Page 2 of Highlander’s Wild Lass (Wild McLeans #1)

2

“C elestia has a mind of her own,” Mr. McLean told Anthony. “I willnae make it up for her.”

“True enough, sir,” Anthony said, extending his hand to Mr. McLean, who grasped and firmly shook it with a strength that surprised him. “I’m up for the challenge. I promise, to the end of my days, even if she doesnae agree, I’ll take care yer family.”

A knock on the door interrupted Anthony before he could thank the man. Celestia, followed by the twins, entered the room. Anthony had to admit that Celestia had grown into a bonnie lass with her slight build and rosy, graceful face. He wished he could step forward and run a finger over the line of her cheekbones.

“Apologies for the intrusion, but we’ve already had to reheat lunch,” Celestia said, glancing briefly at Anthony with pursed lips.

“And tripled-heated porridge doesnae taste very nice,” Hugo said glumly, going to their father to help him out of bed.

“Yer right, Hugo, it doesnae,” Mr. McLean said with a thin smile.

“Of course, I’ll take my leave. But first let me build up the fire and then I’ll see myself out. It’s the least I could do for showin’ up unannounced,” Anthony said as he stood, replacing the armchair where he found it.

“If ye wish—” Mr. McLean started.

“Absolutely na—"

Celestia’s glare was cold, but there was a curious look playing on her face. “I’ll tend to it, m’laird. I’m sure ye have much to do today.”

“Please, Cellie, let the man do it. It’s nae often yer chief offers to build a simple clansman’s fire,” Mr. McLean said before directing Chester to grab his cane.

“Fine, if that’s what ye wish,” she said, turning on her heel and disappearing from the bedroom.

Anthony grabbed an armful of firewood that was piled against the side of the stone fireplace, knelt on the floor, and began assembling the wood.

“Yer visit was much appreciated,” Mr. McLean said as he made his way to the doorway, leaning on his cane with his two sons behind him in case he stumbled. “And very good luck to ye.”

“Thank ye, sir,” he said as Mr. McLean and the boys left the room.

Anthony built the fire quickly with nimble hands once he was left alone, his mind filled with a thousand thoughts of the conversation between himself and Mr. McLean. Not in several lifetimes did he think he would be asking for a blessing to marry Celestia McLean. She was a difficult woman that frustrated him greatly.

They had never agreed on much if anything at all, but he would be damned if he watched a fine family go to ruin. And he did have to admit that having a wife would take away some pressure his cousins and older sister were putting on him to settle down. He either needed to produce an heir or appoint one of his young cousins as future chief. And with Celestia’s fine features and exquisite hips, she would make a perfect mother to his children.

He stood to grab the firebox from the mantle, attempting to shake the images of what Celestia would be like in bed, and stopped when he saw the layer of dust and soot accumulated on and around the rough metal box. He swiped a finger through the grime, then quickly brushed it away on his trews.

Anthony pulled the piece of flint and steel striker from the box and knelt once again. It took a few strikes to get the kindling and wood to catch, but soon enough there was a roaring fire ready and waiting for Mr. McLean after he was through with lunch.

He stood and made his way through the front door, but not before hearing the conversation and laughter coming from the back garden. He felt an ache in his heart, missing the times when he, his mother, father, and sister used to sit at meals and laugh.

“How did it go?” his man-at-arms Sebastian asked, handing him his horse’s reins.

“As good as I thought it would, but at least old McLean knows my intentions,” Anthony said, climbing into the saddle.

Sebastian laughed as he also mounted his horse, securing his feet in the stirrups.

With a faint chinking of bridles, they made their way down the dirt path to the main road. The leaves on the oak trees were finally starting to bud, following the aspen and hawthorn trees whose fresh green leaves fluttered in the light wind.

“I cannae see why she is the one ye have yer heart set on,” Sebastian said. “She never says a kind thing to ye. And I didnae think ye really had a soft spot for her either.”

Anthony fixed his bonnet back onto his head with one hand. “It’s more me head than anythin’ else. Dinnae get me wrong, she’s got a good heart, takin’ care of her family like she does, and, of course, she isnae bad to look at.”

“Isnae bad to look at?” Sebastian repeated, running a hand through his clipped brown hair. “She is more than just ‘isnae bad to look at.’ Did ye nae see her at the Christmas celebrations last year?”

“I cannae remem—”

Sebastian forged on, a dreamy look in his eye. “She wore a bonnie dark blue gown with brown leather bodice. With her hair up, her pretty neck and breasts...she looked angelic.”

Anthony looked at him sideways, a wave of jealousy sweeping over him. “Do ye want to be the one to wed her, Bas?”

“Oh, nay! Definitely nae.” Sebastian laughed loudly, punching Anthony in the upper arm. “I’ve got me eye on someone far easier to handle. But I’ll be waitin’ right here when ye get yer big, thick head out of yer arse and admit that Celestia McLean is one of the bonniest women in this part of the Highlands.”

Anthony knew that Celestia was a beautiful woman, and he did remember her at the Christmas celebrations, but he would be mentioning none of that to Sebastian. It was that night when he first felt the rekindling of the flame he held for her when they were teenagers.

* * *

Breakfast had been porridge with goat’s milk and a little bit of honey that Auralia found in the back of the pantry this morning. The same taste day in and day out was beginning to become revolting, and a wave of fearsome anger was building in Celestia’s chest.

Celestia was clanking the pot and bowls around in the deep kitchen washstand, scrubbing out the last of that morning’s breakfast. Abusing the pots always made her feel slightly better, but there was still the fact that they were low on chicken feed, and it was likely they were going to need to sell the pigs in the next week. Most infuriating of all, her father refused to say what he and Chief Moore discussed yesterday.

The wealth her father had built over his last twenty-five years as a whisky merchant had dwindled quickly when he first got sick, now it was barely paying for the healer’s visits.

Anger and sadness filled her until they finally spilled over and tears soon blurred his vision.

She quickly brushed the few tears that had fallen away, not wanting her sister or brothers to see. The pot and bowls were left in the washstand to dry, and she made her way outside, wiping her hands on her stained apron.

“Cellie, the chickens are fed. And there was a great pile of eggs waitin’ for me,” Auralia said with a sweet smile as she came forward, motioning to the heap in her basket. Her blonde hair, the same shade of ash as Celestia’s was braided expertly, not a stray hair out of place. “What else do ye need doin’?”

“Would ye mind takin’ the clothes off the line?”

“Aye,” Auralia answered and swiftly headed towards the long clothesline that was connected between the far-right corner of the house and the horse stables.

“And check in on Da!” Celestia called back to Auralia.

Her task was the garden; it was small and easily maintained by the family. Preparing the garden for summer was one of her father’s favorite things to do, but now he could not bear to even look at it.

“Cellie!”

Her hands hadn’t even grasped the hoe when Chester rushed up to her.

“Cellie, we have guests,” he said when he reached her. “Ye must come to the house.”

“Who is it now?” she asked him, but he was already headed back to the house.

When she walked into the kitchen she was greeted yet again by the likes of Anthony Moore, dressed in boots less polished than yesterday and in dark tartan trews that showed the firm outline of his brawny thighs. He was accompanied by a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a face full of freckles, carrying a large case.

She wondered what his intentions were coming to the house twice in a row. She swallowed her temper and introduced herself properly to the woman standing beside him.

“This is Helena MacMoore, the healer of Castle Ferguson,” Anthony said, presenting the lady with a large, sweeping hand. “She is the finest healer north of Perth and Kinross. She’s here to tend to yer faither.”

Celestia thanked the woman and only slightly turned her head to instruct Auralia to show the healer to their father’s bedroom while keeping her eyes on Anthony. They kept each other’s gaze until the footsteps faded away.

“Boys,” she said to Chester and Hugo. “Go outside.”

Without question, the twins left her and Anthony alone in the kitchen.

“Now before ye—”

“What are ye doin’ here? Do ye see us as nothin’ but charity? We have the village healer, and he’s doin’ a find ol’ job of it.” Celestia said quietly, her tone deadly.

“Nay, but it’s obvious you need help, lass. I can see it in yer eyes despite them glarin’ white hot at me,” Anthony told her, stepping towards her. “Nae to mention the state of the house, I cannae even imagine what the stables are like.” Despite himself, he reached out as if he wanted to take hold of her hand.

Celestia stepped back, her voice low. “Ye come to help but ye insult us greatly, m’laird. I—we—have been managin’ well enough.”

“Aye, but how long till ye cannae manage anymore?”

“Listen,” she said, pointing at him. “If ye have such an opinion, then make yerself useful and clean the stables.”

Anthony smirked, nodding. “Sure, lass. Lead the way.”

He walked past her, heading towards the back door. She turned, watching him open it and motion for her to walk through. “After ye.”

“This way,” she said, making her way down the stone path that led to the stables a short way away.

“I really daenae mean to offend ye. I want to be of help to yer family,” Anthony said. Celestia thought she nearly heard an apology, but there was something else she couldn’t pinpoint.

Celestia turned to him, not realizing how close he was following, and stumbled into him. Her hand pressed into his wool vest, and she could feel the supple waves of his muscles underneath.

“Watch where yer goin’,” he grumbled, taking hold of her shoulders, steadying her.

“Daenae follow so closely, then,” she hissed, shrugging out of his grip.

They continued into the stables, and Celestia became immediately aware of the state of it, and the smell. She and the twins had done their best to keep up with it, but four horses were hard to keep up after.

“There’s Beyla,” Celestia said, pointing to the white and gray spotted Eriskay pony in the first stall. They stopped in front of the horse, who leaned her head over the stable door. “Beyla was the last foal our mother’s horse gave us; Auralia helped with her birth.”

Anthony brushed his hand against the side of Beyla’s face. “She’s a bonnie one. Does she ride well?”

“Aye,” Celestia said as she stroked Beyla’s velvet nose. “She keeps up fine with the others.”

She showed him the twins’ horses, two black Dale horses, stabled together. “This is Castor and Pollux, named after—”

“After the Greek myth?” Anthony offered.

“Aye, the lads are fond of their stories,” she said.

“How do ye tell them apart?” he asked.

Celestia lifted Castor’s head slightly and pointed to the smallest patch of white under his chin. “This spot mostly, but they’re about as different in temperament and personality as the twins themselves.”

Anthony reached for Pollux who was approaching at a slight trot.

“Watch!” Celestia exclaimed, reaching to pull Anthony’s arm away.

But it was too late, Pollux clamped down on Anthony’s fingers. Anthony cursed, pulling his fingers from the horse’s mouth. Celestia couldn’t see blood, but there would be a bruise by the end of the day.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, doing her best to stifle her laughter. “That’s how we truly tell them apart. If one tries to bite ye, that’s Pollux.”

Anthony glared at her. “Ye could have warned me!”

Celestia shrugged, dropping her hand, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Just don’t let him near yer ears. I had to pry him off Hugo last fall, ears are his favorite.”

He muttered curses under his breath as he scratched Pollux under his chin. Celestia felt herself looking too long but noticed that his eyes crinkled so handsomely when he laughed.

“And finally,” she said, looking away and moving them to the last stall. “This one is mine, Grannus.” Celestia petted the tall, roan-haired horse.

“Ye chose a stallion for yerself?” he said, sounding astonished.

Celestia nodded, eyeing him. “I find the males easier to tame.”

Anthony’s brow arched, letting out a slow exhale. “If ye say so, I have trouble with them. One kicked me in my ribs, cracked a few too.”

Celestia didn’t like the sharp stab of desire that hit her in the gut when he talked like this with her. It was not like them to not bicker.

“Well, ye’ll find all the tools ye’ll be needin’ over there,” she said dismissively, gesturing toward the back wall where pitchforks, horseshoes, hammers, and saddles hung. “What’s left of the hay is out the side door.”

“Aye, thank ye, lass.” He rolled up his sleeves, heading to the back wall.

“One of the twins will fetch ye for lunch,” she told him as she turned to leave.

“Oh, nay,” Anthony said, turning back to her. He waved his hand in dismissal. “Ye daenae have to feed me.”

Celestia stared hard at him, lips set in a firm line. “ Ye’ll lunch with us and that’s the end of it, Anthony Moore.”

She left before he could continue arguing, heading back to the garden, and was confronted with yet another visitor. She cursed under her breath when she saw that it was Ryder Koll, a competitor of her father’s, leaning casually on the fence.

Celestia quickened her pace until she was just feet away from him. He was dressed in black leather trews and a thick leather tricorne hat. She had always gotten the impression he imagined himself to be a pirate, but he always looked ridiculous.

“What do I owe this great pleasure, Mr. Koll?” Celestia said caustically, placing her hands on her hips.

“Daenae play the fool, Miss McLean.” Ever since Celestia was a child, the coarseness of his voice always made her hair stand on end.

She laughed coldly yet spoke sweetly. “I never do, but I am hopin’ that yer only here to visit with my faither and wish him good health.”

Koll swiped a hand down his short, well-maintained beard. “I’ll wish yer dear da good health when he’s in his grave.”