Highlander’s Twisted Identity (Highlanders 0f Clan Craig Book 2)

by Shona Thompson

  Wallace battled hard against his feelings, trying instead to concentrate on the task ahead.

  “Freya!” he gasped, pulling his tatty neckerchief around his mouth.

  “Help me! What are ye doing?” she yelled back. “I’m burning tae death here!”

  Knowing he had to act fast, Wallace launched the contents of one of his boots straight at her. Then, without waiting for her reaction, he unfurled the next one. He did not stop until the worst of the flames were under control.

  Drops of ice-cold spring water landed on the burning tree nearest to Freya’s person. Instantly, it put out the biggest flame with a satisfying hiss. Other droplets slowly assuaged the sparks dancing in the embers. Although the tree nearest to her still burned, there now was a suitable passage free for Freya to move out of danger.

  “Come on lassie,” cried Wallace impatiently as Freya just stood there. As he stared into her eyes, he noticed a faraway look coming into them.

  “Now!” he urged.

  But Freya did not budge. It was as if her feet were mired in clay, stuck fast on the small yellowing ring of grass at the center of the flames. It seemed the girl was in a stupor. Then, without any apparent warning, she swayed, suddenly flopping straight into his arms.

  Unprepared, Wallace found himself grappling with the girl, whose swoon threatened to send her headfirst into a burning tree. He fought to get her away from the flames, then gently, but quickly, walked her out of danger. As he walked, her soft head nodded forwards onto his shoulder. Her wavy hair caressed his face like silk.

  “Freya?” he said softly, as the dazed girl staggered out of the fire. It had been a long time, but it was unmistakably her; the same crazy, wild girl from that windswept day in the clanless lands all those years ago.

  As she lay there, a rush of something unexpected coursed through his veins. She was the same, but somehow different from the wee girl he recalled. Unconscious in his open arms was a beautiful and intoxicating young woman.

  Then Freya half-opened her eyes, “Da?” she asked, confused.

  These certainly weren’t the words that Wallace had hoped to hear. Leading the bedraggled girl from the burning foliage to safety, he smiled slowly.

  “Nae, it’s Wallace. You were in a swoon… maybe ye dinnae remember me?” he said gently.

  In an attempt to bring her around, he splashed her slightly with the remainder of some of the water he still had in the bottom of his boot.

  The girl gave a start. Then she finally caught glimpse of him and caught her breath. “You?” she said, her bright green eyes full of recognition. “Wallace?”

  Freya’s heart skipped a beat as she realized who she had been staring at. Flustered, she snapped at him.

  “Well I’m nae in a swoon now, so ye can stop!” she said briskly.

  Wallace had been preparing to throw another boot of water over her. He stopped abruptly, his expression seeming to change.

  “Alright. Dinnae fash,” he said coolly. It was as if something inside him had just gone off, rendering him distant and strange. “I’ll nae bother ye any longer. I’ll be out of yer way soon enough!” he said, backing off.

  Freya blinked unsurely. She had only come up to the clanless zone because her father had set Robbie and Brodie to follow her in secret. Unfortunately for them, they were about as subtle as elephants. Several miles back, as they snoozed in the midday sun, their snores had alerted her.

  She gazed at Wallace, and the intense fire burning in his cheeks. It had been five years since she had last seen him. Frustratingly, her father had done a very good job of keeping her away from the clanless. But now, on her very first hunt alone, she had found him!

  Despite herself, Freya felt a shiver of excitement go up and down her spine at the sight of the lad. But as she looked into his brown eyes, he turned away, suddenly entranced by the spring.

  Her eyes invited him, inquiringly, to look at her. But maddeningly, he did not. It was as if he did not want to look into her eyes. Hurt, she dropped her gaze. Then she tried another tack.

  “So, did ye see them?” she said, watching him intently as he battled the smoldering foliage.

  It was a wonder that his icy demeanor wasn’t enough to wipe out the burning embers all by itself. But despite his haughty looks, Freya caught him looking over at her whenever he thought she wasn’t watching. As soon as she returned his gaze, he would turn away, quickly busying himself in his task.

  In the heat, Wallace had stripped down to a simple léine and kilt, his bare legs uncovered. Freya could not help notice his sturdy frame and muscular legs. But however hard she tried, he just would not return her gaze. Perplexed, Freya cleared her throat.

  “So, ah, did ye see anything of what happened from down there?”

  “Happened? What do ye mean?” asked Wallace in confusion. As he scooped water out of the burn something caught his eye. Leaning down, he peered in closer, jabbing at the yellowing grasses with his red forefinger. Nestling beneath a clod of dry earth was a small, shiny oblong. He quickly dug it out, running his index finger along its smooth sides curiously. Then, before she could see, he pocketed it, his mind racing.

  “Well, did ye see anyone, how it happened?” repeated Freya curiously. Now she stood behind Wallace, her jade eyes dancing like stars. They met with Wallace’s own at long last, and there was a slight pause. “I thought ye might have done…”

  “What are ye sayin’?” asked Wallace, scratching his head.

  Freya sighed. “Tis naught. I just thought ye might have seen who did this?” she asked. “Tis nae bother if ye didnae…”

  “Do ye mean that there was nae fire when ye went up there?” he asked, perplexed. This wasn’t really a conversation he wanted to be having.

  “Well of course there wasnae!” retorted Freya, exasperated. “What do ye take me for? As if I would rush into the middle of a wood that was alight!”

  Wallace took a moment as he tried to take in the full implications of what his mother had done. Silently, he cursed Nora.

  “So, ye’re saying someone did this tae ye?” he said slowly, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

  “Aye,” said Freya. “There were some men moving away as I came up. But then they’d gone…did ye see them?”

  Wallace shook his head. “It doesnae make sense why anybody would do that…” he said, hoping to convince her.

  “Och, but it does, ye see,” replied Freya. She was now sitting straight up, having recovered her poise, her porcelain white skin clear and radiant. Wallace’s eye lingered on the tender lines of her neck for longer than it should have, then abruptly turned away, flustered.

  “There are many folks who dinnae want the Laird of Craig poking about in their place, isnae there?” she said pertinently to Wallace. As she spoke, her eyebrows arched sublimely.

  “I think tis more like just a summer fire,” said Wallace hopefully. “They dae sometimes happen when it’s warm enough!”

  “Aye but…it wasnae there a moment ago!” she protested. “It was tae quick for that! So are ye sure ye dinnae see it?” she asked a little more keenly. This time making eye contact with the reluctant lad.

  “You think I had something to do wi’ it?” he said defensively. Guilt poured into his heart. This was all much harder than he had anticipated.

  Freya laughed. “Nae, not ye,” then she turned serious. “Really, dinnae fash.” Now the girl was looking about her, gradually getting her bearings straight.

  “Because I can swear that ah wouldnae…” began Wallace hotly, before stopping himself.

  Freya looked at him, to go on. But he couldn’t. It was as if the words he had been about to speak had got stuck down in his throat.

  “What is it?” asked Freya breathlessly. She could see a look of horror creep across Wallace’s face. “You look like ye’ve seen a ghost!”

  Wallace did look rather green. In fact, he had been on edge ever since putting out the fire. Freya looked at him as if he were holding something back fr
om her.

  “So, what brought ye up here, in the midday heat?” she finally said, her piercing eyes locked into his. Try as he might, Wallace could not shake her off. A hot cocktail of shame and pride made him bark a little more harshly than he would have liked.

  “Well, I could ask the same tae ye. What on earth made ye come out of here in this weather? Yer hardly built for it, are ye?”

  He hurled the words accusingly at Freya, who stood there just for a minute looking completely bewildered.

  Almost immediately, he regretted his sharp words. But then, true to form, Freya came back at him.

  “Ye call me not built for this weather? Have ye ever seen yersel’ in a looking glass? Ye look like a hog roast!” she retorted.

  Wallace had been trying his best to disengage from the girl’s gaze and get back down the hill. But the sound of her voice, so light and mocking, stopped him dead. He turned to look.

  “What did ye call me?” he asked. He was trying to sound tough, but as he looked at her, his resolve melted instantly. “Och, well, I saw a maiden burning to death, so ye should be glad I did!” he said, but it was hard for him to keep the slither of ice in his voice.

  “Aye, an’ I’m grateful for that, too,” said Freya, her tone softening. So much had happened this morning; the heat, the fire, and now finding Wallace again. With the energy of the sun beating down on her from above, Freya felt her strength waning. She fanned herself a little and gave a sigh.

  “Listen, lass, I ought tae gae,” Wallace muttered, pulling away from her. He was cradling something in the palm of his hand which Freya could not see. But as she turned to look, he winked the small metal oblong back into his slightly shabby sporran.

  “What’s that?” asked Freya, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

  “Nothing ye need to ken,” retorted Wallace a tad sharply. There was a slight silence, in which he could feel the glare of her gaze tipping out into his already too warm face. Wallace shifted his weight from leg to leg, as Freya watched him.

  “Hey, Wallace?” she called. He was one second from walking, but his name on her lips ensnared him. Reluctantly, he turned on his heel to look.

  “Where were ye headed? Maybe I could gae part of the way wi’ ye?” she said sweetly. “We could gae back tae yer village an’…”

  “Nae,” he said, looking down. Freya wrinkled her forehead and looked into his heated face. Wallace looked thoughtful.

  “What is it?” she asked softly. “If it was because I laughed at yer sunburn, then I’ll nae do it again!” she promised.

  “Nae, tisnae that,” said Wallace, disengaging from her inquisitive stare. “It’s just, ah, I dinnae live there anymore,” he said, with a quick glance to her.

  “Ye dinnae? Why not?” she said, intrigued.

  “Och. It’s a long story,” he said, flashing his eyes at her when he thought that she wasn’t looking.

  “Well, I’ve got all day!” said Freya, not budging.

  “Well, I havenae!” Wallace said, and with that he turned about and began making to walk in the opposite direction, picking up speed as he did.

  “Hey, Wallace?” called Freya, from the distance, watching his bright ginger head disappear into the burning sun. She was about to reluctantly pick up her flask and head back to the keep when she stood on something.

  Beneath her soft leather slippers was something both hard and smooth; if she had been wearing her riding boots, she might not have even noticed it, the small leather oblong beneath her feet. Scooping down, she picked up the obstruction until she had a rough-looking sporran in the palm of her hands. With her index finger, she traced the outline of the small oblong box within it. The leather purse was so worn and cracked that it was a wonder that the thing had not fallen out.

  For just a moment, Freya hesitated. An overwhelming curiosity overcame her to look within the frayed pocket to see just what was within it. But then something overtook her, maybe it was shame, but it didn’t feel right to be poking about like this.

  So she shoved the shiny, warm object back into its pouch without further examination.

  Then, she looked to see Wallace headed further on across the horizon, his distinctive shape cutting across the hillside. In the intervening five years, he had grown a little, making him taller than her. He also had a curious sense of mystery about him.

  Then the girl hitched up her plaid skirts and raced full-on towards him. It was hot and hard going up the sheer ascent. As she ran, she found herself marveling at his taut thighs as he bounded ahead of her.

  “Hey, there, Wallace!” she called. “Ye left something—stop!”

  Chapter Five

  “Hey! Stop! Slow down! I’m nae a mountain goat!”

  Freya’s voice followed Wallace around the hilltop, encircling him in sound. He turned from his position. He’d been watching surreptitiously, unable to resist the bare glimpses of her ankles as she ran.

  As she approached, her small hand waved something at him. His sporran! Immediately Wallace clasped his hands to the place where it should be—but it was not there. Unsurely, he watched as the panting maiden rushed to him, her pert breasts heaving with the motion of running. As she drew near, he averted his eyes, fastening on the object in her hand.

  “I found this. Is it yers?” she asked, holding out before him the raggle-taggle sporran.

  Wallace blushed an ever-deepening shade of vermillion, which was the only answer Freya needed. He almost snatched the tatty purse from her hand. It was typical of that daft beggar Hughie to leave a piece of evidence like this lying around! If anyone saw it, they would immediately trace the fire back to him!

  “Ta,” he muttered, deftly belting the ragged sporran back in place. Quickly, he felt for the contours of the metallic tinder box within it.

  “It’s still there, dinnae fash,” she said. Wallace frowned as he buttoned everything back into place. Reading the anxiety in his face, Freya continued, “I didnae open it, I promise,” she added.

  Wallace looked embarrassed. Now with the sporran back in his possession, there was no motive to remain here. However, he lingered awhile.

  Taking advantage of his silence, Freya gave him the full glare of her widest grin. “Well then, thank ye again!” she said, coyly, watching him with barely concealed pleasure. “I suppose yer heading back to yer village now?” she asked innocently.

  Wallace’s brow drew into a knot, and he cast his eyes down. “Nae. I’m nae welcome there anymore. They made that much clear,” he mumbled reluctantly.

  Freya could see that he was not one for great speeches, and this revelation was a lot for someone as normally taciturn as Wallace. As such, Freya did not really want to push the lad any further, but sheer curiosity got the better of her.

  “What happened?” she asked breathlessly, her heart racing. For a moment, it seemed like the boy did not want to answer her question. Then he sighed, giving her a look of such dismay that she instinctively wanted to comfort him. However, she hung back and waited for his reply.

  “I was never accepted there,” Wallace said quietly. The pair fell into step with each other. They walked together back up the hillside, away from the clanless and out toward the Craig lands.

  “How come?” she asked, looking at him coyly. She could not help but glimpse the sturdy outline of his shoulders as they walked, broad and strong.

  “Maybe ye ken what it’s like, a bit. Born out of wedlock. Never knowing yer father; I mean, yer real father…,” Wallace’s eyes trailed off, and he looked at her beseechingly. The stare he was giving her had the desired effect, sending butterflies catapulting through into the pit of her stomach.

  Freya took a step back. Wallace’s words had connected with her and blown her off-kilter.

  “But Finlay is my father. I am blessed,” she said, troubled.

  “Well, I never kent mine,” replied Wallace. He could not keep the curiosity out of his voice, though, and once more tried to make the connection with Freya. “I guess I always felt like I di
dnae belong. I was the reason we had been banished in the first place; that is, my father was. The mark a shame has been with me ever since my birth…”

  Wallace struggled with his words as he fought back the hot tears that crowded in his eyes.

  Freya instantly felt for him. “Listen, Wallace,” mused Freya. The lad looked at her. His brown eyes moist. Something strange surged up through Freya’s veins. How had she never noticed how perfectly shaped his eyes were before?

  Deep inside, Freya battled with herself. “Ye could come back to the keep awhile, maybe get a bite to eat, as way to thank ye?” she suggested hesitantly.

  “Me?” said Wallace unsurely. As he pointed at himself, Freya could see how muscular yet slender his arms were. For just a minute, their eyes connected, sharing the moment. She broke it off, embarrassed.