Page 1 of Echoes of a Forgotten Warrior (A Highland Ruse of Love #2)
PROLOGUE
J ames was in a fine mood. He was not usually the outgoing sort, but when he had a whisky and two pints of ale warming his belly, particularly on a cold, rainy night like tonight, it was good to sit in the inn with his pals and make merry. As well as that, there was an even better reason for celebration that night, since one of his best friends had just shared the news that he was going to be a father.
The Lion and Lamb was not a fancy place, but it was clean and well-organised, and big enough to hold a ceilidh for the village of Rosskern. Everyone knew that the landlady, Ina Harrison, a tall muscular woman in her middle years, took no nonsense from anyone, either drunk or sober. Now she stood at the end of the counter, keeping her usual eagle eye on her patrons, but she had softened a little since James came in because she loved to hear him making music.
James could play the fiddle like a professional. He had no idea how he had learned, but he could not remember a time when he had not had a fiddle in his hand. He was proud of his talent, loved music, and was always in demand for occasions like this one.
When he finished playing an old Scots folk tune which had a lilting, mournful melody, the somewhat tipsy village crowd yelled for something happier.
“Come on, Jimmy!” Donny Black, one of the locals who was still marginally more sober than everyone else, cried. “Gie us a wee song! Somethin’ more cheery!”
“Aye!” came the slightly slurred chorus of agreement. “Song! Song! Song! Song! Song!”
James shook his head, but smiled in resignation.
“What would you like to hear?” he asked. He was beginning to feel a little tipsy.
There was a garbled chorus of answers with everyone trying to shout more loudly than everyone else, then gradually a consensus was reached. They asked for a happy, lively song about a young man who found his true love, whom he thought had died, after years of searching for her. It was called Darlin’ Mary McFee, and was such a firm favourite at the Lion and the Lamb that James thought he could have sung the words in his sleep.
He had a fine baritone voice and could lull the local drinkers into silence after a few bars of some songs; however, this was not one of them. Mary McFee was too joyful a song to keep them quiet, and after a couple of words everyone joined in. It was a somewhat tuneless rendition from the impromptu choir, but nobody expected a flawless choral rendition, especially after the amount of ale that had been drunk!
When James reached the last few words, “...so happy you came back tae me, my Darlin’ Mary McFee, Mary McFee,” a huge cheer broke out.
This was the time James loved the best, when he was in an atmosphere of such good cheer that all the ills of the world had disappeared, and he existed entirely in this little bubble of contentment. Rain was coming down in sheets, and he knew he would be soaked to the skin ten yards after leaving the tavern. However, none of that was important—not yet, anyway, since he could worry about all that unpleasantness later. This moment was all that mattered.
He had just downed his third pint of the rather indifferent ale that the Lion and Lamb served when the door opened to admit a tall, slender and quite stunning young woman. James recognised Blaire straight away, and just about every male pair of eyes swivelled to watch her as she entered and walked sensually up to the counter to order a glass of beer. James wondered if she even knew what effect she was having on the men. He had always found her to be a straightforward, honest person without any airs and graces, and that was one of the qualities he most admired about her.
Blaire smiled at Ina, and even that woman’s hard glare softened as they exchanged a few pleasantries. Blaire was dressed in her usual garb of a plain grey woollen dress with long sleeves and a high neckline which was practical, functional, but not particularly attractive.
However, in his mind, James could see her wearing a silk ball gown in a bright apple green colour that would be a perfect match for her eyes. She would be wearing emerald earrings and a necklace made of the same precious gemstones, and every man at his imaginary ceilidh would also be green—with envy!
Yet in his wildest fantasy, he could visualise her wearing nothing at all!
Blaire took her ale and stood at the counter indecisively for a moment. The inn was completely full that night, but there was no shortage of young men asking for her to sit down beside them. Some even offered their laps!
Blaire laughed, but ignored all of them. She preferred to stand on her own and observe the interaction of the people in the bar, watching the young men display their wit to the young ladies, only to be spurned or laughed at. However, a fair few flirted with them and returned their advances, and James knew that a few new romances might blossom before the night was over.
There were some old, world-weary men and women reminiscing on their long lives, and devoted newly-married couples. There were a few staunch bachelors standing by the bar, and James could guess the question behind her frown; why was it acceptable for a man to be unmarried, but a woman was scorned because she was a spinster, as if there were something wrong with her?
James was about to approach her. He had just laid his fiddle on his seat to do just that when he felt his arm being tugged, then a few giggling girls surrounded him.
“Come on, Jimmy!” One of them, a farmer’s daughter named Lizzie, pulled him into an unruly dance with the rest of her friends. “Stop proppin’ up the counter, ya numpty! Get up an’ dance!”
They had no musical accompaniment, but kept time by the sound of singing and clapping from the crowd in the tavern. It might have been a miserable night outside, but nothing was going to dampen the spirits of the patrons of the Lion and Lamb!
James was incredibly disappointed that he had not been able to speak to Blaire, but he glanced at her whenever he had the chance, and caught her smiling at him a few times.
My god, she is so lovely, he thought, even as he twirled another young woman under his hand.
He was beginning to feel distinctly annoyed as the folk dance, which had regular steps performed in a distinct sequence, began to descend into chaos as the performers became drunker and drunker.
However, just as he made a move to leave, he saw Blaire being approached by a distinctly mean-looking man with one of the worst reputations in the area. His name was Bernie McCoist, and he was known to be violent towards his poor wife, who bore the brunt of his drunken rages. Now he was about to try to worm his way into Blaire’s good graces, but there was no way on earth that James was going to allow that.
He pushed his way out of the melee and made a beeline for Blaire and her tormentor, his face thunderous. Bernie was only a foot away from her now, but although she was backed up against the bar, she was pushing him away firmly, and the expression on her face was most definitely not one of fear. In fact, she looked as furious as James felt.
“Get away from her!” he growled as he wrenched Bernie away from her by the shoulders. The man turned to him with an angry retort on his thin lips, but when he saw who it was his expression turned from rage to fear in a split second.
“You might find women easy to bully, but it’s a different story with a man, is it not?”
No one had ever seen James commit an act of violence towards anyone, but his stature was enough to intimidate most men, and even now, though his every instinct was to punch McCoist senseless, he refrained from doing so. Violence never solved any problems; the threat was usually more than enough.
Instead, James stared into McCoist’s muddy brown eyes with his own piercing blue ones, which were now dark with fury. “Touch any woman, including your wife,” he said, his voice throbbing with menace, “and I will make you regret it!”
James could tell that Bernie McCoist was terrified by the visible trembling of his body, and he let the man go abruptly. Bernie stumbled backwards, then turned and ran for the door and disappeared into the miserable night.
James watched the door close, banging on its hinges because Bernie had slammed it so hard. Then he turned back to speak to Blaire, who was still standing where he had left her.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.
She nodded and smiled faintly. “I am, and thank you for your help, James.”
She drained her glass of ale, then pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and held it closed in front of her. “Goodnight,” she said softly, before venturing into the storm.
James watched her until she was out of sight and wondered whether he should follow her. He thought of her beautiful apple green eyes and the sensual way she walked, the tumble of golden-brown locks that flowed like a river down her back, then he grabbed his cloak and dashed outside. He was soaked within seconds.