Highlander Claimed

I wiped the tear away. “’Tis nothing. I’m fine.”

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you,” she said quietly. “I’ve never heard that kind of longing in his voice, not once.” She spoke with an almost reverential tone, as if the connection she’d witnessed with her own eyes carried weight and power. “Don’t let Knox and Kade frighten you. They have Wilkie’s best interests at heart, always. They will do anything to speed his full recovery. Clearly you will play a part in that recovery. Take heart.”

And I did. Her words calmed me. “I thank you for your kindness, Christie,” I said.

“And I thank you for having the courage to save Wilkie, and to summon help for him. Now go. They’ll not want to be kept waiting.”

She opened the door for me, and Kade motioned for me to follow him, which I did. He led me out of Wilkie’s antechamber, down a hall lit with candles that sat in grooves carved into the stone walls, down a wide, curving set of wooden stairs, to the grand hallway. Having only a hazy memory of the castle’s interior from the night of my arrival, I was agog at the splendor of it. The Mackenzie castle was not, as I’d guessed at my first impression, wildly more prosperous than the Ogilvie manor. Rather, I realized, it was merely much more beautifully maintained. Careful attention had gone into each and every detail of both the land and the manor, administered by a clan who clearly cherished their space and were talented at enhancing all it had to offer. I valued this sentiment and felt even more drawn to this clan by the discovery.

We entered the grand hallway, with its richly colored hanging tapestries, its fine furniture, its highly polished pewter candelabras. I could appreciate that someone had taken special care with these candelabras; I had polished many similar pieces in my time but had never achieved such a rich gleam. Not that I had tried especially diligently, but still. It was admirable.

Laird Mackenzie was pacing in front of the large fireplace. He was the only one in attendance, and the look on his face as we approached him suggested he was tired of waiting, and had other pressing matters to attend to.

He took in, again, my disheveled men’s garb and stared at me coldly. “Sit,” he commanded, signaling to one of several chairs placed near the fire. I obeyed him, and took my place.

Kade sat in another chair, but the laird continued to stand, and his eyes did not waver in their scrutiny. I felt wildly out of place under the laird’s direct gaze. I tried to smooth my long hair, aware that I hadn’t brushed it in quite some time.

“I expect you to answer all of my questions truthfully,” the laird said. “Are you willing to speak to me?”

I was hungry, and sore. I felt chilled and at the same overheated. I wanted to eat and bathe, to sleep and, most of all, to visit Wilkie. But all those things would have to wait. I knew I owed the laird his explanation. “Aye, Laird Mackenzie. I am at your service.” I sat up straight and waited for the inquiry to begin.

“Firstly,” the laird said. “I will thank you for summoning us. For not leaving Wilkie to die.”

This surprised me. I wasn’t used to receiving thanks from anyone, especially a man of Laird Mackenzie’s station. But my small satisfaction at the redress was short-lived. I knew that as soon as he learned that I had been the one to injure Wilkie, the laird’s gratitude would most certainly give way to anger and hostility.

“I could not have left him to die. Not when it was my fault—”

“We’ll get to that in a moment,” the laird said. “Tell me first, where do you hail from?”

“Clan Ogilvie.”

“Ogilvie? You’ve traveled far, alone. We can arrange for you to be returned to your clan.” He paused. “Once our brother has healed.”

“I cannot return to Ogilvie,” I said.

The two men exchanged glances.

“What reason do you have for running from your clan?” asked the laird. “’Tis a dangerous course of action, leaving yourself alone and unprotected.”

They awaited my response.

“I’m the adopted daughter of an Ogilvie clan landholder, Oliver Ogilvie. I was skilled in horticulture, and was training as an apprentice healer. I was valued as a gatherer, gardener and provider of medicinal herbs. For a time. Upon my parents’ deaths, I was relegated to kitchen duties. I carried them out dutifully for the most part. But, more recently—”

“Why were you reassigned?” interrupted Laird Mackenzie. He knew, as I did, that it was unusual for a clanmember to change positions in the household; usually a demotion was the result of misbehavior of one sort or another.

“I—” This was somewhat difficult to answer. “I believe he reassigned me because I refused certain...proposals. See, the laird intended...other duties. Which I wasn’t willing to perform. I didn’t set out to, but—” I faltered.

It was true that I might have possibly been putting myself at risk admitting the details of my story to these powerful brothers. But I was no longer acting purely in the interest of self-preservation. I wanted to see Wilkie again, soon. And from the little I did know about the Mackenzies, I suspected they valued integrity and honor. And so did I. I had committed crimes, aye, but not out of spite or malice. Only because I had been provoked by a bully who had carried out unspeakable wrongs against my family. I could lie to these brothers or tell them half-truths. But I knew them, so far, to be curious, forceful and very thorough. They also had every power over the decision of my fate and whether or not I would be allowed to return to Wilkie. And that, above all else—to be hereafter denied his presence—terrified me.

“But what?” Kade prodded.

“I—I retaliated.”

“Retaliated?” asked Kade, highly interested. “In what way?”

“With a small kitchen knife.” I touched my stomach to approximate the area where I’d wounded Laird Ogilvie. “There.”

They considered this briefly.

“Laird Ogilvie forced himself upon you while you were under his care and protection,” the laird repeated, as though to make sure he understood.

“He attempted to, aye. I wasn’t amenable to his suggestions.”

The two men continued to stare at me with a mixture of confusion, amusement and disbelief. Kade, especially, seemed entertained by my tale. “So you fled, making your way alone across great distances, to find shelter for yourself in a cave on top of a mountain.”

“Aye.”

“A courageous undertaking,” Kade commented.

“A desperate undertaking,” I clarified.

Kade studied me, rubbing his hand along his jaw, as though in concentration. “Aye, it appears you were desperate. Even so, the choices you made took a certain element of courage, I daresay. And to present yourself here, to us, in this way, without knowing what our reaction to you might be—also a daring endeavor.”

Laird Mackenzie seemed less interested in my personality traits and more concerned about the details of my backstory that would explain not only what had brought about my arrival at their keep, but also what had led to Wilkie’s injuries. There was impatience in his tone and his manner when he said, “And we can be grateful for the lass’s audacious nerve. If she wasn’t bold enough to present herself, Wilkie may not have survived the night.” He returned to his line of questioning. “You say you were adopted by an Ogilvie landholder. Who are your parents, by birth?”

“I have no knowledge of that. An Ogilvie farmer—my father—found me, wandering as a child.”

Kade rose, and the noise of his weaponry jangled from his movement. He stood with his legs apart and his hard-muscled arms folded across his chest: a man’s stance and one that commanded attention. I met his gaze and detected in the slight narrowing of his light blue eyes and the lifted tilt of his chin that he admired my intrepid retaliation against Laird Ogilvie. I could read in his expression a small but unmistakable hint of respect. This detail not only gave me heart, but it also made me feel less afraid. And I was grateful to him for that.

“Roses, the wanderer,” said Kade.

“That was many years ago,” I said. “I was but a child of three years.”

“And still you wander,” he commented.

“I would prefer not to wander. I was given no choice.”

The laird drew his hand through his dark hair. At that moment his resemblance to his infirmed brother, whose presence I missed so fervently it felt like a physical ache, was remarkable. It occurred to me then that I’d never looked like anyone I knew in the entirety of my life. “Was it you who injured Wilkie?”

I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to anger them, and I knew this information would. But there was no way around it. “I stole some fruit from your orchards, and was taking my leave with it, using a ladder I had made. Wilkie was... Wilkie saw me and chased after me.”

“She’s not only brave but also industrious,” commented Kade.

The laird ignored this, waiting for me to continue.

“He chased me to the cave,” I said. “I refused to reveal myself to him. He attempted to remove the helmet I wore, with his sword. I struck at it. He struck back, and I reacted.”

“By nearly gutting him,” Kade pointed out, not without anger. Despite it all, I found that I wanted their respect and their approval. I had a fleeting thought that in different circumstances altogether, I might like these brothers. The men continued their quest to intimidate me, seemingly having difficulty believing that the person they stared at now was one and the same as the attacker who’d struck down their mighty warrior of a brother. The same brother who had held me firmly locked in his grasp, for comfort, unfathomably. It occurred to me then that Wilkie, in his unconscious mind, had fought to hold me close until he was possessing of his strength once again and could exact his revenge. But I remembered his eyes, and his mouth on my lips and my body as he kissed me, and I felt reassured that this was not his reason for wanting me near.

After several long seconds, the laird continued his line of questioning, “And Ogilvie has no idea where it is you’ve fled to?”

“Nay. If he knew where I was, he’d come for me. He’ll seek revenge upon me, I’m certain of it.”

“So you ask us for protection,” the laird interpreted curtly. Here was the incense I’d known to expect. But his words, even if blanketed in anger, surprised me. In fact it hadn’t occurred to me to ask them for protection. It had been a long time since I’d relied on anyone other than myself for defense of my person. Ogilvie’s gated walls had provided little sense of safety for me in the past. I would admit, as I considered it, that the Mackenzies’ walls afforded an entirely different sensibility.

“Even after you caused our brother grievous harm with the small sword you carry,” followed Kade, less amused now. “Another courageous undertaking, I daresay, considering the size of you.”

“He struck me first.”

“I find that highly difficult to believe,” Kade retorted. “Wilkie would never strike a woman.”

“He believed me to be a man,” I explained, fearful of Kade’s quietly ferocious tone. “I wore a war helmet. I refused to show my face to him. Until after we were both injured. He removed my helmet.”

“How severe is your wound?” asked the laird.

I proceeded to roll up the left sleeve of my tunic, where the new dressing was seeped through with blood. I unwound the bandage.

“Clearly he had no intention of harming you seriously,” Kade commented.

It was a slice off the top layer of muscle of my upper arm that pained me more than I was willing to admit. Now that Kade mentioned it, I was certain he was right: if Wilkie had intended to injure me fatally, he very likely would have.

“How long had you been traveling, when Wilkie found you?” the laird asked.

“Two days,” I said. “I lost my horse when I was caught by a member of Ogilvie’s search party. He allowed me to escape.”

“He allowed you to escape, even after Ogilvie had ordered you to be returned?” Laird Mackenzie sounded highly irked by the thought of a soldier disobeying the orders of his laird.

“He is known to me,” I explained. “He taught me how to fight.”

Kade folded his arms across his chest. “And why, pray tell, would a lass have the inclination to learn swordsmanship?”

“To protect myself.”

“From?” the laird prodded.

“From Laird Ogilvie, as I explained. I suspected his intentions some time ago. I was afraid of him. And so I asked Ritchie to teach me some skills. In case I needed them.”

“Where were you intending to go?” Kade asked.

“I meant to travel to the Macduff lands,” I said. “Una Macduff was first of the Ogilvie clan. It was years ago when she married, but I had hoped, if I went to her, she might show me mercy, and allow me to stay. I passed by your keep, and I saw your fields from afar. I had no food for my journey.”

“So you decided to thieve from us,” said the laird.

“I’ll repay you, Laird Mackenzie. I’m not a thief.” I corrected myself. “I wasn’t a thief. Until yesterday. I offer you my services,” I said. “If you have need of a kitchen servant, or I’m skilled in the gardens. I can assist Effie. Ismay, the Ogilvie healer, continued to teach me in quieter moments. I can sew, as well. I’ll work until my debt is done.”

Laird Mackenzie paced across the stonework in front of the crackling fire. “You really have no idea about your bloodline?” An almost pitying note clung to his question, as though he felt for me in this regard and considered it a great loss.

His mild empathy touched me. And in the aftermath of this intense interrogation, I appreciated their patience and their acceptance of all I had revealed. I had a sudden and wild longing to belong to a family like theirs, and to know the kind of affection they so clearly shared for one another. For a very brief moment, I grappled with a desire to show them my tattoo and to reveal my deepest, darkest secret. I wished this horrible mystery could once and for all be solved, whatever the consequences. I imagined sharing it with them might bring me one step closer to them, that they might see that I trusted them, and they might be more inclined to trust me, in return.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Such a revelation would likely see me cast out in due haste and with disgust. I would never see Wilkie again, not even to bid him farewell.

So I decided against it. “Nay,” I said, thoroughly drained.

The laird stopped pacing. He spoke softly, yet there was a steely authority to his words. “You will remain here, for now, to comfort my brother. It seems you have a calming effect on him, which may help him to heal more quickly. It will be up to him to decide how you’ll be employed.”

I fell silent, and he continued.

“You will stay in his antechamber, under chaperone, to serve his requests for your company. Your reputation, at this point, is hardly an issue, but if you wish it, your presence in his chambers will remain secretive, aside from myself, Kade, Effie and our sisters, who will assist you with clothing. You will be fed, and you will be under our protection until our brother is fit enough to decide your fate. Our clanspeople, if they ask, will be told that you are an apprentice healer to Effie, hailing from a distant clan...Macduff, perhaps. And you will assist her as she tends to Wilkie’s injury.” His light gray eyes were unsettlingly cool. “Do you agree to these terms?”

Did I have a choice in the matter? I could return to the cave, to Ogilvie, or travel for weeks across the windswept Highlands without food in the hopes that a long-ago acquaintance might take pity on me.

“Aye.”

“’Tis settled, then,” said the laird. “Until Wilkie revives.”

* * *

ONCE THE MEETING HAD concluded, I was taken by Christie and Ailie back to Wilkie’s antechamber, where a bath was being prepared for me. Wilkie’s sisters—now that they had been informed of the ongoing arrangements of my stay—were determined to clean me up.

A large bathing tub, filled and steaming, had been placed next to the fireplace, where flames danced invitingly. An embroidered privacy screen had been placed next to the tub, and several luxurious-looking garments had been laid on one of the beds.

Ailie led me to the bath. “Here, Roses. A hot bath will ease you.”

I hoped she was right. I could admit that I still was not feeling myself at all.

The scent of soap perfumed the humid warmth of the room. Ailie and Christie laid out a robe and a drying cloth. I did not yet begin to remove my clothing, although it might have been expected of me. Christie touched my hair, stroking it lightly. “Such unusual hair you have, Roses. ’Tis lovely. So long and so fair.” I felt out of place being served and attended to; I had always before been the one doing the serving.

Christie remained welcoming and verbose, buoyed by the intrigue of my arrival and my presence. Ailie was quieter, and I suspected she wondered at my ongoing placement in her brother’s chambers and what it might mean to him, to her, to all of us. I guessed from her manner and her curious eyes that she could feel it, and so had I, and strongly: an unusualness to the intensity of my connection to Wilkie, and his to me. She seemed to possess an extraordinary perceptiveness, and I found, rather than feeling wary of her study, I felt drawn to her.

The sisters began to help me undress, and I was hesitant, conscious as ever of revealing my tattoo. But the heavy mass of my long hair covered me and I made a point of moving carefully so as not to displace it. I eased my sore body into to the tub.

The hot water was divine and seemed to wash away many of my aches and my fears for the moment. I washed my body and hair with a scented soap, rinsing several times.

“We brought several dresses for you to choose from, Roses,” said Christie, easing me immeasurably with the happy, easy sound of her chatter. “I thought the green, to go with your eyes. Aside from your golden-white hair, it was the first thing I noticed about you. The light green of your eyes. But then Ailie thought the pale yellow, to offset the tones of your hair.”

“Either one of them will be perfect,” I said.

“Do you have a favorite color, Roses? You know I guessed it to be pink, I don’t know why. So we brought a pink one, as well.”

“It is pink,” I told her. Not that I had ever had the opportunity to wear a pink dress, or a green one, or a pale yellow one. Course calico fabrics woven from wool by Ogilvie seamstresses were generally varying shades of beige or brown.

“Ailie orders the fabrics from Edinburgh. Occasionally we even make the trip ourselves, with escorts, of course. Kade came with us last time. And Knox the time before that. ’Tis so sophisticated, Edinburgh. I simply love the activity of the place, and the shops. Have you ever been to Edinburgh, Roses?”

“Nay, never.” In fact, before this adventure, I had never been away from the Ogilvie keep before, or at least not that I could remember.

The steam of the bath did odd things to my thoughts, hazing them in subtle incoherence, as if I was not wholly aware of this place. I felt almost alarmingly dazed and distant, and I missed Wilkie. My fingertips yearned to feather themselves over the scar-roughened textures of his skin. My mouth watered at the thought of his taste, the exploration of his tongue.

As though in answer, I heard Wilkie’s voice, calling to me from his chambers. My name.

“I should go to him,” I heard myself say.

I rose from my bath, feeling wildly unsteady, looking for a drying cloth.

“Nay, Roses,” urged Ailie, gently easing me back into the bath. “You cannot possibly go to him like this. Finish your bath, then we’ll take you to him.”

But there was a crashing noise coming from Wilkie’s chambers, as if he was up and bumping into things. He was looking for me, calling to me.

“I must,” I said, stepping from the bath, barely noticing my nakedness and the drip of the bathwater onto the floor, such was the muddled and needy state of my mind. “He needs me.”

More banging noises could be heard from Wilkie’s chambers.

“What’s he doing in there?” asked Christie, to no one in particular. I heard another crash and a groan. My name.

I was becoming frantic, making my way toward Wilkie’s door as Ailie acquiesced, wrapping a dressing gown around me, not bothering to dry me first. “Here, then, Roses. Wait. Let me tie it.” She pulled the tie tight around my waist just as I was able to open the door.

And Wilkie was there, reaching the door at the same time. When he saw me, his eyes widened. He was flushed, his blue eyes blazing. Behind him, several chairs were overturned, and the furs of his bed were disheveled; some of them had fallen to the floor. He was dressed only in his underclothes. His wound was rebloodied from his exertions, and a small line of dark red had bled through the bandages.

Before I could even react to him, I was surrounded in an all-encompassing clinch against his big, fiery body. He buried his face in the damp strands of my hair, weaving his fingers through it almost painfully, inhaling deeply, holding me close as though trying to pull me into himself. “God in heaven, deliver me,” he murmured, clearly overcome by delirium. “I need you, angel.”

He was unsteady on his feet and leaned us against the wall, swaying slightly as though he might fall.

“Wilkie!” cried his sisters.

I tried to pull away from him, to lead him back to his bed. But he wouldn’t budge. He was thoroughly unconcerned by my robe, my wetness, the inappropriateness of our coiled embrace, and his own aggravated injury. He held on to me tightly, blindly pressing his face into my neck, breathing heavily of my scent.

“’Tis dark indeed without your sunlight, Roses,” he rasped gruffly, quietly, into my ear. “Come back to me.”

“I’m here, warrior,” I said, unsettled both because I wanted to calm him and also because the worried faces and hands of his two sisters were pulling me away from him. They were leading Wilkie back to his bed and me along with him, as he would not loosen his hold on me. They were wiping at his wound and calling for Effie. I felt disengaged from them, focused only on Wilkie and his clear delirium, and also my own, and his strong refusal to follow any request unless I was within his grasp. I held on to his hand as he was eased back into his bed. All was hazy, as though I was channeling Wilkie’s fever, following him into it, deeper and deeper, to lead him once again back into the light.

I was aware only that I was holding his hand. Abstractly, I noticed that Christie was settling me into a cushiony chair next to his bed, draping me with furs, giving me a sip of tea, as Effie arrived and once again attended to Wilkie. My focus was entirely on the hold of his hand, the heat and strength of it, the rough texture of his fingers. As my consciousness drifted from me, I grasped his hand as tightly as he was clutching mine. It took effort, maintaining my grip even as darkness overtook me. If I could just hold on to that hand. I would be strong and safe. Warmed by the sun. Alive. And I would not be alone. If I could just hold on...

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