Jamie asked about what Morgana was like. It was obvious to Gregor that he wanted to know more about this healer. Not just her, but the effect she had on him.
“She seems wonderful for our village,” Gregor agreed, replying honestly. “And Tily likes her enough to let her stay out there on her property, which is a feat in itself. But I don’t ken much more about her than that she doesnae like to talk about her past.”
“Well, maybe ye need to fix that,” Jamie suggested, rising to take his leave. “But I can tell I’ve bothered ye enough about it today. I just wanted to tell ye that ye’ve been like a bear with a thorn up his arse lately. And now that I’ve done that I think I’ll go join Alice for some tea.”
Jamie reached over the desk and waited for Gregor to do the same. Though he paused at first, he eventually smirked; the two took grasped each other’s forearm and pulled one another in for a hug.
“Just dae me a favor, aye?” he asked walking toward the door.
Gregor sighed. “Aye, what’s that?”
“Stop chasing the servants away from yer quarters. There’s a stench coming’ from there and it’s time ye let it get tidied up.”
Even though he didn’t want to, Gregor let out a huff of a laugh. He knew his uncle was making a joke, but he was also right. It was high time he let his chambers get a good scrub and maybe even let some light in.
He had felt guilty for the way he had chased the poor maid away for only doing her duties during one of his fouler moods. As Laird and Master of the castle, it was below him to behave in such a childish way. He knew he needed to be better.
“Aye,” he replied, agreeing with his uncle for the first time that evening. “Before the night is over, I’ll find the lass and apologize and ask her to finish the job.”
Jamie nodded, seemingly satisfied with at least that part of the conversation and turned to leave, but just as he was at the door, he looked back at Gregor a final time.
“A final thing,” he said, unable to stop the smile on his face.
Gregor sighed, obviously wanting the conversation to be over. “God’s blood, man, now what?”
“I was just wondering, what will ye’ll be bringing the lass as a welcome gift?”
He slipped out of the room then, and Jamie, remembering the old Henwen tradition, groaned.
Chapter 5
Two Weeks Later, Henwen
The sun streamed in through opened windows, playfully teasing at Morgana’s lashes and dissolving her dream of the brooding Scottish Laird. Even through her sleep, she smiled and rolled to her side, her arm draping around Zeus. Still deeply slumbering, the big brute didn’t break from his soft snoring.
Morgana stayed in the comfort of the grass and down-filled mattress Tily had lent to her, listening to the sounds of the peaceful morning as she slowly roused from sleep. Outside, she could hear the rooks that lived in the wood crowing to one another cheerfully as they gathered breakfast for their young.
It had been three months since she had run away, and nearly two since she’d found the peaceful cottage that nestled between wood and field. Tily had been gracious with the use of her fields and with her help, they had Morgana’s first crop sowed and it was now budding.
After Tily had tried her tea and salve for her swollen joints, she had taken jars of it into Henwen and sang Morgana’s praises for talent with herbs. Since then, she had been kept rather busy seeing new patients and tending to her crop.
The ailments they came to her with had been standard at first, a toothache or an infected wound. But after her reputation began to grow, so did her list of ailments that she could remedy. For now, she could forage most of what she needed from the wood, but in not too much time her crops would be needed for the wider range of ailments she could treat.
When she wasn’t treating an ailment, focusing on her crop or helping Tily, Morgana and Zeus spent their time wandering through the surrounding Scottish countryside. She had thought the English forests had been beautiful, but found the wildness of Scotland’s woods breathtaking and magical. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was at home.
Morgana rose, and took her time getting dressed. Her maroon winter dress was now too warm, so she donned her only other option she had brought with her. The dress was made of a simple cotton and linen blend and been dyed a cornflower blue. Unlike most others, she had made this one to lace up the front, the bodice zigzagging from just below her breasts to her waist.
The sleeves were long, but also corseted so that if it got too warm, she could loosen the laces and bring them up to her elbows. A useful trick she learned when it came to working so tirelessly in the sun and soil. She drew the laces together for now, then began to braid her hair back, taking her time to enjoy the privacy and space of her own quarters once again.
The cottage was small, just a bedroom and a large living space that stretched into a kitchen. After ridding the place of every speck of dust and rot, she had gone to the wood and gathered bunches of wild heather to dry and hang from the rafters. Mixing together a bit of wild mustard, milkweed, and animal fat, she created a buttercream yellow paint and gave her rooms a bloom of life. The little personal touches really transformed the space, and she felt she had made it her own.
She was just finishing steeping her morning tea when Zeus came padding out from the bedroom and began to whine at the door. A second later, Morgana heard Tily’s familiar footsteps approach her door and a knock came. Grinning, she answered and let her in.
“Mornin’, dearie, mornin’,” the old woman chirped, shoving a biscuit into Zeus’ mouth before he brushed past her to the outside. With her other hand she held up a warm loaf of bread covered in a cloth to Morgana.
“Divvy that up for us, would ye, lovie? And can ye brew me a cup of the tea ye made for me the other day? For the knee pain? Bless ye.”
“Of course,” Morgana replied warmly, taking the loaf. As she busied herself in the kitchen, Tily told her the list of people who would be visiting her that day and for what ailments. Though it wasn’t something they had really discussed, she had become Morgana’s unofficial bookkeeper of appointments.
“I thought you didn’t want people traipsing around your property,” Morgana teased, setting down the tea and bread.
Tily snickered, and threw the younger woman a glare.
“‘T’wouldn’t be right to keep people away from yer medicines,” she sniffed defensively. “What with us bein’ without a healer in so long and all.”
Morgana laughed softly, nodding. “And?”
Tily rolled her eyes. “And maybe I like ye a bit more than I kent I would, even if ye are a cheeky lass at times.”
“Aww, well I like you too, you crotchety old woman,” Morgana replied playfully, brushing a kiss on Tily’s cheek.
The two burst into giggles, and fell easily into a light banter. Not long after that Zeus let out a sharp bark from outside. Immediately Morgana was on her feet, looking toward the door. It wasn’t often that she could be snuck up on, but she knew if Zeus was barking like that that someone was outside.
“An appointment already?” Morgana asked, looking confusedly at Tily. The old woman shook her head.
“Nae one I made at least. Not for another three hours I’d say.”
Morgana reached for the knife by the bread and went to the window, her entire body on alert. She peered outside, and when she saw the familiar man Zeus had cornered by the nearest oak tree, she relaxed. There by her porch once more was the Laird of Henwen. He had both hands raised, one holding a large brown sack that moved on its own, and was whispering calmly to Zeus. She watched, amused, as they stared each other down.
“Who be it lass?” Tily asked, making Morgana jump. She had been so amused watching the interaction outside that she had forgotten Tily was still there.
“The Laird of Henwen,” she replied softly, setting down the knife before going to the door. “Zeus has him pinned to a tree.”
“What?” Tily exclaimed, her hands
flying to her face.
Morgana stifled her laughter as she stepped outside. On the porch, she crossed her arms over her breasts and gave the man an amused look.
“Good morning,” she called, unable to hold the smile off her lips.
Gregor looked up from Zeus and into her eyes, and just like the first time they met she felt an odd fluttering in her stomach. His eyes were as green and full of life as the herbs she worked so lovingly with.
She had been ready to shoot him from afar that day, but when he had come up to her on the porch and she could really see him, she had feared her legs were going to give at any moment. She now recognized him from the graveyard that morning so long ago, and her heart had softened. Being cold to him wasn’t something she had particularly wanted, but she knew better than to trust a man just because he had nice eyes.
“Mornin’ there,” he called, a small smile of his own spreading across his chiseled lips. “May I approach? Or are ye going to keep me pinned here all day?”
Such a cheeky fellow.
“I suppose I can help you out a bit,” she replied, biting back a smile.
A high, quick whistle slipped from Morgana’s lips. The moment Zeus heard it, he dropped down to all fours and walked obediently back to her. Gregor looked at her as if impressed, and oddly, it pleased her to know that.
“Please come in,” she replied, her tone warm. The Laird approached, his stride long and sure. She couldn’t help but notice how his muscular thighs bulged under his breeches, and those butterflies returned all over again.
As he approached, his sack began to squawk and rustle, and he stopped abruptly to set it gently on the ground.
“Actually, I brought ye a gift,” he said, surprising her. With quick fingers he untied the bag and three Scot Grey hens jumped out. From a sack on his back she hadn’t seen before, he pulled out a rooster and a smaller sack. From that he pulled out a handful of corn kernels and sprinkled them across the grass. The chickens clucked and happily went to the food.
“It’s tradition here,” he explained, continuing his way to her. “The Laird brings a gift of welcome to new community members.”
Morgana felt her eyebrow rise amusedly. “I’m a community member?”
The Laird laughed at her, and she liked the way his teeth flashed white against the dark ruggedness of his beard.
“Whether ye like it or nae,” he replied. “Word has been spreading about yer cures.” The teasing slipped out of his voice, shifting to sincerity. “Me people are grateful, as am I.”
Morgana felt her heart skip a beat at the way he said the last part. Warmth blossomed over her face and it took her a second to realize that she started to blush. Immediately she brought her hand to her cheek and murmured a thank you for the chickens.
Inside, Tily was doing a bad job hiding her smirk behind her mug of tea, and after she finished her cup she made her leave.
“Mrs. Adair and her mother-in-law will be by after the noon hour to get more of yer mornin’ sickness tea, dearie,” she called in goodbye. To Gregor she cheerfully said, “Always a pleasure, me Laird.”
“And ye, Tily,” he called in return, chuckling.
Morgana poured him a mug of heather and mint tea and brought a crock of honeyed butter to the table. As she was turning around, she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes had been fixed to her hips. When she caught him staring, his ears turned a bright red and he asked her a question that surprised her.
“How is it you ken about Greek Gods?”
It was not the question she thought he would ask.
“Why do you think I know?” she retorted, slightly flustered. “What if I just heard it and liked it?”
The Laird chuckled as he accepted the tea, his fingers brushing hers. She tried not to like the way it tingled.
“Lass, I barely ken ye and can tell that ain’t true. Yer a lot smarter than that.”
Morgana relaxed a bit, and took her seat diagonal from him.
“My mother was an English governess, and my Irish father, a botanist. He loved to teach me about plants and their healing properties, and she loved to teach me academics. She taught me arithmetic, writing,” she paused and laughed, caught in a pleasant memory of her and her mother sitting over a table of books. “My Aunt taught me Greek and Roman mythology. They called me their little sponge,” she confessed. “I absorbed everything they told me.”
Morgana looked up at Gregor then, and found him looking at her intently.
“What is it?” she asked. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but for some reason she found him in that moment almost sad.
“How long have they been gone?” he asked softly.
A wave of mourning she didn’t expect rose up in her. She began to lather a piece of bread with honeyed butter as a distraction.
“Half my life. I was twelve when they...” her voice drifted into silence. She took a bite of the bread and chewed it slowly, avoiding his eyes.
“How did you know?” she asked, when she felt she could speak again.
The Laird let out a bitter husk of a laugh, and suddenly she knew. Lifting her eyes up, she found him staring into his tea as if it were portal into another world. She wanted to ask him who he had lost, but she waited patiently for him to speak. When he was able to look back at her, she could feel his heartache radiating from him.
Morgana listened intently as he told her about his late wife and son, as well as going through the pain of losing his father only a year later. Empathy poured out of her heart for him, and she felt the walls around her heart go down just a little bit more.
Chapter 6
Before he realized it, Gregor found himself telling Morgana about Isabel, Ian, his morning ritual and lack of sleep; everything. She sat and listened to him intently, her riveting eyes enticing him to tell her more. When he had finished, a wave of embarrassment came over him and he got up to leave.
“Wait,” Morgana said quickly, putting her hand on his arm. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve burdened ye enough,” he replied, a little too gruffly. He shifted in his chair to leave again, but her hand didn’t move.
“Stay.” The word slipped between her lips and over his ears like velvet. Suddenly he couldn’t move even if he wanted. Something had awakened in his loins, both surprising and embarrassing him. It had been a gentle touch. An innocent touch. But it stirred in him a craving he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I have a confession,” she admitted, looking a little embarrassed. “I’ve seen you, in the mornings. Visiting their graves.”
Gregor felt his heart stop. No one had ever accompanied him to Isabel and Ian’s grave. In fact, it was an incredibly private moment. When he didn’t respond at first, she pressed forward.
“It was the first night I had come here actually. Zeus and I couldn’t sleep and we went for a walk. I didn’t know it was you though, not until later when you came to the cottage.”
“You watched me?” he asked defensively.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “It wasn’t my business at all. I just… I know it’s hard to explain but I could just feel your heartache. I wanted, I mean I–” she shook her head, stopping herself.
“Tell me.” The command came out much gruffer than he intended.
Morgana looked up him, compassion filling her eyes. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
“No one should have to be alone with death.”
The answer was not one he was expecting. Nor was it one he knew how to respond to. He realized that in his embarrassment, he made the conversation uncomfortable. Thinking he had overstayed his welcome, he muttered an apology and got up to leave.
“No, wait. I’m sorry for spying,” she apologized again. “But I can make you something to help you feel better. Would you stay for a few more moments? It won’t take long to put together.”
“How so?” he asked, forcing his mind back to the discussion at hand. Intrigued, he sat back down and let his ego go.
“What do ye mean?” he asked, completely consumed with watching her work. Rising from the table, he walked over the small baking table that sat in the middle of the kitchen and propped his hip against it. She was only a couple feet away now, and he could see how expertly her fingers worked her utensils to turn the herbs she picked into a fine powder with her pestle.
Lusting for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 5
