Highlander’s Wicked Desire (Wicked Highlanders Book 2) Page 3

  “How do you know my name?” she asked confused.

  “Samuel told me about yer difficult night and that ye remembered yer name, or at least part o’ yer name. Did ye happen tae remember anythin’ more?”

  “The feeling of drowning perhaps, but naught else.”

  “A terrible thing tae remember, lass. ‘Tis nae wonder at all that ye were cryin’ as ye were.” He sat down beside her, his face filled with concern. “Is there anythin’ that I can do tae help ye remember?”

  Elizabeth studied his face for any sign of recognition. He had said they did not know one another, but she had no way of verifying that fact. Was he a man that could be trusted to safeguard her while she attempted to remember who she was? She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but honest concern for her wellbeing. She had not noticed in her fright the day before just how handsome he was. James was tall, lean muscled, with blond hair. He had a confident but gentle air about him, a quiet strength that radiated from his person. As she sat studying him, he gazed down at her with his intelligent, sharp blue eyes, as if assessing whether she too could be trusted.

  “I do not know,” she answered her own question aloud, as much as she answered his. “I simply do not know.”

  James nodded his head. “Well, dinnae hesitate tae tell me anythin’. Any wee bit o’ information ye can provide will aid me in returnin’ ye tae where ye belong.”

  But do I want to return? The image of her mother’s terrified face from her dream flashed before her eyes, causing her to doubt whether she wished to return or not. Return to where? Though she knew not from whence she had come or to whom she had belonged, she could not escape the feeling of foreboding that haunted her, as if naught but pain and suffering awaited her there.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “I will be sure to do so.” She hid her doubt by attempting to sit up. The world spun all around her, and her head throbbed so violently that she felt as if she were about to be sick in his lap. “Bucket,” she managed to gasp out. James moved as quickly as was humanly possible and managed to just get a bowl under her chin before the contents of her stomach spewed forth. Every muscle in her body cried out in agony. She felt as if she had been beaten from head to foot. Perhaps she had been for she had no real way of knowing anything that had transpired before she had first awakened to the face of James Alexander MacDonald.

  “Och, lass,” he soothed, as he brushed the hair back out of her face. “Lie still now and rest. There will be enough time for talk later.” He stood handing the bowl to Agnes. Samuel walked with him over to the door. “Be sure tae send for me if she remembers anythin’ else,” he instructed before stepping out into the daylight.

  Elizabeth lay back and watched him go, his kilt swinging behind him with every step. His tall, lean, muscled form temporarily blocked out the light, then disappeared from sight. Samuel turned around and found her watching the laird leave. “A braw man, our laird,” he remarked with a smile.

  Elizabeth blinked in surprise at his having read her thoughts. “He appears to be a kind man,” she replied. The mere act of speech caused her stomach to turn over once more. She curled up into a ball as if she could protect herself from the sensations. She felt vulnerable, scared, and alone. Her insides quivered uncontrollably, and she felt as if she were about to be sick once more. Bending over the side of the bed she retched into the waiting bowl. When she was finished, Agnes took the bowl and emptied its contents outside. Elizabeth lay back exhausted, overwhelmed by the pain in her skull.

  She spent the day fading in and out of sleep. When she would awaken, Agnes would be there to aid her with her needs, then would tuck her back into bed. Samuel came and went tending to this and that. Each time he returned, he would inquire as to her wellbeing. Elizabeth could not help but wonder if he was taking regular reports back to the laird, or if he were actually as kind a man as he seemed. She did not bother to ask Agnes, as she had learned fairly quickly that the woman spoke nary a word. Elizabeth’s heart went out to her. She wondered what had happened to make her lose her speech. Had she been born that way or had something terrible befallen her? It was easier to ponder upon the possible miseries of others than to wallow in her own self-pity.

  Night began to fall and Elizabeth found herself once more immersed into darkness. Her spirits sank further as the light grew dim and then disappeared altogether. With the snuffing out of the sun’s light, so too did her soul sink into darkness. The night terrors returned and with them all hope of a better life awaiting her fled. She dreamt over and over of her mother’s voice calling her name, and the absolute certainty of her violent death became implanted indelibly upon her memory. She could not see who had killed her mother, or the means by which they had done so; but the impression of violent depravity permeated every aspect of the emotions surrounding it.

  Elizabeth tossed and turned, drowning in a sea of her own tears. She searched her mind, reaching for any further memories that she might summon; but found that they were all just beyond her grasp. A cool soothing hand smoothed her brow, and she opened her eyes to find James MacDonald standing over her. He held a finger to his lips in a sign for her to remain quiet, nodding his head in the direction of the sleeping elderly couple in the corner. In his hand he held a bowl of cool water, which he dipped a cloth into and dabbed her forehead with it.

  “Ye have been burnin’ delirious with fever, lass,” he spoke softly so as not to wake Samuel and Agnes. “Poor wee Agnes could barely stand on her own two feet from exhaustion when I arrived, she was so afeared for yer life. She sent Samuel up tae the castle tae ask one o’ the maids for help, but he found me instead. ‘Tis a good thing that I couldnae sleep, aye.”

  “I do not mean to be a bother,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her skin felt hot and prickly to the touch, but she felt cold shivers all along her body. Her mouth was dry, and her throat throbbed in time with her head, echoing the beat of her heart.

  “Och, dinnae fash, lass. Ye are nae bother at all.”

  “I am sorry.” Elizabeth could tell that he was lying, but was grateful for the effort he made to put her at ease.

  “Ye dinnae have any say o’er whether ye have a fever or nae, or whether ye were shipwrecked or nae. None o’ this has been within yer power tae alter.”

  “I cannot imagine that you are happy about such a disruption.”

  “Nae, I dinnae believe that there is a Scot alive who would be happy tae see an entire crew o’ Englishmen lyin’ upon their beach, but there is nae anythin’ that can be done about it now. ‘Tis done and that is that. Now we must simply concentrate on gettin’ ye home tae yer loved ones.”

  “What if I do not have loved ones? What if I do not have a home to return to?”

  “Then we will find a place for ye among yer own people where ye will be safe and looked after.”

  Elizabeth attempted to sit up but was stopped short by the pain coursing through her body. She closed her eyes and prayed for the agony to end.

  “Dinnae attempt tae rise, lass. Ye are in nae condition tae be goin’ anywhere.” He placed a cup of water into her hands and encouraged her to drink. Every swallow felt as if she were drinking shards of glass instead of pure cool spring water. She lay back unable to take another moment of it. “Sleep now, lass,” he ordered, taking the cup from her. “I will be here when ye wake,” he promised, smoothing her brow with the cool cloth once more. “Ye are safe here with me.” He took her hand in his to emphasize his words.

  Elizabeth studied his face in the firelight and somehow knew that he spoke the truth. The certainty in his eyes made her feel as if no matter what lay ahead, with him by her side she would be able to face it. She could not explain how she knew that she could trust him, but in that moment, she did. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift back to sleep, her hand still in his.

  Chapter Three

  James sat gazing down into the face of the beautiful Sassenach that had washed up onto his shores and marveled at her strength. In spite of all that h
ad happened to her, she had spoken nary a complaint. She had many questions, yes, but she had not uttered a single word of bitterness or anger over her circumstances. James was certain that, had their fates been reversed, he would not have been so composed. He admired her for her fortitude in the face of what could only be described as the oblivion that her life had been relegated to. Reaching out, he cooled her brow with a wet cloth. The fever ebbed and flowed as she slept, at times raging so hot that it gave him cause for great concern. Yes, his life would have been vastly simplified had she not entered it, but now that she had, he could not countenance any such harm befalling her while she was in his care.

  James fought through the night to keep her fever down, using every method that Agnes had taught him, but it did not abate. At one point she began to thrash about, moaning and mumbling incoherently. Her movements caused the wound on her head to open again, staining her pillow with blood. James attempted to hold her down so that she might not do any further damage to herself, but that only made her fight harder. Giving up on that method, he did what he could to staunch the flow of blood and rebandage her wound. The fever raged to the point that any contact with her skin felt as if it were burning his own. James, concerned for her life and desperate to decrease her temperature, scooped her up into his arms and carried her down to the sea.

  Sitting down where the sand and sea meet, he allowed the cold northern waters to wash over her body, being sure to keep her head above the waves. The moon shone bright overhead, illuminating the rugged landscape. It was a beautiful night; the air washed clean by the storm. James breathed it in. "Per mare per terras… By sea and by land," he murmured the MacDonald motto as he gazed out over the silvery moonlit expanse. “A more beautiful, treacherous land there ne’er was.” His heart swelled with love for the place of his birth. Sitting there upon the boundary between land and sea, he felt at one with the elements. Elizabeth stilled in his arms as if she could sense it as well. In the darkness of the water’s caress, he could not tell where he ended and she began. There in the darkness they were joined together, forged in the fires of fever, molded by the waves.

  James lost all sense of time as they sat floating in the surf. The horizon began to glow with the faintest of light as the sun peeked its sleepy head up over the dark line of the earth to the east. Its red tint warned of the return of foul weather before the day was out. “Another storm will be upon us soon, lass,” he murmured, as he smoothed the damp hair from her face. Her skin was no longer like fire to the touch. The fever had broken.

  Standing, James lifted her still form from the water and carried her back to the croft, navigating his way by the dawn’s early light. The sky bloomed bright red in the distance, announcing its coming rage. As he entered the croft, he found Samuel and Agnes anxiously awaiting them. “When we awoke and found ye both gone, we feared the worst,” Samuel admitted, rushing forward with Agnes at his side.

  James laid Elizabeth down upon the bed and stepped back so that Agnes could tend to her. “Her fever has broken,” he informed the old woman. “Thanks be tae the sea for it.” Agnes felt the Sassenach’s forehead and nodded in affirmation. “I will leave ye tae get her dry and warm.” James left the croft, and Samuel followed him. When they walked outside, James found William waiting for him.

  “Yer chambermaid said ye had nae slept in yer own bed last night at all, so I figured ye would be here with the Sassenach lass,” William greeted James, then nodded at Samuel. He extended James a nearly full flask of spirits.

  “Aye, she came verra close tae death in the night,” James explained, accepting the flask and taking a long slow drag from its contents. The whiskey burned all the way down to his stomach, warming him from the inside out. He passed the flask to Samuel who took a drag in turn.

  “Och, ‘twould be a shame indeed for one so bonnie tae perish after survivin’ somethin’ as terrible as a shipwreck, but I suppose it would have made things simpler,” William remarked, mirroring James’ earlier thoughts. Samuel handed William back the flask, and he stoppered it and slid it into the pocket-like folds of his kilt.

  “Aye, that it would, but we are nae monsters tae see such a thing befall a lass, e’en a Sassanach lass, if it is within our power tae prevent it,” James reminded.

  “Aye, as ye say.” William nodded, accepting his laird’s assessment of the situation.

  The two men fell in step together as they walked back to the castle, leaving Samuel to tend his own home. “There will be another storm upon us afore the day is done,” William noted gesturing to the crimson sky.

  “Aye,” James nodded, eyeing it warily. “Let us pray it is nae as bad as the last. I dinnae wish tae encounter anymore dead Englishmen upon our shores.”

  William snorted with amusement. “The kirkyard couldnae hold them e’en if we did. The minister will need tae bless more land tae fit anymore dead, Scot or Sassenach alike.”

  “Aye,” James nodded sadly. “Let us hope it does nae come tae that.”

  “It verra well might if we dinnae find a way tae get our affairs in order,” William warned. “Has she remembered anythin’ else, the Sassenach lass?”

  “Nay,” James shook his head. “Only the sensation o’ drownin’ and the repeated dream concernin’ her maither.”

  “Poor lass,” William spoke with sympathy for her plight. “I cannae imagine goin’ through somethin’ like that. Can ye imagine such a thing happenin’ tae one o’ us and gettin’ trapped on English soil with nary a friend in sight?”

  “Nay, I cannae. Death might be preferable to such a fate.” James’ heart went out to her. The memory of the feel of her in his arms as she had danced in and out of heaven’s gates throughout the night caused a shiver to pass up and down his spine.

  They stopped at the crest of a hill and stood staring out across the sea toward the mainland. There were no ships in sight, but there had not been the day of the shipwreck either. He prayed to God that the English had not yet realized what had happened to the ship and had set a course for Skye. The very last thing they needed was to become inundated with English soldiers, especially with their own enemies skulking in the shadows. “Have ye discovered anythin’ concernin’ the blackmailers?” James asked as they continued their walk back to the castle.

  “Nay, I questioned yer chambermaid again about anyone who might have been in yer rooms during yer absence, but she did not have anythin’ more tae say than before.” William shook his head in frustration. “We are nae goin’ tae find anythin’ with our hands tied behind our backs as they are.”

  “Aye, I ken it well enough, but ye ken as well that we cannae speak the truth on the matter.”

  “Aye, I ken it well. ‘Tis nae right for ye tae have such a thing hangin’ o’er yer head. Such secrets are akin tae an executioner’s ax, ye ne’er ken when it is about tae drop.”

  “And take off me head with it,” James nodded at the comparison.

  “Aye.”

  “There must be a way tae narrow down the list o’ possibilities,” James mused aloud.

  “What about an oath takin’? Ye have been laird for o’er a year now. ‘Tis within yer rights tae command the loyalty o’ yer clansmen.” William offered up the idea with a hopeful lilt to his voice.

  James smiled. William loved any excuse for a gathering, but he was right. Such a public display of allegiance might reveal those who felt less inclined to swear such a vow to him as their laird. James nodded in approval. “It just might work.”

  “It would also give ye an opportunity tae search out an appropriate wife from among the daughters o’ the clan’s leading men. As I said before, such a marriage would bring ye some much-needed allies as they would be honor-bound to stand by yer side.”

  James frowned at the thought. “I am nae ready, William, tae be takin’ on a bride.”

  “Ye must let Marra go, James. She is married tae Duncan and that is that. Ye have given yer all tae see that they are together and happy, yet ye cling tae the memory o’ yer love for h
er. I dinnae ken yer mind where she is concerned, lad. ‘Tis past time tae move on, and I ken nae better way tae get o’er the love o’ one lass than to climb on top o’ another.” William chuckled in amusement at his own words.

  James, however, found them to be less than amusing. “We are nae beasts o’ the field tae plow what e’er lies before us with little regard for aught else.”

  “Nae, we are nae, ye least among us tae do such a thing, but ye must wed for the good o’ the clan, and for yerself. ‘Tis nae good for a man tae be alone.”

  “This from the man who has ne’er been married a day in his life,” James retorted with a raised brow in consternation.

  “Aye, but I am a beast,” he chuckled. “I have plowed many a field in me day.”

  “And still do,” James remarked, shaking his head in amusement at his comrade.

  “Aye, every chance that I get.” William nodded, a pleased expression upon his face. His eyes twinkled for a brief moment then turned serious once more as they approached the castle. “Heed me words, James, afore it is tae late.”