Page 5 of Highlander’s Wild Lass (Wild McLeans #1)

5

C elestia sat in her bed unable to sleep, the feeling of Anthony’s lips lingered, and the thought of marriage consumed her. She was sitting against her headboard, illuminated only by a few beeswax candles, staring at the blank wall in front of her.

“Marry the chief?” she mumbled to herself. “Marry Anthony...”

She tried to imagine what life would look like and mostly images of them fighting, never being able to agree on a single thing, came to mind. Her parents’ marriage had been one of mutual love and respect, and there was no love between her and Anthony.

She leaned over to the bedside table, cupping her hands around the candles to blow them out. In the dark, her thoughts were louder, echoing the words of Anthony’s proposal.

The rooster woke her up from a dead sleep. As she woke, she felt her nightdress clinging uncomfortably to her body, slick with sweat. She threw off the covers, thinking it was from sleeping with closed windows and a roaring fire, but her cheeks felt hot to the touch, as did her forehand.

The bland porridge for breakfast did nothing to help the way she felt, her body would go warm and then cold, sweating one minute and then shivering as if she were standing in the middle of a snowstorm.

She wrapped her plaid around her body like a shawl and fastened it with a small brooch to keep it in place as she worked. Outside, she was taking the laundry from the line.

Maybe it was because she felt ill, but she was feeling guilty for how rude she had been to Anthony since that morning he showed up on her doorstep. He was, after all, her chief and deserved kindness and respect for that.

He had been such a pretentious child growing up, and even as a young girl she had been endlessly annoyed by him. She vaguely remembered the time when he stopped his teasing and started complimenting her instead. Instead of fighting with her, he started giving her wildflowers whenever she would visit the castle with her father.

She blinked, focusing on the clothesline, pulling one of Hugo’s linen shirts from it. Her fingers ached as she folded and placed it in the woven basket at her feet. She must be coming down with the flu, and hopefully nothing worse than that.

Celestia pulled more clothes down, folding them despite the aching muscles in her arms, the chills and heat alternating through her body. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep.

But who would do her chores?

Who would seed the garden?

And she needed to stay awake so she could have her daily meeting with her father, they were going to go over the finances today, how to collect a payment, and schedule whisky deliveries.

“Mornin’ to ye, lass.”

Celestia placed the last piece of clothing in the basket and turned toward the voice that she was becoming more familiar with by the day.

“What are ye doin’ here?” she said, turning to see Anthony leaning against the fence that traced the entire perimeter of her family’s property.

Celestia grabbed up the laundry basket and tucked it under her arm.

“I came by to see if ye wanted to go ridin’.”

“With ye?”

Anthony nodded, the grin on his face faltering a bit. “Aye, with me.”

“Not today,” she said, as she came closer to the back door, closer to where Anthony stood. He had a bonnet on and a simple wool coat over a linen shirt.

He was staring at her, eyes squinting a bit. “Och, lass, ye dinnae look well. Are ye feelin’ okay?” Anthony asked, his brows furrowing together.

“I ken ye aren’t a charmin’ sort of man, but to tell a woman she doesnae look well…”

Anthony grumbled. “Ye ken what I mean, Celestia. Ye are all wrapped up like yer standin’ at the top of a mountain in winter and yer flushed like ye have been slavin’ over a hot fire all day.”

“I appreciate yer colorful assessment, but I’m fine,” Celestia told him. She readjusted the basket. “I cannae go ridin’ with ye today, there’s lots to do around here.”

Anthony nodded. “Do ye want help?”

“I would have ye finish the stables since ye were the one that offered to clean them, but Chester and Hugo have been keepin’ up with it,” she said, shaking her head. A blur had sprung around the edge of her vision.

“Ah, good lads.”

She blinked, trying to rid herself of the blurriness.

“Are ye sure ye’re feelin’ well?”

She dismissed his question with a wave of her hand, but the sudden movement caused a wave of dizziness. “The only reason they’re keepin’ it clean is because they said ye promised to take them huntin’, is that true? Because ye can’t be makin’ promises ye can’t keep, Anthony Mo—”

“I intend to keep that promise, Celestia. They’re good lads, but with the reports I get from old Gavin about how they love tormentin’ him, I think they’re a bit restless. The monotony of daily chores can grow tiresome.”

“Ye dinnae have to tell me that, I ken the feelin’ well,” Celestia said. “Well, if ye excuse me, I have to get back to the monotony of my daily chores.”

She turned away from him, the blurriness in her vision getting worse with each step she took. She bumped into the small wooden table her family often took meals at when the weather was nice and set her basket down on it.

“Celestia!” It sounded like Anthony, but it could’ve been anyone. They sounded so far away.

She was vaguely aware of the voices around her. One sounded like Auralia, the other one like Anthony. She fully expected to be laid out on the grass and dirt, but she wasn’t.

Anthony had her in his arms.

“Hold the door, Auralia,” he said, voice serious.

“What should I do?” Auralia sounded frantic.

“Get some cold water from the stream, she’s burnin’ up,” he said. “Where is her room?”

“It’s the first door on the left!” Auralia shouted just before the door banged closed.

Celestia’s eyes remained closed, too tired to open them, but she felt him moving her through the house, carrying her as easily as a doll. Soon she was being placed gently onto her bed.

“Dinnae worry, lass,” Anthony said in a hushed voice, feeling him press his hand against her forehead. “I’ll take care of ye.”

* * *

Celestia woke up much later as she could hear the crickets chirping in the woods. Auralia was curled up beside her and Anthony was sitting in a rocking chair nearby. There was a bowl of water sitting on the bedside table with a damp cloth hung over the side.

“Ye fainted, lass,” Anthony said, his voice laden with sleepiness. “Ye came to just a few minutes later. But as soon as we came in here, ye fell asleep.”

“Aye, I assumed as much,” she murmured, moving to sit up a bit.

He leaned forward in the chair and rested the back of his hand against her forehead. “Ye’re still warm, ye should go back to sleep.”

She mumbled in agreement. “I’m thirsty. Is there anythin’ to drink?”

He nodded. Anthony reached for the rounded metal pitcher and poured a cup for her. Celestia grabbed the cup gently out of his hand and sipped the room temperature water.

“Ye didnae have to stay, ye ken,” she told him, taking another sip, enjoying how the cool the water felt.

“Who else would have corralled yer wee brothers?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, and wrapping a spare wool blanket tightly around him.

“Auralia could have done it,” she told him, placing the cup on the nightstand. “They listen to her better than they do me.”

Anthony nodded. “She could’ve, but she was worried sick for ye. She has nae left yer side once. Ye gave us a good scare there, faintin’ like ye did.”

“Well, it was nae in my plans for today.”

Anthony chuckled softly. “Aye, lass, I suspect nae. Go back to bed, ye need to sleep this fever off.”

Celestia nodded and turned away from him, settling into the blankets and pillow, careful not to wake Auralia as she did.

* * *

Anthony snuck into the castle kitchens, the sun wouldn’t be up for another few hours. The four fireplaces were still smoldering from dinner but provided barely any light for him to find his way.

He stepped carefully along the flagstones, wary of bumping into anything and disturbing Mrs. Duncan’s tidy kitchen. He felt his way around, turning the corner and seeing a light on in one of the small back rooms.

Probably a forgotten candle.

Anthony felt his way in that direction, keeping one hand on the solid wood table in the center of the room that was used for preparing meals.

He stumbled forward when his boot connected with a large crate, nearly toppling on top of it.

“Who’s there?”

Hurried footsteps rushed toward him, and a candle loomed in the air far below his nose. The glowing outline of Mrs. Duncan’s face, her hair covered in a night bonnet, was looking up at him.

“Mother of God, Anthony! Ye scared me half to death,” she scolded him, placing the candlestick onto the wooden table, the flame flickered wildly as she did.

“Apologies, Mrs. Duncan,” Anthony said, watching the older woman dash around the dark kitchen lighting candles so that the large room was lit just enough for them to see one another. “What are ye doin’ up this late?”

“Mendin’ one of my skirts, I tore it on a delivery cart that came through earlier,” she told him. “What are ye doin’ gettin’ in so late?”

“What do ye mean?”

“Daenae play the fool with me, Anthony Moore,” she said. “Ye weren’t here for the midday meal or dinner.”

“Ye daenae miss a thing, do ye?”

“Ye ken I don’t,” she said, plating a few pieces of cheese and dried meat for him. “Now, are ye goin’ to tell me where ye have been disappearin’ to these last few weeks?”

Anthony sat on the crate that nearly laid him out as Mrs. Duncan placed the plate in front of him. He ate a piece of cheese before answering, “Well…I have been visitin’ with Brannan McLean and his family. He’s not been well.”

“Aye, I have heard of Mr. McLean’s illness. That’s sad business, that. First their precious maither and now…I’ll miss that man’s whisky.”

He ripped a piece of meat in half. “Well, ye ken—”

“Do not chew with yer mouth full. Good lord, ye have better manners than that.”

“Sorry,” he said, midchew.

Mrs. Duncan shot him a glare, and he swallowed. “I ken that ye love his whisky, but I daenae think ye will need to be worryin’ about never havin’ the pleasure of tastin’ it again.”

“What do ye mean?” she said, leaning to rest on the wooden table, eyeing him eagerly.

“His eldest daughter—”

“Celestia?”

“Aye. Will ye let me finish, Mrs. Duncan?” he said, frowning.

“Oh, aye, aye,” she said, frantically waving her hands at him to continue.

“Celestia is takin’ over the business for him.”

“And how do ye know that?” she asked, scrunching her nose.

“I was helpin’ the family and one of Mr. McLean’s rivals showed up. There was a bit of an argument between him and Celestia—”

“Oh, that girl…she has always been a lively one, even as a wee lass.”

Anthony mashed his lips together and stared at the old woman.

“Apologies, I’ll keep my mouth shut till ye finish.”

Anthony nodded. “Celestia nearly pummeled the man until I stopped her. But the man is tryin’ to undercut their business, apparently has been for years.”

Mrs. Duncan encouraged him to go on.

“That spurred Celestia to take on the business.”

There was a pause, Mrs. Duncan making sure Anthony was finished speaking. “Aye, that is good news. Ye seem to be gettin’ quite close to the young mistress. . .”

A knowing look passed between them.

“How much did Sebastian tell ye!” Anthony exclaimed.

Mrs. Duncan shrugged, a mischievous smile playing on her wide lips. “My nephew cannae keep anythin’ from me. Ye should ken that already.”

Anthony sighed heavily.

“Och, daenae be mad, he meant well by tellin’ me. I’m fond if the idea,” Mrs. Duncan said with an encouraging smile. “If ye do manage to tie that one down, ye will have yer hands full.”

“Aye, true enough,” he said, his lips tugged into a small smirk.

“Have ye asked her yet?”

“Aye, but she’s…very reluctant.”

“I daenae blame her—”

“That’s what Sebastian said too.”

“I daenae remember her bein’ fond of ye when ye were growin’ up,” Mrs. Duncan said. “Why are ye so set on her, when ye have every chief throwin’ their daughters at ye?”

Anthony leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “Her family needs help.”

“To be sure. But do ye love her?”

“Love her?” he said, thinking back to the kiss they shared the other night. The one that he couldn’t get out of his head.

“Why else would ye marry her?”

“Ye ken it’s not that easy for a chief,” he muttered.

Mrs. Duncan snorted. “If it’s not a love match with Mistress McLean, then why do ye want her?”

“I told ye, to help her family.”

“Nay, what are ye wantin’ to marry her for?” Mrs. Duncan pried.

“I just want to wed and be done with it. Eleanor will finally leave me alone about carryin’ on the Moore lineage.”

“Dash yer damned sister, just because she didnae marry for love doesnae mean ye cannae.”

Anthony sighed.

“If ye daenae have any interest in the young woman, then I daenae think ye would be spendin’ so much time with her.”

“What do ye mean?”

“Ye ken what I mean, lad. What business do you have, truly, at the McLean’s, if it were nae for a bonnie young lass that has been ripenin’ like a peach…and that brings me back to where ye were this very night?”

“I was—”

“Were ye sullyin’ her good name? I’ll have yer head if ye took her to bed before she agreed to wed ye.”

Anthony’s eyes widened. “Nay, Mrs. Duncan! I would never.”

“Och, good!”

“I went to ask her to go ridin’ with me. But she fell ill and fainted in her yard. I—well—I carried her to her room and looked after her since they really daenae have anyone else.”

“I would say ye have somethin’ in yer heart for her.”

“I daenae ken,” Anthony said.

“I’m sure ye will figure it out. . .”

There was a long pause as Anthony busied himself with the rest of the meat and cheese platter. The sun was beginning to inch over the eastern mountains, lighting the kitchen with a dim warm light.

“I’m goin’ to head back. I need a few things. Can ye spare two maids?”

“Ye need two maids?”

“Aye, whoever ye can spare. Their home is as dusty and unkept as can be and they all look like they havenae had a proper meal in months.”

“Poor things,” Mrs. Duncan said, bustling into action. She snatched the first young maid that walked into the kitchen and sent her off to fetch the two women she could spare for the day.

“I’ll get some of the men to help with the animals too…” Anthony trailed off, standing from the crate.

The sun was higher in the sky now, nearly above the mountains. He looked around the kitchen, saw day-old loaves of bread wrapped up in cloth, and grabbed a few for the McLean’s.

He wondered what else he could bring, walking around the kitchen, grabbing a few vegetables, a bag of flour, and whatever else he could throw into the cart that they might surely need.

Anthony piled everything on the table and called to Mrs. Duncan. “I’m goin’ to round up some men, but I’ll meet ye at the gates!”

“Aye!” Mrs. Duncan’s muffled voice called from the pantry.