Page 10 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

10

L aura’s breath came fast as she made her way back to Mrs. Morrigan’s cottage, her poppy-colored hair whipping behind her wildly as she rode atop the piebald mare. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting the land in a wash of deep golds and fading blues.

Her mind was a storm, her thoughts as tangled as her hair with emotions that she didn’t dare to dwell on. It had been a long day, made even longer after those heated ten minutes in the garden with Ciaran.

Had it really been only ten minutes?

Ten minutes of that dark stare all but consuming her. The longest seconds of her life had passed between them before their mouths finally met.

Nay, ye need to get ahold of yerself.

She wouldn’t think about him. Wouldn’t think about the way his hands had felt on her waist, the roughness of his breath against her lips, the raw need in his voice when he’d told her that she tempted him.

I cannae think about him. Focus on Fraser. Focus on getting back to him.

Ugh!

Laura shook her head wildly, urging the mare to go faster.

The deal she’d made, the protection she had secured for Fraser—for herself—struck her as a relief, but it was also a hindrance. She wouldn’t be able to train under Mrs. Morrigan anymore, and Fraser would have to get used to the nurses and maids at the keep. She’d have an income and security, but she’d have to deal with an entirely new set of prying and curious eyes studying her scar.

The thought made her stomach clench.

How have I been so careless with me thoughts with him? I asked him if he thought I was appalling! What’s the matter with me?

She reached the cottage just as Mrs. Morrigan stepped outside, an old woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The old healer looked up, her eyes keen and knowing even in the fading light.

“Back so soon?” she murmured, her voice carrying that dreamy lilt that Laura had always found both comforting and infuriatingly accurate.

“What do ye mean?”

“Ye can keep the bag,” Mrs. Morrigan said quickly.

Laura slowed the horse and dismounted, before leading it back into the small stable behind the cottage. Brushing her hands down her skirts before stepping onto the small porch, she met the woman’s gaze again and blurted out, “It’s done.”

She omitted details on purpose, careful not to elaborate for fear that she’d give away her sinful behavior.

The less she kens, the better.

Mrs. Morrigan gave her a slow nod as if she had already known the outcome, or at least enough of it to have that look on her face.

“Aye,” she murmured plainly, turning back toward the door. “Come inside, Laura. Ye look like ye need… rest.”

The fire crackled in the hearth as Laura sank into the chair that he’d sat in hours ago, her body finally beginning to relax and unwind. She found herself feeling somehow closer to him.

Fraser’s curly hair fluttered as Mrs. Morrigan again easily bent down and scooped him up, balancing him precariously on her hip.

Wait—nay, nay, nay. I cannae get distracted…

Laura made to change seats as Mrs. Morrigan moved with practiced ease, setting down two bowls of stew before sitting across from her, all the while holding a baby.

Laura blinked and then smiled at the sight of Fraser, but then confusion washed over her, and she inhaled the delicious scents of her home. She hadn’t even noticed the smell wafting through the cottage.

“I was going to cook,” she murmured, looking at the steaming bowl before her.

The older woman let out a low chuckle, her knowing eyes twinkling. “Aye, I ken.”

Laura exhaled sharply, shaking her head before picking up her spoon. The first bite was warm and familiar. A taste that would always and forever remind her of her home.

“Ye make this when ye’re feelin’ homesick,” the healer said absently, almost reading her thoughts.

“I do…” Laura said, swallowing past the lump forming in her throat. “Reminds me of me siblings.”

“Aye, I imagine ye especially miss yer twin sister,” Mrs. Morrigan said plainly, and Laura nodded. “Young Fraser here has yet to meet his namesake—isnae that right, little one?” she asked, bouncing the boy on her knee.

“Aye, sometimes I look over and he is almost the spitting image of her.”

Mrs. Morrigan laughed before responding, almost tickled by Laura’s admission. “Child, he looks like her because he looks like ye. And better yet, he doesnae look a thing like his faither.”

Laura blinked, laughter on her lips when suddenly, his crazed eyes made her freeze, lingering behind her eyelids and setting off a chain reaction within her that hadn’t happened for quite some time.

She saw clearly the malice that dripped from the corners of his mouth—tasted it on her tongue. Her breathing became laborious at the memory of his wide hand pressing into her mouth and covering her nose with relentless strength.

A high-pitched ringing began in her ears as she recalled her muffled screams, and similar tears erupted like lava from her eyes. Nails dug into her palms as she remembered raking them across his skin, frantic. Terrified. Her scars seemed to set her entire body on fire at the thought of the pressure of his blade dragging along the contours of her face, tearing through her.

She was there , with him . It was as if he was drawing a map on her skin all over again. Only this time, it was his demon, haunting her, reminding her that he had a map back to this memory, one that only he could tap into at any time he wanted, unbidden.

“Child?”

Laura’s eyes were glued shut. She couldn’t escape him. The scream lodged in her throat painfully.

“Child, listen to me. Me voice is real. He isnae here. I’m here. Feel me touch…” She heard Mrs. Morrigan’s soft voice, but it was miles away.

“I’m here. Say it with me,” Mrs. Morrigan said, walking her through the same routine they once had to go through when she first came to Kilbray.

“I’m here , ” Laura said, the taste of iron coating her mouth.

“Good. Again,” Mrs. Morrigan said, closer this time.

“I’m here,” Laura gritted out, her jaw locked shut painfully.

She felt the healer’s cool palm against her cheek. “Look at me. I’m here.”

Laura’s eyes fluttered open as she let out a sob, meeting the old woman’s warm amber irises. Another sob tore through her chest as Mrs. Morrigan’s other hand cupped her face.

“He’s dead. Ye are alive.”

Laura trembled and nodded her head, unable to catch her breath.

“He’s nae real. This is real. I am real.” Mrs. Morrigan dropped one hand, placing it on hers and guiding it to touch Fraser’s curls. “ This is real.”

Bottom lip trembling, Laura managed to run her hand through her son’s hair with one hand. Her other hand rose to Mrs. Morrigan’s cool one, which was still resting against her heated scar.

“What am I going to do without ye there?”

Mrs. Morrigan smiled, and the youth of her face shone brightly. “Ye’ve spent so long runnin’ that it seems ye have forgotten what it truly means to stand still. Dinnae fight the storms, lest ye end up like the bent tree. Let the wind take ye where it must.”

What in Christ’s name is that supposed to mean? Couldnae she just give me a normal answer?

Laura let laughter boil over the edges of her sanity, and both women fell into a fit.

Truly, what would I do without her? Silly woman…

Mrs. Morrigan took her seat, pulling Fraser in her lap once more, and pointed her spoon toward Laura’s untouched bowl. “Eat, child.”

“Do ye reckon if I’ll be able to cook for meself sometimes?”

“I dinnae think Mr. Clachair will appreciate ye tinkerin’ in his kitchens at first, but he’ll warm up to ye, eventually. I cannae see why he would say nay to ye once he kens who ye are and what ye’re about.”

“What I’m about?”

“Sure, Gordon is a good man. Good head on his shoulders. Was but a lad when he was first brought in by Ciaran’s faither. He keeps to himself, as most do at the Keep, but he’s a good man.”

“Perhaps I’ll have at least one ally there, then?”

“Aye, ye’ll find that some shields are forged for more than just war in that keep.”

Laura huffed a chuckle through her nose before she ate her stew.

I’ll never truly ken what she means, will I?

Suddenly, Ciaran’s dark features flashed through her mind, causing her to nearly choke on the liquid caught in her throat.

Mrs. Morrigan stirred her own stew idly, her spoon colliding with the bowl sporadically. “So,” she said, still stirring, “ye made a deal with the Laird, then?”

Laura swallowed, setting down her spoon carefully. “Aye.”

The healer murmured something that sounded like, “Good,” although it wasn’t loud enough to be made out. But she did follow it up with, “That’s where ye need to be.”

Laura furrowed her brow. “And how could ye possibly ken that?”

Mrs. Morrigan’s lip quirked, but she did not answer right away. Instead, she took another bite of stew, chewing as if she hadn’t just made the strangest statement in the world.

“What was the deal, then?”

“I stay, and he provides protection. I’ll be the new healer at the keep, and he asks nay questions.”

“Nay questions? Truly?”

“If he kens what’s best for him, aye,” Laura said defiantly.

Mrs. Morrigan tsked loudly. “Ye should have asked for more.”

“I—” Laura started to argue, but she knew the woman was right.

I should have asked for more.

“I might be able to ask for more?—”

“Nay. What’s done is done,” Mrs. Morrigan said sharply, before taking another bite of her stew.

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Why do ye reckon I cannae?”

“Would ye accept, if ye were him? Would anyone?”

Laura chewed on her lower lip. The healer was, again, right.

Then, softly, she said, “Ye will be fine, lass. Ye and Fraser will do well at the keep.”

“What makes ye say that?”

“Like recognizes like.”

Laura stilled. The words unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

She knew she should push and demand clarity, but Mrs. Morrigan only smiled faintly, and somehow Laura knew she wouldn’t get an answer.