Page 12 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

12

E rsie speared the last strawberry with her fork, rolling it between her teeth before she swallowed and pushed her plate away. She was full but restless. Across the table, Lucas reclined with the air of a man who never had to rush, swirling the last of his sweet wine lazily.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence that had stretched a beat too long, “this village festival… what should I expect? A crowd of farmers hurlin’ turnips at the Laird’s head or somethin’ more refined?”

Lucas grinned. His smile was quick and practiced. His teeth were white against the stain of the red wine. “Depends on how much ale will be poured. And the mood of the wind.”

She tilted her head. “Ye speak like a man who’s been to too many festivals.”

“Aye, or maybe none at all.” His voice took on a thoughtful tone. “The folks of Balemara are decent enough, though. Fiercely loyal to Keith. He used to walk the streets like a common man—folk loved him for it. Till…” he trailed off with a lazy shrug.

Ersie watched his face carefully. Lucas had a talent for dancing around the truth, but something about his shrug felt too casual.

“If they welcome ye, they’ll do it with bread and song. If they dinnae… well, they will still offer ye bread. But the song might sting, ye ken?”

She sipped her water and tilted her head. “Sounds like me kind of place.”

Lucas leaned forward, his gaze dropping to her collar. “ Ye will steal the attention, anyway.”

“Why me ?”

“Ye will be the guest of the Laird, walkin’ next to him… Or should I say, the ‘Mad Laird’ himself. His first appearance since his first wife passed.”

Ersie nodded thoughtfully. “I doubt I’ll be standin’ next to him,” she said. “Unless he drags me there in chains.”

He laughed lightly, but his eyes were sharp. “Chains? That sounds like Keith’s style. Or perhaps… someone else’s?”

Ersie’s eyes hardened. The air between them cooled.

Lucas shifted easily back into charm. “I’m teasin’ ye.”

She hummed a low note, unconvinced. “Aye, I’ve seen teasin’ before. Usually, it’s followed by a thought too… indecorous to be spoken aloud.”

He hummed then. “Indecorous, ye say?” he said, a flirtatious lilt in his voice. She felt his eyes travel up and down her body.

Ersie steeled herself, playing into the flirtatious tone of the conversation. She even kicked her feet up on the chair between them. The action was not lost on Lucas in the slightest.

“Precisely, Lucas. Indecorous.”

He relaxed back into his chair, blowing air into the space between them. She hadn’t even noticed that he had leaned so close.

“Ach!” he said in a casual tone. “I cannae help but tease ye. I’ve never met a woman who could… keep up.”

Ersie grinned. “Ye are but a soldier at heart. A man. I understand.”

“Aye, a man. Though I shouldnae be makin’ such jests to me braither’s guest. Nay matter how gorgeous she may be. We are grateful for yer help, and I dinnae wish to make ye uncomfortable.”

“Apology accepted, Lucas. Thank ye.”

The younger Dunn brother nodded his head reverently. “I can assure ye that I’m nae like any of the other soldiers ye may have met before. Neither is me braither.”

“Care to test that theory?” she asked innocently.

“Sure,” he said, the corners of his lips lifting.

“What should I wear to the festival?” she asked.

A dress, probably.

Lucas’s eyes raked over her body again, lingering in a way that set her teeth on edge. “Probably just go as ye are, lass.”

There was a long pause. The word lass fell from his mouth with a leer, sharp-edged and empty of affection.

Unlike when Keith said it.

She tried not to think about that morning. The way Keith’s mouth had covered hers like he’d meant to claim her soul. The memory burned like a brand.

“Fail,” she said simply, her lips quirking up.

Lucas burst into hearty laughter, and she joined in. “Aye, indeed, I have.”

“Ye didnae even try!”

“Nay, I never said I would.”

Her laughter died down, but she managed to ask, “What’s yer story, Lucas Dunn?”

“Me story?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up, another laugh easily escaping his lips.

“Aye, ye ken all about me… right?”

“I sure do—enough anyway,” Lucas murmured. “Me story is simple. I’m Keith’s younger braither. There’s nae much else to me life. I’m here to protect the Laird, am I nae?”

“Such is the life of a man-at-arms…” Ersie said knowingly.

“Aye, ye ken all about that, I reckon’.”

“I sure do,” she echoed, emptying her chalice and leaning forward once more, her arms resting on the table.

“Must have been hard, goin’ through all of that five years ago,” she noted, referring to his losing a sister-in-law and a nephew.

Lucas’s face fell, and the darkness that shrouded Keith’s features found it. “Aye, me nephew. It was…” he trailed off, staring off into the distance.

His throat bobbed, and Ersie felt a pang of sympathy.

“It was truly devastating. I’ll never forget the wails…”

The screams that haunted Ersie’s slumber reared their heads, threatening to consume her entirely.

“Another comrade of pain…”

Keith’s words echoed in her mind, and she gave a grin, which Lucas returned with a slight nod of understanding. The burdensome ghosts they carried had bowed to each other as well.

“Aye, very well… I hope yer day is a productive one, Lucas. Please excuse me,” she muttered, standing up abruptly. “I fancy a ride.”

Lucas blinked, caught off guard, but he said nothing as she swept out of the garden. She made a beeline for the stables, her heart pounding and her throat dry.

Keith’s horse stood in the stall at the far end. It was tall, dark, and utterly untouchable.

“Hello, Brannoc.”

The destrier huffed and pawed at the ground impatiently. She saddled the beast herself, grinning as she tightened the girth.

“He’ll love this,” she murmured to herself, devilish satisfaction curling in her gut.

The horse snorted but obeyed as she led it out of the stall and mounted it with practiced ease.

The morning air was still cool, a touch of spring on the breeze, and the hooves clattered softly as she guided the animal through the gates. Past the fields and budding wildflowers, into the rolling glens that wrapped around the castle like ribbons of green and gold.

For the first time in days, she let herself breathe. Brannoc was more powerful than Fanella, to be sure, but the ride was smooth, nonetheless. The rhythm of the horse’s movements eased something in her chest.

Her thoughts drifted to Keith again. To the festival to come. To the kiss that had rattled her very existence. She shook herself.

Foolish.

A half-hour in, she veered off the main path, curiosity tugging her down a scarcely traveled deer trail. Low branches whipped at her hair, tugging parts of her braid loose. Stones shifted underfoot, then the trees opened up.

A hidden kirkyard stretched out before her, half-swallowed by the earth and moss. Crumbling stones leaned drunkenly against one another, their inscriptions worn to nothing. One tall marker still stood proud, its iron cross rusting but whole.

She dismounted, her eyes narrowing.

It was a MacAuley crest.

The family crypt.

Her breath caught as she stepped closer. There were two names carved clean into the stone, untouched by the weather.

Mairead, of Clan Kitarne, and child, unnamed. 1695.

Ersie swallowed hard. She felt a sharp pang in her heart.

“Just five years ago…” she whispered to herself.

She knelt, her fingers tracing the carved letters. Not for long. Just a moment. Long enough to understand.

When she finally turned away, she vowed to herself she would help Keith find peace.

But as she mounted the horse and turned back toward the keep, the sound of hooves approached from the other direction.

The black hair was familiar, but it did not belong to the man she wished to see. She smiled to herself, imagining Keith’s angry face as he found out that she had taken Brannoc without permission.

But she wouldn’t be witnessing it just yet because it wasn’t Keith approaching. Rather, it was Lucas.

“So, ye’ve found the old kirkyard, eh?” he called as he pulled up beside her.

“Just curious.”

“A dangerous thing in some places.”

She rolled her eyes, her back still to him. “Ye’re followin’ me?”

“Nae at all,” he said smoothly. “Merely ridin’. And lucky to stumble upon such fine company. Ye ken, ye could be me protection today. Ersie Barcley, famed warrior.”

She gave him a flat look. “I’ll pass, though thank ye for thinkin’ of me.”

Lucas laughed. “Suit yerself. Though ye dinnae need to be so prickly. It’s unladylike, and I really am quite charming, once ye let me be.”

Her stomach twisted. Something about his smile wasn’t right. Or maybe it wasn’t his smile at all, but the fact that she looked at him and all she could think about was his brother, and the way he had claimed her lips and?—

“I’ve had enough charm for one mornin’,” she muttered, turning to Brannoc in an attempt to clear her thoughts. “I’m nae feelin’ well either.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Somethin’ ye ate?”

“Aye… just too much…” she trailed off, the words dying on the tip of her tongue.

Too much Lucas and nae enough Keith.

She didn’t wait for him to follow. The horse settled into a trot and carried her back to the keep. A question lingered on her mind with annoying persistence.

How could someone move the Laird’s bairn out of the castle?

As the spires of MacAuley Keep came into view, she slowed Brannoc. The path sloped down gently toward the inner yard, and from this angle, she could see the entire stretch of the curtain wall, the round towers at each corner, and the gatehouse. She pulled on the reins.

“Easy now, boy,” she whispered, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in every detail.

Her gaze swept across the grounds—the dilapidated stables on the east side, the servants’ entrance tucked discreetly near the kitchens, the narrow path that led around the rear gardens, hidden from the courtyard by a wall of wild brambles.

She breathed deeply and turned her eyes upward. A pair of windows caught her attention, jutting just slightly from the castle’s third level.

Archers’ lookouts, mayhap?

Her eyes followed the map in her head, and she remembered them from Keith’s study—though his study was located on the other side of the keep, above the larger, front gardens.

“Where do those lead?”

The question made her stomach twist, and she nudged Brannoc toward the northside stables.

She dismounted slowly, patting the horse’s flank before handing over the reins to a stableboy. “Give him a good brush, aye? He’s earned it.”

Ersie turned toward the keep as the stableboy led the horse away, but instead of heading through the front archway, she veered right, along the shadowed perimeter of the kitchens.

She had spent time in plenty of keeps during her years in service. Most Highland castles followed similar architectural principles: function before beauty. But MacAuley’s was older and cruder, with layers added over generations. That meant passages, forgotten stairwells, and likely hidden doorways.

If someone spirited a bairn out of the nursery that night, they surely wouldnae have used the front door.

She found what she was looking for tucked beside the scullery entrance—a narrow spiral staircase, poorly lit and coated in a fine layer of dust. No servant used this stairwell anymore, which made it the perfect place to look.

Ersie slipped inside, careful not to make the hinges creak. Her boots were soft against the stone as she climbed. Two turns in and the stairs split. One way led down, likely to some sort of storeroom. The other rose sharply.

“Up we go,” she whispered to her shadow.

The light dimmed as she continued her climb. At the top, the stone gave way to old timber framing, and she had to duck as she passed under a low lintel. A narrow hallway opened before her, the beams warped with age and the air heavy with stagnant smoke and herbs.

She walked slowly, counting her steps silently.

Ten… Fifteen… Twenty…

Then, she stopped.

To her left, a half-rotted tapestry fluttered against the wall, and behind it, she found an unlocked door. When she pulled on the iron handle, stale air assaulted her senses.

“A nursery.” Her statement fell on the untouched, forgotten laid-out trinkets, still ready to be used.

The two narrow windows were situated in the center of the opposite wall, letting in just enough light for her to see the depressed stone along the wall to her left.

She crossed the room, careful not to leave a trace of her presence, and found another narrow corridor.

Ersie followed the sharp passage as it curved and then descended.

When she emerged again, she was near the base of the keep. Pantry shelves lined the walls, and the familiar scents of braised meats and pastries wafted from the nearby kitchen.

The route she had taken led from the upper rooms to the base of the keep—entirely out of view from the main thoroughfares. She mapped it all out, connecting the rooms and stairwells.

If someone had been in the nursery that night, they’d have had to move fast. Get the bairn out without alerting the staff and avoid the guards.

The route she had just taken would have allowed it. But her eyes searched the space.

Where did they go next?

Ersie followed the narrow space between pantry shelves, careful not to disturb any of the contents. She stepped over large barrels of wine and ale and crates of vegetables. Then, she ducked under long rows of dried meats before finally emerging into a scarcely used rear exit. It placed her into the narrow service lane, which she followed along the outer wall to a grated drain leading to an old culvert.

It was wide enough.

She knelt beside it, the dirt soiling her pants as she brushed back the moss and then pushed the hair back from her face. The iron bars were rusted but bent slightly… purposefully.

A bairn could have been passed through here, and someone could have been waiting on the other side.

She stood then, startled by the questions that flooded her mind.

Who had access to the nursery that night?

Who kenned the castle better than anyone else?

Do the guards on the southern borders remember anything? They’d be closest to this exact point.

The sun had dipped low beneath the horizon, and the sky was painted a tantalizing orange. Ersie rolled her shoulders back, feeling the burning soreness take hold.

She would take a tray in her room tonight.

She didn’t have time for… distractions.

In the safety of her chambers, the weight of the day settled heavily on her shoulders. Isla stood by the door, a look of concern on her face.

“Draw me a bath, Isla, please,” Ersie instructed, unbuckling the belt around her waist. “And can ye bring up some soup and bread? I’m nae feelin’ quite right—goin’ to sup in here tonight.”

Isla nodded, her brow furrowing though she was already moving.

As the steam and the scent of lavender rose from the tub, Ersie lowered herself into the water, letting the heat loosen the knots in her body.

The warmth soaked into her muscles, but her mind refused to slow down. Her thoughts wandered immediately to the scattered notes she’d seen the day before.

Thirty-seven in total, each one a testimony…

She went through the pages in her mind as the water lapped around her shoulders, recalling the ones she had nearly memorized.

One account had spoken of evil in the shadows of the keep.

Another mentioned a woman who had vanished after the funeral.

A merchant claimed to have seen a stranger exchanging coins with one of the stablehands, but no names were offered, and when questioned again, he recanted his tale.

“Too many threads, too many missing links,” Ersie muttered to herself, her fingers pulling a few petals under the surface of the water.

Clan Kitarne refused to renew a trade pact the week after the child’s death. A boy was dismissed. The healer left…

“All… too… convenient…” She frowned, water sloshing softly around her as she sat up straighter.

She might not have been born to the task of solving mysteries, but she’d be damned if she didn’t find something useful in that mess of stories and accounts.

I have three days until the festival. I must have a lead by then.

Ersie sank back down into the tub, closed her eyes, and let the scent of lavender deepen her focus. “Tomorrow,” she whispered to the steam, “I’ll ask the questions they have all been afraid to answer.”

The bathwater hummed around her like a promise, and she let it pull her under for a moment.

But her thoughts were anything but quiet.

Lucas was a charmer, but Keith was a storm, and she was already too far into the winds to turn back now.

She sank deeper into the water, her gaze drifting to the rafters, to the window beyond them, where birds chirped like nothing in the world was broken.

She envied them.

Even as her lips still tingled from the morning’s kiss—the one that had turned her inside out and made her heart pound in places it shouldn’t be.