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

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B laire ran out into the rain towards her house, trying to shield herself from the wind, which was blowing the rain towards her in sheets. She bent her head and held her cloak tightly in front of her, but nothing really helped. By the time she reached the door of her house, she knew she would be absolutely drenched, but she was used to the Scottish weather and thought nothing of it.

Shewas almost at her door when her foot skidded on a patch of mud, but as she stumbled, a pair of strong hands grabbed her upper arms and held her upright, then supported her as she almost fell through the front door.

“Thank you.” She turned to see who her good Samaritan was, and was surprised to see James standing behind her. He was as dripping wet as she was, and smelled of whisky, ale, and beer. She stood aside to let him in, but he looked at her doubtfully.

“Are you sure, Blaire?” he asked. “I’m going to make your floor wet.”

Blaire laughed heartily at that, and pointed to her dripping skirts. “I think that has already been done,” she observed. “Isn’t it a wee late to think of that? Come in, you silly man! You will drown out there.”

“Thank you.”

He sighed gratefully as he moved inside. He was still drenched to the bone, but at least he was with Blaire, and for that, he could endure a fair amount of discomfort.

Blaire took James’s sopping wet cloak from him and draped it, along with her own, over a chair by the fire. She stoked its embers vigorously for a moment, then threw on some fresh firewood. A minute later, she pulled up a chair for him in front of it, and he sat down gratefully, sighing.

“You know that you have disappointed dozens of eager young ladies by leaving the tavern so early?” Blaire said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Flora looked as if she wanted to eat you up.”

James’s lips twitched into a little smile. He was not blind or stupid; he looked in the mirror every day and knew how attractive he was, but knowing it and boasting about it were two different things. He was not the kind of man who liked to draw attention to himself. He did not possess showy or expensive clothing, and even if he had, he would never have worn it.

“Flora is a lovely girl,” he remarked, “but I will not trouble any of these young women with my forgotten past and my strange self. They don’t deserve so much trouble in their lives. Neither do you.”

“You are far too hard on yourself,” Blaire said gently. “One day you will get the happiness you deserve, James. Right now, you need a warm drink and a little while in front of the fire to dry off a bit. Let me look after you.”

James felt a warm glow inside and a feeling of peace stole over him as it always did when he was alone with her. Something about Blaire always soothed and comforted him, calming his troubled spirit as long as he was in her presence.

Watching her as she moved about the room, James marvelled at her grace, elegance, and sensuality, and as usual, his helpless man’s body responded in its most primitive way. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping that Blaire would not notice the telltale bulge in his breeches. It seemed that in some ways, women were so much stronger than men, particularly when it came to concealing their bodily desires.

Blaire could tell she was being watched, but it no longer made her feel uncomfortable. She knew how James felt about her, and it would have been so easy to give into that feeling on her own part, but both of them had too many obstacles to overcome. There was a whole piece of James’s life missing, and he was uncertain if he would ever recover it. She knew about this because she was his confidante, the one to whom he poured out his troubles, and there were secrets in his life that he revealed to no one but her.

Now, Blaire offered him a glass of warm milk, onto which she had sprinkled a little cinnamon. It was usually an expensive spice, but since it was occasionally used for medicinal purposes, she always had some on hand. She sat down beside him as he took a sip of the warm, aromatic drink, watching his eyes close in appreciation. He really was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen, she thought, especially in the daytime when his bright, sky-blue eyes caught the sunlight and his dark hair shone brilliantly.

She watched as he tipped his head back slightly to drink, causing a stray dark lock to fall on his cheek and his Adam’s apple to bob up down as he swallowed. She felt a pleasant flutter between her legs, and a sensation of warm moistness there that signalled her arousal. Blaire had always found this small sign of manhood extremely erotic, although she felt rather foolish about it. After all, James had so many other attributes for a woman to swoon over!

James turned to smile at her. “I got a bit carried away tonight,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have had those whiskies, but everybody was so happy and well—so was I. At least as long as the music and dancing was keeping my mind occupied. This warm milk is better than any whisky I have ever tasted.”

He picked up his fiddle, which he had grabbed just before leaving the tavern, put it on his lap, and smiled at it. “Sometimes I think of this wee lassie as my best friend—we make nice noises together, I think.”

“Do not sell yourself so short, Smithy!” Blaire told him with a touch of anger in her voice. “You do more than ‘make noises.’ You play some of the most beautiful music I have ever heard. Who taught you to do that?”

“You know I cannot answer that question.” He smiled as he fingered the strings of the prized instrument, making it sing softly. He had no idea how he had come by the violin, and no idea who had taught him to play it. Like so many of his memories, it had disappeared without a trace, and trying to remember them had so far been a waste of time and energy.

“I wish I could believe that I just picked it up one day and was able to play it, but I know that’s a complete impossibility. I don’t even know how I came by the fiddle.”

Blaire gazed at him, her heart filled with pity. “You are always so quick to judge yourself harshly,” she said softly. “You have a natural ability with your violin and a singing voice that would make angels weep with jealousy. And these hands,” she ran a forefinger over his palms, which were rough, calloused, and ingrained with dirt, “they work so hard. You have so much to be proud of, James.”

“Thank you,” he said as he swallowed the last of his milk. “I will have to take your word for it because I certainly do not feel that I have anything to be proud of. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Blaire was both intrigued and alarmed at his admission. “You’re ashamed?” she asked. “But why? You are one of the most honourable people I know.”

James turned away for a moment to put the violin carefully on the floor. It was his most precious possession, and he looked after it as though it were his child. However, he needed a minute to collect his thoughts, and he used the brief time to think of something that would sound sensible.

He turned to Blaire and met her bright, green eyes with his own, then thought of how much he wanted to kiss her. That could wait for later, though.

“Because there must be something terrible in my past that my soul wants to hide from me, Blaire. That is why I cannot remember anything,”

Blaire cupped his face in her hands and looked earnestly into his face. “Do you know what I see?” she asked.

James shook his head. “No,” he replied.

“I see a troubled man,” she told him. “But not an evil one. I see the way you talk to people and how they respond to you. If you want to make a point, you are never aggressive, unlike some other men I know. If you would like to have something done, you never shout orders, but you ask. Most of all, you listen to what others have to say, and that is a fine quality in a person. Many men feel entitled to do as they wish just because they’re big and strong, but that is not you, even though you are indeed big enough and strong enough to frighten others into submission. You’re a good man, James, a gentleman in the true sense of the word, and you have no cause to think so little of yourself.”

James sighed and laid his head on her shoulder, nestling into the warmth and comfort of Blaire’s softly rounded body. He wished he could stay with her all night instead of having to go back to his small cold room behind the forge and anvil in the blacksmith’s shop. He tried to imagine what it would be like to fall asleep with Blaire’s arms around him and wake up beside her the next morning. It would be glorious. Just glorious.

Blaire stroked his head, and they sat in silence for a while. In a strange way, she felt responsible for him because at times he was as helpless as a child. The fire in the grate was burning lower, and James knew he had to take his leave. He sat up straight and stretched, then yawned and stood up.

“I should be going,” he told Blaire. “I must let you get some sleep.”

“And you should get some yourself,” she advised. She parted the shutters a little to look outside, then turned back to him, smiling. “The rain has almost stopped, so I think you should be able to make it home without getting too wet if you make a run for it.”

James picked up his violin and donned his cloak, which had been drying by the fire. It was still damp, but at least it was not dripping wet as it had been before. He turned to Blaire and smiled. “You are the kindest person I have ever met,” he said gently.

“Thank you,” Blaire reached up and kissed his cheek. His face was rough with two days’ worth of stubble. “Growing a beard?” she asked.

James rubbed his jaw and said ruefully, “No. I just haven’t had time to shave,” he replied. “Brian has been keeping me very busy, and I do not sleep well, as you know. I sometimes just feel too tired to do anything.”

“You need a few days’ rest,” Blaire observed, frowning. She ran and grabbed something from her kitchen. “Take these; Willow bark and valerian. Are they working? Are you sleeping better?”

“A little,” he replied. “Thank you, Blaire. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and she smiled up at him. She looked tired, James thought guiltily; he had kept her up late, as he had done so many times before. She was a saint to put up with him at all.

“Goodnight, Blaire,” he said softly.

Blaire smiled. “Take care,” she said. She watched James as he walked down the road and out of her sight. He was a mystery she was determined to solve for his sake, but also for hers.

A LONE IN HIS small room behind the blacksmith’s shop, James began to drink the Valerian tea he had made on the ashes of his small stove, using water and the leaves Blaire had given him. There were much stronger medicines she could have employed, but she was hesitant to use them due to their addictive properties.

He drained the cup, then almost fell into bed, exhausted. It had been a long, hard day, but sleep was a long time in coming, despite the tea. How he wished Blaire could have been here in his arms, snuggling her warm body into his and whispering soothing words in his ears.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, when he had opened his eyes and realised he was lying in a small room that was redolent with the earthy aroma of herbs. He had tried to focus on keeping his eyes open because, despite the pain from his various wounds, something inside him told him that he needed to be awake.

Then he saw her. There was an absolutely beautiful woman with bright, green eyes and the kind of full, soft lips that begged to be kissed bending over him. She looked into his eyes and smiled, then said, “I am Blaire, one of the village healers, and I will do my best to ease your pain. Can you tell me your name?”

That was the moment a lead weight seemed to plunge into James’s stomach as he tried and failed to recall it. He opened his mouth to tell her, but nothing came out, and he began to panic. My god—who was he? Where had he come from?

Seeing his distress, Blaire immediately tried to soothe him. “Don’t worry. This happens to some men, and is nothing unusual. You don’t have to worry about it; your memory will likely come back in time, bit by bit. Try to relax now and let me take care of you.”

Her touch was soft, and he was surprised to find that it was almost enjoyable, despite the pain. Gazing at her face and the way she stuck the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth when she was concentrating helped James think about something else other than the anguish he was in.

Then Brian Lamont came into the picture. He was the local blacksmith, who had taken one look at the tall, muscular stranger and immediately contemplated offering him an apprenticeship in his blacksmith’s shop.

At that time, James was in dire straits, having been carried into Rosskern in a semi-conscious state. Brian had seen the opportunity to snare an eminently suitable employee very cheaply, since Blaire had explained James’s desperate situation to him while she was bandaging a wound on his arm.

“Who is he?” Brian had asked curiously. “An’ what is wrong wi’ him?”

“He received a bad blow on the head,” she replied, “and a few minor cuts and bruises.”

“He looks like he could dae some work for me,” Brian said eagerly. “I’ve been needin’ an apprentice an’ he looks like a good, strong lad.”

Blaire knew the kind of man Brian was and hesitated. “He will need quite a while to heal,” she told him. “He might look big and strong, but there are always injuries you cannot see. Give him a little time and we can talk again.”

When James had been brought into the village in the back of a farm cart, he had been suffering from a blow to his head and some deep gashes on his arms and legs. He had lain unconscious for a few days before he began to recover, but as the days passed and James became more lucid, it was clear that he had lost his memory completely. It distressed him so much that Blaire had to spend much of her time soothing him.

“I cannot even remember my name,” he growled one day. His tone was one of disgust. “What kind of proper man is nameless?”

“Would you like me to give you a name until you remember your own?” Blaire asked. “You can consider it a loan, then you can give it back to me when your real name decides to come back from its wanderings.”

James smiled at her. “I like that idea,” he answered.

“Then we’ll call you James,” she suggested, “after a very wise man I used to know.”

James suddenly felt very much better. Now that he had some sort of a name, he had something to give him an identity, and he felt almost real again. As well as that, he could observe Blaire as she went about her duties as the village healer, and she was a pleasure to watch. Everyone liked her, and she was well-respected because she knew her craft properly.

However, that had been months ago, and he could not rest now. He plunged straight into a nightmare of shadowy warriors waving swords and battle-axes, and for a few moments he fought them off before succumbing to a sideways swipe from a huge claymore. He screamed with agony, then fell to the ground.

He opened his eyes, terrified. Something dreadful had just happened to him, but for the life of him, he could not recollect what it was. Would he ever remember?