A Highlander's Reiver (Highland Temptations Book 3)

by Aileen Adams

  Even if it were her fault entirely.

  He ought not have been surprised when the door opened and closed behind him while he marched to the well.

  “What are ye on about, then?” she hissed, matching him step for step.

  “Lass, if ye have even a shred of wisdom, ye shall stay away from me tonight. I have nothing to say to ye.”

  “This suits me fine, for I dinna wish to hear ye speak. But ye will listen to me, Drew MacIntosh.”

  “Dinna take that tone with me.” He whirled on her, stopping so suddenly she had no choice but to collide with him. Her much smaller, softer body seemed to bounce off his, and she began to fall backward.

  Reflex sent his arms out, hands grasping her waist and pulling her in. He merely intended to steady her, but he had not expected to enjoy the feeling of her beneath the layers of linen. Warm, firm, full.

  She flung his hands away. “Dinna touch me.”

  He ought to have known better than to imagine she would thank him for keeping her on her feet. “I was merely trying to keep ye from hitting the ground. I will not make the same mistake again.” He continued to the well, finding his way through the dark. It fell quickly at this time of year.

  “Those twins love ye,” she uttered as she continued to follow. What did he have to do to be free of her?

  “What of it?” He reached the crank and started to turn it, raising the dripping bucket. “I know they do.”

  “Why do ye speak to them so?”

  “Because I happen to be in an ill temper.”

  “When are ye not?”

  He hauled the bucket in and for a moment contemplated tossing its contents over her. He then imagined the satisfaction of throwing her bodily into the well and leaving her. Anything for a moment’s peace.

  “As it so happens, I was generally in a fine mood before I met ye. Ask anyone.”

  “That must be the reason behind your reputation as a fighter.”

  “One has nothing to do with the other.”

  “I believe ye forget yourself. Ye forget those bairns are not an enemy to fight.”

  His blood began to boil, and it was a wonder the water into which he plunged his hands did not steam. “’Tis ye who forgets herself, lass. Ye might be more mindful of the reason ye are here and not in prison.”

  In the low light of the fire inside the house, glowing through the window at Anne’s back, he saw the way she threw her hands into the air.

  “If this is the answer I will receive every time I remind ye of what a fool ye are, I dinna know why I waste my time.”

  “For once, we agree on something.” He splashed water on his face, glad for the chance to cool himself off. “Ye are wasting yer time.”

  When he started back to the house, she stepped in front of him. “Wait. Please. Allow me to speak.”

  “What have ye been doing thus far that makes my ears ring so?”

  “I shall make your ears ring. Ye might be able to avail yourself in a tavern, but I know how to fight as well.” She raised a fist, shaking it in his face. “Dinna test me.”

  This was growing more tiresome by the moment, and his stomach was a great, empty cavern which he wished to fill. “What is it, then? I am hungry and have worked hard today.”

  She let out a long breath. “Ye are too hard on them. I will not stand by and listen as ye shout at them for being nothing but young, healthy, happy children. They love ye, though I must say I canna understand why. They do not deserve the sharp side of your tongue whenever ye feel the desire to menace someone.”

  “Menace?” he snorted.

  “Aye. That is what I said. Ye are a menace when ye desire to be so, and they dinna deserve to be menaced. While they love ye now, there is a limit to such love. Love can turn to fear very easily, Drew MacIntosh, and it does not turn back to love no matter how a person strives to make it so. Even if it does, the love will not be the same.” She pointed to the house, jabbing her finger through the chill air. “They will not be the same.”

  He was uncertain what moved him more, her words, or the emotion behind them. Her voice shook, as did her entire body.

  The truth in them took his breath away. He did not wish to drive Owen or Moira from him, not when he loved them so dearly. “I—I dinna know—” he stammered, every ounce of fight drained from him in the face of this grand truth.

  He had never seen it that way. Now, he would never see it any other way.

  “Ye dinna know how to raise them,” she finished on his behalf. “I dinna think anyone does. Rufus will not when his time comes. But ye cannot bellow at the wee things when ye are tired or angry with me. And taking it back or asking their forgiveness will only work for so long a time, as I said. Ye must not allow them to grow in a house with such anger, never knowing what to expect from ye. Would ye wish for them to grow into frightened, wide-eyed things afraid to even speak to ye?”

  This brought to mind Liam, his wide-eyed, frightened manner. “Is that what happened to ye, then?” he dared ask.

  She did not throw his words back at him or speak sharply, for once. “Aye. To Liam, mostly. I watched him turn from a bright-eyed, eager, winning thing to a lad who would bite the finger from anyone who laid a hand on him, but should that hand be raised before him as if to strike, he flinches to protect himself from the blow he believes is soon to come.”

  “Because he has been struck so many times.”

  “’Tis not only hands and fists, but voices. Shouts, sharp words, they have worn him down. I would not wish to see it happen to them.” She passed a hand beneath her eyes, where he imagined tears had begun to flow. Darkness concealed them, but given the emotion in her voice, he would have been greatly surprised at their absence.

  He held his arms out to the sides, shrugging helplessly. “I understand, lass. I have no argument to offer, perhaps for the first time in my life. I vow to take this most seriously. I dinna wish to bring them any harm.”

  “If ye are angry, take it out on me if ye must. But not on them.”

  He snickered at this. “I dinna think I shall have trouble with that.”

  16

  “Anne?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “How long will ye be with us?”

  Anne pulled herself from her thoughts of Liam—worries, really, more than thoughts, that Malcolm was not mistreating him. She shut her eyes tightly to keep tears from forming, then opened them, and frowned up at the sky, lying on her back as Moira was. They were side-by-side, staring up at the clouds, deciding what each one looked like while Owen conducted pretend swordfights with a thin stick not far off.

  Even at such a tender age, he wished to be a soldier. Like as not he’d witnessed Rufus’s men practicing their sword skill in the clearing near the main house, which she had spied while on a walk with the twins.

  A walk which served more than simply passing time. She needed to have a sense of the space in which she was captive—for that was what she was, and nothing less—if she had any hope of escape.

  There would be no trouble getting over the back wall again, and good thing. A pair of hands had repaired the broken section the day before, but even if she had to wait until the mortar hardened it would be nothing more than a matter of finding something on which to boost herself. The wall was not so short back there, likely because there was not normally anyone living so near it and as such the eastern-facing border required greater protection from thieves.

  Such as herself.

  She might bring a chair out from the house and use it to climb over. After that, it would be nothing more than tracing her path and escaping. Simple, really.

  Until Moira asked such a question and caused an invisible hand to squeeze her heart.

  It would be important to choose her words carefully. “I canna say, dear. As long as I can stay.”

  “How long is that?”

  “I am uncertain. I would like to stay with ye forever, but we canna always do what we wish to do.” She rolled onto her side, propping hers
elf up on one elbow. They reclined on her cloak, spread out along the sparse grass. The chill as of late had already begun to kill what was once green.

  “Why can ye not stay?” Moira twirled a birch leaf between two fingers. “We have ever such nice times together, do we not?”

  “That we do,” Anne agreed, smiling fondly at the lass.

  “Is there someone else ye love, somewhere else?” Moira’s wide, child’s eyes stared up into hers without artifice, without anything but utter honesty and trust. “Is that it? There are other little boys and girls you love better?”

  “Och, nay, my dearest.” Anne pressed her lips to the child’s forehead. “Not at all. I dinna believe your cousin Rufus would wish to have me live here for always—nor would Uncle Drew. Besides, I canna always sleep on the floor of your bedchamber. Ye will grow older and not wish to have me there always.”

  “That isn’t true!” Moira exclaimed, aghast at the very thought.

  “Och, but I believe it is. Ye shall understand better when ye are a bit older, I promise.”

  “That is what everyone says,” the child sighed.

  “I remember how I hated hearing that when I was a wee thing.”

  Owen’s shrill voice echoed through the air. “Anne! Anne!”

  She sat upright, her head turning this way and that. He was running to them, having dropped the makeshift sword. From the look on the lad’s face, one would think the devil himself was on his way.

  Not the devil. A stranger, but a female one. Bonny, with a dark complexion than Anne’s and thick, rich, lustrous hair which appeared black beneath a hooded cloak.

  Anne stood, gathering the twins behind her. “Who are ye?” she asked, loud and strong. “What brings ye here?”

  The stranger stopped short, eyes going round. “I mean you no harm.” Her voice was like music.

  “Who are ye?” Anne demanded nonetheless. Even a lovely stranger could bring great harm. She was moments from sending the twins into the house and charging at the lass.

  “My name is Shana Blackheath, and I am a friend of Drew and Davina. My husband is William Blackheath, head of the guard of Laird Richard Munro. Drew sent me back to meet the bairns, and yourself.”

  Anne eyed her up, uncertain whether she believed this or not. Owen, meanwhile, tugged at her skirt. “She is bonny,” he whispered before hiding his face, suddenly too shy to show himself.

  “Aye, that she is,” Anne agreed, still wary. “I believe the pair of ye ought to go inside and prepare to take your midday rest.”

  “Och, Anne.” Moira pouted, but Anne directed her and her twin to the house nonetheless.

  “I will be in to check on ye shortly, and ye had better be in bed.” Closing the door, Anne turned to Shana. She was at last part gypsy, that was clear. Bands of them had traveled past Malcolm’s land regularly over the years and at times had stopped to play their music and dance and collect a coin or two before continuing on.

  Malcolm had always warned the household not to trust their visitors, but Anne had only ever rolled her eyes at this. The thought of a man such as him warning against others had seemed laughable even at a young age.

  Shana offered a shy smile. “Forgive me,” she murmured, taking a few tentative steps nearer the house. “I did not expect to worry you so. The men were busy with a mare who is having difficulty foaling, and I did so wish to meet the bairns who Davina has told me so many wonderful things about.”

  “Ye know of them, then?” Anne folded her arms, still uncertain of how she felt about this woman. Strange though it seemed, spending several days with the twins had left her as deeply protective as if she’d known them all their lives.

  “Certainly. Davina has corresponded with me quite a bit as of late—though I have never heard of you,” she added, arching one dark brow.

  “I came to the farm only days ago,” Anne explained, wishing her cheeks did not flame so. Only those who felt they had something to hide blushed at such a moment.

  “That explains it.” Shana’s smile was brilliant, as warming as the sun. “Would you mind if I shared a cup of tea with you? I was unable to have one at the main house, as everyone was either in the stables or confined to their bed.”

  “Of course.” If Davina trusted her, Anne supposed she could not be dangerous—even if Anne had never met this Davina or even laid eyes upon her. What a strange turn her life had taken.

  They entered the house, which Anne could not help but feel the slightest bit of pride toward. She had scrubbed it nearly from top to bottom, even the bedchambers. Moira had assisted in stripping the beds and refilling the mattresses with fresh, sweet straw.

  A pot of stew bubbled on the low fire, filling the house with a mouthwatering scent. “My goodness,” Shana beamed as she untied the strings of her cloak. “You have done a wonder here.”

  “Have ye ever seen the house before?” And why did the notion of her doing so send a bolt of jealousy straight to Anne’s heart? The woman had spoken of herself as a friend of Davina and of Drew.

  Just what sort of friends had they been?

  “Nay, but I can only imagine what it must have been like, run by a man until now. I started with next to nothing in my own home, on Laird Munro’s land.” Shana sat with a contented sigh, stretching her legs before her. “It has been a long journey.”

  “Is your husband with ye?” And why was there a tart note to her voice when she asked? Anne turned her back before the visitor could see the sour look on her face.

  It did not seem as though Shana noticed. “I rode alone. My husband is quite devoted to his work, and I simply could not wait any longer. I have been so worried for Davina.”

  Anne filled the kettle and put it on the fire before reaching for the tea tin. “Aye, I understand she’s had a difficult time of it.”

  “She did not seem to be feeling poorly when I visited now. Perhaps it has passed. We can only hope.”

  “How do ye know her?” The curiosity surrounding her hosts had all but burned a hole in her brain. There had not been a chance to visit, and Anne could admit to herself that she had hardly made it a priority.

  The sense that another woman would see through her in an instant had kept her away.

  Shana seemed not to have heard, sitting in silent contemplation. “What brought ye here?”

  Anne struggled to recall the tale Drew had created for her. “My parents died, my brother lives with an uncle. I had nowhere to go. Drew required assistance with the bairns, or else Owen might have been torn to bits by an angry sow. I caught up to him as he attempted to reach into the pig pen just this morning.”

  “You must be terribly worn out,” Shana chuckled.

  “Aye. I know now why Drew wished for help. I hardly know whether I am coming or going between the pair of them.” She rose when the water in the kettle started to steam and went about preparing a pot of tea.

  All the while, her thoughts ran wild. What was Shana thinking? Would she ask further questions? Had the answers she’d given thus far been acceptable?

  She brought out a load of brown bread and a pot of butter to enjoy with the tea. This was the first time she had ever served tea to a guest. It was not her home, and she had never met the woman before, but then again nothing about her life had ever been quite right.

  “Ye are studying me,” Anne observed, pouring fragrant, amber liquid into two mugs.

  Shana blanched. “How rude of me. Forgive me, please.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, but I dinna wish to pretend not to notice your interest. I find it tiring to pretend, and the twins have already left me far too tired.” She offered a smile to show her guest there were no hard feelings.

  Shana smiled as well. “You see, I understand what it means for a stranger to study me. I have seen that sort of stare my entire life. I know the discomfort it brings, and I ought to have known better.”

  It was Anne’s turn to pale. “I did not think of it that way. I did not mean to blame ye, either.”

  Sha
na reached across the table to pat Anne’s hand. “Let us put the matter to rest now. Tell me, what do you think of Davina and Rufus? Have you met Clyde?”

  Anne took a long, long sip of scalding tea. It was better than admitting she’d never met any of the people whose names Shana had just used.

  When she did not offer a response, Shana merely nodded. “Yes. I believe I understand you very well.”

  Whatever did that mean?

  Perhaps it might have been preferable to go on the attack outside, after all.

  17

  Drew all but staggered from the stables, grateful to feel a mist against his overheated skin. How was it that the mare had gone to all the trouble of foaling, yet he ached in every muscle, every joint, every bone?

  But the birth had been successful, and the two lads whom Rufus employed as stable hands were currently rubbing the wee thing with bits of straw. It would find its legs soon and would grow like a weed before anyone had time to blink.

  No matter the difference between horses and humans, he could not keep from thinking on the twins. They would grow quickly, too. In fact, they already were growing. He could hardly keep up with how quickly their minds moved from one new idea to another, or what seemed like hundreds of questions in a single day. They constantly used new words, as well, some of which were unfamiliar to his ears.

  Like sponges soaking up their surroundings, both of them, and they were both sprouting out of their clothing.

  Soon it would be too late to make much of a difference to them, to the people they would turn out to be. There might have been years between that particular late afternoon outside the stables and the day Owen would be too old to bend over Drew’s knee for punishment, but time had a way of melting past.

  It was Anne’s admonishment that had him thinking along these lines. Her warning. The bairns would no longer love him—or, if they did, their love would have changed. It would become reserved, perhaps would be offered in hesitation. They would flinch when he closed a door too loudly or stiffen when he made a sudden move.