The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3)

by Barbara Longley

  “He didn’t do anything.” She’d been the one who had kissed him first, and she really couldn’t bear the way he always stiffened and pulled away. “I’m just homesick is all.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks and sniffed. “I miss my family, and it just got to me.”

  Tieren took her hand in his and placed it in the crook of his elbow. “Let me escort you to the keep, my lady. I vow to do my best to turn your mind to happier thoughts.”

  Hunter grunted. Scowling, he took the place on her other side. What was he scowling and grunting about now? Her head ached, and she wanted to escape to her chamber. Hunter had sworn to find a way to get her home, and home is where she belonged. She didn’t even want to imagine never seeing her folks again. What must they be going through about now? It broke her heart to think of the pain her disappearance must be causing them, not to mention the chasm it caused in her own heart.

  “I hear you plan to begin training with the lads,” Tieren said.

  “Where did you hear that?” She shot him a look of surprise. “We just talked about it a little while ago.”

  “I overheard Robley speak of it to George in the great hall. He’s to inform the other lads.” He winked at her. “I would learn this hand-to-hand combat as well, if it pleases you.”

  “Sure. The more the merrier.”

  Hunter let go of another grunt as they climbed the steps to the doors of the keep. “I will escort her from here.” He removed her arm from Tieren’s. “Rest well, for I plan to give you a sound thrashing in the lists at daybreak.”

  Tieren’s mouth quirked up. He bowed low. “Good eve to you, my lady. I look forward to training with you.” He straightened and flashed Hunter a wry grin. “As always, you are welcome to try to defeat me.” He turned and hurried down the steps. With a backward wave, he crossed the bailey and headed for the portcullis.

  “Can he?” she asked.

  “Can he what?” Hunter opened the doors and ushered her through.

  “Defeat you.”

  “Aye, he can. Over the years Tieren has managed to find a way to confound my abilities. Were it no’ for him, I would no’ be nearly as skilled as I’ve had to become. Remind me to tell you how he and I came to be friends.”

  “How about now?”

  “Nay. I’ve things to do before I retire, and your guardians will be wanting to see that you’re safely tucked away in your chamber for the evening. Where have they put you?”

  “I’m in the turret next to the room Erin and Robley always stay in when they’re here.”

  “Do you find it to your liking?”

  “It’s wonderful.” The round chamber with its small hearth, feather bed, medieval tapestries and murder holes made her feel like a princess.

  He placed a hand at the small of her back and moved her closer to the wall, taking up a protective position on the outside as they mounted the narrow stone stairway leading to the living quarters. “Do you still suffer bad dreams, lass?”

  “I’ve had a few, yes.” The image of the man she’d killed flashed through her mind. Regret stole her breath, and she was sure she’d dream about that day for a long time to come.

  “I’m sorry I canna be there to wake you from them.”

  Me too. The thought of his being in bed with her sent her heart racing, and a spool of heat unwound in her center. Ah, but did he mean it the way she wanted to take it? Probably not. “I’m fine. Robley and Erin are right next door if I need them.”

  They reached the hallway, and awkwardness overtook her. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. How would she get past the fact that she’d been the one to kiss him, not the other way around? Confusion and longing swirled around in her brain. She stiffened her spine. Hunter was determined to send her home. She wanted to go home. So why had she tried to start something with him? She shook her head. What a mess.

  “What is it, lass?”

  “Hmm?” She looked up to find him scrutinizing her, his expression a little too sharp for her comfort. “I was just thinking about . . . my situation. A lot has happened in the last couple of weeks. I’m still playing catch-up.”

  “Catch-up?” He arched an eyebrow. “I see. I found it most gratifying to speak with you this eve, and my worries have lightened indeed. Dinna fash about . . .” He waved a hand in the air. “These things happen. ’Tis why young ladies of gentle birth should always be chaperoned, so that young men like me dinna take advantage and steal kisses.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and peered into her eyes.

  “You didn’t steal a kiss. I did.”

  “Nay, your forget the first kiss upon your brow.”

  His tender smile had her aching for another round of his mouth on hers. “Your chivalry is showing.”

  “Mayhap you have it aright.” His eyes lit with amusement. “I would have your promise that you’ll come to me should aught trouble you.”

  “I will.” She nodded. “I promise.”

  “Good. Sleep well, lass.” With that he turned around and hurried back down the stairs.

  “OK. You too,” she called after him. Dang it. What would Robley do if Hunter told him about the way she’d thrown herself at him? Her guardian would probably throw a fifteenth-century fit and lock her in her turret chamber. Sighing, she turned toward her room, eager for a little privacy to sort through her feelings about this disastrous evening.

  “Good eve to you, my lady,” a voice said behind her.

  Meghan spun around, her muscles tensed for battle. “Cecil. What are you doing here?”

  “Like you, I am a guest,” he said in an offended tone. “I share a small chamber with my pages and squire on the next floor up.” He gestured down the hall in the opposite direction from where she was heading. “I am of noble blood, lass. Did you expect they’d have me sleep on the floor in the great hall whilst there are chambers to be had?”

  “Of course not. I’m sorry.” Avoid any circumstance where you might find yourself alone with him. That’s what Hunter had said, and here she was—alone with the man who had demanded she be abandoned in the woods. “I was just startled. I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

  “Mayhap ’tis because I didn’t come up the stairs. I’ve just come down them.” His expression turned contrite. “Have you truly forgiven me for the foul accusations I made toward you?”

  “I have, but it doesn’t mean I trust you.” She inched away. He followed.

  “Then let me endeavor to prove myself worthy of your trust, my lady. Accept my pledge to protect and aid you however I might.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear to search for the faerie who snatched you from your home until she is found.”

  And then what? He didn’t say anything about seeing her safely home, only that he’d find Giselle. Hunter was right. Cecil wanted to sidle up to her to get to the fae, or he believed she was the current faerie in residence. “Thanks. Good night, Cecil.”

  She didn’t give him a chance to say any more and hurried to her room. Once she reached the chamber, she put herself behind the closed door as fast as possible and dropped the bar into the brackets on either side to lock it. As long as Cecil thought he could benefit from being nice to her, he would act accordingly. Somehow that didn’t give her much comfort.

  Tomorrow she’d be back in her tunic, hose and chain mail with her sword hanging down her back. Now that would make her feel a whole lot better, and if Robley gave her grief about it, she’d just challenge him to settle their differences in the lists.

  Meghan surveyed her pupils, all standing in a neat line in front of the two newly constructed frames holding the leather punching bags. As the rest of the men training in the lists, her trainees wore plain brown woolen kilts and saffron shirts, allowing for a great deal of freedom in movement.

  She strode from one end to the other as they practiced the drills she’d taught them. The drills wou
ld eventually enable them to effectively block any blows coming their way, and in the five days she’d been working with them, she was seeing great progress. Of course, fifteenth-century Scottish men were used to training and had been doing so since they were just little kids. She squinted against the morning sun and corrected Allain’s posture.

  “All right. Listen up.” They were ready to move on to the next demonstration. “Today we’re going to begin the kickboxing phase of our training.” She gestured toward the punching bags. “Watch as I demonstrate a simple kick; then I’ll have each of you give it a try.” She approached one of the punching bags, curled her fists next to her chest, aligned her side to the target and sent a swift high kick to the center of the weighted leather, snapping her leg back as quickly as she’d kicked. The impact made a nice smacking sound and sent the leather swinging. Grinning, she turned to face her line of pupils.

  Furtive glances bounced down the line, and the younger boys shuffled their feet. Puzzled by their reaction, she stepped closer. “Come on. Who wants to be first?”

  “Uh, my lady . . .” Allain, her staunchest supporter, murmured. “Mayhap this would be best saved for another day.”

  “Oh, come on.” She set her hands on her hips and scowled. “It’s not that hard.” Tieren and Hunter made snorting sounds. She glared them into silence. “Will no one volunteer?” She stared at each one. “I’m disappointed.”

  “I will volunteer, my lady.” George stepped forward, a cocky grin on his face.

  “Good. All of you circle around and watch me demonstrate once more.” Again a flurry of glances back and forth mystified her. Shaking it off, she demonstrated with another swift kick to the leather. “You want to be slightly sideways with your balance on the outside leg.” She backed up. “Go ahead, George.”

  “Aye, go ahead, George,” Tristan taunted. “Show the lady how high you can kick.”

  George aligned himself to the punching bag, curled his hands to his chest as she had done and looked expectantly her way.

  “Go ahead.” She touched a spot on the leather. “Aim here.”

  Smothered laughter and gasps erupted. Tristan and Allain’s faces were both bright red, and Tieren shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “Och, enough.” Hunter strode forward, but it was too late.

  George kicked. His kilt hiked up, and she got a flash of bare butt and . . .

  “Oh cripes! That was . . . that was just wrong,” she cried, slapping her hands over her eyes. “Not at all acceptable.” Laughter erupted, and she aimed a scathing look at George between her fingers. He smirked and strutted back to his place in line.

  “From this day forward, you will all train in hose and tunics,” she snapped. “Got it?”

  “The lads are used to training in the lists with only other men about.” Hunter arched his brow at her. “What did you think they wore under their feileadh breacans?”

  “I don’t know.” She lowered her hands from her eyes. “Biking shorts? Briefs? A sumo wrestler’s mawashi thingie?” She’d figured the males in kilts bound things up with strips of linen or something. Hadn’t she read that somewhere? “My dad and brothers wore biking shorts under their kilts, and I just figured—”

  “Och, well, I ken naught about the things you speak of, but I suspect we’ve none of those garments to hand.” He snorted. “Have we?”

  “Course not. I didn’t think of that.” Just then the village horn rent the air with two blasts.

  “We will continue on the morrow,” Hunter commanded, aiming a pointed look at the boys. “George, another jape such as this one, and you will suffer my wrath. Do you take my meaning?”

  “Aye, Sir Hunter. My apologies, Lady Meghan.” He shot her a sheepish look. “I forget sometimes that you are no’ . . . I mean, you’re our trainer, and . . .”

  “And you see me as one of the boys?” She grinned. “I’m honored.”

  “Dinna forget in future that she is a lady first and foremost.” Hunter scowled at the boys until they squirmed. “I must see who is come. Until later, my lady.”

  “OK.” How could she have been so unaware of her trainees’ dressing habits, especially here in the lists where it was usually all male? Her students didn’t have any idea what martial arts involved, so they wouldn’t have given what they wore a single thought. Kilts wouldn’t work for the flips either.

  Tieren approached her as Hunter took off for the ferry landing at a jog. The younger lads moved on to swordplay or followed Hunter.

  Tieren smiled. “May I escort you to the landing?”

  “Sure. Two tones means clan members have arrived, right?” She picked up her scabbard and strapped her sword to her back.

  “Aye.” He placed his hand at the small of her back, and they made their way toward the ferry landing. “’Tis a fine day. Mayhap you’d enjoy a ride through the hills after the noonday meal? I’d be most happy to accompany you.”

  “That would be nice. I’d love to see the surrounding hills.” Two boys, maybe sixteen or seventeen, leapt from the ferry and wrapped themselves around Hunter. “Are those the twins I’ve been hearing about? Migizi and Bizhiw?”

  “Aye, though they prefer to be called David and Owain of late.”

  They reached the shore just as a young woman stepped off the ferry. Delicate, ultrafeminine and drop-dead gorgeous, she wore her hair in a long braid down her back. Her large hazel eyes were fixed on Hunter. He disentangled himself from the twins and took her hands in his. Their foreheads touching, the two murmured to each other, and tears streaked down the woman’s cheeks.

  “Who is she?” Meghan asked, trying like hell to keep the jealousy out of her tone.

  “’Tis Sky Elizabeth, Hunter’s foster sister.”

  “Ah.” Relief washed through her in a rush.

  “She’s the reason Hunter journeyed to the continent to earn his fortune.”

  “Huh?” She tore her gaze away from the intimate reunion and shot Tieren a questioning look.

  “Aye. On the day Sky was born, Hunter pledged himself to her. He believes being in possession of a fortune will persuade Malcolm to grant him Sky’s hand in marriage despite his lack of a title or land.”

  “Oh.” Her stomach dropped, along with her heart and every other major organ. Of course. Hunter was already in love with someone else. Judging by the way the two lovebirds were cozying up together, obviously Sky felt the same. A lump the size of an apple lodged itself in her throat. Great. The happy couple turned her way, along with the twins.

  “Meghan, this is David,” Hunter said, shoving the boy’s shoulder. “And this rapscallion is his twin brother, Owain,” he added, tousling the other boy’s hair. “I trow they’ll be joining us for your mixed martial arts training.” He arched his brow and looked from one boy to the other.

  “I’ve no notion what you speak of, Hunter, but if you say we should, then we will,” David said with grin. Owain nodded, a look of adoration suffusing his face as he looked at Hunter.

  Taking Sky Elizabeth’s hand in his, he drew her forward. “Sky Elizabeth, I’d like to introduce you to Lady Meghan McGladrey. She is our guest at Moigh Hall.”

  Sky took in Meghan’s attire, her eyes widening slightly. “’Tis lovely to make your acquaintance, Lady Meghan. From whence do you come?”

  “Your mother and I come from the same place and time,” she said, trying hard not to let her jealousy show. She wore hose, a tunic and chain mail, still dusty and sweaty from her training session. Sky was the perfect picture of elegance in her medieval gown. Meghan couldn’t compete with this paragon of fifteenth-century grace, beauty and proper comportment.

  What the hell was she doing here, and how would she get back home? She hadn’t asked Erin yet if she had a way to contact her fae relative, and doing so just moved to the top of her list of priorities.

  “I see,” Sky replied, her eyes gr
owing wider still. “I look forward to hearing more about your journey, but first I must recover from my own.” She smiled, and her eyes filled with intense concentration as she scrutinized Meghan. “Welcome to Moigh Hall. ’Tis my hope that we will become great friends.”

  Yay. She was being read by yet another gifted person. “Thanks, I’m looking forward to getting to know you too.” So not true, but what was she supposed to say? I dislike you intensely because Hunter is in love with you? She needed to get away so she could lick her wounds and regroup.

  “Sky, Migizi, Bizhiw,” True called as she hurried toward them, her arms outstretched.

  The rest of the MacKintosh family converged upon the landing, and Meghan slipped away, desperate for privacy. She needed to get control of her gyrating emotions before she could face anyone. She had no right to be jealous, and no real reason for this achy heartbreak tearing her to pieces. Hunter had never done a single thing to lead her to believe she meant anything to him.

  Sure, he’d protected her, looked after her, but it was because he saw himself as responsible for taking her from her century. This was not her time, home or family. Concentrate on getting home. The twenty-first century was where she belonged, and this whole situation should be pissing her off, not breaking her heart. Madame Giselle had made some kind of cosmic error. Her presence in the fifteenth century was nothing more than a miscalculation on the part of the faerie. After all, she had no fae genes or gifts, and no real reason for being here.

  “Lady Meghan, wait.” Tieren strode toward her.

  Stifling a groan, she stopped. “What is it?”

  He frowned, canted his head and studied her. “Is aught amiss, lass?”

  “Yep.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “There’s plenty amiss. I don’t belong in this time or in this place. I want to go home.” She turned away from his scrutiny. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to . . .” Go cry into my pillow and hide out for the rest of the day.

  “What about our ride?”

  “Oh right.” She swallowed the bitter mass clogging her throat. “I’ll catch you later.”