Highlander’s Unexpected Love: A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book

by Adams, Alisa

  As Bruce went back to the forge he reflected that Jessica was the most pleasant young woman he had met for a long time. If it had not been for Heather lurking nearby he might have stayed to talk for longer, but she was too close for his liking.

  * * *

  Bruce was not a vain man, and he had to admit that he had been surprised by a large number of ladies of all ages who had been beating a path to his door. Some gave him gifts of home cooking (because a man cannae be expected tae work an' cook). Some took his laundry away to wash it for the same reason, and some just hung about flirting and making a nuisance of themselves. When they realized the amount of smoke and soot flying about, however, the idea of courting a handsome blacksmith soon lost its appeal.

  At first, Bruce thought that they were feeling sorry for him, and no doubt many of them were, but Sadie was the one who finally enlightened him. One day when he came to give her a new poker he had made for her. It was a few weeks before Jessica's arrival in the village, and he was bemoaning the fact that it was becoming very hard to get any work done.

  "They're a' feelin' sorry for me, Sadie!" he complained, running his hand back through his hair and raising a cloud of soot. "It's been months since Bridie died an' I'm no' exactly fallin' tae bits!"

  Sadie threw back her head and laughed heartily. "Are ye serious, lad?" she asked, almost crying with mirth.

  "Whit's wrang wi' that?" Bruce frowned.

  Sadie put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over him. "Son," she said, stroking his sooty black hair which even she could not resist. "That's no' why they're callin' on ye."

  Bruce looked at her suspiciously. "Why then?" he asked, puzzled.

  Sadie sighed, casting her eyes heavenward. She rapped her knuckles on his head. "Can ye no' see whit's right in front o' yer eyes, Bruce?" she asked incredulously, "aye, some o' them might jist be good-hearted women that want tae see ye're looked efter, but maist o' the young yins want tae be the next Mrs. Ferguson!"

  Bruce buried his head in his hands and groaned. "That's a' I need!" he said grimly, "the day I buried my Bridie I thought my life wis ower, an' sometimes I still think it is, but thae days are gettin' farther apart now. Still, she's only five months deid and I hae nae intention tae look for a new Mrs. Ferguson. No' yet, onyway."

  Sadie patted his shoulder and kissed his head.

  * * *

  Jessica had no idea of any of this, and she was not the kind of woman who would throw herself at a man anyway. That night before she went to bed she drew a little pencil sketch of him from memory in the little pad she always kept with her. It was one of the best drawings she had ever done. She put it under her pillow and tried to think hard about Bruce before she fell asleep so that she could force her mind to dream about him. If she could not do it during the night though, she consoled herself, she could still dream about him during the day.

  13

  Jessica Goes to Dinner

  Jessica was nervous about wearing the dress that Sadie had given her. It was the grandest thing she had ever owned, and she was scared that she would spill food on it.

  Heather reassured her. "Mother spilled a whole glass of wine once and the company was shocked," she told Jessica, "the only thing she said was 'oh, what a waste of good wine.'"

  Jessica laughed. "What happened to the dress?" Jessica asked, fascinated.

  "Mother had it remodeled and kept on using it," Heather replied, "everyone thought it was new."

  "Now," Heather said with a determined look in her eye. "I will have Agnes pin your hair up, if that is all right with you, then you will look just like a Goddess!"

  Heather clapped her hands, laughing, and Jessica joined in. Sometimes Heather acted like a child, but Jessica didn't mind. She was growing to love her new friend. With her new hairstyle, a little rouge on her lips, her new dress, and a few faux flowers in her hair, Jessica went into the magnificent dining room at Castle McVey. She tilted her chin up proudly and curtsied as the Laird bowed and kissed her hand.

  "A pleasure, Miss Farquhar," he said gallantly, "welcome to our home. Allow me to present my wife, Lady Katrine."

  Jessica curtsied and smiled at the very beautiful lady who looked just like an older version of Heather.

  "I have been anxious to meet you," Katrine said warmly, "Heather has told me so many things about you and all of them good."

  "I am very glad to be here, milady," she replied, smiling. "I have heard much that is good about you too. She tells me how well you knit and how you use it for the benefit of the children in the village. It seems that charity runs in the family."

  Katrine flapped her hand as servants pulled out chairs for them. "It is a very small thing to do," she said dismissively, "I am much prouder of Heather. She made us realize the responsibilities we had and how we could help our people because they are our people, are they not?"

  "Yes, they are," Jessica agreed, "and the children—I love every one of them."

  "Me too," Heather chimed in, "and they adore Jessica, Mother."

  "I am glad to hear it," the Laird chimed in, "we need some educated people for the next generation. We must be forward thinking."

  "Where is James this evening?" Heather asked, frowning.

  The Laird sighed heavily. "James is enjoying his second-last night of freedom," he explained, "it would have been his last except that I have to go to Aberdeen tomorrow. But the day after that he is starting a new life as my assistant. I am taking him in hand, since he has to learn to Laird, so to speak."

  The ladies laughed and raised their glasses.

  "Good luck, Father!" Heather's eyes twinkled. "You will need it!"

  It was a lovely dinner, consisting of cock-a-leekie soup, lamb stew and cranachan, a dessert of raspberries, cream, and toasted oatmeal with whiskey and honey. Jessica thought it was heavenly. It was all served with generous amounts of wine, although Jessica managed to eke out only two glasses over the whole meal. She did not want to disgrace herself. She completely won Heather's father over by saying 'thank you for dinner' in Latin, the study of which was a passion for both of them.

  "Tibi gratias ago pro prandium, thank you for dinner," she said, inclining her head and smiling. "Et agimus a vino, and also for the wine."

  "Salutatio, you're welcome," he replied, "bonam noctem tibi exopto good night to you."

  "You two are impossibly learned." Heather laughed and Katrine joined in.

  "It was a delicious dinner," Jessica said warmly, "please send my compliments to the chef."

  "I will." Gordon's blue eyes were uncharacteristically gentle as he looked at Jessica. "And you are a charming young lady."

  "Thank you, m'laird," she said shyly.

  She curtsied as he kissed her hand, then they all said goodnight again in English and the two girls left.

  "He was putty in your hands!" Heather said gleefully, "and he always will be. He's like that. And that bit of Latin was inspired!"

  "He's lovely." Jessica laughed. She was staying in a suite at the castle that night.

  When they got to her door, Heather said casually, "By the way, you've got the job."

  "Really?" Jessica squealed and hugged her tightly. "Thank you!"

  "And would you like to live here at the castle?"

  "Of course, I would." Jessica was ecstatic.

  "That's settled then." Heather replied, "bonam noctem and whatever you said next."

  "Stick to 'goodnight' Heather." Jessica replied, "et gratias tibi ago."

  "Thank you?" Heather asked doubtfully.

  "No, thank you!" Jessica laughed.

  The storm had been threatening all day, with the wind speed increasing as the morning went on. At around eleven o'clock Bruce looked up at the sky and began to take all his equipment inside. It was mostly metal and very heavy, but he had seen these storms before. They started with high winds, which increased in ferocity as the storm got nearer, then the towering purple cumulus clouds let rip with tons of rain that swept over the land in great sheets. There was rarel
y thunder, but the savageness of the tempest was vicious enough without it.

  The roofs of crofters' cottages were blown off, fields of barley and oats flattened, and livestock were killed. There was a few hours notice this time, however, so most crofters corralled their cattle, sheep, and goats in the pens and barns, and retreated inside to wait it out. Those who lived nearest to the castle sought shelter within its walls and those who were close to the church took sanctuary there. Sometimes the storms lasted for two or three days so everyone brought their food and blankets with them and battened down for a siege.

  Bruce's blacksmith's shop was right in the path of the storm, where the flat land of the valley in which it sat gave the wind its line of least resistance. Before the worst of it hit the village, Sadie McFarlane went down the hill to ask him to come to the safety of the church. He shook his head.

  "I cannae, Sadie," he said, "this place is a' I have."

  Sadie sighed. "An' d'ye think Bridie would approve?" she asked shrewdly, "I knaw what ye're thinkin', Bruce, but if ye're here or no' here the place could still fa' doon. The only difference is that if ye were here it wid fa' doon on yer heid!"

  Bruce looked at the shop, frowning. Bridie had drawn her last breath here and he was loath to leave it for that reason, silly and sentimental though it was, but Sadie was right. It would be much safer for him up in the church. He nodded and went inside to get his bedding and as much food as he could carry. Sadie took the sheets and blankets from him and folded them up neatly, then they proceeded up the hill.

  Sadie stumbled several times since the wind was almost pushing her over, but Bruce put his arm around her waist and held her against his hard, muscled body until they got into the church. Sadie was breathless by the time they got there, and she stumbled into the hall, which had the school desks pushed to the side to make room for beds on the floor. The church had been used for shelter many times and had an emergency supply of bedding, fuel, and food, although in cases like this people were usually happy to share what they had with their neighbors.

  Bruce caught Sadie as she was just about to fall, and for another moment she was held against his hard body. There was a haven there for the right woman, she thought and wondered if the right woman would be Jessica. She had seen him looking at her and she at him, and they seemed to get on well. There was no friction between them and she was a good woman. She wondered why it was that he could not get on with Heather. Oh, well, it was their business. Sometimes personalities just clashed.

  14

  The Storm

  Just then Heather came in. Bruce felt as though a blast of icy air had arrived with her and he shivered. Her animosity towards him was palpable, and she made no effort to hide it. She glared at him as she turned away to address some children who were fighting with each other at the back of the hall.

  "I do not understand you two," Jessica said. She sat down beside him and began to knit. She smiled at him. "Why do you hate each other so much?"

  Bruce frowned. "Did she no' tell ye for why?"

  "Heather told me, but can you not forgive her? Or each other?"

  Bruce nodded. "She can say sorry first," he replied flatly, "and I will accept her apology."

  "She says exactly the same thing," Jessica said, exasperated, "and I think you are both very silly— although I can't say that to her, of course."

  "But ye can say it tae me?" His mouth was turning down at the corners in a wry smile.

  "You're not my boss!"

  Bruce threw back his head and laughed, causing Sadie to come over, smiling.

  "Whit's sae funny?"

  "He and Heather—what a pair." Jessica laughed.

  Sadie cast her eyes heavenward. "Ye dinnae need tae tell me the story, hen." She shook her head. "Ane's as bad as the ither. Their heids need tae be banged thigither."

  Bruce stood up. He towered over her by fourteen inches or so. "Sadie, I would like tae see ye try." He laughed.

  She narrowed her eyes and wagged a finger at him warningly. Just then a little boy of about six with carrot red hair came up and tugged at Bruce's hose. He looked down. The boy was holding up a crudely carved wooden model of a horse.

  "Mr. Ferguson." He smiled winningly. "Can ye put shoes on ma horse please?"

  "Aye lad, I can dae that." Bruce smiled at him. "But ye will need tae wait till efter the storm."

  "Aye lad, I can dae that," the little boy put on a deep voice as he imitated Bruce. He made a mock frown.

  "Grr…" Bruce growled. "D'ye need a skelpin'?" he asked menacingly, flexing his muscles.

  The little boy squealed and ran away, laughing. Bruce's eyes followed him, smiling sadly.

  "There is plenty of time, Bruce," Jessica said gently, laying her hand on his arm.

  He covered it with his big, work-worn one. "How did ye knaw whit I was thinkin?" he asked.

  "Because it's written all over your face," she replied, "you have that sad look."

  Bruce took his arm away and Jessica felt its warmth desert her. She wished he had left it there.

  "Aw, will ye look at this?" He held up one of his hands for inspection, and it was as black as coal. "I didnae have time tae scrub them!"

  She stood up. "Come, let's do it now," she said quickly, "before we eat."

  She led him into the kitchen and poured out some water from a hissing kettle that was sitting on the stove into a large enamel dish. She added some cold water and smiled at him.

  "Here," she gave him a bar of soap and a scrubbing brush.

  He started to give his hands the same rough treatment he gave them every day, scraping the filth off with the lather. The water was soon black and she got him another bowl. At last, he was finished, but his skin looked raw and chapped. She could see that there were places where he occasionally bled.

  "You need to take care of these hands," she observed, shaking her head. "They are in a terrible state. Let me give you something to rub on them." She went out and, in a moment, returned with a big clay stoppered jar which she opened. Inside was a thick white ointment that smelled of roses. "Put your finger in it," she ordered.

  Tentatively, he did so, then sniffed it. "Roses?" He was mystified

  Jessica smiled. "Rub it into your hands," she instructed, "and take a bit more if you need to."

  Bruce did as he was instructed, loving the creamy feel of the ointment. His chapped hands loved it too. They immediately felt moister and smoother and he let out a little involuntary moan of pleasure.

  "That feels lovely," he said incredulously.

  Jessica looked up at his face, the dark brows, astonishing eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. She felt a tug of longing so strong that she had to turn away from him and busy herself gathering dishes to wash. He finished moisturizing and held the jar out to her.

  "Keep it," she smiled, "consider it a gift."

  "But it must hae cost a fortune!"

  "No, I make it myself and the ingredients are very cheap," she replied.

  "Thank you," he answered and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek, but she turned her head around and the kiss landed on her lips instead. Bruce gave a little gasp of surprise, but he did not back away.

  He withdrew a little to look into her eyes, then kissed her again, tenderly. It had been so long since he had held a woman in his arms that he had forgotten how good it felt. He forgot that they were in a public place and that someone could walk in any minute. He only cared about her warmth and softness, her subtle perfume in his nostrils, and the sweet pressure of her breasts against him.

  Jessica could not believe it was happening, that this strong, incredibly masculine man could be so tender, and that he had chosen her to be the object of it. She felt his powerful arms around her waist and the rasping of his dark stubble against her face. It was scratchy but pleasurably painful, and she never wanted the kiss to end. But it did, very abruptly, as he pushed her away.

  He stared at her for a moment. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as he tried t
o regain control of himself. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. His eyes were panicked and wide with distress. "I didnae know whit I was daein'. Forgive me, Jessica."

  Then he bolted out of the door. Jessica stood, stunned, for a moment, looking at the closed door. She put her hands to her lips, where she could still taste the warmth and pressure of his mouth. The jar of ointment still stood on the table and she stoppered it and returned it to her room while she recovered herself.

  The moment had been amazing and wonderful, but she knew why it had ended and why it would not happen again. It was too soon for him. Still, he was an attractive man and, though she had not exactly had her heart broken, she would remember the pleasure of that kiss for a long time.

  The storm was making so much noise outside that no-one could hear themselves talk above it. The windows were locked and shuttered, their doors barred with cloths stuffed between their edges and the floor to stop the gale blowing through. The fires were guttering and flickering, threatening to go out, but there were so many people in one small space that the heat of their bodies made the temperature warm enough in the hall.

  In the loftier, more spacious church, braziers, and extra blankets had to be provided, but the church was as snug and secure as they could possibly make it. Jessica and Heather got out some of their own books and read to the children. There were romances for the girls, adventures for the boys, and everyone enjoyed them, even though the two teachers had to shout to make themselves heard.

  Heather had spent many stormy days and nights in the castle, but she had always been restless and bored witless, unable to go out and ride or do anything else but play cards and sit knitting with her mother. She had read every book in the library, so that was not an option. Mostly she had just gone to sleep. Here she was playing guessing games, reading stories, listening to gossip, and generally having a whale of a time.