Page 9 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

9

T he whisky burned Duncan’s throat as he leaned back in his chair. He looked around him in awe at finding his study exactly how he had left it.

He had taken the time to clean up, just as his wife had instructed. He had made quick work of discarding his bloody clothes and scrubbing himself almost raw, trying to get any blood that he might have missed off his skin.

Trimming his beard had taken him longer. For the past five years, he had let it grow rather wild, not concerning himself with it, since he had spent most of his time in battle.

But what had once been a tangle of hair that masked his jaw was now close-cropped. He swiped one of his hands over it again, allowing the stubble to tickle his palm before taking another swig of his drink.

A knock on the door brought him up short, and he whirled around to see who dared to disturb him.

“Good afternoon, Me Laird.”

A vaguely familiar woman stood on the threshold. Duncan racked his brain for her name, trying as hard as he could to recall it.

It was on the tip of his tongue when she noticed his struggle and entered the room.

“Malina,” she supplied. “I am the healer at the castle.”

The name jostled his memory, and he immediately recalled the young woman he had hired not long before he had left. He watched as she placed a small medical bag on his desk, opened it, and sifted through some of her tools.

“Yer wife sent me up to check on ye,” she explained.

“Ye were a maid when I left,” Duncan blurted, suddenly remembering that he had not hired her as a healer.

“Aye.” Malina nodded, removing vials and rags from her bag. “Me Lady, however, quickly saw that I would serve the castle better as a healer, so she changed me position and hired a few more maids to work in me stead.”

Duncan watched the healer work, noticing the way her deft hands weeded through the bottles.

“Ye should tend to Lady Marsden first,” he admonished. “Those bastards roughed her up.”

“Dinnae worry,” Malina said, shooting him a stony glance over her shoulder. “I’ve already taken care of her. She was me first priority.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. It was rare that people spoke back to him, especially servants. Not that he minded that she had taken care of Alison first. However, the woman before him did not back down.

Grabbing one of the vials and a rag, she began to wet the cloth and approached him. Duncan did not interrupt her as she began tending to his exposed wounds.

“Do ye have anythin’ I cannae see that needs to be tended to?” she asked, dabbing at a nasty cut on his forearm.

A hiss escaped Duncan’s lips when the cloth touched it, the smell of astringent filling the room.

“Nay,” he said through gritted teeth. “They didnae do much damage.”

Malina nodded, her stony demeanor never faltering as she tended to the few wounds in his arms and cheeks. It did not take her long, and Duncan watched her as she worked.

“How has it been?” he asked. “Livin’ with only me wife for the last five years?”

The healer’s eyes flicked up to his as a smirk tugged at her lips. “Well, she’s me best friend,” she offered. “So I think it’s been rather grand.”

Duncan frowned. “Lady Marsden is friends with her staff?”

Malina nodded. “Aye. She’s a kind woman. Tough, too. But I guess ye’d have to be to raise a bairn who wasnae yers like she’s done with Rosie. To love her like she was her own, yet still defend the husband who left her alone.”

She stood, having cleaned the final scratch on his face.

The last barb stung more than the ointment Malina had been using to clean his wounds, and he tried not to wince as her words struck home.

“Please excuse me, Me Laird,” she said, her voice softening a bit as she met his gaze. “I am just protective of her.”

It was something that Duncan understood, and he found himself nodding.

Malina did not say much else while she packed up her things. Duncan only spoke up when she was about to step out of the room.

“Thank ye,” he said, bringing her up short. “For lookin’ after them all these years.”

The healer turned slowly, eyeing him up and down. Duncan had to fight not to shrink away from her stare.

“Ye dinnae have to thank me,” she said finally. “We love her. All of us do. Ye would do best to remember that.”

Normally, Duncan would never allow himself to be spoken to like that, but Malina’s words had jarred him. He was astonished by hers and the staff’s loyalty to Alison.

It takes a lot for servants to love their lairds and ladies like that.

The only people who had ever been that loyal to him had been his soldiers, the ones who had fought by his side day in and day out. It had never occurred to him that while he had been fighting in the war, his wife had been fighting in another war—one in their home. The acrimony in Malina’s words made it clear to him that a war had been waged in their castle, and his wife had won.

The servants were all loyal to her, and now it was up to Duncan to figure out how he might win some of that loyalty back.