Page 13 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

13

L aura adjusted Fraser against her hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls before handing him to a nursemaid named Kenna.

Mairead. Kenna. Mairead. Kenna.

She repeated the names to herself so as not to forget them.

“Ready?” Mairead asked from the threshold.

“Aye,” Laura said, having arranged for the maid to show her the rest of the castle when she arrived back at her chambers.

She’d caught herself looking up the staircase to Ciaran’s rooms as she passed not once, but twice.

They went back down the path they had taken this morning, down the main staircase, and out into the Great Hall. It was cavernous, lined with torches all culminating at a massive fireplace located at the end of the room. There were several long wooden tables already set for dinner, and the scent of the meal wafted up from the kitchens.

“The Great Hall, Miss. We take most of our meals here unless there’s a reason to use the dining hall.” Mairead pointed at a large tapestry hanging along the wall. “The dining hall is just through there.”

“Why do ye nae use the dining hall regularly? Seems like a waste.”

“Aye, well, the kitchens are just through those — ” The girl pointed to the smaller tapestries. “When the servants come up, it’s easier to get here. Otherwise, they’ll have to walk through. The Laird thought it was rather unnecessary for everyday use, so he made the change. He also ordered us to join him up here, though I dinnae ken why.”

He made the change so that his servants wouldnae have to walk so far?

Laura knew full well that Ciaran wasn’t the type of man who would just sit and watch his people struggle. Though the idea of the rigid Laird bending the bounds of propriety for them stirred the urge to see how far he’d be willing to bend propriety for her, and heat pooled between her hips.

She let out a long breath, tightening her core and refocusing on the tapestries and beams that ran along the high ceiling.

It was hard to imagine any feasts or gatherings happening in the Great Hall, with all of the tables in the way.

“Can ye show me the dining hall, then, or nae? Do ye ever eat in there?”

“I dare nae. We have strict orders nae to enter unless we’re told to. If we dinnae eat here, we eat down in the servants’ hall off the kitchens.”

Laura hummed and followed Mairead to what looked like receiving rooms.

“This is where important clan matters are discussed with the council when it’s nae a formal meeting. Important guests can relax here before they’re shown to their rooms?—”

“Rooms? Multiple rooms?”

“Sometimes!” Mairead said cheerfully. “When other lairds come for a visit, they’re given several rooms just for their companions and such.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

“Anyway, these are…” Mairead went through each of the receiving rooms and described the women and men in the portraits that lined the walls.

Laura nodded absently, her thoughts already drifting back to Ciaran and how Fraser had responded to him.

“ Like Ma ,” her son had said, plain as anything he’d ever said before, and it had struck a thick chord in her chest.

And as if fate itself was in the room with her, the last portrait, and the most imposingly captured likeness, was of Ciaran. The gold plate that clung to the large frame read, Ciaran Barcley – Laird of Clan MacAitken and a slightly smudged date that she couldn’t see. She knew he had become Laird when he was nineteen, officially so on his twentieth birthday—two days after he killed his father in Kilbray.

Laura raised an eyebrow, assessing the man on the canvas, suddenly engulfed in interest that she hadn’t felt toward any of the others. Below the unyielding figure before her, a fitting description read, Steel bends for no man . It twisted through the gold in a beautifully intricate script, and she uttered her response so quietly that Mairead had not noticed.

“Fitting…”

The man commands respect even in oil form… she mused to herself, letting out a huff of laughter through her nose as she did.

He was centered, one of his large hands resting on the hilt of his sword, the other loosely hanging at his side. The artist truly captured the fact that Ciaran Barcley had no reason to grip anything too tightly because he already had control of it and everything around it.

His dark eyes seemed to follow her as she moved closer and from one edge to the other. The weight of his eyes on her, even on canvas, had pricked her skin.

War had so clearly shaped him.

War and loss.

Great, horrific loss.

Laura wondered what part of the story she had yet to hear. The uprising had happened, and then Ciaran was ashamed of his father and had killed him in front of everyone in Kilbray. She had never thought to ask any follow-up questions until now, but Mairead seemed not to be the most qualified person.

I’ll have to write Mrs. Morrigan and ask her .

“The library is next. It’s me favorite room in the whole castle!” the girl said quickly as she nearly skipped down the passageway to the library.

The room was unsurprisingly grand, with high shelves packed with precariously stacked leather-bound volumes and parchment scrolls. The sight of it made Laura’s fingers twitch. At almost the same time, Mairead squeaked in excitement.

“This might be me favorite room in the keep as well, Mairead,” Laura hummed, letting herself spin around in the comfort of the space.

“Aye, it’s almost everyone’s favorite room. However, we’re nae allowed to come in here without cause, and we rarely have a cause.”

Without cause? That’s a ridiculous notion if I’ve ever heard one . I hope that doesnae apply to me…

But of course, it applied to her. She was a healer, after all. Part of the staff.

“I’d find a way to be in charge of lighting the fires every day if it were me,” Laura quipped quietly, careful not to let her voice travel too far.

“The maid who is in charge of it hates doin’ it—she thinks it’s haunted. I think she’s batty.”

Laura followed the girl toward an arched stone window with stained glass along the perimeter of the panes. Her fingers stretched out greedily, exploring the delicate designs.

“Ye can see the stables from here and the glen just behind.”

The stables stretched across the yard, long rows of wood and dark stone with several stable hands bustling around, saddling and tending to the horses. Laura’s stomach twisted unexpectedly as she spotted Ciaran’s massive black stallion stomping on the ground, his breath visible in the cool mid-morning air.

Did Ciaran take him out, or is he takin’ him out soon?

She quickly turned away from the window, almost too quickly, banishing the thought and asking where they were going next.

Mairead sighed with dejection, reluctant to leave the library, but Laura needed to get out of there. She had about enough of Ciaran’s dark stare this morning.

“I guess we’ll go to the kitchens next?” the girl said, walking slowly out of the library, even leaning back to watch the door close behind them.

“The kitchens? Does Mr. Clachair still run them?”

Mairead blinked quickly, clearly taken aback by the question. “A-Aye, he does… How do ye ken Mr. Clachair?”

“Mrs. Morrigan told me I needed to meet him, that’s all.” Laura shrugged.

“That’s right! For a second there, I forgot ye were the new healer!” Mairead said as a blush bloomed across her entire face.

What had she thought I was here for, then?

Laura eyed the girl with suspicion before following her back through the Great Hall and down to the kitchens.

She felt the heat immediately. The rich and glorious aromas that she had only dreamt of since leaving her home filled her senses.

The kitchens were alive with movement.

“Ach! Mairead!”

She heard the cook before she saw him, though she questioned how that was even possible as the barrel-chested man came into view through the steam of a boiling pot of vegetables. His hands were dusted with flour, and he leaned over a pastry, testing it before turning back to her.

“And ye must be Laura!”

Laura hesitated, startled by his familiarity without a proper introduction.

Maybe Mrs. Morrigan sent word ahead of me arrival?

She smiled a tight smile, stepping forward. “Aye, ye—I’m?—”

“Nay need for introductions,” he said, wiping his large mitts of hands on a cloth before extending one toward her. “We all ken who ye are.”

The words struck her like being bucked off a horse.

What? How do they all ken who I am?

Her body stiffened, heat bubbling just beneath the surface, and she became all too aware of her surroundings. Her mind leaped between conclusions wildly as she felt the weight of their stares on her back. She landed on the worst possible scenario.

They ken who I am and everything I’ve been tryin’ to escape.

Laura’s breath caught, her stomach clenching painfully, her entire world starting to shift beneath her feet. “What do ye?—”

The large man laughed heartily, interrupting her timid reply. His warm chuckle rippled through his entire body, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Ye’re the healer, of course! Who else would ye be?” His voice echoed through the expansive kitchens as he clasped her hand firmly in his. “Welcome to the keep, lass.”

Laura’s legs nearly buckled with relief, and she let out a slow, measured breath. Forcing a tight-lipped smile, she willed the lava burning her skin to cool down.

“O-Of course,” she stuttered, shaking his hand properly. “I’ve heard a bit about ye as well, Mr. Clachair.”

“ Mr. Clachair! Ha! Imagine—There’ll be nay formalities within these four walls, lass. Ye are Laura, and I’m Gordon. A pleasure to meet ye.”

Her smile widened with genuine joy. The man’s energy was infectious, and she joined him in laughter that echoed through the space. Just like that, her tension and fears ebbed.

Thank Christ . I would have left before dinner if they all truly kenned who I am.

But with each step she took and each stone she learned, deep down, she knew she wouldn’t leave this place. Not if Ciaran had any say in it.

Gordon let them try each dish that was to be served for dinner that night, and Laura absolutely melted after tasting the bannocks.

“I havenae had sweet bannocks like these in such a long while. Wow—thank ye so much!” Laura held up the bun he had given her.

“For the bairn,” he had said with not an ounce of judgment in his features.

I dinnae think I’ve ever met anyone so kind. He truly is a good man, as Mrs. Morrigan said.

The last stop on the tour was the surgery. Her surgery.

It was a small but practical room, tucked away, a floor beneath the kitchens. The walls were mostly bare, as were the cabinets, save for a few shelves that were lined with salves and tinctures.

The moment she stepped inside, she spotted the small desk from Ciaran’s study, and she froze.

Did he bring it down himself? Surely nae…

She shook her head, immediately dismissing the thought.

It had to have been the staff. He has more important matters to attend to.

Still, the sight of it stirred something inside her.

As she moved through the room, her fingers traced the edges of the desk, the non-existent dust on the cabinet, and the series of cots in the corner.

“All right?” Mairead asked from the doorway. She looked around the surgery with caution.

“Aye, I’m well. Are ye well, lass?”

“I think this place is haunted,” Mairead said plainly, taking a tentative step backward.

“Oh?” Laura asked, looking around slowly. “Haunted? Why?”

“Well, people have died in here, Miss.”

“Aye, although people die in many places…” Laura pointed out.

“Sure, though the deaths are much more… concentrated in surgeries.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “Well, if I see a ghost, I’ll tell ye.”

“Nay, I’ll pass. Just pull that rope if ye need any help gettin’ back to yer rooms.”

“And me son?”

“He’ll be bathed soon, and then he’ll stay with the nursemaids until ye finish havin’ dinner. They’ll put him to bed just after dinner has ended. So, ye’ll still be able to see him before he falls asleep.”

That’ll certainly be something I’ll have to get used to… Laura mused, having been a part of the boy’s every waking moment since the day of his birth. She realized now that she would be fully turning over that responsibility.

“Thank ye,” she managed to say as Mairead turned around.

“Of course! Oh! And the dinner bell will ring later on. It’s loud and shrill—cannae mistake it,” Mairead said, dipping her head slightly before disappearing back up the steps.

Laura turned back after Mairead left and spotted a small pile of parchment and a quill on the desk in the corner. She sat at the writing desk and stretched out her legs.

I’ll need to write to Mrs. Morrigan for more salves and tinctures to place on the shelves …

Her eyes swept across the room at the various shelves fixed at different heights around the space.

She leaned forward, scribbling notes and ingredients on the pages. Then, she made a note to seek out Ana Kilmartin the next time she came to the castle…

Wednesdays, was it?

She loved nesting, organizing the spaces around her to best suit her needs and not someone else’s. She stood up and walked around the large table in the middle of the room, waving the feather tip of her quill in the air, counting invisible jars and putting invisible items in their places.

Laura stopped then and tilted her head thoughtfully, and the feather tip grazed her scar softly, pulling her back into the memory she had tried to bury.

The blade gleaming in the torchlight. The cruel, venomous snarl on James’s lips. The searing pain ripping through her skin as his dagger carved her flesh.

He’d sneered with pride and disgust at the same time, somehow conveying both with one look as he’d wiped his bloodied dagger on her sleeve before sheathing it.

“I should take ye right here and make ye scream me name like the strumpet ye truly are. I dinnae mind the blood. I dinnae even have to see yer face to take ye, after all. Ye’d like that, wouldnae ye?”

It’s nae real.

Her hands clamped around the edge of the wooden table.

The table is real.

I’m in the surgery in the keep. This is real.

She heard Mrs. Morrigan’s voice. “Focus, lass. It’s nae real.”

“It’s nae real…”

“What’s nae real?” she heard a low, growling voice ask from just beyond the threshold.