A Highlander’s Love: Highlands Ever After

by Adams, Aileen

  Though it had not been entirely on behalf of the household or his inheritance that he’d come on the run. He’d been running away from something, not toward it. Running from the English, just as Charles Stuart had, both of them to the moors.

  Even his return was not wholly on behalf of his family name, his estate. He’d done it to save himself when it seemed the English had discovered his involvement with the Jacobite cause.

  He had no right to her. Not to one such as Tyra. Honest, forthright, lovely Tyra.

  It was midday, hours after he’d left her with the firm orders that she rest a day after her sudden illness. How was he to manage waiting? How would his nerves stand it?

  They would not, nor would he stand waiting endless hours with no hope of learning whether Tyra would live through this.

  What a fool he’d been. Only thinking of himself, the fear of being hanged for what he’d done. For a mistake, something which the lass might have agreed upon if he’d ever had to defend his actions. She’d been a trespasser, and he’d struck her while intending to deliver a warning shot.

  Colin Ramsey was not an unreasonable man. Perhaps a bit full of his own greatness, certainly, but he might have understood were it explained the correct way. He might even have kept the entire matter to himself.

  Now, it was far too late for any such thing. He’d lied for too long, had lied straight to the sheriff when he’d pretended not to know of the lass who’d come to be companion to Iona.

  Iona.

  The thought of her brought hope to Dougal’s otherwise dark, troubled mind. He came to a stop in the center of the room, dazed at the simplicity of it. He could go to Iona. She might understand—she was supposed to be a sensible sort, was she not? She would not fly into a panic or beat him and shriek the way most women would.

  He rushed to the stables to saddle his horse and was on his way before he could convince himself this was anything other than a brilliant idea. He would make her understand. She simply had to.

  Tyra might be well now after seeing her friend, after speaking with her and learning how close they’d been to each other all these weeks. He ought to have done this long ago.

  The horse was in a lather by the time he reached Iona’s door, he’d pushed it so hard all the way. Perhaps she had a horse they could use to return. He would walk if that was what it came to.

  She and her companion, Janet, had done a great deal of work to improve the place. He suspected Colin might have played a part in this, as well. The barn and stables had been cleaned, their roofs patched. The broken bits of stone wall which sat against the road had been repaired, he noted while watering the horse.

  There was singing coming from inside when Dougal knocked upon the door—moments later, an old woman flung it open. One look at him and her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. “What would ye be doin’ here, Dougal Craig?” She spoke his name as though it were the foulest, coarsest profanity.

  He was accustomed to this, and far too concerned for Tyra besides. “Where is your mistress? I wish to speak with her.”

  “What would ye be wishin’ to say to her?” Janet demanded, hands finding her hips.

  “That is for her ears,” he snapped before he could stop himself. The chances of her doing as he asked now had most likely vanished. The woman would just as soon eat shards of broken glass.

  Though it did not come to that, for Iona soon appeared behind Janet. Surprise flashed across her face, but for no more than a moment. The lass was far more possessed than her cook. “You wish to speak with me?”

  Did she appear a bit worn? A bit drawn? Or was it his guilt playing upon his senses? “I do. Alone,” he added with a glance at the old woman who still glared at him.

  “All is well, Janet,” Iona murmured with a bit of a smile. “I will speak with him.” Though there was still hesitation, ever so slight but present.

  She stepped outside, running a hand over her head when the sun touched her hair. “It is a lovely day. I had not stepped outside until just now. I suppose I ought to thank you for the excuse to do so.”

  “Are ye unwell?”

  She began to shake her head before halting, then wrapping her arms around herself. “I am.”

  Would there be no end to his guilt? He’d caused this, too. How could he tell her? Then again, how much time could be spared? He might already have wasted too much of it. Tyra might be…

  “I know where Tyra Fletcher can be found,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. It was the notion of Tyra dying, or needing him and finding him away, which compelled him. Iona’s mouth opened, her chest rising as if she prepared to shout, and he flung a hand over her mouth before casting a glance toward the house. “No one can know. I beg ye.”

  Iona struggled against him, kicking his legs and pounding at him with her fists—small, but powerful—before coming to the understanding that there was no use in fighting. When she calmed, he lowered his hand. “Please. Say nothing. I must take ye to her.”

  Her eyes darted over his face, a mixture of relief and dread fighting for control of her features. “Where is she? What has happened?”

  “Quickly,” he urged. “We must go now. Have ye a fresh mount I might ride?”

  It was not long before Iona shouted a vague excuse to Janet before running for the stables. “I shall never forgive you for this,” she whispered time and again as they saddled the horses. “Not ever.”

  “I can explain all.”

  “You had me believing her dead!” she hissed, all but spitting upon him before swinging up into the saddle and tucking her skirts around her. “I have scarcely slept an hour this last fortnight, and all the while you knew just where she was! You devil!”

  He deserved that, and as such did not offer protest as they rode away from the house. “What compelled you to bring her into your home?” she demanded once they were far enough that there was no chance of Janet overhearing them.

  “Ye must promise not to speak of it to Colin. Not yet.”

  She threw a sour look his way. “What did you do? Why would you ask such a thing if you had not done something terrible?”

  “It was an accident.” He allowed the entire tale to pour forth then. Why not? What difference did it make now? If he’d be hanged for it, so be it. He could not keep it secret any longer now that Iona was part of this.

  “You mean to tell me you shot her?”

  “It bounced off the rock behind her. I would never have taken such a shot in the dark, even were I certain I shot at a man. I meant only to flush her out before she threw another rock at my head.”

  “Would that she had cracked your skull.”

  “Had she done it, she would have died on the moors long ago,” he assured her. “For I doubt she could have found ye after that. I know not how she managed to become so lost, but it matters not. She is in need of help now.”

  “She has been ill all this time? From the shot? And you allowed her to—"

  “Nay, she took ill last night. Fainted of a sudden, complained of pain. It was a long time before she woke. Nearly morning.”

  “I see.” Iona blew out a long sigh. “I suppose if it were anything, let it be this.”

  He could scarcely believe his ears, and he gaped at her in open wonder. “Ye are not concerned?”

  “Tyra has spells such as this from time to time,” she explained, shaking her head. “It does not surprise me that she never spoke of it. She does not like to.”

  So this was not the first time she’d behaved this way. It ought to have comforted him, knowing he was not directly at fault, but his concern for her and pity over the suffering she must have endured would not allow any easing of his strain. “Why? What causes them?”

  “No one knows,” she shrugged. “It has been this way all her life. And you have had her with you all this time, and you never thought to tell anyone? Colin said he spoke to you! You lied, you fool. Little better than a bairn, lying to conceal some wickedness!”

  It seemed she would n
ot soon allow him to get away with having kept Tyra’s presence secret, returning to the fact of it again and again as they spoke. By the time the house came into view, midday had turned to just shy of early evening, and his ears rang from the many insults and accusations which she’d thrown his way. Insults he’d taken without protest, for nothing Iona could do or say would surpass what he’d already said to himself.

  “It would serve you right if something worse befell her,” Iona hissed as they took the stairs two at a time. “Though I would not wish it for the world.”

  “There.” He pointed down the corridor, following as Iona fairly sprinted to the door and opened it without knocking. The moment she set eyes upon Tyra, who it appeared had only just awoken at the sound of their approach, she fled to the bed and threw herself over her friend, weeping loudly.

  He left them then, turning about and walking straight downstairs and out the door, determined to keeping walking until he was able to forget the joy which had dawned on Tyra’s face at the sight of someone she loved.

  She would never look upon him that way.

  Perhaps if he walked far enough, he might stop wishing she would.

  12

  Never in the world had there been a more welcome sight. Not for Tyra, who at first believed the appearance of her dearest friend to be a dream.

  But a dream did not squeeze a person until nearly breaking their ribs. Nor did their tears soak into one’s hair and shift. Tyra allowed herself to cry with joy on Iona’s shoulder once her confusion cleared. They offered broken apologies, pledges of love and gladness at being together again.

  “It was an accident, I assure you,” Tyra laughed after explaining in detail what had occurred.

  “You believe it worthy of laughter?” Iona gasped. “He wounded you! You might have died!”

  “I did not, thanks to him. I understand.” She laughed again when Iona sputtered in disbelief. “It makes little sense. But it was through no fault of his that I came to be lost—that is the truth, full and plain. You cannot blame him for that. I was too frightened of the dog and of who Dougal might be to call out and ask for mercy. My tongue was tied.”

  Iona’s mouth twitched. “Did you truly throw a rock at his head?”

  Again Tyra burst out laughing, and Iona joined her. “It matters not,” Iona decided, running a hand over Tyra’s head. “So long as you are here. Alive. I have been ever so frightened for you.”

  “But you knew I was here,” Tyra reminded her. “Did you not? He told me he’d…”

  Then, it was clear. “He never told you, did he?” she whispered, the joy she’d only just known upon Iona’s arrival forgotten in an instant.

  “He did not,” Iona muttered, her teeth clenched. This was not unusual, her ability to go from happiness to fury in the time it took to blink. “Today was the first I’d heard of your being alive, much less on the land neighboring my own. What did he think he was doing, hiding you here?”

  Tyra could scarcely force herself to think clearly, in spite of the pain and anger of knowing he’d lied. To her face, plainly and openly, he’d assured her of his having spoken to Iona, just as he’d promised. How could he?

  “He was afraid for himself,” she decided after some time, and it felt true in her heart. “Afraid because he believed I would turn him over to Colin. That is the only explanation.”

  “I shall kill him myself.” Iona moved to rise from the bed, where she’d been sitting beside Tyra, as if she meant it.

  Which Tyra had no doubt was the case, which was why she held her friend back. “You shall do no such thing,” she whispered, glancing at the closed door. Was he listening? While she would not imagine him beyond doing just that, it seemed more likely that he had gone elsewhere to avoid Iona’s wrath.

  Many was the man who would have done the same. Iona had never been one to shrink back from putting a man in his place.

  Now, she barked her laughter. “You cannot mean it. How could you protect him now, after what he’s done to you?”

  “He has not done all that much,” Tyra insisted. “He did not kill me. And you ought to have seen how upset he was when I awoke after my spell. Stricken, I would say. Terribly so. My heart went out to him.”

  “Your heart…?” Iona lowered her brow. “What are you telling me?”

  “Nothing!” Tyra lied. She’d said too much, it was clear, and Iona was never one to miss such a mistake. “I felt sorry for him. He blamed himself for my fainting. I wished I might lessen that guilt.”

  Iona pressed her mouth tightly closed, which to Tyra meant she endeavored to hold back what was on her mind. Rather than press for more information, she toyed with the frayed edges of the coverlet. “I understand you made Colin’s acquaintance in the village.”

  “Yes!” Tyra took her hands, squeezing. “Is it true, then? Are you betrothed?”

  Iona fought a sly smile but could not hold it back. “I wish I could have been the one to tell you.”

  Tyra hugged her. “I am so happy. He is fine and handsome, as well. Does he treat you—”

  “He is very good, a very kind man. I love him.” Iona smiled, tears shining in her eyes. “And I can hardly wait to be wed. I wished to wait. For you.”

  “Oh, my dear.” The embraced again, both of them crying again. Tears of joy at being together, at Iona’s good fortune. They’d always behaved more as sisters, bound together out of mutual need. Leaning on each other, learning from each other.

  “I never imagined feeling so happy,” Iona admitted as she wiped her eyes with the cuff of one sleeve. “I cannot explain how I knew I was meant to wed Colin. I simply knew, just as I know now. He is the man I was meant to love.”

  Tyra could scarcely breathe at the thought. Loving someone that deeply, knowing with such certainty that he was the one, single special man meant to love for always. “To think of it! You will have children of your own someday. A house full of them.”

  “I have imagined it,” Iona giggled. “It amazes me, the things which come into my thoughts now. Children, and even grandchildren in the future. Fixing supper for my husband, knowing he shall be home with me at the end of every day. Our family—ours, his and mine. It is all so wondrous, beyond anything I believed myself worthy of.”

  “Worthy? Naturally, you are worthy of all happiness.”

  “Even so. I did not believe it possible. Not after so much unhappiness.”

  “But do you not see?” Tyra played idly with the end of Iona’s braid, winding and unwinding it. “That is precisely why you are deserving of it. You’ve earned it.”

  “As have you.”

  Tyra scoffed. “Not myself. Such happiness is not for people such as me.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “I am not so beautiful as you. I have nothing to attract and hold onto a husband. No money of my own, no name or family.” Tyra’s breath caught. They’d not spoken yet of her mother’s passing, and now that Iona was so glad and relieved to find her well, Tyra did not think it the proper time.

  What she said was no less true. She had no means of finding a husband. She’d spent her life as a servant, a companion. She’d learned to read and could write a bit, could add simple figures, but that was the extent of her education.

  There was nothing to offer but herself, and who would find that to be enough?

  “Tell me,” she urged, wishing to change the direction in which the conversation had gone. “How have the villagers treated you? Dougal told me there was some difficulty. Have matters improved?”

  “Oh, yes. I admit, I had little patience with them at first. I did not desire to know them. Time softened me some,” she added with a shy smile. “They showed me kindness when I was in need of kindness. I had a difficult time when a man tried to steal from me, but all was well soon enough.”

  Why would she not meet Tyra’s gaze? No matter how she craned her neck, Tyra could not catch Iona’s eye. What had truly taken place?

  It seemed they both wished to keep certain things from
the other. Something had happened, perhaps something dreadful. Something which had resulted in Iona needing help, badly, enough so that the people who’d once laughed at her had changed their hearts and decided to help her.

  Perhaps they would tell all in time. It had been such a terribly surprising day for them both, after all. Not everything need be told all at once. It was enough to know Iona was happier than Dougal had made her seem.

  “What are you going to do about him?” Iona asked, inclining her head toward the door. “What is there to be done after this, do you imagine? Or have you given it any thought?”

  “It seems that is all I’ve thought of,” Tyra sighed. She rested her head upon the pillow with a sigh.

  “You are tired. Forgive me, I’ve kept you talking for far too long. I know how it exhausts you to suffer a fainting spell.”

  “You need not apologize. Not ever,” Tyra smiled, squeezing her hand. “And I am not as poorly as that. Tired, yes, but happy to be with you.”

  Iona stroked her hair with a fond expression. “It seems a lifetime has passed, does it not? I feel I’m an entirely new person than the one who parted ways with you at the harbor so long ago.”

  It had not been that terribly long, not when compared to the time they’d spent together, but Tyra understood just the same. “Yes, so much has happened since then. You have an entirely new life ahead of you.”

  “As do you,” Iona insisted with a gentle nudge. “Do not forget that. You might find your fortune here. You might find new friends—I can introduce you to Beitris Macintyre, her baby is so sweet. Also to Innis Frey, who is also expecting soon, and to…”

  Tyra sighed inwardly, a bit sad now. This new life was Iona’s entirely. About to be wed, naturally interested in building friendships with women whose lives were the same as hers. It was inevitable, she supposed. Eventually, a woman of Iona’s means and beauty would find a husband and a new circle of friends.

  Where did she fit into this new arrangement? What use was there for her? Iona had even come to live with a new companion who managed the household, so she said. An old woman with no husband or children, nothing else to occupy her time. How cruel would it be to move her aside now that Tyra had arrived?