‘And I you. I shall see you at market.’
‘Good day, Leith.’
‘Keila.’ He bowed and raked her form with one last long look that left her feeling bare and chilled. He turned away and mounted his horse. Keila forced her feet to hold still and not dash inside Drummin House. With a final glance, he rode toward nearby Drummin Castle where he and his fellow caterans resided. Her shoulders relaxed into a comfortable position and she licked her lower lip, left tender by her worrying teeth. Would he ever leave her be?
‘Are they gone?’ Moira said from inside the doorway.
‘For now, but I fear not for good,’ Keila said approaching the open door.
‘He believes he will eventually win you over,’ Moira said, coaxing her forward with a beckoning hand. ‘Foolish man.’
Keila stared at her friend, silently thanking her for her support for the thousandth time. She truly had been blessed the day she was born and the Countess of Ross made her most trusted lady’s maid Keila’s guardian.
She cleared her throat. ‘He woke.’ She walked to the healing room doorway. ‘I asked him who he is.’
‘And?’ Moira prompted, stopping beside her.
Keila looked at her friend and then stared across the room at the sleeping stranger. ‘He doesn’t know.’
Chapter 3
The heat of the afternoon sun strengthened each day as summer lengthened. Keila shifted in her crouched position, moving her weight from one foot to the other, and for a moment, turned her face up toward the sun. It was good to be outside and completing market day chores while Moira took a turn watching over the slumbering stranger.
She reached for the last green sprig poking up through the garden’s soil in this particular row. The remaining larger sprigs were for their own use and the smaller ones weren’t yet ready to be pulled. They would be by next market day. She brushed off the dirt clinging to the carrot and dropped it into the pail with the others. This batch was a good one and would fetch a good price at market. She’d known she’d have enough to give their horses Mist and Nettle a carrot each as a treat when she’d finally fed them earlier.
‘The pots are filled and covered.’
Keila looked up and straightened from her crouching position. ‘That’s bonny, Moira.’ She stood and stretched. ‘We’ve only the carrots, cabbages, turnips, leeks and onions to wash ready for packing.’
‘Only,’ Moira scoffed and rolled her eyes to the heavens.
‘Any word or movement from our guest?’ Keila hoped her words didn’t sound as rushed to Moira’s ears as they had to hers.
Moira turned about and fixed Keila with a look that said she’d failed to sound uninterested. ‘Nae.’
Keila averted her gaze and wondered how Moira loaded one single word with censure and scorn as well as a warning. She bent and lifted the pail of carrots. ‘That’s bonny, then.’ She headed for the kitchen door. ‘Let’s hope he stays asleep so we can get our work done.’
‘Aye.’ Moira met Keila’s gaze with a look that said she didn’t believe a word she’d just said.
She stopped and stared at her friend. ‘Come now, Moira. You want to ken who he is and what happened to him just as much as I do.’
‘Aye, but only so I know what to call him when I send him on his way.’
‘He’s sore wounded. I can’t toss him out when he’s hurt and doesn’t even know his name.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Both.’
She returned Moira’s stare. In this she wouldn’t give in. She knew Moira meant well and was protecting her, but oft times her wise friend could be overly cautious and overly protective.
Moira finally looked away, reached for the pail of carrots and turned back into the kitchen, mumbling ‘stubborn lass’ just loud enough for Keila to hear.
Keila smiled. She would have been lost long ago without Moira.
Her gaze wandered toward the sitting room and her curiosity spiked again. She’d agreed to let Moira watch over him, as he’d woken and hadn’t tried to harm Keila.
‘I’ll just check in on him before I collect the turnips.’
‘Of course you will.’
Keila left Moira shaking her head in the kitchen that was located at one end of Drummin House and was the place they happily spent most of their time, cooking, eating and preparing for market. She entered the adjoining room and as she walked, her gaze wandered about the chamber, drinking in the feel of the home she loved. The herb pots Moira had filled, covering them with small pieces of hide and then securing the hide in place with a thin strip of leather, were stacked neatly within wooden boxes that covered half the floor.
If these walls could talk they’d boast of the numerous days and nights when Keila, Moira and sometimes Rory had gathered to ward off the toe-numbing chill of winter by the small hearth between the two steep staircases leading up to Moira and Keila’s rooms. Or of times, like now when there was no space or time to rest with market day so close.
The only other room in the house was the small healing room situated at the opposite end to the kitchen. If a stranger had needed a meal and a pallet for a night or two, they slept in the healing room. And over the last twelve years, Keila and Moira had opened their door to many. Older men and women on their way to somewhere they needed to be. Young women with small children clinging to their skirts and young men searching for something only they could find.
Drummin House wasn’t large or fancy, but for a lass who hadn’t had a home for the first ten years of her life, Keila loved her home. When she was a child, she’d suffered the gnawing emptiness deep in her belly at not knowing where she was going or what she’d find when she arrived. Drummin House was her safe place, hers, and she’d never let it go.
With a feeling of contentment and security warming her heart, she stepped through the healing room doorway and lost her breath. She’d expected to see the injured stranger lying in the same position she’d left him several hours ago: unmoving and sound asleep. The sight of him standing with his back to her, a naked back that appeared as wide at the shoulders as the threshold she’d just walked through. Broad shoulders that tapered all the way down to a lean waist where honed muscles rippled as he worked to secure the blanket about his naked hips.
Saints above. Never had she seen such a cheek-flaming sight. She wanted to press her open hand against his flesh to see if he felt as warm and hard as he looked. He was magnificent. She found a necessary breath and continued her study of his muscular form. The dark patches she’d noted while first appraising his injuries now showed clearly as the angry bruises they were. Mottled, ever-darkening bruises.
Keila wasn’t sure if she’d made a sound at seeing the shadowed hues marring his flesh, but the injured man suddenly spun about where he stood. His swollen gaze met hers for a mere moment and then he staggered to one side.
Saints, he was going to fall.
Keila dashed forward and caught him, placing her hands on either side of his waist. He hissed in a breath and she hoped she hadn’t hurt him. But the thought disappeared as quickly as it had come when he continued staggering sideways. She slid her arms about him, trying to link her fingers, but her hands couldn’t reach. Pressing her palms flat against his back, she drew his body against hers, grounded her feet and held him tight.
The room ceased to teeter to her left. Heat bathed her right cheek and a pounding that matched her quickened heartbeat thudded in her ear. Keila’s eyes snapped open, the lashes of her right eye brushing up against the naked flesh of his broad chest each time she blinked. Something must be wrong with her eyes. She couldn’t stop blinking.
And saints above, he was as warm and as hard as he looked. Her mouth dried. She couldn’t stay here like this. Couldn’t imagine Moira’s reaction if she found her in such a compromising position. She had to move. She dragged in a slow breath scented with man and herbs and peeled her cheek from his chest. She cleared her throat.
‘Can you stand on your own now?’ The sight o
f the smudges darkening on his bared chest, between his brown nipples, aided in her finding some of her senses.
‘Thank you.’ She tore her gaze from his body and found his bruised and swollen face peering down at her. Keila stepped back and forced her arms to widen as she withdrew her hold. ‘You’re stronger than you look.’
His speech was a little garbled due to his fattened and broken lips. For several moments, she lost her ability to speak altogether. A good thing when she was fighting to tame the urge to tell him he felt as magnificent as he looked. When she finally thought it safe to speak, she said, ‘You should be abed.’ Keila was sure his mouth quirked up. She refused to allow her mind to wonder why and spoke again before he had the chance. ‘You’ll not heal if you do not rest, and I don’t have the time to watch over you every moment.’
‘Pity.’
Keila ignored his reply, and grabbing him by his huge upper arms, her hands only covering half of each pylon of muscle, she steered him back until his heels butted up against his pallet. ‘Sit.’ A breath-filled grunt accompanied his slow effort to sit. It seemed a long way down. She waited several moments for his face to lose the grimace testing the healing gashes marring his top lip. He was in pain but was doing his best to ignore it. ‘I will prepare you something for the pain and to help you sleep.’
‘Need something else first,’ he said on an expelled breath.
Keila stared down at him, trying to determine what he needed.
‘You prepare the potion, lass,’ Moira said, entering the room carrying a chamber pot. ‘I’ll see to his other needs.’
***
Adair forced his head to turn slowly from the green eyes peering down at him to watch an older woman march into the room. He blinked but discovered she looked no less fierce even though he studied her through his limited view. His head throbbed and his vision was blurred and reduced by half. He’d never felt more open and exposed before. Not even when he’d been abandoned as a child.
He looked down at his hands and clenched them into fists. The skin stretching over his knuckles turned white.
‘Are you certain, Moira?’ The woman with caring hands that had saved him from falling on his already battered face asked quietly, saving him from another form of pain he’d learned to live with. Pain he’d learned to hide.
‘Aye,’ the woman named Moira replied. ‘It can always double as a weapon if he does anything foolish.’ She lifted the chamber pot higher.
Adair admired the woman’s mettle, but he didn’t stand to greet her for fear the room would start spinning again. And his bladder was near to bursting. He gave Moira a nod he hoped she recognised as his promise not to do anything foolish.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen,’ the younger woman said. ‘I’ll nae be long.’
The instant she’d left the room, the pot was thrust under his nose. ‘Do you need help?’
‘I’ll manage,’ Adair said, accepting the pot.
‘Good, now have it done before the lass returns.’
The no-nonsense woman thankfully turned about and Adair made quick use of the chamber pot. ‘Have I been here long?’
‘We found you by the front entrance yester morn.’ She half turned. ‘You must have done something wicked to earn such a battering.’
Adair didn’t know what he’d done, but not knowing who had beaten him troubled him more. He had no enemies. Well, none that he knew of aside from the English, but he was certain they wouldn’t travel this far into the Highlands, and he was always careful of which women he bedded. Were these two women involved in what had happened to him and playing their part? Had he really just happened upon their doorstep? The few people he trusted weren’t here. The room seemed to close in about him.
‘I have nae memory of who or why.’ If they were accomplices in his attack, they were more inclined to slip up and reveal something if they believed he couldn’t remember what had happened. Which was a frustrating truth rather than a lie. He had taken a harsh beating. His stiff and aching body, along with his blurred vision and dizzy spell, were proof. Before he discovered what had happened and why, he needed time to recover enough to guarantee he left this cottage alive and in one piece. ‘Where is this place?’
‘What’s your name?’
He’d come to the Highlands to discover his origins, which meant keeping the one name he did know a secret wasn’t a great lie. He didn’t reply straight away, giving the impression he was thinking about it, trying to remember. She turned to face him before he answered.
‘It’s nae a hard question.’
‘I don’t know.’
Her brows shot high, shouting she didn’t believe him. ‘What? You don’t know your own name?’
Adair couldn’t help but admire her mistrust of a beaten stranger.
‘I can’t rem—’
‘How can you nae remember your own name,’ she said, cutting him off and glaring down at him. ‘Are you daft?’
‘Moira.’ The green-eyed woman sailed through the doorway. ‘My thanks for watching over our guest.’ She stopped beside her friend.
Adair couldn’t help himself. ‘Aye, my thanks for watching over me, Moira.’
The younger woman filled the small space between Adair and Moira, as if he needed protecting from the older woman.
‘If you could see to the chamber pot, I’ll see he is cared for now,’ she said, raising the wooden cup she carried.
Adair lifted the used pot and held it out to Moira with as big a smile as his split lip would allow. Reopening his wounds would be worth it if he managed to raise the dragon’s ire.
Moira took the pot and glared down at him. ‘I can see why someone felt the need to give you a beating.’ She looked at her friend. ‘I’ll be close by if you need me.’ At her friend’s nod, and with her back straight, she held the filled pot away from her and marched out of the room.
‘Moira is a good woman,’ Green-eyes said, turning and frowning down at him. ‘You shouldn’t goad her.’
‘Your friend doesn’t believe me.’
‘She doesn’t trust easily.’
A trait Adair understood. ‘I’ll apologise for hurting her feelings next time I see her.’
Green-eyes looked down at him with worry clouding her gaze. ‘I’m nae concerned for her feelings. I worry for your safety.’
Adair peered into the bonny face of woman he gauged to be around eighteen summers. ‘I appreciate your concern, but I can defend myself.’
‘Hmm.’ Her gaze trailed over his battered face and bruised and aching body. ‘Oh, aye. That is obvious.’
Adair’s bludgeoned pride was dealt another blow by the young woman’s obvious scepticism regarding his fighting abilities. At six and twenty he was proud of his excellent sword skills. Or he had been until the unwarranted attack he now knew took place two nights before. Christ! At this moment, the wound to his pride pained more than his physical injuries. How could he have allowed it to happen? How could he not have known he was about to be set upon? Where was his sword?
‘Here, drink this,’ she said, offering him the wooden cup. ‘It will dull your pain and help you sleep.’
Adair accepted the potion and downed the lot in one go, grimacing at the bitter taste. He’d been caught unawares by whoever had ambushed him, but would ensure he kept his wits about him at all times from now on. Being free from pain would help, and sleep would aid his body’s recovery. He studied the pretty young woman who was caring for him and he wondered why she did. Despite her kindness, he was glad he’d withheld his name. He’d continue to do so until he knew more about her.
‘Are you a healer?’
She looked down at him. ‘Among other things.’
‘What’s your name?’ He handed back the cup.
She accepted the empty vessel and studied him for several moments, as if determining whether revealing her name to him was a good idea or not. ‘Keila.’
Keila. A bonny name for a bonny lass.
‘Thank you for your care,’ he said,
moving to the edge of the pallet. ‘If you return my clothes, I can repay your kindness … by help—’ Adair paused to try and take back control over his injured lip. It suddenly seemed more swollen. ‘Helping with … tasks …’ His voice trailed off.
‘Repayment isn’t necessary.’ She reached forward and grasped his upper arms. ‘I suggest you lie back and let the potion do its work.’
Adair stared up at her and gave a slow blink. A sudden feeling of lethargy swept through him. His eyelids doubled in weight.
‘Rest.’ She pushed his shoulders back until his head lay on the bolster. ‘You need to sleep and heal. The potion will help.’
She lifted one of his feet at a time and placed them on the pallet. Adair was too drowsy and weak to resist or help. A dark fog quickly filled his head, swirling about like a thief stealing his senses.
All he could manage was her name.
‘Keila.’
Chapter 4
Keila stepped out of the ale shed and stopped to stare up into the night. The half-moon had begun its downward arc in a star-scattered sky and there were still several hours before dawn. She stayed still, welcoming the peace of the night falling about her for just a few moments. Drawing it in. Feeling its power, its silence, its calm.
They were behind in the brewing process and she’d now have to wake after midnight the following night to see the brew done. But it didn’t matter. She’d just added the gruit to the boiled malt mixture that had cooled throughout the evening and into the night, and then covered the wooden cask. The ale would be ready to sell at market.
She stretched and smiled, hoping Moira was making the most of the well-earned rest Keila had convinced her to take.
She lowered her gaze and scanned her surroundings. All lay still across the heath and the only faint sounds that could be heard were the night creatures foraging and scuffling about in the small wood near the bend in the river that gurgled and tripped over stones long worn smooth. She studied the moon-splashed structure that was her home, and as always a feeling of warmth filled her chest. It may be sandstone and mortar to look upon, but to her it was security and independence. Home.
The Rogue Page 3
