Page 6 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

6

L aura’s eyes landed on a busy Mrs. Morrigan and the chair that Laird MacAitken had been sitting in. The tunic in the pot was gone, and any trace of blood was also gone. Mrs. Morrigan’s back might have been turned to her, but Laura knew very well that the old woman sensed her arrival.

“He’s gone?” she asked, affecting nonchalance and obviously failing.

“Ye ken he is, lass. Did ye get the venison, after all?” Mrs. Morrigan said, continuing to scrub something in the sink.

“Aye,” Laura said, holding up the package and then tentatively setting it down on the counter, shaking her head.

“He will return,” the older woman said.

Laura feigned surprise. “Oh?” she started to say, but then Fraser called to her.

“Ma!” The young boy clenched and unclenched his hands in the air. “Up! Fuf-be!”

“Nay, dove, nae now,” Laura said in a hushed, sweet voice before taking a seat in the chair she had occupied while caring for Ciaran.

Mrs. Morrigan turned around, eyeing her. “Fuf-be?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

Laura twisted her neck to look down at the spot where the butterfly had settled, but it had flown off without her knowledge.

Be well, traveler.

She thought back to the short journey between Mack’s and the cottage, and she felt a shred of sorrow for not having noticed its departure.

“A butterfly?” Mrs. Morrigan asked, somehow understanding the young boy’s impossibly broken language.

“Aye, landed on me apron here.” Laura pointed at her collarbone.

“The color?”

“Pale green, almost white,” she said absentmindedly.

“Ye ken what that means?”

“Everyone has different ideas, but what’s yers, Mrs. Morrigan?” Laura asked.

She watched the old woman move around the room with slow precision before coming up to Fraser. She bent down and hoisted him up into her arms with such quick ease that it nearly broke Laura’s neck to follow the movements.

What the ? —

“Butterflies carry wisdom from God,” Mrs. Morrigan said as she sat down without a single grunt.

Laura raised a skeptical eyebrow, wondering at her actual age.

“I grew up bein’ taught that they carry the souls of the departed, and if one lands near ye, it means that an ancestor is watchin’ over ye.”

Mrs. Morrigan nodded. “Well, that’s quite romantic, is it nae?”

Laura smiled widely. “Aye. Romantic, indeed.”

“Did ye have a good walk?” the healer asked without looking up from Fraser’s chubby face.

Laura exhaled, shifting in her seat. “Aye, though I couldnae stop thinkin’ about earlier.”

“What about earlier?”

“Do ye think Laird MacAitken will cast me out of Kilbray and MacAitken lands for declinin’ his offer?”

Mrs. Morrigan hummed, bouncing the boy on her knee without any struggle. “Everything will go as it is supposed to go, lass. There’s nay sense in tryin’ to change what is fated to be.”

“I didnae have a choice. I cannae leave Fraser, and I cannae—” Laura broke off, choosing not to bring up her past again. “Me other clan willnae accept me back without a husband.”

Mrs. Morrigan finally met her gaze, her sharp eyes softening. She was the only one who knew her full story, who she truly was, and who Fraser was.

“Ye need nae explain yerself to me, lass. Ye have done what ye had to do.”

Before Laura could reply, the door burst open with a loud crash. She flinched back, her hands flying forward to snatch Fraser from Mrs. Morrigan instinctively, but the old woman’s grip tightened around the boy.

“Nay, lass…” Mrs. Morrigan whispered.

Laura’s cold stare landed on the man who strode inside, his presence filling the small space. He was one of Ciaran’s men—a broad, imposing figure with piercing green eyes and a hardened expression.

“How dare ye deny the Laird treatment!” the man snapped, his gaze darting between Laura and Mrs. Morrigan. “One of ye is comin’ with me. Now!”

Laura’s breath hitched. Anger flared in her chest, but so did something else—fear. Not for herself, but for the woman standing in front of her, holding her son.

Mrs. Morrigan was strong, as was demonstrated not seconds ago as she played with Fraser, but she was still old, and the journey to the Keep would be too much for her.

Steeling herself, Laura leaned toward the small child, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mama will be back soon. Be a good lad.”

She kissed his tiny forehead and gently pulled away. Then, she turned to the guard, lifting her chin defiantly, the light from the front door illuminating her scars as her eyes shot daggers at him. But he didn’t flinch in the slightest.

“Fine. Let’s go. But make it quick—I need to return soon.”

To her surprise, the man did nothing to force her out of the cottage. He merely gestured toward the door. “Out.”

A second horse was standing next to the guard’s horse, waiting anxiously for its rider. Her.

Laura hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “Did the Laird order this?”

The man didn’t respond to her question, instead asking if she knew how to mount a horse of this size.

Laura’s ears pinkened. “I dinnae have the?—”

The man hoisted her up into the saddle easily before she could finish, and then mounted his horse.

Cannae even grab anything…

“Wait!” Mrs. Morrigan said loudly, demanding attention. The villagers in the marketplace fell silent immediately. “Ye will wait this instant.”

The guard gritted his teeth, pulling on his horse’s bit with the reins. “What is it, woman?”

“Ye ken very well who I am, Dùghall Arnasdair. I’ll pull ye down from that horse and beat ye with the strength of yer late faither if ye speak to me like that again. Ye hear?”

“Aye, Mrs. Morrigan,” the guard said through a tightly clenched jaw as he watched the woman walk toward the horses slowly, a satchel in her hands.

“The Laird requested these, and the pants are also his,” the healer said softly as she approached Laura and dropped the bag into her waiting arms. “Young Fraser is safe. Dinnae fash, lass.”

“We must get on, Mrs. Morrigan!” the guard said firmly, steering his horse away from the cottage, Laura’s horse following as if tethered to the large grey stallion.

“Farewell, child,” Mrs. Morrigan called softly, her warm hand burning Laura’s arm as if searing into it what little strength she had left.

The two tore through town, and it wasn’t lost on Laura the peering eyes of Mack Drummond and Jenny Kerr as she rode out on a horse from the Keep stables with a guard.

The Banshee to the Monster’s Hell Hole.