Page 8 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

8

“ T here, there, I’m here now. I would never leave ye,” Alison cooed, holding tightly to Rosie’s shaking shoulders.

In the days she was held captive, all she could think about was returning home to her daughter, and now that she finally had, unshed tears stung the back of her throat.

I cannae go scarin’ the wee one like that, blubberin’ like a frightened bairn meself.

She held tightly onto the thought. She had to keep herself together for Rosie. She promised herself she would process it all later.

“But ye did leave me,” Rosie whined, her face buried in her mother’s neck.

“Aye, but nae by choice. I would never do it by choice,” Alison reassured her, using her shaking hands to rub soothing circles on her daughter’s back.

“Then why were ye gone?”

Immediately, Alison’s mind began to race, trying to think of a way to explain to her daughter what had happened without traumatizing her further. But she was spared from having to answer when the sound of boots crunching on gravel came from behind them.

The Laird had finally come to meet his daughter.

Immediately, Alison felt Rosie’s slight shoulders stiffen.

“Who’s that?” Rosie asked in a small voice.

She had asked the question quietly enough that Alison knew she had only wanted her to hear, but she had been louder than she had intended.

The eyes of all the servants who had come out to greet Alison widened upon seeing their Laird for the first time in more than five years.

“Is that a way to greet yer faither?” Duncan asked, and Alison winced.

“Me faither?” Rosie echoed hesitantly, pulling out of Alison’s embrace.

She looked to her mother, not to the man who had just spoken. Fear was written all over her face, and Alison’s heart lurched at the sight.

Gravel crunched again, indicating that Duncan had moved closer to Alison.

Rosie’s blue eyes, so identical to her father’s, darted over Alison’s shoulder and landed on the man approaching them, before flicking back to Alison once more.

Alison nodded, preparing herself for whatever her daughter’s reaction would be. “Aye, this is yer faither.”

Rosie took several steps back, taking in Duncan from boot to brow before she started shaking her small head.

Her ringlets bounced back and forth as she spoke. “Nay, me faither went off to protect us. That’s what ye said. He’s nae some monster like him.”

With a shaking hand, she pointed directly at the Laird.

Alison’s heart sank as she stood up. Turning to look at Duncan, she noticed that he had affected a passive expression, but his face had gone pale, revealing how deeply Rosie’s words had hurt him.

“What do ye mean, a monster?” Alison tsked, taking a step back so that she and the Laird stood side by side.

Her shoulder brushed against his, and she felt him stiffen.

“I told ye,” she muttered under her breath, low enough that only he could hear, all the while keeping her eyes on her daughter.

“Look at ‘im!” Rosie cried, waving her small hand in the air to indicate Duncan in all his glory. “Ye told me that Faither was a hero, nae a monster who eats people!”

Alison choked on a laugh, but she quickly recovered and disguised it with a cough. Behind Rosie, one of the maids pressed a hand to her mouth, also hiding a smile.

“Lass,” Alison admonished, keeping her tone gentle but firm. “Ye ken I wouldnae lie to ye. This is yer faither. And he wasnae eatin’ people. What gave ye that idea?”

Rosie stared at her mother before waving her hand again, beckoning her over. Alison did as she was asked, bending so that her daughter could whisper in her ear.

“The blood.”

Alison nodded. “Aye, well… he is covered in a wee bit of blood, to be sure. But I promise ye, he’s a good man who was off protectin’ us. And now he’s back for a little while. He doesnae eat people, ye can be certain of that. Would I ever lie to ye?”

Rosie stared at her mother’s face, her blue eyes shining while she considered Alison’s words. Eventually, the trust she had in her mother won out, and she gave a quick, decisive shake of her head.

Stepping around Alison, Rosie approached her father, and Alison turned to watch their interaction. She stood perfectly still, holding her breath to hear what would come out of her daughter’s mouth.

From where she stood, Alison could not see Rosie’s face, but she did not dare move, lest she distract her daughter. She did not want to break Rosie’s concentration, not when the lass was being so very brave.

“Did ye fall?” Rosie asked, her sweet voice drifting through the air.

“Fall?” Duncan parroted, cocking his head in confusion as he looked down at his daughter.

“Aye.” Rosie nodded, pointing at the blood on his clothes. “I fell once. ‘Twas a bad one. Went tumblin’ down a hill and got blood on me clothes from skinnin’ me knees and hands. Did that happen to ye?”

The Laird paused, his cheeks pinkening with embarrassment. His eyes flicked from his daughter to his wife.

Alison shrugged, mouthing another “I told ye so” to him.

She had known that not listening to her would come back to haunt him.

She did feel sympathy for Duncan. It could not be easy to come home after five years, knowing that your daughter would not recognize you and thought you might be a monster that ate people. But she could not feel too bad for him either. Not when she had warned him to clean himself up before seeing her and he had chosen not to listen.

He had better nae terrify the lass, or I’ll have to pummel him meself.

“Aye,” Duncan said, glancing at Rosie as he nodded. “Somethin’ like that.”

Alison sighed in relief when Rosie appeared to accept his answer. Glancing up at the sky, she noted the height of the sun, and her stomach made a loud growl.

Clapping her hands to draw everyone’s attention, she plastered a smile on her face.

“All right, Rosie, let’s get ye into the castle. I need to wash up for supper.”

Rosie nodded, immediately darting off toward the still-open front doors. One of the maids reached out her hand, allowing her to grasp it as she led the little girl inside.

Alison turned to Duncan.

“Now,” she said, her voice waspish, “I hope ye go and clean up. Do somethin’ about the blood and that beard by the time we see ye at the table. I dinnae want ye givin’ me daughter nightmares.”

Duncan blanched at her words, their already tired argument igniting anew.

“She isnae just yers!” he called after her as she turned on her heels and sauntered into the castle that had become her safe haven.

She did not answer him immediately. Instead, she turned to the staff and gave them instructions on preparing a meal to celebrate the return of their Laird. Once she had finished and the servants had hurried back inside, she finally directed her attention back to her husband.

Duncan was standing in the exact same spot she had left him in, but he was not looking at her. Instead, his eyes were roving over the castle, a possessive expression on his face.

A spark of irritation flared within her.

It might be his castle, but ‘tis me home.

“Aye,” she called out, drawing his attention back to her. “Yer daughter she may be, but that still didnae stop ye from terrifyin’ the lass. Things have changed around here over the past five years, so dinnae forget to wash up good and proper.”

She did not wait for his reply.