Page 15 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

15

“ G et out of me head!” Duncan grumbled, running his hands over his face as annoyance shot through him.

All morning, he had been plagued by thoughts of Alison—of how she had sounded the previous night when he had been on his knees before her.

He wished he could experience that again. He wanted to taste her and watch as she arched her back, her breasts pointed skyward as she found her pleasure. He wanted to run his tongue…

“Nay!” he barked, startling a maid who had just turned onto the corridor.

“Apologies, Me Laird,” she stammered, immediately dropping into a curtsy. Her eyes were full of apprehension when she returned her gaze to him. “I didnae mean to offend. Is there somethin’ I can do for ye? Somethin’ that ye need?”

Embarrassment flooded him.

Ye’re more strung out than a lad. Get a hold of yerself.

He shook his head at the maid. “Nay. Was just talkin’ to meself.”

A look of concerned confusion crossed the maid’s visage. She opened her mouth to reply, but Duncan did not have any patience for pleasantries. He stomped past her, making his way toward the dining hall.

It was quiet as he approached. He had been certain that he would hear Rosie chattering about eggs or the merits of her buttered toast. The last thing he had expected to be greeted by was silence.

A moment later, he stepped into the dining hall and found it empty. His wife and child were nowhere to be found.

“Where are they?” he growled to himself, turning on his heel and stalking out of the hall without so much as a backward glance.

It did not take him long to stumble upon Effie. She was carrying a large pile of freshly washed linens and walking briskly toward the staircase.

“Effie,” Duncan barked as he approached her.

The maid let out a yelp of surprise, nearly dropping her load as she whirled around to face him. Her gaze immediately darkened with worry as she caught his expression.

Her reaction made him bristle. He had been back for less than a day, and in that brief period, the staff had blatantly expressed their preference for his wife. He frowned, wondering why his presence made them react with fear.

I bet they arenae afraid of Alison.

His hackles rose again at the thought, but he suppressed his irritation as he addressed Effie.

“Didnae mean to startle ye,” he said by way of apology. “But do ye ken where me wife and daughter are? I was hopin’ to meet them for breakfast.”

“I apologize, Me Laird,” the woman stammered. “But they’ve already eaten. They arenae here.”

“Nae here?” he echoed, and Effie nodded. “What do ye mean? Where else would they be?”

Effie furrowed her brow with confusion. “’Tis Tuesday, Me Laird.”

She offered the explanation as though he should have known why the day of the week would explain why his family was not having breakfast with him on his first morning back.

He glowered at her. “Explain,” he demanded.

A flush rose high to the woman’s cheeks.

“Ye see,” she stammered, “Me Lady and Rosie get up early every Tuesday to go to the village.”

“And why would they do a thing like that?”

Effie opened her mouth again to answer him but then paused at the sound of a man clearing his throat. Duncan turned around to find one of his guards standing in the entryway.

“Laird Evander Sloan of Clan Kincaid and Laird Arthur Ross of Clan MacDonnell have just arrived,” the guard announced. “They are requesting yer presence.”

Almost immediately, Duncan’s spirits began to lift. He turned to Effie, the question about his wife and daughter’s whereabouts still unresolved in his mind.

“Come to me study in a half hour,” he instructed her. “And be prepared to tell me everythin’ about me family’s reasons for visitin’ the village.”

He did not wait for her response before turning back to the guard.

“Bring both lairds to me study,” he ordered. “I will head there now and be ready to receive them.”

The guard bowed his head in quick acknowledgment before Duncan turned and strode away.

Why would me family be in the village?

He turned the question over in his mind, trying to recall everything that Alison had said about hers and Rosie’s life and habits. Had she mentioned having duties that she was required to carry out in the village? Had there been anything she had said that he had ignored or forgotten?

Begrudgingly, Duncan realized that the only real thing his wife had given him concerning her day-to-day life was an attitude. So, he hadn’t the slightest clue what Alison and Rosie were up to.

He walked into his study and glanced at his desk. There was too much energy buzzing inside him for him to sit, so he walked to the window instead and watched the birds flutter through the treetops below.

The castle was perched on a low hilltop, surrounded by more lush, rolling hills and valleys. In the distance, a tall church spire peaked through the trees, and it was there that Duncan focused his attention.

It was the church where he’d married Alison five years ago. Where he’d sworn himself in sickness and in health. And his wife was in that village now, getting up to God only knew what.

He narrowed his eyes at it as if through sheer force of will alone, he might be able to see through the trees all the way to the village center and to what his wife was doing.

A knock sounded at the door, shattering his focus. He whirled around, his mind doing its best to recall what he was doing in his study.

The same guard from a few moments ago stood in the doorway, his back straight as a sword as he announced the two men who had shown up at Duncan’s castle.

Ah, that’s right. The Lairds have arrived.

“I ken who has arrived,” Duncan quipped with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Ye didnae need to announce them again.”

The guard gave a quick bow, seeming nonplussed by his master’s gruff dismissal. As he backed out of the room, the hulking forms of the two Lairds filled the space he had just vacated.

Evander Sloan entered first. His long dark hair was secured at the nape of his neck with a ribbon. His tunic was tight across his barrel chest, his muscles flexing as he crossed his arms and stared at him.

Arthur Ross was the second to enter. Although the Laird of Clan MacDonnell was shorter than both Duncan and Evander, he was equally as imposing. While he may not be as tall, he was twice as wide.

Duncan had always joked with the man that an ox could sit on one shoulder alone. And, as Arthur glowered at him, Duncan realized that he had only grown wider.

That, combined with the patch Arthur wore to cover the eye he’d lost years ago, made lesser men cower with nothing more than a sneer.

But Duncan was not a lesser man.

The two Lairds stood shoulder to shoulder, a wall of flesh and bone between Duncan and the door. They stared at each other, all three of them waiting for what the other would do.

Duncan leaned against the wall as if two of the largest men in all of Scotland hadn’t just walked into his study. As if he hadn’t a care in the entire world.

“We heard that ye’d somehow gotten even uglier durin’ the five years at war,” Arthur spoke first, his tone as unflappable and aloof as always. “Figured we’d come and see for ourselves if ‘twas true.”

“And…?” Duncan prompted, crossing his arms over his chest and staring the men down.

He flexed his biceps, knowing exactly how the act made all the muscles in his arms ripple.

“Well,” Evander said, taking a wide step forward, “the years at war didnae make ye any bonnier.”

Arthur snorted. “That’s for certain.”

They fell silent, the three of them continuing to stare at each other, their arms crossed and menacing. It was Duncan who cracked first, the corners of his mouth curling into a wide, cheek-splitting grin.

The other two Lairds grinned back and walked forward to shake Duncan’s hand.

“How have ye been?” Evander boomed, his voice filling the small space as it always did. “And is it true that ye’ve returned home for good?”

Duncan motioned to the two chairs across from his desk, and both Arthur and Evander sat in them while he took his own seat.

“Aye,” he grunted. “’Tis true. I offered MacKimmon a truce three days before I received word of me wife needin’ me help.”

“That was also true, then?” Arthur grunted, glowering as he cracked his knuckles. “Someone truly took yer wife?”

Duncan gave him a quick, terse nod as Evander spoke next.

“I’m assumin’ ye ran the bastards through?”

“There was nothin’ left of ‘em by the time me men and I were through, that’s for certain.”

A feral grin spread across Duncan’s face as he remembered those moments. And that grin slowly spread to the two men sitting across from him.

More than anyone else in the world, Evander and Arthur understood the brutality that Duncan was capable of. That same propensity for violence lived within them as well. It was something they had shared since they were young.

“Ye think ye’d have more scars on that pretty face of yers,” Arthur interjected gruffly, “what with bein’ at war for so long.”

“Aye,” Duncan answered in an equally stony tone. “But then I’d be as ugly as ye. And we cannae have that now, can we?”

He nodded toward Arthur’s covered eye, causing the man to snort a laugh.

“’Tis been a long time,” Evander mused, looking between his two friends, a dark grin still fixed on his face.

Duncan sank back in his chair. “Far too long,” he agreed, finally pulling back so he could see his friend’s face. “Not since the battle outside of Thornengale. Which was when? Nearly three years ago?”

Arthur nodded. “Sounds about right.”

Duncan shifted his gaze between the men, “Thank ye both for showin’ up back then. By the time ye left, I hadnae had enough time to give ye both me thanks. We wouldnae have won that battle without ye.”

“Turned the tides on that one, we did.” Evander grinned.

Duncan had to agree with him. It was against his nature to reach out to his friends for help. But to save his own life and the lives of his men, there was very little he would not do.

Arthur waved a large hand in dismissal. “Ye thanked me enough at the time. And I ken ye’d do the same for me if I found the wolves of war howlin’ on me doorstep.”

“I would.” Duncan nodded his head once. “But it doesnae mean I didnae appreciate it, nonetheless.”

The conversation lulled, the three men falling into a comfortable silence, as they’d often done since they were children.

Duncan’s eyes flicked between the two men. Arthur was pensive, which was nothing new. The man was frequently stoic, his words coming out in a dry tone that made him nearly impossible to read if you didn’t already know him well.

Evander was gazing around the room, his dark eyes latching on anything and everything.

Finally, Arthur sighed, drawing their attention back to him.

“What changed, then?” he prompted. “When we saw ye three years ago, ye were hellbent on stayin’ in camp. Didnae seem to want to return home if ye could avoid it.”

Evander nodded. “Yer letters conveyed the same as well. Three months ago, ye were talkin’ about the next battles ye’d be wagin’ and where ye expected the fightin’ to go. When the messenger showed up, I thought it was goin’ to be another request for men or for us to come to help.”

Duncan bristled. “I hadnae needed yer help in three years. And I thanked ye for that.”

Both Lairds raised their hands placatingly.

“Was just surprisin’, is all,” Arthur explained in a nonplussed tone. “One moment we’re gettin’ battle plans from ye, the next ye’re tellin’ us about how ye’ve offered MacKinnon a truce and ye’ll be goin’ home in a fortnight.”

Duncan furrowed his brow, something only just occurring to him.

“Why are ye here?” he asked gruffly. “I didnae ask ye to come in that letter.”

“We thought ye’d gone barmy!” Arthur exclaimed, his voice rising for the first time since he and Evander had entered the study. “We didnae ken if ye’d been captured and someone had stolen yer seal, or if somethin’ else had been plaguin’ ye. I happened to be at Evander’s when word came through. So, we decided to ride out that night.”

“Ye both went ridin’ to the camp?” Duncan questioned.

The other Lairds nodded.

“Aye,” Evander answered, his tone grim. “It was sheer luck that we came across some of yer men headin’ to their village. Otherwise, we’d still be on the road, findin’ nothin’ but an abandoned battlefield.”

Heat rose to Duncan’s cheeks. “Ye didnae need to come check on me. I hadnae gone barmy. Me wits are just fine.”

“Yer wits have never been fine,” Arthur retorted, rolling his one good eye.

Evander chuckled darkly. “Ye have that right.”

Duncan shook his head. “Ye still havenae explained why ye left, though. If ye came across me men, and they told ye that it was me call to end things and that the peace treaty was real, why did ye come all this way? Why did ye nae return home?”

The two Lairds paused, sharing a pointed look before they turned their gazes to Duncan. It took a moment for them to answer, and when they did, it was something that took him off his guard.

“War isnae easy on the soul,” Arthur answered. Duncan could have sworn he saw ghosts dancing in the man’s green eye. “We ken how bad things had to have been to make ye offer a truce. When we saw ye three years ago…” he trailed off with a shake of his head.

“Ye fought like a crazed man,” Evander continued solemnly. “And when ye constantly refused to go home, even for a fortnight, we were sure it would eventually wear on ye—it would wear on anyone. We wanted to make sure ye had everythin’ ye needed, now that ye’re home.”

Duncan nodded, finally seeing the reality of it all spelled out in front of him.

“Aye,” he rasped. “It felt good, to be honest, offerin’ the truce and tellin’ me men they could go home. Ye arenae wrong, Arthur.” He met his friend’s gaze and held it. “War is hard on the soul. But I ken what I was fightin’ for. And I dinnae regret that. I only regret the lives that we lost before I was able to work toward peace.”

The other two men nodded. More than anyone, they knew how he was feeling.

“What changed in the last few battles?” Arthur asked.

Duncan shrugged. “We were winnin’,” he answered simply. “There was loss of life, aye, but nothin’ more than what we were used to. But me men… they’d lost the will to continue fightin’, and I couldnae blame ‘em. They were tired, and I was, too. Five years is a long time to be at war. A long time to be away from yer family.”

“Speakin’ of family,” Evander said, expertly changing the topic as he’d always done when Arthur and Duncan became morose. “Where is that wife of yers? We havenae seen or heard about her since yer weddin’ day.”

“Barely got to speak to her then,” Arthur mumbled. “Seemed more focused on nae vomitin’ on her shoes.”

“She’s nae here,” Duncan answered honestly.

Evander tilted his head to the side. “And where might she be?”

“The village.” Duncan pointed his thumb over his shoulder, out the window to where he knew the church spire was visible in the distance.

“What is she doin’ in the village?” Arthur prompted.

The pair of them are worse than old maids, always jabberin’ about other people’s business.

“It’s Tuesday, apparently,” Duncan said with a shrug. He could see the questions in his friends’ eyes, and he was about to admit he had no idea what that meant, when a knock sounded at the door.