Her Highland Protector (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Barbara Bard

  Instantly, a vision of the Earl’s face, twisted in evil and fury, filled her mind’s eye. Myra winced, her physical eyes closing, at the memory of his heavy hand striking her with an object, her lack of memory after that. He tried to kill me. Maybe thought I was dead, disposed of my corpse on the moors. She shuddered, knowing how close she came to death, that if Fiona’s son hadn’t found her, she may very well have died out there from her head injury.

  Opening her eyes, she found Fiona gazing down at her, her expression softened, compassionate. “What happened tae ye, lass? Who did this tae ye?”

  Myra opened her mouth to answer, her fears craving expression, to confess she had seen the Earl of Primshire in a strange act with the married Duchess of Greenbriar, and that he had run her down and hit her with something. It was also those same terrors that closed her mouth again. “I don’t remember.”

  For the first time in her life, Myra told a lie. Taught by Lilibet to never speak a falsehood, and her guilt at speaking one now made her soul cringe. Fiona might not understand how her sheer horror at Lord Primshire finding her and killing her kept her from telling the truth. Though her mind told her it was impossible, her gut feared he would pop into the room like djinn from a bottle at the mention of his name.

  Fiona’s face tightened for a moment, and Myra knew she had seen through the lie. Then, as before, compassion and kindness filled it anew, and Fiona offered her a tiny smile. “Whoever he be, lass, you be safe from him. He cannae hurt ye here.”

  I don’t believe that. Though certainly not well traveled, Myra had heard the MacEilish lands were not terribly far from the Earl’s vast estates, and that raiding often went on across the border between them over the years. In her lack of experience, she suspected the Earl might raise an army, cross the border and demand the return of his servant, and that Laird MacEilish would obey him in order to stop a war.

  Fiona stood. “Get yer rest, lass. I will fetch ye broth and bread tae nourish ye.”

  “Thank you,” Myra said. “And I’m sorry.”

  Fiona sent her a quick wink. “Ye clearly be an innocent child, and cannae help what ye been taught. I will return soon.”

  Once Fiona closed the door, Myra stared at the ceiling, trying to make some sense of her fears and how she came to be in Scotland. Fiona’s lad – her son – found her. But how did the son find her and what was he doing in England? Did Lord Primshire take her all the way north to Scotland and leave her there? How long was she unconscious?

  Not finding the answers on the ceiling, she closed her eyes again, knowing she would not sleep. Yet, it did creep over her like a cat on soft paws, drifting along on a tide where her pain was vanquished for a time.

  Chapter 4

  Sitting outside the injured girl’s chamber, Greer jumped to his feet as his mother stepped out and closed the door softly behind her. “Well?” he asked in a loud whisper. “Wi’ she live?”

  Fiona nodded. “She woke, she be in pain. But she will be fine, lad. She may hae as hard a head as any Scot.”

  “May I see her?”

  Fiona scowled. “Nay, ye cannae. She be a hurting, frightened lass and dinnae need ye looming o’er her and scaring her further.”

  “I just want tae talk –”

  Fiona silenced him with her finger over his lips, making him feel like a little boy again. His mother had a way of doing that without truly intending to, even if he was a grown man of four and twenty with many raids and skirmishes behind him. “She be resting, Greer, nae I will hae none o’ yer begging. She needs her rest.”

  “I need to ask her who did this, Maw.”

  Fiona eyed him, then turned to walk down the stone corridor, forcing Greer to follow. “She claims she cannae remember.”

  Greer heard the strange tone in his mother’s voice. “She ‘claims’?”

  “Aye. I feel she is lying, but she lies out o’ fear, lad, nae malice. She must be terrified.”

  “Of course, she should be if she be hurt by the same fiend who killed those women.”

  “Once she be a wee bit better, ye can ask her tae yer heart’s content. Fer nae, ye leave her be.”

  Frustrated, Greer peeled away from her to stride down another corridor that led to the stairs. Trotting down them, he reached the lowest level of the castle’s keep and made his way to the bailey. He found Jared and Gavin there, saddling their horses and who eyed him with surprise.

  “I though ye’d be wi’ the lass,” Jared commented as he walked to them. “We thought tae ride tae the loch, maybe hunt doon a deer.”

  “Maw willnae let me talk wi’ her,” Greer replied, “gie me a moment, I wi’ ride wi’ ye.”

  As he saddled his big bay, Greer thought back to the previous night, wondering why the lass they found would not reveal who had hurt her. When Gavin had reported a man carrying a body, Greer ordered his clansmen to grab their weapons and chase after him. By the time they rounded the hills, however, the shadowy figure had vanished, leaving Greer and his men to inspect the body.

  Except the body wasn’t sliced and eviscerated and it was still alive.

  Riding out though the grey and misty afternoon, scattering flocks of sheep into fleeing in all directions with bleats of fear, Greer ground his teeth in annoyance. “That lass ken who did this.”

  “Aye,” Jared replied, eyeing him sidelong. “Who did hit her oan her head. That scoundrel may nae be the same killer of the others.”

  Greer half turned in his saddle. “Ye be thinkin’ we hae two different Sassenach villains?”

  Gavin offered him a shrug. “Why nae? All the Sassenach be villains in me opinion.”

  Sitting back, Greer frowned thoughtfully. “But why would a man hit this lass oan the head, then dump her? She were still alive.”

  “Maybe she were his mistress,” Jared replied with a faint grin. “Knocked her oan the head when she got wi’ child.”

  “Or got wi’ child and threatened tae tell his lady,” Gavin continued with a laugh.

  Greer shook his head. “It dinnae fit, lads. She be a beauty, innocent seeming.”

  Even with the blood on her head and face, her thick black hair matted and tangled with dirt and twigs, Greer felt his heart stop when he saw her clearly at sunup. So slender, she felt as light in his arms as a child as he and his men rode north. Her flesh seemed of the finest porcelain, her thick fall of hair midnight black. He knew that when she opened her eyes, they’d be the color of the clearest blue.

  “Ye cannae tell by lookin’ at her, Greer,” Jared said, grinning. “Even innocent seeming lasses are not so innocent.”

  “Goan, lads,” he snapped, also sharing their grin. “I wi’ wager she be as pure as a newborn babe.”

  “Wager what?” Gavin challenged. “Yer horse there?”

  For a moment, Greer wanted to refuse. He’d never risk losing that particular animal over a wager. Then his grin grew sly. He knew he had little to worry about. “Aye, Gavin me lad. What wi’ ye put up? Yers?”

  Gavin spit into his palm and held it out, leaning over his saddle. Greer spat in his and they clasped hands. “Done,” Jared announced. “Winner takes the loser’s horse.”

  “I always admired that beastie,” Gavin said as they trotted toward the wide still lake a few miles from the castle. “Good bone. Soon he will be mine.”

  “And ye wi’ still admire him,” Gavin replied, grinning. “He wi’ ne’er be yers.”

  Returning empty handed from the hunt to the castle, they bantered and joked with one another as they cared for their mounts and housed them in their stalls. Leading the way into the keep and toward the vast dining hall where the Laird of the clan ruled his lands and his people, Greer joined his parents at the high table. Offering his sire, Laird Kerr MacEilish, a short bow, he kissed his mother’s hand before seating himself on his father’s right. Jared and Gavin sat at the next table down from the dais, but still close in rank to the clan Laird.

  As servants placed dishes of steaming soups, platters of roasted m
eats with bowls of gravy, hot fresh bread, pies made from dove and fish and various vegetables cooked in butter on the table before them. Below in the vast hall, other servants worked their way among the clansmen who served the Laird of Clan MacEilish.

  “Tell me, Maw,” Greer asked, his tone nonchalant. “How be our guest?”

  Fiona smiled as she filled her plate. “A wee bit better. Ate bread and broth, now sleeps like an angel.”

  Greer glanced at Gavin, who smirked, and at Jared who glanced between them, expectant. “Do ye think a lover maybe hit her tae get rid o’ her? Tae save his wife kennin’ it?”

  “What?” Fiona dropped the ladle of gravy back into the bowl, and glared at him. “Why would ye think that? She hae the innocence o’ a spring lamb, she does. No man hae touched her yet, I be telling ye.”

  Gavin’s smirk vanished while Greer’s bloomed. Kerr eyed them both, and Greer’s triumphant grin burst the instant his sire’s eyes fell on him.

  “What are ye lads about, now?” he asked.

  Greer squirmed. “We just had a wager, Da. Oan the lass.”

  “As tae her virginity?” Fiona gasped. “Ye should well nigh be ashamed. That child be fighting fer her life, and ye be wagering oan her purity.”

  “Nay, Maw, it nae be –”

  “I wi’ hear nae more aboot it, Greer,” Fiona snapped.

  Greer, chagrined, dropped his eyes to his meal and kept them there. I still won the horse. “Then perhaps it were the Sassenach killer who tried tae murder her, and we scared him off afore he finished.”

  Kerr turned to stare at him. “Ye still be thinking it one man who be killing these women, lad?”

  “I dae, Da.”

  “It be the work o’ bandits, robbing and raping. We wi’ get a band together and run these cowards who prey on women doon. We wi’ hang them, lad.”

  Growing frustrated again that his father refused to listen to him, Greer still held his tongue. He would never contradict his sire in front of others. Later, when he had a private opportunity, he would try to convince Kerr that chasing imaginary bandits was a waste of time.

  “When might I pay me respects tae the lass?” Greer asked.

  “In a day or two,” Fiona replied. “Her name be Myra Travers.”

  Myra Travers. Greer thought that was a beautiful name, and suited her well. The memory of her exquisite beauty haunted him, and he longed to talk with her and not just about who tried to kill her. He wanted to hear her voice, gaze into her eyes, maybe hold her hand. He had no idea why this girl fascinated him so, but the hours of riding with her limp form in his arms had connected him to her somehow. Greer felt the urge to protect her swarm through his instincts, making him long to sit by her side as she grew stronger and finally well.

  Chapter 5

  Myra lost all track of time during her periods of waking, then sleeping, only to wake and then sleep again. At times, darkness filled the room, lit only by a single tallow candle on the table by her bed. During the daylight hours, she often found Fiona sitting beside her, sewing or embroidering. Day or night, Myra always found food and water on the table.

  Feeling able to sit up for short sessions of time before dizziness and exhaustion overwhelmed her, forcing her to lie down again, Myra often sat at the table to dine, sometimes under the watchful eye of Fiona. “How long have I been here?” she asked during one such time.

  “This be yer third day under our roof, lass.”

  Myra swallowed a chunk of bread too hard, as her mouth went dry at a sudden thought. Washing it down with water, she stole a glance at Fiona. The older woman sat in her chair, embroidering, and looked up upon feeling Myra’s eyes on her. “Will you,” Myra began, her voice trembling, her shoulders rounded, her hair falling in a black river around her. “Will you send me back?”

  “Dae ye wish us tae?”

  “No. I mean, it’s my home, but guess now I’m homeless. No, I can’t go back there.”

  “Dae ye hae people there, lass?”

  “Only Lilibet. She’s the head housekeeper, and she raised me when my mother died.”

  Fiona continued her needlework. “Then I expect ye wi’ live here, Myra, if ye wish tae.”

  Relief coursed through Myra like a raging wave. “Thank you, My Lady.”

  “Ach. Dinnae be ‘my ladying’ me. I just be Fiona. We Scots are nae partial to formality.”

  “I am a cleaning servant,” Myra went on, eager, knowing she needed to repay Fiona, and her Laird husband, their kindness in bringing her into their home. “I can work, My – Fiona. I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Nay, I expect ye willnae dae that.” Fiona smiled. “And I dinnae hae nae use fer any more servants.”

  Crestfallen, Myra felt as though her entire world was collapsing around her. “But – I must work. It is all I know. Please, you said I can stay here, and I want to. I’ll work hard, I swear it.”

  “Myra,” Fiona said, her voice firm. “I said ye can stay wi’ us and I meant it. I also meant ye wi’ stay wi’ us as a guest. I cannae demand ye work fer yer keep, lass. Once ye be up and aboot, I wi’ find ye suitable garments of a lady.”

  “But I’m not a lady.”

  “I dinnae care. Now. My lad has been pestering me tae let him in tae talk wi’ ye. But only if ye be up for it.”

  Myra held the tattered remains of her gown close to her neck. “You said he’s the one who found me, brought me here?”

  “Aye. And dinnae worry, you willnae meet him in that rag. I wi’ find ye a better gown than that.”

  “Yes,” Myra said, standing up to walk, a bit unsteadily, toward the window. “I would like to meet him. He saved my life.”

  Gazing out the window, she discovered it faced north and a broad lake several miles distant, the veiled sunlight making it appear misty and fanciful. “What is his name?”

  “Greer.”

  Myra turned. Leaning against the window sill, she gazed at Fiona as the woman continued with her needlework. “That’s a nice name. Is he your only child?”

  “Aye. His da and me had a wee lass, but she died before she were a week old.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Ach.” Fiona looked up, “it were God’s will. We will see her again.”

  “What is Greer like?”

  “A good lad. A stout fighter, will make an excellent Laird to his clan one day.”

  Her headache returning, with the dizziness on its heels, Myra made her slow way back to her bed. “I wish this pain would go away,” she muttered, lying back down and pulling the quilt up to her chin. “I have never been sick in my life.”

  “It wi’, lass,” Fiona said, standing to lay her fingers lightly on Myra’s brow. “Just remember, that blow could fair split yer skull. As it were, I would’nae be surprise if it be cracked. Take yer time in healing. You be fortunate tae be alive.”

  “I know, and thank you for reminding me. I’m just not used to feeling helpless.”

  “None o’ us are.”

  ***

  Late the following day, Fiona decreed Myra well enough to have a visitor, and brought her a silver and white gown with the same leather vest that bound the bodice with thongs. It fit Myra’s slender form quite well, though it was a trifle long. Myra feared she would trip over it’s hem if she wasn’t careful.

  “I wi’ raise the hem, lass,” Fiona said, urging Myra to sit in the chair to enable Fiona to brush out her long midnight locks.

  “Why are you going to such trouble?’ Myra asked as Fiona hummed under her breath, brushing. “I mean, it’s just for me to say thank you.”

  “A lass must be presentable no matter whom she be meeting,” Fiona answered, her voice dry. “I would’nae wish ye tae feel shame to meet me lad wearing a rag and yer hair nae brushed.”

  Myra had to chuckle. “I suppose that is very true.”

  At last Fiona deemed Myra presentable and gave her a quick nod of satisfaction. “I wi’ let me lad in.”

  Trembling inwardly, Myra stood up, her
hands clasped in front of her. Why am I so nervous? He’s just a man. I’ll be polite, tell him thank you, then he’ll go his way and I’ll go mine. Instead of calming her, her nervousness increased as Fiona opened the door and spoke with someone outside. Then she opened it wider, and Myra saw her savior for the first time.

  She forgot to breathe.

  Greer MacEilish was more than handsome, more than attractive, more than any adjective Myra could think of in that moment. His brilliant green eyes, obviously inherited from his mother, gazed at her with frank fascination. Red gold hair fell to his collar. His cheekbones thrust from under his tanned skin gave him a rugged appearance, and his strong jaw was covered with a fine coating of gold fuzz. The long scar across his left cheek only added to his incredible good looks.