Highland Savior: A Medieval Scottish Highlander Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  "Tell me aboot the darkness," Annie moved her chair closer so that their shoulders were touching. She often felt that physical contact helped the psychic energy to flow better. "I will ask an' you will answer."

  "Yes," he said numbly, "yes, I will."

  35

  Drunk

  Annie took a deep breath.

  "Is it about a woman?" she asked gently.

  He nodded.

  "Was she beautiful?"

  "I hope she still is," he replied, with the hint of a smile.

  Annie hesitated a little.

  "Wis she yours, or did she belong tae anither?"

  He ripped his hands out of hers suddenly, put his elbows on the table and laced his hands behind his head, moaning piteously. Annie was shocked, but she stayed silent and went to fetch some wine for him. However, as soon as he took the first sip he pushed the glass away so that it toppled over the side of the table and smashed, causing a puddle of blood-red liquid to spread on the wooden floor. Annie let it stay there while she stroked his thick hair tenderly. She felt an enormous tension in him as if he were a coiled spring about to unwind. But the secret within him was so well buried that she could not find it, even though she tried her hardest. She had reached a brick wall. He would not, or could not let her in. He would not tell her with his conscious self, and he could not tell her with his subconscious. He was suffering too much and she could not put him through any more.

  * * *

  "Come on, Logan," she said sadly, "we can dae this anither time. I dinnae want tae break yer heart a' over again."

  Logan said nothing more, but got up and left as though the hounds of hell were chasing him. A moment later she heard Maggie's hooves galloping out of the stable yard. He was running away again.

  When Rosina and Maisie came in they were flushed and laughing from the fresh wind off the loch. It had been raining earlier and both of them were wet, if not exactly soaking.

  Rosina noticed at once that Annie was very subdued.

  "What's wrong, Annie?" she asked anxiously, "are you unwell?"

  "Naw, Rosina," she answered, frowning, "no' unwell. No' exactly."

  Maisie and Rosina exchanged glances.

  "Has it got anything to do with Logan?" Rosina asked, dreading the answer.

  "Aye," Maisie handed her some tea, which she had brewed just before they came in, "he wanted tae talk, but I couldnae' get much oot o' him. There wis nothin' in his mind but darkness. I have never met a

  body that's carryin' sich a load o' misery." then she brightened up

  * * *

  and looked at Rosina, "but there is ane thing that could make him

  happy."

  "What is it?" she asked eagerly.

  Annie smiled at her.

  "He loves ye - my god, Rosina, I have never before felt sich love!"

  Rosina's heart leaped.

  * * *

  "Then why -?"

  "Because he cannae' let go o' the past," Annie said sadly, "he told me only ane thing. There wis a woman, but she belonged wi' anither man."

  Maisie and Rosina went upstairs to change, then came down to eat dinner, but even Maisie's delicious mutton stew could not tempt her. She drank two glasses of wine then mopped up some of the gravy with a hunk of bread just to stop the grumbling in her stomach. Darkness was falling but there was still no sign of Logan, and Malcolm was fretting. Rosina could see by the way he jumped at every noise and chewed his fingernails. When he paced to the window again for the tenth time in as many minutes, she put a hand on his arm to stay him. Looking into his face, she could see that it was anguished.

  * * *

  "Malcolm, sit down," she said gently, "and tell me why you are so worried about him."

  "Because he is mair than my master - he is my friend," Malcolm whispered hoarsely. He cleared his throat and went on: "when my daughter was only a wee lassie, we went doon the watter tae collect shellfish. My daughter Jeannie wis wae us and she went oot a bit too far. A big wave a came an' was gaunnae' tak her awa' but the Laird himself had ta'en a fancy tae come doon that day. Well, nane o' us could swim, although I had tae hold my Lizzie back because there wisnae' any purpose in baith o' us droonin'. I wis gaunnae try myself when the Laird came oot fae behind, pushed me oot the way an' pulled her oot the watter. He wrapped her in a blanket and put her on Maggie in front o' himsel'. She was shiverin' an' greetin' but as soon as he put his airms roon her she stopped. She has loved him ever since an' so has the rest o' ma faimly. 'Abody thinks he's dour an' grim but they dinnae' knaw him like me. He is a good an' generous man an' if onything happens tae him -"

  * * *

  Just then they heard the sound of horse's hooves outside. Malcolm ran to the window. He breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  "It's him," he said thankfully, putting his hand on his chest. He wrenched open the door and rushed outside. Logan was slumped in the saddle, half-on and half-off his horse. A steady stream of drizzle was falling and he was drenched to the skin, but as Maggie came to a halt he fell off her, thankfully being so limp that he did himself no serious damage. Maisie led Maggie off to the stable while the others picked Logan up. He was a big man and almost unconscious, so it took all of their combined strength to lift him and drag him into the house, where they laid him down in front of the fire. Malcolm began to peel off his clothes, lifting first his shoulders, then his hips, then his legs so that Annie could dry him.

  "Is he all right?" Rosina asked anxiously, "what has happened to him?"

  "Nothing that hasnae' happened tae thousands o' men thousands o' times before, hen," Malcolm replied grimly, looking up at her, "he is fallin' doon drunk."

  Rosina gasped. She was shocked to the core. She remembered that Logan had never taken even a sip of an alcoholic drink for the entire time she had known him. He obviously had a problem with it but was too proud to tell anyone. After all, a man who could not hold his drink was not really a man, was he? But it was more than that. Logan must be one of those men who could not resist a drink and therefore had had to stop drinking altogether, but tonight something had upset him enough to bring back the craving. Annie put a blanket over him to hide his nakedness, and Rosina lifted his head to lay it on her lap, drying his hair gently with a towel. He opened his eyes to look up for a moment and smiled.

  * * *

  "Rosie," he whispered tenderly, "love you, Rosie," then he pulled her head down for a kiss.

  "I love you too, Sweetheart," she replied. She could see what a sorry state he was in, but her heart was bursting with joy. Logan loved her. She had heard it from Annie, but now she was hearing it from his own lips.

  36

  A Big Decision

  Even with Malcolm's help, they could not lift Logan up the stairs, so they left him on the floor covered in warm blankets. Malcolm would not leave his side, so they brought in a straw mattress for him from the stables and he fell asleep straight away. Logan, knocked unconscious from the copious amounts of whiskey he had drunk, passed out on the bare floorboards. From time to time Rosina crept downstairs and lifted the blanket over his head to look at him, gazing lovingly at his handsome face, so peaceful in the candlelight. When morning came she rushed downstairs to find him still asleep, his face buried as usual under the bedclothes. Malcolm got up and yawned, looked over at the blanket-covered shapeless mass beside him, then got up to wash. Rosina was tiptoeing around the kitchen, but Malcolm flapped his hand at her.

  * * *

  "Dinnae' worry aboot wakin' him up, lass," he advised, "ye should knaw whit he's like by noo."

  "Are you sure he's all right?" she asked worriedly, "he's got a bump on the back of his head the size of a goose egg."

  "Well, he wid have had a good enough sore heid onyway," Malcolm replied philosophically, "I jist hope Annie has a cure."

  "I'm sure she will," Rosina laughed, "I remember when I came here as a lass she had a cure for just about everything!"

  "Aye, she's a fine woman," Malcolm agreed.

  An
hour later, they heard that Logan had woken up by the sound of a long, agonized groan. By the time Rosina went into the dining room Malcolm was kneeling by his head giving him a drink of water. By the look on Logan's face it seemed that it was needed.

  "Look at the state of you," she was laughing at him, despite his obvious anguish. He put a hand to the back of his head and winced.

  "Ow!" his voice was thick and hoarse, and his eyes had purple rings around them. "Where have I been?"

  "You have been somewhere you should not have been," Rosina laughed, "in a tavern, by the looks of it. How much did you have to drink, Logan?"

  He passed a hand across his eyes.

  "Too much, Rosie," he said dully, "far too much."

  * * *

  Annie gave him some milk and he dragged himself to his feet, still wrapped in his blankets, then sat down at the table. Malcolm sat anxiously on one side and Rosina on the other, still stroking his hair. When he had finished his milk, Annie brought him a cup of some evil-smelling brew with the instructions:

  "Get that doon yer neck!"

  Rosina wrinkled her nose at the acrid stink, but Logan swallowed it in one draught, then shuddered.

  "What is that stuff?" she demanded.

  * * *

  "Willowbark Tea," Annie replied tartly, "he'll be right as rain in an hour. We'll gie him a bath an' a'. Logan!" She had shouted right in his ear and he groaned.

  "Annie - can't you see I'm sick?" he protested weakly, screwing his eyes shut against the daylight.

  "Tell somebody that cares," she replied heartlessly," ye brought it on yersel'."

  She called Alec to boil water for a bath, and Logan trudged upstairs to lie down till it was ready. Rosina and Maisie went back upstairs as well to prepare themselves for the day, but as they were passing Logan's door he called out:

  "Rosie!"

  "Logan?" she looked at Maisie, mystified. What could he possibly want?"

  "Can you come in for a moment?"

  "If Maisie comes with me," she replied doubtfully.

  "Maisie can stand outside," came the reply, "I am not going to molest you. I give you my word of honor as a gentleman."

  Rosina hesitated for a moment, then nodded to Maisie and opened the door, shutting it softly behind her. He was standing by the windows, still wrapped in his blankets, and she ached to be in his arms.

  "I wanted to say sorry," he said sadly, "for all I have put you through the last few days."

  "You have nothing to be sorry for, Logan," she said quietly as she moved towards him, "you are honest and I respect that."

  He closed the distance between them, dropped the blankets and folded his arms around her. There was a towel around his hips and she was not sure whether to be glad of that or not.

  "You are so lovely," he whispered into her hair, "but you must please not speak of marriage again. You have seen what a disgrace I make of myself when I drink. I do not know who put me on my horse last night but some kind person must have done it because I could not have done it myself. And that is the least of my faults. Rosina," he looked at her from his sky blue eyes, now soft with love, "forget me. I have a good manager in my property in Renton, and I can stay in the Highlands and look after my other estate. This must be the last time this happens."

  * * *

  "That is about the fourth time you have said the self-same thing, Laird Logan," she laughed, "why do you not just acknowledge that we cannot stay away from each other?"

  * * *

  He frowned, then shook his head in exasperation, picked her up and laid her down on the bed. Her heartbeat quickened as she wound her arms around his neck and he kissed her, pulling her so tightly against him that she could feel his natural male response to the pressure of her body against his. She wished he had not insisted on Maisie being so close, but perhaps it was to protect themselves from themselves.

  Logan could not believe that he had her in his arms, lying in his bed and saying tender endearments. It was more than he had ever hoped for, but this really was the last time.

  "I love you, Rosie, I love you, love you, love you," he whispered, then he rolled away from her and stood up as Maisie knocked on the door.

  "Bath is coming, Mistress!" she called loudly. She opened the door and Alec brought the big copper tub in. Behind him came Malcolm, carrying two large buckets of hot water. He looked shocked to see her, but said nothing as she swept past him. Alec left and the two men stood looking at each other. Malcolm spoke first.

  "Was that wise, Sir?"

  Logan smiled. "Nothing happened beyond a kiss or two, Malcolm."

  "May I speak plainly, Sir?" Malcolm asked as Logan stepped into the water. Logan looked surprised. Malcolm had never asked such a thing of him before.

  "Of course, Malcolm. What is it?"

  Malcolm sat down on a chair and thought for a moment.

  "I think the Lady Rosina wid make ye a fine wife, Sir. Naw -" he held up his hand as Logan was about to protest, "hear me oot, please. I knaw ye suffered some terrible pain in the past and it near broke yer heart, but is she no' the lass tae help ye mend it? Wid a wee bairn or two no' be jist the thing?"

  Logan was silent for a while.

  "If that suggestion had come from anyone but you, Malky," he said, "I would have had a few choice words to say to them, but you are my friend, and I value your advice. I have had so much of it from everyone these past weeks it's a wonder my ears are not bleeding!" he frowned. "But something has come of it. I cannot carry this burden around for much longer by myself, so I will find a way to tell her. Does that please you?"

  "Indeed it does, my Laird," Malcolm smiled from ear to ear, "an' if it dis mean that ye get wed I will be the happiest man alive."

  37

  Cockles and Mussels

  Connor was uneasy. Something about the way Monique had spoken to him had jarred on him. He knew she was completely in his power because he was in a position to eject her from his castle and leave her destitute, but it would give him no pleasure to do so. A woman had crossed him that way before and he had never forgotten it. Still, he would forgive her. She would no doubt think twice next time.

  Just then, the subject of his thoughts came striding towards him, dressed to go riding with her nephews at her heels. Personally, Connor found them rather irritating, since they were always playing around his legs and squealing. The noise drove him mad. It was even more annoying to have to pretend to be charmed and amused by them. One thing he was certain of - his inheritance would not be passed on to them! That was why he needed this young, fertile woman and a son to whom he would pass on his estate. Now, she smiled at him.

  * * *

  "We have mended our little contretêmps of last evening, Mon Chèr?" she asked prettily, looking at him from under her long dark lashes.

  He laughed.

  "How could I stay angry with someone as beautiful as you, Monique, my love?" he kissed her hand, then gave her a mischievous smile

  "How I wish we were already married - then we could mend our quarrels in the bedchamber!"

  Monique assumed a theatrical expression of shock.

  "My Lord!" she said, in tones of deep disgust, "you dishonor me!"

  Then she burst into a fit of giggles, and he joined in with his deep masculine laugh. The quarrel had been mended, and Monique breathed a deep sigh of relief. She must learn to bite her tongue in future.

  She was taking Jacques and Henri down to the river front to play that day, and they were all in high spirits, for the weather was fine, if absolutely freezing, and the stiff breeze was whipping up white horses on the water. The boys loved picking up shells and skimming stones across the wave crests, and they loved to be with Monique too, for she helped them to make up ridiculous stories and poems and generally acted like a child herself.

  They were learning to speak English and were picking it up at an astonishing rate, although many Scots words were finding their way in too. They were also acquiring the cadence of Lowland speech, which Monique
thought adorable. Now she sat with her hands around her knees, looking across the river to Langbank, thinking about Hugh.

  They had had two more trysts, and even with her limited experience, she knew that he was a wonderful lover. And he was kind, perhaps because he knew that she wanted his company for his own sake and not because she had been bought. Bought - yes, that was the right word. There was ostensibly nothing wrong with Connor and he had never raised a hand to her, but he did occasionally like to remind her how much she owed him, and how much he intended to collect. Sometimes she was afraid of what would happen when it became apparent that she was not going to become pregnant. She would then be useless in his eyes. Would he make up some pretense to get rid of her? She sighed. She had been happy enough to go along with the arrangement until she met Hugh, but now - she could not imagine life without him.

  * * *

  When it was time to go back she mounted both boys on their ponies, thinking how charming they looked in their McPhail tartan kilts. Soon they would be more Scottish than French. they were idling back along the bridle path when a familiar figure came along, riding his great chestnut mare Bella. Hugh took his hat off and bowed to them.

  "Milady," he smiled at Monique, "gentlemen," he said to the boys, who giggled and imitated his bow.

  * * *

  "Laird Hugh," Monique answered, "it is a fine day, is it not?"