The Highlander's Promise

by Heather Grothaus

  He ran and ran, until at last the rickety old bridge to Carson Town was in sight, and the roar of the falls pushed the air around him like invisible waves. He could still smell the smoke on the air from the smoldering town, and occasionally little flakes of ash swirled in the air like dry, dirty snow. Geordie dashed onto the treacherous bridge and froze in the middle, clinging to the rope as Harrell heaved to a stop on the end.

  He stepped carefully onto the bridge. “Now, Geordie-boy, doona be running off like that. If ye’d have waited, I could have told ye it was all right. Yer right.”

  “I’m right.”

  “Aye.” Harrell moved closer. “I willna take Edna from ye. And I’ll tell the town all that was done. They’ll understand. Ye’ll see. We’ll all share the coin.” He was standing next to Geordie now. “Come back with me, Geordie-boy.”

  Geordie looked down at his offered hand, the wide-gapped teeth of the bridge planks burring in and out of focus beneath his palm. The water from the loud, loud falls misted around them, the ash whirled on the soot-scented wind.

  Geordie had first laid eyes on Tommy on this very bridge.

  “I doona trust you, Harrell.”

  “Och, now.” Harrell Blair smiled. “Maybe yer nae so dumb after all.”

  And then Geordie was falling through the mist, turning, turning. The water was cold, but only for an instant, and then the top of his head was very hot. But it didn’t matter that he was wet because he was going to sleep.

  * * * *

  Neither Finley nor Lachlan said anything as they made their way to the lower chamber of the old house’s storeroom. Lachlan descended first and then reached up to take the lamp and her cloak, and then guided Finley down as she slid over the rounded, sandy lip on her stomach. She couldn’t help the awareness of his strong fingers pressing into her waist in the moment before he released her and turned away to resurrect the fire.

  Finley sat on the edge of Lachlan’s pallet in the flickering shadows of the lamp and pulled her cloak up over her legs and to her chin, watching him stoke the blaze. Her mind whirled with the disjointed bits Geordie Blair had just told them. If any of it was even partly true…

  The fire grew taller, warming the small storeroom and giving it a cozy glow that Finley very much needed. Lachlan turned on one knee and then sat back on his foot, resting an arm across his stomach. He was staring through the flames, but Finley didn’t think he really saw her. He was lost in thoughts, perhaps of the past. Perhaps of the future.

  And Finley reckoned she didn’t play into either one of those circumstances. For Lachlan, Finley was only his inconvenient present.

  She pushed herself farther back on the pallet and pulled up her feet beneath the cloak. It was surprisingly pleasant to lean against the cliff wall and watch Lachlan watching the fire with his furrowed brow, his smell wafting up from his blankets all around her, like the fragrance of summer from warm sand. Her muscles were already stiffening from the climb and the shock of nearly falling to her death, and the sight of him with the glow of the fire flickering over the planes and angles of his handsome face soothed her, pushed the troublesome worries of her own future from her mind.

  There were two other people in the old house this night who had burdens far heavier than hers.

  “I have to take him back,” Lachlan half-muttered.

  “Geordie?” Finley whispered, and then glanced up at the passageway to the upper chamber as if he might overhear their conversation. “He’s frightened to death of Harrell, Lachlan. He’ll nae go. Or worse, he’ll run off, and then where would you be? I canna believe he survived the falls in the first place, never mind all these years alone on his own. What that must do to a person…”

  Lachlan’s generous mouth pressed into a line. “There’s no one else who knows what he does. No one else who can confront Harrell before the fine with the truth.”

  “Do you think it will matter if he does?” Finley pressed, even as an uncomfortable feeling sank into her middle. “The man’s clearly…I mean, he’s been alone for such a long time. Perhaps it’s affected his thinking—his memories, even.”

  “Perhaps it has,” Lachlan agreed. “I’ve heard Geordie’s name mentioned, although it’s been years now. But never by Harrell or my grandfather. Everyone at Town Blair has thought him dead, all these years.” He stared at the fire again. “I’ve got to find someone to corroborate his tale, and Murdoch’s been avoiding me.” His brows lowered even further.

  “Aye, Murdoch does tend to disappear now and again. There’s my father, though he didn’t return to Carson Town until—” Finley broke off as Lachlan bolted to his feet and rushed toward the pallet, plunging his hands beneath the makeshift mattress and causing Finley to skitter back against the cliff wall.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Not someone to corroborate the tale,” he muttered as he rummaged beneath the lumpy cushion. “Something.” He withdrew his arm, and there was a long, cloth-wrapped object in his hand. Lachlan got to his feet only long enough to turn and perch on the edge of the pallet, and Finley pulled herself next to him as he unwrapped the mysterious item.

  “What is it?” she asked as the dull metal of a sheath was revealed.

  Lachlan tossed the cloth aside and held the dagger point up across his chest. “Carson steel,” he said, and then reached up with his right forefinger and tapped the brooch on his shawl.

  Finley leaned forward to examine both pieces and gasped as she recognized the identical pattern. Then she reached up and slid the dagger from his hand. Lachlan let it go easily, and this time it was he who moved closer to look over her shoulder as Finley settled back on her hip and turned over the sheath in her hand.

  “Did it come from the cache?” she asked.

  “Nay; Dand brought it to me the first day we took the sheep up to graze,” Lachlan answered, and his breath was warm on her neck, his low voice tickling her eardrum with its deep resonance. “He came upon Harrell tearing apart Archibald’s house, searching for something. Dand later found this, hidden in a wall.”

  Finley turned her head and was nearly nose to nose with Lachlan. “Thomas Annesley’s, you think.”

  “Possibly. Where did my brooch come from?”

  Finley felt her brows raise in surprise. “It was my mother’s, of course. Received on her own wedding day. But neither she nor my da’s ever said anything about it having a twin in a dagger.”

  “Hmm.” He was lost in thought again, and Finley could see every pore and line and dark hair on his face. Such a combination of rough and smooth. She wondered what it would be like to slide her hand along his jaw…

  “I’ll show it to Murdoch tomorrow,” he muttered. “If I can find him. He must know something.” Then he blinked, bringing his thoughts back to the present and meeting Finley’s gaze once more.

  “But you won’t tell him about Geordie, will you?” Finley pressed. “Lachlan, you gave your word.”

  “I won’t,” he promised, seeming to search her eyes for something he expected her to be or say or do. Finley wished she knew what it was he wanted. “I’m glad you came with me tonight,” he said. “We’re friends now, are we nae?”

  Finley barely nodded. “How can we nae be?” She felt an inexorable pulling sensation in her middle, as if some magnetic force was drawing her closer to Lachlan Blair, a force she couldn’t resist.

  Now he was closer to her, too, so perhaps this force was pulling him as well. Or pushing him. But when he closed the distance between their mouths, pressing her lips with his, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of her head and deepen the kiss while the Carson dagger rested between their hearts, Finley realized that Lachlan himself was the force.

  Finley felt every bone, every muscle in her body with exquisite detail, heard the rushing of her blood in her veins, pulsing like the roar of the falls above the bridge. It was a new world spread b
efore her to discover; it was an ancient secret, her palm brushing away the centuries in a sparkling cloud to understand the very meaning of her existence. It was magical and mundane; made law by their marriage vows and also forbidden by their own agreement with each other.

  Finley’s world changed with the mingling of their breath.

  Lachlan pulled away and yet stayed near, his thumb stroking her hair back and forth.

  “Do friends kiss like that?” she whispered.

  “Probably not,” he admitted with his wry grin. His hand fell away from her scalp, and the chill rushed in maliciously to replace his warmth as he rose from the pallet. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “Nay,” she said, her head swimming with confusion and excitement and sadness, and she gained her feet. “I’ll go.” He started to protest, but she cut him off. “I’d not have my parents searching for me in the morning and take the chance of Geordie being discovered.”

  “He’s managed to stay hidden for thirty years,” Lachlan argued, his hands on his hips causing him to look oddly unsure of himself. “Are you afraid I’ll kiss you again?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she said and stood before him, presenting the dagger to him across her palms. She looked up into his face, and perhaps now she understood what he had been looking for in her eyes.

  Who was Lachlan Blair to her? Who would he be to her in the future? Did he care? Should she?

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.

  Lachlan wrapped his fingers around the sheath and took it, not meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—let me walk you back.”

  She shook her head and then did what she’d been longing to all evening: She reached up and placed her hand along his jaw, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh again at the warm, prickly feel of him against her palm. She smiled at him.

  “You didn’t take advantage of me, Lachlan,” she said. “And even if you had…we are married.”

  His eyes smoldered. “Stop.”

  Her smile grew, triumphant that she had gained the upper hand at last. “Good night,” she said pointedly. She turned and ducked out of the storeroom, running lightly through the cavernous hall until she burst through the wide, arched entrance of the old house, beneath the sky pricked with countless blazing stars.

  The village below was dark. Everyone was asleep, oblivious to the secret Finley had discovered tonight and was walking away from, back to the old farm.

  Not Geordie Blair; no, no.

  Finley Carson was in love with Lachlan Blair.

  Chapter 11

  Lachlan met Finley coming out of the door of her house, a plate of bannocks and a mug of milk in her hands.

  He noticed at once that her hair was different that morning: plaited along each side of her head and coiled neatly at her neck. The effect was pretty and showed off the creamy, pale skin along her cheekbones.

  “What are you about so early in the day?” she demanded, stepping outside after Lachlan had relieved her of her burden. She pulled the door shut after her and wrapped her shawl tighter, her breath misting in the heavy, cool air. “Da’s not roused himself yet.”

  “He might be in no hurry; the first work is done. I’ve a mind to speak to as many of the townsfolk as I can,” he said, pausing to take a bite of an oatcake, chew, and swallow, not bothering to tell her that he’d finished with the chores hours ago by lamplight before the sleepy, blinking animals in the darkness, trying to push the memory of Finley’s kiss from his mind and failing. “I reckon the next step to earning their trust is to lend my help.”

  Her spare eyebrows rose. “You mean to help everyone in town with all their chores?”

  He nodded while he chewed another mouthful. “As many as I can. Your da’s got the largest stake besides Eachann Todde.”

  “And he’s over the mountain with the sheep,” Finley said. She paused, her lips pressed together. “Can I come?”

  “Aye.” His answer was out of his mouth almost before she’d finished asking the question.

  “If I’m with you—” She stopped, as if just realizing he’d already said yes. She smiled at him. Lord, she was enchanting.

  Lachlan smiled back.

  * * * *

  By the time the sun was high, Lachlan had tended no fewer than one hundred animals. He’d mended two gates, sewn thatch into three roofs, and held one infant while Finley helped a woman hang out her washing.

  The infant was, by far, the most difficult chore of the day—like holding a very short, thick eel. An eel that wanted to pull your hair and stick its slippery, wet fingers in your facial orifices and shriek when it was disallowed. Lachlan resorted to placing the child in a tall basket for a time, swinging it by one handle when the creature became restless.

  He was thankful when they were on the path to the next longhouse, and he recognized the familiar blond head of Kirsten Carson, scattering grain for the ducks gathered around her in the dooryard. The young woman glanced up and immediately blushed, dumping out her apron and brushing her hands over the fabric before clasping them behind her back.

  “Good day, Kirsten,” Finley called out.

  “Good day, Finley,” the blonde replied, and then gave Lachlan the briefest of glances. “Blair.”

  “Miss Kirsten,” Lachlan said with a slight bow, knowing it would cause the shy girl’s cheeks to flush even deeper.

  Finley gave him an exasperated glance before addressing her friend once more. “The old folks about?”

  “They’re bringing in nets,” Kirsten said.

  “Would you know of any work about the place your father would welcome help with?” Lachlan asked, and held up the box with Rory Carson’s tools. “I’ve little knowledge of fishing, else I’d head to the beach to lend a hand.”

  Kirsten’s eyes widened slightly, and she glanced at Finley as if to gauge the sincerity of his offer. “I don’t suppose it takes much learning to haul in nets, now does it? Only a strong back. Seems an odd thing, though, for the Blair to be hiring himself out,” she hedged.

  Finley’s sigh was audible. “He’s nae the Blair.”

  “Not hiring out,” Lachlan corrected, ignoring Finley’s comment. “Just offering help as a gesture of goodwill from a Blair to the Carson Town.” He remembered the item in his pouch and set down the box, finding the shell quickly and holding it toward Kirsten. “Speaking of goodwill from Blair to Carson, this is for you. From Dand.”

  Kirsten’s eyes widened again, but it was only for a moment, and then her pretty, pleasant face went blank and she raised her gaze to Lachlan. “Forgive me, Blair, but I canna accept a gift from a man promised to another.”

  Lachlan cocked his head. “Dand’s nae promised to anyone.”

  Kirsten sniffed. “I’ve heard otherwise.”

  “How could you have?” Finley said.

  “I’ve heard it,” Kirsten insisted. “And I’ve seen proof of it with my own eyes. It’s that…Searrach.” She said the name as if she was spitting poison from her mouth, and then she looked at Lachlan again. “Weren’t she to marry you, Blair?”

  Finley gasped. “Kirsten Carson, have you been to Town Blair on your own again?”

  Lachlan looked between the two women. “Wait—what?”

  “You just mind your own business, Finley,” Kirsten said with a lift of her chin and a final brush of her skirts. “You forget that while you might be fortunate enough to have a husband, there are others who’ve not yet had one placed on their very doorstep. And who wouldn’t be so very ungrateful as you have been to have it happen. So you just mind your own business and let me mind mine.” She frowned at Lachlan, and he could see the glisten of tears in her eyes. “Good day, Blair.” She stalked through the open doorway of her family’s longhouse and closed the door firmly behind her.

  Lachlan looked down at Finley in the same moment that she lifted h
er eyes to him, and Lachlan suspected they were wearing similar expressions of surprise. From what Lachlan had seen of the blond Kirsten, she was gentle and friendly by nature, so this change in attitude had to have been brought on by something significant.

  “She knows something,” Finley said, echoing his thoughts. “Or at least she thinks she does. Have you any word from Dand?”

  “Not since the day he gave me the dagger. And this,” he said, gesturing with the shell still in his hand. “I’d be told if my brother was to wed.”

  “Maybe she’s mistaken,” Finley offered. “Kirsten’s feelings can be a bit exaggerated at times, and she has been daft over your brother since she first caught sight of him.”

  “Perhaps,” Lachlan acceded. But to himself, he thought it was more likely that Dand had been prevented from making the journey to Carson Town. “Dand’s already said he wouldn’t have Searrach. For Kirsten to be so convinced that they’re to wed…”

  Finley held out her hand. “Give me the shell.”

  “What, you’re going to chuck it through her window?”

  She wiggled her fingers and thrust her palm forward. “I’m going to go inside and find out what’s wrong while you go speak to Murdoch, who’s just coming up from the beach there.”

  Lachlan turned to look behind him and felt the shell snatched from his hand. When he looked again, Finley was already marching to the closed door. She raised her fist and rapped.

  “Kirsten? Open the door.”

  “Go away,” came the wailed response.

  Finley rolled her eyes and then reached up to pull the rope hanging along the doorframe, disengaging the latch on the other side.

  “I’ll meet you back at the house,” she instructed over her shoulder and then disappeared inside.

  Lachlan stood nonplussed in the sunshine for a moment. He’d wanted Finley Carson along this morning for what he thought were his own reasons, and yet she had succeeded in a way that far surpassed any usefulness Lachlan had hoped for, and it caused him to frown.