Highland Warrior (6 page)

“I will warn the others of Father’s plots,” said Gregor as soon as their father had left the hall.

“Good.” Ewan sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. “A woman as strong as Fiona is must come from a strong clan. As ye said, we dinnae need any more enemies.”

“Have ye e’er heard of this Sir Ranald Menzies?”

“Nay, but there are Menzies nay too far from here.”

“Do ye mean to seek out some word on the mon?”

“If I can think of a way to send one of our men safely about to ask a few questions, aye. I am nay sure he would learn much so I hesitate to risk a mon. This Sir Ranald sounds mad and I suspicion his kinsmen willnae be wanting to admit he is one of theirs. I will think on it.” He finished off his ale and stood up. “Now, since Simon isnae suffering too badly, I believe I will have a wee talk with the lad. The sooner I discover who that lass belongs to, the sooner I can send her on her way.”

Ignoring young Nathan, who stood guard in the doorway of the herb shed, Fiona listened to Mab tell her all about what she had at hand, how it was gathered, and how it was prepared. When she was not trying to find some clever cure, Mab was probably no danger to anyone. The woman knew something about herbs and was well versed in simple medicines. Fiona wondered if there was any gentle way to get the woman to cease being inventive.

It was difficult to keep her mind set on what Mab was saying, for Fiona kept wondering what Ewan wanted to speak to Simon about in private. Try as she would, she could not recall everything she had said to the youth. She prayed Simon could not, either. If Ewan searched for clues as to who she was, she did not want him to gather too many
too quickly. It might be foolish, but she was attracted to the man. Fiona wanted to stay at Scarglas long enough to see what that might mean or if, by some miracle, it might be returned. A deep hurt might lie ahead, but she was beginning to think it would be foolish to flee in fear of that when staying might show her that her doubts and fears were unjustified.

Mab started to speak about a potion she was mixing, drawing Fiona’s full attention. Before Mab could tell her what herbs she was stirring together, however, the woman’s attention was diverted by a small, fair-haired boy. Fiona smiled when introduced to Mab’s son, then shooed the pair out of the shed, assuring Mab that she would be fine on her own. After agreeing to meet Mab back in Simon’s room, Fiona turned her attention to the potion Mab was creating. She was not sure she was skilled enough, but she would at least try to guess at what Mab was brewing up now.

Fiona was close to solving the puzzle when she felt a presence directly behind her. Even before she looked behind her, she knew it was Ewan. The fact that, after so short an acquaintance, she could recognize his scent made her feel a little sad. She was obviously becoming more enthralled with the man with each passing hour, yet he showed no sign of suffering a similar affliction. Slowly, she turned around to face him.

“What are ye doing in here?” Ewan asked, clasping his hands behind his back in an attempt to kill the urge to touch her.

“Afraid I am mixing up a barrel of poison for the lot of you?” She shook her head when he just quirked one dark brow at her. “Dinnae be an idiot. I am just trying to guess what Mab has put into this potion she is mixing. She left ere she could tell me.”

Ewan moved closer, leaning forward to sniff at the small bowl holding Mab’s potion. His whole body tensed when he realized how close Fiona was now. When she took a deep, unsteady breath, her breasts brushed fleetingly against his chest. He nearly groaned and was not surprised to see that he had brought his hands forward to grasp the table on either side of her. He lifted his head just enough to bring his face even with hers. When she nervously licked her lips, he felt his belly clench with the strength of his desire.

“Do ye think ’tis her potion for scars?” he asked softly.

“Nay.” Fiona fisted her hands tightly at her sides, fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around him.

“They arenae so verra bad.”

When he brushed his lips over one of the scars on her cheeks, Fiona trembled. She turned her head slightly, intending to speak, only to find her lips brushing over his. He made an odd, strangled noise, and suddenly she found herself held firmly in his arms. She did not hesitate to wrap her arms around his neck. The heat of his soft lips against hers went rushing through her whole body. The feelings assailing her made her weak in the knees and she clung to him more tightly.

The first nudge of his tongue against her lips was all the persuasion she needed to open her mouth. He growled softly as he invaded her mouth with his tongue. With each stroke of his tongue, Fiona felt her need for him grow.

Then, abruptly, she was released. Fiona gripped the edge of the table tightly to keep her trembling body from sagging to the ground. The heat of desire was clear to see in Ewan’s stormy gray eyes, but he looked utterly dismayed.

“I shouldnae have done that,” he said, his deep voice hoarse and a little unsteady. “It willnae happen again,” he added in a stronger voice before striding away.

Fiona took several deep breaths to steady herself as she stared in the direction he had gone. She now had the proof that he was as attracted to her as she was to him. It was also clear that he did not want to be, was determined to fight it. A slow smile curved her still kiss-warmed lips as she brushed down her skirts. Every instinct she had told her that Ewan MacFingal was her match, her soul mate. If the man thought he could escape that fate, she was ready and able to show him otherwise.

“Where is Sir Ewan?”

Fiona ignored the faint smile on Gregor’s handsome face. For three days she had done her best to keep herself as close to Ewan as possible. With each day he had grown more elusive. She was beginning to fear she was wrong, that the kiss they had shared had not moved him as strongly as it had her. Worse, he might have simply uttered empty flattery when he had told her the scars upon her cheeks were not so dreadful. Men might boast of their own scars, but they did not like to see such marks upon a woman.

“He rode out an hour ago,” replied Gregor. “Took six men with him. Intended to look for signs of the Grays.”

She scowled at the gates Ewan had escaped through. “The question is, is he fleeing from me or his father?” she muttered.

“Both,” Gregor replied and laughed when she blushed.

“Ewan isnae one for the lasses, ye ken,” said Nathan, his blue eyes alight with laughter. “If ye mean to catch him, ye will have to run verra fast.”

For one brief moment, Fiona considered soundly denying Nathan’s implication, then sighed. He would never believe her. It was embarrassing that Ewan’s brothers had guessed her game, but they could also prove useful. They certainly revealed no dislike of her plans and she found some comfort in that.

“What do ye mean when ye say that Ewan isnae one for the lasses?” she asked Nathan. “He doesnae like women?”

“Och, he likes them weel enough. His fierce looks tend to make the lasses turn away and he has no skill at wooing.”

“Tis the scar, is it?” When both Gregor and Nathan nodded, she shook her head in disgust. “My brother is scarred and that didnae stop our Gilly from thinking him verra fine indeed. And our Gilly came from a clan reknowned for its verra handsome men. Some of them are so bonnie they fair take a lass’s breath away. I am surprised his being the laird hasnae changed their ways.”

“Weel, I suspicion he could get a lass in his bed if he but asked,” said Nathan. “The women here ken their place.”

Gregor laughed at the outraged look upon Fiona’s face. “Wheesht, lad, ye are risking life and limb talking like that.”

“Are ye saying the women at Scarglas arenae allowed to say nay to a mon?” demanded Fiona, placing her fists upon her hips as she glared up at the young Nathan.

Nathan took a small step backward. “Weel, some do. But Da says—”

She held up her hand to silence him. “Dinnae repeat any of that mon’s nonsense. I am weel aware of what he thinks a woman’s place is. I didnae realize the women here had accepted that nonsense as a great truth. Tis past time someone taught them how to say nay. Tis past time someone told them the real truth. Now, where is Mab?”

“Oh, um, in the herb hut.”

Fiona almost smiled when her young guard blushed deeply. “Why does mention of Mab cause ye to blush?”

“I am nay blushing,” said Nathan, shoving Gregor when he laughed.

“If ye arenae blushing, then I must believe that high color on your cheeks bespeaks a fever. That would mean that I had best send ye to bed after a good purging.” She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing at the young man’s look of
horror.

“Mab is in the herb hut making me a potion.”

“Och, ye are a brave lad,” Fiona murmured. “A potion for what?”

“Weel, ’tis a salve for my skin.” He blushed again. “To clear up the spots.”

Fiona studied Nathan’s handsome face very closely. It was a little spotty, but she had seen far worse. “It doesnae look bad, Nathan. How old are ye?”

“Nineteen next month.”

“Weel, the best cure for spots is to get older. Also, keep your face verra clean. Scrub it weel at least once a day with soap and hot water, then rinse it verra clean. If the spots are particularly bad, after ye scrub your face, wipe the worst of the spots with a wee bit of uisque-beatha.”

“Uisque-beatha? How will putting uisque-beatha on my face help?”

Fiona shrugged. “I dinnae ken. Mayhap it dries them out. I
do
ken that it helps.”

“Mab says her potion will help.”

“Mab is a dear, sweet woman who has a verra fine understanding of the more common cures, potions, and salves. I would strongly advise ye, however, to avoid any of her own special creations. I thought ye were all wary of them already.” Gregor nodded vigorously, but Nathan frowned uncertainly. “Her special cures tend to go awry. Green hair, blue hair, swift and violent purging,” she began.

“And frightening rashes,” added Gregor.

“The last thing I need is more spots,” said Nathan.

“I will go to her. If I can discover what she is mixing together, I can tell ye if ye can accept her aid and nay hurt her feelings or if ye had best start running.”

Nathan kept his gaze fixed on Fiona as she strode toward the herb shed, but asked Gregor, “Did ye ken that Mab’s cures arenae always safe?”

“Aye,” replied Gregor. “Didnae ye ne’er wonder why so many of us are wary of whatever salve, powder, or drink she offers?”

“I thought ye were reluctant because it usually tastes or smells foul.”

“That it does, but there were a few alarming results from her
cures
in the first few years she was here. Ye can trust her to tend a wound, set a bone, or soothe a fever, but ye had best avoid all else.”

“I will remember that.” Nathan smiled faintly. “I will thank Mab most kindly for her help, but do as Fiona says. Tis my hope that game can be played weel. Twould hurt Mab’s feelings if I have to refuse her help.”

“Dinnae worry. Fiona will see it right. She has been steering our Mab right since she first set foot in Scarglas, and hasnae hurt the woman’s feelings yet. Mab dearly wants to be a good healer, and since Fiona was taught by this Lady Murray that Mab esteems so highly, Mab heeds all she says. And Fiona leads Mab in the right direction with a gentle, kind hand.”

“Do ye think that is how Fiona intends to lead our brother?” Nathan asked, grinning broadly.

Gregor laughed and shook his head. “I fear she will need a whip and a stout rope.”

“Why wouldnae he want such a bonnie lass?”

“Oh, he wants her, right enough. He just doesnae think he is worthy of her.”

“She obviously thinks he is.”

“Aye, but I think she frets too much o’er her scars as weel. It doesnae help that our
father is meddling. That makes Ewan run and makes Fiona fret o’er any small attention Ewan does pay to her. Twill be a tangled, confusing courtship which I fear will cause a few bruises to both hearts.”

“Mayhap we should do something, although I cannae think what. Talk to Ewan, mayhaps.”

“Nay, we will do naught for now. Weel, aside from letting Ewan ken when he is acting a complete fool. In such matters, ’tis best if the pair thrash it out themselves. Now, if he discovers who she is and still sets himself to ransoming her, then we will step in. Ewan wants her, she wants him, and she will make a verra fine lady of Scarglas. I willnae allow fears and doubts, his or hers, to ruin what I see as a perfect match.”

“I will be ready to lend a hand.”

“So will every one of our brothers.”

“Everyone sees what is happening?”

“Of course. Didnae ye think it odd that a wee, bonnie lass has been roaming the halls of Scarglas for days and yet nary one MacFingal lad has started sniffing about her skirts?” When Nathan started to laugh, Gregor swiftly joined him.

Change was not accepted gracefully at Scarglas, Fiona decided as she stared down the much larger Clare. Once assured that what Mab was mixing for Nathan was harmless, Fiona had hurried to where the women were doing the laundry, eager to offer them her soap, only to come up against a stone wall named Clare. It did not seem to matter to the woman that no criticism was offered, that the change was but a small, insignificant one. Clare obviously saw any suggestion as a gross trespass upon her territory. Fiona wished she had Gilly’s skill at sensing people’s feelings, seeing into the heart of them. She would find it extremely helpful at the moment to know how much of Clare’s refusal was born of a fear of losing her place and how much of simply obstinancy.

“This will make the linens softer,” Fiona said, carefully setting the blocks of washing soap she had prepared on a stool. “Twill also cause less wear upon them and the clothes ye wash. It cleans just as weel as what ye use now.” Fiona hoped the maids had not ceased scrubbing the laundry to watch her and Clare because they expected a battle to break out. “Twill also be much kinder to your hands.”

“Ye arenae the mistress here,” snapped Clare, her dark eyes hard. “Ye are naught but a hostage.”

“True, but I dinnae see what that has to do with whether I ken a better soap to use or nay.”

“Ye have no say in what is done at Scarglas. Go back to following that mad witch Mab about.”

“Mab isnae mad and she isnae a witch.”

Clare snorted with contempt. “She certainly isnae the healer she calls herself. Dinnae ken why the laird doesnae just toss the old whore and her bastard out of Scarglas ere she kills someone. Now, get ye gone, wench.”

The shove Clare gave her caused Fiona to stumble back several steps, but she quickly steadied herself. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a scowling Nathan start toward them, and she heard all the maids gasp in shock, but neither of those things caused Fiona to hesitate. She leapt toward Clare, who had turned her back. One well-placed kick caused the woman to fall to her knees. Fiona grabbed the woman’s right arm, twisting it
tightly behind her back, even as she wrapped her other arm around the woman’s throat. Bending down a little, she was able to speak into the woman’s ear, but she made no effort to speak softly.

“Now, I might have been able to ignore the fact that ye called me a wench and laid hands upon me,” Fiona said, “but I cannae ignore what ye said about Mab.”

“She—” began Clare.

Fiona tightened her arm around the woman’s neck just a little in silent warning. “Mab is a sweet woman with a big heart who took on a chore no one else seemed to want. She isnae a whore, either. She but fell victim to a lecherous mon’s sweet words, a mon who neglected to tell her he was wed. So, aim your scorn at the one who deserves it. And if ye dinnae wish your sharp tongue split, I strongly suggest ye dinnae whet it on her son.” She shoved Clare away and stepped back. “So then, if ye are too pigheaded to try e’en the smallest change, so be it. I will wash my own clothes and linen.”

As she stumbled to her feet, Clare sneered at Fiona even as she was careful to stay out of the smaller woman’s reach. “And what would a wee fine lady like ye ken about honest work?”

“Judging without knowledge again? Ye are obviously a slow learner. I ken how to scrub clothes, thatch a roof, plant a field, mend a harness, and much more. I also ken how to silence a vicious tongue.” Fiona snatched up the knife used to cut the cakes of washing soap, and threw it, neatly pinning the sleeve of Clare’s dress to the post she stood in front of. “And ere ye think it, rest assured that blade is resting exactly where I intended it to.” She picked up a cake of her soap and started to walk away. “Do as ye will with the soap. Tis my opinion that ye might try washing out your sour mouth with some of it.”

As soon as Fiona had left, Nathan stepped up to Clare and pulled the knife free before meeting her wide-eyed stare. “She doesnae like to be called a wench.”

“Who
is
she?” Clare asked in an unsteady voice.

“Weel, the laird calls her Fiona-of-the-ten-knives.” He smiled grimly when Clare grew even paler. “Twas the number he found on her when he captured her.” He leaned a little closer, his voice hard and cold as he said, “Most of us are fond of Mab, and her son is my brother. A wise woman might take a moment to recall just how many bastards there are at Scarglas ere she spits out her contempt of them. A wise woman might also keep her ears open enough to realize that that wee lass could verra weel be the next lady of Scarglas, the laird’s wife.” He turned away from a trembling Clare and started after Fiona. “In fact, I and near all of my brothers are determined to see it happen.”

Nathan found Fiona standing in the midst of the bailey. She had her hands on her slim hips and was staring up at the sky. As he reached her side, he realized she was taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly.

“I lost my temper,” Fiona said, keeping her gaze fixed upon the dark clouds that promised rain.

“Och, aye, ye did,” said Nathan. “Ye had Clare fair to wetting herself.”

Fiona sternly told herself that she should find no pleasure in that. “A lady shouldnae lose her temper. Our Gilly says that, when a lady does get angry, she certainly shouldnae be wrestling people to their knees or throwing knives at them.”

“What should a lady do then?”

“Our Gilly says a lady politely makes her discontent understood, speaking firmly, but quietly.”

“Weel, ye didnae shout.”

She exchanged a brief grin with him, then sighed. “I wish I had our Gilly’s gift. She can tell what a person feels, ye ken. Tis as if she can see into the verra heart of a person.”

“It sounds a verra useful gift.”

Fiona nodded. “It is. If I had it, I might be able to understand why Clare is so angry and bitter.”

“Bile for blood?” He smiled when she chuckled, then fell into step at her side as she started back toward the keep.

“Tis true that some people are born with ill tempers and sour minds. Most are made that way as they grow. If one kens the why of it, one can often turn them up sweet again, or at least deal with them without wanting to cut out their tongues. Did Clare e’er bed down with your father?”

“Nay. Her husband says she doesnae bed down with him much, either.” Nathan blushed. “Pardon. I shouldnae speak so to ye.”

“Dinnae fret. I was raised by my five brothers until I was thirteen. Then our Gilly arrived and made a few changes, easing the rough way we all lived. We are still a wee bit rough, though. I doubt ye could say much to shock me, or that I havenae heard before.” She frowned. “Why would Clare call Mab a witch?” She wondered why her question should make Nathan look so uncomfortable.

“Ah, weel, if ye stay here long enough, ye will hear that word cast our way a lot. I think the Grays feed the rumors. It doesnae help that we are all so dark and Scarglas is a wee bit forbidding. My father has had five wives and four of them died. That causes a lot of rumors to start as weel. Tis said he bewitches women.” He relaxed a little when Fiona snorted with contempt. “It doesnae help that he is fond of cursing everyone.”