William, in his naked glory, was resplendent with crystal droplets running over a tanned muscled body. His wet hair was dripping onto his shoulders and his eyes were hooded and level. With her apprehension buried in her stomach, Emma approached him and patted him dry, trying to not react to the warm, almost smoldering look tracing over her skin.
Emma turned her back to tug off the top sheet and settled in the bed while William put on his smallclothes and settled down to next to her. She wanted to bring up the subject of marriage but felt unsure even phrasing the words in her mind, so she dismissed the thought. It was just not the right time as there were more pressing issues to think about.
“How do you think Goraidh is going to get word to us?” Emma wondered out loud, “I don’t think letters can be delivered this far.”
“In a few weeks, I’ll have to make tha’ trip to the Inn we spoke about,” William replied. “I reckon it’ll take tha much time ta go ta France and find this cloth merchant. But Goraidh is canny, an’ he’s a merchant, too, so I figure he’ll use his station an’ connections to find him quick enough.”
“I hadn’t remembered that,” Emma blinked. “I hope he does find him…but…” she sighed. “I want to think my brother isn’t as heinous as he seems right now but I can’t. The mere fact that he was willing to send me to an asylum it is clear that he hates me but…he’s still my brother.”
* * *
Having no siblings William could not relate to having sibling love. The closest he could attribute it to was his comrades in war. If any of the men who he fought with, bled with, and celebrated victories with, had betrayed his trust so severely, he would have been furious.
While the betrayal stung, William knew he would have disregarded disbelief and dove right into anger. His sword would be in motion in minutes. He had seen Finley’s face when he had said he had a bride-to-be. He knew that Finley hated the English with a passion and did not doubt that the man would go to any lengths to get rid of them. William hated betrayers which was why if he found out that Finley had any dealing with Marston, his neck would be a bloody stump with his head on the ground.
Emma was a gentler creature than he was, she would not delve into brutality as soon as he would, perhaps not at all. But that did not mean she should be too sensitive and forgiving, allowing Marston to trap and harm her again.
“Lass, if there’s one thing I can tell ye, is that there will be people who will hate the very air ye breathe. Ye don’t get to choose who or why but ye can do something about it. Ye must protect yourself. He’s chosen to show you who he is. What ye need to do now is to believe him an’ never underestimate what lengths he would go to fer ye to suffer,” William advised.
Emma was quiet and when she spoke her voice was soft, resigned even, “You’re right.”
MacNair began to feel that there was much more about her brother Thomas than what he knew of and he wanted to ask but was too bloody tired to do so. He reached out for her and tugged her into his body, “Don’t fret aboot it, lass.”
With her soft frame pressed against him, William prayed that somehow, someway, everything would be well with them. They only had to lay low and weather out the days until Goraidh came back with news and then move on from there.
“Oh…William, tell me about your family,” Emma asked while snuggled against him.
“Och,” he grunted. “Life in me clan sometimes feels like a dream… war stopped from me Grandfather’s days but we still had clan skirmishes here an’ there which was why I chose to become a fighter too as well. Besides, me whole Clan came from a race of warriors. Far be it from me to let their bloodline go to shame…”
Even as tired as he was, William spoke of his childhood life and halfway through got lost in his memories. It was only when he heard Emma’s breath evened out he realized that she had fallen into a deep slumber. The woman was amazing to him, shy yet determined, strong at times but weak in others, lovely and tempered but could become fiery is she had to. Her innocence called to him and her eagerness sparked the fire inside him.
He wanted to keep her safe, pleasure her, to give her all she could ever want or need, himself as the main part of her life. That was what a husband did with their wives; love, provide and protect her. Emma deserved the best of him and he was determined to give all she needed of him to her.
Running his nose over the curve in her neck, William smiled when she shivered involuntarily. Settling in behind her, William drifted off to sleep with the scent of her skin in his nose and this thought in his head. She’d make me a wonderful wife.
His body, trained to wake at sunrise, came alive with the mere feel of the once heavy air lightening around him. Emma still rested under his arm but at a different angle. He lay on his back and Emma was splayed on his chest, while his right arm curved over her shoulder and back to press her into him.
William loathed having to move but his bladder was about to erupt if he did not relieve himself. Shifting softly, William managed to maneuver Emma over without waking her up and slid out of the bed. He hurried out the back door and hastened to relieve himself.
He should be heading out to pick some more fruits, or even take down a bird, or get another rabbit but he was transfixed where he stood. The forest around them seemed alive. High boughs of gleaming wood swayed and dipped with a force of their own weight. The swirling mist that rose ghostlike from the creek beyond crept with preternatural grace through the dense clusters of foliage and blanketed the ground misty white.
William knew that in a few moments, when the sun strengthened properly and the golden rays penetrated through it, all the mist and magic it held would be gone. He softly yearned for the lochs back home. The mist that came from them sometimes took hours to retreat instead of minutes but the mountainside home always seemed to be cool.
“We never had mist like this back at home,” Emma’s voice was quiet. “Everywhere was cultured lawn, not wild forest, and the nearest river was miles away.”
“Ye fell asleep last night but I was telling ye that the Highlands are always covered with mist,” William said nostalgically. “Sometime the fog would be so thick ye could barely see past yer nose.”
“I guess that would make a game of hide-and-seek much more mysterious,” Emma laughed.
“Ye bet,” William grinned. “But there was so much more. We bairns made a game out of almost everything. Hunting, swimming, fishing, mock swordfight, even sprinting…now that I am thinking, it was more training than anythin’.”
“You and Goraidh were telling me stories about your childhood but I think they were tall tales more than the truth. How could a five-year-old boy trap an eagle?”
“With the right trainin’ from an old falconer, ye might,” William added. “Let me put on some clothes an’ grab some fruits fer yer breakfast an’ we can talk about the tales of me foolish childhood.”
He hurried back in and tugged on his pants and shirt. With a quick kiss to Emma’s cheek, he delved into the forest and headed out to where the fruit trees and shrubs were. He mechanically gathered the berries from their hiding places while thinking about which stories to tell Emma. Which were the best ones to give her a positive outlook on Scottish life?
William knew that many outsiders thought of the Scottish as a race of barbarians, using muscles instead of their brains. Few would care to see that many of them were educated with degrees and professions that would rival any English nobleman. Their people were lawyers, historians, architects. They were businessmen, traders, farmers, teachers, and warriors. But most only remembered the warriors’ part. He needed Emma to understand that the Scots were as well-rounded as the English.
With his pan filled with the fruits, he went back to the cabin and stilled at the door. Cocking his head, he heard soft, sweet singing coming from inside and stopped at the doorway to see Emma singing while cooking up the rest of the rabbit from last night. He leaned against the door and smiled; she was oblivious to all that was around her…or so he thought.
“Are you going to be languishing at the door all day or do you want to eat?” Emma asked, while adding a pinch of seasoning.
Snorting, William crossed over and went directly behind her to rest his pan of fruits as she took her pan off the fire and placed it on the table. He wrapped his arm around her waist in what was becoming another addiction.
Kissing the back of her neck, William sniffed the air and asked, “…Did you add more pepper?”
“See for yourself,” Emma grinned and lifted a spoon to his lips.
Tasting the sauce, William hummed in satisfaction, “That’s wonderful, what did ye use?
“Carrots, pepper, some sugar, and one more thing I’ll never let you know.”
His eyebrow cocked, “Ye used liquor, Emma, I can taste the burn.”
She pouted, “I was hoping to keep that a secret.”
Laughing, William moved off. “Ye cannae hide liquor from a Scot, Emma. It’s one of our vices but somehow, is our virtue at the same time. Survival habit, I guess.” He shrugged.
Sharing the food, Emma handed his over first, before taking hers. They ate in silence until finished and William did not begrudge the loss of noise. Having Emma there with him, in the quiet peace of the cabin, was enough for him. In repayment for her cooking, William took the empty bowls and washed them out in a bucket of water.
Returning, William sat, observed her for a moment and said, “Worrying aboot yer brother is nae gonna make any difference, lass.”
Her look was a mix of fondness, appreciation, and a bit of exasperation, “Thank you for trying but I can’t help but think about him.”
“Why don’t I tell you about some more of our Scottish culture?” William proposed. “There are a few things that we have that are comparable with the English, but there are many we do better.”
“Really….” Emma drawled with a playfully sarcastic tone. “Pray tell?”
“Well, our cooking is much more flavorful then yers,” William declared, with a pompous tilt of his nose in the air and parroting a snooty English accent. “I can make ye a meat pie blindfolded and one-armed an’ I can promise ye, it’ll be better than anything ye English can make.”
Giggling, Emma shook her head, “What else?”
“Our celebrations go on for days while yers go on fer hours,” William added. “Yer English marriage is an hour or two at the most with a few people an’ a plain tasteless breakfast. A Scots’ wedding goes on for hours, from the ceremony to the feast, to the after feast an’ then…” he wiggled his brows, “…We have the pleasure of kicking out the drunken bastards at the crack of dawn the next day.”
Emma rolled her eyes, “Any more?”
“Any more?” William asked with an arched eyebrow, “Are ye really going to ask me that?”
“Er?” Emma hedged. “Yes.”
“Oh whoo,” William leaned in with his gray eyes dancing mischievously, “Ye just issued me a challenge. An’ I take challenges seriously, lass.”
“I am pretty sure that I did not challenge you,” Emma replied playfully while folding her legs to the side of her.
“Yes, you did.” William admonished, “Now prepare to suffer the consequences.”
While nibbling on the berries, Emma listened as William outlined with great specifics the difference between the English and the Scots and Emma marveled.
She had thought that the Scots were always Christians but when William told her about the Celtic Gods and that they were the original religion she had to change her belief. The same went for their legal systems, language, traditions, superstitions and even food.
“We ken tha’ meat of the hog is unclean,” William explained. “And that was before Christians came with it. That came from the Celts. Ye’d be hard pressed to find one true Scot eating that meat. Unless they were starving an’ cannae find better.”
Twirling a cherry in her fingers, Emma slowly digested all the information William had just told her. “I…would have never expected that.”
“Aye,” William sighed while looking out the window. “But we have oor faults too. Most of us believe in an eye for an eye an’ a simple feud takes years, decades even, to get resolved. So, we have the guid an’ the bad.” William finished with a shrug.
Peering into the pan of fruits, Emma asked, “Can we take a ride today? I would like to see where we are.”
Her suggestion clearly surprised William but he nodded, “Yes. Let me get the horse saddled.”
Busying herself with tidying up, Emma smoothed out the wrinkles in the bedsheets, and tugged her shoes on. She made sure to douse the red coals in the fire pit, and that the bowls and cups were clean and turned down. She glanced around the room to note the sparseness and simplicity of the cabin.
“Emma?”
She turned to see William’s cocked head and curious eye and shook her head. “Coming.”
She left through the backdoor. Emma held William’s hand as he led her towards the horses and as she neared the chestnut, the horse lifted her head. Once again, Emma could see the gentleness in the horse’s eyes and smiled. Reaching up, she patted the animal’s ears and then rubbed over her nose. The horse snorted and the flare of her velvety nose on Emma’s palm made her laugh.
Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw William grin as he secured the saddle. “Ready, lass?”
Nodding, Emma allowed William to help her up into the saddle and secured her feet in the stirrups. She grasped the reins lightly and felt the horse shift under her. Emma was not versed in riding—she did not know all the tips and tricks to get the best out of a horse but was hoping William could teach her.
“Follow me, lass,” William ordered as he guided his dappled gray stallion forward onto a wide trail in the woods. Emma followed him, guiding the horse into a slow walk. The forest was not as dense in the middle, and Emma looked around to try and find out why.
The ground was littered with a riot of wildflowers and dead wood, only broken up by the roots of gnarly oak trees, and ancient pines dressed with hairy lichens that formed curtains to the forest floor. Emma tried to avoid the fronds but somehow, she always came out with a stray twig somewhere in her hair.
Bugs flew through the air and buzzed around her, and Emma nearly toppled over when she had let go of the reins to use both hands to swat the buzzing insects away. The bugs avoided her hand with ease and dashed onto her face. Incensed, Emma slapped and missed the bugs only to slap her own cheek. William’s laugh was not helping her disposition.
“Oh, be quiet,” Emma hissed while her face burned from both her slap and her embarrassment. Grasping the reins again, Emma huffed a breath out of puffed cheeks and urged the horse into a canter. Her stomach was uneasy with a mix of sensations—a sinking feeling for her embarrassment and then, secondly, a flipping, giddy sensation for how William was looking at her. His eyes held both amusement and fondness.
Unable to look back at him, Emma broke through the trees and found a wide meadow that separated the forest in two. It was twice as long as it was wide and Emma felt an unwise urge to spur the horse into a gallop.
With her knees, she urged the horse into a run, and loved how the wind blasted through her hair, stinging her face and watering her eyes. The horse slowed down and eventually came to a stop. It was not very wise but it was fun and she wished she could do it again.
“Oi!” William called as his stallion stopped a few feet away from her. “Ye scared me! D’ye want to give me an apoplexy, lass?”
Emma’s laugh was unrepentant, “Well, you have had one, have you?”
“Minx,” William guided his horse over to her with one hand on the reins until their horses were side-by-side. William’s leg brushed Emma’s. He reached over to her and framed his hand around her face. He leaned in and kissed her softly. “Don’t get me all wired up here, lass. The grass isn’t as soft as oor bed.”
Smiling, Emma twisted her head around and squinted at the horizon. “Is there…a town there?”
Her words spurred Willia
m to look into the same direction and he frowned, “Mayhap…it looks like an old village but we could go see. We’ll be fine, lass, me sword is with me.”
“Alright then,” Emma nodded.
They walked the horses to the far end of the meadow and crossed the grasslands with exchanged looks and not so secret knowing smiles. As William had predicted the town – if one could call it that – was nothing more than a husk of a village. The huts looked black and burnt out and the streets were abandoned.
There was a frown in the middle of William’s brow as if he was trying to place this village from a wealth of memories. Emma supposed that as a Laird’s son he should have known about the towns like this but then, his Clan was nowhere near this place. She noted that his hand was constantly inching to the hilt of his sword strapped to the side of the horse.
Disciplined by the Highlander: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 17
