Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (3 page)

“Aye.” The lass shrugged. “I heard someone say it.”

Shona ignored the perplexing stare from the other servant and worked to smile, though it felt forced. She ducked her head, sifting in her basket of herbs. “Oh, I forgot something,” she muttered, stepping back into the granary, not checking to see if the lass believed her lie.

The maid called goodbye and sauntered off. As soon as she was out of sight, Shona crept back to the opening to peer out at the retreating figure of Laird MacLeod. His swagger, the hair on his head, the angles of his face—they were all painfully familiar. Did all the MacLeod’s look alike? If not for his smaller stature and age, she might have mistaken him for Rory. What could he have been doing here? Was he still searching for Rory? She knew they said he’d done terrible things, but she didn’t believe any of the rumors. Not one.

Aye, she’d only known Rory a few years, since she’d lost her memory; the only times she could recollect were with him. He’d taught her so much, protected her. He’d been her only friend, and like a brother. When he’d disappeared, she’d searched for him day in and day out for two years. And then she’d met Ewan. When Ewan had wanted her to come back to Gealach with him she’d been hesitant to leave the cottage in case Rory came back. That was a year ago, and she’d kept her eye for him since, but there had been nothing. As though he simply vanished from the earth.

And now his laird was looking for him. Again. What was the renewed search for? Had he been spotted?

Rory had never told her exactly what happened to separate him from his previous life, mostly that something awful occurred and that he’d been thrust into another territory. That he’d been a coward, and because of that, he had pledged his life to solitude and reflection. Until he found her. That was when he’d pledged himself as her protector. Perhaps a way of making amends with whatever demons tormented his conscience.

Shona never really understood all of what he said. He’d been forced to leave his clan. There were plenty of people ousted by their clan. She’d always assumed he must have slept with the laird’s wife. A scandal. Made sense since he never tried to woo her or any other lass. But, the laird, he was so young. That couldn’t have been it.

Then there were the awful things that Ewan had accused Rory of the year before. Well, actually, it had been Ewan’s laird—her laird—Logan, that had shared the accusations of Laird MacLeod.

Murder. Betrayal.

Rory was no outlaw, even if he’d been forced to live like one. She knew, in her soul, that he was innocent of their accusations. But her beliefs would never be a good enough reason to acquit him.

Tightening her hold on the basket of herbs, she’d gathered from their drying place in the granary, she rushed back to the chamber she shared with Ewan. There was an adjoining room that she’d changed into a workroom where she could create various tinctures and ointments for those in need. Being named the clan healer had been a dream come true—except for the occasional accusation of witchcraft. That was not fun at all.

A long, wooden worktable graced the center of the room, on which she placed her basket of herbs. There were shelves in front of her and shelves behind. On the shelf behind her were all the ingredients and tools she needed for her trade, and on the shelves in front were the pre-made vials, each wrapped in a slim piece of parchment that was connected at the back with wax, and then labeled with ink.
Headache. Fever. Dysentery. Nausea. Nerves. Sleep. Burns. Cuts. Stitches.
All sorts of healing tinctures, ointments and salves.

Beneath the high table, was a shelf, which held her three medical bags. She’d sewn the leather satchels herself and each had a different colored wool handle so she knew which to grab if it were an emergency. Red for battle. Blue for childbearing. Green for illness.

There were no windows in the room, so, she lit several candles until she felt there was enough light from which to work by.

While she was waiting for Ewan to return, there was a particular ointment that Emma had asked for, as well as the tincture for the butcher’s ague, and an herbal remedy she wanted to give Ewan to help with his night terrors. Her poor husband was still waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, his heart racing and fear in his eyes. There was much he’d had to endure; the man had nearly died at least twice in the last six years. If there was anyway she could make him feel better, then she needed to try.

There was a soft knock on the workroom door, and faint as it may have been, it startled Shona, making her clink her vials and bowls together, nearly dropping two.

“Come in,” she called, righting the containers, and sending up a prayer of thanks that all damage had been avoided.

Ewan opened the door, filling the expanse with his broad, muscled body. The candlelight flickered over his tan face and flaxen hair, making him look like a mirage. “I’m sorry it took longer than I expected.”

Shona smiled indulgently. “I would wait forever for ye.”

Ewan covered the few feet of distance between them in a single stride, tugging her into his arms and planting a kiss on her mouth. She sighed against him, leisurely wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Ye’re too good for me,” he murmured.

“Never. We are a perfect pair.” She meant the words whole-heartedly, but that didn’t stop the nervous thump of her heart against her ribs. Had he come to tell her about MacLeod? How much danger was Rory in?

Ewan held her at arm’s length, gazing at her for a long moment before he spoke. “We had a visitor.”

She swallowed down her nerves. “I saw.”

“I gather ye know it was MacLeod.” Keeping one hand on her hip, Ewan picked up one of her vials with the other, examining the dark green contents, perhaps in an attempt to distract her from their conversation.

Distraction wouldn’t work.

She softly disengaged herself and took the vial, setting it right where she’d had it. “Was he here for Logan?”

Please say aye
.

“Nay, love.”

“Ye?”

Please say aye
.

“Nay. He was looking for ye.”

“Me?” She somehow managed to keep the shock from her voice, a task that took all the effort she had, which left little for her trembling hands. She let go of the clinking vials. “What did he want with me?”

“Answers.”

“Answers to what?” She asked the question even though she had an idea of what the answer would be.

“Rory.”

Her heart sank. There had still been a little part of her that hoped Rory had nothing to do with it. “And what did ye tell him?”

“That ye had no answers to give.”

Relief made her shoulders sag. “I do not have any.”

Ewan touched her chin, gently coaxing her to meet his gaze. “Have ye told me everything ye know?”

She glimpsed the question in his eyes. “Do ye not trust me?”

“I trust ye. Ye know that. But please, just answer me. Is there something else?”

She shook her head, turning to her worktable and shaking one of the vials to mix the contents.

Aye, there was something else, but nothing to do with Rory. She was not yet ready to share with him the secret she’d been holding onto for awhile now. The secret she and Emma had divulged to each other—that she was not from this time. She couldn’t tell him until she knew for certain. She didn’t even know what time she was
from
. A small part of her was beginning to suspect that Rory would not be found by anyone because he wasn’t here anymore to be discovered. She also couldn’t tell Ewan that her pull to the moon had been getting stronger with each passing night. Memory after memory came tunneling back stronger than before: the strange woman in her visions—
herself
—reading a book and drinking a glass of wine; standing on a boat with thick sails and breathing in the salted air; riding on a large, fast-moving, overlong, iron wagon full of people; frantically scribbling in a journal; and one thing she was familiar with—picking herbs. Except the other woman
picked herbs in an unnaturally lit, domed building, with strange whirring noises, and odd boxy objects. And there was someone else there. Someone who looked just like her, but with darker hair. And they smiled and laughed a lot. This alternate world that haunted her. The memories that seemed so real, she could almost reach out and grab hold of them.

Nay, these were confessions that served her better if they remained hidden in her mind.

And there was more. She feared tonight the most, when the moon would be full, for if that far off world could come to her so strongly from the moon’s pull when it was only a crescent, what would happen with the full power of its silver body? Unless, she was distracted by it. Using its power for some other desire greater than figuring out her past?

“There is nothing else,” she lied. Then turned to him with a wild, wanton wiggle of her brows and curl to her lips, hoping to change the subject. “But there is something I
was
wondering about.”

“Aye?”

“We’ve been trying…” They’d been trying for months to conceive a child.

“Aye…?”

“There is a tale amongst the clanswomen that if we make love by the sacred stone, in the glen that sits on the rise beyond the loch, the night of a full moon that we will conceive. Tonight is a full moon.”

Ewan circled her waist with his arms and kissed the side of her neck. “Then let us go there.”

“Are ye certain?” She couldn’t help the thrill that filled her voice. She desperately wanted a child, and though Emma had yet to tell Logan about their own conception, she did tell Shona that the old tale of making love by the stone worked for her. This was the perfect distraction from her past—creating a future.

“Of course,” he said, pressing his lips to hers for another heated embrace.

Lord, but she loved her husband. Just when she was breathless and ready to demand he make love to her, he slowly drew away.

He tapped her on the tip of her nose, a satisfied smile on his ruggedly handsome face. He loved to rile her up, make her pant with need. A delicious torment she’d remember the rest of the day until she got him alone again.

“I will let ye finish your remedies, while I see to the castle’s defenses. We will sneak out to the glen this afternoon, afore the sun sets.”

“I will have Cook pack us a picnic.”

Ewan shook his head. “Nay, love. I’ll slip into the kitchen and gather it myself without anyone the wiser. I dinna want to be followed under pretense of protection, else we make a show for them all.” He gave her behind a little pinch.

Shona yelped, and slapped playfully at his roving hand. “For a man who used to love a show at Hildie’s Tavern, ye’ve become quite the prude.”

That had her husband lunging for her, lifting her up into the air and settling her rear on the worktable, his hips spreading her thighs. “Prude, eh?” He bent forward and bit her nipple through her dress, his hard cock grinding against the apex of her thighs.

Tremors of need coursed through her, and she gripped the back of his shirt, prepared to yank it free from his belt. Shona gasped in pleasure. “Mercy! I surrender.”

“’Tis not mercy I shall give.” He tugged a little harder on her nipple. “Only pleasure.”

But a knock at the door stopped his delicious torment. “Mistress?” a woman called from the other side. “Have ye the tincture for the butcher? His wife begs ye hurry.”

Ewan gave her one last longing look and then set her down on the floor with a smack to her bottom. “Your patients await.”

“I’ll see you when the sun is near setting.”

“Aye. Be ready, for I will show ye just what a prude I am not.”

Shona giggled. “I’ll be counting on it.”

As soon as her husband slipped from the workroom back into their chamber, she called out to the servant, “Just a moment,” then straightened her skirt and hair.

When she answered the door, the butcher’s wife was waiting beside the servant in the corridor. The poor woman was ringing her hands.

“Please, mistress, he’s gotten worse overnight. He’s sweating something fierce and tossing and turning.”

“Sounds like his fever is breaking, madam.” Shona ushered the woman over to the worktable and reached for the vial filled with an herbal tincture. “This will help. And plenty of bone broth. Chamomile boiled in water, too.”

“Thank ye so much. We’re so blessed to have the Lady of the Wood among us.”

Shona smiled, hiding how she really felt about the moniker. “Ye’re verra welcome. Do keep me informed of his progress and if ye need more tincture.”

“I will, mistress.”

When the butcher’s wife had left, Shona finished up the rest of her concoctions, slipping another special oil she’d been testing into the pouch tied to her belt.

Shona ventured down to the kitchen next, a usual part of her day, to see if Cook had any food that needed to be delivered to the ill folks in town. The laird of Gealach was ever generous and took care of his people. If they could not feed themselves, he made sure they and their families did not starve. This was a notion Shona really took pleasure in seeing done. It also helped her to get to know the people and examine her patients at the same time.

The rest of the day passed quickly. She watched eagerly as the sun rose high into the sky and then began to make its descent. Sunrise would be in a little over an hour.

With hurried steps, she made her way back to her chamber to wash up and gather several plaid blankets. Though winter was leaving them, the air was still crisp. She’d slept under a blanket of stars several times with her husband. They’d not be cold. He was as warm as a fire, and with blankets to boot; they’d be mighty cozy. Besides, if the rumors were true, the magic of the glen would keep them safe from cold.

As she finished preparing, Ewan slipped into their chamber with a big smile on his face and a satchel over his shoulder.

“Are ye ready,
mo chridhe
?”

“Aye!” She rushed him, throwing her arms around his neck. “This is going to be exciting.”

He kissed her soundly. “I canna wait to undress ye in the glen before the sun sets so I can see the light of gloaming kiss your skin.”