Page 9 of Highlander’s Wild Lass (Wild McLeans #1)

8

E ach day that passed since she kissed Anthony in the stables, the more the memory fought to take over every thought in her head.

She kissed him.

She kissed him.

Celestia touched her thumb to her lips, remembering the softness of Anthony’s bottom lip. Every time her thoughts lingered on how he easily lifted her up and sat her down on the hay, she wondered what would have happened if they weren’t interrupted.

Celestia became aware of a hand waving in her face. She blinked several times and saw Jacob sitting across from her at her kitchen table. He’d come from Inverness that afternoon with a pile of responses from the letters she wrote their first day back in the distillery.

“Good lord, did the devil take ye just then?”

Might as well have .

“Of course not,” she told him, exhaling loudly. “What were ye sayin’?”

“I found the casks that Mr. Cummings was interested in for his faither’s birthday yesterday.”

“Finally,” she said in a huff, looking down at the spread of open letters before her on the table. “I’ll write to him a bit later.”

He tipped his head in acknowledgment and gathered a few sheets of paper that lay in front of him. “I wouldnae be so disheartened, Celestia. The men will come back once they realize they cannae find better whisky.”

She attempted a smile, feeling grateful for Jacob. Ever the one to always have a reassuring word. But once some of her father’s customers discovered his daughter was running things, they refused to work with her—even a few that had been with McLean’s since the beginning.

Instead of signing just her name alone on letters and important documents, her father thought it best for Chester and Hugo to sign their names as well. To ensure that McLean Whisky was family-owned and operated business, not just woman-owned.

“Yer faither is havin’ the papers drawn up by the lawyer to legally sign ownership over to ye and yer brothers,” he said.

“Perfect,” she answered. “Thank ye for everythin’, Jacob. Truly.”

He blushed and waved her away. “I’m just happy to be able to help, and I’m glad ye have decided to keep me on staff.”

Her head shot up and she set a hard, serious look on him. “Were ye worried we werenae goin’ to keep ye?”

Jacob nodded sheepishly. “Well, with how poorly I maintained things in yer faither’s absence.”

“None of that’s yer fault. We never once thought about gettin’ rid of ye. We wouldnae have been able to carry on without ye. Before I decided to take over and now!”

“Ye do me a great kindness,” Jacob said, lowering his eyes to the work before him.

She dipped her quill into the nearly empty inkpot and flashed him a grin. “I’m sure they are.”

Celestia and Jacob returned to their work, writing letters, and tallying the weekly revenue when, at the end of the hallway, Brannan started coughing.

They glanced at one another: Jacob with a look of concern, and Celestia just giving a shake of her head, letting him know it was a regular occurrence. Brannan’s coughing fits were more frequent lately. The village healer was unsure if it was due to the season’s changing or if Brannan’s condition was getting worse. Celestia knew her brothers and sister were holding out hope that it was just the seasons. And she had to admit, a little part of her was holding onto that hope too.

As their quills scratched against the parchment, the coughing fit continued. It grew into sputtering, painful-sounding coughs, and soon it was quiet, wheezing sounds that filtered into the kitchen.

Celestia’s heart calmed, and she relaxed her shoulders, sensing it was over.

“Celestia!” Auralia screamed, loud and panicked.

Celestia’s heart nearly stopped, her eyes meeting Jacob’s. He was already looking at her, the fear mirroring her own.

“Celestia!” Auralia shouted again, sprinting out of their father’s bedroom. “Come, he’s nae breathin’! He cannae breathe!”

Celestia stood abruptly from her chair and Jacob followed suit, rushing down the hallway with her. All three bounded into the bedroom to see Brannan, lips tinged a slight blue and hand on his chest, struggling to inhale.

“Auralia,” Celestia said, her voice quieter and calmer than she expected it to come out, “tell the boys to run to the village at once to get the healer. Tell them to make haste.”

Auralia stared from her to their struggling father, eyes wide and trembling. She didn’t move from the spot she stood.

“Now!” Celestia shouted firmly.

Auralia nodded and ran from the room. Celestia looked at Jacob, and she knew he didn’t know what they should do at this moment either.

“I sent them; they’re already gone,” Auralia said as she came back into the bedroom.

Brannan was looking at her, eyes wide, pleading as he grasped at his chest and his throat. Celestia didn’t know what to do, she was no healer. But if she did nothing, her father would die from lack of air.

“I daenae ken what to do, Da,” she pleaded, feeling that she was near tears.

Brannan’s hand flung out to the small chest beside the bed. “He...re...” he managed to strangle out. “This.”

Jacob wrestled the chest open, handing it to Celestia. Inside was only a smoking pipe and a small, translucent muslin bag stuffed with dried leaves. It didn’t smell like tobacco though.

“Ye cannae be smokin’ at a time like this,” Celestia said to her father. “How can this be helpful?”

“Ye—smo...ke it,” Brannan choked and covered his nose and mouth with a very pale hand. “Me.”

Celestia stared at him, still unsure how smoking anything would fix what was happening.

“Hurry, Celestia,” Jacob said, “pack the pipe!”

With shaky hands, Celestia withdrew the pipe and untied the bag to stuff the dried leaves into the chamber until it was full.

“Here,” Jacob said. He had gone to the fireplace and grabbed a piece of kindling that was on fire. “Light it, quick!”

Celestia put the end of the pipe in her mouth and held it to the flame Jacob was holding. She inhaled and inhaled again until the leaves began to burn. She took a deep inhale and blew it into Brannan’s face. The smoke hit him in a furl of light gray, and they watched him inhale some of it.

“Again!” Jacob said when they both noticed Brannan take a shuttering deep breath.

She inhaled and once again blew the smoke into her father’s face. Another few seconds passed, and Brannan’s breathing relaxed. The color was returning to his face once more. Brannan inhaled easier this time and she could see every muscle relaxing. Whatever she just did for him, worked.

She placed the pipe back inside the chest and set it aside. “Better?”

Brannan nodded, laying his hand on his chest.

“The boys ran for the healer,” she told him, watching his chest rise as he took rasping deep breaths.

Brannan motioned behind Celestia.

They all turned to see Auralia frozen with a jug of water and glass in her hands near the doorway. She looked as if she were about to drop everything and run away. Celestia felt the same urge herself.

Brannan was beckoning her forward. “I’m alright, Aurie.”

But was he? Celestia studied her father’s face, heavily lined and pale. She took the jug from Auralia and poured a glass of water, handing it to her father.

Brannan took it and sipped very slow, small sips from the edge of the glass. “Take it, will ye?” he asked Celestia, the glass trembled in his hand.

Celestia placed the glass on the bedside table, within reach for him if he wanted it again.

The front door banged open again and a commotion made its way through the house toward Brannan’s bedroom. The healer barged into the room with the big, black leather bag he always carried. The twins were behind him, ruddy-faced and worried.

“It’s alright,” Brannan repeated to them.

Chester and Hugo only nodded and hung back near the doorway.

“Ye can leave him with me, lass,” the healer told her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Ye did well, let me tend to him.”

Wordlessly, Celestia nodded and ushered everyone out of the room.

He emerged an hour or so later, doing his best to hide the seriousness of the situation. Celestia watched him walk up the length of the hallway from her seat at the kitchen table; he was dressed in his black traveling cloak looking much like the grim reaper itself.

The healer gripped his bag in front of him with both hands. “I will nay lie to ye, Celestia. He is gettin’ worse.”

Clearly.

“If it happens again, just do what ye did once more.”

Celestia nodded.

“Let him rest for the night, and I’ll be back in the mornin’ to check on him.”

“Aye, thank ye for comin’.”

Once the door clicked softly closed behind him, Celestia went to check on her father. The door was only half-closed, and she crept through the opening, seeing the candles on the bedside table had been blown out.

Brannan was asleep, with the sheets pulled up nearly to his chin. She was unsure if he had done it or the healer, but either way, he was asleep. And he was alive.

She crept back out of the room slowly, trying not to make a sound. She debated closing the door and giving the man peace, but instead, she opened it all the way. Celestia wanted to be able to hear if he had another attack.

She convinced Jacob to stay for dinner before he left for his parents’ house. It was a muted dinner around the table with only dried meat and mashed potatoes with butter to eat.

Auralia was first to leave the table with silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Chester and Hugo were also dead silent, not a single joke passed from their lips throughout the entirety of dinner. And after they placed their dishes in the washbasin, they went to their rooms too.

Celestia showed Jacob out with many promises to get enough sleep and not worry too much. With Jacob gone and the rest of her family in their rooms, she let out a strangled, hobbled sob and sunk to the ground against the front door. The fear and the sadness that she had been holding in for hours now finally found their way out.

Celestia was not sure how long she cried. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours. She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them, staring into the smoldering kitchen hearth.

Whatever gripped her heart had a sound grip on it. Fear, panic, absolute hopelessness. It all filled her, and she felt as if she would catch fire.

She fisted the tears harshly from her eyes. Images of the last few hours passed in front of her eyes and soon she could no longer see the glowing fireplace.

It was all too much.

Then, the men from the whisky shop crowded her vision, yelling that she was a stupid woman. No business sense. They gathered closer to her, blocking out all light, and suffocating her.

Who would take care of them if she failed?

She groped up the wall and stood. Celestia opened the door to find a rainstorm had started and night had fallen. She stepped out of the house, shutting the door behind her.

She was nearly blinded from rain and from tears when she hit the main road, but the lights from Castle Ferguson were clear ahead.

She grabbed hold of her skirt and ran.

Her lungs burned and her feet were slick with mud as she ran through puddle after puddle. Pieces of her hair stuck to her face, and she felt as breathless as her father, chest burning.

She reached the gates, closed for the night. She grabbed onto them and shook. “Let me in!”

She could see a dim light in the covered guardhouse. She shook the gate as violently as she could, metal rattling against the tall stone walls.

“Let me in!”

A clap of thunder rumbled.

“What’s all this now?” A guard stumbled sleepily from the guardhouse. The thunder must have mercifully woken him up.

“I need to get into the castle,” she said, feeling her feet sinking into the muddy gravel.

“Do ye ken what time it is, lass?” he asked, using his hand to shield his eyes from the rain.

“I daenae care what time it is,” she said, thinking as quickly as her shaken mind allowed. He wouldn’t give her permission to enter if he thought she was just some girl from the village.

“I’m a maid,” she said finally. “Ye can call Mrs. Duncan, if ye find the need to.”

He looked her over. “A bit old to be a maid, are ye nae?”

Another clap of thunder.

“Please,” she pleaded, giving the gate another rattle. “I’m soaked through. I’ll surely catch a chill.”

“Alright, fine,” he said, pulling the gate open only wide enough for Celestia to fit through. “Remember—”

Celestia took off, running under the portcullis that had yet to be shut for the evening. She heard the guard shouting about a curfew, but she paid no mind.

She wracked her brain for the layout of the castle from when she was a girl. The last time she was in the family quarters was nearly ten years ago.

Through the front door, up the flight of main stairs to the rooms. But where were the chief’s chambers? Celestia had never seen the inside of them, but she knew they had to be nearby.

She remembered her father, and vaguely Anthony, telling her that part of the chief’s chambers resided in the tallest tower of the castle. It gave them the best view, to take in the beauty of their land and to see their enemies coming from afar.

Eventually, she came to a spiraling set of stairs just off the main hallway of the family rooms, which were all eerily vacant compared to when they used to be filled with Anthony, his parents, and sister.

She reached an elaborately carved wooden door at the top of the stairs, and the light of a fire glowed beneath it. This had to be it.

She knew she would lose her nerve entirely if she had to continue searching for them. Celestia tested the handle, finding it unlocked, and pushed in. Before her sat Anthony behind his desk. His head shot up and he just stared at her, mouth agape.

She must have been a sight, skirts full of mud, soaked to the bone and dripping everywhere.

“Celestia, what the hell are ye doin’ here?” he asked. The fire illuminated and cast shadows on his face, making him look all the more superior to her and all the more breathtaking.

She ignored his question and said what she had been wanting to say since she saw her father blue in the face and helpless. “I’ll marry ye.”