Page 5 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

5

L aura led her son through the back door, preventing him from disturbing the cottage a moment longer. They walked hand in hand for most of the journey through the tree lined path until his little legs couldn’t keep up out of exhaustion.

She walked past the evidence of the fire at Jenny Kerr’s place, seeing young Fergus playing out front while several men cleaned up the debris.

“Hiya, Jenny!” she called out, waving but keeping her distance.

The woman smiled and beckoned them both over, and Laura lifted Fraser into her arms as she hastened toward the charred cottage.

Fergus had a staring problem, and he had always voiced his thoughts about Laura, calling her The Baithreach in loud whispers. But today, he paid them no mind whatsoever.

“Hiya! How are ye?” Jenny said, hands on her hips, twisting to observe the wreckage from the new location.

“We are well. The better question is, how are ye? How are ye both?”

“Ach—” She swatted at the air between them. “We will be fine. It didnae burn for too long. Nothin’ we cannae fix, thank Christ.” Her eyes landed on Fraser and then fell on Fergus.

“Thank Christ, indeed,” Laura echoed sympathetically. “I didnae see ye this morning. Were either of ye injured at all?”

“Nay, Laird—” Jenny’s voice hitched. She had to clear her throat before continuing, although her voice was lower this time. “Laird MacAitken saved Fergus. He was trapped in the cottage when he arrived. Moved like lightning, he did. I’ve ne’er seen anythin’ like it.”

“Aye, he came to the cottage.”

“How are the Laird’s… um, wounds?”

It wasn’t lost on Laura, the hesitation in Jenny’s tight voice.

“Some reopened, and some new. Mrs. Morrigan is with him now. I needed to get young Fraser out before he caused too much ruckus.”

“Aye, I basically ordered him to go to her after seein’ them. I’m glad he went.”

Ordered? Surely nae ? —

“His injuries are severe. I wonder how he was able to walk all the way there on his own,” Laura said.

“The fire where he got the first wounds was far worse, and he stayed in it for far longer—all to try and save his maither…” Jenny trailed off.

The information wasn’t new to Laura, though she didn’t quite remember hearing that specific part about the Laird’s past.

“I’ll be forever grateful to him, to be sure,” Jenny said, steering the conversation back to her. “He said he’d bring Angus to me after midday as well. So, nae long now. The Laird is incredibly kind to do so, do ye nae think?”

“Very… kind…” Laura said, recalling that he didn’t quite strike her as kind. More fair than kind. But she could understand why someone might say that.

How he'd interacted with young Kerry in the marketplace had been a surprise, but even then she wouldn’t necessarily categorize it as ‘kind’. Although she didn’t have another word for it.

The way Jenny was speaking about him made it seem like there was something else afoot that Laura just wasn’t in on.

“Agnus may even be stationed closer for a short period because of this, just until we get settled again. But who can say but the Laird?”

Are they in good favor with him? Is anyone?

She recalled how his eyes darkened as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth at the sound of her name on his lips. The memory tugged at a string behind her navel so firmly that she could only hum in response and set young Fraser down.

“How did Fergus nae make it out?” Laura asked suddenly, shifting the conversation back to the fire.

“I was pulled through the window, there—” Jenny pointed at the cottage. “Me door was blocked… and I thought he had been pulled out as well. When I couldnae find him out here, I saw him inside the house as it burned. The men held me back right as Laird MacAitken arrived, and he went in there without hesitatin’.”

Sounds like somethin’ he’d do…

Laura let herself imagine his large figure easily striding through the flames as if they were wheat stalks in a field, scooping up the boy and carrying him unharmed to his mother.

“The boy had nay injuries?” Laura stepped back to assess Fergus.

“Nay, just burned pants, but all is well.”

“Thank Christ, indeed,” Laura sighed. “We best be gettin’ on. I still have some things on me list to get from the market.”

“Aye, see ya!”

Laura grabbed Fraser’s little hand and led him back toward the marketplace, hoping Mack had opened the butchery.

Fraser’s short gait made her smile. He had her red hair and her icy blue eyes, and she was grateful for it. The memory of James Stewart, the late Laird Orkney, flashed through her mind, and she gripped her son’s hand tighter as his last words to her echoed in her mind.

“Ye were a bonnie thing. But all of that is over… I have nay more use for ye,” he had said before she demanded that he marry her.

The marks on her face burned painfully. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to regain some semblance of control as her throat bobbed uncomfortably. She still recalled the way it stung when he’d etched his mark into her face.

“Mama!” Fraser’s small voice pierced through the haze of her recollection, and the laughter that bubbled out of his tiny body brought her back to the present.

Laura’s eyes opened, seeing that a butterfly had taken to dancing around her son’s head and he was making feeble attempts at grabbing it. She crouched down to his eye level, and the butterfly fluttered around her head before it landed on the strap of her apron.

Her son’s bright blue eyes tracked it excitedly as he pointed at it. Laura warmed at the small, pale green, almost white creature who had chosen to rest on her.

“An honor that ye have chosen me, me dear. Stay as long as ye wish,” she said with sweet reverence before standing.

Fraser kept craning his neck to watch what the butterfly did next, but it remained on her apron strap, enjoying the ride.

“The butterflies cannae be rushed or grabbed at, lad,” she said calmly as she led them down the path.

“Fuf-be?”

“Aye, lad—butterfly.” Laura smiled warmly down at him and then walked on.

Her steps felt somewhat lighter than before, as if the butterfly had siphoned the pain from her as long as it rested just above her collarbone.

“Stay as long as ye wish, me love,” she whispered to the small creature as they came upon Mack’s open butchery.

Behind the wooden counter, Mack was sharpening his cleaver with slow, practiced movements, his thick forearms flexing with each swipe of the blade against the stone. He looked up when she entered, his grizzled face splitting into a kind smile.

“Well now, look who’s crawled out of the healer’s den,” he said, setting the cleaver down. His deep voice carried the roughness of a man who spent his days among blood and bone.

Laura rolled her eyes, lifting Fraser into her arms. The butterfly remained on her apron, just crawling a bit further away from the span of her son’s grip.

“Aye, Mack. I’ve come to see if ye still ken how to cut meat, or if all ye do is sharpen knives these days.”

The butcher chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag. “Sharp knives make the best cuts, Ms. Laura. What can I get ye?”

“Venison,” she said, adjusting Fraser as he squirmed. “Enough for a stew tonight.”

Mack nodded, stepping toward the hanging carcasses behind him. He reached for a fresh haunch of deer, the rich, dark meat glistening as he laid it on the counter. His knife worked with quick, deft strokes, slicing through muscle and sinew as easily as a woman threading a needle.

As he worked, his eyes flicked toward her, narrowing slightly. “Heard ye had a visitor this mornin’.”

Laura kept her expression neutral, feeling her son play absently with a loose strand of her hair. “Aye, I was treatin’ the Laird’s wounds—that is until I had to take this one out of the cottage before his wails brought the walls down.”

Mack let out a low grunt, the sound heavy with meaning. “That so?”

“Aye, he wouldnae have come if it wasnae for the fire. How bad was it? Ye were there,” Laura said.

“I was. He showed up just in time, or ye would have to be treatin’ young Fergus as well.” He shook his head as he wrapped the cut of meat in cloth, tying it off with twine. “Does seem odd… The Laird never comes into Kilbray unless he has a reason.”

“A fire isnae a reason?” she asked, dropping a few coins on the counter and taking the bundle from him, her fingers tightening around it so as not to drop it. “What else would there be?”

Mack leaned forward, bracing his elbows against the counter, his sharp eyes glinting with something unreadable. “He flew by here nae but a few moments ago. Reminded me that he’ll be back after midday.”

Laura froze. Her stomach gave a sudden, traitorous tumble, her breath catching before she forced herself to look unaffected. “Midday?”

Mack nodded. “Aye, had to pick up the debris with Henry at the Kerrs’ cottage.”

Oh, Christ! I thought he’d come back to collect me.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

“I’ll be sure to make ourselves scarce, in case he comes back to see Mrs. Morrigan. I wasnae able to finish tendin’ to him.” Laura looked at Fraser, before her eyes flicked back to the butcher.

“Aye, best have some stew ready, in case he’s expectin’ supper when he arrives.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Hardly,” she scoffed loudly.

“Oh, aye, ye never ken…” The man laughed as she stepped back out into the marketplace.

Fraser was gripping her long, red locks. He had tangled his hand in the curls with possessive attachment. He giggled quietly as she pressed a kiss to his temple and stepped back into the surgery.