Page 17 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

17

“ L oop this around, here,” Alison murmured, bending low as she corrected the writing done by one of the children.

“Like that?” the child she had been helping, a little girl named Fiona, asked uncertainly.

Alison nodded. “Aye, lassie. Just like that.”

She was rewarded with a bright smile from Fiona before she walked to the next student.

They all sat outside, shawls draped over their slender shoulders and their heads bent over parchment.

“How’re they doin’?” Malina’s voice sounded directly above Alison’s shoulder, causing her to jump and let out a yip of surprise.

The children erupted in giggles, and Alison quickly hushed them. Once she had gotten them all back to focusing on their work, she turned to glare at her friend.

“Did ye have to sneak up on me?” she chided.

Alison guided Malina a few feet away. She remained close enough that she could keep an eye on the children, but just far enough that the sound of their voices would not distract them from their work.

“I didnae sneak up on ye!” Malina corrected, waving off Alison’s accusation. “’Tis nae me fault that ye were so absorbed in yer work that ye didnae hear me comin’. I was yappin’ with Sheena on the way here. I’m shocked ye didnae hear me.”

Alison glanced over Malina’s shoulders, quickly spotting the old woman she had just mentioned.

Sheena’s shock of white hair was distinctive, as were her perpetually slumped shoulders. She was sitting before a washbasin and scrubbing soiled clothing over a board, just as she did every Tuesday, happy to have the extra time while Alison distracted the children with their studies.

“Has her grandson returned home yet?” Alison asked, dropping her voice even further.

Malina shook her head, and Alison’s heart sank.

“Did yer husband say anythin’ about when he expected them to return?” Malina asked.

It hurt Alison to see the look of hope in her friend’s eyes.

She shook her head, watching as that tiny spark of hope dimmed.

“I didnae ask him,” she admitted somewhat sheepishly. “I overheard some of the guards that came back to rescue me talkin’ this mornin’. The rest stayed behind to pack up the camp. I dinnae ken how long it’ll take them to make the journey back. It also depends on where they’re comin’ back from.”

Malina sighed, dropping her medical bag onto the ground beside her before crossing her arms over her chest.

“They’ve been through too much,” she said, worry etched into the lines of her face. “It has been a long five years for ‘em all.”

“Aye, that it has. But if me husband is to be believed, ‘tis all over now, and they’ll be home soon.”

Malina’s voice was steely when she replied, “Let’s both take some time tonight to pray that the bastard MacKimmon actually signs the damned peace treaty.”

Alison hummed in approval, and then the two women fell into a comfortable silence as they watched the children complete their work.

Alison felt a great deal of fear for the village folk. She worried that the sons, husbands, fathers, and uncles that they sent off to war would return as shadows of the men they had been before they left, or that they would not return at all. She was also troubled by the possibility that MacKimmon would refuse to sign the peace treaty, and they would find themselves at war once again.

But there was also a tinge of hope mixed in with her worry—that they truly would be entering into a time of peace once again.

“I cannae imagine,” she said almost to herself as she observed the children and the village she had come to love, “what me life would be like if I hadnae tagged along that Tuesday four years ago.”

Malina snorted. “Ye’d be a lot less of a busybody, that’s for certain.”

“I am nae a busybody!”

Alison was rewarded with an eye roll.

“Aye, and I’m nae a healer.” Malina’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Oh, wait. Aye, I am! And that means ye’re a busybody. But ‘tis all right, because everyone loves ye for it.”

“Lady Marsden,” one of the children called, drawing Alison’s attention before she had the chance to retort. “Can ye help me?”

Her eyes darted in their direction, quickly spotting little Balfour watching her eagerly.

“Aye, I’ll be right there!” she called out to him.

She began to walk toward him, but not before she muttered under her breath, “Ye’re lucky he needed me.”

She adeptly ignored Malina’s low chuckle, which followed her all the way to where the boy sat waiting. She busied herself with helping him, and the moment she was done, there were three more requests for her assistance.

Nearly an hour later, the lesson that she had been leading that day was over. She helped the children clean up the supplies she had brought with her from the castle, tucking the parchment and quills away into her favorite leather bag.

A pair of hands came into view as Malina helped her pack up.

“How did they do this week?” her friend asked.

Alison smiled fondly at her lingering students. “Better than I expected. They’re makin’ a lot of progress.”

“And how are things at the castle?”

Alison’s hand stilled on the parchment she had just plucked off the table, her eyes darting sideways to glare at her friend. “What do ye mean?”

Malina’s cheeks flushed, but she did not pause her packing.

“I meant to say somethin’ to ye earlier,” she admitted, “afore ye were called away. But rumor has it that ye and the Laird caused quite a stir last night.”

Alison’s heart began to race. “What do ye mean, caused a stir? We didnae do anythin’. All we did was?—”

Malina raised a hand, effectively cutting her off. “Did ye nae argue with him at supper? Effie said that she heard the whole thing. She also heard ye carryin’ on yer bickerin’ in a sittin’ room.”

Heat consumed Alison’s face. Her mind churned, a million different answers rushing to her mouth at once.

“Aye, we were fightin’,” she began. “We fought…”

She tried once more, but her mind came up blank again.

How could she explain to Malina what had happened the day before? How would she explain what their fight had turned into? Should she tell her about seeing Duncan with Rosie afterward?

“What did ye fight about?” Malina asked, clearly more interested in Alison’s answer now that she was struggling so terribly with it. Her eyes roved over Alison’s face, and slowly, her expression began to change.

Realization dawned on the healer’s features, and Alison’s already heated face burned even brighter.

An impish smile tugged at Malina’s lips, spreading until it turned into a grin so wide it looked like her cheeks might split.

“Aye, mayhap ye werenae fightin’ like cats.” She chuckled. “Mayhap ye were behavin’ more like rabbits.”

“Malina!” Alison chided, swatting her best friend’s arm. “Dinnae speak like that! Nae in front of the bairns.”

The healer laughed. “What bairns? They’ve all gone to play.”

Alison looked around her, realizing that Malina was right. All the children had dispersed and were running through the square and tagging one another as they giggled. A few of the adults had stopped to watch, laughing at their antics.

She returned her attention to packing the supplies, grabbing the last of the parchment and stuffing it into her bag.

“Well, there’s nothin’ to discuss,” she insisted after a moment. “Nothin’ happened other than us fightin’ a bit. He said he was here to stay, and I said I didnae believe him.”

Malina quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Aye, I’m sure ye were just fightin’.”

“Malina.” Alison’s voice was laced with warning, causing her best friend to hold her hands up in mock surrender.

“Well,” Malina said, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Either way, it must be nice to have him back, even if the two of ye are fightin’. Must at least feel good to ken ye’re protected.”

Alison snorted. “Aye. Feels nice to ken there’s a murderer in me home.”

Once again, Malina furrowed her brow. “Murderer? I ken he had to do things while at war, but that’s also natural. Ye dinnae need to call him a murderer.”

Alison glanced at the other woman as though her mind had left her. “Are ye a dobber? Ye ken I mean his first wife.”

Malina’s scowl deepened. She glanced back and forth, ensuring no one was listening to them. She seemed to be displeased with how close they were to other people because she grabbed Alison’s forearm and led her away.

The two women did not venture far, stopping about ten feet away from where they had been standing, but it seemed to be far enough that Malina was satisfied they would not be overheard.

“What’s this now?” the healer asked, struggling to keep her voice low. “Why are ye goin’ on about him murderin’ his first wife?”

“Now I ken ye’re a dobber!” Alison exclaimed. “Ye ken what they say about him. She was found stabbed in his bed.”

“Aye, and the Laird wasnae the one who did it.”

Alison couldn’t help it. She gasped. It was the first time anyone had ever spoken candidly to her about the rumors that had been spun about her husband.

A thousand questions popped into her mind, each one begging to be answered. But one in particular was louder than all the others.

“How do ye ken?” she asked.

Her voice was low and hesitant as the words spilled from her lips. Her heart was racing faster than the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. Until that very moment, she had not realized just how much the answer had meant to her.

Over the years, she had wondered countless times whether she was married to a murderer. And, for the first time, she felt some of her anxiety decrease.

She knew that Malina would never lie to her.

“I was there,” Malina answered simply, raising one shoulder and then letting it drop. “I had just been hired as a maid. ‘Twas me first week in the castle. I saw what happened. And those rumors, the ones ye’ve believed all these years, arenae true.”

Alison considered this, reworking all the rumors in her mind. She knew how gossip traveled in Scotland, especially amongst nobility. A bunch of gossipmongers, the whole lot of them. That meant it was quite possible that the things she had heard all those years ago had been untrue.

She put her hand on her chest as she contemplated the ramifications of Malina’s admission. If the Laird had not killed his first wife, what threat did that pose to her?

“It doesnae matter,” Alison said finally, heaving a sigh. “Because whether he killed his first wife or nae, he still left me with a bairn that wasnae mine to care for, and he stayed away for five long years. He only returned because I was kidnapped. Otherwise, he would still be away.”

Malina’s expression was soft when she replied, “Aye, he did leave ye. That much is true. But did ye ever stop to think why?”

Alison rolled her eyes. “He says he was protectin’ me, but?—”

“But nothin’,” Malina interrupted. “Think about it. If he wasnae the one who killed Lady Lucy, then that means the killer was still out there. The person who murdered his wife to get to him was still around. So, him nae spendin’ time with ye, him takin’ off immediately, can ye nae see how he might view that as protectin’ ye?”

Alison narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Have ye talked to him about it?”

Malina shook her head fervently. “Nay. The only time we spoke was when I was patchin’ him up. And trust me, we didnae talk about the reason he left. But it didnae take much to figure it out.”

“Does the reason why he left matter?” Alison’s voice was much more subdued than she had intended.

But the conversation had saddened her. She had spent so long holding onto her anger, and how the abandonment and fear had made her feel, that she did not know what to do now that she was questioning it.

“It matters only if ye think it matters,” Malina answered, giving her a soft smile. “I just want ye to ken that there is a possibility that he was just tryin’ to be a good laird by leavin’—especially since our borders were bein’ attacked—and stayin’ away.”

Alison leveled her gaze at her friend. The sudden melancholy that had briefly overtaken her had vanished, fortifying her with a steely resolve as she replied, “Even if he was bein’ a good laird, doesnae mean he was bein’ a good husband.”

Malina opened her mouth to retort, but her words were cut off by the sound of whinnying horses.

Alison and Malina turned toward the noise. In the distance, a familiar form rode on horseback, his back ramrod straight and his head held high.

Two men flanked him, and Alison put her hand over her eyes as she squinted. From where she stood, she could not make out either of them, but she felt certain in some deep part of her that they were not any of the guards she’d seen so far.

As the trio drew closer, more and more of the village folk began to take note.

It was the children who noticed first, their attention spans as flighty as a hummingbird’s wings. But it didn’t take long until almost everyone in the square had turned to gawk at the three massive men approaching on horseback.

“The Laird has come!” someone shouted, and the news spread like wildfire.

The children dipped their heads, whispering to each other.

Rosie, who had been playing with Sara Tomlinson, looked up. Immediately, her blue eyes landed on the three men, her gaze finding the middle figure and going wide.

“It’s me faither!” she yelled, pointing at the Laird excitedly.

Alison scanned the village folk, immediately taking note of the different expressions on their faces.

Many of the children looked excited, whispering frantically as they looked at the Laird they had heard so much about throughout the years. It was the faces of the adults that Alison found the most interesting.

Fear and dread dominated their expressions.

As Duncan drew closer, the men on either side of him became more clear as well.

Alison studied them. Their features were familiar, and she knew that she had seen them before. But no part of her could say exactly where.

Her eyes flicked to Duncan, and immediately she regretted it. He’d been watching her as he approached, and the moment her gaze met his, the corner of his lips ticked up in a sardonic grin.

She rolled her eyes at him, satisfied when his expression turned into a glower.

The Laird has come, indeed.