The Highlander’s Awakening: Lairds of Dunkeld Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Ferguson, Emilia

  Now, she thought, feeling slow warmth fill her limbs that had little to do with the seasoned fish and everything else with Brodgar, I at least know a little about that.

  The thought made her blush, and, blushing, she glanced up to note his gaze on her yet again. It made her smile. She looked down at her plate, hoping no one would notice.

  She heard Alf chuckle and, as he recounted an anecdote about walking through the snow that made them all laugh, Ettie found herself glad they had undertaken this long journey now.

  I feel as if the future is exciting.

  Strange, yes. Different, certainly. But also exciting.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DISCUSSION WITH FRIENDS

  DISCUSSION WITH FRIENDS

  “What's wrong with me?”

  Brodgar stood on the ramparts, watching his breath plume out in frosty tendrils when he exhaled. He shivered, stamping his feet to aid the blood to reach them.

  At least the cold will clear my mind.

  Ever since luncheon – ever since Heath arrived – he had felt restless.

  It's her.

  The moment he saw Ettie Fraser, he'd become daft. At least, that was how he described it to himself. Unable to think straight, or, for that matter, to think of anything but her. He paced, restlessly; wishing he could make himself think of something else.

  My blood's fain warmed to boiling.

  His poor body was helpless. The merest thought of her sweet pink lips made his loins tense and he wished he could kiss them, his tongue plundering that soft, pink cavern...

  “Och!”

  He clenched a fist. The images were fit to drive him wild. But why?

  She arrived three hours ago. She's new here.

  He shook his head. It was ridiculous! He knew her not at all. Nevertheless, all of a sudden he couldn't tear his mind away. It was frustrating.

  “Brodgar?”

  “Mm?” Brodgar twisted around, hearing Alf nearby.

  “Was looking for you,” Alf commented. “Why're you out here? It's cold!” He ran his hands down his biceps, breath plumes in the frosted night air.

  “Looking for quiet,” Brodgar said, giving him a sidelong look. His friend laughed.

  “If that's a hint, I'll keep me mouth shut.”

  “It's not you,” Brodgar said, pushing his shoulder playfully. “If you talk away all night you won't disturb me.”

  Alf chuckled. “I'm glad. Feeling restless?”

  “You might say so,” Brodgar said distantly. “Don't want to sit still.”

  “I know the feeling,” Alf agreed. “Mayhap we can take a walk in the hills? Be better by far than standing up here, so still, shivering our heads off.”

  “I don't know,” Brodgar shrugged. “I told Father I'd see him later. Don't want to go far.”

  “Very well,” Alf nodded. “I thought mayhap I'd practice my back-swing. It's still incorrect.”

  “Very well,” Brodgar agreed. “Want a bout?” He rolled his shoulders hesitantly, not sure that facing Alf with their practice-blades in the yard was how he fancied spending the last daylight hours.

  “I'll try alone,” Alf said. “I need to practice the wretched thing by itself, 'till I get it right. Father said.”

  Brodgar chuckled. “Your father's a harder taskmaster than Ethan.”

  Ethan was their master-at-arms, a serious man about a decade older than they were who had taught them since they were lads.

  “I'll say he is,” Alf made a face. “He's skilled, though.”

  “Indeed he is,” Brodgar acknowledged sincerely. He knew enough of his father's story to know that Blaine MacNeil, Alf and Conn's father, was once the master-at-arms at Chrissie's home. That was how they’d met, after all. At that time, she was betrothed to Heath Fraser.

  He realized the link suddenly. Heath had been a ward of his aunt's family, and they had been informally tied since their youth. Aunt Chrissie and he had settled matters amicably, or so he'd heard – Heath Fraser had wanted to pursue the monastic life of a knight of St. Lazarus.

  It would explain his serious manner.

  Heath gave the impression of being very reserved, quite strict. Not the sort of guardian I'd choose, he shivered. The thought of his home – probably cold and barren like a monk's quarters – made him shiver harder.

  Poor Henriette! I hope he at least has one room that's warm and comfortable at his home.

  He greeted Alf, who, already rolling his arms experimentally, was hurrying off to the practice yard.

  “I should go,” he told himself when he was alone. The sun had set, and the night was blue and frosty with the first stars. He could hear the guard changing down below at the main gate, and the air smelled cold and crisp, not even the scent of pine-pitch from the torches rising this far in the chilly night wind.

  Something made him stay where he was. He jumped when, a moment later, he heard the crack of a footstep on the icy stone of the ramparts.

  “Oh!” a breath drew in sharply. Brodgar stared.

  “Lady Ettie,” he said, swallowing hard. “My apologies. Don't be startled.”

  “Oh! Silly me,” Ettie said, putting her hand on her chest. “I didn't mean to get a fright. Only I...I thought I was the only one walking about here this evening.”

  “I thought the same,” he smiled. “It appears I'm not the only restless soul this evening. Welcome.”

  He stood back, letting her come and stand beside him at the crenellations. She leaned against the firm stone, looking out, hands clasped. She was wearing white gloves, he noticed, trimmed with fur. They suited her long, delicate hands. He looked down at her expression.

  Mercy me, but she's bonnie.

  He felt his loins clench as he stared at her. A strange feeling took up residence in his chest, like the flutter of moths' wings. He coughed harshly.

  Her lips were a pink, full bow, her skin soft and porcelain-pale. Her hair was golden and scented faintly with some herb he did not know. Her eyes were thick-lashed and, when she looked up at him, the color of slate – somewhere between gray and storm-racked blue. He shivered.

  “My lord?” a pale pink tongue licked across her lips as she spoke, hesitant.

  Oh, my. He winced as his loins stirred. He looked at his hands. He wanted so, so badly to kiss her.

  I can't do that.

  Not only was it the certain knowledge that it was far, far too soon in their acquaintance to do anything like it. It was also a suspicion that he'd mess it up.

  With limited experience in kissing girls, Brodgar wasn't sure he'd know how to kiss her in a way she'd like.

  She is a lady and one I barely know anything about. He coughed again.

  “My lady?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  Brodgar winced. Her voice is lovely too. Sweet and low, liltingly-musical. Brodgar breathed in the scent of her hair and clamped his lip in his teeth a moment. “You are staying nearby?”

  She looked away. “We're guests here, sir.”

  “Brodgar,” he corrected softly.

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  They stood silently a while. “The turret room?” Brodgar asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “I asked, did they settle you in the turret room?” As he asked it, he realized what a silly question it was. The only cause for asking it was because he was imagining her in the turret room, on the bed, combing her lovely hair. He coughed.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Good,” he said, searching for some feasible reason for asking. “It's warmer.”

  “It's very warm, yes,” Ettie agreed in that low, musical voice. “A relief to be able to change my clothes to something cooler.”

  Oh. My. Brodgar closed his eyes, fighting with the images that conjured. Ettie, naked, her pale skin licked with flame-light, clad only in her hair. She was standing before the fire in the turret room, her sweet, curvaceous figure pale as polished silk. He imagined her turning, the play of light changing on her skin, her lips slightly parted w
ith smiling.

  “Ahem.” He coughed quietly, looking away. Outside in the courtyard, he heard the soft clang of a sword on wood. He smiled.

  “What was that?” Ettie asked, looking up with those gray-blue eyes so wide.

  He grinned. “My friend Alf. Practicing back-swing.”

  She nodded. “It's cold to be outside,” she added, running her hands down her own arms.

  Brodgar blinked. “It is cold,” he agreed. “I'm sorry, my lady. Should we go indoors?”

  Ettie nodded. “I think so.”

  Brodgar stood back, letting her go ahead along the ramparts and duck first through the small door that led into the interior of the castle. Though not over-warm, the stone hallway seemed like a tropical paradise in contrast with the icy weather outdoors. He shivered, stamping his feet and knowing his face was flushing dark.

  “Well,” Ettie said, turning to look up at him. “I should go.”

  “I suppose I should go too,” Brodgar agreed. “Help Alf out.”

  Ettie nodded. “I suppose.”

  Neither moved. She looked up at him and for a heart-stopping instant, Brodgar felt himself lean in. He considered what would happen if his lips touched hers and, quick, stepped back smartly.

  “Goodnight, Brodgar,” she said in a small voice.

  “Goodnight, Ettie.”

  She walked to the top of the stairs and turned, briefly, her blue eyes raking his before she moved again and, her hair swaying with her gentle motion, headed away downstairs.

  Leaving Brodgar rooted to the spot, looking after her and wondering why he felt as if he would stay rooted to the spot endlessly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MAKING NEW PLANS

  MAKING NEW PLANS

  The fire crackled in the grate, spreading its ruddy warmth outward and making Ettie sigh as the heat soaked her bones.

  Why can't I stop thinking about that man?

  Ettie, sitting by the fire in her quarters, wished she could relax. Brodgar preyed on her thoughts. It was silly, she told herself. He was just a young man, about her own age. It wasn't as if she had never met such a thing before! I haven't met someone like that.

  She had to admit that, even though the fact in itself that he was a young man of her own age, or thereabouts, wasn't noteworthy, this one surely was.

  She closed her eyes, thinking of the firm line of his jaw, his chiseled face, the way his hair glowed almost gold where the torchlight brightened it. He is remarkable.

  She smiled, feeling a delicious warmth flood her at the memory of speaking with him on the ramparts. She had not known he was up there, of course, or she wouldn't have gone. However, having stumbled upon him without knowing it, at that point it would be rude to simply leave. Wouldn't it?

  The fire made peaceful noises and Ettie sat and watched it, hoping she could settle her thoughts. She had more important things to worry about. Her parents – where were they? How did they fare? Two days before, she'd received word they were safely arrived. The news had taken a month to reach them. I pray they can return soon.

  At this time, Ettie thought, it would have been a relief to have someone to talk to. Her mother might not have understood – or even approved – of her sudden, overwhelming feelings for Brodgar. However, she would have been someone she could trust. I don't know anyone here. Besides Uncle.

  Ettie ran her hands down her biceps, feeling the cold leave her flesh. She knew Uncle Heath would be less than sympathetic with her thoughts. He might have been in love himself not all that long ago, but since then his monastic vows and the horrors of the Crusade had left him a dried-out husk, in which few tender emotions dwelt. At least, I thought that. Until I saw him here tonight.

  Seeing Heath look at Chrissie had warmed her heart. It was sad that Uncle's calling had taken him away from the life he would have had. Then again, if it had not, Alf wouldn't have been born. He seemed like a gentle, kindly soul.

  A knock sounded on the door, breaking Ettie's reverie. She jumped.

  “Hello?” a voice called through the thick wood paneling.

  “Uncle?” Ettie swiftly stepped to open the door. Her uncle was in a room just along from hers, and they were sharing the lower room of the turret, where she now sat before the warming flames.

  “Niece.” He stepped in, briefly rubbing his hands down his arms with cold before coming to join her by the fire. “I trust you're settling in?” As always, he sounded wary when he spoke with her, as if not sure if he was transgressing some important law.

  “I am, yes. Thank you, Uncle.” Ettie nodded. “It's warm here.”

  He chuckled. “Thank Heavens, yes. It's a frosty night without.”

  “It is.”

  They sat silently a while, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fire, warmly reassuring. Ettie looked at her hands, considering what she wanted to say. “Uncle?”

  “Mm?”

  “Why did we come here?”

  “We were invited,” her uncle said shortly.

  “I know,” Ettie agreed softly. “By Lord Broderick?”

  “Aye, by him. And Lady Chrissie.”

  “Oh.”

  Ettie wanted to smile. She had guessed the depth of the connection rightly.

  “Lady Chrissie and I – I knew her as a young lass.” He coughed.

  “Oh.” Ettie smiled at him. “I noticed your friendship.”

  “We were friends, yes.” Heath nodded. “At a time, I thought to be more, but...” he sighed. “I followed my longing for knighthood.”

  “You are a fine knight,” Ettie said.

  “Thank you.”

  They sat in a somewhat uncertain silence.

  “You like the family?” Uncle asked at length.

  “I do,” Ettie nodded carefully. She wanted to say that she liked one member quite intensely, but felt he wouldn't quite approve. “They seem a friendly sort.”

  He chuckled. “They do. It's...strange for me to meet the youngsters.”

  “I suppose it must be,” Ettie agreed cautiously. “Is...Are they much like their parents were, at their own age?” Is Brodgar like his father was? In which case, will he end up like him?

  “Not so much,” Heath sighed. He ran a hand down his face, thinking about it. “Brodgar is...more still. Quieter sort of man, I think. Contemplative. He has a face to match – more regular, more smooth-skinned than his father's at his age.” He chuckled. “Broderick's always been lively.”

  “I can imagine,” Ettie added. At that moment a tap sounded on the door. She tensed. “Yes?”

  “Something warm to drink, my lady? Cakes and ale?”

  Ettie glanced at her uncle, who nodded. “That would be welcome. Thank you.”

  The maid appeared – a woman called Glenna who had been assigned to help Ettie during her time here.

  “Thank you,” Ettie said as she placed the cakes and ale on a table and, smiling at her warmly, withdrew.

  She and Heath took one of the warm, crumbly oatcakes each. They were heavenly and warm and Ettie found they distracted her restless thoughts. Swallowing, she turned to Heath. “You have visited Dunkeld before?”

  “No,” Heath admitted, swallowing. “First time.”

  “It seems lovely,” Ettie said fervently. “Not big, but well-furnished. And warm.”

  Heath chuckled. “Indeed, dear niece.”

  “We staying here long?” Ettie asked, reaching for a glass of mulled ale, boiled so that the alcoholic vapors were gone, leaving only the taste.

  “About a week,” Heath said. “That was what we were invited for, anyhow.” He shrugged.

  “A week?” Ettie frowned. She felt at once apprehensive and worried. Apprehensive at the thought of sharing a roof with Brodgar so long. Worried because it wasn't long.

  He smiled. “Mayhap we could make it flexible. It's much more pleasant here than at Grenleigh, isn't it?” He rolled his shoulders, soaking in the warmth. “And besides,” he added. “Your father would want you to be somewhere to meet peopl
e. Grenleigh's not much good for that. Is it?”

  Ettie swallowed. “Grenleigh is...comfortable, Uncle.”

  He chuckled. “No more, nothing less.”

  Ettie shot him a wry glance. “You know what I mean. Truly, it is.”

  “Comfortable in the sense of meeting our needs. Not exactly palatial, though, yes?” he chuckled.

  “No,” Ettie agreed, laughing. “Though a palace isn't necessary.” She looked around the room, meaning what she had said. The place was comfortable and adequate and she felt safe in these walls. Anything else would seem, well, not so safe as this was.

  “No.” Heath looked down at his hands, lost in thought. “Niece?”

  “Yes?” Ettie asked.

  “How would it be if...” he paused. “If you stayed here a while?”

  “You mean, here?” Ettie pointed at the floor. “In this room? Or...” she trailed off as she shook his head, a sweet smile on his face.

  “No. I mean the castle. Dunkeld.”

  “You won't stay too?”

  He shook his head. “I need to move on in spring,” he explained. “Promised I'd head up to the knight's hospital, help with some training. Didn't expect, then, I'd have someone staying on.”

  “No,” Ettie agreed, running her tongue round her mouth nervously. Did he mean it? That she'd stay on here? Alone, at Dunkeld Fortress?

  Alone with Brodgar?

  She sighed. It wasn't exactly like she was alone with him – his aunts and uncles, cousins and friends and servants and men-at-arms were all in the castle, after all. Nevertheless, she would be alone here, without Uncle. She swallowed hard.

  “I could do it.” She sighed. “I'd miss you, though.”

  She was surprised when his eyes softened. If she hadn't known very well that he couldn't possibly be weeping, she would have thought he was blinking back tears.

  “I'd miss you, too,” he said. His voice sounded strained too.

  Probably just the chill, Ettie reasoned. Uncle Heath wouldn't cry about her, would he?

  “Would it be allowed?” Ettie asked.

  “It's not like we're stabbing a constable in the street,” Heath chuckled warmly. “I'm sure it's allowed.”