A Highlander's Reiver (Highland Temptations Book 3)

by Aileen Adams

  “Och, aye. I fretted my mam and da would no longer love me. All of their love would go to the bairn, and I would have to take care of myself.”

  “What happened?” Moira asked, wide-eyed and breathless. So this had brought her worry as well.

  Anne smiled at the pair of them. “Liam only brought more love to our family. I loved him just as much as my mam and da did. It was a grand time.” And it was, and the memory of it brought tears to her eyes. She would never know that feeling again. A family. Love.

  Moira reached over, patting her arm. “Do ye miss them?”

  “Very much.” It was difficult speaking over the lump in her throat, as the look on her brother’s face would never leave her memory. His dismay, his fear. Uncertainty.

  He would be at Malcolm’s by then, or soon. He would be so frightened. And vulnerable without her to protect him.

  What was she thinking? Sitting here at this table with these bairns while she ought to have been with him. He needed her!

  She had to get away. There would be a moment when he would not be looking. She was certain of it. And she would get to Liam, and she would take him away, and the pair of them would… go somewhere.

  There had to be somewhere for them to go where they could both be safe and live honest lives. There simply had to be.

  She kept watch over the twins throughout the day—Drew did not return for the midday meal, and the twins informed her than he normally ate with Rufus and the farm hands. She examined the larder and found it lacking, though Drew had mentioned more meat. How was she to prepare meals? She assumed this was one of her responsibilities.

  If only they’d had more time to discuss these things.

  “Is there a garden near the house? Behind the kitchen, perhaps?” Anne peered out the window, standing before the work table. The twins played a game beneath it, something to do with imagining they were hunters in the woods.

  “I dinna believe so,” Moira replied. Anne grimaced, but held her tongue until the urge to curse her lot in life passed.

  Then, she got an idea. “Do ye wish to play a new game?”

  Minutes later, two giggling bairns who did everything they could not to giggle loudly ran from the house in the direction of the main house where Davina and Rufus lived. Anne followed at a short distance, wearing her cloak, leaving the hood raised. She darted from birch to birch, peering from around the trunks to watch their progress.

  Soon they were just outside the kitchen, and she stood behind a gnarled, ancient tree with thick roots and a thicker trunk. She waited while the bairns disappeared inside, then dashed over to the garden.

  Moments later, potatoes and carrots tucked beneath her cloak, she ducked behind the tree again and hoped it would take the twins no more than another minute to fetch a loaf of bread while no one watched.

  She happened to look down, where her feet rested beside a pair of large stones. They had been purposely placed, it was clear. Two such similar stones would not naturally be together. Were they meant to mark something?

  There was not enough time to think on it further, for the light, joyful giggling of Moira and Owen filled her ears. She glanced up to find them running from the kitchen, a loaf of fresh bread beneath Owen’s wee arm.

  “I’ve taught them to steal,” she whispered. “Forgive me, Lord.”

  “It would not have been so if I felt as if I might announce myself to the others on the farm,” Anne hissed to Drew, who sat across from her while eating a second bowlful of the soup she’d put together with the vegetables from the garden and the meat left in the larder.

  “Ye told them to steal the bread.”

  “I did not know whether I could show myself, or even allow them to speak my name.”

  “And what if someone had seen ye sneaking about, then? Ducking behind trees, behaving like a thief?”

  She blinked. “How did ye know of that?”

  “Owen told me of it when he confessed to stealing. He thought it was all very exciting. Bairns miss nothing, and ye never know what they shall tell ye.”

  “Aye,” she muttered, cursing herself. “But we needed food, and there was none, and I didna know what else to do. Have ye told MacIntosh of me or have ye not?”

  He glanced up from his bowl, one brow quirked up in a jesting manner. “Why would I speak of ye at all?”

  “Ye must have said something.” She lowered her voice further that the bairns might not take notice. “Someone is bound to see me.”

  “Ye might be surprised at just how few people venture to the far end of the land.” A bit of broth dribbled down his chin, which he caught on his sleeve before raising the spoon to his lips once again.

  “Just the same,” she whispered, glancing to the corner where the twins played. “It seems one or both of them might mention me to one of the others, does it not? Would it not then raise suspicion if someone were to hear of me without having first heard from ye? What if they had discovered me earlier today?”

  This brought him pause. The time for jesting with her had ended. “Aye. I shall speak to Rufus about ye first thing in the morning.”

  “Rufus. He is your cousin, is he not?”

  There was suspicion in his gaze. “Aye. What matter does it make?”

  “None, of course,” she was quick to reply. “Moira mentioned him as a cousin, is all. Davina’s husband. Nothing more.”

  “I see.” He looked to the lassie, who giggled at something her brother had just said or done. The two of them seemed quite happy to keep each other company, which was a relief at the moment. It had been a long time since Anne had kept up with a bairn of that age, and there were two of them, which doubled her fatigue.

  Yet they were happy and well-fed and had enjoyed the day, which she supposed spoke in her favor.

  “Now that I’ve given it thought, I recall the tale of him reclaiming land stolen from him by another clan. MacFarland, was it?” she asked.

  He grunted. “Quite observant, ye are.”

  “I heard the men speaking,” she shrugged, toying with her spoon. “They were always returning home with tales from their travels.”

  “The men?” It was his turn to eye her with curiosity. “And what men would they be?”

  Her cheeks colored, which she knew would only serve to make her appear guilty. There was no guilt to be had, none at all—rather, she wished she had not spoken so freely. She was tired, after all, but this arrangement of theirs did not mean the freedom to speak of what she did not wish to reveal. “Aye. Men. Men of… my clan.”

  “I suppose it would be a waste to ask ye which clan that was.”

  “Aye. It would.”

  “They traveled quite a bit.”

  “Many men do. I suspect ye did.” She could not suppress a slight smile. “While ye brawled with men in every tavern from here to Aberdeen. Even I have heard tale of Drew MacIntosh. I did not put ye together with the name in question until just today.”

  He grimaced, causing her to wonder whether he was proud of his reputation or ashamed of it. Had she misspoken? The man’s pride hardly mattered to her, but it mattered very much whether he decided to lash out if he’d been pushed too far.

  “I suppose ‘twas quite a surprise to ye.” He pushed back from the table, taking his bowl in hand.

  “A surprise?”

  “Aye.” He tossed what little remained in the bowl out the door, where she supposed some animal or other would make use of it. “Ye would not think to look at me that I was this man who brawled his way from here to Aberdeen.”

  She tilted her head to the side, studying him. “I had not thought of it that way at all.”

  He snorted, shaking his head with his back turned while he rinsed his bowl in the wash bucket. Tension ran throughout his body, from the set of his shoulders to the line of his back. He seemed angry with the bowl itself, the way he splashed it about.

  “I did not,” she insisted, joining him at the bucket. “And I can wash up after meals.”

  He did not
look at her. “I didna bring ye on here to do the washing up.”

  “But I prepared the soup, and ye did not bring me on to do the cooking.”

  He was so angry, and she was not entirely certain of the cause. She wanted to understand, if only to avoid angering him to the point of his reneging on their agreement.

  “Ye dinna have to cook.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “I know what ye meant.” He slammed the bowl to the worktable with a resounding clang which make her jump.

  It made the children jump, as well.

  “Uncle Drew?” Moira asked, hesitation in her small voice.

  He whirled on her, and Anne held her breath. How he did remind her of Malcolm just then. Prepared to strike, like an angry snake. What would it be? Would he shout at the wee thing? Remind her to keep quiet? Tell her she had no place speaking to him unless spoken to? Would he deliver a thrashing?

  All of this appeared possible judging by the look on his face, twisted as it was in a snarl.

  And at that moment, Anne knew she would throw herself between him and the twins if need be. Let him take up arms against someone nearer his own size. He might be strong, but she had learned to fight long since, and when fighting in the defense of another, she was unstoppable.

  She poised, prepared to spring.

  Yet there was no need, for the anger melted from Drew’s countenance in an instant. His shoulders sank, his face relaxed. “Aye, lassie. Forgive me for startling ye. There are still times when I forget I no longer live alone.”

  Owen all but collapsed in gales of laughter. “There are people here with ye, Uncle! Or can ye not see us?”

  Drew’s eyes flew open wide. “Who spoke so? I canna see the laddie who spoke just now!”

  Anne bit back a giggle when Owen’s mouth fell open.

  “Uncle Drew? Here I am!” He waved his arms.

  Drew turned to her. “Anne? Can ye see him? I dinna know who is speaking!”

  “Uncle Drew!” Owen ran to him, arms still waving until he threw them around his uncle’s knees. “Here I am!”

  “Och, of course! There ye are!” Drew lifted the squealing lad and settled him over one arm. “I tend to see wee laddies who nearly knock me to the floor.”

  Moira ran to him next, arms uplifted, and he caught her with his free arm. She linked her hands about his neck and visibly snuggled against him, head on his shoulder.

  He was adored, that much was clear. Bairns were forgiving creatures. They wished to be loved—more than that, they wished to love.

  And they wished to love him. This was not a matter of their mother and father dying, of being sent somewhere to spend the rest of their lives against their will. It was not the same as when she and Liam had gone to Malcolm.

  Not the same at all.

  15

  “What do ye think?” Drew waited, arms folded over his chest, for his cousin to offer an opinion. Or at least to acknowledge that he’d spoken.

  After enough time had passed without either of them speaking, Rufus glanced up from the saddle he was in the act of rubbing oil into. “What did ye say?”

  Drew blew out a short, frustrated sigh. “Did ye hear a word I said?”

  He attempted to recall, at least, putting his work aside for a moment and furrowing his brow in concentration. “Ye were speaking of the twins. Needing help with them, which we all know.”

  “Aye. You’ve started well.”

  Rufus opened his mouth—then, after a moment, snapped it closed. “I must admit, I remember no more past that point. Forgive me. My mind is in so many places at the moment.”

  “Just one place.” Drew jerked his head toward the main house, clearly visible from the stables.

  “Dinna blame me for it.”

  “I never said I did. I dare say I would be the same.” Though he might at least grant others the courtesy of listening to them when they spoke, especially after the person in question had already stated the importance of what they had to share.

  “I ask myself whether I shall be able to make it through this.” Rufus laughed at himself. “And myself sitting out here, while she is the one in the house, suffering.”

  “It does not seem as though she suffers. I only told myself yesterday that she looks and sounds much better. Innis claims she’s been holding down her meals.” Indeed, it appeared as though the tonic did as the healer promised.

  This was not enough for Rufus. “That does not make her well. Nor does it mean the bairn is well.”

  The way his brow furrowed, the circles beneath his eyes, tore at Drew’s conscience. He had hoped the tonic, and the change in Davina’s condition, might bring his cousin a measure of peace.

  Instead, he now waited for some new calamity to befall them. Drew clapped his shoulder. “Ye must cease tormenting yourself. All will be well.”

  “Would that I had your confidence.” A faint smile played over his lips. “I can rely on ye, at least.”

  “On me?”

  “Aye. We’ve had no further theft on the farm, and I am sure ‘tis in no small part thanks to ye.”

  His stomach turned over in a full flip, sending bile rising in his throat. It was very nearly the worst thing Drew could hear, for the truth was something entirely different while also being somewhat the same. He was to thank for there being no further theft, but not for the reason Rufus believed.

  Which brought him back around to the matter he wished to discuss. “Perhaps ye shall keep that in mind, then, when I tell ye I have brought on a lass to mind the twins on my behalf. Davina will not be able to do it for much longer—not that she can now, which weighs heavily on me.”

  Rufus frowned. “Who is this lass?”

  Another lie. “From Avoch. She lost her parents, and her younger brother went to live with someone elsewhere in the Highlands. She helped raise him, and has a way with young ones. I felt sorry for the lass and offered her the chance for a bit of security here while she does a great favor to me.”

  Would he believe it? Would he demand to speak with the lass? Ask for the names of those who might speak on her behalf? Question her past?

  He had no doubt the lass could lie as quickly and easily as breathing, but this did not mean he longed to witness any such thing.

  He waited, watching, hoping.

  Rufus grinned. “I know better than to question your judgment. Dinna forget to bring her by so we might meet her.”

  It could not be that simple. “Ye dinna mind her living here, on your land?”

  “Not if it means ye can do a better job during the day, and Owen will stay far from the sow and her brood,” Rufus chuckled. “As I say, I trust ye.”

  Which might have been the worst thing he could have said, for his assurance hung heavy on Drew’s conscience through the remainder of the day. No matter what he put his hand to, there was no forgetting Rufus’s easy smile and confident tone. I trust ye.

  By the time he returned to his home, with the sun well on its way to sinking beneath the western horizon, he ached everywhere and was in a shorter temper than usual. If the lass had never ventured over the wall, he would not have to withhold the truth.

  Why had he ever protected her? Now that her brother was no longer his to protect, why not renege on their agreement and turn her over to the law? She deserved it. This was wrong, all wrong, and he would tell her so.

  This was the worst time for the sound of laughter to greet him as he swung open the door. He found Anne on hands and knees, with Moira seated on her back and Owen running about and squealing as they gave chase.

  They did not notice him at first, so involved were they in their play. Moira held great handfuls of Anne’s loose curls, using them as reins to guide her steed about the room.

  “Charge! Charge!” she shouted, bouncing upon Anne’s back, bursting out in shrieks as they galloped to where Owen hid beneath the work table.

  In any other circumstance, on any other day, this might have done his heart good. He might have laughed
at the sight, might have watched with a fond eye. He might even have joined in, taking Owen’s part as the lad was outnumbered.

  This evening, he closed the door with a resounding bang. “What is this all about, then?” he asked, looking at each of them in turn.

  Their smiles faded as one.

  Moira scrambled from atop Anne and smoothed down the front of her linen shift. “We were…”

  “I saw what ye were doing,” he snapped. “And did it ever occur to any of ye that I might return home with a terrible head? The last thing a man needs at such a time is screaming and screeching.” He fixed a stern gaze on the twins. “Ye know better.”

  “They are bairns.”

  He turned his head to stare at the young woman who was smoothing back her wild locks and tying them with a ribbon. The defiant tilt of her chin told him she was in no shrinking, demure mood. Then again, when was she ever?

  “Are they, now?” he asked, hands on his hips. “I had only just asked myself why they appeared so much smaller than I. Thank ye for making it clear.”

  She worked her way from her knees to her feet, brushing off the front of her striped skirt with a scowl. “And I had nearly forgotten how short-tempered and ill-mannered ye are.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Not. In front. Of them.”

  She would not be swayed. “Why not? They ought to know by now how ill-mannered their uncle is. How short-tempered. They are bairns behaving as they ought to. There is no call for ye to shout at them or make them sorry for enjoying themselves.”

  Moira tugged at her hand. “Anne? ‘Tis all right. Dinna fight, please.”

  Anne ran a hand over her head, smiling. “Never fear, sweet one.”

  Sweet one? When did this begin? Only two days together and already they were fast friends. Owen, too, had fallen under her spell, going to her and wrapping an arm about her legs.

  “I see,” Drew murmured, looking at this strange scene. “I must wash.”

  Anything to get out of there. Anything to escape the sense of the walls closing in on him. The children were already attached to her. It would be the height of cruelty to send her away now, and he would never be able to look at them again without recalling how he’d sent their beloved Anne to prison.