An Outcast's Wish (Highland Heartbeats Book 3)

by Aileen Adams

  The river was moderately sized but didn’t run too swiftly here, looping around the base of a low-lying hill. It was too far to skip a stone across, but not so far that she couldn’t swim it if she had to.

  Another odd thought came to her. How did she know she could swim?

  It was a perfect morning; the sun had just breached the horizon. A few clouds billowed high into the sky from the west. A slight breeze tugged at her hair, plaited into one long braid that settled on her back though wisps of hair around her forehead stubbornly broke loose.

  This was so very relaxing and she turned to Maccay, prepared to thank him again for such a wonderful idea.

  Women didn’t usually go fishing, but he seemed prepared to indulge her love of the outdoors and she appreciated that.

  They had brought with them two long sticks, a roll of heavy thread, and a small supply of bread and cheese that he’d managed to coax from the cook.

  For the first time since she had arrived, she didn’t feel like she was someone’s burden.

  Maccay told her that he had arranged for Hugh to take over guarding Sarah and Heather for the day.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do Sarah and Heather need to be guarded?”

  He hesitated. “There’s a rumor than an enemy clan is planning some sort of revenge against Jake and the laird, and then we also heard that their stepfather might be looking for them, and so the laird wanted me to—”

  “Why would their stepfather be looking for them?” she asked, confused.

  She saw his expression.

  He looked uncomfortable.

  She was being intrusive. “Never mind. But it’s all right if you go fishing?”

  He nodded. “He knows I’m taking you fishing.”

  She wondered what the laird thought about that, but then decided that he had much more important things to worry about.

  They had walked the mile or so to this location from his small house. When they arrived, he had handed her one of the sticks and a long length of string that he cut with his knife. She immediately knew what to do.

  While he tied a small chunk of cheese to the end of his string, she crouched down by the water and began to dig up the dirt, looking for worms.

  Maccay seemed surprised, but then simply shrugged and grinned as he prepared his own pole.

  “You’ve been fishing before.”

  He didn’t state it as a question and she merely shrugged.

  She obviously had. “Let’s see how well I do.”

  He nodded, and then ready to fish, he strolled along the bank, looking for a good spot.

  They spent several pleasant hours along the banks of the river. By mid-morning, they had managed to catch nearly a dozen good-sized fish. They had competed with each other—of sorts—an unspoken contest after Alis caught the first one. They shared some conversation, a few laughs, and she’d learned a little bit more about Maccay Douglas.

  She wondered if her growing attraction to him was merely because he had been so nice to her or due to the fact that she had already noticed several admirable traits about him. Regardless, the idea brought her no little consternation. What was she thinking?

  They may be sharing the same roof, but as far as he was concerned, that’s as far as it would go, or at least that’s the impression she felt from him. The way he looked at her sometimes, he almost looked guilty, but she couldn’t imagine why.

  “I guess we better be getting back,” he said, looking up at the sun. “Too late now to catch any more. We’ll keep a couple of these fish for ourselves and give the rest to the cook for the house. Is that all right with you?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  She felt good. She felt like even in this small way, she was contributing to her own sustenance, her keep, so to speak. In some small way with these fish, she was supporting the laird and his family.

  Until now, she had been the recipient of the generosity of the Duncans and of course, Maccay. Any small way that she could return the favor was a boon not only to her self-esteem, but her pride.

  They gathered their fishing poles and strings of fish—six on Maccay’s and five on hers. They walked slowly back toward the manor house, their pace casual, not in any great hurry. She glanced askance at him several times, but he appeared deep in thought, his gaze continually sweeping the countryside.

  As they approached the main house, Alis eyed the activity. A few warriors and younger boys in the meadow beside the pond practiced with wooden swords and shields. Several more clansmen with weapons roaming about. Was their increased presence due to the rumors of the enemy clan? A young woman knelt by the pond, washing vegetables. She didn’t see much activity around the house itself. In fact, it looked rather deserted.

  “Where is everyone?”

  He glanced toward the house and offered one of his shrugs. “Sarah and Heather might be helping to birth a baby in the village. I’d heard one of the women was close. I think Jake is patrolling somewhere. I don’t know where the laird is.”

  He headed for the far side of the house where a door offered ventilation as well as easy exit from the kitchen. “Give me your string of fish. I’ll take them to the cook. I’ll meet you at home in just a few minutes.”

  She handed Maccay her string of fish, avoiding his gaze, contemplating his words.

  Home. He’d said it so casually, as if they were a couple. Meet you at home.

  It sounded nice, but again she forced herself to remember that she didn’t live here. At least not permanently. She belonged somewhere, but until she found out where, she couldn’t allow herself to get too comfortable.

  Maccay disappeared inside the house and she strolled around the corner back toward the front, seeking the shade of the large tree that stood between the house and the armory. She leaned against it, watching the men in the meadow practice fighting.

  She thought about what Maccay told her about Heather, that she liked to wear boy’s clothing, but was even more impressed that she had learned how to use weapons. The Duncan clan seemed to be tolerant, accepting of people’s differences.

  She heard voices from a window on the side of the house, not fifteen feet away from where she leaned against the tree, looking up at the leaves, enjoying the cool breeze on her warm skin after hours of sitting along the riverbank.

  “Anything new?”

  That was the laird’s voice. She recognized his deep, rumbling tone.

  To her surprise, she heard Maccay’s voice respond.

  “No, she hasn’t regained her memory, at least none that she has shared with me.”

  “Have you noticed anything different about her character? Anything suspicious? Anything to give an indication of whether she’s telling the truth or not?”

  Alis froze, stunned. Were they talking about her? They had to be. No one else had lost her memory, as far as Alis knew.

  “I don’t think she’s pretending, Phillip. Her confusion seems genuine.” A short laugh. “She does know how to fish though, caught nearly as many as I did. I have a feeling that the lass is quite comfortable being outdoors. Her survival skills and the fact that she can hunt and fish speak of years of experience.”

  “She hasn’t asked you any questions about us, the clan, or more importantly, about Sarah or Heather?”

  “Nothing more than idle curiosity,” Maccay replied. “But she’s not probing for information, nothing that could be used against us.”

  “Continue to keep her close and watch her carefully. I want to know if she mentions anything. If you can, and casually, bring up Sarah and Heather’s stepfather, Patrick.”

  Alis sagged against the tree. Maccay had mentioned Sarah and Heather’s stepfather, but not his name. Patrick. It didn’t trigger any memories.

  The laird continued to speak.

  “I need to know if she’s at all involved in these rumors. I need to know if she has any memory or knowledge of Patrick, where he is, or how he’s planning to take Sarah or H
eather from us. And the McGregors or the Orkneys. Are they involved? And I want to know if she knew Ceana. If they were planning any of this together. They—”

  “Phillip, this is all doubtful. How would Alis… how could she be involved in any of this? To what end? Why send a woman—”

  “Why not? It wouldn’t cause nearly as much suspicion to have a woman spying on us than a man… and to be found in the woods like that?” The laird paused. “I just don’t know… and until I do I’d rather be overly cautious. We’re talking about Sarah and Heather’s safety, not to mention the rest of us if the McGregors are involved.”

  “I understand, Phillip, but still—”

  “Let me know if anything changes.”

  Warm tears flooded her eyes.

  Could it be true? Maccay was not a friend, not a true friend.

  He had been charged with literally guarding her.

  The laird suspected she was a spy, and Maccay obviously believed it too.

  Shocked and hurt, she moved away from the tree and quickly walked around the side of the house and deeper into the shadows of the trees behind it.

  They thought she was a spy. That was why she was living in Maccay’s house. At the laird’s suggestion.

  Her heart pounded and her stomach felt tight with knots. All of it was a lie? Is that why he was being so nice to her? He was pretending? Trying to trap her, to trick her?

  A tear rolled down her cheek. She lifted her hand to brush it away with a grunt of frustration. Startled by the pain that stabbed at her heart, she headed even deeper into the forest, trying to quell the emotions rising in her chest. First came the hurt and the pain, and then an overwhelming sense of disappointment. She walked faster, slapping at branches in her way.

  How could he possibly think…? A spy? Her emotions betraying her, she broke into a trot, choking back her tears, trying to relieve the pain bubbling upward in her chest.

  She felt so alone. Completely and utterly alone.

  For the first time since she had awakened in the Duncan house without her memory, without anything to grasp onto, she felt alone, abandoned, and unwanted. She had been on Duncan lands for nearly two weeks based on her reckoning. So far, no one had come to claim her. No one looking for her in the nearby village or outlying properties.

  She couldn’t go back to Maccay’s house, not now. Would not live a moment longer under Maccay’s roof, his gesture of hospitality nothing more than a means to an end.

  She began to run, anger now burgeoning where pain and disappointment had dwelt only moments ago. She would not stay where she wasn’t truly wanted. She ran faster.

  To think that Maccay had been pretending to be her friend all this time…

  She ran, ignoring the pain in her feet from the stones she stepped on with her soft-soled boots. She darted her way among the thick growing trees, slapping at the shrubs, not caring which particular direction she ran.

  She had survived in the forest before.

  She could do it again.

  13

  Maccay exited the manor house through the kitchen door, carrying the last two fish on a string, whistling softly under his breath. By the time he stepped over the threshold, he knew why he felt so satisfied.

  He had truly enjoyed spending time with Alis. He knew that she still had a lot of things to figure out, and he certainly wasn’t pushing for a closer relationship, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he liked her.

  He liked her a lot.

  Even in spite of Phillip’s doubts, which he could understand due to his worrying about Heather and Sarah, he enjoyed spending time with Alis. He didn’t think she was at all pretending her memory loss, nor that if she was, that she could fool him. While he didn’t want to believe that she could be a spy, it was possible. Unlikely, but possible.

  Still.

  She was quite different from any woman he had met before, even Heather. He had thought Heather was an odd lass at first, wanting to wear boy’s clothes, learning how to fight and use weapons of war, but as he had gotten to know her better and grown used to that aspect of her character, he admired her for her spirit. Obviously, Heather was not the only one, and in Alis, perhaps Heather had a kindred soul.

  At the river, he had not had to show Alis how to fish. Her skill had seemed instinctual. He was sure that, like Heather, Alis was unique in spirit and one who didn’t much care for other’s opinion of her. She was who she was, with no apologies made. Maccay found that refreshing and understood now more than ever what had attracted Jake to Heather and eventually compelled him to marry her. Life would certainly never be boring for Jake and Heather, Maccay was certain of it.

  Did he want that for himself? He scowled at the thought. They didn’t know who Alis was. Alis was not even her real name. He should not be thinking such foolish thoughts.

  He glanced around the yard looking for her but didn’t see her anywhere. Maybe she had gone back to their small house. He ventured past the armory toward the house, but didn’t see any sign of her there either. Nevertheless, he entered, thinking that he would certainly find her inside, perhaps waiting for him to bring the fish. She wasn’t.

  Frowning, he exited his house, placing the fish down on the bench under the window.

  “Alis!”

  His call produced no answer. He frowned as he stepped into the small stable, but didn’t see her in there either. “Where is she, Bruce?” His horse responded with a shake of his head, his mane dancing as he impatiently stomped a hoof. He’d been cooped up inside the stable all day. As soon as he found Alis, he would take Bruce for a short ride while Alis prepared supper.

  He ventured back around the armory, looking everywhere for her. Had she gone inside the manor while he was speaking with Phillip? He walked toward the side entrance to the house and entered through the open door into the kitchen area. The cook looked up, a harried expression on her face. She held onto a headless fish, cleaver poised as she prepared to chop off its tail. Beside the fish head, he saw a small pile of chopped vegetables on the large wooden table in the middle of the room.

  “Cook, have you seen Alis?”

  She gestured with her chin.

  “I saw her running into the woods like something was chasing her.”

  Maccay frowned, confused by the comment. Nothing untoward had happened for the few minutes that he was inside the house talking to Phillip.

  “Running? Did something happen?”

  Cook shrugged and slashed the cleaver down, neatly cleaving the fish into two pieces. “No, it’s been quiet around here.”

  Maccay nodded and retraced his steps to the side yard, once again scanning the property at the front of the manor, looking for Alis along the edges of the pond, the meadow where a couple of young lads practiced with wooden swords with their mentor clansmen, and then back again. Where was she?

  He turned toward the narrow foot path that traced along the side of the house between the natural grasses and the tree line. Maybe she’d seen something? He stepped into the tree line and ventured a few steps into woods, peering through the trees looking for any sign of her. Nothing.

  “Alis?” He spoke softly at first, and then raised his voice, calling again. “Alis! Where are you?”

  Nothing.

  He continued to scan through the trees and shrubs. Not sure what to think, he shook his head and returned to the corner of the house, where he paused for several moments, scanning the yard, the area around the pond and meadow beyond, and even further beyond that and still saw no sign of her.

  His gaze strayed toward the large tree between the corner of the manor house and the armory. Maybe she had taken shelter under the tree to get out of the warm early afternoon sun. He wandered toward the tree, not especially alarmed, but confused.

  She would have heard him calling her if she was sitting there. Why didn’t she answer?

  She wasn’t there. Looking down at the dirt at the base of the tree, he saw small, fresh, and undisturbed footprints. So, she had been here while he was i
nside the manor house—

  He turned to thoughtfully stare at the house and his heart sank. The tree was not far from the window that opened into Phillip’s workspace, the room where he and Phillip had been discussing Alis just minutes ago.

  Had she heard them talking? Was it possible?

  “Phillip,” he said, maintaining an even tone of voice, not whispering, but not overly loud either. Moments later, Phillip poked his head through the open window, glanced around to see who had spoken his name, and seeing Maccay, frowned.

  “What is it, Maccay?”

  Maccay was sure of it. “We have a problem.”

  “Maccay, I’m busy. What are you talking about?”

  “Alis.”

  Phillip’s frown deepened. “What about her?”

  “She’s gone.” Maccay felt startled by the feeling that swept through him.

  She was gone.

  Gone.

  The word evoked such a sense of finality. Remarkably, they had a huge influence on his emotions as well. Sadness, regret, coupled with guilt.

  “What do you mean, she’s gone? You two just came back from fishing.”

  Maccay stepped toward the window as Phillip eyed him. “I think she heard us talking.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “She was standing under that tree.”

  It didn’t take Phillip long to realize the implications of Maccay’s announcement. He muttered under his breath. “So, go find her.”

  “Cook told me that she ran into the woods on the other side of the house. I didn’t see her.”

  “So, go find her,” Phillip repeated, more firmly. “If she is a spy, we can’t let her make contact with whoever is waiting for her, can we?”

  Waiting for her? How could someone be waiting for her? If she had no memory, she wouldn’t know that someone waited for her—if she was truly without memory. If she was a spy…

  Maccay nodded and turned, quickly making his way back to his stable. In a matter of minutes, he had Bruce saddled. He mounted and urged his gelding into the woods behind the manor house. He found one track that might belong to Alis near where the small footpath entered the woods, but beyond that, he saw nothing—at least, not at first.