Page 5 of Following Her Highland Journey (The White Witch’s Apprentices #2)

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" I was down there for weeks in those dungeons. McNair came the night I was taken and he told me it was all me own fault, that I should have expected this and could have avoided it all if I'd have just agreed tae marry him. He asked me if I was ready tae accept, and I spat in his face." Adair grimaced. "He rewarded that with another few smacks tae me own face, and left a thick bruise formin' on me eye, then left me alone on the floor tae sob. I expected that would be me life from then on until he expected tae kill me—turnin' down his requests, bein' hurt, then bein' abandoned.

But in fact, I only saw him twice more, maybe three times, in the weeks I spent in that dank, cold cell. I can tell what ye're about tae ask, Fia, and no, he never forced me. I expected that, as well, and I dreaded it so much I barely slept, but he never touched me in an intimate way. Not like what happened tae poor Lily. Henry explained tae me later that McNair had an obsession with purity and virginity even more than most of these feckless men, and his Lairdship couldnae bear the idea of having an impure bride, even if he was the one to pollute her.

And so for the first few days, I was alone. Me face hurt from the bruise and me heart from the loss, and I spent most of it cryin'. They brought me food and water, but I wouldnae eat and I barely drank. Only after a week did the hunger win out, and that just so happened tae be the same day that he became one of me main guards.

I hadn't even noticed the other guards. I only looked up because he opened the cell door, and none of the other guards had ever done that before. And sure enough, there he was; the gentle-faced man from the farm who had closed me father's eyes.

He crouched down next tae me and placed the tray on the ground between us. "Ye must eat, miss." Those were the first words he said tae me. I remember thinkin' it so strange that he called me miss , such a term of respect in a place where I had no decency left tae me.

I wanted tae refuse, but I was too tired, too hungry. I allowed him tae hand me hunks of bread, breaking a little bit off at a time and watchin' tae make sure I swallowed. When I was done, I said, "Why do ye care so much?"

"Naebody deserves tae starve tae death in a place like this," he replied. "Do ye mind if I sit with ye for a while?" he said.

That caught me attention. I regarded him with suspicion, tryin' tae work out what he wanted from me. Had McNair sent him here tae soften me up? Was he here tae kill me? I couldnae understand, and so I didnae respond.

"I let yer animals free," he told me, his voice soft and gentle as though he were talkin' tae a wounded deer. "I opened the barn doors and loosed the pens and ropes. I ken they may struggle in the wild, but maybe they'll find another farm tae take them in. It seemed kinder than leavin' them tae burn."

I blinked, me eyes aching from the lack of water and sleep, and it drew his attention tae the bruise on me eye. It must have been worse than I thought, because he grimaced.

"Why did ye do that?" I asked, me voice hoarse. I remembered how he'd disappeared as soon as I'd mentioned them, but I hadnae dreamed he would do such a thing.

He shrugged, and I noticed his hair was a little longer than the fashion. I was surprised that Laird McNair tolerated that in one of his men. "As I said, they deserved a fightin' chance. And besides, ye seemed so afraid for them. And I…I couldnae do anythin' else."

I wasn't well enough yet tae ask him more or even tae care what he meant.

We sat in silence for a little while, and then I spoke again.

I asked him why he closed me father's eyes.

He paused, obviously thinking about his answer. "He deserved tae rest."

"But he seemed so kind!" Fia interrupted, her brow knit in confusion. "How could a man like that ever end up workin' for a monster like McNair? And how?—?"

"Slow yer rush, love," Adair chided her gently. "I had the same questions, and ye'll learn the answers soon enough."

"We didn't speak again that night, but he returned the next, and once again he made sure that I ate and drank before sitting by me. This time, when I was done, he brought out a salve, and with a furtive look around, handed it tae me.

"Rub that on yer face, around yer eye and jaw. It'll help with the bruisin'," he told me.

I hadn't even realized my jaw was bruised as well; I was in so much pain inside and out that it all seemed to blend into each other. When I didn't make a move, he reached over and popped off the lid, then started applying it to me face himself.

I protested at first, but a moment later I felt a soothin' sensation on me skin. The pain seemed tae be drawn away, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"It'll take some time tae heal," he told me when he was done, "But apply it every night and it'll do wonders."

I still didnae understand what was happenin'. "Why—how?—?"

His smile was a little brittle as he said, "I've had me own fair share of bruises from Laird McNair. Not anymore, of course—he only hits bairns and women who've nae access tae a weapon, not a brawny man who might hurt him back."

I scoffed at that, the hatred breaking through my pain and loss for the first time. "Coward. Nae wonder he has his Serpent by his side."

The young guard nodded. "McDonaghue is a snake and his bite is killer, it's true. He's well named. I'm…I'm so sorry about yer father, miss. I truly am."

We sat in silence for a few moments, then, because thinking about anythin' other than the Serpent and what he'd done tae me father was preferable, I asked about somethin' he'd said. "Ye kent the Laird when ye were a bairn?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "Aye, well, I suppose we havenae been introduced properly. Me name is Henry."

I already kent that, I'd heard the laird call it, but I did my best approximation of a smile anyway. I introduced myself, though I'm sure he kent my name as well as I kent his. "Henry…that's an awfully English name for a lad with as strong a Highland accent as ye."

He laughed. "There are Scottish Henrys."

"Aye, but most go by Hendry, or Hen, or somethin' that doesnae make ye think of a line of English kings with a habit of startin' wars." I even laughed a bit in a teasin' way, but the laughter felt wrong in me throat. Me father was gone, and I instantly felt guilt for laughing.

If Henry noticed, he didn't make a comment. He said his father was English, and he was named for him. He was a merchant, maybe, or a minor landowner, he didn't remember exactly. The previous Laird McNair had him executed for theft and for forcin' himself upon young Miss McNair.

I pondered this for a moment. I had heard stories of a Miss McNair, the older sister of Brendan. She'd been perhaps five or six years his senior, and from what I knew, she'd spent her last years in isolation. Had it been because something so awful had been done to her? And if Henry's father had been the one to perform such an act, then why would he be there?

I ken, I ken, the answer must seem obvious tae ye, but ye must remember I was seventeen and exhausted and innocent, and me head had nae space for anythin' but grievin'. And actually, it wasnae as obvious as ye may think.

"She was me mother, of course," Henry continued. "Though I'm not sure there's any truth tae the story that she was forced. I don't remember much of her, but she was the one who named me, and when she spoke of him, it was with love and pain. I think she loved him, and acted out of hasty passion, and I was the result. And of course, me grandfather could not stand the shame, and his son persuaded him that me father must die for it."

I processed this silently. I had been around six or seven when Henry's mother had passed if I was remembering the buzz in the village correctly, and I was sure he was a little older than I was. I wondered if he remembered his mother better than I remembered mine. And that, of course, made me think of me father again, and my chest suddenly hurt so much I wanted to throw up.

He saw the tears in my eyes and took my hand. When I didn't pull away, he gripped it tighter. He apologized, saying that he should not be talkin' about his life story when me own agony was so fresh.

"No, I asked," I told him softly. "But…ye're Laird McNair's…nephew?"

Henry looked a little disgusted, but he nodded. "He'll never acknowledge me as such. I'm just a bastard who ruined his sister. But he promised her he'd care for me, and so as soon as I was old enough he put a sword in me hand and sent me tae join the guard. He keeps me around because he feels obliged tae his sister. I stay because I have naewhere else tae go."

"So the McNairs made orphans of us both and claimed us anyway," I told him.

Henry didn't answer, just squeezed me hand tighter."

Fia poured some more tea, but she didn't interrupt the story this time. Adair could tell that Fia was enthralled, obviously caught up in the tragedy of Henry's story as well as Adair's own. Well, that was good. It made the rest easier to tell.

"It kept goin' like that. He visited me every night, made sure I ate, and talked with me for a while. He opened up tae me, tellin' me everythin' from his favorite food tae his first failed love, makin' me smile and laugh in the process. Slowly, I began tae open up tae him too. I telt him about losin' me mother, and how me father had been everythin' tae me. I telt him about McNair's pursuit of me, and the shells and flowers I used tae collect, and how I was afraid of storms. I telt him stuff I didn't even realise there was tae tell.

And he listened. The night after I telt him I loved bramble jam, he snuck some down on a hard piece of bread from the kitchen for me tae enjoy. The nights he learned I couldnae sleep, he would sit in or at least by me cell and tell me stories through the night. Once or twice, I even went tae sleep with me head on his lap.

"I wish me father had escaped with me and I'd have gone tae be a merchant," he confided in me one night. "I ken I'd have been raised English, a true travesty! But at least I wouldnae have been here."

I was close tae sleep, havin' just had a long debate with him about the properness of egg bread and jam, and I felt warm and comfortable and content for the first time since my father died. "And what of me?" I asked.

"I'd have been one of those merchant lads pinin' for yer affection every time I passed yer bit of the coast," he told me with utmost confidence. "I'd have brought ye flowers and shells until I drove ye mad."

"And what if I sent ye away?" I asked, chucklin' at his enthusiasm.

He winked. "Ye wouldnae. Because though ye might tease me, it wouldnae take long before I asked ye tae be me bride. And I'm sure ye'd say aye, because in this life there'd be nothin' stoppin' ye from livin' the life ye wanted."

I expected tae freeze at such a declaration, but it just filled me with a delicious warmth, and me heart raced a little in me chest. I couldnae quite tell if he was confessin' affection for me in the real world, or if it was just part of his game. "I'd never leave me farm," I told him, playin' along.

He shrugged. "Then I'd abandon me merchanthood and become a farmer, with yer father's blessin'. Ye'd have tae teach me the land, but ye seem more than capable."

I kept acting as though it was a joke, but Henry didn't laugh. His face got serious, and he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, gently making me look at him. "Ye are bonny, as lovely as the sun, it's true," he told me, "But in the world where we're free, I'd wed ye for much more than that. It'd be for yer heart. Yer courage. An' the way the heavens themselves shine through yer smile."

And then I realised it wasn't a joke. He leaned down and I closed my eyes, because I thought he was going to kiss me. But instead of my mouth, he pressed his lips softly on my forehead and then on my cheeks. His arms went around me, and we held each other.

"He's comin' tomorrow," he told me quietly. "I'm tae be taken off duty, and he wants yer decision. He thinks I've been spendin' too much time down here. Be careful, Adair," he warned me."

Adair felt like crying again, but she had no more tears to shed. She rushed through the next part as quickly as she could—how McNair had come and given her a few more days before he took her whether he wanted it or not. How she had decided to die. And how Henry had chosen to risk his life to save her.

"He got me out, but the other guards found out somehow," she explained. "And they pursued us. Henry took an arrow to the shoulder…there was so much blood…but he insisted we just kept going." She remembered the pain, the panic, the terror of the storm whipping around them as angry men screamed her name and Henry yelled at her to keep running, keep going, be free. "And then he turned, one useless arm, sword in the other, to try to fight them off. I didn't realise how far behind he was until it was too late."

Fia gasped. "Oh, God. And how did ye escape?"

Adair sighed. "I reached the stables as he'd planned, and the stablemaster's daughter—her name was Leah, she was a friend of Henry's—was waitin' for me. She kept me safe and hidden through the night, and at first light she sent me off on a horse. I wanted tae wait for Henry, but…well, Leah was sure he was dead, and she wouldnae hear of it. She handed me a small note, just a line or so, and told me Henry had instructed her tae give it tae me if he didnae make it."

"What did the note say?" Fia asked.

" Find the White Witch, Adair. Live yer freedom for both of us. Leah kent the direction of the monastery, and so I set off and I didnae stop until I found Mor. Until I found home."

The women were quiet for a time, then Fia pulled Adair into a tight hug. "Thank ye for tellin' me," Fia whispered. "Ye're a brave, bonny soul, and Henry was a good man."

Was a good man, she'd said, but Adair still couldn't believe he was gone. But she smiled and thanked Fia, then said, "I must sleep. I'm sorry tae cut this short, I just…"

"Of course," Fia said hastily, slipping off the bed and returning to her own. "If ye have any bad dreams, wake me. I'm here for ye."

"I ken ye are," Adair assured her.

But that night, she didn't dream. She didn't sleep at all. Instead, she lay awake, thinking about Henry and his mother, about her father, about Peggy Ashcroft, and about the clans around them. McNair was out there ruining lives again.

Behind closed eyes, she saw Lily's troubled blue eyes.

And Adair was sure she could not stay back and let it happen, not ever again.

"...and I need someone tae pop intae the town tomorrow for some supplies at first light," Mor finished the next evening as she ran down the list of the next day's chores. "Who's willin'?"

Adair didn't even stop to think before she raised her hand. "I'll go," she volunteered. She didn't allow herself to consider what she was risking and what she was leaving behind. All she knew was that this was perhaps the only opportunity she'd get.

If Mor thought it strange, she didn't question. She just nodded and said, "Fia will go with ye."

"Of course," Adair agreed. She'd just have to find a way to get away without Fia noticing the next day.

As she fell asleep that night, it was with tears in her eyes. This had been her home and her safe haven for five years. And when dawn broke, she'd leave it all behind, maybe forever.