Page 17 of Echoes of a Forgotten Warrior (A Highland Ruse of Love #2)

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B laire had her head down and was concentrating on making a solution that would hopefully soothe coughs, trying to ignore the commotion that was going on outside. It sounded as though there was some sort of triumphal procession happening, she thought. However, her mixing had reached a crucial stage as she tried to make oil and water combine, so she did her best to ignore it.

Suddenly, the door to the street burst open. “They are bringing Connor Lovatt to Rosskern!” Rosina cried excitedly as she rushed inside. “Laird Sutherland is putting him on trial for the murder of his daughter tomorrow, and the villagers are having a party to celebrate peace!”

Blaire felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. She flopped down in a chair, unaware that her face had turned ashen with shock.

Rosina was shocked and scared by her pallor and the expression on Blaire’s face. She went to her at once and knelt down beside her, then took her hands and squeezed them in a gesture of comfort. “Blaire,” she said gently, “what’s wrong? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

Blaire looked up into Rosina’s concerned face, and for the hundredth time thanked the stars that she had a friend like her.

“Oh, Rosie,” she breathed. “I will tell you now because you will find out very soon anyway. I met Finian Lovatt, as you know, but I omitted something—deliberately. James Smith is Connor Lovatt.”

She paused to take a deep breath and gather her thoughts as tears began to run down her face.

“While James was there he met his brother and was in familiar surroundings, and his memory gradually came back. Finian and James look so much like each other, there is absolutely no doubt about their relationship. Even their gestures are similar. I could not make up my mind whether to leave him there or not, but Finian encouraged me to go, so here I am. I have betrayed him and you; I’ve betrayed everyone.”

Rosina sat and thought about all this for a while, trying to make sense of it. Why did Connor Lovatt want to give himself up to the Sutherlands? Why was his brother and Laird Lovatt even allowing it? These were questions to which she wanted to know the answers, but eventually, she decided that what mattered at the moment was comforting Blaire. Analysing the situation could come later, when she had settled down a little and come to some kind of acceptance of what had happened.

“But, Rosie, he is no more a murderer than I am. You must believe me,” Blaire said urgently.

“This has come as a great shock to you, Blaire,” Rosina said gently. “I know how much you love him. So if you need me, at any time of the day or night, I will be here.” She put her arms around Blaire and hugged her gently, and Blaire laid her head on her friend’s shoulder and let out a deep sigh. She had never been so miserable in her life.

Privately, Rosina thought that Blaire was deluding herself, since people who had such a dreadful shock often went into denial. However, she did not voice that opinion; Blaire was in a bad enough state already.

At length, Rosina drew away from her and said, “When I am troubled, I stay busy, Blaire, so that my thoughts are occupied elsewhere. And while it’s natural to assume the worst, that might not turn out to be the case here. Hope for the best, and pray. That always works for me.”

Rosina was a devout woman, yet Blaire had always been very ambivalent about religion, but now she nodded and tried to smile.

“I will do my best,” she promised.

A LL MORNING, Blaire had been trying to think of happy things, like the first time she had delivered a healthy, kicking baby and the first time a boy had kissed her when she was fourteen. That made her chuckle, since it had been so awful that it had put her off kissing for years—until she met Connor. Then the wonderful memories of him came flooding back, but with them came a sadness so profound that she could hardly bear it.

Yet even though she knew the truth in her conscious mind, it took a while for the news of Connor’s captivity to really sink in, since Blaire tried very hard to block it out of her thoughts and replace it with work. She had never chopped so many herbs or mixed so many potions, even though they were not really needed at that moment. She reminded herself that it was early days, however. Rosina had often told Blaire about the way people dealt with the death of a loved one. When she thought about it, she realised that she was going through much the same type of experience.

There was a feast that day to celebrate the good news that the murderer was coming to give himself up. However, Blaire decided not to attend, and instead shut herself in her room then immersed herself in concocting medicines. She tried to ignore the music, cheering and dancing that had spilled out of the tavern and was going on in the street just outside her window. It was an unusually fine day for this time of the year, so the villagers were making the most of it.

One of the other villagers, a young woman called Annie Davison, was also able to play the fiddle, since she had been taught by Connor, and she was now making music to accompany the dancers. She had no violin of her own, and Blaire deduced that she was using Connor’s, but she tried not to begrudge her the ownership of one of Connor’s most valuable possessions. After all, she knew he would rather have someone make music with his instrument than let it lie idle and gather dust, so she tried to be glad for Annie.

Twilight set in around the middle of the afternoon in winter, yet the party went on until darkness had fully settled over the village, and the only bright lights were shining from the tavern.

It was such a beautiful night that Blaire took a lantern with her, wrapped herself in a shawl to protect herself from the cold, then went to stand outside and look at the stars. It was a moonless and cloudless night, and they were like tiny diamonds sewn onto a black sheet of velvet, magically lighting up the sky.

Blaire remembered the first night she and Connor had ever stood together and looked up at the stars like this. It had been a pristine night like this one, but in April, just as spring was beginning to break, and she had been thinking about how he looked when she saw him just a few hours before.

He had just come out of work, and was black with soot from the forge almost everywhere except for his ice-blue eyes, which looked almost spectral in contrast to his dirty skin.

He had gone to the well in the middle of the square and drawn up a bucket of water, then stripped off his tunic and leather apron and tipped the water over his head. Then his muscular upper body was suddenly revealed to her in all its glory, and her eyes widened with surprise and another emotion which was completely strange to her. However, as she had looked at his broad shoulders, the bulging muscles on his arms, chest and abdomen, she had realised what it was; desire.

Her body had been responding in a very strange way as she had watched her patient scrub himself with a bar of rough soap and a rag before he poured another bucket of clean water over himself.

It had been glorious, and so was he. Connor was the epitome of raw masculinity, and every one of her feminine instincts had been calling out to him even then. If he had run over to her and swept her off her feet at that moment, she would have put up no resistance.

That same night, Blaire was standing looking into the darkness, lost in her reverie, when a hand landed on her shoulder. She had given a little squeal and spun around so fast that she had stumbled and almost fallen, but a strong pair of arms had wrapped around her and held her upright.

“So sorry,” Connor said. Even his deep, husky voice was thrilling, she had thought. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You are forgiven,” Blaire had answered. She was mesmerised by the sky-blue eyes looking down at her, and unknown to her, Connor had been just as captivated by her emerald green ones.

Suddenly, he had said, “May I kiss you?”

Blaire remembered her heart skipping a beat, but she had smiled at him and nodded, then his lips met hers, so gently that Blaire had been almost shocked that this big, muscular and tough-looking man was capable of such tenderness.

She had felt herself being drawn further into his embrace as his lips caressed hers, then she moaned with surprise and delight as his tongue parted her lips and tangled with hers. Blaire found herself pressing closer to him, smelling his peculiar musk, which she had found deeply arousing. It was a mixture of leather, smoke, ale, and a trace of fresh citrus, a scent that was altogether male, altogether Connor, and one that set her senses on fire.

Blaire did not want the kiss to end, but, of course, it had to, and when they drew apart, Connor had leaned his forehead on Blaire’s and whispered, “You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that.”

“I think I do,” she had answered, then kissed him again, this time with more pressure and more passion, and Connor had responded in kind, and he pulled her even closer.

When they parted again, both were almost breathless.

“Men always say that women are weak,” Connor had said, laughing softly. “But I think you are much, much more powerful than we are.”

Blaire had laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. She had been kissed before, but they were kids. Connor was altogether more mature, and even though he could remember nothing of his previous life, it was obvious to Blaire that he had had quite a considerable amount of experience with women.

“You might have lost your memory,” she had said, smiling mischievously, “but your kisses tell me you have given pleasure to many women before me.”

“I hope I have,” he replied. “But that was in the past. Now I have you, and as long as you are here I need no one else—as long as it makes you happy too, of course.” He looked apprehensive, and she was touched. She had no idea he felt this way, but like most men, he kept his tenderest feelings hidden for fear of looking weak in front of other men.

“It would make me very happy,” she replied.

They had kissed again, and when they had parted that night, it was with great reluctance.

From that moment on, they were inseparable.

W HEN SHE WENT to bed that night, Blaire determinedly closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but realised that it was simply impossible, and the harder she tried, the worse it became. She buried her face in her pillow and thought of Connor, imagining his arms around her, and eventually, she was able to drift off into a doze of sorts. It was not real sleep, but it was better than nothing. When she woke up the next morning, she had to force herself out of bed, and her eyes were sore and bloodshot, with shadows under them.

Today was the day when Connor was coming to Rosskern for his trial, and she was both looking forward to and dreading seeing him. Would they have put him in the dungeon before his trial? What kind of state would he be in? She could not bear to think about it.

Blaire washed in cold water, even though the air was freezing, hoping that its icy sting would wake her up properly. She was hungry and cooked herself some porridge but found herself unable to eat it. She was furious with herself for becoming such an emotional wreck, but she knew that not every problem could be solved with an act of will.

She left her uneaten breakfast and began to assemble the ingredients for the day’s work. However, just as she had put some willow bark on the stove to boil for a tisane, Blaire heard a huge commotion in the main street. It was the sound of every person in the village yelling, hissing and booing, and was so loud that it was almost unbearable.

As she went out into the street, the malevolence in the air was palpable, and everyone was directing their hostility towards the vehicle which was trundling down the main street. It was a huge cage that was being pulled by two heavy horses, and in it, clinging desperately to the bars, was a hooded figure—Connor.

Blaire screamed and fought her way through to get to the front of the crowd. She had to push and elbow people out of her way, but she reached the wagon just as it had drawn level with her.

“Connor!” she cried as loudly as she could. “Connor! It’s Blaire!”

He had been looking down at his feet to avoid the hateful eyes of the crowd, but when Connor heard her voice, he looked up into Blaire’s green eyes and gave her a tremulous smile through his dark hood. Then he looked behind the wagon to where a team of other riders were accompanying them, and suddenly Blaire recognised Finian. His face looked as if it had been carved in stone, devoid of all emotion, and he was looking straight ahead, avoiding the eyes of the crowd.

Connor began to rattle and bang on the metal bars with his fists, yelling at his brother and pointing at Blaire. She could not make out his words above the racket, but whatever Connor was saying was lost on Finian, who steadfastly ignored him.

Blaire somehow made her way over to Finian and yelled above the noise of the throng of villagers. “Finian! Can you give me a moment alone with him please?” she begged.

Finian shook his head and shouted back. “I cannot. It’s too dangerous.”

However, Blaire was not inclined to give up so easily. She fought her way back to the cage and grasped Connor’s hand through the bars, and for a few precious seconds they held on to each other.

She could hardly make herself heard above the din of the mob, so she gave up trying, and instead mouthed the words I love you, as close to his face as she could. Blaire saw him say the same message back to her, but the wagon was moving too fast for her to keep up with it, and she was being hindered by the spiteful crowd. She had to let go of him, but they held each other’s gaze until they were out of sight of each other.

Blaire stood for a few moments, ignoring the insults and taunts of the people around her but feeling nothing. What difference did their opinion make to her? Life was worthless without Connor. She turned and went back inside, locking the door behind her, and no one except Rosina saw her for the rest of the day.