Page 23 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

23

T rouble pawed at her fingers as she sat up in her bed the next morning. He was purring like a tiny thunderclap on her lap.

Ersie had gotten very little sleep. Her mind had been a wild, uncontrollable thing throughout the night, reliving every breath, every brush of Keith’s hand, every look he hadn’t meant for her to catch.

Foolish.

“Such a foolish lass, Ersie Barcley,” she murmured, scratching Trouble behind the ears. “Gettin’ soft and distracted by a man.”

Trouble blinked up at her with indifferent green eyes.

He didnae actually mean it… she thought to herself, defiant until the end.

But why would he say it?

She knew the moment he left that something must have happened between when she left the dungeons last night and when he made his way to her chambers.

Could have been Lucas. Braithers do have a way of getting under one’s skin.

When she walked down the lower corridor the previous night, Lucas had said that she shouldn’t have been down there.

She had scoffed and bid him a good night without stopping.

But what did he say to Keith?

“Lucas kens I’m a warrior—we discussed it the night I first met him,” she murmured to Trouble, who had since dropped his head back on her lap.

Her mind reeled.

Lucas was Keith’s younger brother, his only living family member, and his second-in-command.

Ersie was Ciaran’s younger sister, his only living family member, and his woman -at-arms. As Ciaran’s second-in-command, it was her sole duty and purpose to protect him and the MacAitken lands.

As was Lucas’s.

Now that Ciaran was married, Ersie’s protection and duty extended to Laura, her sister-in-law, and young Fraser as well, the heir to the clan. Soon, it would extend further to the bairn Laura was currently carrying.

As would Lucas’s.

Ersie sat upright, to Trouble’s dismay, and started assessing every moment spent under Keith’s protection as if she were viewing it from his man-at-arms’ point of view.

Surprised by a guest and finding out that the guest is a renowned warrior.

“That could have taken him aback and caught him off guard. I reckon I would have hated it if Ciaran did that to me. Especially if he told me that this guest was there to help with an investigation that I was already five years into.” Her words tumbled after one another without delay or pause.

What if he saw them ‘sparring?’

“I’m sure I would have instantly kenned if Ciaran was sparring with one of the Highland’s most skilled warriors.”

She scoffed at how nauseatingly confident she sounded, but then continued the exercise—for it was just an exercise.

Then, the festival…

“Gracious. If he kens about what happened in the woods…!” she exclaimed, and Trouble nearly jumped out of his fur. “Sorry, laddie,” she said as she stroked the kitten’s raised fur until he calmed back down.

Lucas said something to Keith. Something that made him address our… whatever this is—was. Lucas is protecting his braither. Cannae fault either of them.

Ersie sat back, satisfied.

“It makes sense, and it’s exactly what I would have done. I would have said something to protect me Laird… me braither.”

A sudden explosion of shouting shattered the peace she had just found, and she was on her feet in an instant, her dagger in hand.

Trouble tumbled from her lap with an indignant squeak, and she hissed an apology as she quickly donned her pants and boots and threw a tunic on.

Heart pounding, she raced down the corridor, dodging skittish servants and skidding around each corner.

Did the prisoners escape?

Red Hugh?

No. None of the obvious possibilities could have prepared her for what she saw as she stormed down the stairs.

The noise thundering through the corridors was fierce, nearly violent with rage, and… it became more and more familiar with each step she took.

What?

The shadows of the keep gave way under the archway of the Great Hall, and there he stood. A storm in the flesh, his broad shoulders tight with rage, his piercing blue eyes cutting through the room until they landed on her.

“Ciaran?” she gasped.

The guards around him looked nervous, some even glancing toward the door as if weighing their chances.

“Sister.” Ciaran crossed the hall in long, deliberate strides, each footfall sounding like a death knell.

Ersie was rooted to the spot. “What are ye doin’ here?”

His jaw flexed. “Perhaps we should go to a more private location—I hear ye ken all about those these days.”

What is he on about?

She looked at him skeptically. “Ye can address me as yer second-in-command or yer sister. Choose, now.”

“I’m addressing Lady Ersie Barcley, sister of Laird MacAitken. Now, lead the way.” Ciaran pointed over her shoulder with the blade he had been wielding in his defense.

“Relax, Braither ,” she said, flicking her blade against his defiantly.

She led them both out of the Great Hall and into the small library with Keith’s portrait hanging prominently along the back wall.

“So,” she said as the door closed behind them, “what were ye doin’? Causin’ a ruckus so early in the morn’?”

“Early? Says the lass who is normally awake before dawn. I see ye have gotten quite… comfortable.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I heard from the village, and half of the bloody Highlands, about ye and MacAuley.” His voice was a low growl.

Ersie folded her arms across her chest. “What’s this?”

“Been traipsin’ around MacAitken lands with such disregard for propriety that I heard of it all the way in Kilbray, Ersie! Yer loose behavior has crossed borders!”

She raised her eyebrows, before letting them fall and narrowing her gaze into a glare that she hoped would set his entire body on fire.

“So, ye have come here to see the embarrassment for yerself? Well, here she is, Ciaran. Take a look.” Her hand swept down her body.

She was wearing the same clothes she had worn when she arrived, and she mentally thanked the Lord for giving her enough grace to don her own clothes. Her words would have carried far less weight if she had arrived in his tunic.

“Och! I can see plainly. Ye have changed—and how much ye have changed. What has he done to ye?”

“I see,” Ersie sneered. “Folk cannae let a warrior, or a man-at-arms, share a roof with another laird without weavin’ a scandal?”

“ Share a roof? Are ye completely daft, lass? They say ye shared a bed! ”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “Braither, I have been a warrior since I could hold a blade—nae thanks to ye! Most of me time is spent around men, nae to mention that I’ve been man-at-arms to nae one but two lairds.”

“Nay, Ersie. Nae like this,” he said sharply, his voice like a whip.

“Why? Because we arenae related?”

Her question gave Ciaran enough pause for her to continue her melee.

“Do ye ken how many men I’ve been accused of bein’ with or likin’ over the years? How many baseless rumors men have flung at me? All because I’m a woman and a lady from a prominent clan. Ye have never heard because ye were never around— by design . Ye are only hearing them now because I’m yer second-in-command. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Ciaran’s fists clenched. “And what about this particular rumor, Ers? What about the two of ye?”

Ersie’s jaw tensed as she recalled the conversation she and Keith had only hours ago. “There is nay ‘us.’”

The ghost of his touch burned her skin, but she managed not to lie to her brother.

“Why did ye come all the way here, Braither?”

“Because me sister’s honor was in question. The integrity of me house and me own kin was in question.”

“Does Laura ken that ye are here right now?”

“I left a note,” Ciaran said stubbornly.

Ach, he shouldnae have come if he didnae tell Laura.

Ersie’s eyebrow rose impertinently, and Ciaran rolled his eyes.

“I’m stayin’. I still have the remainder of this week, and I’ll keep me word.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, like a warhorse scenting battle.

“I’m stayin’ too, then,” he said, deadly calm.

“Ye will do nay such thing! This doesnae concern ye.”

“Ye dinnae reckon that I have an interest in these past two weeks? That I’m nae part of it meself?”

“Ye dinnae, and ye arenae,” she stated defiantly.

“Ye are stayin’, and so am I. I will help with whatever business ye and MacAuley are caught up in, and when it’s done, I’ll take ye home.”

Ersie shook her head slowly, fury threading through her voice. “I am nae a bairn to be ordered about.”

“Nay,” he said grimly, stepping impossibly close to her. “Ye are me sister. And if ye think I’ll stand idly by while folk from his clan sully yer name and ruin yer reputation, ye dinnae ken me at all.”

Trouble darted into the library then, mewling pitifully. Ersie scooped him up, her arms curling protectively around his small body. She looked over her brother’s shoulder at the door.

The door was ajar.

Shite! Who has heard us?

“Ye shouldnae worry yerself about a few loose tongues that can easily be taken out,” she hissed, her voice as sharp as flint.

Ciaran’s mouth twisted. “Just so ye ken, I’m helping nae for his sake, but to get ye out of here sooner.”

“Och, good. Such a gracious laird,” Ersie drawled, brushing past him. “We’ll break our fast, as we usually do, out in the gardens.”

As she opened the door, it became obvious who might have heard the conversation between her and her brother.

She saw Lucas first. He was adjusting his belt, a mischievous smile on his face. Isla was standing among four other servants carrying trays of food.

Her maid looked about ready to shatter into a million pieces, and the other servants looked confused.

And, of course, there was Keith, who looked about ready to explode with fury. But in his eyes, she saw pride.

“Laird MacAuley, ye have a queue,” she said indignantly, before walking past all of them and up the staircase.

Ersie laughed as the servants scattered, and she continued to stroke Trouble’s fur.

She overheard Lucas let out a whistle.

And Keith—she knew that Keith had watched her until she disappeared around the corner.

And that thought alone made her entire body tingle.

As she made her way back to her chambers, Trouble nestled in the crook of her arm, she felt her pulse still hammering in her ears.

Pride.

Rage.

Embarrassment.

It was all tangled up in her chest like a nest of vipers, and she needed air.

She quietly entered her chambers, locked the door behind her, and leaned against it, letting her forehead thump gently against the wood.

“Saints above,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, “what a damned mess.”

The kitten in her arms wriggled, and she set him down gently at her feet. The menace darted under her bed to attack something.

She turned around and slid down the door to the floor, then buried her face in her hands.

What a disaster .

Part of her—a sharp, vicious part—understood her brother’s fury. She would have crossed the world if he were caught up in a scandal, whether it was his fault or not.

And yet it still stung.

“Some braither he is. Treatin’ me like a lass who cannae wield a blade and cut down any man who crosses me,” she muttered under her breath. “Like I dinnae ken what’s best for meself and me own safety.”

Trouble pawed at her sleeve, but she kept her head down.

“And him , Keith bloody Dunn. Lookin’ at me like…” She stopped herself, her throat tightening.

Like he belonged to her.

She knew he did, as she belonged to him.

She knew that what he said and did last night was out of duty, and because Lucas had said something. Had he not, she could only imagine what Keith and her brother would have talked about downstairs. Their swords would have done the talking, to be sure.

Ersie pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes until stars burst behind her lids.

Nay good would come of this.