Highlander's Haunted Past (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 1)

by Adamina Young

  The first few days of her self-imposed isolation had been fun. She and Florence had sat and played cards with the remaining Fraser men while Ellen sat disapprovingly across the room. They had laughed and drunk and shared stories until the moon was high in the sky. However, eventually, they had all run out of stories, and the games had become tedious.

  The first day of quiet dullness was broken up by the herd of carts that descended upon the city. All that had been left behind on their original trek from Inverness Castle came pouring through the streets, the men who had been left behind to escort them looking weary and relieved after so many days on the road. Though Kenna had been more than pleased with the selection of dresses that Florence had ordered, some of which she was still yet to find an occasion to wear, it was comforting to be surrounded by her own things once more. As she went through everything, ensuring that every trunk and case that she had brought with her from Inverness was accounted for, she found herself in tears.

  She missed her family, despite everything that they had done. How was that possible? An unfinished needlework project reminded her of perfect afternoons with Elizabeth, while memories of playing out in the sunshine with her brothers came so swiftly and suddenly at the sight of an old, mud-stained dress. The memories were welcomed but painful.

  Florence and Ellen had helped Kenna sort through the things, doing their best to stack the piles of heavy boxes in a way that kept the room functional. But it was too many things in too small of a room, and now Kenna could hardly take two steps in a straight path before colliding with a pile.

  Once she had grown used to it, coming up with efficient ways to traverse the maze of trunks, all that there was left to do with her days was to nap. Even those, though, were not always so peaceful. Sometimes her dreams took her to days on the grass, surrounded by her family—both old and new. Rob was smiling at her and wrapping his arms around her while she laughed and teased him. Florence was laughing, though Kenna could never figure out why. John and Hugh were running across the lawn, batting a ball back and forth with large clubs while Thomas and Laird Lovat sat serenely in the sun, each whittling something that she knew would be beautiful. Even Elizabeth was running, her black curls bouncing and her cheeks a healthy shade of pink. And then there was her father and mother, sitting high above them on a hilltop, looking down at the scene and smiling.

  Kenna would wake from this dream in tears, knowing that such a scene could never be real. She might not ever lay eyes on her siblings again, especially if the Gordon rebellion grew particularly horrific.

  Thankfully, her afternoon nap today had been dreamless. Kenna was so comfortable that she was considering closing her eyes again, letting her thoughts slip away as she succumbed once more to the silence and warmth of the room. That plan was cut short by a sharp knocking at the door, followed closely by Florence barging in with three large packages in her arms.

  “Come with me,” Florence said, skipping out of the room just as quickly as she had entered.

  Kenna heaved herself up and gave a final stretch before following Florence, who was waiting outside of Ellen’s room with a face so full of enthusiasm that it reminded Kenna of a dog about to earn a bone.

  Kenna rapped on the door. “Ellen? I think Florence will cry if ye don’t let us in.”

  “Then come in!” Ellen called from the other side of the door, and Kenna pushed the door open.

  Ellen’s room was everything Kenna expected. It was always so neat and tidy, with a roaring fire blazing in the hearth. Ellen had draped a delicately sewn quilt across the bed, brightening the room with a bit of Fraser red and green.

  Sitting next to the table, which was piled with needlework supplies, Ellen was gently passing a needle back and forth through a bit of white cloth. It would be a beautiful flower with petals as red as ripe strawberries once it was finished. The details in Ellen’s work were so fine that even the best craftsmen in the world would have been jealous. Kenna absently remembered the needlework projects in her room, all half-finished and sloppy, and tried not to be jealous.

  “So, ladies, do ye remember all of those things that we ordered the other day?” Florence asked.

  “Ye mean the mountain of new dresses?” Kenna replied, collapsing into the chair beside Ellen.

  “The order that has resulted in new packages being delivered here every day fer nearly a fortnight?” Ellen chimed in.

  “The order with a bill so large that they are considering naming the shop after ye in gratitude?” Kenna lobbed again.

  Ellen laughed, for once, causing Florence to stomp her feet.

  “Ach, that is enough from both of ye. Since ye both seem to ken exactly which order I am referring to, I am pleased to inform ye that in my hands are the final packages. This is it; there is no more. Do not even think of being depressed by this news after the display ye just put on.”

  Florence threw one twine-wrapped package to Kenna and the other to Ellen. She held the third for herself.

  “Depressed? I am thankful,” Ellen said as she started to undo the twine. “I think if much more arrived, dear Laird Lovat would have keeled over.”

  Kenna lifted the gown from the package. The fabric was a deep blue, the color of the sea, with winding white flowers embroidered on the bodice. Nearly endless wisps of thin lace tumbled from the sleeves. Kenna glanced over at the others, who each held up a similar gown. Florence’s was as green as grass atop a Highland hill, while Ellen’s was a brown that shifted to gold as the light caught it.

  “Aren’t they lovely? They are the color of each of our eyes,” Florence cooed, clutching her dress to her chest.

  “Beautiful, thank ye, Florence,” Kenna said with a smile, folding the gown carefully back into the package for its safety.

  It was possibly the finest dress she had ever owned. The Queen might have even envied it, despite the absence of gems and pearls. She traced her finger gently over the embroidery, marveling at the perfect placement of each stitch.

  “Ye are quite welcome. Though I do hope that the dress will not fit ye much longer.”

  “What do ye mean?” Kenna asked, noting out of the corner of her eye that Ellen had stopped admiring her dress to cast Kenna a suspicious glance.

  “I only mean that the other night, before Rob left, I may have been walking past yer room and overheard some… things… and, well, I just hope that I’ll be an auntie in a few months.”

  Kenna’s face grew hotter than the fire in Ellen’s hearth. “I—I—”

  Florence rushed forward and sat on Kenna’s lap, throwing her arms around her neck.

  “Oh, silly Kenna, no need to be embarrassed. ‘Tis only life and love and marriage that we are talking about here. ‘Tis all so perfectly normal; I do not understand why we have been told to get so red in the face when we talk about such things.”

  “‘Tis a conspiracy against us,” Kenna said, hoping that the subject would be changed.

  There would be no babe in a few months. The Queen had inadvertently seen to that by stopping them before the act could be completed. For the past few days, she had been trying to figure out what would happen if Rob never returned from Strathbogie. She tried to look deep into her emotions to figure out how she would feel if her time with him was over, even though she had just started to truly care for him. If she had accepted him sooner, put aside her pride and begged him sooner, she could have already been with child. His child. Then they would have been bound by a tie that was stronger than everything, even death.

  “So, ye two are getting along well, in that regard?” Ellen asked in a voice so hushed that it was barely louder than a whisper.

  “I suppose,” Kenna replied, feeling her flush rise once more to her cheeks.

  “‘Tis only that I had heard, well, never mind.”

  “No, Ellen, what did ye hear?” Florence pressed, leaning toward Ellen with her lips pressed into a pout. Florence was always the first to denounce gossip and the first to participate in it.

  Ellen picked
her needlework back up and began to furiously prod the needle into the fabric. “I just heard that Rob and Kenna, when they were on the road, weren’t, well, ye ken, behaving as man and wife.”

  “I wasn’t aware that people were so keen on listening to what Rob and I were or were not doing.” Kenna stiffened, her embarrassment now becoming anger.

  Who had been going so far as to listen to them? Rob had always taken care to set their tent far from the others just so that the sounds of their arguments, and then the silence that followed for the rest of the night, wouldn’t be heard. Of course, this plan was easily dashed by any who decided they wanted to go out of their way to try and hear something.

  “Regardless of what ye heard, or what others, apparently, did not hear, Rob and I are fine.”

  “Goodness, Ellen, ye’ve gotten her all worked up.”

  “I am glad to hear that everything with ye and Rob is as it should be, Kenna, and I apologize if the comment was misplaced.”

  Florence began to chastise Ellen for spreading rumors that would undermine the budding relationship while Kenna leaned back in the overstuffed chair and studied Ellen’s face. It was as impassive as always, a cool steel only touched by perfectly placed false emotions.

  It had to be Hugh, Kenna thought. Who else would have both taken the time to press their ear to our tent and then report it back to Ellen?

  “All I am saying, Ellen, is that it is unfair to push Kenna for such intimate details when no one else is offering any to the conversation,” Florence was saying, wagging her finger at Ellen. “Ye simply canna just put someone on the spot in such a way in high society.”

  “Ye might feel free to offer something personal, then. Soothe dear Kenna with a few intimate details from yer own life,” Ellen replied through gritted teeth, blatantly displeased at what Florence was implying about her birth and manners.

  “Oh! We could make a game of it!” Florence said giddily, her anger diffused by the sudden option of entertainment. “We can all ask each other those questions that no one else would dare ask us. Ellen, ye went first by asking Kenna about her and Rob’s relationship in the marital bed, so now ye must ask me something.”

  “I do not have a question fer ye at the ready,” Ellen replied.

  “Come on. Just ask me the first thing that comes to mind; I am an open book.”

  “Exactly. What does one ask an open book that hasn’t already been told a thousand times,” Ellen commented with a sly grin.

  It was said playfully, but Kenna detected a bit of Florence’s prior anger still lingering beneath the surface

  “Fine, then ye answer one of Kenna’s questions, Ellen.”

  “Surely, Kenna has nothing to ask me.”

  “Actually,” Kenna said, “I am curious to hear the story of how ye and Hugh began yer relationship. I have heard that ‘tis quite an unusual tale, but I am yet to hear it in full.”

  And then maybe ye’ll let something slip about why ye and Hugh are so interested in details that ought not to interest ye, Kenna added to herself.

  Florence jumped to her feet. “Oh, Kenna, ‘tis truly a good story! Ye haven’t heard it yet? Oh, Ellen, tell it. Or I’ll tell it. No, ye should tell it. Yes, it should be ye. Come on now, start with the engagement.”

  Ellen gave Kenna an angry look, as expected.

  Kenna batted her eyelashes, letting her eyes go wide as if she was sharing in Florence’s girlish eagerness. A bit of the gold flashed in Ellen’s eyes. Perhaps Ellen could read Kenna’s falsities as well as Kenna could read Ellen’s.

  “Fine. The engagement itself isn’t much of a story. Have ye heard of the Battle of the Shirts? Not surprising if ye have not. ‘Twas nearly twenty years ago. Only five Frasers survived it, and my father and the Laird Lovat were two of them. My father carried the Laird back to Dounie Castle, and, as a sign of his gratitude, the Laird promised a wedding between our two families. I am my father’s only child, so they made it simple by engaging me to the Laird’s eldest son, meaning Rob.”

  “How old were ye?” Kenna asked.

  “I was only two when the promise was forged. Rob was only a year older and Hugh a turn of the season younger.”

  “But,” Florence interjected, “then love got in the way of that engagement!”

  Ellen sighed. “Aye. Love and a touch of madness. My father sent me to live at Dounie Castle fer the year leading up to the wedding so that Rob and I could get to ken one another but—”

  “But instead she got to ken Hugh,” Florence interrupted once more, waggling her eyebrows devilishly.

  “Aye. Rob did not have much interest in me. Even when we were in the same room, having a conversation, it always felt like he was off riding through the Highlands in his mind. So, I started to have more conversations with Hugh. We developed a friendship, and then one day, after a bit too much wine, it just became something more.

  “Once ye start something like that, once ye feel that connection, ‘tis difficult to break free. One mistake turned into two, then three, and then ye just stop keeping count.”

  Kenna could understand that feeling. Even now, after having only the smallest taste of Rob, Kenna found herself constantly thinking about him. She found herself tracing her fingers along her skin, imagining it was his touch as she drifted to sleep every night. It was perplexing how one small act had changed the way she looked at herself, opening her eyes to all of the emotions and pleasures that she had never known she was capable of feeling.

  “Hugh and I kept making mistakes ‘til I began to make final preparations fer my wedding to Rob. We each agreed that ‘twas the best time to end it. But, our Lord God had other plans.”

  “She woke up two days before the wedding as sick as can be,” Florence said, reaching out to rub Ellen’s shoulder comfortingly. “We were all terribly worried.”

  “Aye. They sent fer a healer, who announced that the cause was a pregnancy.”

  Across Ellen’s face now was pain. Not the false sort of thing that Ellen would use to escape a situation, but true pain that made the gold in her eyes dim and her skin look dull and gray.

  “Hugh was so gallant,” Florence said as she leaned forward, a gentle smile on her face as her eyes glazed over, looking forward to the fire but clearly seeing something else. “While both our father and Ellen were shouting, and Rob was off doing a jig, Hugh stepped forward and claimed responsibility fer the babe. Even when Ellen’s father came down upon him, which was, a rather terrifying display, Hugh just stood there without even flinching. ‘Twas such a loving moment. I hope to one day find someone who would stand up fer me in such a situation.”

  “Pregnancy out of wedlock is hardly a thing to wish fer!” Ellen said, scandalized. “I lost everything because of it! My wedding, my future, my reputation!”

  “Aye, aye, those losses were all the greatest tragedy, weren’t they?” Florence prodded with a bit of disgust in her voice, much to Kenna’s surprise. It was a note that she had never heard in Florence’s voice, one she hadn’t thought her capable of when she shared the disposition of the sun.

  “I happen to think they were.” Ellen huffed, throwing her needlework down on the table. “Now, if ye two would both excuse yerselves, I think I am going to turn in early tonight.”

  Kenna didn’t hesitate, not wanting to be anywhere near Ellen when she was in one of her moods. Ellen, in her usual state, was bad enough, but when she was truly upset, she was more than Kenna could stand.

  Florence followed Kenna back to her room, shutting the door softly behind them.

  “Always so dramatic about the whole thing, that one.”

  “Why are ye so upset about it?” Kenna asked, wanting some explanation to clarify the thing that had undermined everything she had previously thought about Florence.

  “I try not to be, but Ellen is always so—well, ye ken how she is. She acts as if it was criminal fer both fathers to decline to throw her and Hugh a lavish wedding celebration after what happened. When everyone agreed to her and Hug
h marrying as quickly as possible, she thought they would still throw them a feast, but our father would not hear of it. She behaved like a child, I must admit, screaming about how the feast was already cooking and the guests already arriving, but our father would not budge on the matter. Her father did not argue the decision, either.

  “Was it a bit unfair? Perhaps. But it was just too great of a scandal to celebrate. It was supposed to be the sort of affair that celebrated the rise of the next Laird and Lady of Lovat and instead it was the hushed marriage of a second son to a woman he had foolishly stolen away from another man and impregnated. The only people who would drink to that would be the ones who wished to forget it.”

  “I see…” Kenna whispered, thinking back to her own wedding. Though she hadn’t thrown a tantrum in front of everyone, she had not exactly behaved well either.

  “Aye, well, now, of course, she continues to get upset because her marriage to Hugh has prevented her from taking on the title of Lady of Lovat, which is, of course, now destined to be yers. If ye try and reason with her, saying that she is still a noble lady of Lovat, she’ll tell ye that ‘tis just not the same. Then she goes on some bluster, some awful one that I swear she practices whenever she looks in a mirror, about how anyone would be unable to so quickly come to accept a change that completely changed the course of their life.”

  Kenna nodded and worked her way through the piles of boxes to take a seat in the chair, feeling suddenly exhausted by all that she had learned. Was that why Ellen was always so cold to her? Because she took a power that Ellen hoped to have for herself?

  “But that is silly, is it not?” Florence continued, clearly not put out by Kenna’s poor replies. “If she were that dedicated to Rob and his title, she would not have run into Hugh’s arms so easily, no? When all is said and done, she is still married to a rich man of noble birth whom she loves and receives love from in return. That is more than many women could ever wish fer. Christ, ‘tis far more than even I can wish fer. So, there is hardly a reason fer her to complain, is there?