Highland Savior: A Medieval Scottish Highlander Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  "Stay for dinner, Laird Logan," she said pleasantly, "we are having venison tonight."

  "Thank you, but I cannot," he backed off and got on his horse. "Good day, ladies."

  Then he was gone.

  "You know, Maisie," Rosina remarked, "I am beginning to be heartily sick of seeing the back of that man's head and his horse's behind!"

  16

  Talking to Logan

  "Father," Rosina said wearily, "that Logan Fraser wears me out. I can't make head nor tail of him!"

  The Laird laughed.

  "Aye, he's a strange lot, that's for certain sure!" they were having dinner in the small dining room overlooking the river.

  "He's shy, really," she observed. She could not make her mind up if she liked Logan, but he had certainly had an effect on her - those blue eyes seemed to mesmerize her, but she had a feeling that they did that to a lot of people.

  "I expect Maisie told you her answer to me?" Hugh asked, keeping his head down.

  "Yes, but do not be too hard on her, Father," she replied, "a Laird and a ladies' maid is very unusual although I agree with you that she is a fine woman."

  "She is that," he sighed, "and I have a fine daughter. I should be content."

  Rosina shrugged.

  "Why?" she smiled at him, "Father, you are a man like any other - of course, you want a son! You may not get one but you may yet find another wonderful lady. Maisie is not the only fish in the sea!"

  * * *

  Rosina privately thought what a pity it was that Maisie could not see fit to become her father's wife. It would have been fun to play mother and daughter.

  * * *

  "Aye, you are right, lass," he said wearily, "but maybe it is not in God's plan for me!"

  As Rosina was waiting for Logan she was sitting in one of the big front rooms looking upriver towards Glasgow, watching the river traffic. The many-masted ships never failed to fascinate her, sailing to Scotland's biggest town and commercial hub, Glasgow, with cargoes such as tobacco, sugar, tea, and cotton. She could only imagine the places these exotic goods came from, places with names like Jamaica, Virginia, and even China. She had heard of places where people's skins were dark brown, and she had once seen a Chinese woman with beautiful almond-shaped eyes and long shiny hair.

  But the river here was very shallow, and she knew that the really big ocean-going ships unloaded at Greenock and Port Glasgow further down towards the sea, and transferred their exotic cargoes onto the smaller, nimbler craft. After Greenock, the mighty River Clyde flowed west and south, past the islands of Arran, Bute, Cumbrae and Little Cumbrae and into the Atlantic Ocean. If anyone had asked Rosina where she was from, she would not have said 'Scotland' first, but Clydeside. She knew that the Highlands of her country were very beautiful, and she had been to Perth, Inverness, Aberdeen and Dundee many times, but she was a Lowlander, and proud of it. Still, she reflected, it would be pleasant to go to their little house near Fort William again. She and Maisie would go as soon as they could.

  * * *

  Just as she was mulling this over the door opened and Logan came in, dusty and work-worn as usual. He never looked like a Laird, she thought - more like one of his tenant farmers! But none of them had his commanding height, and she would have been very surprised to find any of them with eyes like his.

  "Laird Logan! How good to see you!" she went forward to greet him with a little curtsey while he bowed, hands clasped behind his back.

  "And you, Lady Rosina," the corners of his mouth twitched up and for a moment she thought that he actually might smile, but the expression did not reach his eyes. Rosina ordered some tea and then beckoned him to the window.

  "I am always sorry that my bedroom does not have this view," she said sadly, "it faces the mountain behind us. I could sit here for hours. I always think of this as my river, as if I own it because I love it so much. Don't you think it's a splendid view?"

  * * *

  He looked down at her smiling face, flushed with enthusiasm and for the first time in an age, he felt the urge to actually kiss a woman. He was suddenly - what? Relieved? That was something he had last done so long ago he could hardly remember what it felt like, and he had thought sometimes that he had lost all the urges that made him a man.

  * * *

  "It is indeed," he agreed, then he looked down at himself. "I am sorry for my appearance, but until lately I have had no need of any clothes for afternoon wear. I never usually call on people."

  "It's of no matter at all," she replied, waving the matter aside, "it is not what is outside, but what is inside. Do people call on you?" she asked. The tea had arrived and she was pouring it as she spoke. He made a noise that might have been a humorless laugh.

  "No, Lady Rosina," he answered, but said nothing more. He added about a teaspoonful of milk then sipped the tea and put it down. Rosina felt sorry for him.

  "Do you have any family hereabouts?" she asked, by way of polite conversation. He shook his head.

  "No," he replied heavily.

  "What? Nobody near here or nobody at all?" An awful feeling was beginning to ball up in her stomach. He looked grim.

  "My father died five years ago of some or other fever, my mother long before him," he sighed, "and I am the only living child. No -" he put his hand up as she opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. "No pity, please. It is just the way things are."

  * * *

  Rosina nodded, but her heart was aching for him.

  * * *

  "You will wed some beautiful maid sometime, I am sure," she smiled, trying to inject a little levity into the conversation.

  "Perhaps," he drank the rest of his tea in one draught. She thought how ridiculously large his hands were against the delicate daintiness of the china cup, but the contrast only seemed to highlight his helplessness.

  "More?" she asked politely.

  "Thank you, no."

  Rosina sat back in her chair and looked at him frankly.

  "We share a terrible secret," she said quietly.

  "We do," he agreed. "Do you dream about it?"

  "Yes, terrible dreams. You?"

  He nodded.

  "Yes. And Maisie?" he looked around. "Where is she?"

  "She is doing something for my father," Rosina answered quickly, "she sometimes has dreams, but not as bad as mine. Neither of you actually k-killed him…" she tailed off, and put her hand over her lips so that he could not see them trembling.

  "I know something of what you are feeling," his voice was very gentle, "I thought I could feel him moving as I carried him downstairs and when I put him down I was sure he was going to reach out and try to strangle me."

  "You didn't hear the noise the candlestick made when -" she could not say the next words, "it was a noise I will hear in my worst nightmares forever!" she began to cry quietly, and he wished he could put his arms around her, but that was never going to happen. It was too late. For a moment he was silent, then he knelt down in front of her on the carpet.

  * * *

  "He was drunk and mad," he said sadly, "he might have killed you, and if he had done that they would have hanged him anyway. You must also think of all the people who love you - your father, Maisie - perhaps even Connor. Maybe Connor will marry you. He is a very eligible man."

  He was talking rubbish and he knew it, but he had no experience in talking to women.

  "And you? Would you marry me?" she was half-joking, smiling through her tears, but immediately his face changed as if a blind had come down on it, shuttering off all expression.

  * * *

  "Forget me," he said grimly, "I am a lost cause."

  17

  A Conversation

  "Why?" she asked, puzzled, "why are you a lost cause?"

  He sighed and ran his hair backward through his dark hair.

  * * *

  "It is a long story, Lady Rosina, and I am not going to burden you with it," suddenly he looked very tired. "Suffice to say that if you knew the truth a
bout me you would not want to be seen in my company."

  She changed the subject completely then, not liking the way the conversation was going.

  "Where were you born, Laird Logan?"

  "Fort Augustus, a tiny wee place near Inverness," he replied, "my father inherited land there and bought the castle down here. When I was old enough I took over the running of the Lowland one in Renton, Castle Fraser."

  "Can we stop being so formal?" she asked suddenly, "I am Rosina - you can call me Rosie if you like, and you are Logan. Do you agree?"

  He nodded, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

  "You almost smiled," she said mischievously, "do you think you could do it again? Go on, I dare you!"

  He looked at her for a moment then he did smile. For the first time, he treated her to the widest, most sparkling smile she had ever seem.

  * * *

  "It's like the sun coming out," she said in wonder. She stepped forward and put a fingertip in the dimples on each of his cheeks. He laughed softly, wishing he could allow himself to kiss her.

  "You are an easy person to smile at," he told her, then he frowned and looked down at his hands, which were clenched very tightly together. "What we did will never leave us, but it is a bond that we share. If you ever tell anyone, tell them about my part too, for I am also partly to blame."

  She looked up into his sky-blue eyes and said:

  * * *

  "Whatever we have shared today will never leave this room, Logan. And if you ever want to talk to me about why you are a lost cause I will listen." Then she said, "and if you ever want to smile again you can come here - I won't tell anyone - I promise!"

  He laughed, then bowed and kissed her hand.

  "Thank you - Rosie."

  When he left, Logan felt as if a lead weight had been taken off his shoulders. He felt free, and for the first time in an age his heart, mind, and body had been stirred by a woman. Then he remembered. He was a lost cause, and always would be. As soon as Rosina found out his secret, she would also want nothing to do with him. Besides, he had had his heart broken once before, and that was once too many.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Malcolm was chatting idly with one of the grooms from Rosina's stables. It seemed that there was still a lot of interest in the subject of Alasdair's murder. They were drinking ale, and Malcolm was once again defending Logan's character.

  "Sure he's a miserable big galoot!" Donald said, taking another hefty swig of beer. He was a small skinny man with receding red hair, small gray eyes and a perennially malevolent expression, who had never been known to say a good word about anyone.

  "Aye, he disnae' present a guid face tae the world, but he's got a heart o' gold, I tell ye," Malcolm replied.

  Donald sniffed.

  "Ye hear whit they're sayin' aboot him?"

  Malcolm cast his eyes heavenwards.

  "Naw, but I expect ye're gaunnae' tell me!"

  After another long draught of ale, Donald wiped his lips on his sleeve.

  "They say he wis the ane who killed the Laird Mc Phail's son."

  Malcolm was shocked, but he laughed it off. It was, of course, a joke, but it was not even slightly funny, and it was in extremely poor taste.

  "Oh, aye! And who's sayin' this then?" he said scornfully, "yer Granny's ghost?"

  * * *

  "Naw," Donald replied, "Archie MacPherson the blacksmith, and he heard it fae' yon lassie doon at the bakery. It's a' over the toon."

  "An' the lassie at the bakery heard it fae her uncle's brother-in-law's second best friend I expect?" Malcolm said scathingly, "awa' before I skelp ye ane!" he said scathingly.

  "Naw!" Donald retorted, "it wis from Big Sam, yon hefty fella that helps the Laird and the blacksmith sometimes. He was there! So there - put that in yer pipe an' smoke it!"

  * * *

  "Aye - and why have they no' arrested the laird yet then?" Malcolm was so close to Donald that he could have spat on or struck him, but the little man did not back down.

  "Who knaws whit these clever folks dae?" Donald shrugged.

  Malcolm threw his head back and laughed.

  "So ye're tellin' me that a perfectly innocent man should hang because your pal thought he might hae' caught a wee glimpse o' somethin' in black darkness?"

  "He's a laird," Donald said bitterly, flapping his hand at Malcolm, "they never hang lairds!"

  "NAW!" Malcolm roared, "THEY BEHEID THEM! Only a few years ago two Jacobites had their heids chopped aff, and dinna' think they widnae' dae it again, proof or nae proof!" He was not exactly sure if they still beheaded people, but it sounded good just saying it.

  Donald shuffled backward, eyes wide with fright.

  "Calm doon!" he made a placatory gesture, "I'm jist tellin' ye whit I heard!"

  Malcolm's face was red with rage. Logan had always treated him with the utmost kindness, even though he was not the most demonstrative of men. With one last poisonous look at Donald, he went upstairs to tell Logan the news, only to find he had been listening to the whole conversation from the top of the stairwell.

  * * *

  "Did you hear?" Malcolm asked quietly. Logan nodded, biting his lips in agitation and thinking.

  * * *

  "I must tell Rosina," he said at last, "I do not want her to be unprepared when she hears this."

  "Aye," Malcolm said, nodding, "an' I dinnae believe a word o' it, Laird Logan."

  Logan patted him on the shoulder.

  "Thank you, Malcolm. It is much appreciated."

  He sprinted back up the stairs again, taking them two at a time and was about to knock on the door when Rosina came out and collided with him. For a moment their bodies touched each other, then they sprang apart.

  "Did you forget something?" she asked, alarmed.

  "Rosie," he said, taking her by the shoulders, "I have bad news."

  18

  A Plan

  "Before I say anything, I want to tell you not to interrupt," he said firmly, "can you promise me that?"

  "I promise," she whispered, looking at his grim expression with trepidation.

  He took a deep breath and sat her down on a couch, then sat down beside her.

  "Apparently somebody saw me putting Alasdair's body in the ditch," he put a finger to her lips as she started to speak. "I said don't talk, Rosie."

  Just then, there was a knock on the door and Maisie came in. She saw Logan and frowned, then spoke to Rosina.

  "Are you all right, Mistress?" she asked anxiously, "you look so pale."

  Logan stood up to give Maisie his seat, then gave her the same instructions he had given Rosina. He gave her a brief explanation of what had transpired, and she put her hand to her lips then sucked in a breath.

  "I do not know if this is just a rumor," he said wearily, pushing his hand back through his hair in a gesture that was becoming familiar to them, "or if someone really did see me."

  Maisie was the first to speak.

  "Who is the person who said he saw you?"

  "Big Sam, an occasional casual worker for your father, Malcolm says."

  "Oh, him!" Maisie said scathingly, "he's an idiot."

  "I should confess," Rosina said suddenly, jumping up from her chair, "or you will suffer the blame."

  "Indeed you will not!" Logan thundered, "we have to think."

  "I will tell my father," she was crying now, "he will know what to do."

  Maisie put an arm around her shoulders.

  * * *

  "Mistress, do you remember why we did not tell him at once?" She was looking directly into Rosina's eyes, "because he is a good man, but a sensitive one. This would eat him up. It would haunt him forever. Then both of you would feel guilty for all time."

  Rosina buried her head on Maisie's shoulder and burst into sobs. Maisie allowed the weeping to run its course while Logan paced the floor restlessly.

  "What have I done?" She put her hands over her face, "I have ruined your life!"

  "You
have not!" Logan said sternly, "what I did was of my own free will, Rosie!"

  Logan stood over her for a moment then knelt down. He almost gave in to the temptation to haul her into his arms and thanked the stars that Maisie was there to stop him.

  * * *

  "May I make a suggestion, my Laird?" Maisie asked.

  "Please do," he sounded relieved that she was taking the initiative.

  "Stay here tonight," she said, looking at Rosina, "if Mistress Rosina and the Laird permit, of course. Have Malcolm ride into Dumbarton tomorrow and see what he can find out."

  Logan looked thoughtful.

  "That is a good idea, Maisie, thank you," he looked at Rosina, who was looking a bit more hopeful.

  "I will tell Father you are staying to dinner," she said, smiling tearfully again. "Logan - I am sorry for all the weeping!"

  He shrugged, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

  "I have seen women weeping before!" He looked out of the window. The late afternoon sunshine was beginning to redden and the shadows were lengthening.

  "I need to speak to Malcolm," he said hurriedly, "excuse me, ladies."

  He disappeared like a whirlwind out of the door leaving Rosina and Maisie to digest what had just happened.

  * * *

  "He called you 'Rosie'" Maisie said brightly, to lighten the mood.

  "I asked him to," Rosina admitted.

  "That is your family's name for you."