Page 12 of The Highlander’s Virgin Nun (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #2)

CHAPTER TWELVE

C aelan finally dared to gaze away from the fire and towards the woman beside him. He saw that her chest was raised and her shoulders pulled back in a bid to maintain her composure. He could hear in her voice that it had been a hard life to live, and hard again to tell her story. Being the first person she had met on her escape from the convent, he realized he was likely the first person she had told it to.

“I’m sorry, lass. That sounds very difficult, indeed.”

She lifted a finger to her eye, pretending to scratch rather than wipe away a tear that might have spilled over, and sat up taller.

“It made me stronger. I got out,” she declared resolutely.

He got the feeling that the words were more for her than for him.

Caelan could feel his resolve faltering. He was not supposed to get to know this woman or to get close to her in any way, but he had a heart. She had let herself be vulnerable around him, and he did not want her to feel any more hurt than she already did.

And so to make sure that she did not at least feel alone, and because he felt she would be interested to hear about his experience, he decided to share with her too.

“I ken what it’s like to miss someone and be mad at them. Even when ye ken it’s nae their fault.”

Her body relaxed as he took over, and she cast a glance at him with a tilt of her head. He felt she was grateful for the chance to listen, so he went on.

“Me faither died ten years ago. And me maither when she had Alexandra. Most people would have been glad to be left a Lairdship, but nae me. It was a curse.”

“What do ye mean?” Rosaline asked.

He was grateful for her engagement, but it made him nervous, too.

“It has been a curse, a constant threat, a death sentence. I didnae even get to mourn me faither’s death before assassins showed up at the cemetery and tried to kill me. Then the month after, while I was settlin’ deeds at the courthouse. Ever since, I have had to face attack after attack.”

“And this is because of yer Lairdship?”

“It’s what makes sense. I am an heirless laird, and they want a piece of it for themselves. If they kill me, Clan Sinclair could be anyone’s.”

“I see,” Rosaline murmured, starting to understand him and his ways more clearly. “That’s… complicated.”

“Aye.”

The pair sat for a moment, pondering the information he had shared with her, but soon they were roused from their silence. A drum roll began and grew quickly louder and faster on the other side of the bonfire. Villagers began to make their way out of their cottages, walking around the fire towards the sound.

“What’s going on?”

“They must be startin’ a performance,” Caelan said, standing up. He offered Rosaline a hand. “Let’s go.”

She placed her hand in his, and he led her through the crowd towards the music.

As they rounded the fire and finally emerged onto a spot where they could see ahead, the clansfolk gathered to display one of their most impressive talents.

Men sat on tree stumps with drums of various sizes between their legs, the smallest in the front and the largest at the back. Some men stood at the edge with fiddles, and to the far left, one man stood with bagpipes under his arm, ready to play for the crowd.

Women gathered in front of the musicians, all wearing matching kilts made of the blue, yellow, and white tartan of Clan Sinclair. They had matching waistcoats to go over their white blouses and wore thin black leather shoes laced up over their white sheep wool socks.

The Highland dance.

“Can ye see all right?” Caelan asked Rosaline as the piper struck a tune and the women got into formation.

He was aware she was much shorter than him, but he didn’t like to use his status to push her to the front of the crowd.

“Just about,” she replied, but he could see her craning her neck a little.

“Here, stand on me boots.”

Caelan shuffled his feet closer to hers and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her feet onto his toes, giving her an extra few inches of height. Of course, it remedied the situation and allowed her to see the performance, but the trick brought him closer to her body, which was invaluable.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice almost breathy with joy.

She held onto his arms, which hugged her tightly, and finally stopped straining to see. She relaxed into his hold and focused on the performance.

Once the pipes were full-on blaring, the drums began steady and deep behind, and the dancers began to jump and sidestep in time to the rhythm. They held their hands on their hips in fists and their heads high, keeping all of the focus on their fast-moving legs. They created brilliant shapes, bending their knees and pointing their toes to stream beautiful lines, all the while remaining in sync with the music and one another. They were fantastic.

As the fiddles kicked in, the pace picked up, but the dancers retained their skill and composure effortlessly. Caelan could feel Rosaline’s pulse quicken and the focus in her stare as she admired the performance.

“They’re wonderful,” she whispered, mesmerized.

“If ye enjoy it so much, we could ask them to dance at the wedding,” Caelan suggested, taking a cue from her and returning the whisper, deliberately letting his breath fan her earlobe and her neck.

She turned her head to the side and looked up at him, revealing the whites of her eyes even more. Her dark lashes curled upward, and her long, dark curls fell from her neck, revealing more skin. She gave him a beautiful half smile, warmth radiating from her eyes. It may have been hopeful, but he could swear he saw a hint of cheekiness in them, too.

Had me whisper ignited somethin’ within her?

He hoped so.

They watched the rest of the performance, and Rosaline cheered and clapped, captivated by the dance. Caelen introduced her to a few of the performers that he knew well, and she thanked them sincerely for the show.

“We better head back to the castle now; it’s gettin’ dark.”

The village was packed to the brim with people, and the streets had no safe opening for horses. Since a few of them had had a couple of ales, Caelan decided it was best to journey back behind the cottages, just through a small patch of forest that would lead them directly to the castle gates. They returned to retrieve Miller, mounted him, and took off.

“Thank ye for today, Caelan,” Rosaline said softly as they reached the forest’s edge, nestled safely in front of his body on Miller’s back. “I had a wonderful time. Ye have been very kind to me.”

Her words warmed his heart.

Caelan recalled the story she had told him earlier, as well as the fear in her eyes when the nuns came after her in the clearing. She had received so little kindness in her adult years. It must have been such a change for her to be treated fairly. He realized how much of a miracle she trusted him at all.

“That’s all right, lass,” he replied. “Ye dinnae need to thank me. I asked ye to be me bride, and ye didnae have much of a choice. I have a duty to protect ye and make sure ye’re taken care of.”

He felt her nod slightly, and he noticed that this was perhaps the most relaxed she had been on horseback with him thus far. She leaned right back into him, resting the weight of her shoulders on his chest.

“Ye tired?” he asked.

“Aye, quite a long day.”

“We’ll be back at the castle soon. This route takes a bit longer, but nae with the crowds fillin’ the streets.”

They pushed onwards, moonlight peeking through the treetops and illuminating their path just enough for Caelan to steer Miller, although he was sure the stallion was capable by himself. Miller had ridden through these woods with him since he was a child.

As they rode, Caelan stayed vigilant as always. After years of being jumped on at every turn, he had developed an extremely good ear and eye. He needed every second he could get to defend himself from these men whenever they attacked.

Maybe without that developed skill, he would not have heard the twig break twenty yards behind them. Maybe he would have let it go, assuming it was a large bird or a small fox heading home just like them. Maybe he would have listened for another sound before urging Miller into a gallop, and as a result, scaring the life out of Rosaline, who was relaxing into the rhythm of the slow canter.

Instead, he took it as a sign. He lifted his weight from Miller’s back and kicked his right flank to instruct him to pick up speed. The horse understood him immediately and pushed forward.

“What’s goin’ on? Why are we gallopin’?” Rosaline asked, confused and disoriented in the dark.

Once they settled into a decent speed, Caelan risked a glance back for just a second. He was glad he did, as he saw the faint silhouette of a man on a horse behind them.

They were trying to stay hidden. Otherwise, they would have been galloping too, not letting Caelan out of their sight. But they chose a gradual, quiet pace, not disturbing too much in the hope of not being caught.

Tactful was more dangerous.

“Someone is followin’ us.”