Page 18 of Highlander’s Wild Lass (Wild McLeans #1)

17

S omething was wrong.

Anthony glanced at the long-case clock for what had to be the thousandth time. He expected her back late, but not this late.

“Somethin’s wrong,” Anthony said, looking to Sebastian who was sitting with his leg resting on his knee across from him. They were in the large sitting room just off from the foyer.

“Should we tell Auralia and the lads?”

“Nay,” Anthony said, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks. “There’s nay need to worry them if nothin’ is truly amiss.”

Their tutor arrived today, and they were eager to start lessons. All three of the younger McLean’s were blissfully unaware of the panic going on inside Anthony as they sat in the library with their pieces of parchment and quills.

“They’re here!” One of the grooms who had been instructed to alert him the moment Celestia and Jacob arrived rushed into the sitting room. “They’re here, m’laird,” he repeated at a lower volume, his flat cap bunched into his hands.

Anthony and Sebastian dashed past him to the courtyard. Grannus and Jacob’s horses were coming to stop just as they stepped onto the flagstones.

“What took ye so long?” Anthony nearly shouted. “I expected ye back before supper—” He watched Celestia swing down from the saddle. “—What in God’s name happened to yer face?”

He stepped toward her, gently lifting her chin so he could inspect the cuts on her face. There was a long gash, not very deep, but it had crusted over with old blood. And there were several smaller red cuts all over the left side of her face.

“Celestia,” he said again, trying to calm the several warring emotions that were fighting for purchase within him. “What happened?”

She reached to grab his hand away from her, her sleeves falling back, exposing the red bruises that started to form around the delicate skin of her wrist. “I’m alright, Anthony.”

“Ye are nae, lass,” he said, his hands gingerly inspecting her wrist. He saw Jacob stepping up behind her and he raged toward him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “What happened?”

He sounded stupid repeating the same question over and over again but he wasn’t getting answers from Celestia.

“Let go of him. None of this was his fault.”

Anthony released Jacob, swiveling his head between the two of them. Celestia had her hands on her hips, but the only thing he could see was the bruises and the cuts and how spooked she looked underneath the brave face she wore.

“Truly,” she said firmly. “It was all my fault.”

She turned to Sebastian. “Will ye see that Jacob is well fed before he heads to his parents?” She looked at Jacob. “Unless ye are too tired, ye can sleep in my old room, the bed is still made up.”

“Oh, nay,” Jacob said hurriedly. “I’ll be on my way after I eat somethin’.”

Celestia nodded and Sebastian led Jacob toward the kitchens.

“Celestia, please. Tell me what happened to ye,” Anthony said, but it sounded as if he was begging.

“I will,” she said, taking hold of his hand, and pulling him along with her into the castle. “I just need to see my Da. Where is he?”

“His room. Helena is with him.”

They arrived at Mr. McLean’s room, the door ajar and quiet mutterings filtering out of it. A sense of dread filled him and when Celestia pushed in, they saw Helena near Mr. McLean’s bedside along with the priest that married them.

“Da?” Celestia slid in between Helena and the priest. “What’s wrong? What’s goin’ on?”

“Oh, lass,” Mr. McLean wheezed, reaching out for her hand. His eyes focused on Celestia’s cheek. “How did ye get those cuts?”

“Never mind that, Da,” she said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “Why’s the priest here?” Her eyes, fearful, skated over the priest to Anthony to Helena and then back to Anthony.

There was a sharp pain in the back of Anthony’s throat watching his wife come to the realization that her father was near death. The priest must be there to hear Brannan’s last confession, or already heard it—Anthony couldn’t be sure.

“Lass,” Brannan rasped. “There’s nay need to worry.” He reached out to lay a hand on Celestia’s unmarked cheek.

Celestia sniffed, attempting a smile. Her eyes were glistening in the firelight and Anthony wanted to rip her away and hide her from what was inevitably going to happen. He watched his father die in a similar fashion, a slow fade until finally, the life drained from his face.

Brannan smiled at the priest then. “Thank ye, Faither.”

The priest nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Celestia looked at Anthony, wide-eyed, the tears threatening to spill. She looked like a lost child, unsure of what to do.

“Celestia,” Brannan said, “have Helena look at yer cuts.”

“Da, surely, ye need her more than me,” Celestia said, voice catching in her throat, looking to Helena, pleading. “Surely.”

Helena just shook her head.

“Please, Cellie, let her look at ye...for me, and I’m sure Anthony would like ye to be looked over.” Brannan smiled at Anthony who only grimaced and looked down his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“Fine,” Celestia conceded, turning toward Helena.

The older woman turned Celestia’s face to the side and leaned in closer. “It’s just a scratch, a wee bit deep, but nothin’ to worry about,” Helena said, though it sounded like she directed her words at him more than Celestia.

“I told ye,” Celestia said impudently, making an unladylike face at him.

Anthony hid his mouth behind his hand to hide the grin, it felt like such an inappropriate thing to do in this situation. But at least Celestia was still defying him regardless of how much of it was just a mask for whatever pains she was feeling.

Helena rummaged in her bag and pulled out a small tin pot. “It’s just an herbal poultice—to keep it clean.” She dabbed her fingers into the concoction and gently pat it into the scratches across her cheek.

“Better?” Brannan asked with a smile.

“I suppose,” Celestia answered, turning back to her father. “Why did ye call the priest?”

Brannan waved her question away as if it meant nothing. “A precaution maybe, a safeguard even to ensure I get to see yer maither again. I’m sure how ye got those scrapes is far more interestin’ a story.”

“Aye,” Anthony heard himself say.

“I’ll take my leave,” Helena said, packing up her things.

“Nay!” Celestia gasped, reaching for her wrist. “Please stay... just in case.”

Helena nodded. “I’ll just be a moment; I’m goin’ to see if one of the maids can make a pot of tea for us.”

Anthony waited for the door to close. “Get on with yer story, I’m eager to hear it.” He leaned forward in his chair.

Celestia grumbled. “It’s really my own fault.”

Anthony leveled his eyes at her, a glare really. He wanted to shake the story out of her. She sighed and recounted what happened between her and Mr. Koll.

“I cannae believe he laid his hands on ye!” Anthony thundered, standing so quickly out of his chair it fell over. He paced the entire length of the room, seeing red. “How could ye do such a brazen thing like that?”

“Brazen?” Celestia repeated, standing from the edge of the bed. She stepped into the path Anthony was wearing into the rug. “Ryder Koll was attemptin’ to ruin us from the inside, Anthony. What else was I supposed to do? Allow it to happen?”

“Ye did nae have to confront him yerself,” Anthony said, halting right before her. “When I see Jacob—”

“Ye will leave Jacob out of this, he had nothin’ to do—”

“Exactly, he did nothin’, and look at ye.” He motioned to her face and then her wrists.

“Nay, lad,” Brannan said calmly. “Take a breath—I’m sure Cellie didnae tell him what she planned to do.”

She half-heartedly shrugged her shoulders. “Aye, Da’s right,” she said, keeping hold of his gaze. Challenging him to challenge her. “I jumped out of the cart and ran in after our delivery driver.”

“A movin’ cart?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “Are ye mad, woman?”

“It wasnae a fast-movin’ cart, Anthony,” she said as if that made it any better.

Brannan hushed them, beckoning Celestia to sit back down beside him. He took up her hand. “Ye need to sit too, lad, or I’m afraid ye might combust.”

Anthony obliged, picking up the chair that he flipped in his haste and sat down.

“Cellie, Mr. Koll might never give up—he’s a heartless man with only greed in his heart. If runnin’ this business is goin’ to cost ye yer life, or at least threaten yer life...ye daenae need to keep it goin’.”

“But Da—”

“Nay, Celestia. Daeane get yerself hurt on account of keepin’ my legacy alive.”

“That’s nae why, Da,” she told him, “I did it to prove to myself that I could take care of my family. So that Chester and Hugo have...somethin’ when they’re older.”

“Well,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “as long as I willnae be seein’ ye in heaven anytime soon.”

Celestia’s brow stitched together. “Daenae talk like that, Da. Ye’re nae goin’ anywhere.”

Anthony hoped for her sake that Celestia was just trying to boost Brannan’s morale, but a voice at the back of Anthony’s mind was telling him that she was doing it more for her benefit.

“Whether ye keep it or ye daenae. I’m mighty proud of ye,” Brannan told her, patting the top of her hand. “My brave lass, and—” Brannan glanced down at Celestia’s outfit, a laugh fumbling from his lips, “—ye’re doin’ it wearin’ trews too.”

A tight smile appeared on Celestia’s face.

“Lad, get her some supper and take her to bed.”

Anthony nodded, gently taking Celestia’s hand and pulling her into a stand.

“I dinnae want to go,” Celestia said quietly.

“Celestia, I will be fine. If ye run into Helena, send her back her with that tea. I’d love to have a cup.”

Anthony guided Celestia to the hall where a few of his men were taking their supper, some with their wives and children. He spotted Sebastian sitting at the high table and Jacob nowhere to be seen.

“Jacob wanted to tell ye thank ye for feedin’ him.”

Anthony pulled out Celestia’s chair for her and she slumped into it, shoulders forward as if she wanted to hide away from the world. Sebastian eyed him carefully, but Anthony just shook his head and sat down.

The maids placed overflowing plates in front of them. Celestia thanked them quietly and picked up her fork.

“Try to eat somethin’, Celestia,” Anthony said. “Even just a wee bite.”

Celestia nodded, prodding a piece of broccoli with her fork, glancing around the room. “Where is my family?”

“Their tutor arrived today, so they must still be in the library,” he told her. “They wanted to get started as soon as he was finished settlin’ into his room.”

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Maurice Moreau.”

“A Frenchman?”

“Aye,” Anthony said, flashing her a smile before taking a bite of venison. “Better than an Englishman. He’s fluent in French—obviously—Italian and he said he kens a bit of Saxon.”

Celestia looked impressed. “What subjects does he teach?”

“Everythin’ really. Arithmetic, geometry, geography, philosophy, and he said he has a decent knowledge of science that he’ll teach them too.”

“Master Moreau sounds like Auralia’s dream,” she commented, finally stabbing fully into the piece of broccoli she’d been playing with and eating it.

“I thought so too.”

At that moment, Master Moreau swept into the hall with Chester, Hugo, and Auralia following closely behind. They were talking animatedly to each other, and Anthony watched Celestia notice them. A smile, a real smile, finally graced her features.

Thank God.