A Saint at the Highland Court: The Highland Ladies Book Six

by Barclay, Celeste

  “Ye can thank me on our wedding night,” Blair winked.

  “I have much to be thankful for that night,” Hardi waggled his eyebrows in response.

  They turned their focus to the missive as they chose the wording together. When they finished, Blair handed the drying parchment to Hardi and asked him to read it back to her.

  Laird Macpherson,

  It is with respectful regret that I address this missive to you. I have learned that while away from Tor Castle, a member of my family thought to act in my place and led a raid on your herd. While he intended to reclaim our previously pilfered sheep, I did not grant him my permission to cross our border. My representative, Paul Cameron, returns the disputed livestock on my behalf, and the Camerons offer you a cow and a calf to broker peace.

  It is my sincere hope that this matter is resolved and will not lead to further animosity. Neither of our clans will benefit from further fighting. We will keep to our land just as you will keep to yours, neither crossing our border. If you can abide by this arrangement, we can maintain the peace and allow our clans to prosper.

  Your neighbor,

  Laird Hardwin Cameron

  “Are you sure I shouldnae add something like ‘yer humble neighbor’?” Hardi wondered.

  “Nay. The bluidy bastard stole yer sheep first,” Blair reminded him. “There isnae any reason to humble yerself to him. He should accept the return of property that isnae entirely his when he could go with naught. I understand ye are suggesting it as a tactic to appease him, but returning the sheep is enough. Hardi, he will already claim ye are weak for doing this despite insisting King Robert intervene and order this vera thing. Ye dinna need him crowing aboot ye sounding subservient. It will only make his people encourage him to raid ye again. Ye are one of the most ancient clans in Scotland. Dinna bow to anyone.”

  “Part of me wants to bait him into crossing the border, so we have a justified reason to retaliate. If we canna have our sheep, then we can—” Hardi trailed off as he realized Blair might not agree with his need to placate his clan with vengeance.

  “Then we can take some Macpherson lives,” Blair finished for him. “I ken ye dinna equate a mon’s life with that of a sheep. I ken this is because of what yer clan expects. Ma da has been in the same position with our clan demanding the laird take action against even the smallest slight. But Hardi, they outnumber ye. Ye can kill as many Macphersons as ye want, as ye can, but they will only come back with Clan Chattan at their sides. Ye are one clan against many. Dinna cut off yer nose to spite yer face.”

  “Ye are a voice of reason, mo leannan,” Hardi conceded.

  “I dinna ken how much of a sweetheart I am calling Laird Macpherson a bluidy bastard, but I enjoy hearing it.” The corner of Blair’s mouth twitched into a smile. The ink dried, Blair folded the parchment. She looked around, but when she didn’t find a candle among the writing supplies Hardi brought, she returned with one and a piece of flint. “Ye must seal it with yer mark.”

  Hardi nodded as he struck the flint Blair offered and lit the candle. She warmed the wax before pouring a dab where the parchment’s folded sides met. Hardi pressed his signet ring into the wax, an armored arm holding the hilt of a sword appearing. Mo rìgh mo dhùthaich, “My King and My Country,” encircled the crest.

  “Did ye break yer fast?” Hardi asked, and Blair shook her head. “Come. I brought a repast for us. It isnae aught like what ye packed at Stirling, but it will keep the wolf from the door.” Hardi nodded to one of the king’s guards, who unfastened a sack from a saddle while Hardi pulled a plaid from his saddle. Once they settled on the blanket, Hardi laid out a wheel of cheese, a loaf of bread, apples, a wineskin, and cold chicken.

  “This is a veritable feast.” Blair looked around and realized the men were sharing food while they gave the couple privacy. She didn’t miss the men who encircled them on guard. Hardi cut the cheese into chunks while Blair broke the loaf in half. Hardi teased Blair with the first piece of cheese, offering it then pulling it just beyond her mouth’s reach. When he finally relented, Blair was quick to lick Hardi’s finger. With the second piece of cheese, she sucked his finger into his mouth, her eyes locked with his.

  “Blair,” Hardi croaked. They finished their meal while telling one another about the previous day after they’d parted. Blair recounted the scene Artair made in the orchard and how she felt bad for Robena. Blair had decided to make her assistance more discreet, as she still feared Robena might bear the brunt of Artair’s ire. While the sun hadn’t been up for long, by the time they were ready to leave the clearing, they’d already spent a couple of hours together. Blair stepped into the haven of Hardi’s arms as she laid her head against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist as his encircled her back. He dropped several kisses on her crown before pulling back. “I’m leaving later this morn to tour the land within a day’s ride from Tor. I amnae comfortable being further away from the keep. I willna be able to see ye tomorrow.”

  “Ye need to do this, and I understand,” Blair reassured.

  “I wish ye were accompanying me. I wish I was introducing ye as ma wife, or at least as ma betrothed,” Hardi sighed.

  “Speaking of betrothals, what do ye think will happen to the missives ma parents have surely sent?” Blair questioned.

  “If we are lucky, a messenger will bring them from court. But more likely, we will have to wait until Lachlan arrives with news.”

  “The most recent missive should arrive at Dunrobin tomorrow, assuming the rider had nay trouble. It’ll be at least a sennight before Lachlan can arrive.”

  “Blair, regardless of whether yer parents grant me permission to marry ye, once Lachlan arrives, he can serve as yer guardian and chaperone. If it’s safe to bring ye to Tor, I will.”

  “I’d like that. I canna think of a reason why Mama and Da would say nay. They ken ye, and they promised all three of us that we can marry who we choose. Maude already did, and I think Lachlan will soon. I dinna ken why I would be any different.”

  “Because ma clan is in the midst of a bitter feud and isnae on the winning side,” Hardi offered.

  Blair nodded but remained quiet. She would discuss at a later time why his allies, the MacMillans and Donalds, hadn’t come to his aid with men to fight the Camerons’ rivals. They stole a brief kiss before they mounted and went their separate ways.

  Twenty-Seven

  Hardi returned to the keep as Faolán and Drostan prepared to leave. He couldn’t wait to see the back of their heads, but he made certain to lift every sack of grain and barrel of whisky as he counted them. He knew the men—Faolán, Drostan, and the guards accompanying them—grew annoyed as they waited for him, but he didn’t trust his kinsmen. He had no reservations about making it clear that Faolán and Drostan broke his trust. Once he was satisfied that all that they owed the crown was on the wagon, he stepped back as the party rode out of the bailey.

  “Ye arenae making any friends,” Paul muttered beside him.

  “I dinna think there are any friends left for me to make here,” Hardi answered.

  “Just be careful. Dinna turn yer back to anyone in the lists, and dinna leave the walls without guards,” Paul warned.

  “What do ye ken?” Hardi demanded.

  “Naught. It’s just a feeling I have,” Paul explained. “The clan is on edge, still grieving the losses against the Mackintoshes, and Faolán appeared to lead the clan well while ye were at court. I dinna believe it for a minute, but he made a show of it, slyly asking why ye hadnae returned, why ye preferred the lavishness of court to being among the clan. He implied that being laird had gone to yer head. People believe him because he’s more experienced than ye. Never mind that it was only two moons ago that they swore fealty to ye and cheered ye as our new laird.”

  Hardi listened to Paul, not doubting what he heard, but wondering why Paul shared it with him. Hardi wanted to trust Paul, and he knew he needed at least one council member on his side, but he suspected everyone. He
questioned the wisdom of riding out that day to tour his land. He needed to see those who lived in the outlying villages, but it would be the ones who lived in and around Tor who decided whether Hardi remained in power.

  “Any news from our other villages? Those inland and along the borders?” Hardi inquired.

  “Nay. All’s been quiet except for Faolán’s raid,” Paul answered as they made their way to the lists.

  “What did the council think aboot the contents of his missive to me?” Hardi asked casually as he accepted a blunted sword from the armorer.

  “We didna ken he’d sent one until Bran’s brother mentioned he’d left for Stirling. Drostan made it sound as though they felt it was our duty to send ye an update since ye’d been away so long. What kept ye?” Paul’s piercing blue eyes drilled into Hardi’s hazel ones.

  “Sorting out the taxes meant waiting for an audience with the king. I also had the chance to learn to read and write. In the long run, it seems like those are skills that will benefit the clan, even if it kept me away longer than I planned.”

  “And ye dinna think Faolán or Drostan could teach ye?” Paul pressed.

  Hardi straightened. Now it was his turn to bore into Paul’s eyes. “They didna tell the truth aboot any of the missives. Why would they teach me to read and write if that means they canna keep lying without me calling them out?”

  “And Father Graham couldnae teach ye?” Paul wouldn’t relent.

  “The mon is nearly deaf and blind,” Hardi snorted. “He recites the Mass from memory. He absolves everyone with the sign of the cross because he canna hear their confessions. How would he teach me?”

  “So who taught ye?”

  “A Sutherland.” Hardi thought he sounded casual to his own ear. He attempted to move away from Paul, as though seeking an opening for a partner. But Paul followed him until, inevitably, they partnered with one another. Paul’s persistence only made Hardi warier. He decided at that moment that he would remain at Tor and postpone riding out. He needed more time to learn what happened while he was away, and he needed to see Blair again. He realized he should have asked her to do more than write one missive.

  “Laird Sutherland took the time to remain at court to teach ye?”

  “It wasna the laird.” Hardi swung his sword, connecting with Paul’s as the latter blocked the attack. They went back and forth several times before Paul asked his next question.

  “So was it Lachlan?”

  “I spent time with him,” Hardi hedged.

  “But he wasna the one to teach ye. Lady Maude married and lives on Lewis. So that leaves Lady Blair or a Sutherland delegate. I didna ken Laird Sutherland teaches his warriors to read and write.” Hardi didn’t miss the smugness in Paul’s voice despite the feigned innocence. Hardi saw no point in continuing to be evasive. If Blair was to take her place soon as Lady Cameron, there was no point in hiding that he’d spent time with her.

  “Lady Blair was an excellent teacher.” Hardi blocked a strike before lunging forward. Paul barely moved out of the way in time to avoid a slicing sweep to his ribs.

  “Ye let a woman tell ye what to do?” Paul stopped sparring to laugh. “Did she order ye to count her ribbons and slippers? Did she demand ye say yer letters backwards and forwards?”

  Hardi took advantage of Paul’s distraction and swept his sword behind the man’s knees, knocking them out from under him. Once Paul kneeled on the ground, Hardi rested the edge of the sword’s blade against Paul’s neck.

  “She was a gracious teacher. And while I listened to and followed a woman’s directions, I didna let the thought of one distract me,” Hardi glowered and backed away, seizing the chance to move on to a new opponent. Paul’s taunting didn’t surprise him. He knew he would hear a great deal more once others learned Blair tutored him. He just hoped no one was rude to her when she arrived.

  Hardi spent the rest of the morning and after the midday meal sparring with his men. For a little while, he could set aside being laird and return to being a warrior, one whose most pressing concern was not having his head severed from his body. He bore in mind Paul’s warning not to turn his back on anyone, but some of his tension eased from the hours he spent training. As much as he’d admitted to Paul about his time away, Hardi felt he’d learned just as much. When he left the lists, he felt better than he had since watching Blair ride toward Inverlochy.

  Twenty-Eight

  Blair was surprised but happy to see Bran enter the Great Hall the next morning. She hadn’t expected to see the messenger for several days. She stepped away from the dais to greet the man, but she knew people watched her. She kept her voice low but was unprepared for Bran to hand her a folded parchment. She glanced at the seal, but there was no marking.

  “Laird Cameron wishes me to inform ye that he didna leave Tor Castle yesterday to tour his land. He decided it isnae the right time to be away from the keep or the clan. He bade me deliver this message and the one in yer hand,” Bran informed her.

  “Does Laird Cameron expect a response?” Blair asked.

  “He said ye need only say aye or nay once ye read the missive,” Bran explained.

  Blair broke the seal, her chest tight as she feared what she would find. She remembered Hardi’s warning not to believe anyone but Bran, and she hadn’t expected Hardi to send a missive so soon. She unfolded the vellum and struggled to keep the smile from showing that fought to spread across her face.

  Blair,

  I miss you. Meet me dusk by stone.

  Yors,

  H

  Blair’s heart melted at the fractured grammar and poor spelling. It meant more to her than the finest poetry. She understood the effort it had taken Hardi to write even the brief message. She looked up at Bran and nodded. She noticed his relief when he saw her smile.

  “Aye.”

  Bran dipped his head and turned on his heel so quickly that his plaid swished around his legs. Blair folded the parchment and slipped it into her sleeve before turning back to the dais. She found Artair and Robena watching her. She cast them a smile before walking to the laird’s table.

  “He wore a Cameron plaid, so he wasn’t delivering a letter from your mama,” Artair smirked. Blair didn’t answer, since he hadn’t asked a question. When his comment garnered no answer, Artair tried again. “You must have taught Hardwin an impressive amount if he’s sending missives in his own hand. Faolán and Drostan aren’t there to help.”

  Once more, Blair didn’t respond. But she forced her face to remain impassive when Artair mentioned Faolán and Drostan. She hadn’t shared that the brothers left Tor Castle. Blair’s eyes scanned the diners below the dais. She was confident neither of her guards or any of King Robert’s men shared the information with anyone. She and Hardi had been quiet while they discussed his clan business. None of the men who accompanied her the previous morning could have heard. So who is feeding Artair information aboot Hardi? Blair couldn’t answer her own question, but she would make sure Hardi knew there was a spy in his midst.

  * * *

  It was Blair’s turn to wait by the standing stone. The sun had already sunk below the horizon, and she wondered if Hardi would make it to their rendezvous. She knew her guards thought they should return before anyone missed them at the evening meal, but Blair would wait until nightfall before abandoning hope that Hardi would arrive. Blair wrapped her arms around her waist when she spotted Hardi cresting the hill before racing toward her. He leaped from the saddle before Uaill stopped. Hardi opened his arms, and Blair rushed into them.

  In the darkening early night sky, they knew it would be difficult for the other men to see them once they stepped behind the standing stone. It measured at least three feet taller than Hardi, who stood well over six feet. Their mouths sought one another as their hands roamed over one another’s bodies. They pressed kisses along each other’s jaws and cheeks before once again exploring the cavernous recesses of their mouths. Breathless, they stood with their foreheads together.

 
“Hardi, Artair kens Drostan and Faolán left Tor,” Blair blurted. Hardi straightened, but it was hard for Blair to make out his expression. “Do ye ken how he might have learned this? I dinna believe any of the men with me would tell.”

  “I dinna believe that either.” Hardi considered the council members first. While Paul and his entourage would pass by Inverlochy on their way to the Macphersons, he wouldn’t leave until the following morning. Paul had trained with him again that morning and then gone to check the herd, which grazed in a pasture on the opposite side of the village from Inverlochy’s direction. He contemplated which of the other councilmen were most likely to have a reason to inform MacDonald. When no one stood out, he considered other members of his clan, wondering whether a member of a patrol might have shared the information in passing with a MacDonald, who then told Artair. Hardi couldn’t be certain, but it didn’t please him to learn the news.

  “Hardi?” Blair’s voice made him realize he’d been quieter longer than he realized.

  “I will visit ye tomorrow at Inverlochy,” Hardi decided. “I want Artair to remember how close I am and that I havenae abandoned ye.”

  “If Artair kens aboot yer cousins leaving, do ye think someone in yer clan kens aboot me?” Hardi heard the nervousness in Blair’s voice. He was certain the worry was for him and not for herself.

  “It’s probable, but nay one has said or hinted at aught to me,” Hardi reassured. “I’m sorry that I was late, but a guard injured another in a fight today. It delayed me as I had to check on the injured mon and dole out a punishment to the aggressor. It’s far darker than I’d expected.”

  “I ken. I dinna like ye riding in the dark, Hardi,” Blair whittled.

  “I was aboot to say the same.”