Page 18 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

18

“ M e Fergus!” one of the women cried as she cautiously approached Duncan. “Any news of me Fergus?”

“And what of Iomhar?” another voice cried out, although Duncan was unable to see the person who had spoken.

Evander and Arthur stood at either side of him, their arms crossed over their chests as they surveyed the crowd—his silent sentinels.

From the moment they rode into the village, the folk had seemed panicked by his appearance. Apparently, word had not traveled to them that he was back and residing in the castle.

But they were more than aware now, and that awareness had brought many questions. For the past half hour, Duncan had been answering everyone to the best of his knowledge and ability.

They cried out, asking for updates on some of the villages, shouting names of their kin who had been off fighting in the war. A few answers he had been able to give, but most he had not.

“Fergus MacLoren?” he asked, turning to the woman who had just spoken to him. His eyes roved over her face, taking in her white hair and weathered skin.

She nodded, her watery eyes fixed on his own.

“Aye, I do ken who he is,” he answered, thankful that he would finally deliver some good news. “A beast with an axe, that one.”

“But he’s alive?” she pleaded.

Duncan nodded his head, and the tears that had been gathering at the corners of her eyes finally spilled over.

“Aye, he’s alive. He was in camp when I left, but he was helpin’ with the retreat,” Duncan explained. “I paused the fightin’ and sent an offer of a truce. When ‘tis accepted, yer lad will return home.”

There were a few more shouted questions, but none that he could make out clearly. A headache began to form behind his forehead.

I would rather go back to war than answer questions like this.

“Careful,” Evander said, leaning in so that only Duncan could overhear him. “Better fix that scowl on yer face, or they’ll begin to think ye dinnae want to speak to them.”

Duncan turned to his friend. “Ye’re bein’ an arse,” he mumbled under his breath and was rewarded with a smirk that Arthur’s face mirrored.

He continued answering questions, but his eyes began scanning the crowd.

When he had first arrived, Duncan had seen Alison with a group of children who were seated in an orderly fashion at a few of the communal tables that dotted the town square, but he had since lost sight of her.

“She’s over there.” It was Arthur’s voice in his ear this time.

As always, his most perceptive friend had noticed him scanning the crowd and knew exactly who he was looking for.

Duncan glanced over his shoulder again, only to see Arthur nodding his head toward the far side of the town square. His gaze swiveled in that direction, and almost immediately he spotted his wife.

She and Malina were sitting on a small patch of grass, watching Rosie as she played with some of the other children. He watched Malina say something to his wife, and then Alison did something miraculous—she threw her head back and laughed.

The laugh that erupted from her was utterly unburdened and captivating.

Whenever Alison looked at him, her doe-like brown eyes were usually shrewd, her fine, elfin visage suspicious. But seeing her with her friend, so completely delighted and unguarded?

I need to find a way to make her trust me.

With that thought firmly planted in his mind, he excused himself from the crowd. The village folk parted, granting him a direct path to his wife.

“I am nae lyin’!” Malina cried, coaxing another laugh from Alison.

“The priest didnae tell ye that,” Alison sputtered, shaking her head at her friend.

But Malina did not answer. Instead, her gaze was trained over Alison’s shoulder. Her smile had dropped, and when Alison followed her gaze, she quickly figured out why.

Why could he nae just stay away?

Duncan was crossing the square, his eyes fixed on Alison. The smile on her lips dropped, and she turned to face him, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin.

“Husband,” she said by way of greeting as he approached.

She gave him a slight nod of her head, a sign of respect while all the eyes of the townspeople were upon them.

Rosie paused in her playing, a tentative smile forming on her lips as she waved at her father. Alison’s eyes flicked back to Duncan, and she watched him give their daughter an awkward wave of his own.

“Ye should still be over there, speakin’ to yer people,” Alison said once his gaze had returned to her.

She nodded her head in the direction of the square, where people were still milling about.

Her husband shook his head. “I’ve answered their questions,” he grunted. “As much as I can, anyway. When their sons return, I’ll have somethin’ more to say to ‘em.”

Malina used that moment to slink away from them, muttering something to herself that Alison could not hear. She almost reached out to her friend to ask her to stay, but she knew it would be useless.

Clearly, her husband wanted to speak to her. And if he wanted an audience, he would have called her over to the square. No, his finding her meant that he wanted to talk at least in private.

“Some of them have returned,” she reminded him. “They came with ye to rescue me.”

He nodded. “Nae all of ‘em, though. There’s still many of them who have yet to return.”

Alison nodded. Her heart lurched at the thought.

At least ye didnae love yer husband when he ran off to war. These people, they had so much more to lose.

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed past the lump that had formed there before trying to speak.

“Well, it’ll be a cause for celebration, then.”

“That it will,” he grunted.

Silence fell between them, and Alison turned her attention back to the playing children. She watched as Rosie sprinted around the grass, tagging one of the other children.

“Got ye!” she yelled, before turning and running away.

“I didnae like bein’ told by a maid that ye came to the village,” Duncan grunted.

Alison turned to him. “Is that so?” she challenged, placing one hand on her hip. “And when should I have told ye? All the times ye wrote home, lettin’ us ken ye were still alive?”

“Careful,” he warned, but Alison was too fired up to heed his warning.

“Or what?” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Ye’ll leave again? Be me guest. Let us return to our lives without ye.”

“I’m tryin’,” he growled, his cheeks turning pink with anger. “Ye keep goadin’ me, but I’m tryin’. I ken ye and Rosie have created a life for yerselves, and I’m tryin’ to figure out where I fit in it. But ye’re nae helpin’ me at all by defyin’ me.”

“What else was I to do?” Alison fired back. Her voice had risen more than she had anticipated.

A few of the village folk glanced their way, curious expressions on their faces.

Alion’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she turned to face the children. She did not turn to look at her husband again as he spoke to her.

“Ye cannae keep yellin’ at me,” he said, his voice low and filled with anger. “I willnae take kindly to it again. Especially nae in front of me people.”

Alison kept her gaze fixed ahead of her, her jaw working as she clenched her teeth. She took deep, focused breaths, tamping down her frustration.

Slowly, she calmed down.

Mayhap I can let up just a little.

With one final, long exhale, she turned to look at him.

“Who are those men?” she asked, nodding her head toward the two large men who still stood in the center of the square.

One was leaning against the gazebo, his arms crossed as he stared in their direction, while the other one, a menacing man with a patch over one eye, stood beside him, his lips moving as he spoke to him.

Both of their gazes, however, were fixed on Duncan and Alison. The one leaning against the gazebo gave them a smirk that Alison could see even from a distance, his hand moving in a quick wave.

The man with the eyepatch just nodded his head in acknowledgment, not once pausing whatever he was relaying to the other.

“Evander and Arthur?” Duncan asked, pointing to the men in question. Once Alison nodded, he continued, “What, ye dinnae remember them from our weddin’?”

She snorted a laugh. “I hardly remember ye from our weddin’. How would I remember yer friends?”

Now that Duncan had identified them, Alison realized why they had seemed so familiar. With her husband’s help, she could place them.

Both men had been seated in the front pew at their wedding, and she vaguely remembered staring at one of their shoes to keep herself grounded. She also had vague memories of Duncan speaking to them outside the church, although she’d been too nauseous to say anything herself.

“They’re nae just me friends,” Duncan explained gruffly. “That one”—he pointed to the man leaning against the gazebo—“that’s Evander Sloan, Laird of Clan Kincaid. And the other one is Arthur Ross, Laird of Clan MacDonnell. Both of ‘em are highly respected lairds and decorated war heroes. Ye’ll want to mind yer manners around them, too.”

Alison fought the urge to roll her eyes while he smirked at her.

“That’s a good lass,” he said darkly, giving her a wink.

A protest rose to Alison’s lips, but she swallowed it back down.

Her husband’s smirk widened. “C’mon, lass. Let’s go meet ‘em.”