Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel (5 page)

Much to Aileana’s surprise, when she opened her door in the morning, the guard was gone. No one at all was about in the passageway; the whole servants’ quarters appeared deserted. Her imprisonment had been short-lived. Dressed in her best wool gown and her hair painstakingly brushed to a lustrous sheen, she headed to the hall, expecting to find Errol waiting. After he’d left her last night, she curled up in her bed and fell asleep thinking about him and Sgùrr. Nothing so exciting had ever happened to her before. She hoped that in spite of upsetting the laird by running away, he’d understand why and forgive her. Ultimately, her heart had been in the right place.

As soon as she entered the hall, all heads turned her way. Even some of the men pointed and whispered behind cupped hands. She’d expected a certain amount of attention, but this? Her gaze darted to the high table, hoping to find Errol or his father, but both of their chairs were empty. Only the captains were seated and eating, but not Broc. Were the three men already in the laird’s solar discussing what happened? Did everyone in the hall know why she’d disappeared? Errol had specifically told her he’d meet her in the hall.

One of the kitchen maids approached her with a pitcher in her hand. Aileana preferred to escape before the girl had a chance to question or berate her. But Muriel moved swiftly, blocking her path to the kitchen.

“Yer cheeks are the color of berries, Aileana. What have you done now?”

“Nothing,” she replied, desperately wanting to push past the girl.

“Not only are you an outcast,” Muriel continued, “but now you’re a liar. Broc is a good man, and because of you, he got into a skirmish with Errol last night. What lies did you tell to the laird’s son while he escorted you back from wherever you ran away to?”

Aileana averted her eyes, ashamed and shocked to find out about the fight. The thought of being the cause of discontentment between Errol and his best friend made her edgy. Her flight instinct resurfaced, begging her to run.

“Are ye mute?” Muriel grabbed her wrist.

Aileana shook free. “Where is the laird?”

“In his solar.”

“And Errol?”

“No one knows. He walked out after spurning his sire in front of everyone last night. I wish he’d never found you, Aileana. We all think the day Alaric picked you up in the woods he should have headed for Loch Duich and drowned you like a wild dog.”

Aileana fought the tears that misted her eyes. What had she done to earn such cruelty? Yes, she’d rejected Broc. And yes, for some unknown reason Errol wanted to protect her. But that didn’t make her defective. She met the pretty blonde’s angry eyes.

“Don’t speak to me like that again,” she warned. “Laird MacRae and his son don’t tolerate such talk. And before you call me a liar again, Muriel, take a long look at your own soul.” Her heart beat frantically again for daring to challenge the maid. It seemed her willingness to endure suffering at the hands of the girls in the kitchen had ended. Maybe her cowardice had disappeared the day she met Sgùrr. The seer had advised her on many things, including how to defend herself.

Muriel put her hand on her hip, looking as if she wanted to say something else. But Aileana had no time for her. She stepped around Muriel and walked slowly to the kitchens. She searched for Margot and Edme, who were in charge of the entire household. Meat was roasting on spits over the open hearths. Half a dozen women were kneading dough on the long tables, while other maids watched it bake in the brick ovens. Another girl carried in an armload of wood and dropped it on the floor, then turned around to go get more. Everything seemed to be running efficiently, and it wasn’t unusual for her adopted mothers to be in the storage rooms.

Leah, one of the maids who liked her, smiled as Aileana made her way to the back doors. “Dearest Aileana, I am happy to see you here.” She wiped her hands on the apron she wore.

Grateful to find one friendly face, Aileana hugged her. “Where are Edme and Margot?”

“In the cold room, checking on the salted meat.”

“I wished to see them.” She sniffled, once again biting back tears.

“What is it?” Leah squeezed her hand affectionately.

“Muriel…”

Leah scrunched her nose. “What did that horse-faced lass say to ye?”

“Is it true Errol and Broc got into a fight?” She prayed it wasn’t.

“Aye.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and let out a little cry. “ ’Tis my fault.”

Leah shook her head. “Your fault? Broc is a rutting beast; he had another lass cornered by the stairs.” She leaned in and whispered in Aileana’s ear, “From what I heard, the laird’s son was defending your honor. There’s nothing you could have done to stop him. So Muriel and her minion of wagging-tongued heifers are spreading vicious lies about you bedding Broc and pursuing another man. They’re jealous of you, Aileana. Please try to forget it.”

Aileana appreciated her friend’s unwavering loyalty. But Leah’s reassurances did nothing to soothe her pride. Once a girl was labeled a whore, it mattered not. Her good name could never be restored, not that she’d had much of one to begin with. The idea of living with Sgùrr was quickly becoming her only option.

“I left my cloak in my room. May I borrow yours?”

Leah stared at her, unblinking. “Where are ye off to?”

“A walk.”

“Promise you won’t run away again.”

And risk Errol’s vehemence? “I won’t.”

Leah gave her a doubting look. “My cloak is hanging on the peg by the doors. But it’s bitter outside, Aileana. Breathing in cold air isna good for ye.”

She gave Leah a last hug and then hurried to the stairs before someone noticed where she was going. After securing the cloak around her shoulders, she opened the heavy wood doors and stepped into the snow. Overhead, the faint silhouette of the sun shone through the mist and clouds. She pulled the hood up to hide her face, unsure if the guards would forbid her from leaving the protective walls of the outer courtyard. She also didn’t know whether Errol had given them specific instructions to keep her inside. Making it past the chapel and stables, she walked through the gates and followed the footpath through the woods.

She often visited the small loch behind the stronghold at times she needed to think. Surrounded by thickets of birch trees and brush, it was a safe hiding place to escape the kitchens. The color of the water matched the overcast sky. Not yet frozen, the water rippled in the wind. As a girl, she swam and fished with the stable lads here, always eager to learn—always searching for a way to please the women in the kitchens. Of course her fish were never big enough and she was often chastised for getting the stone floor wet.

But if she concentrated hard enough and opened her heart, she could hear laughter, and pictured herself dressed in her linen shift chasing after the boys. For whatever reasons they’d accepted her, she took advantage of the opportunity to prove herself as fast and brave as they were.

A sad smile spread across her face as she scooped a long stick off the ground and shook the snow off. She edged closer to the shore, dipping the branch in the water. What she’d give to go back in time and relive those few happy memories she had. Sometimes she thought she remembered the day the warrior brought her to the MacRae keep.

How could she ever forget his kind, handsome face? Or the moment he forced her to drink ale to warm her blood? She’d coughed violently and he’d chuckled.
’Tis the best sound I’ve heard, lass. It means yer alive.
Then she fell asleep in his arms, wrapped in a thick fur, the jostling from the horse the closest sensation she’d had to being rocked in a mother’s arms.

Aileana tossed the stick in the water and watched it float. Somewhere in the Highlands her father or mother might be doing the same thing this very moment, staring across a loch and wondering where she was.

“Aileana?”

She didn’t want to turn around and find Errol standing behind her. But she knew his deep, melodic voice like no other. And she’d stood in his shadow often enough over the last few days to know it would cost her dearly to see his face again after what she’d heard from Muriel and Leah.

“Lass?”

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

The opposite shore seemed a safer place to focus on. But she knew she couldn’t avoid him. As the laird’s son and the only man who’d ever shown her any tenderness, she owed him the truth. “I’m ashamed about what happened between you and Broc.”

“Who told you?”

At his mercy, she slowly turned around. “I knew something must have transpired when I opened my chamber door and the guard was gone. But the worst came when I stepped into the hall. Every man, woman, and child turned. How can I ever show my face again?”

Errol stepped forward and cupped her cheek. “Remember what I told you about running away? Avoiding people who never respected you won’t change anything, Aileana. In a way, it makes them think they’ve won the battle. And with me at yer side, lass, that’s not going to happen.”

She welcomed his touch. Then her gaze traveled upward, finally braving his stare. “Why do you help me?” She felt so torn between her loyalty to the MacRaes and her newly discovered self-preservation. The short visit with Sgùrr had awakened something inside her.

“For many reasons,” he said, slipping his fingers into her curls. “The first being your beautiful hair.”

When he lowered his face, she realized he was going to kiss her. The fierce attraction she thought she felt back at the cave wasn’t a figment of her imagination. It was as real as the man standing in front of her. She held her breath as his lips brushed across hers. Her body cried out for more, but Aileana didn’t live under the auspices of illusion. Even if the laird’s son wanted her, it wouldn’t last. Nothing wonderful ever did. When he sought her mouth again she opened up to him. This time his tongue skirted along the seam of her lips. It warmed her insides.

He groaned and pulled back a few inches. “And the fire in your eyes. I can’t forget no matter how hard I try.”

She sighed. God forgive her for staring at the man the way she did. For the last two years she’d been exceedingly kind to him whenever she served him in the hall. A lingering smile, or an extra piece of meat and bread on his platter. Why hadn’t he noticed her interest then? Other maids caught his eye. Girls willing to lift their skirts.

“I-I…”

“Doona speak, lass.” Without a word, he closed his mouth over hers.

His fingers invaded her cloak, finding her arm, then a breast. Her nipple tightened with excitement. Though her mind screamed
stop,
Aileana refused to yield to fear. She’d had enough of cowering and hiding in the shadows. If Errol wanted a kiss, she’d give him one he’d never forget. Following his lead, her curious fingers followed the hard contours of his muscled arms. It felt so good. All that brawn and strength. Hours on the practice field had given him a form cut of stone. And unlike with Broc, when she touched Errol, desire infected her like a fever. Her whole body hummed with it. She could feel wet warmth between her legs. And the sensations that followed as her tongue tangled with his…

They frightened her.

She retreated, her eyes wide with confusion.

“What is it, lass?” He sounded deeply concerned.

“This isna right,” she said. “I know ye would never intentionally hurt me.” She searched his face for understanding, but didn’t find any. “I’ve been taught to guard my maidenhead as ferociously as a warrior would his lord. Forgive me, Errol.”

In another bold move, she’d broken a second rule and used his Christian name instead of
sir
or
master.
Regaining her wits, Aileana remembered why she’d snuck outside. And it didn’t involve getting lured into a passionate affair with the future laird. If anything, his seduction would only add to her burdens—an invisible chain that would bind her more closely to the family she was considering cutting ties with.

“Forgive me,” she said, turning to leave. “I temporarily lost my mind.”

As she briskly walked away, she realized she may have lost a piece of her heart in that fleeting exchange with Errol.

He shouldn’t have let her go. But damn, he had so many unexplainable feelings pent up. His own mind whirled with crazy thoughts. About Aileana. Unsated desire. The need to protect her. His disappointment in himself for striking Broc. How he’d failed over and over again to earn his father’s respect. Hiding outside wouldn’t change anything. Like he’d told Aileana after she ran away, the action would make him look weak and guilty. Errol kicked a large rock into the loch. It jumped the surface, then sank with a plop.

The perfect representation of his life. If he didn’t face his problems head-on, he’d sink quickly. With Aileana’s sweet fragrance still haunting his nose, he headed for the great hall. As he cleared the woods and entered the courtyard through the gates, guards and stable lads alike stopped and stared. Aileana hadn’t exaggerated. The looks he got were all-telling. Men were as hungry for gossip as any woman, though they pretended they weren’t. The stories floating about a late night fire would make the crudest of harlots blush.

“Milord,” Cameron MacRae, his father’s secretary, followed him through the front doors. “Your sire and Broc await you.”

Errol ignored this intrusion. The puny man reminded him of a gnat, always buzzing about. Only a good swat couldn’t get rid of him.

“Errol,” Cameron finally called with more authority.

Errol turned around with a frown. “I dinna give you leave to address me in public that way.”

Cameron shifted his feet nervously. “Your sire told me to do whatever was necessary to get you to his solar. They’ve been waiting for over an hour.” He stepped closer. “Your father is unwell, he’s gone through three handkerchiefs this morning.”

That piece of information made Errol reconsider his attitude. “Blood?”

“More than I’ve ever seen, sir.”

Shite.
Errol knew his father’s health was deteriorating by the day. And what did he do? Instead of comforting him the way a good son should, he continued to add to his sire’s misery. Oh, he did whatever his father asked of him, though seldom without a fight. “Forgive my foul mood this morn,” Errol said. “I’ve had no sleep. Take me to my father.”

Cameron sighed with relief and folded his hands across his stomach. “Thank ye.”

Errol followed him abovestairs, then entered his father’s private rooms. As expected, the laird’s solar was the most luxurious space in the keep. The oak tester bed was relegated to a screened-off section in the far corner. Sitting behind his ornately carved oak desk, surrounded by the colorful tapestries hanging on the walls and his collection of Norman-made oak and ironbound strong chests, filled with manuscripts and clan documents, Laird MacRae looked more like a king. Four carved armchairs were stationed near his desk, and Errol claimed the one farthest from Broc. Sunlight filtered in through the single rectangular window set high in the stone wall. And a hearty fire roared in the hearth across the way.

“It seems my son has finally returned.” Laird MacRae gazed at Cameron.

“Aye,” the secretary agreed, claiming his usual spot, standing behind the laird’s left shoulder.

“I apologize for the delay,” Errol said. “I required some time to comfort the lass.”

“Is Aileana well?” Laird MacRae asked.

“As well as can be expected.” Errol looked to Broc, who appeared unaffected by his overindulgence in spirits, and unrepentant.

“Are you prepared to tell me what happened last night?” His father gazed at him.

Errol held his blue stare. “What has Broc told you?”

“Nothing.” The laird waved his hands. “As my son you have the right to speak first.”

“I would request a moment alone with my friend.”

“Nay,” the laird said. “Enough time has passed. And after your unscrupulous behavior last night, I want to hear whatever the two of you have to say in your own defense.”

Errol cleared his throat. “I am unsure Broc is prepared to share the truth, much less admit to his wrongdoings.” Errol intensified his focus on his friend. “Some words can never be forgotten.”

Broc’s mouth opened, but then snapped shut as if he’d thought better of saying anything.

“Your captain has expressed interest in marrying Aileana,” Errol started.

The laird’s expression remained unchanged as he eyed Broc. “Is this true?”

“Aye.”

“I had hoped for such a union someday. The lass has earned a special place in my heart. She’s faced a hard start—the spite of many of the women, superstitious fools that they are. And let us not forget the rumors of her origins. How one head of red curls could earn the vexation of half a clan, I know not.”

Errol rubbed his chin anxiously. His father should know the answer. “None of the women in our bloodline have red hair.”

“Yes, yes,” Laird MacRae said dismissively. “The MacDonalds are known to father such daughters. Do you think I don’t hear the whispers at the high table? Nonsense, all of it. And if ye ask the lass, she will tell you how often I’ve warned the women to stop cursing her.”

“And that obedience lasts as long as yer within earshot,” Errol commented, his ire rising.

“She’s a spirited girl,” Broc said. “With some patience and a little discipline, she’ll come to heel.”

Errol snorted. “Like a dog.”

His father’s head jerked in his direction. “You oppose this match?”

Errol sucked in a breath, knowing the consequences if he spoke truthfully. Was the lass worth losing a lifelong friend over? Would Broc hate him hereinafter? And in addition to a lost friendship, the last thing Errol wanted was to gain an enemy within the ranks of the men he’d one day lead. But that kiss at the loch had sealed his fate. Though she might not be meant for him, Errol knew a man worthy of her heart was somewhere close by. He gazed at Broc again, hoping to catch a hint of humility. But none existed. The warrior puffed his chest out and opened and closed his fists. Arrogance served no one. And if he judged correctly, Broc only wanted Aileana because she’d rejected him. He’d take her to wife to prove a point, not out of love or admiration for the girl’s indomitable spirit.

If given the chance, Broc would break that spirit.

Errol leaned forward in his chair. “Aye, father. I oppose it.”

Even the usually silent Cameron gasped with surprise.

“On what grounds?” his father demanded.

“The lass doesna wish to couple with Broc.”

Laird MacRae chuckled. “If we let our women choose their husbands, this keep would be short of skirts.”

Broc grinned.

“Ask him what uncivilized tactics he’s used to woo the girl.”

This seemed to interest his father, his gray eyebrows shooting up. “Tell me.”

Broc’s cheeks turned red, a silent admission of his guilt. “A stolen kiss or two in the kitchen.”

“I hardly see the fault in such an innocent—”

“ ’Tis a lie.” Errol stood, then addressed his friend. “Doona make me speak the words. Withdraw your suit and we will forget this ever happened.”

Laird MacRae looked from one man to the other. “Is there another willing to claim her?”

Errol’s heart thundered. “Let the lass choose.”

“No,” his father said. “ ’Tis better to decide her fate now. I’ll not have my captains and son fighting over her like stags in rut. A husband is the only solution. Aileana is a lovely girl. If I were a younger man again, I’d happily overlook her birthright and pursue her with unbridled joy.”

Was his father trying to tell him something? When Errol was a lad, his sire had always promised him the privilege of choosing his own wife. The laird didn’t wish his only son to be burdened with an unhappy union the way he had been. Eventually his parents had fallen in love. A rare thing in the Highlands, where arranged marriages were as common as dunghills.

“Blessed Virgin,” Errol said as he started to pace. “I see no reason to rush the decision. The girl is hardly settled. When I found her, she told me she didn’t wish to return here. Forcing her to wed isna going to renew her faith in our family. If anything, it will make her run.”

“If the good Lord said a married woman is anxious about worldly things and how to please her husband, then I’ll trust His wisdom,” Laird MacRae said. “Do ye still wish to marry the lass, Broc?”

“Aye.”

“Errol? If you can’t think of another, I will bless…”

Errol didn’t envy any man trapped by the bonds of matrimony, but he respected the institution for what it was. Suddenly the remembrance of soft red curls and bright blue eyes stole his breath. Hungry lips met his and opened willingly, her tongue as curious to explore the depths of his mouth as he was hers. The fullness of her breast in his palm, how her pert little nipple teased his fingers. She gasped with shock when he pinched it, and her tiny hands explored his body appreciatively. It felt right. So perfect. She might be a virgin, but desire flowed like a river beneath her virtuous skin. That moment of mutual attraction had captured more than his attention.

Furthermore, if they were betrothed, he could shield her from men like Broc.

“I claim her, Father.”

Laird MacRae smiled and folded his hands on the desk, then leaned back in his chair, appearing triumphant. “Cameron?”

“Yes, milord?”

“I expect a marriage contract by tomorrow evening, when we will announce my son’s betrothal.”

Broc grimaced at Errol, contempt burning in his eyes before he whipped around to Laird MacRae. “Am I excused, milord?”

“Do you wish to challenge my son’s claim?”

“No.”

“You may go, then.”

Broc stood and left the solar.

“Congratulations, Errol. I pray you find happiness with Aileana.”

Humbled by his decision, Errol nodded, his mind and heart filled with conflicting emotions. “I suppose I should share the good news with the lass.”

“Yes,” his father agreed. “The sooner she knows, the better for all of us.”