Sweet Home Highlander

by Amalie Howard

  Aisla rounded on him, her own suppressed emotions finding a target. “What have you done, Julien?”

  His smirk reformed almost instantly, like a suit of armor. “I’ve done nothing.”

  “You’ve upset Lady Makenna.” She turned to her new friend in apology. “Please don’t mind him and whatever he has said to you. His mouth doesn’t know how to conduct itself at the best of times.”

  Makenna sniffed. “He was rather rude.”

  Aisla’s gaze narrowed on Julien. “Would it be so very difficult to be kind to my—” She broke off, reaching for the right word. Makenna was her sister by marriage. Her family. Aisla squashed the ache that rose in her throat. “My friends while we are here?”

  “I wasn’t being unkind,” Julien drawled. “She was simply not willing to listen to reason regarding her husband.”

  “What about her husband?”

  Flushing hard, Makenna shot him a panicked look, but Julien just shrugged, though Aisla couldn’t help noticing that rogue muscle leaping in his cheek again. She’d never seen Julien agitated about anything.

  “I confided in Lord Leclerc about some matters at Brodie,” Makenna explained. “’Tis naught to be concerned about.”

  “Please accept my apologies, Lady Makenna,” Julien said with an easy smile and an overly elegant bow—though he looked like he’d ingested something inedible. “I did not mean to cause offense.”

  Makenna inclined her head to indicate his apology was accepted. Clearly there was more going on, but despite her curiosity, Aisla did not want to pry, not when her sister-in-law still looked like she was on the verge of tears. She drew a breath, looking from one to the other with dubious care. “Well, now that that’s settled, who’s up for a ride?”

  It took some convincing, but eventually they were all saddled up. A strange tension remained in the air as they rode, Julien lagging a few lengths behind them. Aisla peered at her companion, and the rigid set of Makenna’s jaw. The young woman was here, riding with Aisla, but at the same time she seemed to be so very far away.

  “I’m so sorry Lord Leclerc upset you,” Aisla said. Julien could be such a thorn when he wanted to be, and clearly, he’d had a dig at Niall’s sister. Or her marriage.

  Makenna came back to herself, and breathing in deeply, forced on a wobbling smile. “Nae. I mean, aye, he did, but…’tis nothing of importance.”

  Aisla didn’t believe her. “He mentioned your husband, the Brodie laird.”

  Makenna buttoned back up again, her expression tightening, and Aisla presumed all was not well within her marriage. She also knew just how difficult speaking about such things could be. And unlike Julien, Aisla knew when to ease off.

  “When I was at Maclaren—the first time,” she said, catching Makenna’s eye. She smiled, a way of indicating that Aisla should go on, “there were so many things about my marriage that felt…flawed. And I was at a loss as how to fix anything. I thought that perhaps, with the baby…”

  That the baby would bring Niall back to her. That he’d become the person he’d been during his visits to Montgomery, when they’d been falling in love. Though even then the idea of a baby fixing anything as big as a flawed marriage had been preposterous. Now, Aisla cringed at the foolish notion.

  “What were some of the flaws?” Makenna asked, hastily adding, “If ye dunnae mind sharing them.”

  “Not at all. He was absent so often, and I was so new to his clan. I didn’t know anyone, and though I’d assumed that he’d stay by my side until I was settled, this place and his friends seemed to pull him away from me instead.” Aisla directed her mount to follow Makenna’s as it took a well-worn trail into a copse of thick whitebeams.

  “Ye felt as though he’d abandoned ye,” Makenna said.

  “You could say it that way, yes. But truly, it was the drink that may have been the largest flaw. I don’t know why he felt the need to imbibe as much as he did. It was almost as if…as if he didn’t want to take a sober look at his decision to marry me.”

  Aisla’s throat felt tight as she finally spoke the things she’d been thinking for years. The buried shame and embarrassment of wondering if Niall had regretted marrying her, or if he had seen the baby as a mistake. A blunder that had gotten him bound to a girl he’d liked well enough, a girl who he shared blood-boiling passion with…but perhaps a girl he didn’t quite want to spend the rest of his life with.

  “Well, I cannae say why the dunderheid drank as much as he did back then,” Makenna replied. “But it’s no’ something ye need to fash over any longer.”

  The cool press of the wooded path made her skin shiver over with gooseflesh as she turned to stare at Makenna. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Niall hasnae had a sip of spirits in years.”

  Aisla’s mount slowed, as if sensing her confusion. “He…are you certain?”

  She thought back just a week before, when Niall had come back to Tarben Castle, drenched in the ripe odor of ale. He’d been at a tavern, he’d said, and one of the men there had spilled on him and she hadn’t believed him. In truth, he hadn’t appeared to be drunk, but she’d known plenty of men, both growing up at Montgomery, and in Paris, who could function well when utterly foxed. Niall, himself, had convinced her of it more than once. But now, Aisla felt a bit ill to her stomach as Makenna gave an assertive nod.

  “Oh, aye, I was told he was teased mercilessly about it in the beginning, o’course. But it was soon just something about him that everyone kenned.”

  Aisla wasn’t prepared for the jab of guilt. She hadn’t believed him, and he’d been telling the truth. She spurred her horse on to catch up to Makenna’s as they climbed a small ridge in the wood, emerging from the trees a moment later. She stared at the chestnut mane of her mare, stunned.

  “Not even one sip?” she asked.

  Makenna laughed. “I’ve heard he’s taken to tea like a proper Englishman, and that Mrs. Wingate has to grind coffee beans at all hours of the day and night, but aye…no’ one sip of ale or whisky, or even cider. He wants to keep a clear head, ye ken.”

  A clear head. Her husband.

  Aisla’s thoughts came to her in a disjointed manner, her surprise was so sharp. But then, as she sat with the knowledge for a moment, she did have to admit that, other than the evening he returned doused in ale, she hadn’t smelled anything on him. He hadn’t stumbled back to the castle in a soggy haze. In fact, every time Aisla woke in the morning and broke her fast, the servants had told her that the laird had already done the same, an hour or more before her.

  She took a breath and finally looked up from the horse’s mane. They had come out of the wood onto the cleared crest of a hill, and just a ways off, she saw something she hadn’t before, not on any of her rides or walks the past week, nor from the windows of Tarben Castle: a collection of stone-built towers and shafts, and wooden huts strewn across the ridge. She realized where Makenna had led them.

  “This is the quarry?” Aisla guessed.

  “Ye see, Niall’s been hard at work here,” Makenna said with no small amount of pride in her voice. “The mines were nothing at all when he took them over. Now, he’s finally turning a profit, at least that’s what he wrote in his last letter to me.”

  Aisla directed her mount onward, toward the tall, shaft-like towers, and the miners going about their business, pushing wheelbarrows and directing yoked mules pulling carts. The place looked to be busy, and from a distance, it also looked like it was running smoothly. As she and Makenna drew closer, she noticed it wasn’t just men working, either. There were women, their workaday dresses smudged with dirt, their hands busy with any number of duties. And one man, leading a cart toward a long trough of water, where women were using sieves to drain and wash what looked like rubble and rock, had a noticeable limp.

  “All of his employees are able-bodied clansmen and women, but Niall is especially deliberate in hiring those who need the work. Men who returned from the English’s war with France injured, like Gilroy the
re,” Makenna said, nodding toward the older man with a limp. Upon closer inspection, Aisla saw his trouser hem partially obscured a wooden foot.

  “And the women?” she asked, noting that many of them weren’t fresh faced or young.

  “Mostly widows,” Makenna replied. “Or women who didnae marry.”

  They weren’t typical mine workers, to be sure. But Niall had taken special care to hire them.

  “Why?” she whispered, mostly to herself, though Makenna was still listening.

  “I’ve never asked him,” she answered. “Perhaps ye should.”

  Aisla drew to a stop, and a moment later, heard Julien’s horse just behind them. “There is talk at Maclaren that they’ve discovered a new vein of topaz recently.”

  She’d nearly forgotten that Julien had been trailing them with his own mount. Makenna spurred her horse forward a bit, ignoring him.

  “Whatever you did or said, Lord Leclerc, I think you have some sincere apologizing to do,” Aisla said under her breath.

  “Perhaps you’re right, though don’t get used to my telling you that.”

  “I’d never dream of it,” she replied.

  Julien let out a tight sigh. “I suppose I’m on edge for a reason. A letter arrived this morning saying Maman has not improved.” He shifted awkwardly, his voice lowering. “I hate to ask, but is your heart still in this? What we came here for?”

  Aisla felt a strange unraveling in her stomach, along with a fresh dose of guilt. “Of course I am. I made you a promise.”

  A dull flush crested his cheekbones. “You know how much Maman means to me. She’s all I have, and this is all she wants. But lately, it seems like you’re not…committed.” He sucked in a harsh breath. “You’re my best friend, and I need you, Aisla. But I’ll be honest with you. It appears your hands are tied more tightly than you believe.”

  Aisla exhaled sharply, her heart twisting at the expression on her friend’s face. Julien had volunteered to come to Scotland with her, but she’d thought getting Niall’s agreement to the divorce would be a simple matter. Not that she would have to remain here while the records were located.

  “No, you’re right. This has turned into a shambles. I’ll get it done, Jules. I promise.”

  He pushed a somewhat forced grin to his mouth. “Good, because no other woman would put up with me.”

  Aisla shook her head, reaching for her friend’s hand, sorrow filling her. “Did the letter say anything else?”

  “Only that she wishes more than anything to see me settled. I’m sorry, Aisla, that I put us both in this position.”

  “You didn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my past sooner.” She squeezed his fingers. “You’ve been my dearest friend through thick and thin. I’ve never told you, but your friendship saved me. I owe you this. I’ll fix it, I promise,” she said, forming a smile just as she saw a familiar dark russet head of hair emerging from a stone shaft.

  Niall’s sleeves were rolled to the elbow, exposing his muscled forearms, and his shirt was open at the collar. The white shirt had a coating of dust and dirt, just like the other miners that had been entering and exiting the shaft. His steel blue eyes found her—and her joined hands with Julien—almost immediately. She released her hold with a blush.

  “I should ask Lady Makenna to accompany me back to Maclaren,” Julien murmured.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being shot at?” Aisla asked, recalling her husband’s threat.

  “Perhaps I only wish to give you a bit of privacy to have it out with your current husband,” he replied with an insouciant grin.

  She grimaced as her mount shifted beneath her, tracing her unease. “I hardly know what to say to him.”

  The thought that she should apologize for not believing him when he’d insisted he had not had a drink at the tavern that evening, a week before, crossed her mind. But then…it would be some sort of admission of defeat.

  “My Aisla speechless? I cannot believe it.”

  She felt an infinitesimal push of denial at that. My Aisla. If she secured the divorce from Niall, she would be Julien’s, at least in name. She didn’t expect to feel bereft at the thought. God, what was wrong with her? It was as if her brain and her foolish heart were on opposite sides of the ring.

  You owe Jules.

  She was here for a divorce, not to make calf eyes at a man who had broken her heart and would do so again without a second thought. Niall had walked toward one of the stone and wood-beamed huts near the shaft, busy conversing with several other workers. He spared her a prolonged glance, and it fairly crackled with possession. Aisla huffed a sharp breath. Odd that she did not rebel as much to his clear stake, as if this was the man she belonged to. It infuriated her as much as it thrilled her.

  “You don’t mind if I ride ahead with Lady Makenna?” Julien asked.

  She broke her husband’s gaze and turned to her friend. “Not at all. I’ll catch up in a bit.”

  Julien nodded, and with a circumspect glance at Niall, followed after Makenna. Aisla gathered her wits—and her spine—and climbed down out of the saddle. Niall was already walking toward her, the breeze on the top of the ridge rustling through his thick hair and plastering his work shirt to his chest. He’d been sweating heavily with whatever task he’d been at inside that shaft, the rivulets of perspiration along his temples and in the glistening skin in the hollow at the base of his neck drawing her attention. She was more than accustomed to a few of the inventive contraptions usually lashed to his left wrist, but right then, with the fierce set of his eyes and the stealthy, stalking look of his approach, the dagger-like lance struck her as ferocious. And unbelievably seductive.

  She clenched her trembling thighs together, suddenly feeling quite unnerved. “Is that new?”

  He glanced down. “Aye, I had it made to help with lifting the topaz.”

  “Oh, that’s clever.”

  “What are ye doing here?” Niall asked, his eyes pinning the backs of Julien and Makenna as they rode away.

  “Am I not welcome?” she countered.

  He brought his glare back to her, and it softened a little. “Of course ye are. I just didnae expect ye.”

  He brushed his right hand on the side of his thigh, probably trying to clean it. But nothing but a dunk in a hot bath would do that job well, she figured. And then the image of Niall, muscled and unclothed in a tub full of steaming water, assaulted her. She swallowed hard.

  “I didn’t expect any of this,” she said, gesturing toward the structures and the workers, most of them sneaking brief looks at her. “What you’ve created here is impressive.”

  “The mine’s still growing,” he said, shrugging off her compliment. “There’s much work to be done, and we’ve faced a few setbacks lately.”

  “Setbacks?”

  Niall hesitated as if deciding how much to tell her. “A collapsed tunnel, misplaced tools, missing cairngorm hauls. Accidents that may no’ be accidents.”

  “You suspect they are not?” she asked.

  “Things with the Campbells have no’ been calm of late.”

  Aisla blinked. “You believe they’re behind these accidents?”

  “Aye. Either them or their allies.”

  She searched her memory. “The Sinclairs are their most powerful ally.”

  Niall’s expression turned harder than before. “I havenae seen the Sinclairs with the Campbells lately, though Rose Campbell is betrothed to the Buchanan’s eldest son.”

  Dougal. He wouldn’t say his name, she noticed. It didn’t surprise Aisla that she hadn’t heard about Dougal’s upcoming nuptials. She hadn’t heard from him at all since her husband, in a jealous rage, had ordered Dougal from Maclaren, years ago. In hindsight, a part of her wondered why Dougal had come around Maclaren that time. He had never sought her out at Montgomery in the two years between the end of their unofficial betrothal and her elopement with Niall. Had he visited to purposely stoke Niall’s jealousy? Had Dougal felt scorned about the bro
ken betrothal? It seemed ridiculous. Men didn’t feel scorned.

  “You’ve struck a new vein, I hear,” she said, changing the subject.

  Niall peered at her. “Aye. Ye heard of that?”

  She didn’t want to bring up Julien’s name so she just nodded. Niall watched her carefully, and she sensed he was thinking a great many things, though his mouth remained firmly shut.

  “I didn’t know that you’d been working so hard to make the mines successful,” she said, and then immediately heard the words she’d spoken and winced. She hadn’t known. How could she have?

  “I highly doubt word of it would have reached ye all the way in Paris,” he bit off.

  She didn’t quail, knowing she should have expected as much.

  “I’m happy for you,” she said, taking another look around. Besides the man named Gilroy, there were a few others with scarring on their faces. Burns. One man’s sleeve was pinned to his shoulder, his arm missing. “You’ve done so much.”

  And she hadn’t known. She didn’t know him, she realized with a pang of sadness. He hadn’t been sitting at Maclaren, wasting away his life the last six years drinking and carousing. He’d been building up a livelihood, for himself and his clan. He’d become a man. All it had taken was some time, and hardship. And maybe…maybe he wouldn’t have managed any of it had she stayed. Had she hindered him? Without her, he’d seemed to have thrived.

  The wind rushed over the ridgetop and it pushed Aisla to the side. She felt suddenly hollow, and reed-thin. Niall’s left arm shot out to brace her as she listed to the side, the lance turned carefully away so that it wouldn’t impale her. Aisla caught her breath at the colossal strength bracing at her back, every inch of her skin beneath that arm firing to hot attention.

  “Are ye all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, though it didn’t feel convincing, not even to her. Where had this resolve and maturity been when she and Niall had been first married? Then again, he had been so young. So careless and unprepared. Their marriage, the baby, had been too much, too soon. With a wrench of her chest, she realized how lucky his next wife would be to have such a dedicated laird.