Highland Savior: A Medieval Scottish Highlander Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  "Yes," Rosina mused, "it is." But she said no more.

  When Logan saw Malcolm, he was on his own, since Donald had gone away in high dudgeon.

  "Malcolm, I need you to do something for me," he said grimly, "I need you to keep this very secret, do you understand? Not one of your family - nobody should know."

  Malcolm sighed and put his hands on Logan's shoulders.

  "Master," he said affectionately, "you saved my bairn's life. I wid dae onything for ye."

  "Thank you, Malky," Logan let out a deep breath. "I am not coming back with you tonight. Don't give anyone an excuse - they don't need to know where I am. Tomorrow I would like you to go to Dumbarton and see what you can find out about this rumor."

  * * *

  "Why, Sir?"

  "Because I did dispose of that body," he replied heavily. "I did not kill him, and all I can tell you is that he was not murdered, and there was good reason for what I did. Do you trust me, Malky?"

  Malcolm nodded.

  "I aye have and I aye will, sir."

  "I will meet you in the forest tomorrow, just by the crossroads. Whistle for me - I will be among the trees."

  Malcolm mounted his horse.

  "Goodnight and good luck, Sir," he said mischievously, "and enjoy your dinner!"

  Malcolm rode back to Fraser Castle thinking about what his Laird had asked him to do. He would have to be very subtle and not too intrusive, but he was sure that he could do it. Indeed, he would do anything for Logan. Five years before, when his daughter was a little child of six, they had been collecting shellfish on the seashore when she walked in too far and a wave had come and swept her away. Logan, who was not normally part of these expeditions, had taken a fancy to collect some himself that day. Malcolm could not swim, but Logan was a strong swimmer, and he pulled her out before any damage had been done. From that day forward Jeannie had idolized the Laird and included him in her prayers every night. Malcolm had thought ever since that he was a guardian angel. He could only speculate on Logan's words and wonder what they meant. He had heard descriptions of the body and unless it was a freak accident or suicide he could not imagine the Laird's meaning in saying that it was not murder. But he would do what he could. He sighed. If he had the choice he would never work for anyone else but Logan Fraser.

  19

  Dinner at Rosie's

  When Hugh heard that Logan was coming for dinner after all he raised his eyebrows and said archly:

  "For a man who is supposed to be very antisocial, he is making himself very available to you, Rosie."

  Rosina sighed.

  "Father," she shook her head and smiled at him, "if you are suggesting what I think you are, put it out of your mind. Laird Fraser and I have no interest in each other in a romantic sense."

  "Then why has he become such a frequent visitor?"

  Rosina cast her eyes heavenward.

  "Father, when did you become such an old woman?" she asked, laughing, "Logan and I are friends, and he is thinking about accompanying Maisie and me to our northern property for our safety."

  Hugh looked doubtful.

  "And are you sure you are safe with him?"

  "I am."

  "Where is he?" Hugh looked around himself as if Logan would be found hiding behind the dresser.

  "He is washing," she replied, "and Father, he is in working clothes, so do not be offended. He didn't know I was going to ask him to dinner with us."

  Hugh sighed.

  "It is well past time that man got himself rigged out with some more appropriate clothes," he said grumpily, "he looks like a scarecrow."

  Just then, Logan entered the room.

  * * *

  "You are right, Sir," he agreed, "but until the last month I have had no need of presentable clothes, and no doubt I will have little need of them again."

  Hugh was rather stuck for something to say for a moment, but Rosina jumped up and offered Logan a chair.

  "Whiskey? Wine?" she asked politely.

  He held his hand up.

  "I don't indulge, Milady, but thank you."

  Hugh sipped his whiskey and ordered water for Logan.

  "Why do you not drink spirits or ale, Sir?" he asked curiously.

  Logan turned his fierce blue gaze on him and said firmly: "because I choose not to, Laird Buchanan."

  Hugh's mouth opened, then closed again with a snap. He was not pleased. Logan, remembering that he was speaking to his host, mended the situation quickly.

  "My apologies for my rudeness Sir, but the matter is a sensitive one for me. Please pardon me."

  Hugh inclined his head graciously, and the awkward moment passed.

  The first course consisted of scallops filled with potatoes and topped with cheese sauce.

  "My compliments to your chef, Lady Rosina," Logan said courteously, "these are wonderful."

  Rosina smiled as she watched Logan eat heartily. She loved to watch a man enjoying his food.

  "I will tell her, and she will be delighted. She is a lovely woman - one of our treasures. But my Maisie of course, is my biggest treasure of all."

  The second course was roast lamb that was so tender it melted in the mouth, accompanied by braised vegetables moistened with gravy.

  * * *

  Logan had to stop himself from bolting it down with unbecoming haste, but Rosina had seen his face when the food was brought in,

  * * *

  and when he had cleared his plate, she asked him if he would like a second helping.

  "Yes, please, Lady Rosina," he replied gratefully, "if it is no inconvenience."

  Hugh laughed.

  "Indeed it is not," he replied, "it is grand to see a man who appreciates his food as much as you do, Laird Logan. I think I will join you."

  The two men began to work their way through another plate of food with relish, and while her father was flagging towards the end, Logan ate his way through it with concentrated dedication. When he had cleared his plate once more Rosina raised her eyebrows and looked at him.

  "No more, Milady," he replied, and smiled at her as if she were the only woman in the world. She smiled back, and for a timeless moment, there were only two of them in the room. Then Rosina's father gave a discreet cough.

  The third course consisted of delicate curd tartlets smothered in fresh cream, and when he had eaten three, Logan pronounced himself satisfied.

  "I have not eaten so well for months," he pronounced in tones of deep satisfaction, "thank you, Laird Hugh, Lady Rosina. It was a fine meal."

  "Would you like to try drinking something new?" she asked mischievously.

  "I am always ready for new experiences," he replied, "let it never be said that my mind is closed to anything."

  Rosina ordered the maid to bring in something that Logan had never tasted, or even heard of, before. It was served in china cups like tea, and the fragrance was like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was smoky and aromatic with a hint of bitterness, and that was just how it tasted. He sipped it tentatively, wincing slightly at its astringency.

  "Try a little milk," Rosina suggested, pouring some into his cup. "If you would like it sweeter still, you can put in some honey."

  Logan sipped it again. It was glorious. The fragrant taste flowed smoothly over his tongue like a river of - he could not describe it. It was at once sweet and bitter, with a smoky, delicate aroma that was indescribably delicious.

  * * *

  "What is it?" he asked incredulously, "it is the most wonderful drink I ever tasted!"

  Rosina sat back in her chair and laughed, clapping her hands.

  "I knew you'd love it!" she cried. "It's coffee. They tell me that it is very fashionable in London and there are places called 'coffee houses' where rich gentlemen go to talk about politics and the events of the day. And -" she paused to gather her momentum and wagged a finger at him, "I foresee that one day coffee will be drunk all over the world!"

  * * *

  Hugh laughed.

&nbs
p; "My daughter, the prophet!" he laughed, "just because she is besotted with it she thinks everyone else should be. She is like a missionary!"

  "Where does it come from?" he asked, draining his cup.

  "They say that it grows in Africa," she replied, pouring a cup for her father and herself, then another cup for herself, "and I think the Dutch bring it here. But I do not care whence it comes. I love it."

  Logan and Hugh exchanged glances, and each man liked what he saw. Hugh saw a steady, honest man with few social skills, and Logan saw a caring, devoted father.

  "I should like to get some," he said incredulously, "I have never tasted anything so - exotic."

  "I think that you had better stop drinking after this cup, though," Rosina advised, "or you will not be able to sleep. I will get some for you, but it is expensive."

  "I do not care what it costs!" Logan said amazed at himself. "But I am not sure I should dine here again." He looked at his empty coffee cup, "or I shall be fat and sleepless!"

  "I doubt that, somehow," said Hugh, looking at the strapping figure of the man in front of him, and laughed. They all joined in, and Logan suddenly remembered the reason why he was there. Strangely, he had forgotten about it. He had actually enjoyed the food, the coffee, and the company, and it was all because of Rosina. He appreciated the fact that they had not tried to delve into his private life or ask him questions he could not answer, such as why, at the age of thirty, he was neither married nor courting anyone. He loved being with Rosina too, but he would never tell her so. They were already too close and he really was as he had told her, a lost cause.

  20

  Sweet Dreams and Nightmares

  Maisie showed him to one of the guest rooms, which was luxuriously appointed with thick brocade curtains, Turkish rugs and a huge carved mahogany bed with a rich cream silk coverlet. He looked around in awe. Not even the best of his bedrooms looked like this.

  "I do not think I have ever slept in a bed like this in my life!" he pushed down on the bed and felt its soft springiness under his fingers. All this luxury made his apartments look Spartan by comparison.

  "I hope you sleep well, my Laird," she smiled at him, "is there

  anything else you need?"

  "No, thank you," he turned to her, "I will be very comfortable here, Maisie."

  She smiled and curtsied.

  "Goodnight my Laird," she replied, "sleep well."

  It was fully dark by now and becoming cold, so he took off his clothes, carefully folded them over a shining mahogany chair, and slipped in between the cool sheets, smiling. It was only then that the full weight of his problems descended on him. He might be a wanted man by now, or the itinerant laborer they called Big Sam could have been making it up for his own self-gratification, a moment of glory to lighten up the hard drudgery of his life. Or Donald, of whom Malcolm had spoken in tones of deep scorn, could have been making the whole thing up. But it was too close to the mark for that.

  Someone had seen something. He sighed. Was it Rosina's coffee that was keeping him awake or the sense that he was standing inside a crumbling edifice which was going to fall on him at any moment? He tossed and turned for a long, long time before sleep claimed him, but his dreams were no more pleasant than his conscious thoughts.

  He dreamt that he was walking down a long corridor with many doors on each side. Rosina was running towards him, laughing, but when he put out his arms to receive her she ran straight past him and went through one of the doors behind him then shut it behind her. He tried to open it but it was firmly locked. He could hear her light

  * * *

  musical laughter from inside the room and the deeper rumble of a man's voice. He tried the door again, and this time it opened. When he went inside he saw Rosina and Alasdair locked in a passionate embrace, but when they heard him they both turned towards him, and he saw that Alasdair's head was crushed inward with the ghastly wound that had killed him. He backed out hastily and ran as fast as he could out into empty darkness.

  He woke up breathing heavily and looking around himself in a blind panic. He only stopped himself screaming by clamping his hand over his mouth. Eventually, he realized that it had been an ugly dream and let himself fall back on the pillows. After that, he couldn't sleep again.

  Logan was not the only one dreaming about Rosina. Connor was doing the same, but his dreams were much more pleasant. He was dreaming about kissing her, caressing her face, shoulders, breasts, then laying her down on a soft bed while murmuring endearments to her. Best of all, she was whispering them back.

  "My sweetheart, my darling, my love…" his voice was thick with desire, while hers was soft, but the words were the same. They were not only lovers but husband and wife. And she loved him with all her heart.

  * * *

  Connor had had many such dreams about Rosina since his brother's death, but strangely he never dreamt of Alasdair at all. It was as if he had never existed. He could not grieve for him, for he had not loved him the way brothers usually loved each other. He felt regretful about that, but he had spent not one moment of his busy days crying over Alasdair - he simply had not been worth it. Now he had his sights on Rosina, and he knew that he would treat her with the respect and love due to her. She was not only a beautiful woman, but she was intelligent, sometimes very funny, and full of life and joy. Connor would be proud to call her his wife, even if it took him years of courtship to achieve his goal of making her love him. He was thirty-eight years old and had had many chances to marry, but it was his intention to marry for love, to have children with a woman he cherished, and that woman, for him, could only be Rosina.

  * * *

  He looked in the mirror, and the man he saw looking back at him pleased him. He was straight and tall with regular features and deep brown eyes, His hair was thick, brown and wavy, and he was not balding like so many other men of his age. All in all, he thought, he was quite a handsome man, with wealth and comfort enough to offer any maid. Thinking of maids and maidenheads, he wondered if Rosina and Alasdair had consummated their marriage or if the killer had struck too soon for that to have happened. If he married her, he would find out, but it was not exactly a subject for conversation over the dinner table! He penned a letter to Rosina, asking her to come to dinner with him the following Sunday, and sent it with a messenger to Dumbarton Castle. He was sensitive enough, under the circumstances, to invite her father too. She would not want to be alone with another McPhail man for a long time yet.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Malcolm was going in search of the man who had caused all the trouble. Big Sam was usually to be found shoeing horses at the blacksmith since he was one of the only men who could lift the feathered feet of the huge draught horses used for plowing and hauling. He was holding one up now while the blacksmith filed the horny hoof of a magnificent gray Clydesdale stallion. Malcolm went up to his head and rubbed his hand against his velvety nose. Like most of his breed, he was a gentle giant, and he whickered softly at Malcolm's soft touch.

  * * *

  "Fine day," he said to Sam, taking his pipe out of his sporran.

  "Aye," Sam grunted, putting the horse's foot down.

  Malcolm was taking his time about lighting up his pipe, and the horse nudged him with his head as if telling him to get on with it.

  "Fine beast," he said, laughing, "whit's his name?"

  "Bobby," Sam answered, "he's ane o' Laird McPhail's horses, and a gentler animal ye couldnae' hope tae meet. Ye're a sweet boy, are ye no' Bobby? Did ye hear aboot the Laird's brother?"

  "Aye," Malcolm shook his head and tutted, "terrible business. Did they get the skellum that did it?"

  "Naw, not yet," he replied grimly "but they will. I saw who did it, though and I told the Justice who it wis. They need tae ask some mair questions then they're aff tae ask him some. Efter that it will jist be a matter o' time before they hang him - or worse. I wouldnae' like tae be in his shoes."

  "Whit?" Malcolm pretended to be amazed, "tell me mair. W
ho wis it?"

  Sam put the horse's foot down and wiped his hand on a rag.

  "Yon big dour lump fae Castle Fraser," he answered, disgust evident in his face and voice. "It wis him."

  "Naw!" Malcolm said in tones of deep incredulity, "could ye swear tae it?"

  "Aye!" Sam picked up Bobby's front foot, grimacing with the effort, "he wis wearin' a stupid blue bunnet. I saw that."

  Malcolm shook his head.

  "Mind ye, naebody likes him onyway!" he observed. He was trying to keep on Sam's good side so he could pump him for more information.

  "But if ye didnae' see his face - they wilnae' believe ye."

  Sam shrugged. It was no longer his concern.

  "I jist told them what I saw," he replied, "whit they dae wi' it's got naething tae dae wi' me."

  "Ye're a good man, Sam," Malcolm smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder, "weel done for daein' yer duty."

  Malcolm passed a few more moments of pleasant small talk with Sam so that he did not suspect that he was being interrogated, then he excused himself and left. As he walked away he looked back once to see Sam still holding the horse's foot. He had obviously not suspected a thing.

  21

  Acting the Part

  When Rosina received Connor's invitation to dinner the first thing she did was show it to Maisie.

  "Do you think I should go?" she asked anxiously.

  Maisie looked at the letter, written in Connor's neat sloping hand.

  "I don't think it is an unusual request," she remarked, "after all you are his sister-in-law, but I am not the best person to ask. Maybe you should speak to your father. He is invited too, after all."