Desiring The Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  Minutes later, Ellenor sank into the hot water and felt the weight she had been carrying temporarily lift from her shoulders. The calm lingered about her as if she had not a worry in the world. Then Laurel scolded her stomach, telling it to stop hitting her. The silly comment was a soft reminder that much had changed in the past four years. “Tell me everything, Laurel. I feel like my life has been in a strange state of suspension and I have only just realized it. How did you come to live in the Highlands, fall in love, and be with child?”

  “Be with child?” Laurel chuckled. “This will be my third child. At least I hope it’s only one!”

  Ellenor’s eyes grew enormous, demanding explanation. Laurel complied, detailing her wild courtship with Conor. She described how they met during her escape from being attacked, how she fell in love with the harsh but bountiful northern country, her children, and the many friends she had made. Throughout it all, Ellenor could hear the love in her friend’s voice for her husband. A week ago, a love that strong would have mystified her; now it was something she understood far too well.

  Hours passed. The tub was removed and a nice young girl helped Ellenor style her hair for the evening. Throughout it all, she and Laurel talked. Conversation slowed from the flurry of all that had happened to a nice pace about current life and the stresses of being the wife of a chieftain. They had just started discussing the wonders of motherhood when they were interrupted by three short staccato-like taps on the door.

  “Come in, Brighid!” Laurel called out, recognizing the distinctive knock. A petite woman with a delicate oval face and almond-shaped brown eyes entered the room. Her unruly brown hair was partially covered by a skewed triangular-shaped piece of off-white linen. The kerchief was tied behind her neck and was barely able to contain the mass of curls beneath it. She didn’t wear a bliaut, but a skirt and leine-like shirt. Over them was the McTiernay plaid, belted across her waist with the ends thrown over her shoulder as a shawl. The mass of material should have made her look bulky and weighed down, but somehow, the woman’s small figure was still distinguishable.

  “I am so sorry it took me so long to get here…”

  “The babes?” Laurel inquired, hoping her children had not been the cause of her friend’s delayed arrival.

  Brighid shook her head and turned to close the door. “No, I was with Donald, so this better be good. My husband was being unusually affectionate and he was giving me an earful about the new…”

  Brighid stopped midsentence as she realized Laurel had company. Her jaw was slack and her expression was a mixture of horror and embarrassment. Ellenor took pity on the woman. She stood up, gave her a friendly smile, and completed her sentence. “The new English wench Cole was tricked into retrieving. You must be Donald’s beloved and perfect Brighid.”

  Brighid’s eyes widened further as she assessed the newcomer. “Good Lord, you are pretty. Donald forgot to mention just how—”

  “Brighid, this is Ellenor Howell,” Laurel interrupted as she waved to Brighid to come in and relax. “She’s the childhood playmate I spoke to you about, and Ellenor, meet Brighid, a close friend and, as you have already surmised, Donald’s wife.”

  Ellenor bobbed her head in acknowledgment, inwardly grimacing as she imagined what Donald had said about her and his bruised groin. “Uh…I’m very sorry about your husband. He grabbed me and I didn’t realize where I was kicking—”

  “Sorry! Don’t be!” Brighid interrupted, waving her hands for Ellenor to sit back down. “Whatever you did, please do it again and regularly! I love that contrary beast enormously, but never has he been quite as open with his compliments as he has been this past hour. In fact, he was quite sore you called for me, Laurel, and I was, too…at first. Now, I think I am going to have a much better night for it, so thank you.”

  Laurel tilted her head. “I accept your thanks and plan to accept Donald’s tonight at dinner. I assume he is coming.”

  “Aye, even if I have to drag him. Aileen and Finn will be there as well.” Brighid twisted one of the empty hearth chairs so that she could converse more easily with both women and then fell into it unceremoniously. She wagged her finger at Laurel. “I thought you promised the laird you would rest.”

  “I am resting so don’t hound me and now that Ellenor is here…”

  Ellenor sat up a little in her chair. “What do you mean, now that I am here?”

  “Just that you, more than any one here, is well versed in the management of a keep,” Laurel explained. Then, in a more serious tone she added, “With Conor gone and this little one growing larger by the day, I am hoping you are going to help Fallon run things until I am able to move about once again.”

  “I am?” Ellenor quipped. “I mean I would love to help you…but won’t people think it a little presumptuous to have an Englishwoman—”

  “Then find someone else who knows how to run a castle.” Laurel sighed, closing her eyes. “This baby is a lot easier to carry than two, but the past couple of weeks it has been a great deal more painful. It kicks my ribs constantly. I can only seem to manage standing up for short periods of time before it hurts too much and I have to lie down.”

  “Then shouldn’t we fetch the midwife…”

  Laurel waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “No need. Hagatha comes every few days and says it is just the way the babe is positioned. Best thing to do is lie down whenever I can. That is why I need help to run this place.”

  “Surely there must be someone else. I mean…I can’t! I’m English and I don’t know anyone and—”

  “And besides me, you are the only one who has ever maintained a keep and managed staff.”

  “But what about that steward you pointed out?”

  A scoff came from Brighid. “Fallon is the best, as is Fiona and all of the McTiernays…but they are McTiernays.”

  “What Brighid means to say is that while they are wonderful and exceptional at their duties, they are stubborn, hardheaded, and will bicker endlessly and get nothing done if there is not someone guiding them to do otherwise.”

  “But there have to be others…”

  Laurel shook her head. “Glynis won’t be back for a few more weeks until she has finished helping her husband plant the crops, and Aileen is busy with her two babes and the twins.”

  “Well, what about you?” Ellenor asked Brighid in desperation.

  Brighid threw up her hands and leaned back. “I am probably the worst choice Laurel could make. I don’t have the right temperament, and with Donald home, I have my own cottage to oversee. I’ve seen what Laurel has to do keeping things running here and it is a full-time job, not to mention it requires dealing with Fallon and the laird.”

  “Conor isn’t that bad,” Laurel piped in.

  “Aye, he is. And so is Fallon, not to mention Fiona. So bless you, Ellenor, for not only knowing how to maintain a keep, but being willing to do it.”

  “There is absolutely no one else?” Ellenor squeaked. A week ago, she had refused to associate with anyone. Running a keep meant meeting, talking, interacting with a variety of people—most of them men. She was still adjusting to being around just two or three huge Highlanders, let alone dozens of them. She was not prepared for such a responsibility and promptly said so.

  “Don’t go scaring her, Brighid. It won’t be that bad. It won’t be for long. Conor should be home any day and Fallon is a tame housecat compared to Cole. As far as being around people…well, you’ll manage. I’ll ask Cole to help you,” Laurel finished with a yawn, unable to fight sleep any longer.

  The blood drained out of Ellenor’s face. Her mind started racing. How was she going to manage? What was Cole going to say? She muttered his name and then suddenly brightened. She had told Cole she was moving on with her life, and maybe seeing it happen would make him realize what exactly that meant.

  Brighid watched Ellenor’s expression go from dread to anticipation. She had considered returning to Donald once Laurel fell asleep, but seeing the Englishwoman’s dram
atic shift in demeanor while whispering the name of the most difficult of McTiernays, Brighid changed her mind. She wanted to know more about this newcomer.

  Donald had described Ellenor as difficult and stubborn, troubling the commander more than he could recall any other person ever doing. He also had said they had argued constantly and Cole had actually lost some of them.

  Brighid suspected she was going to like this Englishwoman.

  Cole McTiernay was a complicated man. He never spoke, and when he did, it was clipped and to the point. It had taken almost two years for Brighid to appreciate what Donald found so admirable about his commander. Since then, she had hoped someday Cole would meet someone who could crack his hardened heart and teach him how to let others see the man he truly was. Who would have thought that person would be an Englishwoman? Then again, who else could it have been? Cole lived in the past, and maybe only someone who represented that past could bring him into the present.

  Brighid stood up and indicated for Ellenor to follow. Once outside the room, they quietly as possible closed the door and descended the twisting stairs. Just before they reached the bottom, Brighid explained where they were going. “Laurel fights sleep, and I thought it best to leave and talk elsewhere. We could go to the Lower Hall, but at this hour, soldiers will start to come and go…”

  The thought of dozens of huge men eating and being boisterous sent a wave of panic through Ellenor. She wasn’t exactly afraid of men anymore, but neither was she capable of ignoring the instinct to stay away from them either. “If you don’t mind, is there somewhere…more private?”

  Brighid pursed her lips, thinking. After a moment, she murmured to herself, “Why not?” and then turned to Ellenor. “How about the Great Hall? No one should be in there since the laird is away and I know Laurel won’t mind. And the laird did say we were to ensure she got her rest…” Brighid added, clearly rationalizing the unorthodox suggestion. Then, without waiting for good sense to intervene, she tugged on Ellenor’s gown and said, “Come, it’s this way.”

  Ellenor accompanied Brighid across the courtyard, which seemed to be growing more and more crowded as the time came closer to the dinner hour. Most of them enormous men, who by their appearance, were soldiers that had spent the day practicing the art of war. As Brighid predicted, most were mulling around the Lower Hall waiting for food and ale.

  Skirting around a cluster of them, Ellenor ignored their strange looks of curiosity and open admiration and silently thanked the Lord none had reached out and physically stopped her. Finally, they reached the Great Hall.

  Ellenor entered the cavernous space and stood still in open admiration. Along each of the long walls were generations of detailed tapestries of great battles, people, and the Highlands. She took a step and heard the sound echo in the empty room. A high stone vault, made more elaborate by the addition of ribs, created the ceiling. Underneath the fresh rushes covering the floor was not dirt as she assumed it would be, but wood, indicating that there were rooms beneath. To the left was a sizable fireplace to heat one end of the room, and to the right, along the east far wall, was a canopied fireplace, already lit, with several chairs situated around its heat. Similar to Ellenor’s day room, the Hall—despite its size, grand decorations, and current empty state—felt warm and inviting.

  Brighid headed for the chairs without hesitation. The ease of her action indicated she had been in this grand room multiple times and truly did feel comfortable being there without the laird’s or Laurel’s accompany.

  Sinking down onto one of the dark cushioned chairs, Brighid waved her finger for Ellenor to do the same. “Oh, before you do, hand me that, will you?” she asked, pointing at a semifull pitcher of mead.

  Ellenor passed it to Brighid, who poured the contents into two wooden drinking cups sitting on a small round table between the hearth chairs. Picking up one of the cups, Ellenor sat down and sipped the sweet honey drink, sighing with pleasure. “After that trip, this is excellent.”

  Brighid grinned mischievously. “Someday I am going to have to make that trip myself. The most unexpected people come from the south.”

  Ellenor smiled at the roundabout compliment. “I am glad to know your husband was wrong in his assumptions.”

  “Wrong?”

  Ellenor nodded, kicked off her slippers, and pulled her feet up underneath her. “Mm-hmm. He swore you and I would never get along.”

  Brighid rolled her eyes. “Donald should’ve known better. Laurel’s half-English.”

  “My being English was only part of it. I hate to admit this, but at the time, I smelled rather awful.” Ellenor chuckled. “You will be glad to know your husband considers you a woman of quality who, according to him, would never associate with anyone who intentionally refused to bathe, kicked men where they oughtn’t, and most especially, pretended to be deranged.”

  Brighid’s eyes flashed with curiosity. “I’m tempted to ask about the kicking, but I think I am better off not knowing. It’s hard to imagine a woman besting my husband, and if I knew any more, I might burst out laughing when I saw him next. And you’ve met my Donald; he wouldn’t take too well to that.”

  Ellenor smiled. “He is very lucky to have married a woman who understands him so well.”

  “It seems he knows me better than I thought. A woman of quality, eh?”

  “I promise you those were his words.”

  Brighid shook her head in disbelief. “What is almost more unbelievable was how vocal he was in front of you.”

  Ellenor finished swallowing her mead and waggled a finger back and forth in the air. “Uh, not exactly. To be fair, he was talking to Jaime Ruadh and he had no idea I could understand Gaelic.”

  “Now that makes more sense. Laurel said you could speak our language, but I confess I didn’t believe it. Most outsiders consider our tongue too difficult to learn.”

  Ellenor’s brow furrowed in confusion. When not warring, the men and the women who lived on either side of the Scottish border conversed often. Granted it wasn’t English or Gaelic, but a form of Scot; nonetheless, each culture had learned to barter with the other. “Surely that is not true. I know my father spoke with several Scottish farmers and—”

  “Not in Gàidhlig.”

  “No, but—”

  “Ellenor, most Lowlanders cannot understand our speech, let alone converse in it. Donald can only speak broken Scot, and I know not one word of it, never having been south of the McTiernay mountains. And yet you speak our language as if you have lived in the Highlands your entire life.” Brighid leaned forward and asked, “Are you truly English? Or are we going to find out that you, too, have Highland blood in your veins?”

  Ellenor winced at the hope in her voice. “Not a drop in me, I’m afraid.”

  Brighid took a deep breath and exhaled, openly still skeptical. “Then how did you learn Gaelic? And so well?”

  Ellenor shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really know. I used to sneak into the village abbey and listen to all the strange languages being spoken by the visiting clerics. Then one day an abbess caught me spying. She must have realized I had some kind of ability, for instead of throwing me out, she began teaching me what she knew. Now I can speak and write several languages. They just come naturally to me. As for Gaelic, in the village I overheard the smithy speaking to Laurel and the sounds were so different, intriguing…well, that is how we met.”

  “Several languages, you say,” Brighid murmured, tapping her finger on the edge of the cup. “Conan will be quite envious.”

  Not understanding Brighid’s inference, Ellenor shook her head and said, “Unfortunately, understanding your language is one thing. Knowing your customs is quite another.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that as much.” Brighid reached up and pulled the kertch off her head. She shook her brown curls free and tossed the white fabric onto the nearby table. “See that? It’s a custom that married women wear those things. Some love them, claiming it keeps their hair out of their eyes, but I find th
em binding and uncomfortable.”

  “Then why do you wear it?”

  “Thanks to Laurel and her willingness to defy certain customs, I usually don’t. I did today because, as you might have guessed, Donald is somewhat of a traditionalist and I wanted to make him happy on his first day back. Tomorrow, I will return to making me happy and enduring his grunts of disapproval.”

  Ellenor’s smile widened and she tipped her head back. “Laurel disavowing customs. That sounds like her. My older sister, who is much closer to her in age than I, considered Laurel thoughtless with her rebellious ways and hated the fact that I’d rather be with Laurel than her. What can I say? She knew how to have fun. Gilda still doesn’t.”

  “Oh, really,” Brighid said, her eyes sparkling with interest. She propped her elbow on the edge of the side table and rested her chin on her palm. “Do tell. For it is hard to imagine our Lady of the Castle not perfect at anything.”

  “Well, she has always been a good mistress and she taught me much of what I know. My sister—”

  “No, no, no,” Brighid interrupted. “I want to hear about Laurel’s wild and unladylike days.”

  Ellenor bit her bottom lip. “Hmm, well, you know that she hunts.”

  “Aye.”

  “And has a serious love of knives.”

  “I know that she can throw them.”

  “Fine. Then how about midnight swims. In the nude.”

  Brighid’s jaw dropped and Ellenor began relaying stories of their midnight rendezvous. Soon, Brighid couldn’t control her laughter. “Oh, tell me more!”

  After a while, both were sharing outrageous escapades from their childhood and they found themselves laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.

  “Oh, how is it that we have only just met, but it feels like we have been friends forever.” Brighid sighed, holding her ribs as the laughing pains subsided. “I never would have believed to have so much in common with a noble who grew up in England.”

  Ellenor took a deep breath and wiped away a happy tear. “Ah, I think Laurel and I are English oddities. Many titled women are like my sister, unfortunately. It’s a shame really. I cannot recall Gilda ever once giving way to hysterics as we just did. She will probably die never knowing how good it feels.”