Highlanders for the Holidays: 4 Hot Scots

by Glynnis Campbell

  Now the babe was happy and content, looking up at him as she sucked on her little fist.

  While he would love to claim this child, he sincerely hoped the mother would change her mind and come for her daughter. ’Twasn’t that he didn’t want the babe. On the contrary, a little part of him wished the mother wouldn’t change her mind so he could keep her. He hoped ’twas desperation that had forced the mother to give up her child. But he could not think of one person amongst his people who was that desperate. His clan had been blessed for many years with fertile soil and abundant crops. He doubted ‘twas poverty that motivated such an act. Nay, it had to be something else.

  Just who the babe belonged to was a mystery, so he’d sent his brothers, Braigh and Ronald out to question their people, to see if anyone was missing a bairn or had recently birthed one.

  In the meantime, he would take this wee cherub as his own. Mayhap God was finally answering his prayers. Granted, not in a typical fashion, with a wife first, and children second. Still, the Lord worked in mysterious ways, did He not?

  Besides, he rather enjoyed the look of stunned horror on Helen’s face when he told her he was going to declare the child his if the mother did not return in a fortnight. ’Twas probably not the most Christianly thing to do. He’d ask God’s forgiveness later that night.

  * * *

  Leaving her daughter in the kirk had been the single most difficult thing Onnleigh had ever done. She’d barely gotten out the door when the tears began to fall. But she told herself she had to wait until she was beyond the walls, out of earshot of the guards or anyone else who might be awake at that hour, before she could let it all out.

  The decision to give Nola away had not been easy. It left her bereft and empty, as if her heart had been torn from her chest and left out in the sun to wither.

  Sleep did not come easily; her breasts began to ache with a need to feed the child, her arms and heart ached with a need to hold her. By morning, her bed was soaked with tears and spent milk.

  Brokenhearted, cloaked in guilt, she tried to go about her daily routine, but ’twas next to impossible. For weeks, she had carried Nola with her wherever she went. To collect eggs, milk the cow, gather berries—her babe was always there, tied to her chest in a sling made from an old sheet.

  She slept with the sling clutched to her chest, wept openly and without restraint.

  Her arms were empty, but not nearly as empty as her heart.

  For two days, she questioned her decision. What if Connor did not want a cast-off? What if they could not find a home for her? Worse yet, what if they gave her to someone who wouldn’t or couldn’t love her as much as Onnleigh? Those were the things that kept her awake at night.

  By the end of the second day, her breasts were so engorged she could barely walk. She tried to press the milk out with her hands, but the relief was short-lived. Her breasts screamed for her babe. Her heart ached with longing to hold Nola in her arms once more.

  Back and forth she argued in her mind. I did it fer her. Ye cannae take care o’ her, have nothin’ to offer. She deserves more than ye can give her. But her heart? Her heart worried that whomever took her in, would do it for the wrong reasons. Mayhap they’d only take her to use as a servant and not a child they loved? What if they could not protect her in the future, especially from men like Darwud?

  The guilt at having given up the one thing she’d ever truly loved in her life was overwhelming. The tears would not stop, the ache in her heart would not subside. ’Twas unbearable.

  By dawn on the third day, she realized she couldn’t do it, couldn’t go on without Nola. If she could just see her, find out if Connor had taken her in or given her to someone else, she’d feel better, could then move on. There was nothing left for her here, save for a few chickens and the milk cow. No fond or happy memories, save for those few, too-short memories of her daughter.

  Nay, she would go to the keep, learn what she could about what had become of her babe.

  If Connor had taken her in to raise as his own, then Onnleigh would move on. Mayhap another clan would take Onnleigh, offer her a new home, a new chance at a future. She didn’t want to go to the Randalls, for they were the enemy. But somewhere beyond MacCallen lands there had to be a place where no one knew she was Grueber’s daughter. A place where she wouldn’t be looked down upon simply because of the thief who had sired her. A place with kind people who would open their arms to her.

  Certainly, somewhere on God’s earth, such a place must exist.

  * * *

  She had draped her shawl over her head to disguise herself. The only other dress she owned was wrapped inside a small bundle, along with some wild berries and a hunk of cheese. The gates were open this morn, to allow the people who lived just outside the walls to enter freely, to do business, seek an audience with the chief, or visit with family and friends.

  Onnleigh kept her head down, but her eyes and ears open in the hope she might hear some news about her babe. She wound her way through the crowds, silently listening, hoping, praying she could learn where Nola was. Her breasts ached, no matter how tightly she bound them with the old sheet. As she walked, she could feel her milk slowly leaking down her breasts and into the waist of her skirt. Hopefully, no one would notice.

  She meandered out of doors for the longest time, but thus far, no one was speaking about the abandoned child. Fear crept into her heart with the thought that perhaps Connor hadn’t seen the basket when he left the kirk that night. What if he hadn’t, and Nola had succumbed to the elements? Fearing the worst, she made her way to the kirk. No basket, no babe.

  Mayhap if she could not find answers without, she could find them within. Drawing on courage she hadn’t realized she possessed, she made her way back around the keep and into the kitchens.

  She took a few steps inside, allowing her eyes to adjust, grateful for the warmth that surrounded her. A tall woman of mayhap fifty stood at a table chopping vegetables. Brown hair just beginning to gray at the edges, surrounded her round face. Onnleigh did not recognize her and prayed the woman would not know her either. Other people, men and women, were busy scrambling about the large space, lost in their own thoughts or concentrating on their chores.

  The woman tossed the vegetables into a large wooden bowl and headed toward the hearth, where a large pot was simmering. When she caught sight of Onnleigh, she stood to her full height. “Who be ye and what do ye want?”

  Frozen in place, she had to think quickly. She couldn’t very well say she was here to retrieve the babe she had abandoned three days ago. “I’ve come to see if ye have work.”

  The woman rolled her eyes as she scraped the vegetables into the pot with the edge of a long knife. “Well, there be plenty of work to do around here, but none I can give ye. Keepin’ us busy, night and day, she is. ’Tis nae fair nor just, but none will listen to me.”

  Just who she was, Onnleigh didn’t know and had not the courage to ask. “I be terrible sorry to have bothered ye,” she said.

  “If ye can find the chief, ye might ask him if he’s willin’ to pry apart that auld hag’s tight fists and give ye a place, but I would nae hold me breath were I ye.”

  The chief? Nay, she’d rather be stripped naked, her body slathered in honey, and thrown on an ant hill than go see him. William MacCallen had terrified her when she was a child. He’d been the biggest man she’d ever seen and the scar that ran across his cheek did nothing to soften his hard looks, his broken nose, and those deep, penetrating eyes.

  Thanking the woman, she curtsied and left the kitchen, walking across the little courtyard to the keep. The door creaked ever so slightly when she pulled it open. She’d never set foot inside before, and had no idea where she should look for her daughter.

  The entryway was tall and narrow, with three doorways branching off. She decided to continue straight ahead, which led her to a large gathering room. Trestle tables had been pulled away and put against the wall to allow maids to sweep up old rushes and spread ne
w. Two young women were standing near a long sideboard, polishing pewter mugs. The space smelled like logs afire, evergreens, and soap. One of the young women looked up, offered her a smile before returning to her work.

  Ahead, and off to her left, was a staircase leading up to the second floor. The gathering room was open to the halls above on three sides. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to take the stairs.

  No one paid her any mind as she ascended to the second floor and walked the cramped hallways. She dared not open any closed doors, or even knock, lest she be found out. Instead, she walked along at a slow pace and listened, peeking only into those rooms with open doors.

  At the end of the hallway on her left, a heavy wooden door stood slightly ajar. Just steps away, her heartbeat escalated when she heard her daughter whimpering. At the sweet, merciful sound, her breasts swelled painfully as more milk began to leak.

  A quick glance up and down the hallway told her she was alone. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pushed the door open. Pulling her shawl away from her face, she was able to see ’twas a nice sized bedchamber, with a tall, four-poster bed set in the center. Two trunks sat under the window on the wall straight ahead. To her left was an empty fireplace.

  At the foot of the bed, sitting on a heavy trunk, was the basket containing her daughter. She rushed to her, dropped the bundle at her feet, scooped Nola into her arms, and held her close. “Wheesht, babe, I be here now.”

  Nola’s whimpers increased, as did the ache in Onnleigh’s breast. Shutting the door, she looked for a safe spot to feed her. To her right, opposite the bed, was a darkened doorway. Onnleigh took a few tentative steps forward before she noticed a light coming from within.

  ’Twas a small room, with two narrow windows that faced east, just like the room she’d just left. There she found a cradle, a trunk, and a padded chair. Turning the chair away from the doorway, she quickly sat, untied her tunic, and began to nurse her babe.

  Nola sucked greedily, covering her ear with one tiny fist, just as she had done almost since the day she’d been born. The relief at seeing her daughter safe was undeniable. Her breasts felt much the same way as her heart.

  As Nola fed, Onnleigh inspected her closely. She was wearing a very fine little gown of soft ivory linen. Little woolens covered her legs, a bonnet her head. The blanket was finely woven in shades of creams and yellows.

  I could never have given ye such things, she thought guiltily. Ye deserve things like these, my sweet Nola.

  As the babe finished one breast, Onnleigh switched her to the other. The moments passed by, and Onnleigh began to have second thoughts. Pretty gowns, warm blankets and woolens, a cradle. She could never have given her child any of those things. Was she being selfish by wanting to take Nola away, to keep her all to herself? Aye, I am.

  Nola finished eating and fell asleep. Onnleigh sat in the quiet, tiny room for a while longer, whispering promises. “I cannae give ye much, Nola. All I can give ye is me love, and I fear that be nae enough. Love will nae keep ye warm in winter or yer stomach full, or clothes on yer back. But I can give ye to someone who will give ye all those things. I pray, babe, that he will also be able to love ye as if ye were his own.”

  With her mind made up again, she laid Nola on her lap whilst she retied the laces of her tunic. A cold chill filled her heart, bringing with it gooseflesh. Pulling her shawl around, she lifted her babe and held her close to her heart.

  With tears in her eyes, she knew she had to say goodbye now, not look back, not ever question her decision to do what was best for her child.

  * * *

  “What are ye doin’ with me daughter?”

  Terror rippled up and down Onnleigh’s spine at the sound of Connor’s voice. She recognized it from the wishing well. Gone was the playfulness he’d shared with his grandminny. Now he sounded quite angry. Her mind raced for a way out.

  Slowly, she stood and turned. Och! He had grown into a handsome devil of a man. She had not been able to see him that day at the well, only heard his voice.

  His blonde hair fell past his shoulders; his bright green eyes were penetrating. He wore a dark blue tunic with leather laces, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His trews were pulled taut over hard thighs, his leather boots strapped around thick calves. It took only a moment to realize he could snap her like a twig.

  Stammering, she answered as honestly as she could. “I, I heard her cry, m’laird, so I picked her up and held her. She be asleep now, see?” Taking a few steps forward on very shaky legs, she held Nola up for his inspection.

  “She was alone?” he asked with a quirked brow.

  “Aye, m’laird,” she answered softly as the worry and dread continued to grow.

  She could see he was sizing her up, looking for any sign of deceit. A long, awkward silence passed between them.

  “Who are ye?”

  That was a question she did not wish to answer. “I’ll be leavin’ now, m’laird. Would ye like yer babe back?”

  Slowly, he shook his head nay. “I asked who ye are.”

  Clearing her throat in an attempt to dislodge the knot, she finally answered. “Onnleigh.”

  A flicker of something flashed in those bright green eye of his. “Onnleigh, who?”

  Another question she did not wish to answer. But because he was blocking the doorway, she saw no way around it. “Onnleigh ingen Grueber.”

  There it ’twas, that flicker of recognition before he pulled his shoulders back. Her hands began to shake as she braced herself for the insults that were sure to follow before he began to search for signs that she’d stolen something. Ingen Grueber was synonymous with the thief’s daughter. ‘Twould never change.

  “I be sorry to have bothered ye, m’laird,” she told him. Still he did not move.

  “Why are ye here?”

  She hated lying above all things. But there was no choice in the matter—for her honesty would most assuredly get her stoned out of the keep—so she lied. “I came lookin’ fer work.”

  “As what?”

  “Scullery maid, but the nice woman in the kitchen said there was no work to be had, so I will be on me way now.” Once again, she tried handing Nola to him, but he made no attempt to take her.

  “Did ye nae think to ask me if there was work?”

  She shook her head, slightly confused with his question. “Nae, m’laird. The lady in the kitchen said to seek out the chief, but I be certain he be far too busy fer the likes o’ me.”

  “I am never too busy to help one of our own who is in need,” he told her as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I thought William was chief?”

  “Me father died six months ago. I am now chief.”

  Her confusion was readily apparent.

  “Ye dunnae ken?” he asked.

  “Nay.” That much was true. Since none ever came to call on them—save for the lying, cheating Darwud—living so far away and with Grueber’s reputation as it was, they were not privy to much information. “I be sorry about ye losin’ yer da.”

  “Why are ye here lookin’ fer work?” he asked.

  She took note that the angry tone had faded. “Me da died this past spring so I thought to seek work here. Since ye have none, I shall be on me way.”

  “Where do ye plan to go?” he asked.

  In truth, she did not rightly know. “Mayhap another clan will take me in. Mayhap the Mackintoshes, if they still be our allies.”

  “They are,” he told her, “but why do ye nae wish to stay here, amongst yer own people?”

  Well now the answer to that would take an entire day to give ye. Not wishing to discuss the matter, she said, “I’ll be leavin’ now if ye don’t mind.” Once again, she tried to hand him the sleeping babe. Again, he refused to take her.

  Another long moment of deafening silence passed between them.

  “There may be no work in the kitchens, but I am in desperate need of someone to care fer me daughter,” he said with a nod toward the sleeping ba
be.

  “Pardon?” she said, uncertain she had heard him correctly.

  “I need someone to care for me daughter. Would you be interested?”

  He wasn’t running for guards, wasn’t searching for suspected stolen items, wasn’t cursing her for being here, or for simply being Grueber’s daughter. Instead, he was offering her the opportunity to care for her own babe. For the longest moment, she didn’t know what to think or say.

  “Well?” he asked. “Would ye be willin’ to do it?”

  “Ye dunnae ken me,” she said. “Why would ye entrust yer daughter to a complete stranger?”

  ’Twas then his lips turned into a warm smile. Though she’d sworn off men the moment she found herself with child last year, this one—this one was enough to tempt her to reconsider.

  “I have many reasons, lass. One bein’ me daughter is sleepin’ contentedly in yer arms, somethin’ she has nae done since arrivin’ here,” he told her. “That alone is invaluable to me. I think she be a good judge of character, even at this tender age.”

  Was that a compliment? Having received so very few in her life, so few that she could not recall a single one, she was uncertain.

  “And I do ken who ye are lass,” he said, his smile still warm and kind.

  And ye be nae kickin’ me out o’ the keep?

  “Now, I will ask ye again, would ye be willin’ to care fer me daughter?”

  Her heart filled with so much joy that she could barely contain her smile. “’Twould be me great privilege!” Tamping down her excitement, she glanced at Nola. “She be a right beautiful babe.”

  “I would have to agree,” Connor said before rubbing his hands together. “Will this room do?”

  “Do fer what?”

  “For yer quarters, lass. I’ll need ye as close to her as possible, ye ken? Would ye like me to send someone to yer croft to gather yer things?”

  ’Twas laughable, but he had no way of knowing that. “All me things be in that bundle on the floor by her basket. But ye might send someone fer the cow and chickens.”