Highland Captive

by Alyson McLayne

  All that screaming and yelling.

  She buried her face in her pillow, feeling the shame of it. What must Gavin have thought of her—the way she’d hit and kicked and scratched, the sounds she’d made like a feral beast, the whole rotten display? All of that from being told to scream into the wind. When he’d done it first, she’d been frightened at the ferocity that had appeared on his face, but he’d still been contained somehow. Though he’d had to catch his breath afterward. And he’d sounded a wee bit gutted.

  Maybe that was what was supposed to happen? She’d never heard of yelling like that before—for the sake of releasing old wounds—and wondered if all of Gavin’s foster brothers did that. Of course, none of them would have known the heartrending pain of losing a child like Gavin did.

  She pulled the covers up higher and shivered. How could she be so cold? She should build up the fire, but she didn’t want to crawl out from beneath her quilt. And how much difference would it really make when the chill seemed to be coming from inside herself?

  Cold. Alone.

  A sob pushed up from her chest suddenly, and she covered her mouth.

  Was that where the chill was coming from? Her loneliness? Gavin had made her yell and scream, and in the process, she’d ripped off the scab of her childhood and her lonely marriage, leaving a painful wound behind.

  She sat up and hugged her knees to her body, needing to press something physical into the ache. And she listened—for anyone else out there, any human connection she could make. But the castle was quiet. She rose from her bed and walked toward the stone wall that her room shared with Gavin’s chamber. Was he in there? Was Ewan in there with him?

  She hadn’t heard her son cry, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t woken and already come down. She stood there, shivering. What should I do?

  Nay, not should. What did she want to do?

  She heard steps in the passageway, ran to the door, and threw it open. A guard had passed on his rounds, and he whipped around at the noise, drawing his sword. Deirdre let out a little shriek, and a second later, Gavin was standing in front of her, facing the guard.

  “Put your weapon away, Finn. You frightened her.”

  “Och, I’m sorry, Laird. Lady Deirdre, forgive me. I didn’t mean you any harm.” The young man sheathed his sword. “The passageways are clear, Laird.”

  “Good. Take your position at the bottom of the stairs.”

  Finn nodded once and retreated. Gavin faced her. “Are you well, Deirdre?”

  She took a moment to answer. “Aye. I woke up, and I was cold.” She looked past Gavin, trying to see into his room. “Do you have Ewan in there with you?”

  “He’s asleep. He came down about an hour ago. I brought him in with me when you ne’er responded.”

  She stepped around him and into his room, knowing she shouldn’t but doing it anyway. Now she was doing what she wanted. The chamber was about twice the size of hers, with a bigger hearth and a bigger bed, also covered in quilts. She could just make out Ewan’s golden head on the pillow in the dim light, and the need to hold her son beat at her like the wings of a trapped dove.

  She didn’t look back at Gavin to ask his permission, she just crossed the room, crawled under the quilts with their son. She lay on her side, facing him, and pulled him close. He snuggled into her arms, and his breath puffed warmly on her chest. She closed her eyes, listened to his breathing, and that lost, empty space began to fill up inside.

  When the bed jostled a minute later, she opened her eyes to see Gavin, his linen shirt on and the tie open at the neck, crawling under the quilts from the opposite side of the bed. He lay on his side facing her, Ewan in the middle.

  Their eyes met, and she marveled at the beauty of him in the firelight. Her hand rested on the pillow next to him, and he slid his hand on top of hers, palm to palm, their fingers entwined. Just like when he’d held her hand on their climb up to the turret.

  They stared at each other across the pillows in silent communion. And Deirdre knew that this was where she belonged.

  Aye. She’d finally warmed up inside.

  Fourteen

  Gavin struggled to open his eyes. His lids felt anchored down with weights, and his body felt as heavy as though he’d been cast in lead. He knew he was in his bedchamber, and he was aware the castle had come alive hours ago, but for the life of him he could not throw off the black oblivion that kept dragging him back under.

  He managed to move his fingers, feeling the lack of another hand that had held his during the night. He’d been filled with warmth and peace, a level of contentment he hadn’t felt since he’d been a lad and his mother had rocked him to sleep in her embrace. Or after his son had been born and Ewan’s wee body had rested skin-to-skin against Gavin’s thudding heart. Aye, that was contentment.

  But it was also his past.

  Last night, he’d felt that happiness and wholeness deep in his bones—that was his future. If he could just figure out how to keep it with him this time.

  He relaxed and the oblivion enveloped him again. With a heavy sigh, he stopped fighting and let himself be pulled under.

  The next time Gavin woke, his eyelids were still heavy, but he lifted them without struggle. He lay on his back under his quilts, staring up at the blue canopy over his bed. The shutters were closed, but bright light spilled through the cracks.

  He sat up tiredly and scrubbed his hands over his face. What time was it? And where were Deirdre and Ewan? He glanced over at the other side of the empty bed and then toward the window again before tossing back the quilts and rising to his feet.

  One thought kept repeating in his mind as he crossed to the window—he’d slept.

  And when he pulled the shutters back and stared out at the sun high in the sky and the bailey full of people going about their daily chores, he couldn’t believe it.

  It was well past noon. Gavin had slept for more than twelve hours!

  He moved to a side table, where a jug of watered-down mead and a bowl of cooked oats sat on a tray. The mead was still cool, the oats warm, and he wondered if their delivery had been the cause of his awakening. He wolfed down the food and drink, used the pot, and then stripped down for a wash.

  He was almost finished dressing when men’s loud laughter and boisterous voices penetrated the stone walls and thick wooden door of his previously quiet bedchamber.

  * * *

  Deirdre stared, round-eyed and nervous, at the five big, brawny men striding across the great hall toward her. She recognized Kerr, of course, which meant the other four had to be Gavin’s foster father and his brothers. Ewan clung to her legs and hid behind her skirts when he saw them.

  Deirdre wished she had someone to hide behind too.

  All of the MacKinnon castle folk were running around under Isobel’s direction, setting up a place for the recent arrivals and family to eat their midday meal together. Gavin still slept, much to everyone’s amazement, and Isobel had given strict orders not to wake him. Intent on staying out of the way, Deirdre had retreated to a corner with Ewan where he played with his toy soldiers. No one paid them any mind.

  Except the five Highland lairds, who were bearing down on them now.

  “Doona worry, Ewan, I’ll save you from the ugly-arse monsters!” Kerr declared as they neared. He scooped a squealing Ewan high into the air and then flew him past the other men. Their smiles looked like they might break their faces, they were so wide. She even spotted a few tears, which were quickly wiped away.

  After a few of the men ducked and weaved around him, making Ewan laugh, Kerr transferred the lad to one massive arm and then drew his sword from its sheath with the other.

  Deirdre couldn’t believe what she was seeing! Was he mad? She scowled at him so hard that he hesitated, put down the sword, and backed slowly away from it with his hand raised.

  “Fight! Fight!” Ewan shout
ed, his fists swinging in the air.

  “Nay, lad. Look,” Kerr whispered as he pointed at Deirdre. “We woke the dragon.”

  She tried not to smile, but it broke through anyway. With an exasperated sigh, she picked up Kerr’s sword to put on the mantel, but it was so heavy that she almost dropped it. How had Kerr drawn it from its scabbard with one hand?

  An older man with wings of gray in his auburn hair came to her aid. This could only be the great laird Gregor MacLeod. “Where would you like it, lass?” he asked.

  He had such a kind look on his face, her shyness evaporated. “Where Ewan canna reach it, please. He has a fascination with anything sharp and pointy.”

  Gregor smiled and nodded. “I remember. Even when Ewan was barely walking, Gavin had to watch him like a hawk.” He placed the sword up high on the mantel, then turned to her and took her hand. “I’m Gregor MacLeod, foster father of these four scoundrels. And Gavin too, of course. Kerr has told us that you’re Ewan’s adopted mother and that you’ve chosen to stay with him. It warms my heart.”

  One of the lairds, a braw man with chestnut-colored hair and brown eyes, joined them. “Aye, lass. You have our thanks. I’m Darach MacKenzie. ’Twas such a joy to hear that Ewan had been found, and then such a relief to know he’d been loved and cared for the entire time he was gone. I canna imagine what might have happened to him if not for you. My wife is with bairn, aye, and it drives home what happened to Ewan, and to Gavin and his family, even more so than before. You have done us all a great service.”

  Another man joined their group, his shoulder-length light-brown hair secured in a leather tie, and his dark-blue eyes glinting devilishly. “I’m Lachlan MacKay. My thanks to you as well, Deirdre. ’Tis rumored you’re an angel in disguise, and I believe it. Kerr has claimed you’re his cousin, of course, but we all know better. You’re much too dignified to be a MacAlister. Your sweet tone gives it away, if naught else.”

  “Of course I’m claiming her,” Kerr said loudly from behind them. “She’s the only decent and kind relative I have! And look at her—she’s the spitting image of me! Beauty personified!”

  “If by spitting image you mean that you spat on a mirror and then compared the two of you, I agree,” the last laird joked. By process of elimination, that had to be Callum MacLean. Everyone laughed again, including Deirdre. Callum squeezed in beside Lachlan and clasped her free hand, his bright-green eyes filled with gratitude. “I’m Callum MacLean, Deirdre. You are indeed beauty personified, both inside—where it counts the most—and out. Thank you for keeping our Ewan safe.”

  “Aye,” the men responded together, like the chorus in the Greek plays she’d studied.

  “My Maggie is with bairn as well,” he continued. “And as Darach says, it made us feel Ewan’s disappearance even more keenly. We canna thank you enough.”

  His eyes shone with love when he spoke of his wife and growing bairn. Yearning swelled in Deirdre’s chest. What would it be like to be loved like that by a man as good as Callum MacLean? By any of these men?

  To be loved like that by Gavin?

  Now her heart stuttered, and she had to catch her breath before speaking. “My heartfelt congratulations, Laird MacLean. May your child always be safe, happy, and healthy—and your wife as well.”

  “’Tis Callum. And yes, their health and happiness are all we wish for.”

  Another round of “ayes.”

  A pang of envy and loss shot through Deirdre’s breast as she thought about the journey the pregnant women were on. No matter how difficult the births, they were surely excited to bring new life into the world—and their husbands were excited right along with them. But she could understand his worry too. Death during the delivery was all too common an occurrence.

  “My Amber will be with both Caitlin and Maggie on their birthing days,” Lachlan said. “So doona worry about them, lass. Amber is the best healer in all the Highlands.” Lachlan’s voice was filled with pride.

  “Verily, ’tis a good thing Maggie’s pregnant,” Darach said. “Otherwise she’d be climbing out of windows to avoid Callum’s incessant lectures about her safety.”

  Callum raised one brow and appeared to think about it for a moment, then sighed. “I canna deny it. ’Tis true.” More laughter. “Only the other day she decided a discussion we were having was at an end. And in order to escape me, she threw a rope out of the window and climbed down to the bailey—with me standing right there. What kind of a wife does that?”

  He said it with such love and amusement that Maggie’s heart squeezed again, although she didn’t understand how his wife could climb out of the window. Wasn’t she afraid she would fall?

  “I doona doubt you’re confused, Deirdre,” Darach said. “Maggie’s our very own warrior woman. All the women in our family are in their own way. Just like you’ve been a warrior for Ewan.”

  “Oh, I doona think—”

  “Aye, you have been,” Callum confirmed. “Maggie is a warrior in the truest sense. There is none better than her with a bow or a dagger, but she has a penchant for escaping castles in dangerous ways.”

  Deirdre marveled that a woman could be so bold. And then she looked across at Isobel, who was shepherding them all into their seats for their midday meal, and she realized that Isobel might not shoot arrows or slide on ropes out of windows, but she was bold as well. Isobel held her own with these powerful men, and they all respected her for it.

  It was humbling to think she was now part of this family—or on the periphery of it, anyway.

  Everyone sat but Gregor, who glanced around the great hall. “Did no one tell Gavin we’re here? Surely, he can hear us from his solar, especially with Kerr booming like an elephant. What is he doing up there?”

  They all looked at Deirdre expectantly like she should know, and a blush stole up her cheeks. “I havenae been upstairs in several hours, but I assume Gavin is still in his bedchamber.”

  “Da is sleeping!” Ewan said, laughing. “And he isn’t even sick. Mama said we were to be verra quiet and move like wee mouses this morning when we woke up, so we didn’t jostle him on the bed. He missed breakfast, and now he’s going to miss our midday meal as well!”

  Almost as one, the men—and Isobel—turned to look at her, their brows raised. Deirdre’s slow blush suddenly turned fiery on her cheeks. “It wasn’t like that!” she protested, humiliation seemingly coming on fast. None of the men made a peep. “I was fully clothed, and I wasn’t feeling well last night.” She pointed to Ewan, who was still laughing at the idea of his da sleeping through their meal. “He had Ewan in there with him! He’s my son too. I needed to hold him!”

  “Ewan or Gavin?” Isobel asked, looking perplexed, and all four of the foster brothers snorted.

  Deirdre turned to ice inside, a cold contrast to her burning skin. Were they laughing at her?

  Gregor reached out and gently covered her hand with his. “You’re a part of our family, Deirdre. A beloved sister to the lads and daughter to me, just like Isobel, Maggie, Amber, and Caitlin. The lads meant no offense. They were just being thoughtless.”

  He turned a stern eye on the grown men around the table, who squirmed in their seats.

  “Sorry, Deirdre.”

  “Aye, sorry, lass.”

  “It won’t happen again, Cousin.”

  “Please, forgive us.”

  “Well, that’s all well and good,” Isobel said, “but I want to know what Gavin was thinking. Deirdre is married!”

  This time Kerr covered Isobel’s hand and squeezed gently. “’Tis not always as simple as that, love. Gavin is working on the problem.”

  Deirdre’s brows rose. “What problem?”

  Silence fell, and then Gregor spoke again. “How to keep you here permanently, Deirdre. For Ewan, of course. But for all of us as well. None of us want to lose you.”

  Isobel snorted. “Esp
ecially my brother, apparently.”

  Deirdre narrowed her eyes at Isobel, then turned to Gregor. “Can you make them run around the castle walls a few times? Isobel included. Better yet, put them on chamber pot duty.”

  “What’s a chamber pot doodie?” Ewan asked.

  “It’s when your aunt Isobel picks up all the pots in the castle and washes them out. And if she doesn’t, Mama is going to side with Uncle Kerr on everything he says and does from now on. He is my cousin, after all. I may even give him secret information.”

  “You wouldnae,” Isobel shrieked. “And they say I’m the one with the mean streak!”

  Kerr smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Blood is thicker than water. I told you she was a MacAlister.”

  * * *

  Gavin strode to the window as he fastened his plaid over his léine, wondering if the sound of laughing had drifted in from outside. He looked out but could see no sign of Gregor, Darach, Lachlan, Callum, or Kerr.

  Were they here? Already? He crossed to the door, grasped the handle, and stopped. God’s blood, if it was them, he wouldn’t hear the end of their jests about him sleeping past noon. No matter how happy they might be about it.

  Gavin grinned. ’Tis a small price to pay.

  He opened the door and listened—for Deirdre and Ewan, as well as for the others. He knocked on Deirdre’s door first, just to make sure she wasn’t in there, then made his way to the head of the stairs and hurried down.

  He stopped about five steps up from the bottom and surveyed his great hall. It was busy, as it always was during the midday meal, but even more so with the arrival of his family.

  A wide, rectangular table had been set up in front of the smaller hearth, and Kerr, Deirdre, Ewan, and Isobel sat eating roast duck and greens with Darach, Lachlan, Callum, and Gregor.