Page 10 of The Highlander’s Hunted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #2)

10

H uffing and puffing, swearing colorfully under her breath, Katie staggered to a halt outside a familiar door—the study where all of this began.

“Dinnae linger,” Hector barked from within, startling her across the threshold.

She managed to gather some semblance of dignity, smoothing down her skirts and sweeping the wispy locks out of her face as she entered.

“Thank ye, M’Laird, for allowin’ me sister to dine at yer table,” she said in a breathless rush, hoping to get ahead of whatever anger was undoubtedly coming her way.

He stalked past her, closing the door behind them. She listened for the click , the sound transporting her back to her bedchamber and the unbearable closeness of him.

Was that really only yesterday?

She felt as if she had lived a couple of lives since then.

“Ye mentioned nothin’ about a dog joinin’ yer siblings,” Hector said gruffly, striding over to his desk.

His well-worn, dark red leather chair creaked beneath the weight of all that muscle and power, the desk itself taking the next beating as he rested his legs on the edge. He sipped from that cup of medicinal brew like punctuation, daring her to continue a discussion he had just ended.

“I mentioned the dog,” Katie argued, unsure whether or not she was meant to sit in the vacant chair opposite him. “He’s Bonnie’s guardian. Where she goes, he goes. I’m sure I mentioned that.”

Hector stared at her, his eyes blank—a world away from the feverish gleam from the night before. “I hope ye’re nae considerin’ defyin’ me orders to fetch yer braither.”

“Nay,” she lied.

“I’ll send Flynn to the village to bring him,” he said, bewildering her.

Why was he being so generous? She didn’t trust it.

Unless…

She wondered if what happened last night had softened him toward her, thawing him a little despite the persistent outer frost.

“But the dog has to—” he began to add.

Katie couldn’t let him finish that sentence. “Pipkin is an angel, M’Laird. He’s the noblest, gentlest hound ye could imagine, and he doesnae stray far from Bonnie. Ye willnae even ken he’s here, I promise.”

Ye willnae break Bonnie’s heart by sendin’ him away.

Not that Bonnie would allow it. She would leave too, slipping away to be with her beloved dog. And the last thing Katie needed was to be placed in another impossible situation, desperately trying to keep her family together and alive.

Hector shook his head slowly, downing the last of his drink before he muttered, “I really should have let ye go last night. Given meself one less hindrance to deal with.”

Hoping she was right that the events in the woods had made him marginally more amenable toward her, Katie seized the uncertain opportunity. “Well, M’Laird… I’m glad that ye didnae.”

His stony eyes narrowed, his head tilting slightly to the side. A moment later, the screech of the chair legs scraping across the flagstones jolted Katie into action.

She didn’t need to hear a reply, and she definitely couldn’t face the possibility of losing herself in his delicious trickery again. So, she did the only thing she knew how to do: run, slipping out of the study before he could say a word.

“Thank ye, M’Laird! Ye’ll nae regret it!” she shouted back, so he would understand that this was not an escape attempt… not in the wider, leaving-the-grounds sense, at least.

Hector’s head shot up from the mountain of correspondence he was failing to get through, thanks to his mind jumping back to Katie every time he attempted to concentrate on the dull writing. He glanced suspiciously at the door. Someone was out there, shuffling around.

Is it that slobberin’ dog, sniffin’ me out?

“Either knock or take yerself elsewhere!” he snapped impatiently.

A knock duly sounded at the door, followed by Flynn entering the study.

Hector raised a disapproving eyebrow at the man. “What were ye doin’, shufflin’ around out there?”

“I thought I dropped somethin’,” Flynn replied blithely, flopping down in the chair opposite his Laird, sprawling across it.

“What?” Hector asked.

A grin spread across Flynn’s face. “Me eyeballs, after watchin’ Rhona give ye them apples. Mercy, I never kenned that peeled fruit could be so… allurin’.”

“I ought to give ye more to do,” Hector said gruffly, pretending to return to the letters on his desk. “If ye can do all that fussin’ about for a jape, ye clearly have too much time at yer disposal.”

Flynn sat up straighter and leaned forward in his seat. “Ye could make me yer man-at-arms. Then, I’d have so much to do that I’d barely take a second look at the likes of Rhona.”

Hector didn’t deign to respond, merely pointing at the door. If Flynn was just there to bother him, when he already had enough distractions plaguing his mind, then the man could go ahead and leave.

“Fair, fair, I’m bein’ an arse. I keep forgettin’ that ye left yer sense of humor on a battlefield somewhere,” Flynn said, putting up his hands in mock surrender. “Truthfully, I was more charmed by the dog. What a hound. I?—”

“Are ye here for a reason? I’m busy,” Hector interrupted, a bite in his voice.

The other man bowed his head, having the decency to look shamefaced. “I actually came to talk to ye about Laird Marsden.”

Hector stilled. “What about him?”

Even in a time of supposed peace, he took no comfort in hearing that name. It was too enmeshed with the tribulations of war, and the years of believing him responsible for Lucy’s murder. The mere sound of it triggered Hector’s impulse to ring the bell that would summon all of his men to action, letting them know that they needed to kiss their loved ones goodbye, for they were headed to battle.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Flynn began, putting him on edge. “But there’s a consensus in the castle that nay one quite believes we’re at peace with Clan Marsden. It’s makin’ the soldiers restless, and the rest of the castle residents arenae exactly at ease, either. Everyone is sort of waitin’ for an axe to fall.”

Hector relaxed a little. “Peace takes time. They’ll be at ease in a few months or so.”

“With respect, M’Laird, I dinnae agree,” Flynn replied, the bob of his throat belying his confidence. “Ye said it yerself—we’re never truly at peace, always waitin’ for the next war to break out. But, if I may, this is a rare opportunity for us all to taste actual peace. We shouldnae waste it.”

Sinking back in his chair, coolly assessing him, Hector waved a permissive hand. “I’m assumin’ ye have a suggestion, or ye wouldnae be here.”

“I do, M’Laird.” Flynn beamed merrily, taking a breath before continuing. “I thought we might invite Laird Marsden, his wife, and some of Clan Marsden here for a week or so. We can arrange a gathering for people to make peace and make merry, have some games for the lads to test their mettle, dancin’ for the lasses… ye ken. Somethin’ of that ilk to confirm that we’re enterin’ a new era of accord. And , I thought it would be an opportunity for ye to see yer niece, at last.”

From his toes to his skull, Hector hated everything about the idea—the prospect of hosting so many people from another clan, any clan, and having to oversee it all with a smile on his face. It wasn’t in his nature to seek merriment, much less enjoy it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced or even attended a gathering or sat at a feast. Just imagining it made him uneasy, like a fish out of water.

“Now, before ye answer, just think about it,” Flynn advised, no doubt seeing the distaste on his Laird’s face. “At the very least, let the family come. Ye should see yer niece, M’Laird.”

Rosie…

Aside from waging a war that had served no purpose, started for all the wrong reasons, that little girl was his greatest regret. Sometimes, he still felt the venom in his throat from the day he had called her no niece of his, choking on it. His sole comfort was that he had not said it to her face.

More often than he cared to admit, he wished that he had taken her from Castle Marsden too, that he had collected them both —mother and daughter—and brought them home together. He doubted he would have been much of a substitute father, but he would have done his best, for Lucy’s sake.

“What if they refuse?” he grumbled, tearing off the corner of a letter, ripping it into smaller pieces. Keeping his hands busy.

Flynn raised a finger, indicating that he’d thought about that too. “Ye’ll tell ‘em it’s for wee Bonnie’s benefit, to make the lassie feel more comfortable here.”

“The sister of the man who tried to kill Lady Marsden?” A bitter laugh tore from Hector’s throat. “Aye, that’s a fine idea. Nay trouble can come from that. Och, while we’re at it, introduce all the Blakes to the Marsdens—see how quickly the peace party descends into another war.”

Flynn crossed his arms over his chest. “Call me daft, but I reckon it’s the perfect idea. Everyone puttin’ the past behind ‘em. Makin’ all sorts of amends.” He paused. “And ye dinnae have to tell ‘em who Bonnie is, at first. Just say she’s a guest of yer grandmaither, who doesnae have any friends close in age.”

It could work, but Hector had a habit of envisioning the worst possible outcomes. Namely, if the Marsdens found out who Bonnie was before he had a chance to tell them, there’d be chaos.

Did that mean it was better to be honest?

The worst they could do in that case is reject the invitation.

Of course, it would be an insult to the MacKimmons, but at least Hector wouldn’t have to pretend to be enjoying himself as the two clans paraded around as the happiest of neutral parties.

“I’ll consider it,” he muttered, one motivation clinging on like the last leaf of autumn—his niece, Rosie. A child he’d never seen because of his own stubborn judgment, made at the wrong moment.

Flynn clapped his hands together. “I’ll speak with the council, prepare a plan in case ye decide to proceed, see how we can make this the gathering to end all?—”

An almighty crash suddenly sounded in the hallway.

Hector was up on his feet in half a second, broadsword drawn, running for the door, with Flynn only a step behind. It would’ve been fairly ironic if, while discussing potential peace gatherings, there was an ambush underway, or enemy spies had snuck into the castle.

And Hector wasn’t too keen on irony.

He wrenched open the door to the alarmed yelp of a child, hunched over a scattering of pottery shards. She had her finger in her mouth, her bare feet luckily positioned between two jagged fragments, trapped amidst the sharp debris.

On the safe periphery of the destruction, wagging his tail, panting excitedly, was that enormous beast of a dog. Almost the same height as the child at the top of his monumental box of a head, far taller if he was to stand on his hind legs.

“Pipkin smelled his new friend,” Bonnie explained, taking her finger out of her mouth. A bead of blood appeared on the fingertip. “He did his happy bouncin’ and… wagged his tail so hard that he knocked the table there. The vase fell off. I tried to catch it, but?—”

Hector crunched the broken pottery underfoot and grabbed the girl under her arms, hoisting her up and out of danger. Holding her to him, his heart cracked like the ruined vase as she wrapped her thin arms around his neck and clung to him tightly. She was as light as a feather, but the memory she’d dredged up was almost unbearable as he carried her up the hallway to a sturdier side table and set her down on it.

“Ye stay right here ‘til I tell ye it’s safe,” he said thickly, overwhelmed by the intense hit of remembrance.

He hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing until he’d done it, scooping the lass out of harm’s way. It shook him to the point where he turned around and went back to the broken vase, picking up the shards himself. He could have asked a maid to do it, but he needed a moment to steady himself, and it provided the perfect excuse.

“Make yerself useful, Guthrie. The dog isnae goin’ to grow thumbs and start collectin’ bits, is he?” he barked at Flynn, scrabbling for normality.

As he carefully gathered up the shards, stacking them in his palm, it was akin to collecting his memories into some kind of order.

He remembered Lucy charging through the hallways like a hellion, causing all sorts of trouble—running into servants, accidentally knocking trays out of their hands; using one of their father’s ledgers for kindling, because she’d seen some brigands tearing pages out of books for their fire; smashing a window and narrowly avoiding a councilman’s head the first time Hector tried teaching her to use a bow and arrow; knocking over a statue in the gardens, its head rolling right off, during a violent game of…

I cannae remember.

They were throwing something between them, but he couldn’t picture what it was, no matter how hard he concentrated. Indeed, the more he concentrated, the more the memory slipped from his grasp.

Throughout all the trouble Lucy had gotten herself into, he’d been right there with her. All the games and dramatic tales they would act out, all the interests they’d picked up and set down, all the seemingly insignificant things that had made up a childhood—they’d been at each other’s side.

When did that change?

He knew the answer. When he became Laird, when he grew up, when he forgot that his sister was just as important as his clan.

Putting the gathered pieces on the table where the vase used to stand, Hector returned to the girl. “Flynn here will take ye to the healer, to get that finger looked at.”

“Thank ye.” Bonnie smiled up at him, her cheeks rosy with guilt and innocence. “Pipkin is sorry that he broke yer vase.”

Hector arched an eyebrow. “Aye, well, he’s forgiven, so long as he doesnae wag his tail close to any other vases. I didnae much like that one anyway.”

The girl giggled, startling him. “I think ye might be a good monster, M’Laird! A good monster, indeed.”

He grimaced as he felt something rough and wet against his hand. He glanced down to see the dog eagerly licking his palm, coating his skin with his slobbering affection.

“Pip kens the good monsters from the bad ones,” Bonnie added as, down the hall, Flynn covered his mouth, but not quick enough to stifle his snort.

Grunting at the indignity, Hector left the fools to their mummery, craving to be somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed. Somewhere far enough from the castle, and certain inhabitants, to clear his head of the unwelcome and untimely distraction.

If he was to make it through the next three months sane, his brain was going to need a peace gathering of its own, for it was already beginning to war with itself.

I should’ve let her go. Curse it, I should’ve let Katie go.