to wallow in shame and guilt for my inactions while my father was laird, and again for my misdeeds when that despicable, English dog invaded our hall.” He swallowed down his bout of nerves. “’Tis ridiculous, but I’ve permitted my own selfish folly to guide my actions for the past year and sat idly by while our clan suffered. I’ve felt as though I could never be the laird this clan truly deserves.”

  “So, what has changed?”

  Aaron peered toward the entrance of the kitchens where Glinda stood with her hands resting on her hips. With a scowl, the woman’s beady eyes scrutinized him from afar.

  After a quick glance at his brother and Niall, he lifted his chin higher and answered in truth. “I am grateful to those closest to me who helped open my eyes. They reminded me of the importance of kinship. That I could not walk this path alone. That I needed my family and I needed my clan. And, they were not mistaken.”