Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel (2 page)

Aileana opened her eyes, confused by her surroundings. She’d fled the MacRae stronghold after Broc cornered her in the kitchen, long after the other women had gone abovestairs to sleep. She’d stupidly volunteered to keep watch over the remaining men in the hall in case they required more bread and meat—or in Broc’s case, more ale. Once she’d refilled his cup, even leaving a full pitcher behind for the great beast to finish off, he stumbled after her, smelling of sweat and spirits, and drooling on her neck.

She’d known him nearly all her life—at least for the time she remembered being alive. Before her tenth year, she held no clear memories. The occasional flash of a face or spoken word, but nothing that could connect her to a family or place. So she wandered through life nameless, though the MacRae laird had offered to recognize her as part of his clan. But whenever she considered it, something inside her warned not to do it. For once ye denied your name, whether you knew it or not, your fate might change. And she didn’t want to lose her only chance at true happiness. Deep down, Aileana knew there was more to her existence than being a bastard.

That’s what half the women within the MacRae keep called her. Behind her back mostly, but sometimes directly if she was blamed for burning the bread or spilling wine.

She kicked off the fur covering her from neck to foot, cold air sending a chill down her body. A fire burned at the opening of the rock enclosure, and she padded over to it, desperate for warmth. She stared beyond the flames, the world outside covered in white. Winter had come early to Kintail. And only by God’s grace had she met a woman last night in the hills. How could she turn down an offer of hot stew and a pallet to sleep on? So she’d walked quietly with the stranger to her cave.

As soon as she finished eating and drained her cup of wine, sleep overwhelmed her. That’s all she remembered. And now she woke up alone. But there was a loaf of bread and a cup of milk on the table by her pallet, hopefully meant for her to eat. Her stomach growled with hunger.

“Good morning,” Aileana heard as she reached for the cup.

She turned and met the woman’s smile. “Thank ye for allowing me to stay here last night. I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you, no money or goods to trade.”

The woman joined her, picked up the loaf of bread, then tore it in half. “I don’t remember asking for payment, child.”

“But your generosity must be rewarded in some way.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “Your company will do nicely.”

Aileana took a bite and it melted in her mouth, as tasty as what she cooked every morning in the MacRae kitchens. “Whatever you wish,” she said. “I prefer staying here. I wasn’t prepared for the snow. If ye hadn’t found me, I’m afraid I would have perished in the cold.” Though she had a fur cloak and thick-soled boots, she hadn’t had time to gather anything else before she ran away.

The woman sat down. “My name is Sgùrr.”

“Aileana.”

The woman studied her in silence, her dark gaze wandering more than once to her hair. “Who is your father?”

Aileana took another sip of milk, then put the cup down on the table. The idea of admitting to a stranger that she had no family was as humiliating as what Broc had done to her. “I don’t know.”

“And why were you roaming the hills alone? Surely someone will miss ye?”

“Laird MacRae is my guardian.”

“Your mother has passed?”

“I’m afraid I know nothing about my birth.” She walked the couple feet to her pallet and picked up her cloak. “Eight years ago a MacRae guard found me in the forest, cold and hungry, close to death I’ve been told. He bundled me in a blanket and took me home with him. I’ve lived there ever since.”

“Has the laird been kind and generous?”

“Laird MacRae is not only kind, but treats me as his own daughter. A day never passes without him greeting me. Sometimes I wonder what would have become of me if another clan found me instead.”

The older woman nodded. “Don’t put much stock in the affairs of men. Clan feuds are the last thing a lass needs to worry about. ’Tis your heart and charitable acts that define your character.”

“Aye,” Aileana agreed.

Sgùrr reached for Aileana’s hair, rolling a red curl between her fingers. “Those women who insult you are jealous of your natural beauty. This color is rare. And as long as yer a guest under my roof, we need not discuss anything that pains you. Though I would like to know why you left the safety of the MacRae keep.”

Again, Aileana didn’t want to shame herself. Broc’s untoward behavior might be blamed on her. If she hadn’t remained belowstairs alone, the captain would have never had the chance to touch her. The condemning voices of the women in the kitchens who disliked her rang inside her head like they were standing before her in the flesh. “One of the laird’s favorite captains said and did things no honorable man would do. He is worth ten of me, and I fear his word would be taken over mine. Broc willna relent until I agree to be his lover or wife.”

“Deep in his cups?”

“A slobbering swine.” How she longed to say that to Broc directly.

Sgùrr chuckled.

Finding the woman’s infectious laughter hard to resist, Aileana let go of her apprehension. It felt good to smile again. For days she’d been withdrawn, refusing to share her burden with the laird or someone else with authority. Broc’s advances in the kitchen weren’t his first. For weeks he’d been pursuing her, leaving gifts and notes. Many would consider her stupid for not accepting his suit. For a girl of her meager beginnings to attract the attention of a respected warrior was considered a blessing.

But she didn’t want the older man. The idea of kissing him disgusted her, and if she was ever forced to bed him, Aileana didn’t think she’d be able to take another breath. So she headed to the one place she’d always been drawn to. The mountains spoke to her heart.

“Broc will never touch ye again.”

Aileana met the woman’s eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

“Have you not wondered why I live in this cave, instead of the comfort of a cottage below?”

The thought had crossed her mind, but she didn’t want to disrespect her generous host. “Aye.”

“I am a soothsayer, lass. Now look more closely around my humble dwelling. What do you see?”

To her left, slats of wood had been nailed together and leaned against the rock, forming a wall decorated with rich tapestries. In the far corner, containers of every size filled with food. Wineskins were hung on metal pegs near the mouth of the cave. And a fresh, red deer carcass was strung from the low ceiling. Several furs covered the dirt floor.

“I chose this place as my home many years ago. Have ye never heard of the witch of
Sgùrr na Ciste Duibhe?
The one with a black heart?”

“No.”

“Men travel great distances to speak with me.”

“Even the MacRaes?”

“No MacRae has ever graced this place,” she said. “Until you.”

“But I am no MacRae.”

“Are you not?”

Aileana swallowed. The woman didn’t resemble any witch she’d heard of. Though the years of sun and wind had tanned her skin and etched her face with wrinkles, she could still see a hint of beauty in her features. Her long, dark hair was peppered with gray and worn loose. And her wool dress looked new.

“I claim no kinship to any clan, though my loyalty lies with Laird MacRae.”

“And what if I gave you answers, child? Would you run away again? Or use the knowledge to change your life?”

Aileana shook her head, knowing if the woman revealed a happy future for her, she’d face any hardship to get there.

Whenever she tried to remember her mother, she heard a sweet voice singing, saw a pair of mournful, dark eyes, but never enough to piece together her identity. And after all these years of not knowing, the idea of possibly learning the truth terrified her. She’d found her place amongst the MacRaes, earned it through hard work.

As much as she wanted to know her past, what if her father was an outlaw? Her mother a harlot? If word got out, the gates to the MacRae stronghold would be closed to her forever.

She gazed through the opening of the cave, the outside world a harsh reality she’d have to face again soon enough. Hiding in the mountains was a temporary solution. She needed time to think without Broc breathing down her neck. Even the women who raised her, Margot and Edme, had started to warm to the idea of her marrying him. He behaved differently in front of them, then revealed his true nature whenever he got Aileana alone.

How many times had his clammy palms been upon her, sliding up her arms or touching her cheek? She shuddered.

“What troubles you, child?”

“If I return home, the man I ran away from will ask the laird for my hand in marriage.”

“Did I not promise he would never touch you again?”

A seer lived amongst the MacRaes. She often counseled the laird and his captains before they left on secret missions. But Aileana had never spoken with the woman, or had a desire to. Such things were better left to people with power. She’d been content working every day, waking before the men, and slipping into her tiny room in the servants’ quarters after the eventide meal was finished.

If Sgùrr could cast a spell of protection, or predict her future, did she have the right to reject her generous offer of providing the answers she’d always prayed for? She gazed about the cave. Rocks didn’t have ears, so whatever was said between them would remain a secret until Aileana took her last breath.

“Aye,” she finally answered.

“Then give me your hand.” Sgùrr stood, gesturing for Aileana to take the chair.

She sat down, and the woman turned her hand over, examining her palm. “The lines on your hand are like a map. Unless ye know how to read it, it’s easy to get confused. See this line on the base of your finger next to your thumb? It is called the
Ring of Solomon.
Your arch shows that you take pleasure in serving others.”

“I am a kitchen maid, I have little choice.”

Sgùrr’s lips tightened. “For the betterment of their condition—acts of love and compassion.”

Aileana looked closer. “What of this one?” She pointed to a line that slashed across the middle of her palm.

“Ah,” the older woman smiled. “The heart line. You will suffer tragedies that will make you stronger, but in the end, you will find true love.”

Aileana thought of this more as a child’s game. “This is how you advise lairds and their captains?”

“Of course not.” Sgùrr released her hand. “I only wished to make you smile.”

Afraid she had offended the woman, Aileana said, “Thank ye. Your words have lifted my spirit.”

Sgùrr nodded. “Come with me if you have the courage to face the truth, Aileana. Beyond the curve of that wall is another chamber. That is where I welcome the men who seek my counsel.”

By the time Errol reached the foothills last night, the snow had started to fall. He’d searched the woods exhaustively, near the river, and every hidden place he could remember from the days he played there as a boy. Nothing suggested the lass had passed this way. He cursed her existence, because he spent the night on the cold, hard ground with only a miserable excuse of a fire to keep him warm.

As he took a pull from his wineskin, he considered the best way to reach the top of
Sgùrr na Ciste Duibhe,
the closest of the Five Sisters. The climb was steep and relentless from this side. He’d ride through the last trek of forest before reaching the waterfall, the last place to fill his skins. Then he’d brave the boulder field on foot, leaving his steed behind. Once he cleared the rocks, the slow ascent would begin. And if new snow came, it would take even longer to reach the summit.

A series of caves were present up high, and if the careless lass had sought shelter there, it would take ample time to find her. He corked the skin, then grabbed a handful of nuts from the provisions he’d gathered from the kitchen before he left the keep. His father’s misguided generosity often ended like this. Men sent on pointless missions to rescue unrepentant kinsmen who if they’d acted with just the slightest bit of intelligence wouldna have found themselves in trouble in the first place.

Words he planned on sharing with Aileana. Someone needed to discipline her. For once he became laird, he intended to marry the lass off. Females without husbands caused more trouble than they were worth. Especially when they were beautiful. Errol blamed that newly realized fact on Ian. With her under Errol’s nose every day for the last eight years, he truly hadn’t taken the time to look at her as anything but a kitchen maid. But now that he thought about it, she’d graced him with many a smile as she filled his tankard. And that flame-colored hair…

That’s what stood out the most. MacRae women were typically dark-haired, with brown or green eyes. Aileana not only possessed red hair, she had blue eyes, too big for her heart-shaped face. But when she gazed upon you…Errol shook his head, confused by his thoughts. Since when had the lass filled his head with boyish thoughts? His control was slipping. Exhaustion, cold, and the lack of hot food—that would remain his excuse.

He called for his horse, and affectionately ran his hands over the beast’s neck, then mounted. The animal would enjoy roaming free while he searched for the girl.

Two hours later, a leather bag filled with supplies slung across his back, Errol navigated through the boulder field. One wrong step and he’d snap an ankle like a twig. As before, he doubted the lass was vigorous enough to make this journey, but he would honor his father’s command to find her. A bitter wind blew across his face, and he adjusted his fur cloak, tucking his chin to his neck.

Weather in the Highlands changed as quickly as a woman’s mood. Better to be prepared for the worst. He’d donned his leather braes under his plaid, packed his sheepskin gloves, was wearing his thickest boots and best cloak. Yet still the cold penetrated the layers. He stopped, and gazed upward, the rocky outcrops as foreboding as the colorless sky.
Miserable conditions.

Errol preferred predictability. Not the guessing games he was being forced to play now. If he were a scared girl, where would he go? The answer came quickly.
As far away as my legs could carry me.

Within an hour, the blizzard hit. Just a few hundred feet from the crest, he found his view obstructed by the swirling white. Though a couple of well-worn footpaths may have existed, they were hidden now. A freezing gale chilled his core as he pressed forward. At the moment he envied his horse, safely behind in the woods where he could seek shelter under the trees.

The wind picked up more, reducing his line of sight to not more than two feet in front of him. A bloody nightmare. Fearing the worst for Aileana, he called her name.

“Aileana! Come home, lass.” No one answered, and he kept moving. “Follow the sound of my voice.”

He huffed out a misted breath, pausing to take a drink of wine. The warm liquid soothed his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, hoping for a miracle. But there seemed to be no end to the snow. No matter the direction he turned, everything looked the same. His mind told him to turn around, but something else made him stay. Just as he took another step, he heard a crack that echoed around him. Holy Mother of Christ! He jumped aside just as a boulder crashed down. Another danger about this place, there were so many loose rocks. He’d lost childhood friends who’d slipped off the cliff face while climbing. Something every lad liked to do to demonstrate his bravery and strength.

Errol had been no exception. But he’d proven himself at an early age, always eager to win his sire’s approval. Born late to a mother believed to be barren, she often whispered how important it was for him to do his best.

A little cold wouldn’t keep him from winning this challenge. How far could a wisp of a lass get on foot? He reached the first cave, bending at the waist so he could clear the low opening. Only shadows welcomed him. He ducked back. Dozens of hollowed-out spaces waited for his quick inspection, and as he moved from one to the other, his hope at finding her dwindled.

Faith could only carry a man so far, then common sense took over. He stopped for a bite of an oatcake and water. At this pace, he’d need to find a cave suitable to spend the night in. He cursed when another blast of frigid air hit him. In the morning…

“ ’Tis a great warrior come to seek my guidance,” a female voice reached his ears.

He spun around, finding a handsome older woman wrapped in fur staring at him. Where had she come from? Was he so tired that his mind was playing tricks on him? The fairies didn’t live atop the hills. The longer he stared at her, he realized she was flesh and bone.

“Nay,” he assured her. “Though I welcome your company. I am searching for a flame-haired lass that left the MacRae keep two days ago. In this weather, I fear for her life.”

“As well as your own?”

Errol shook his head. “A little cold nipping at my heels doesna concern me. Have ye met such a girl recently?”

“My name is Sgùrr.”

A dreadful name, it meant a steep hill. And Errol didn’t like that she avoided answering his question. “I am Errol, son of Laird MacRae.”

“Would you like a bowl of broth and some fresh bread?”

The very mention of something to warm his gut made his mouth water. “Aye,” he said. “But I shouldn’t stop exploring the caves.”

“Perhaps I can be of some help.”

For what price?
With his bollocks close to freezing off and his temper soon to explode, he took a deep breath, and tried to remain respectful. “Any help would be deeply appreciated.”

“If you promise to check my snares in the morning, I will give you food and shelter for the night.”

“Ye live here?”

“Aye,” she said. “In secret to most.”

In all his years wandering amongst the Five Sisters, he’d never seen or heard of a woman living in the hills. A hundred questions came to mind, but he’d save them for later. “I’ll check your traps,” he said. “If you’ll answer my original question. Have you seen the lass I described?”

“My daughter is waiting for us,” she said, once again ignoring his query. “Follow me.”

He did, climbing higher, skirting a cliff, and gazing below. One slip and he’d break every bone in his body. Some men feared heights, not Errol. It reminded him of the presence of God. Whenever he surveyed the world below, he knew why he’d fight to the death to protect his clan and the MacKenzies. Nothing mattered more than his birthright. And someday soon, he knew he’d be laird.

“We’ve arrived.” Sgùrr pointed at a fire burning at the mouth of the cave. “Please go inside, I shall return.”

Errol watched as she disappeared around a cluster of rocks, then eyed the shelter. It would feel good to eat and rest for a while. Without hesitation, he strutted inside and stopped abruptly. Sitting in a chair at the back of the cave was the last person he’d expected to see. He couldn’t mistake the color or texture of her red mane.

“Aileana,” he growled, half of him wanting to shake her senseless.

She turned slowly, her eyes growing wide as she met his gaze. “Errol? What are ye doing here?”

“That’s the funny thing, lass; I was about to ask ye the same question.”