Healing the Highlander Read online

  “Hugh warned me years ago that my Richard was gone, but did I listen? No. I dinna want to believe the things he told me of my own sweet lad.” The old woman sighed again, though this time she sounded more exasperated than sad. “It’s beyond my reason at times, lass. It’s no like we raised yer own good father any different from his brother.”

  A warm buzz filled Leah’s heart as she poured steaming water over the fragrant herb pouch. At times like this, it seemed to Leah that Margery had pretended to be her grandmother for such a long time she didn’t even see it as pretending any more. In fact, Leah suspected that had as much to do with what Margery wanted to be the truth as it had ever had with protecting Leah.

  Yet another reason she’d grown to love Margery and Hugh so much.

  “Grandpa Hugh will be home any day now. He’ll know what to do when he gets here.” Leah hoped he would, anyway. He was already past the date they’d expected his return.

  Margery snorted inelegantly before lifting her cup to blow across the hot liquid. “When yer Grandpa Hugh hears that his elder son has claimed MacQuarrie Keep in the name of Edward and England, he’ll—” She sputtered to a halt as if searching for the perfect description of what her husband might do.

  “He’ll have a shit fit,” Leah finished for her. Hugh might be getting well on in years, but he had a sound mind and hearty temper to go along with it. The old guy was going to be royally pissed when he found out what his son was up to.

  Margery took a small sip and pursed her lips, casting what Leah always thought of as the Eagle-Eye look in Leah’s direction. “That disna sound like a proper thing for a lady to be saying, lass. You’ll want to counsel that tongue of yers while we’ve so many guests in our home.” Another sip of tea was followed by another sigh. “But yer words do have the sound of anger to them, and in truth, I’m no sure they’re even half so strong as what yer Grandpa Hugh will be feeling.”

  Guests? More like invaders. Still, Grandma Mac made a valid point with her advice to watch what she said. In the seclusion of MacQuarrie Keep, she’d grown comfortable and allowed her vigilance to drop.

  When she’d first come to this time from the twenty-first century, Leah had worked hard to learn to modify her behavior and speech to conform to what was appropriate for her new life here. For the most part, she knew the expectations.

  But knowing how to behave and speak like a proper fourteenth-century lady and actually doing it all the time were often two totally unconnected activities for her. The patterns of speech these people used still didn’t come naturally to her and, unless she stopped to think about what she was going to say, she reverted to being herself. The inhabitants of the keep were used to her oddities and took them all in stride, but Dick and his men? They were a whole different story.

  “I canna but believe Richard was of a mind to frighten you and nothing more with all his blether about marriage. I’m sure he’s no truly intending to try such a thing.”

  Glancing up from pouring her own tea at Margery’s words, Leah noted the older woman’s sudden fascination with the contents in her cup. Well she might avoid eye contact. By now she had to realize that slimy firstborn of hers was capable of just about anything. She also had to realize, as Leah did, his comments about handing Leah over to some ally of his in marriage were not an idle threat but a statement of fact. Pure and simple.

  Leah shrugged as she made her way over to sit on a cushion next to Margery’s chair. “He didn’t frighten me.” No point in upsetting her grandmother any more than she already was.

  Margery’s skeptically raised eyebrow was her only response.

  “Really. He didn’t.”

  The eyebrow didn’t move.

  Her grandmother knew her far too well, it seemed.

  “Okay. Fine. Maybe he did rattle me a little bit.”

  How could she not be rattled? They’d sat through a horribly uncomfortable meal with Richard occupying his father’s seat at the table as if he had a right to. It probably hadn’t been her most clever move to point out to him his error, but the arrogance of his taking that seat had irritated her beyond good caution.

  He’d cast that oily, disgusted look of his in her direction and taken that opportunity to inform them both that in order to seal alliances in England, he’d decided his niece should marry.

  His niece. Her!

  “Hugh will deal with Richard and all his nonsense when he returns, sweetling. Dinna you fret. For now we’ll simply—”

  “Mistress!”

  Margery’s words were cut short by Maisey’s excited entrance, her wrinkled face pink with exertion.

  Leah jumped up from her spot on the floor and hurried across the room to the old maid’s assistance.

  “Catch yer breath first, dear,” Margery cautioned, slowly pushing herself up to stand. “And then you can tell us what has you so a-twitter.”

  Maisey’s sleeves were pushed up over her elbows, a sure sign she’d been cleaning again, though Leah had overheard Margery tell her a thousand times she should leave those chores for the younger girls.

  The old maid blew out a breath and grinned, grasping onto Leah’s arm for support. “It’s our good laird, my lady. He’s come home. As soon as I saw him and my lads riding into the bailey, I made straightaway to find you.”

  Maisey’s “lads” were her forty-plus-year-old son and her husband, Walter, who Leah was convinced must be ninety if he was a day.

  “Lord’s mercy,” Margery grumbled, pushing herself out of her chair and heading for the door. “I dinna want to think on what will happen if Richard confronts his father before I’ve had the chance to speak to him first. The two of them were never . . .”

  The rest of her comments were lost as she rushed past and into the hallway, muttering as she went.

  Not that Leah needed to hear the words. She had the same concerns about that first meeting between Hugh and Richard. Hugh’s quick temper and Richard’s snotty attitude of superiority were not going to make for a pleasant reunion. It wouldn’t be so much oil and water as it would gasoline and lit matches.

  She fought the need to toss Maisey’s hand from her arm and dash after Margery. The sweet old lady leaning on her for support had obviously winded herself rushing up here to get them, so she would simply have to bide her time, following along more slowly.

  In spite of her best efforts, her impatience must have shown through. They’d made it only midway down the hall toward the stairs when Maisey pulled her hand away and rested it against the wall, taking her weight off Leah.

  “Go on with you, lassie. I’ll follow at me own pace. You’d best be off to help Mistress Margery. Something tells me she’ll need all the help she can get.”

  Obviously she wasn’t the only one expecting the worst from the father-and-son reunion.

  With a quick kiss to Maisey’s leathered cheek, Leah took off down the stairs at a run.

  Angry raised voices reached her ears as she slipped through the large entry door and she quickly realized all their fears had been justified.

  In the middle of the bailey her grandmother stood like a statue, her arms outstretched to either side. One hand rested on her husband’s chest, the other on her son’s, as if by sheer force of will she could keep the men from a physical brawl.

  “Stop it!” Margery ordered, her frame all but dwarfed between the two men. “Both of you! You’ll stop it right now.”

  Not good. Margery might be a force unto herself, but the men on either side of her looked to be beyond what reason could control.

  Leah jumped over the last step, grabbing up handfuls of skirt so she wouldn’t trip as she hit the ground at a run.

  “You’ll gather these English dogs you’ve brought with you and you’ll haul yer worthless carcasses back to yer . . . king.” Hugh spat the final word, as if it disgusted him to have it cross his tongue.

  “Edward is your rightful sovereign as well.” Richard took a step back from his mother, laying a threatening hand on the sword he wore at his
hip. “Unless you side with the likes of Wallace and his traitorous rabble. Even the Red Comyn has had the good sense to swear fealty to Edward.”

  “Aye, that he did. And as I heard word of it, yer king guaranteed in those negotiations there’d be no disinheritance or reprisals. I’ve no bones to pick nor sides to take in yer fights. As laird of the MacQuarries, my responsibility and only concern is for my people and their safety. And since yer no longer one of my people, Hawthorne, yer no welcome here. Now take yer men and leave.”

  Leah had slowed her steps as she’d neared the men, the tension sparking between them assaulting her senses. But now she felt a need to move closer. The bright red color Hugh’s naturally ruddy face had turned concerned her. He was too old to be getting himself so worked up. Seventy-eight might be the new fifty in the century she’d left behind, but in this century, seventy-eight was like living on borrowed time.

  When she reached his side, she slipped her hand into his before meeting Richard’s scowl. Hugh’s subtle squeeze to her fingers reassured her that he hadn’t completely lost control of himself.

  Richard’s lips curled in an oily parody of smile. “In that case, you no longer have a need to concern yourself. I’ve a document inside, stamped with the seal of King Edward himself, turning these lands over to my keeping, to hold in his name.”

  Beside her, Hugh stiffened, his hand dropping hers as he crossed his arms. “That I canna allow.”

  “You have no choice in the matter, old man.” Richard turned his back to them, taking no more than a single step before his mother grabbed his arm.

  “I’ll no have you speaking to yer father in that tone. You may have abandoned all we hold dear, but he’s still yer father and you owe him yer respect.”

  “I owe him nothing. As firstborn, all of this is mine by rights.” Richard plucked his mother’s hand from his arm, dropping it as if he found her touch distasteful.

  “No so long as yer father lives,” Margery countered.

  “Which may not be all that long,” he responded, his fake smile back in place.

  Margery’s hand snaked out like lightning, a loud thwack echoing in the courtyard as her backhand caught Richard along his jaw, snapping his head to the side.

  As if she were frozen to the spot, Leah watched in helpless horror while her peaceful world crumbled, crashing down around her.

  Richard grabbed Margery’s upper arms, giving her a violent shake that bobbled her head forward and back before shoving her away. Her balance lost, she stumbled to the ground.

  To Leah’s right, an enormous bellow erupted from Hugh and he charged toward his son only to be held in check by two men who rushed forward, pinning him to his spot.

  A jolt of air rushed into Leah’s lungs, as if she’d held her breath too long, even as the heat of anger scorched through her mind. Slipping past the men who held Hugh in place, she ran to Margery, kneeling down to grasp the older woman’s frail shoulders.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself! What kind of ass treats his own mother like that?” she yelled in Richard’s general direction, focusing her attention on helping Margery to sit up.

  He spun on his heel, glaring down at her. “You’d do well to counsel that tongue of yours, niece, before your new husband arrives. Lord Moreland isn’t likely to take well to that sort of behavior. It would be a pity to see my old friend forced to spend his wedding night beating some manners into his new bride.”

  “Husband?” Hugh strained against the men who held him, his face even redder than it had been before. “You’ve no the right to hand the lass off like some possession to barter. She’s no more yers to promise away than these lands.”

  “And you’ve no longer any say in the matter, father.” Though he used the appellation, Richard made it clear he held no love for the man. “The girl should be honored with the situation I’ve arranged for her. Grateful, in fact. Moreland is a powerful man, though not even his vast wealth can bring back the sons he’s lost. Fortunately for our girl here, even though she’s well past her prime, she’s none too old to give the lord the heirs he desires.”

  “No!” Leah’s breath caught in her chest at Richard’s words. This couldn’t be happening again. A bevy of emotions threatened to suffocate her, buffeting her with memories of another time, another place, and other faces gloating over her as she was held captive, her life out of her control.

  Another bellow of rage from Hugh shook her from the grasp of her haunting memories. Her grandfather had broken free from the men who’d held him, but he made it no farther than two or three paces before they retook him, forcing him down to the ground, his face pressed into the damp earth.

  “Lock him away,” Richard directed the men who held his father, turning his back and heading toward the keep.

  “Richard!” Margery had pushed herself up to stand, one hand protectively laid on Leah’s shoulder. “What’s gone wrong with you? You canna continue to—”

  “Enough!” her son roared, startling her to silence. “I’m trying to be a good son, Mother. Don’t make me lock you away with your husband.”

  Leah remained on her knees, her body shaking so hard she doubted for the moment her legs’ ability to hold her weight. Fear sloshed in her stomach like sour wine.

  How could this be happening to her again? She’d run seven hundred years into the past to escape the horrible, evil Fae who’d sworn to turn her into nothing more than a brood mare. She’d turned her back on her family and her heritage, seeking shelter in the midst of mortals only to find herself once again faced with the same threat.

  “Let’s get you inside, lass.” Margery held out a hand to help her to her feet.

  Leah clasped the older woman’s fingers as she rose to stand, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the ground. Disgust at her own cowardice warred with her dread of seeing the disappointment she feared she’d find swimming in Margery’s eyes. Or worse yet, pity.

  It had been Margery who’d sat at her bedside, consoling her through the years of nightmares as she’d gradually worked herself free from the terrors of her past. Margery who’d held her in her arms, sharing her strength and love as if she were her grandmother by blood. Of all the people in her world, Margery would be the one to instantly recognize what fear possessed her now.

  “Try no to fash yerself over Richard’s plans. We’ll think of something. Trust me that I’ll no allow you to be used in such a way.”

  Tears threatened at Margery’s words, glassing over Leah’s vision even as holding them back burned at her throat.

  Weak, pitiful coward!

  After all these people had given her, all they had done for her over the years, now that they were in trouble, she should be strong for them. Instead, it was still her in need of comfort, her being led back to the keep as if she were the only victim here.

  Her cowardice, her weakness, disgusted her, even as it washed over her in great drowning waves.

  She couldn’t face going through this all over again.

  Two

  It felt as if rivulets of fire ate their way through his leg.

  Andrew MacAlister shifted his weight on the horse he rode, trying to find some modicum of relief from the constant pain that plagued him as he made his way across the bailey to the stable. After two days on horseback and a week in Inverness—a week away from the grueling daily sword practices that kept his pathetically damaged muscles limber—he feared for his ability to stand when he dismounted.

  With a little luck, the stable would be empty.

  “I see you’ve made it back at last.”

  Damnation. His brother Colin led his own horse from the back of the stable toward the door. As usual, the only luck he could count on consistently was bad luck.

  “And you? Yer leaving, are you?” Drew asked the question, though from the pack on Colin’s mount, the answer was as obvious as the black mood hanging over his younger brother. Still, conversation gave him a reason to remain seated.

  “Aye,” Colin growled in respo
nse, jerking at his reins much harder than necessary. “Our stubborn new sister refuses to lend the smallest aid. Since she will no share what she knows, I go to seek my own answers.”

  Ellie. Andrew felt a grin spreading in spite of his personal discomfort. Their older brother’s new wife was indeed a stubborn woman. Her determination to do what she thought was right was one of the qualities he admired in her.

  “I see nothing to spark yer amusement in this, brother. Times are dark and the proper foreknowledge could make the difference in what happens to all of us.”

  “Ah.” So that was it. “We all agreed when Ellie became part of the family that we’d no ask those questions of her, did we no? There’s a danger in learning that which we’re no supposed to.”

  Ellie had been sent into their lives last year. Swept from her home, seven hundred years in the future, she had been brought to this time and place by Faerie Magic to find the one man meant for her, their brother Caden. As descendants of the Fae themselves, all the MacAlisters accepted the oddities in their world as well as the responsibility being a Fae descendant carried with it.

  “Ha!” Colin snorted as he lifted himself up onto his mount. “In more ways than you ken, brother. For now, though, there’s a more immediate danger than to fash ourselves over the possibility of altering history. In case you’ve no noticed in yer travels, Comyn has negotiated our freedom away to the English king and Wallace is forced into hiding with a price on his head. We’re at a crossroads in our struggle, and still that irritating woman will no even tell me whether or no Wallace will again lead us to victory over the English or if all hope for Scotland is lost.”

  Ever the warrior, his brother. Though, without a doubt, he’d be at Colin’s side if he weren’t a worthless shell of a man, and likely he’d be every bit as frustrated.

  “She’s no idea, she claims. She’s no a student of history so how can she tell that which I ask.” Colin shook his head, his skepticism evident. “So I’m off to find the answers on my own.”