Page 7 of The Highlander’s Virgin Nun (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

“A h, me bride-to-be.”

Caelan rose and introduced Rosaline as she entered the Great Hall. He kept his expression neutral to convey the strictly convenient nature of their marriage to his clansfolk.

She looked radiant in her fresh clothes, with her hair brushed and her skin glowing. He thought for a moment that her dress looked familiar, but he was ultimately distracted by her eyes as they rose and met his.

Caelan felt a shiver run down his spine. He hadn’t realized how much he craved her attention until she gave it to him, and then he wanted it more and more. He began to question why—he had known this woman for a day, and the point of their partnership was for them not to fall in love. He could resist, though. It was likely just lust.

She walked towards the table, and he continued the introduction.

“This is Rosaline.”

At that point, he realized he did not even know her surname, while he had already vowed to change it to his own.

And yet he continued, “She saved me life today, and she will be me bride. Ye are all to introduce yerselves.”

His clansfolk rose and greeted her with smiles and welcomes, some joining their hands in a few celebratory claps. They were clearly impressed as they took in her beauty and acknowledged her heroic deed. She blushed softly at their praise.

Caelan observed her expression as she crossed the hall and walked around the table, towards the empty seat beside him that he had indicated. She had started with a polite, shy smile, but it had since dropped, and her eyes widened slightly.

She looked uncomfortable, nervous. He couldn’t blame her; for her, the hall was full of strangers, and she was walking in as their future lady. It should be intimidating.

“Ye look well,” he said to her quietly as he pulled her chair out for her.

Rosaline nodded her head in thanks and gave a small smile.

“Do ye have everythin’ ye need?”

“Absolutely, thank ye. The view of the village is lovely.”

“Aye, the folk have built a lovely community. Everyone helps one another. They’re great people—ye should get to ken them.”

Rosaline smiled at him once again, nodding, and then turned to the food. She was likely exhausted, he thought. He should let her relax and eat.

“Any more info on the attackers, Jayden?” Caelan turned to his man-at-arms.

Jayden had been studying maps and trying to identify any neighboring clans with the tartan Caelan had described to him. Caelan knew many, and the tartan was one he had never seen before. Of course, it could have been a decoy, something to throw them off and confuse them, but he had asked Jayden to look nonetheless.

“Nay, Me Laird. There are a few tartans with orange thread, and each one I could find either belongs to one of our allies or a clan further up north. I doubt it could have been any of them.”

Caelan sighed, but he was not surprised.

“Thank ye for lookin’. Might be time to start questionin’ our allies.”

“I agree, it has to be someone we ken,” Jayden concurred. “They ken too much about where ye will be and when for them to be uninvolved.”

“Caelan,” Alexandra spoke up. Caelan turned to her. “Here comes Michaela. She wants to check ye over.”

“There ye are, lad,” Michaela croaked as she hobbled towards him.

She was an older woman with long gray hair, a hunched back from age, and the most familiar warm and tender eyes he could imagine.

Michaela had been present in his life for as long as he could remember. He was sure she had even helped his mother to birth him. She never ate dinner with everyone, preferring to use the time for socializing, and was generally late to everything, including dinner. She was also one of the few people who never called him Me Laird , and he supposed it was for no other reason than the fact that she knew him too well.

“Good evenin’, Michaela. How are ye?”

“I’m fine, lad. It is ye I am here to ask that question. I hear ye found yerself in another battle today?”

“Aye, Michaela. But I’m well, honestly. Nae even a scratch.”

“Ah,” she breathed, shaking her head. “Yer skin may be unmarked, but that doesnae mean the same for yer soul. Ye will have to give me yer time in the mornin’ to assess ye fully.”

“I will try to find the time, Michaela, thank ye.”

Caelan did not feel in need of any healing, nor was he worried about hidden injuries, but he did appreciate her time and wisdom. Michaela had noticed illnesses far before they had shown externally in many members of his family.

She predicted pregnancies in their earliest stages before the belly had even begun to swell. She had cured the pains of the body and the pains of the mind for generations long before him. He would always have time for her.

“Michaela, this is—” Caelan began to introduce Rosaline, but quickly realized that he did not need to.

“Ah, greetings, lass. Ye are soon to be our new Lady Sinclair, aye?”

Michaela hobbled past Caelan and came to stand beside Rosaline. She placed a hand on her back and greeted her warmly.

Rosaline returned the warmth with a nod. “I’m Rosaline.”

“Aye, Rosaline, that’s right. It is lovely to meet ye, lass. If this lad gives ye any trouble, ye just tell me, all right? I’ve given him trouble more times than if he were me own son, and I dinnae intend to stop just because he’s the big Laird now.”

Michaela managed to coax a small laugh from Rosaline, and Caelan drank it in. Her lips pulled back to reveal perfectly straight, white teeth, and her eyes lit up as they crinkled at the corners. She had seemed too reserved, too self-contained for anyone to make her laugh. He was glad to know that it was possible, and was thus determined to make it happen sometime.

Michaela moved on, greeting a few more elders at the table, adored by all, before retiring from the hall to eat in her rooms as usual.

Caelan returned his focus to his food, ravenous after a long day.

“The dress looks lovely on ye, Rosaline,” he overheard Alexandra say to his bride. “It fits ye just right, and that color is just divine on ye—brings out yer brown eyes.”

“Thank ye,” Rosaline uttered, her voice almost a whisper.

“It’s lovely in these warmer months nae to have to walk around with so many furs on. We must remember it and savor the luxury when it comes around, I think,” Alexandra continued, chatty as always.

Caelan saw Rosaline nod in reply only out of the corner of his eye as he continued eating, and turned to her. She did not engage in further discussion. He knew she was intelligent and not shy from the afternoon’s ride with her. She had spoken well, albeit not the entire time, but she was articulate. And Alexandra was one of the easiest people to talk to.

As he wondered further what might be wrong, he looked at her hands, which, while holding her fork, simply moved food around the plate, not bringing a bite to her mouth. For a few more minutes, he observed her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to return to his meal, and saw her only take one bite of bread.

He was about to ask if the food was to her liking when his eyes trailed further up her wrist and arm.

She was very skinny. Her skin wrapped around her bones like tight fabric, not pulling but vaguely showing the outlines of her skeleton. Her waist, tiny in the dress, was not even meeting the lining upon closer inspection.

She was very slim, indeed.

Perhaps she was a picky eater or not prone to hunger. He did not want to probe any further, for fear of making her self-conscious, so he left her to it a few moments more. But before he could strike up a new conversation, she finally spoke.

“Thank ye very much for all of this—the food, the dress, the bedroom. But I’m afraid I’m quite tired after such an eventful day. Might I be excused?”

“Oh dear,” Alexandra began, and Caelan could tell his sister was about to ask more questions.

“Of course,” he cut in. “Ye are free to go.”

With that, Rosaline stood up, gave everyone a final nod goodnight, and left the Great Hall.

Caelan tried to ignore the sadness he could see in her eyes. He had been so focused on what he could offer her here in exchange for marrying him and giving him an heir that he had forgotten what she had run from. He did not know what or who that was, but it must have been bad for her to be so frightened of being caught again.

He could not get too close to her, but he could be considerate of her feelings.

“Do ye think she’s all right?” Alexandra asked sympathetically.

“Aye, she’ll be fine. She’s had a long day.”

Alexandra said no more, although he could tell she was desperate to go seek her out. She had known the woman even more briefly than he had. However, as compassionate as his sister could be, she had to give people space, too.

“Ye can see her in the mornin’,” he said, sternly.

Caelan finished his meal, spoke a little longer with some of his clansfolk, and then retired from the hall early, as the day had caught up to him, too. He said goodnight and headed up to his rooms. As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard some unfamiliar noises. He walked down the corridor and gradually identified the noise as whimpering.

The gentle, quiet, but distressed sound was coming from Rosaline’s bedroom.

He would not become her confidant or her friend—it was far too dangerous—but he did not want her to feel such pain from being here. He could at least reassure her that he didn’t intend to hurt her and that he was not going to keep her locked up in the castle forever.

Caelan knocked gently on the door, but there was no answer. The whimpering continued, and he knocked slightly harder to no avail. Softly, he pushed open the door, and after a pause, he poked his head inside.

He found her on the bed, furs thrown off, her body bent in disturbed slumber. Her back was turned to him as she shuddered and sniffled. Caelan felt his feet carrying him forward, further into the room, until he reached the bed. Her whimpering continued, undisturbed by his footsteps, so he rounded the bed.

Her body, wrapped in a thin silk slip, was exquisite. He had to tear his eyes away from the silhouette that the nightdress so perfectly defined, shadowing in her dips and glowing at her peaks.

As he gazed at her face, he saw a tense jaw and a tense brow. Her face looked tight, uncomfortable, and distressed. Her body jerked and jolted as pained moans escaped her lips. Her hands clung to her elbows, making her body as small as it could be.

Gradually, her moans turned into the word “nay,” uttered over and over.

Just as he moved his hand to wake her from her nightmare, her eyes flew open and landed on him. Caelan jumped at the sudden change, and was about to apologize for intruding when he realized something strange about her eyes.

They were directly staring into him, the pupils blown, but they seemed not to look at him. They were focused on the space just inches in front of his face. When he shifted slightly, her gaze did not follow him.

Her eyes were open, but she was not awake.

“Monster.”

Caelan furrowed his brow in confusion. He feared that she could see him, that she already thought him a monster. She had seen him kill a man, after all. But her gaze remained glazed over, although intense. Her body continued to jerk, and she tried to make herself even smaller.

Caelan covered her body in some heavy furs, not for warmth but to smother her jerky motions. He hoped that it would gradually dispel her nightmare. Then, he walked back to the door before looking back at her one more time.

Whoever had given her such nightmares, whatever horrors haunted her nights, was a monster.

Someone had hurt this woman badly. This was the horror she was running from. It was his duty to protect her, both here and from whoever had caused her such pain.

“Dinnae worry, lass,” Caelan whispered from the doorway, biting down his anger that brewed over such treatment of someone so pure. “I swear to ye, the people who hurt ye will meet their punishment. I will bring it upon their heads.”