An Outcast's Wish (Highland Heartbeats Book 3)

by Aileen Adams

  “I don’t want to be suspicious of her, I really don’t. But I think, under the circumstances, it is the wisest approach. But I don’t want her so far away that we can’t keep an eye on her. She can stay at your house behind the armory.”

  Maccay sputtered. “Phillip, I… there’s not enough room! Where would she sleep? Where would I sleep? This is highly improper, even you must admit that. Why, I barely know the lass—”

  “That may be so, Maccay,” Phillip sighed. “But right now, I’m only concerned with keeping Sarah and Heather safe.”

  Maccay stared at Phillip and saw the genuine worry in his eyes. Understandable. Soon, he would become a father. It was natural that he worried about his wife and her well-being. She had had a close call, and if he could help ease Phillip’s worries even a little bit, he would be glad to do so.

  “All right, Phillip. I’ll go up and talk to Alis—”

  “I’m not exactly kicking her out, Maccay,” Phillip sighed. “It’s just that… well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I can trust her. Until we find out for sure where she comes from, I really think it would be best if we kept her close, but not right under my roof.”

  “I understand,” Maccay said. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

  “Just one thing.” Phillip stood and crossed the small room, placing both his hands on Maccay’s shoulders. “I need you to forgive yourself. There’s nothing to forgive. Things happen—things that sometimes we have no control over. You didn’t do it on purpose. Ceana was hell bent on revenge. If it wasn’t yesterday, it could’ve been tomorrow, or next week.” He paused and gave Maccay a gentle shake. “We can only do the best we can. As I said, no one anticipated Ceana being so close, not even me. So forgive yourself, all right?”

  Maccay appreciated Phillip’s words, but—

  “No one blames you for what happened, Maccay. No one. Not me, not Jake, and not Sarah or Heather. In fact, Sarah blames herself for pulling you away from your duties. We’re just glad that everyone’s okay.”

  Maccay nodded and then turned to leave the room. Plenty to think about, that was for sure. With heavy steps, he took the stairs, heading for Alis’ room.

  Now how was he going to tell her that she had to come live with him?

  10

  Alis slowly paced her room, occasionally pausing by the window to watch the goings-on outside. In the field beside the pond out front, a group of warriors trained.

  After she had returned from her middle-of-the-night stroll and her short conversation with Maccay, if it could even be called that, she found herself more confused than ever.

  She was feeling better and stronger every day. She wasn’t back to her former self physically, but she was no longer bedridden or too weak to pace her room as she was doing now.

  As far as her memory? Who knew? Maybe she would just have to start over, but start over as who? Alis?

  She knew she couldn’t stay here much longer. It was not only a matter of her uncertain history, but it was a matter of imposing. This was the laird’s house. She was not part of the family, not a trusted confidant, not a member of the staff.

  She would have to leave soon, she knew that. What she didn’t know was where she would go from here. How did one start over? What if—

  She heard footfalls in the hallway, and turned from the window when she heard them pause in front of her door.

  No immediate knock.

  If it had been Sarah, Heather, or even Agnes, she would’ve heard a knock, and then the latch to the door being lifted.

  Another visit from the laird? Perhaps his brother?

  Finally, two short knocks.

  “Alis, it’s Maccay. Can I come in?”

  “Yes,” she said, still standing in front of the window, feeling the warmth of the sun on her neck and shoulders.

  Not wanting him to see her nervousness, she put her hands behind her back and leaned against the wall.

  When he entered, as always happened, her heart gave a little skip and a jump.

  She couldn’t deny her attraction to him any longer. That trip-hammer of her heart happened every time she saw him. The heat of a flush rose in her cheeks and she quickly glanced down at the floor.

  “I’m not… I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’m just going to come out and say it.”

  She glanced up with a slight frown. Was he going to say something about her wandering out to speak to him last night? She knew that it was not done. Women didn’t just waltz out of their home in the middle of the night to speak with a man. Not alone.

  “I’m sorry, Maccay, I didn’t mean—”

  He lifted his hand and shook his head. “Not about that. It’s about something else.”

  She watched him, the way he briefly nibbled at his lower lip, as if trying to find the right words to say.

  All of a sudden, she knew what it was. “I have to leave, don’t I?”

  He glanced up sharply.

  “I’m feeling stronger every day. It makes sense.”

  “It’s not what you think—”

  “I don’t belong here, Maccay. I know that.” She gestured to encompass her bedchamber. “Everyone has been very kind.” She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders, pushing away from the wall. “I don’t wish to impose on the laird and his wife.” She paused, a slight frown wrinkling her brow as she watched Maccay shift uncomfortably. “The thing is, I don’t know… I don’t know where to go.”

  “There’s a small house behind the armory. You can live there for a while.”

  She wasn’t expecting that. “A small house? Does the laird know?”

  Maccay looked directly into her eyes, and then gazed past her out the window.

  He nodded. “He’s the one who suggested it.”

  Alis felt a surge of relief. She wasn’t sure why, but there it was.

  “So, I don’t have to go back to the woods? Or find someone in the village who will take me in?”

  He shook his head and offered a slight shrug. “Not for the time being.”

  She wasn’t sure what that meant, and didn’t want to barrage him with too many questions. For the moment, she was grateful that she would still have a roof over her head.

  She nodded. “Let me just gather my things. I’ll be ready in a moment.”

  Maccay nodded and stepped from the room, standing with his back toward the door in the hallway.

  She turned toward the chair beside the bed. Actually, she didn’t have many things to gather. She wore the boy’s clothing. She had the under gown, the ring, and the leather satchel that Maccay had found at her old campsite.

  “All right, I’m ready,” she said, stepping to the doorway.

  Maccay glanced at her over his shoulder, offering a nod. He looked disconcerted, offered a small hmmm under his breath, and then, rubbing a hand through his hair, he moved down the hallway, not looking back.

  She could tell something was bothering him—but how did she know that? It wasn’t that she knew him well, but since she had been here, since the moment she had seen him in the woods, she’d easily been able to read the emotions on his face. Anger. Frustration. Guilt.

  The look on his face now was hard to define, but he was feeling something.

  She followed him along the hallway and down the stairs to the great hall toward the front door of the manor house.

  No one else was around, not Heather, not Sarah, not even the housekeeper. The place looked deserted.

  She wondered where everyone was and then decided it didn’t matter. It was none of her business. What the laird and his family did should be of no concern to her.

  Maccay opened the door and glanced once again over his shoulder as she followed him outside. “This way.”

  The sunshine felt wonderful on her face. She loved spring. New life. New birth.

  Clutching the leather satchel close to her chest, she frowned slightly at the thought. How did she know that? How did she know that she loved spring?

  She si
ghed as she followed Maccay, receiving only brief glances from clansmen busy with their tasks. From the smithy nearby, she heard the clang, clang, clang of the blacksmith pounding on his anvil. Maybe a sword or horseshoes.

  In the stables a short distance beyond, she watched as two clansmen tried to settle a prancing gelding. From the armory, she heard a burst of laughter. Beyond the armory and near the edges of the pond, two of the household staff knelt, washing linen.

  And life went on. Time might stand still for her, but it didn’t stand still for anyone else. Finally, moving past the armory and toward a small meadow beyond, Maccay gestured.

  “You’ll be living here for a while.”

  She said nothing as she followed him into the small yard with a little stable near the house. The thatched roof house was not large, not much bigger than her former bedchamber in the manor house, but it looked solid and the thatched roof looked in good shape, enough to withstand the soon to come spring rains and thunderstorms.

  The walls were constructed of stone, covered with clay that hardened over time. The wall on the left corner up to the window space was covered with a mossy-like growth. The thatched roof looked like luachair brush, with bits of code straw and heather intertwined.

  A chimney at one side, a door near the corner of the opposite. In front of the window sat a long wooden bench.

  Maccay tugged on the leather strap protruding from a small hole under the wooden latch on the door, pushed it open, and gestured for her to go inside.

  She entered, taking it all in one glance, the small fireplace to the left. A cooking pot rested on a low stone hearth in front of it, the stack of wood between the edge of the hearth and the front corner wall. To the right, a pallet on the floor constructed of a lumpy mattress stuffed with straw. The bedding looked clean and comfortable. On the back wall between the bed and the hearth stood a small wooden table with two stools on either side. On the front wall beyond the edge of the bed stood a row of hooks. Oddly, several items of clothing hung from those hooks.

  “There’s a small stream that trickles behind the house, just down the hill. It drains into the lake a short distance away. You can’t see it from the house, but it’s handy for washing and bathing when the weather’s good.”

  She turned toward him, saw the flash of color in his cheeks and realized that he was telling her she could bathe there. No more wash tubs, no more house servants bringing her heated water.

  She nodded.

  “There’s a small cubby attached to the back of the house. You’ll find dried meat, potatoes, and root vegetables there. Until summer anyway. When the garden is going strong, everyone reaps the benefits.” He paused. “Of course, all the women in the village are expected to help with the gardening in order to share in its bounty.”

  She nodded again. “Of course.”

  “Well, I suppose you might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  Again, she nodded, not sure what to say.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “Later?”

  He nodded. “Of course. I live here.”

  The door had almost shut behind him before she found her voice.

  “Wait, wait, Maccay, what did you say? You live here?”

  The door opened and he stepped halfway through the threshold. “Yes.”

  Her entire body tensed. Feeling disoriented, she took a step back, eyes wide. “But… but we can’t live together,” she stammered.

  “We’re not. Not really. We’re just sharing the space.”

  “But… but it isn’t proper!”

  He shrugged. “Who’s going to know?”

  She sputtered. “Everyone! Maccay, I—”

  She wanted to run past him out of the house. Anywhere. Her hand flew to her chest, as if in self-protection. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Are you sure the laird knows about this?” Of course, she wanted to ask more questions, but that’s the first one that came out of her mouth. This was—

  “Of course,” Maccay nodded. “Like I said, he’s the one who suggested it.”

  “But why?”

  “Why?”

  He seemed surprised by the question.

  “Yes, Maccay. Why?” She gestured around the room. “Is that your bed?” She felt her cheeks flame with heat as she said it. He nodded. “Where am I going to sleep?”

  “In the bed.”

  This time, there was no halting the heat building up inside her, blooming from her chest up her neck, and over her face once again. Her eyes widened. “Maccay, you’re not saying that I have to—”

  He waved a hand in the air. “No, Alis. Please, don’t misunderstand. You need a place to stay. I’m hardly ever here. You can sleep on the bed. I’ll make myself up a pallet in front of the fireplace.” He tried to soothe her. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to compromise your—”

  “But this is… everyone will think…” her voice faded. She felt shocked to the core.

  “Alis, just about everyone at the manor house, in the village, and likely the landowners beyond on Duncan lands are aware that you are a guest of the laird. Everyone knows me. I am an honorable man, and—”

  “I’m not questioning your honor, Maccay. It’s just that—”

  “You can’t go back to the woods. No one should have to live in the woods. And until people around here get to know you a little better, we really can’t expect any of the villagers to take you in, now can we?”

  Her heart sank. “No, but—”

  “You need a roof over your head. I have a roof. Like I said, I’m hardly ever here. Besides, I’m not so horrible that you can’t spend an hour or two of your day with me, am I?”

  She felt the heat of a flush. “No, not at all, you’re very nice, but—” She clamped her mouth shut before she said something she shouldn’t.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said. “You’ll have your privacy. And if you insist on it, I can make a pallet out in the shed with Bruce.”

  “Bruce? Who’s Bruce?” she asked, her heart thumping even harder.

  “My horse,” he grinned.

  She shook her head.

  This was Maccay’s house. If anyone was going to sleep in the shed, it should be her. She said so.

  “I can make a pallet in the shed. I don’t want to take you out of your own house—”

  “Let’s just take this one day at a time, all right?” he suggested. “Give it a chance. There’s nothing wrong with a man and a woman sharing a roof. It’s not like we’re…” He broke off and awkwardly cleared his throat and then gestured over his shoulder. “I have to go. Make yourself comfortable. If you wouldn’t mind, maybe you can prepare some food or something for supper.”

  With that, he retreated and closed the door softly behind him.

  She stared at it, only vaguely hearing the wooden latch drop in place over the buzzing in her ears. What was she supposed to think?

  Everything he said was true. She couldn’t go back and live in the woods. She didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong in the village either. And she certainly didn’t belong in Maccay’s house!

  She stood frozen for several minutes, looking around. It was a comfortable-looking house, but the words just kept coming back, tormenting her.

  You don’t belong here.

  You don’t belong here.

  You don’t belong anywhere.

  11

  Maccay walked away from his house, shaking his head. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it one bit. For one, Phillip didn’t know that he was attracted to Alis. For two, how was he going to handle sleeping less than twelve feet away from her and not be tempted? Three, he didn’t like the deceit.

  The look that had appeared in Alis’ eyes when he mentioned why it was best that she stay at his house, under his roof, had tugged at his heart.

  She was all alone in the world, lost even to herself. From her perspective, it might very well seem that no one wanted her, that no one wanted to be burdened with her. He tried to put
himself in her position. If she didn’t remember who she was or what she could do, how could she be a productive member of any community?

  Did she remember how to cook? He could’ve kicked himself over that one. Of course she did. She’d been intelligent enough to set up rabbit snares in the woods, gut and skin them, and cook them over a fire. She was obviously resourceful.

  But was she a spy?

  He couldn’t believe that. Not because he was naïve, but what would she have to gain? In the few days since she had been at the manor house, on Duncan lands, she hadn’t slipped up once. Not once.

  Her expressive eyes, the way she blushed, those were signs of innocence, of true emotion. He hadn’t once gotten the impression that she was being deceitful. She seemed frustrated by her own lack of memory and her inability to remember who she was or where she came from.

  He knew that Phillip wanted him to keep an eye on her, but he already felt guilty. He wasn’t sure how all of this is going to work out, but he resolved that he wouldn’t jump to conclusions.

  He would do his best to give her as much privacy and space as possible while still doing what Phillip asked of him. After all, it was the least he could do, especially after he had so miserably failed Sarah and Heather.

  It wouldn’t happen again, and if he had to treat Alis this way, he would. He didn’t have to like it. But he would do it.

  * * *

  “Is she all right?”

  Maccay paused beside Sarah, giving her a sideways glance. “Of course, she’s all right, Sarah. What do you think? I’ve got her chained to my wall?”

  Sarah chuckled softly. “Why so defensive, Maccay? It was a simple question. How is she doing?”

  “She seems to be all right. She doesn’t talk much.”

  “She hasn’t regained any more memory?” Sarah paused again along the pathway to the village, crouched down and plucked a single purple wildflower from the side of the cart path.