The Highlander’s Promise (The Highlands Warring Scottish Romance) (A Medieval Historical Romance Book)

by Anne Morrison

  Instead, they seemed more than content to let him handle her, keeping their distance, and only occasionally casting almost nervous glances at her across the fire. They regarded her with a wariness he had seen reserved for criminals, hardened bandits, and soldiers.

  For Ava's part, she was calm. She went where he told her calmly, but there was nothing docile about the way that she seemed to smolder. It was as if there was some kind of deep fire in her, something that would not be quenched. It had only been banked for the moment, and Nicholas felt more than a tug of worry regarding what might happen when it flared up again.

  It was three days of hard travel before they reached the foothills of what Kerr and John called the Paper Mountains. The low-hovering clouds and the chalk in the ground conspired to give the mountains a pale cast, like something a child would draw against the blue sky. The first time that Nicholas saw them, he stared. He didn't come out of it until Ava nudged him.

  “Come on. You can spend plenty of time admiring them from the keep.”

  “Did you truly grow up on the mountain?” he asked. He thought that she would not answer him, but she gave him a brief look, more than she had given him in days.

  “I did. My mother called me a little mountain goat sometimes, bounding up the slopes as fast as I did.”

  “It's very beautiful.”

  “Is that how you see it?” The strain in Ava's voice made Nicholas think of a rope being stretched too tightly. It was holding for the moment, but soon, probably sooner than anyone would prefer, it would snap.

  “How do you see it, Ava?” asked Nicholas.

  “It looks like a prison to me.”

  She would say no more after that.

  At night, she slept by his side, but it was clear that she would rather deal with the cold than find herself too close to him. Nicholas felt his need for her like a low throb, something that almost ached. Sometimes, it was all he could do not to take her into his arms, but he knew that if he did, she would fight him.

  I couldn't even blame her for fighting me. I would deserve it.

  While it hadn't been his intention to do so, he had betrayed Ava. She was a creature who thrived on her own freedom. If she were a falcon, she would pluck her own breast bloody before she would hunt for the man who had captured her.

  On the fourth day, they started up the twisting paths of the Paper Mountains. The paths were narrow and treacherous, and more than once, they all had to dismount to lead the horses up.

  “You are not being very secretive about these paths,” Nicholas commented to Kerr.

  Kerr offered him a wry grin.

  “We're not the MacTaggarts with our castle offering a challenge for all to see, or the Riordans, who made their home on arable land. Clan Blair took the Paper Mountains because we were stubborn, and it protects us as much as our spears and our swords and our arrows do. If you think you can march a troop of English soldiers up these slopes, well... You are certainly welcome to try.”

  Ava laughed, the first sound she had made all day.

  “There, that tells you something about Clan Blair right away, doesn't it? We climbed up onto mountains that are near-impossible to live on, we decided that they were ours, and where everyone else would have starved out or left it for a bad job, we made them our pride and joy.”

  Kerr and John looked uneasy at her words.

  Ava sighed.

  “I will not insult you. My words of scorn are for my father alone.”

  “Begging your pardon, Ava, but your father has not been well...”

  Ava snorted, and only Nicholas saw a brief flash of fear and sadness in her eyes.

  “So he has been saying since I was a little girl. It was unfair of him to send you both after me when you doubtless have better business to attend to, and I apologize for that.”

  They rode through the mountains, and Nicholas was just beginning to think that they might go on climbing into the thin air forever. It felt as if the spring could not reach them this high up in the sky.

  Then they rounded a corner, and to Nicholas's surprise, he found himself at the mouth of a valley, a lush and green place that held a small town, a timbered keep, and paddocks for the cows and sheep that grazed in peaceful herds.

  “How did you even find this place?” Nicholas wasn't aware that he had spoken out loud until Ava chuckled, fond despite what she must be feeling.

  “Clan legend states that the first Blairs were brought here when an eagle kidnapped their youngest daughter. The men of the clan, her father and his four brothers, chased after the eagle, climbing high into the Paper Mountains until they found that the eagle had dropped her here. That was when the rest of the Blairs followed, and why you will find eagles carved all over the keep.”

  “Home,” Kerr sighed, and Nicholas could feel Ava flinch.

  He wanted to tell her he was sorry for what he had done, for whatever was going to happen next. She wasn't afraid, exactly, but her unhappiness seemed to sink deep into her bones, becoming as much a part of her as her black hair or her blue eyes.

  “Home,” she said softly, and he wondered if she pressed a little harder against him, her body seeking a comfort she could no longer ask him for.

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  chapter 31

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  Ava was acutely aware of the stares of the clan as she and Nicholas rode toward the timbered keep. Clan Blair never got many strangers, but she knew that it was her and not Nicholas who was drawing their eyes. These were the people she had grown up with, the people who had tended to her, rejected her, loved her, and pushed her away.

  In many ways, she was lucky. Patrick Blair had acknowledged her, claimed her as he might claim a prized calf or hunting pup. He had cared for her, he had cherished her mother even while his own wife ruled the keep with a cold eye.

  He had protected her, her and her mother both, and neither the laws of Heaven or earth required him to do so. He loved her, and even in her darkest days, she couldn't deny it.

  It didn't change the fact that when she dismounted from Cobie's back in the courtyard of the keep that her heart beat like a hunted rabbit's and that the very sight of her old home made her want to weep.

  She shook on her own feet for a moment. When Nicholas clapped a hand to her shoulder, she was ridiculously grateful even as she shook him off.

  “I won't allow anyone to hurt you,” he said softly.

  “No one could have hurt me worse than you did by bringing me here,” she said.

  It was mostly a lie. Saying the cruel words to him gave her a brief moment of pleasure even as it made her feel guilty as well. She was trying to find a way to make it right when a movement inside the door to the keep caught her attention.

  “Ava!”

  She turned just in time to be swept up into a hard hug, and when she realized who it was, she had to smile. She waved off Nicholas, who looked as if a wolf had bounded up to lick at her face. She supposed, in a way, one had.

  Roark Blair was as tall as Nicholas and thicker, dark where Nicholas was fair, and powerful enough to swing the broadsword he wore as if it were a toy. His eyes were an uncanny amber color that had earned him the superstitious fear of many of Clan Blair's enemies. Ava, however, who had grown up with him, knew nothing of that fear.

  “Roark, put me down, you great fool. You'll make everyone think that I've gone as soft as a spring lamb.”

  “Perhaps you have, little Ava. Look at you. I heard from the lookout on the path that Kerr and John were bringing you back, so I hurried down from the high pasture. I wouldn't have recognized you without that warning. Have you decided you want to give being a woman a try for little while?”

  From any other man, it would have enraged her. From Roark, it was only a joke, one that made her laugh even as she punched his arm.

  “Give over. I have enough to worry about without you jabbering at me like a foolish songbird while I'm here.”

  To her surprise, Roark
's face took on a serious cast.

  “Ava, have you not heard...”

  “I've been across the country twice in four months, I have heard nothing. And I don't intend to stay long enough to hear more...”

  “Who is this?”

  The words were abrupt, cutting through Roark and Ava's talk like a knife. Nicholas had dismounted. Though his sword wasn't quite drawn, Ava could tell he was thinking of it. She stared at him in confusion.

  Roark looked at the newcomer with interest.

  “An Englishman? Are you so very desperate for raiders now, Ava?”

  She shook her head, wondering why she felt so very amused by all of this. Desperation, she figured.

  “No. It's a long story. If you come with me while I explain things to the old man, I won't have to explain more than once.”

  “Fair enough,” Roark started but now Nicholas's hand was on his sword.

  “No, not fair enough,” he spat, his English accent coming through even more strongly. “Who are you?”

  Roark eyed Nicholas with a slightly predatory grin on his face. Ava wasn't sure which one she should warn off. In almost any fight, she would bet on Roark, but she had seen Nicholas fight as well. Even half out of his head with fever, he was ferocious, and she would not have bet on either.

  “What's an Englishman think he is doing make demands here in the heart of Clan Blair's territory?”

  She sighed, because she did not want any fighting at the moment, not over something so silly.

  “Roark, no. Stop. This is Sir Nicholas Whitfield. He's not here as a spy. He's looking for his niece. And Nicholas, this is Roark Blair. He was fostered here, and then, to our bad luck, he never left. This entire mountain is going to be his when my father dies.”

  Roark winced at that, and Ava smiled at him.

  “It's the truth, and you ought to get used to it. Other men inherit a trade or a mill, and you get a mountaintop that will barely grow winter wheat...”

  “It's not that, Ava.”

  “Then... what is it?”

  “You should come with me. I've delayed you enough.”

  Roark nodded to Nicholas, who watched him with a wary kind of doubt.

  “You as well, Englishman. This seems like a story that Laird Blair will wish to hear.”

  * * *

  Clan Blair's keep was as Ava remembered it, and a nostalgia swept over her with an intensity that made her feel oddly grieved.

  This was home once. It isn't home anymore, but there was a time when I loved it here.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Nicholas looking around curiously. There was no contempt in his eyes for the roughness of the keep or the way the tapestries that hung on the wall were so tattered and torn. She would have struck him if there was. Instead, he seemed to be taking it all in with a kind of quiet curiosity that warmed something in her.

  Stop that. We're quits sooner rather than later. I need to get used to the fact that he is not going to be around much longer.

  Roark led them through the halls of the keep, stopping in front of a door she recognized well. There was an eagle carved in rough relief on the door. Ava couldn't keep herself from reaching out to trace the eagle's head, its cunning talons, and its feathers. How many times had she done just that as a child?

  Roark tapped gently on the door.

  “Laird Blair, it is Ava, your daughter,”

  The voice that came from within was cracked, but there was power in it as well.

  “I know who Ava is, you insolent whelp. Send her in, I have little enough time as it is.”

  Roark rolled his eyes, a rough affection in his smile.

  “I should return to the high pasture. I will see you later.”

  “Of course,” Ava said with a smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nicholas scowl and she wondered what he was so angry about. How could he be angry when he was getting everything he wanted?

  She took a deep breath, putting her hand on the door handle. To Ava's surprise, Nicholas's hand came out to squeeze her shoulder.

  “I will not let any harm come to you,” he said softly, and she shook her head.

  “Too late for that,” she murmured and opened the door.

  The room was lit by a single arrow-slit window cut into the stone and a low hearth that burned with an insistent heat. It was as plain as she remembered, but for a moment, she thought it was empty.

  Her whole life, when she had come into her father's room, Ava remembered a man who was larger than life striding back and forth, working on this, shouting for that. She realized that until this very moment, she had never seen him in bed before.

  “Ava... Ava, my daughter... come here.”

  His voice still boomed, but there was a ragged quality to it now, something that seemed to scrabble at the very stones for purchase.

  Ava swallowed back the urge to go running to him, instead choosing to saunter over with a swagger that she had learned from Roark and Patrick Blair himself.

  “Well, old man?” she asked as she approached, and she was rewarded with a smile from his craggy face.

  “Insolence, insolence from you, little brat. And who have you brought with you? What man is this, who could make you dress like a proper woman?”

  Nicholas stepped forward. There was a stillness and a wariness to his face, but he inclined a small bow to the laird in his bed.

  “I am Sir Nicholas Whitfield, and her dress is all Ava's idea. I would never impose. I have come north looking for my niece, taken in a raid on Carlisle.”

  The laird listened as Nicholas told his story, and he waved an irritable hand.

  “There are plenty of orphaned brats running around the hall. Take one. Take a few if you'll see to their care. Now leave us. I must have words with my daughter.”

  “I will not.”

  Nicholas's voice was as calm as rain, and Ava stared at him. She had never heard anyone defy her father like that before.

  The old man sputtered.

  “You, Englishman, think you are going to tell me what is what in my own hall? In my own bedroom?”

  Nicholas had a resolute look on his face that Ava recognized all too well. It was a look that meant that he would not be moved, no matter what came. He was as steadfast as the Paper Mountains themselves, and Ava felt something in her long for him.

  “Your pardon, Laird, but Ava is here because of me. I told her that I would not leave her.”

  The laird turned to Ava.

  “Is this true, daughter?”

  “I want him here, Father.” Even as she said the words, Ava quivered a little. She did as she pleased, but this was the man who had ruled her life starting from the time she was born. Defying him, even in this small way, did not come easily.

  For a moment, it felt as if he were weighing them both in his old eyes. Then he nodded abruptly.

  “What I have to tell you will not be a secret for very long. Very well. Englishman, stay, but keep your mouth shut. Your accent grates like flint on steel.”

  Nicholas nodded, stepping back, and Ava took a deep breath. Why did simply having Nicholas in the room feel like a relief?

  “Why have you called me to the keep, Father? Did you not have enough people to shout at?”

  As she hoped it would do, it made him laugh, but then he sobered again quickly.

  “I have called you here because I am dying, Ava.”

  “You are not. You are as healthy as an oak.”

  “I am not. I know the darkness that lurks around my dreams, and I have come to know the harsh edges of every breath I take. I am not long for this world, and there are things I must say to you.”

  Ava felt a thrill of bright fear go through her when he took her hand and gestured for her to sit on the stool by his bed. The Laird of Clan Blair might make a great deal of his illness, but she had never seen him so serious before.

  “When did we last sit like this, Ava?”

  “I... I don't know. I have not come as far as the keep in some fiv
e years, I think.”

  “No. You have stayed well away, and even when you come close, you avoid me like I am a leper.”

  Ava shrugged.

  “After my mother died, I did not see much reason to stay.”

  “Even though I summoned you back time and time again.”

  “I brought back cattle for the clan. I thought that afforded me some freedom from your beck and call, old man.”

  He laughed ruefully at her, squeezing her hand. It was kinder than she had thought he would be. She was instantly on her guard.

  “Ah, that stubbornness and pride you get from me. I wanted you to come of your own will, but you never would have, would you?”

  “Not likely, no.”

  “And more fool me, I thought we had all the time in the world. I am old, and foolish, and now all I can give you is this. Ava, I want you to be the Lady of Clan Blair.”

  Ava stared at him.

  “What in the world are you talking about, Father? I cannot be the lady of any clan. I'm bastard born...”

  “You are not. I married your mother.”

  She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Behind her, she could hear Nicholas stirring, but it was all too much. This couldn't be true. She wasn't a bastard after all?

  The laird sighed.

  “I have a priest and two witnesses to it. My first wife, Aoife, died November of that year. Your mother died in December. You were gone that entire time.”

  Ava refused to allow the pang in her chest to spread. She had been raiding at the time, and when she had heard her mother had died, she'd wondered if she would ever return to the heart of Clan Blair's lands.

  “And... you married her.”

  “I did. While she was on her death bed, we married. You are no bastard, Ava. You are my daughter, recognized by writ and by the church.”

  Ava shook her head.

  “It does not matter. None of it matters...”

  “Oh, but it does, and it will. You are to be the Lady of Clan Blair.”

  “What?” Ava thought she was choking. It was as if the world had tumbled around.