Highland Secrets

by Elizabeth Rose

  “What?” he asked, taking a moment to clear his head. Then he remembered. This was the old woman who had come to the young lassie’s aid three years ago in the forest. She was also the one who shot arrows at him and his men. “Och, I remember ye,” he spat, not sure it was good luck to run across her. Still, it couldn’t possibly get any worse. He needed to swallow his pride and try. “I need yer help, old woman. I have a sword wound in my side and require stitchin’. I’ve lost a lot of bluid.”

  “Why should I help you?” The woman curled her lip while she rubbed her chest as if she, too, were in pain. Her breathing was rather shallow.

  “Ye said it yerself. I let the lassie live.”

  “Aye.” She squinted an eye and cocked her head to peruse him. “Tell me. Why did you let her go?”

  “I can tell ye, but I need yer help first.” He nodded to the wound and removed his hand to show her the blood.

  “Oh!” She swallowed forcefully at the sight. He couldn’t help noticing the perplexed look on her face. Then she nodded slowly. “Let me help you.”

  He thought his worries were over, but the old woman took one step forward, clutched her chest and fell to the ground at his feet. He stepped backward, staring at her in disbelief and shaking his head. Her eyes and mouth were opened, but she wasn’t blinking. He got down on his knees and laid a hand on her neck to feel for a pulse. When he couldn’t find one, he leaned over to listen for her breath and nearly passed out.

  “Damn it,” he spat, struggling to get to his feet. Of all the rotten luck! The old woman was going to help him, and now she dropped down dead at his feet. He hadn’t thought things could get any worse, but they just did.

  Chapter 4

  Fia looked over her shoulder for the tenth time, watching for Highlanders to jump out of the bushes. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen or heard any. However, she did see several dead Scots and also some dead English soldiers on her way to the secret garden.

  Knowing Lord Beaufort would be scouting the woods as soon as the sun rose, she hurried, wanting to check on Imanie and get back before the men found her in the forest all alone.

  As she approached the gate to the secret garden, something sparkled from the ground, catching her eye.

  “My bracelet!” she said excitedly, jumping off the horse to see Willow’s brass button reflecting in the early morning sun. She scooped up the bracelet, bringing it to her lips for a quick kiss. This had to be a good sign. Everything was going to be all right. “Imanie,” she called out excitedly as she approached the gate. But the smile disappeared quickly from her face when she realized the gate was open and there was a bloody handprint upon it.

  Holding the reins of her horse, she slipped the bracelet into her pocket and ventured forward. Was Imanie hurt? Seeing a bloody handprint could only mean one of two things. Either Imanie was injured, or possibly the blood came from someone else.

  The handprint looked larger than a woman’s hand. Her head told her to turn around and run, but her heart wouldn’t let her leave until she knew Imanie was safe.

  Cautiously and carefully, she entered the garden, ready to jump on her horse and ride away at the first sign of danger. She hadn’t gone more than a few steps into the secret garden when she saw the red and brown plaid of a Highlander on Imanie’s porch. She froze, wondering what a Highlander was doing inside the secret garden.

  The man was down on his knees. When he got up, she saw Imanie lying on the ground, and she wasn’t moving.

  “Nay!” she shouted, not wanting to believe her mentor was dead. But by the look of fear in the old woman’s open eyes, it told Fia that the Highlander had killed her. She started to mount her horse, but the man’s words made her stop.

  “Fia, wait! I need yer help,” he called out.

  With one foot in the stirrup, she looked up slowly, wondering how this rugged Highlander knew her name. From across the garden, she recognized his long, dark hair and his stance. His voice was familiar, too. Aye, she knew him. It was the chieftain of the clan of Highlanders she’d met in the woods three years ago. He was the man who stopped his men from killing her. It was because of him she was still alive today.

  “Fia, come here. Please,” he called out, collapsing atop a wooden bench on the porch. His head fell back, and she noticed the look of pain on his face. Then she saw the blood on his clothes and the way he held his hand against his side. He was wounded!

  “I dinna trust ye,” she called out. “Ye killed my friend.”

  “What?” He lifted his head and looked at her from across the garden. There was a slight pause before he answered. “I canna hear a word ye say. Come closer.”

  She’d learned from Imanie that when someone pauses before they answer, they are usually lying. She thought about turning and riding away, but she couldn’t leave Imanie. What if she wasn’t dead but only injured? Fia had to find out. She needed to help her.

  Whether the Highlander was lying or not, Fia had to take the risk. Imanie would do the same for her. The woman had risked her life that day in the forest when she took on the entire clan of Highlanders with just a bow and arrows to try to save Fia’s life. Fia owed it to her to do the same in return.

  Tying the reins of her horse to a tree branch, she slowly walked toward the cottage, keeping her eye on the mysterious man.

  “Why are ye here?” she asked, making her way closer to Imanie.

  “It doesna matter,” he mumbled. “I am sorry about yer friend, but I had nothin’ to do with it.”

  Fia dropped to her knees, checking Imanie for any sign of life but couldn’t find a one. Imanie was dead! Tears filled her eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. Taking a closer look, she saw blood on Imanie, but it didn’t seem to be from her. The woman’s body was not cut or stabbed. The blood was on Imanie’s clothes as well as bloody fingermarks around her neck.

  “Ye killed her!” Startled and shocked by her discovery, Fia jumped to her feet.

  “I dinna kill her, lass.” The Scot got up off the bench. When he took a step toward her, she backed away. His body towered over her and his silver eyes bored into her, holding her in place. “I was wounded by the English and came here lookin’ for help. The old woman was goin’ to sew up my wound, but before she could, she dropped dead at my feet.”

  “How do ye expect me to believe that?” she spat. “I see yer bluidy fingerprints around her neck. Ye strangled her, didna ye?”

  “Blethers, ye are a silly lass.” He gripped his side again and let out a low moan. “Why would I kill the only person who could help me? Look at this, if ye dinna believe me.”

  He removed his hand from his wound, causing her to gasp when she saw the amount of blood leaking from his side.

  “Y-ye’re hurt,” she stammered.

  “I told ye that. Now help me by sewin’ up my wound, and I will help ye by buryin’ yer friend.”

  “I dinna ken,” she said, still being very suspicious. “Mayhap ye have half yer clan hidin’ inside the hut.”

  “Och, ye try my patience.” He swiped his free hand through the air in a dismissing nature. “If I had anyone at all inside the cottage dinna ye think I’d have them sewin’ up my side instead of me standin’ here bleedin’ to death while I argue with ye?”

  “I suppose ye’re right,” she said, looking down at Imanie, feeling her heart break. She should never have left her here alone yesterday. “What happened to her?”

  “I dinna ken. She clutched her chest and fell like a rock. It was all so sudden.”

  “It must have been her heart.”

  “Could be.”

  “Will ye really help me bury her body?”

  “I promise,” said the Highlander.

  “All right,” she agreed, bending down and using her hand to close Imanie’s eyes. She leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I am sorry I wasna here to help ye when ye needed me,” she whispered to the woman. Then she stepped around Imanie and made her way to the door of the hut. “The needle and thread a
re in her sewin’ kit in the house. It will be better if ye come inside while I sew ye up.”

  He followed her into the cottage and collapsed atop Imanie’s bed with a loud thump.

  Fia filled a basin with water and found some old rags, bringing them over to the bed along with a needle and thread.

  “Have ye ever done this before, lassie?” he asked as she threaded the needle.

  “Nay,” she admitted. “But I ken how to stitch, and I have tended to the wounded in other ways before.”

  “Then let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, removing his weapon belt and lying it on the bed. With his eyes fastened to her, he reached behind his back and drew his sword. Her heart about stopped until she saw him toss it on the bed and heard his next words. “Help me off with my tunic.”

  “What?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to help the man undress.

  “Well, did ye think ye could sew me up right through my clothes?”

  “Of course no’,” she said, feeling foolish. She put down the needle and thread and reached over to help him remove his tunic.

  “Alastair,” he said once his chest was bare.

  “Pardon me?”

  “My name is Alastair MacPherson.” He feigned a half-smile. “I thought if I was goin’ to be half-naked and on a bed with a bonnie lassie and all alone, ye should at least ken my name.”

  “Oh. Yes, I ken yer name. I remember it from the day ye saved me in the woods three years ago.” She cleaned his wound while she spoke.

  “One guid turn deserves another, right?”

  “Somethin’ like that.” Fia inspected his wound, pushing the needle through his skin.

  He bit back a curse and closed his eyes while she sewed him up. “What is this place and why are ye even here alone?”

  “It’s a secret garden,” she told him. “My cousins, sister, and I would sneak out of the castle to meet here with Imanie.”

  “What for?”

  She looked up, pulling the thread as she did so. She had started feeling comfortable around him and had already told him too much. She had to be careful. “Never mind. I shouldna have even told ye that.” She put her head down and continued to sew. “What happened to ye?”

  “I was stabbed with a sword,” he told her, sounding as if he thought she was daft even to have to ask.

  “I can see that. It looks as if ye were lucky since the wound is mainly in the skin. The man wasna a guid aim. Why didna the person who wounded ye, also run ye through again to make sure ye were dead?”

  Her statement must have sounded cold and cruel to him because he made a face before he answered. “I suppose it was because he was too interested in stealin’ my horse.”

  “Then ye have no way to get back to yer clan?”

  “Half my clan has left without me by my orders, and the other half is either dead or have been taken prisoner by the English.”

  “Aye, I ken. Lord Beaufort brought the prisoners to the castle before sunup. There was one who was claimin’ to be chieftain.”

  “Dinna tell me,” he said, gritting his teeth and inspecting the job she did on his wound. “I am sure it was Brohain. Ye remember – the one who wanted to kill ye.”

  “Yes, he’s the one.”

  “Help me wrap this wound, and I will make guid on my promise and bury yer friend.”

  “Ye are weak and need to rest,” she told him, tearing a bed sheet and wrapping up his wound. “I will cover up Imanie with a blanket and be back with my cousins and my sister. We will bury her.”

  “Nay,” he said, starting to get off the bed. He moved too fast and grimaced. Then he shook his head and sat back down. “Dinna bring any Sassenachs here. I will bury her myself.”

  “All right,” she agreed so that he would stop fighting her. She had to get help and wouldn’t be able to do it if he was keeping such a close eye on her. “I will dig the hole. Please, lay back and close yer eyes. I will tell ye when the hole is ready and ye can help me move her body.”

  “Nay, I am the man. I will do it.” He reached out and gripped her wrist, causing her to struggle.

  “Stop that,” he commanded.

  She panicked and fought him, raising her knee and hitting him right in his wound.

  “Bid the devil!” he cried, letting loose of her hand and using both hands to hold his side. His eyes closed while he leaned back against the wall.

  Through the open door, the sunlight streamed into the room. It was already daybreak. Fia had to get back to the castle quickly. If she didn’t, Lord Beaufort would be sending out a search party for her. She couldn’t take the chance they’d find the secret garden or Imanie. She also didn’t want them to find Alastair because they would most likely kill him if they did.

  Scooping up the blanket from the bed, Fia hurried out to the porch without bothering to close the door.

  “I will be back, Imanie,” she whispered, covering her mentor with a blanket. She wasn’t sure what to do. Imanie was dead, and there was no evidence that the Highlander hadn’t killed her. She needed to get help and back to the castle quickly. “I will miss ye, my guid friend,” she said, kissing Imanie on the head for the last time. Then, getting to her feet, she ran for her horse.

  Alastair opened his eyes to find the girl gone. When he heard the sound of horse’s hooves, he realized she had fooled him. She wasn’t digging a hole to bury her friend at all. Nay, she was running right back to the castle to tell the English where he was.

  He got off the bed and staggered to the door, holding on to the doorpost, watching the girl ride away.

  For some reason, she stopped in the gateway and turned around and looked right at him. No words were exchanged, but neither did they need to be. The girl might be Scottish, but she was also a traitor. Tugging on the reins, she turned and left the garden, leaving him alone with the old lady’s dead body.

  Alastair felt like hell and needed to rest, but he could no longer stay here. He noticed the old woman’s horse in the single stable and decided to take it to find the rest of his clan. He went back into the house and donned his bloody tunic, fastening his weapon belt around his waist and replacing his sword into his scabbard.

  As he left the cottage, he stepped over the body that was now covered with a blanket. “Well, Imanie,” he said, using the name he’d heard Fia call the old woman. “I dinna suppose ye’ll be needin’ yer horse anymore. I hope ye dinna mind if I take it off yer hands.”

  He took a few steps but stopped in his tracks when he saw a bracelet on the ground. Scooping it up in one hand, he inspected it. In the center was a wooden heart and the name Fia carved into it. He thought about how the girl had helped him. They had made a deal, and now he was going back on his word – something he never did. His conscience got the best of him. Nay, he couldn’t leave yet.

  “Damn,” he spat, not wanting to go before he buried the old woman’s body as he’d promised. No other Highlander he knew would keep such a promise in such a dire situation. Then again, he wasn’t like most Highlanders. That was his downfall. He cared too much about others than to turn his back on a woman in need.

  Fingering the bracelet in his hand, he couldn’t stop thinking of the red-haired beauty named Fia. Fate brought them together. This was the second time he’d seen her now. And the part that intrigued him the most was that, just like three years ago, she was still wearing the heart brooch. Curiosity ate away at him, and he needed to find the answers he’d been searching for. Perhaps she was the one who could do it. He slipped the bracelet into his pouch, shaking his head.

  Seeing a shed at the opposite side of the garden, he headed toward it to find a spade, wondering if he would regret keeping his word in the end.

  Chapter 5

  Fia burst into Willow and Maira’s bedchamber, letting the door hit the wall. She had run all the way up there, having avoided Lord Beaufort in the courtyard. Morag was in the room, too. They all looked up when she entered.

  “Fia, ye’re back,” said Morag. “We were worried about ye
.”

  “Morag told us where you went,” said Maira. “It wasn’t smart of you to go out alone, Fia. Especially after the battle that just took place.”

  “Of course, Morag told ye,” she grumbled, knowing her sister could not keep a secret if her life depended on it. “I had to go. I was so worried about Imanie.”

  “How is she?” asked Willow, lazily running a boar’s bristle brush through her long hair.

  “She’s dead,” said Fia, holding back her tears.

  “Dead?” Maira rushed over. “Are you sure?”

  “I saw her layin’ there lifeless with my own eyes.”

  “What happened?” asked Willow, putting down the brush and coming to join them.

  “I am no’ sure. But when I entered the garden, I saw a bluidy handprint on the gate and then the plaid of a Scot on her porch.”

  “Highlanders!” squeaked Morag “They killed her.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Fia. “But he said he didn’t kill her.”

  “He? Who is he?” Maira demanded to know.

  “It was the real chieftain of the clan, no’ the liar in the dungeon. He was the man who saved my life three years ago.”

  “Fia! I canna believe ye escaped from him alive,” said Morag.

  “I didn’t escape. I helped sew up his wound.” Fia sat down on the bed, and the girls gathered around her.

  “Don’t tell me you helped the man who killed Imanie? How could you?” asked Maira in disgust.

  “He said he didna kill her. He told me she dropped dead at his feet after agreein’ to help him.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Willow crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

  “She dropped dead?” Morag’s hand went to the heart brooch pinned on her bodice. A look of horror washed over her face. “Oh, Fia, I killed her.”

  “Morag, quit talkin’ like a fool,” Fia scolded. Her sister tended to have crazy thoughts at times, and this was one of them. “Ye werena even there so how can ye say that?”

  “Dinna ye see?” Tears formed in Morag’s eyes. “Imanie gave me this heart brooch because she kent how much I wanted it. But she also told us the last time she did somethin’ like this, someone died. Now she was the one to die, and it is all because of me.”