Page 12 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

12

L aura stepped into the expansive room, her breath hitching as her eyes swept over the area.

It was definitely not what she had expected, not in the slightest.

She was standing in a sitting room. It was spacious, but not in a cold or empty way. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm, golden light over the dark stone walls.

Large windows stretched from just above the floor nearly to the ceiling, allowing the soft, gray morning light to seep in. She spotted a garden below, but before she could walk away, her attention latched onto something.

It was the garden, she was sure of it.

“Is that the only garden on the grounds?” she asked Mairead, who joined her at the window.

“Aye. It’s quite large, but it’s well tended by Mr. Dunley. Ana Kilmartin sometimes comes from Kilbray to tend the herbs—there,” the girl said, pointing at the distant patch of greenery.

The smaller area was a mirror image of Ana’s stall.

Laura’s chest tightened for more reasons than one.

“Through there”—the girl pointed just over Laura’s shoulder, and Laura twisted in that direction—“is yer bedchamber, and through here…” She moved, and Laura followed her down the short hallway. “is the bairn’s room.”

The room was small but designed with care. A crib was tucked against the far wall beside a chest for the boy’s affairs. A chair sat in the corner by the stained glass window. Red and blue light spilled onto the woven rug at her feet.

“There’s a staff door, just there—” The maid pointed at the door in the corner of the room.

“Staff?”

“Aye, the door isnae accessible from the main corridor, only the staff stairwell. So, the bairn is safe.”

Laura’s heart twisted. As unnerving as it had been to learn of access to Fraser’s room, the security measure had eased her worry to a degree. Still, her hand tightened around him.

“The Laird wished for ye to settle in, and then ye’ll go back the way we came to reach the study. Do ye recall, or do ye need me to take ye?”

Laura, eager for the girl to disappear, shook her head vehemently. “Nay, I remember. Thank ye,” she said quickly.

The girl dipped into a quick curtsy. “Very well, I’ll be back to check on the bairn shortly,” she said, before disappearing through the staff door.

Fraser’s chubby hand started grabbing around in search of a lock of Laura’s hair, and she knew she had only a few moments to unbind him before he started wailing.

“Alright, laddie. Let’s set ye in here,” Laura said, twisting the fabric out of the knot and back around her body several times to release the child.

Placing him into the crib, she finally exhaled. His blue eyes blinked slowly, heavily, before he shifted into the blanket and fell back into a deep slumber.

Laura’s footsteps echoed against the stone floor as she followed the path back to the study. The absence of her son on her chest left her feeling exposed, and she rubbed at the spot where his little head had rested mere minutes ago.

As she turned the corner down the corridor, a familiar face caught her attention. The man with the tied-back blonde hair. His bright blue eyes locked onto hers with recognition.

The man from the wall yesterday. What was his name?

He hesitated, then stepped into her path, keeping a few steps’ distance from her. He inclined his head in what she assumed was a respectful gesture.

“I owe ye an apology, Miss,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “For the way ye were brought here and the treatment ye received.”

Genuine regret laced each word.

Laura studied him carefully.

“I’m Henry Winson, and deeply regretful to ken how ye were handled. It wasnae me intent. I said things out of concern for Me Laird’s health, and me men got carried away.”

Something tells me that this isnae the first time this man’s ‘concern’ has gotten the better of him…

Laura searched the man’s face for any sign of deception and found none. He wasn’t groveling or over-explaining, he wasn’t even being defensive against her stoicism. This was just a man trying to right a wrong.

She nodded. “Very well, Mr. Winson?—”

“Henry, please. Miss…?” he asked, extending his hand as if he didn’t already know her name.

She took his hand, careful not to tell him her full name. “I’m Laura.”

Henry shook her hand once, relief passing over his face. “Laura, the healer.”

“Aye, the healer. And ye are the Laird’s man-at-arms?”

“Aye,” he echoed with calm resolve. “May I lead ye the rest of the way?”

She considered refusing but found no reason to. A small courtesy from him would cost her absolutely nothing.

“Lead the way, then,” she said simply.

The corridor somehow seemed to grow longer as they traveled further down it in silence. He pounded only once on the door before pushing it open to reveal the study.

“Miss,” Henry said, indicating for her to enter as he closed the door behind her.

The man’s retreating footsteps were the last thing she heard before her loud heartbeat took over, thundering in her ears. Her head fell back, and her eyes landed on the intricate ceiling first, her mouth falling slightly open with wonder.

The room was warm, not just in temperature but from its contents as well. Her eyes raked down the large bookshelves that stretched from the high ceiling down to the floor and lined an entire wall.

They were filled with colorful tomes, all lined up perfectly and not a speck of dust on them, and she lightly ran her hand along the leather as she stepped around the space. In the middle of the room, a map lay on a large dark table, held in place by two silver daggers.

So… beautiful…

She brushed a slender finger over a dagger before her eyes flickered to the corner. Ciaran’s ochre eyes rooted her to the spot, and her traitorous heart pounded wildly against her ribs.

“Careful, I’m nae as gentle with a needle,” he said flatly as he unbuttoned his tunic to reveal his wounds to her once more, before he sat down in a chair by the hearth.

A small table sat next to him. Her tools, fresh linen, the salves and tinctures she’d brought to him yesterday were all set up. They were neatly laid out and spaced evenly as if someone had anticipated her every need.

Her gaze turned back to Ciaran, who simply waited for her to join him. Without a word, she approached and took a seat in front of him.

We’ve been here before.

Laura got to work, dipping a cloth in the warm water, leaving it to soak up the infused essences as her nimble fingers pulled the bandages off his angry, inflamed skin. His breathing was somehow even, and his heartbeat was steady compared to hers, which was erratic. Her stomach fluttered each time her fingers touched his hot skin. She noticed how his muscles coiled as she pressed the compress on the wound, but he was otherwise unfazed.

How is that even possible?

Ciaran watched her frantic pulse jump in the vein along her irresistible neck.

“Try to hold still,” he heard her say, but he assumed it was more of an order to herself than to him. He hadn’t moved in the slightest.

His eyes followed her hands as they dipped the rag into the warm water once more and squeezed the excess out of it until her knuckles turned white.

Easy, lass…

He noticed that she applied more pressure to the next wound, and she even started wiping the peeling flesh.

“Christ!” he gritted out, his hiss not affecting her movements in the slightest. She only clicked her tongue impatiently.

“Ye’ll need to have this cleaned each day.” Her eyes met his. “Will that be an issue?”

“Will that require ye to scrub me raw as ye are doin’ now?”

“Precisely,” she said, her eyes darting down as she dragged the rag across the sensitive skin of his torso and neck.

Ciaran let out a slow, steadying breath as if debating whether to argue, but he remained silent.

Laura worked efficiently—as efficiently as Mrs. Morrigan had the day before. He felt his muscles tense under her cold fingers as she rubbed salve on each wound.

“Ye had worse,” she said, eventually. It was not a question, but a silent observation. She placed bandages on the raw flesh.

“Aye,” was all he said.

The silence stretched between them once more, but it was heavy. It was uncomfortably pressing on the space around him. The light filtering through the windows couldn’t even slice through it.

Before he could say anything again, an ear-piercing wail shattered the tension. Ciaran was both grateful and annoyed, his head turning to follow Laura’s sharp gaze toward the study door. Her hands stilled with eerie awareness.

The bairn’s cries echoed through the walls, startlingly loud, and Ciaran stilled, immediately on high alert.

Laura tensed up, ready to launch herself at whatever was about to burst through the door.

She’s like a lioness ready to sink her claws into whatever predator dared to harm her cub…

The wooden door shook as Mairead pushed it open with a frustrated scowl on her face, holding a crying, chubby child.

“I’m s-sorry, Me Laird,” she stammered, trying to bounce the boy gently on her hip.

Laura was at the girl’s side before Ciaran could even blink. He watched as she grabbed the boy from the maid, turning away from her impatiently as her soft voice soothed the child.

“Shh, love, I’m here,” he heard her murmur into the boy’s fiery-red hair. The boy was the spitting image of her.

Ciaran watched her rock him gently. The hands that had only a moment ago been on his heated skin smoothed down the child’s back, her cheek brushing against the crown of his head. His tiny hand shot out and gripped a strand of her hair.

Expecting another wail, Ciaran made to turn away from the screaming boy to avoid upsetting him further. At this point, it was instinctual. Not only did the moment feel private, but it also felt too gentle for what he deserved. His duty was war, protection, and leading the clan. He was not used to witnessing the quiet, tender moments of a mother soothing her child.

Laura’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard from a woman, even his own mother. Her words were patient as the boy sniffled, his breath hitching as his soft cries became muffled in her chest.

“There now, laddie,” she whispered. “Must have been scared nae to see Ma there when ye woke up. Ye’re safe now, Fraser. Ma’s here.”

The boy stopped crying, and the study fell into an immediate silence. The click of the latch on the door indicated that someone had left.

Ciaran frowned, feeling Laura’s gaze on his back, her presence like an errant flame across the room. He chanced a look back in her direction, hoping the bairn had left with the maid.

The boy’s tear-stained face tilted, his ice-blue eyes locking onto Ciaran’s. Instead of fearful wailing, instead of screams of terror, a shy smile tugged at his tiny lips.

What the ? —

Ciaran blinked, his body going rigid as the boy squirmed in her arms, reaching toward him. The boy’s small hands stretched as he bucked, wild as an unbroken horse.

Laura looked just as surprised, her eyes finally flicking to Ciaran. “Ye dinnae have to?—”

Too late.

Somehow, Ciaran had closed the distance between them and taken the eager, insistent child. The weight of him settled against his arm, both heavy and light at the same time. He had never held a bairn like this before.

It was a soft, small, warm thing. Fragile and yet powerful. And Ciaran just stood there, utterly still, unsure of what to do. A smile curved Laura’s lips in the most intoxicating way.

Fraser giggled softly, and Ciaran’s eyes followed the boy’s chubby hand as it reached up. Before he could pull away, the child’s tiny fingers brushed against his scarred cheek. The soft touch seared the depths of his very soul.

Christ alive!

Ciaran sucked in a breath, his body going rigid at the unexpected touch. But the boy only spread his fingers wider, his small hand somehow seeming much larger than it actually was.

Young Fraser stared at him intently, his eyes curious and thoughtful, before uttering with soft innocence, “Like Ma.”

The words hit Ciaran like he had been kicked by a mule.

His gaze snapped to Laura, who was already looking at him. Something shifted then. The floor, the walls, the entire castle that had stood firm on the ground a second ago had tilted at an impossible angle.

Her face was soft, and her eyes were wide with surprise, but she did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest. She gave nothing away.

“ Like Ma, ” the boy had said. His small voice spoke volumes.

Ciaran’s eyes traveled over the wretched marks on her face before colliding with her gaze once more.

Not a trace of a smile touched her lips.

His expression remained unreadable, but his fingers curled slightly around the boy’s back on instinct.

Neither of them spoke, and neither of them moved.

And yet neither of them could look away.

The child leaned back slightly, and Ciaran exhaled sharply, his hands dropping to his sides the moment the boy was back in his mother’s arms. Young Fraser settled against her chest instantly, as if he hadn’t just turned Ciaran’s world completely on its head.

“Are we through?” Ciaran asked, a foreign warmth in his voice as if he had spoken to just the bairn and not to Laura.

“Aye, the bandages are fresh, and yer wounds are clean.”

“Thank ye, lass. I’ll be occupied the rest of the day, but I already instructed Mairead to show ye to the surgery before dinner.”

“Dinner?” Laura repeated, though her tone was tight.

“Aye,” was all Ciaran said.

She hesitated, her eyes searching his as if expecting something more.

Sorry, lass, there’s nothin’ more I can give.

When nothing came, she simply nodded. “Until dinner, then, Me Laird.”

Ciaran stayed, watching the woman walk out the door, with the little boy’s stark blue eyes consuming the growing space between them until the door closed behind them. The fire in the hearth was the only thing that rivaled the heat in his core.