Page 7 of Kidnapped by her Highland Enemy

“That was over a century ago,” she groaned. “Shan’t we do away with this now? Dozens of women have come and gone and why is that one thing the endless causation of this?”

“Pride can be me clan’s mortal fault, lass,” Lucas shrugged. “And we’re good fighters, which can be a good or bad combination depending on how ye look at it.”

Sighing, Maisie turned to the path, “Hardheadedness is going to be the death of our nation.”

Lucas was silent behind her, and she wondered if he were agreeing with her or not. She would wager not, as she knew the lengths clan pride would take a person. They got to the front door of the house and passed through it with Maisie feeling flustered on all accounts.

He’s handsome, nay doubt. But I shouldnae be feeling this way about him…this pull.

She headed upstairs only to feel a broad hand grip her elbow. Spinning in place, Maisie gasped as this time, his skin was on hers. She felt the rasp of his calluses, the heat of his palm and a fire-sweet singing sensation running up her arm.

Frozen in place, Maisie could not decipher what was happening. A muscle in Lucas’s jaw worked while his grip slid from her, his fingers leaving a lingering heated touch in its wake. “I’ll send supper up for ye.”

With a curt nod, she headed up to the rooms to find more blankets on her bed, a stool, and a copper basin with buckets of water beside it. She sunk to the edge of her cot, and twisted her hand to see if, somehow, he had left a searing mark on her skin. While there was none, she felt it.

Flitting her fingers over the inner skin of her elbow, Maisie stared numbly. What was happening? How was it that Lucas was bringing out all these strange emotions?

“Miss Maisie?” Eilidh greeted her and Maisie’s head snapped up while her cheeks warmed. She had been so lost in thought that she had not heard the woman nearby.

Hurrying to her feet, Maisie went to take the tray from her. “Ye dinnae have to do that.”

“Eh,” the lady waved her off and took the stool. “It’s me pleasure.”

Eying Eilidh’s belly, Maisie asked, “Is this bairn yer first?”

“Aye,” she said while patting her belly. “I feel deep in me bones that it’s a lad.”

Her supper was another bowl of stew, smaller this time, a hunk of cheese, a small loaf of bread. “And if it’s a lass? What then?”

“She’ll still get the same training as we would a boy, but under the quiet,” Eidith grinned, her smile popping a divot in her cheek. “Oliver is set on making sure anyone who is born from us can defend themselves.”

While breaking the flaky brown bread, Maisie kept her head down but asked, “When ye first saw yer husband, what did ye feel?”

“Eh, I reckon I felt a strange sensation in me chest,” Eilidh replied, her voice going warm and lovingly. “When he touched me, I felt a fire under me skin, nae to mention when he kissed me. The moment his lips met mine, I kent I was done in.”

The first two statements Eilidh made had Maisie trembling where she sat. Barely holding the knife, Maisie managed to mop up the stew with a clump of bread and ate. She got control over her reaction, hopefully, quickly enough that Eilidh had not noticed.

She had felt those exact reactions—eerily enough—with Lucas and she began to flail in thinking what would happen if he did kiss her.

Nonsense. He willnae kiss me, he is me enemy, for heaven’s sake.

However, she felt deep within her heart that he was not her nemesis.

He might be her father’s but aside from kidnapping her, he had not done anything to show he hated her.

Rather, Lucas had been kind enough, had not threatened her nor had he abused her.

What could she have said about any other that wanted to harm her father?

The troubling thoughts made her shiver as if a block of ice had been dropped in the middle of her chest. She forced herself to eat and finish her food, then set the tray aside.

“Why did ye ask, Miss Maisie?” Eilidh asked genially.

“I—” Maisie swallowed. “—I never kent any of the Barclay men were little more than warriors with only one passion, to fight.”

“Many of the men there are more than fighters,” Eilidh replied while rubbing her belly.

“Take his lairdship for example, he studied in Glasgow and went to train in Ireland as well. He’s been leading his faither’s men for eight years now and five years ago, after His Highness had ordered Scottish clans to give aid to the English king with his war in France, we sent our men to France to negotiate a separate treaty of alliance.

He might have been young but he was the leader of that coalition. ”

“He kens diplomacy?” Maisie asked.

“He has a master of most things that ye would never assume,” Eilidh replied, frankly. “He is nae a simple man, lass.”

Sighing, Maisie shook her head, “I dinnae ken what to think about him. He mystifies me.”

“What about ye?” Eilidh asked. “What was yer life like?”

“I am the only child me parents had,” Maisie said.

“All me life, I had the best tutors in anything I could fancy. I got archery lessons in between Latin. I learned riding while reciting poetry. Me faither was nae as present in me life as I’d wanted—” He ignored me for years as he wanted a lad.

“—and I suppose giving me tutors was his way of caring for me.”

“Yer learned.”

“Aye,” Maisie said, “I want to be a healer like me maither had been before me, but me faither kens it a waste of me time.”

“Why?”

Because he kens I am nay worth anything? Because me birth made me maither ill and that led to her death? Because he would have preferred a lad instead of lass? Could be one of them, could be all.

Instead of replying, Maisie shrugged and Eilidh took it with a nod. “Ah, lass. I wish it werenae that way. But I ken ye will find yer place in life at the right time. And ye’ll find love in the same way.”

Maisie looked up, swallowing hard. Did the lady know something that she did not?

“Erm… thank ye?” Maisie said.

Gradually standing, Eilidh took the tray and then tapped Maisie’s shoulder, “Ye’ll be all right, lass. I am a healer meself and I ken the heart that it takes to be one. Yer faither might nae ken it, but I sense ye do have it. Try nae to worry, Miss Maisie.”

The older woman’s parting words did not comfort Maisie as much as she would have liked.

The truth was Lucas disorientated her in the worst way.

She should not be drawn to him, but she was.

She should not be intrigued by him, but she was.

She should jerk away from his touch, not crave to lean into it.

Lying back on her bed, Maisie tried to logically work through the emotions that sat on her chest but as the evening slipped to night, and with no answers forthcoming, she realized that nothing made sense. She should not like the man, even less be drawn to him.

Naything is right, and what if it gets worse? What will I do then?