Highland Savior: A Medieval Scottish Highlander Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  He could see that much taste and effort had gone into the decor of the room and wondered if Rosina had done it -

  it was too delicately handled to have been done by a man. He went to look out of the big bay window and noticed that the top part of it was inlaid with stained glass in the same hues as the carpets. Everything reflected the colors of everything else, and it was a truly harmonious effect. Logan loved it, and wished whoever had done it could come and decorate his Spartan masculine, apartments.

  Presently Mrs. McNab came back with a tea tray on which rested the teapot, cup, a milk jug and a plate with a heap of scones dripping with butter and honey. Logan hadn't been aware of being hungry but now that he had seen the scones he was ravenous.

  * * *

  "We'll have a wee bit dinner in a while," she explained, "but ye're a big lump o' a lad - I think ye need a bit o' somethin' else till then."

  He bit into one and she watched his rapturous expression as he chewed and swallowed.

  "Did you bake these, Mrs. McNab?" he asked incredulously. She smiled again.

  * * *

  "Aye," she answered proudly, "I'm away' tae get the washin' in. I'll be back in a wee minute."

  * * *

  "They are the best scones I ever tasted!" he went on to eat another, and another, and another, and when he had finished the last one, she came back and looked at his plate, which had nothing left on it but a few crumbs.

  * * *

  "Ye'll never eat yer dinner!" she looked at him and burst out laughing again.

  "Mrs. McNab, you have never seen me REALLY eat!" he informed her, standing up to his full impressive height.

  * * *

  She shook her head.

  "How does yer wife keep up wi' ye?" she asked, "you must eat her oot o' house an' hame!"

  At once, his face clouded over.

  "I'm not married, Mrs. McNab," he said heavily, "would you mind showing me to my room, please? And would you mind drawing me a bath?"

  * * *

  "Aye, of course, Sir," she went before him upstairs and led him down a narrow corridor to a room right at the end.

  He looked at the enormous space, full of light and sunshine, and knew that he loved this house. The four-poster bed had a canopy of deep yellow silk, and the curtains were made of cream brocade, but the furniture was dark mahogany. There was a long oval mirror at one end of the room which was tilted at just the right angle to reflect the sky outside and make the room look even bigger. The contrast of light and dark was stunning, and he sat, staring into space for a while, enjoying the sound of seagulls and the waves lapping on the shore outside. Then he did something that he very seldom did, and looked in the mirror, tilting it so that he could see his face. It looked back at him without expression, and he tried to see it as a stranger would when meeting him for the first time. He ran his hands backward through his thick mop of hair that was as dark as a starlit sky. His eyes were deep set under thick black eyebrows, and almost impossibly blue. Even he had to admit that he had never seen eyes the same color as his own. He had a full mouth, high cheekbones, a squarish jawline and a long nose with slightly flaring nostrils. It was a handsome enough face, he supposed. His gaze wandered down to his prominent Adam's apple, probably the reason why he had such a deep voice, and his strong, broad shoulders. He was almost half a head taller than any other man he knew, and he was sturdy too. He knew that many women liked that, but few would brave his taciturn exterior to get to the gentle man inside because he would never allow it. But Rosina - Rosina was the one woman who had breached his defenses, but he could do nothing about it. This big, strong handsome man would stay barren for all his life. He would have no-one to whom he could bequeath the castle and lands, and no-one to pass on the family name, although there was no shortage of Frasers!

  * * *

  His bath was brought to his room by a huge man. He was not as tall as Logan, but he was at once fat and muscular and seemed to have enormous strength. Logan could see that he was slightly retarded, but he was good-natured, smiled a lot but said little.

  * * *

  "My godson, Alec," Mrs. McNab said as she brought in the water, "he's a wee bit touched, but he's a good boy. He daes the garden, and we hae Callum tae dae the odd jobs." She finished pouring the last of the water. "Is there onything else ye need?"

  * * *

  "Just one thing, Mrs McNab," he replied. "I really need you to call me Logan!"

  She put her head on one side and smiled.

  "Aye, I think I can dae that! An' you can call me Annie."

  "Thank you kindly, Annie," he said as she closed the door.

  He got into the hot water and scrubbed himself thoroughly, washed his hair and lay back to rest his eyes for a while. Two hours later when he woke up the bath water was freezing and so was he, but he felt rested and clean, inside and out. It was a good feeling.

  26

  Annie

  Logan got up and threw his clothes on, then rushed downstairs.

  "Annie!" he shouted as he went into the kitchen. She was standing by the coal stove stirring a pot of something meaty that smelled delicious. "I'm so sorry - you should have woken me!"

  "Nae harm done, Logan," she answered, "I got Alec tae go in an' have a look at ye. He said ye were sleepin' so I decided just tae let ye since ye looked as if ye needed it. I knew ye'd wake up when the water got cauld."

  She carried on stirring the delicious mixture for a moment, tasted it and nodded.

  "Are ye hungry, Logan?" She asked mischievously.

  "I am about to eat the table leg, Annie!"

  She threw back her head and laughed, and in a moment Logan found out that Annie's expertise was not confined to scones. Her beef stew was almost as delicious the one he had had at Rosina's, and when he had finished he sat back, replete, and smiled at her tentatively.

  "Ye dinnae' smile very often, dae ye, Logan?" she asked, looking at him thoughtfully.

  "Most people say that," he said reflectively, and shrugged. "I suppose everyone has his own way of expressing himself, Annie."

  "Ye're troubled," she frowned at him, "I have the Sight. I got it from my Mither, and she from hers."

  "Hmmm…" he looked down at his hands and avoided her eyes, "I have my doubts about the Sight, Annie."

  "You are a Laird," she said firmly. He looked up quickly.

  "How did you know that?" he asked incredulously, his eyes searching her face. She laughed softly and put her hand on his.

  "Nae magic there, my Laird," she answered, "yer voice. It is far too high class for the likes of us poor fishin' folk!"

  * * *

  "I must ask you not to tell anyone," Logan pleaded, "I came here to rest."

  "Naw, my Laird," Annie replied, picking up his hand and stroking it, "ye came here for sanctuary."

  "How -?" he began, but she held up her hand for silence.

  "I telt ye how I knew," she replied, looking deeply into his eyes, "ye're runnin' away fae somethin' - in fact - twa' things."

  He frowned, puzzled, then stood up, intending to put some distance between them. Maybe someone had followed him here and she had spoken to them.

  "You don't know me from Adam," he said coldly, "and though you are a lovely woman and I do not wish to offend you, I must ask you to please attend to your own affairs and stay out of mine."

  "Jist ane mair thing," she added before he left the room, "fae ane o' these things ye'll escape - from the other ye willnae'."

  * * *

  He looked around to see her penetrating green eyes almost boring holes in him.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean jist that. But I cannae' tell ye which o' these things will find ye and which will not, and whether they are good or bad."

  "I think you need only look at my face to see that something is troubling me, Annie. As for the second thing - you are imagining it."

  Annie continued to gaze at him for a while longer, then she nodded and smiled.

  "We will see,"
she said calmly, "now, Logan, will ye take a wee bit whiskey?"

  "No, thank you," he replied, trying not to sound annoyed, "I don't like it much. I am going for a short walk then I will be back to go to bed."

  "I will turn the sheets down," she replied.

  Logan was never happier than when he was outside in the elements. He walked along the shore of the loch, enjoying the wind in his hair and his face. He could see a squall coming in by the great mass of purple-gray clouds along the skyline, and presently the wind picked up. He ran back to the house and burst through the front door, breathless. Annie and a man he had not yet met were sitting beside the fire, he with whiskey in his hands and she with ale. The man had sparse dark hair and was very thin, but he looked wiry and strong as a steel wire. He seemed around the same age as Annie and Logan liked him instinctively.

  * * *

  "This is Callum," Annie introduced him and the two men shook hands, "he works for us mendin' an' paintin'an' a' the rest o' the clever things men dae."

  "An' a' the while I'm courtin' young Mrs McNab here," he smiled a crooked-toothed smile and his gaze when it fell on her was tender and full of love. It made him look twenty years younger.

  "Aye, and come November we will be wed, an' it cannae' come soon enough, for my bed is awfy cauld at night!" Annie's peal of laughter was joyous and Logan could no help but join in.

  "Are you married, Logan?"

  "I am not, and have no wish to be," Lachlan replied grimly. Annie quickly changed the subject.

  "So whit are ye daein while ye're here?" she asked.

  "Going fishing tomorrow, going for a walk around - I don't know - whatever I feel like," he gave them both a curt nod, "good evening, and it was nice to meet you both."

  Annie and Callum sat silent for a moment. Annie looked troubled as she picked up her sewing, and Callum asked her gently:

  * * *

  "Somethin's wrang, lass, whit is it?"

  Annie shook her head.

  "He is runnin' away, Dear, but soon he will find that there is naewhere tae hide, at least for ane o' them. He's a troubled young man." She paused to break off a thread. "He gets a' strange when ye mention love or marriage. He's had his heart broke in a thousand pieces and it willnae' mend till another lass comes and daes it for him."

  Callum lit his pipe and stared thoughtfully into the fire.

  "Some men are jist like that, hen," he answered, sighing. "They can only gie' their heart ance. He's a big strong lad bit he's jist a wee boy inside and he wants a nice girl tae come and kiss him better." Annie had been about to mention that Logan was a laird but she kept her own counsel because he had asked her to.

  "No' too many o' them roon' here!" Annie laughed.

  "No indeed!"

  "I must go, lass," he said reluctantly as he stood up, wincing.

  "Is yer knee painin' ye again?" she asked. Callum had had painful arthritis for ten years, often brought on by bad weather.

  "Aye," Callum said irritably, "when it's as bad as this ye knaw there's gaun' tae be a big beast o' a storm in a wee while!"

  "Aye," she kissed his cheek and they embraced quickly. "Ye'd better hurry, Sweetheart."

  She saw him out of the door and yawned. She knew she had to go to bed but she was too restless. she kept thinking of the strange man upstairs, and the nagging feeling she had that something or someone was coming to find him. Her 'sight' had never been wrong, and she had no fear of her insights or doubts about their accuracy. She could never see things with total clarity, and with Logan, she could see a shadow, but she could also see a brilliant light.

  27

  Setting Off

  Rosina got on with her life. Taking Maisie's advice, she put all her problems with Connor to the back of her mind and just tried the best she could to get on with her days. She did the usual things young ladies of a certain status did: went shopping in Dumbarton and occasionally even Glasgow where she and Maisie went to a hotel and enjoyed a romantic play at a local theatre. She went to play cards and had picnics with friends, but suddenly all the diverting pastimes she had enjoyed before seemed boring and stale. At last, she had to admit it - she was pining for Logan. He was the first person she thought of in the morning and the last face she saw at night. She prayed for him, worried about him and kept thinking of every possible thing that could harm him while he was away from her.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, she had tried to find out anything that could lead her to the true source of the rumors about Logan. Malcolm had seemed convinced by Sam but he had also admitted that it was very dark and there was chaos in the courtyard. Most of the men had drunk a lot of whiskey and ale that night too, and their word could not be relied on. No, Rosina had a feeling that there was more to it than the half-seen image of a blue hat in the dark. Someone was behind the spreading of the rumors about Logan, and it had to be someone of consequence. She dismissed Connor straight away. It would have been far too obvious and he had no motive. He only wanted to find out who had killed his brother - there was no advantage for him in implicating an innocent man, and there was no enmity between them.

  No, this was someone with a grudge, and Rosina meant to find out who it was. She had tried as best she could, using her privileged status as an heiress to gain entrance to the most prestigious people in the district to find out if there was any information to be had, but there was none. She enlisted Malcolm's help as often as he could spare the time to engage the grooms and kitchen staff if they had heard anything. However, in spite of the fact that kitchen grapevine was usually very accurate and moved with almost lightning speed, he could find nothing.

  * * *

  Rosina felt frustrated and useless. She had been putting off going to see Logan because she wanted to leave no stone unturned in her quest to find out the truth, but eventually, she decided that there was no more to be gained from staying at home and wasting her time. More and more she wished she had owned up and taken her chances. She was burdened with a massive load of guilt and sometimes, during the smallest hours of the night she would wake from a nightmare in a cold sweat and cry softly into her pillow. She would dream of Alasdair's rotting corpse coming into her bed, or his soul in the shape of a big, black, hideous fanged hound. They were always black, and they were always carrying a blood-crusted candlestick. Sometimes Maisie would hear her and come to sleep with her, rocking her to sleep as if she were a child. There was no-one to share the secret with except Malcolm and all he could do was offer a few clumsy words of comfort and the hope that everything would be all right.

  * * *

  Maisie, in her usual practical manner, began to organize. They had decided to ride on their own horses, making the trip slowly and taking what shelter they could along the way. They were both experienced riders and Malcolm was to accompany them, but they would not be able to dress like the ladies they so obviously were.

  They could have adopted the costume of rustic Scottish women, but Rosina, with her robust and well-developed sense of adventure, decided to put on the garb of a stable boy, which meant hose and a tunic, the same as Malcolm. It was much more practical and comfortable than the thick layers of petticoats even the country women wore, and Rosina felt liberated. When she said goodbye to her father, however, he looked anxious and fearful, and she felt a pang of guilt over and above the continual guilt she carried around with her.

  * * *

  "Don't worry, Father," she said soothingly, "there are three of us. Malcolm and Maisie are both experienced with their swords and none of us will take any chances with strangers."

  "I am your father," Hugh said worriedly, "I would not be much of a father if I did not worry, Rosie! Please be as careful as you can and get a message to me if you can to let me know you are safe."

  He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into hair: "you are the most precious person in my world. I love you more than life itself. If anything happened to you I would wish for death myself," he took a deep breath, "I do understand why you need a chang
e of air, but I wish you could have waited till I could go with you."

  * * *

  "Then I would never go, Father," she answered, kissing his cheeks, "because there is something else you love as much as me."

  "What?" his brow furrowed. "What can I possibly love as much as my daughter?"

  "Your land," she replied, pulling herself away from him. "Goodbye, Father. I will get word to you, I promise."

  * * *

  When they set off it was blustery and gray. Maisie had organized everything perfectly, with enough warm clothes, food, and blankets for at least three days' journey. They were hoping to find farmhouses or small settlements along the way where they could resupply themselves and spend the night. Rosina was not so refined as to refuse the offer of a night in a barn. She had done it once before when she was a child and was hoping that as an adult she could tolerate it just as well. Maisie had her doubts, but then Rosina was adaptable. She had had to become so over the last few months.

  * * *

  Malcolm rode beside them, saying little. The ladies gossiped for a while then fell silent as the wind picked up and they huddled into their cloaks, tucking them around themselves for warmth. When they were around three hours into their journey it began to rain, fortunately not heavily, but enough to make them uncomfortable. They rode on for a while and were absolutely thrilled to find a tiny roadside inn, very small and not particularly clean, but looking like a palace to the travelers.