The Niece of His Highland Enemy by Alisa Adams

2

The barges returned to the shores of the Isle of Skye, dark and slablike, harbingers of death sliding across waters stained blood-red by the setting sun. The Brodie banners that hung from the masts of those ships may as well have been shrouds, announcing the loss of dozens of clansmen.

In normal times, the warriors would have ridden and marched in tightly regimented ranks overseen by Fergus. But on this occasion, he felt it best to delegate that task to Edmund. He doubted that the men would respond well to orders given by their laird.

What, then?he wondered to himself. He was in his cabin at the vanguard of the fleet, gazing upon the face of the insensate woman. Am I to cower from my own people? Simply “stay out of their way” and let Edmund lead in my stead until I feel I can somehow earn back their faith in me? That is not a fit solution for one who would lead his clan.

He decided that there would be ample time to ponder such things later. For now, his best course of action was to see to the well-being of this mystery woman. He lifted her again and carefully placed her up on his horse.

Then he took the reins and led them toward the castle, trailing far behind his own soldiers instead of leading them home as he should have.

Though he could not bring himself to ride ahead, he loathed the idea that news of his defeat would precede him, that by the time he arrived in the courtyard of his own ancestral home, the looks of disappointment and anger would be waiting there for him.

No matter. He had the girl to take care of.

Perhaps that is why I have found myself so fixated on the notion of saving her,he mused. Because she alone did not have that look in her eyes when she gazed at me upon waking. My own clansmen cannot abide me, yet I am found strangely blameless in the sight of a beautiful stranger.

When Fergus reached the gates of the castle, however, he found Edmund waiting outside them on his horse with a wry smile on his face.

“Well!” Edmund called out briskly. “After the day you’ve had, I’d say the only course of action left to you is to renounce your lairdship, walk back to shore as quick as your legs can carry you, weight yourself with heavy stones, and leap into the depths of the ocean never to be seen again!”

Fergus’s mouth tightened in a grimace. “Dear Lord, man! How can you make jokes after the carnage we witnessed today?”

Edmund’s expression hardened. “I saw Billy McCaskill, my dear friend since childhood, impaled on the pitchfork of a Sinclair from as close as I am to you right now. I watched Firth Kinnaird, brother of the first lass I ever laid with, have his legs cut out from under him by Campbell swords. I ken full well the seriousness of what happened this day, Fergus. I further ken that brooding and self-pity will do nothing to right this wrong. Only strength, dignity, and decisive action will accomplish that.”

“And how am I meant to make use of that, then?” Fergus demanded hotly. “When my own people will no longer follow me?”

“Do you truly believe you are the first laird ever to lose such a battle?” His old comrade’s voice was tinged with sympathy. “Your clansmen are deeply discouraged, aye, and their faith in you is shaken. But no one in that castle is calling for your head or set on challenging you in single combat for leadership. They’re licking their wounds, but they’ll heal.” He paused, then added, “Especially since I told them that you willingly volunteered your own bedchamber to house the wounded since there are far too many to be contained by the guest rooms.”

“That won’t do at all,” the young laird insisted. “This girl requires shelter and a healer immediately!”

“She almost drowned,” Edmund replied. “She survived and even showed signs of consciousness. As long as she is alive and breathing, odds are that she will recover on her own. She needs no healer. There are many within who do, and so all of the healers are thus occupied.”

“But where is she to stay tonight?!”

“The girl will be fine in the stables, and so will you. Come, Fergus, think! Were you going to displace your own wounded soldiers by spiriting some lass up to your own chamber for the night? You wanted to earn back their favor, and I tell you now, this is the first step toward doing so.” Edmund’s tone softened. “There will be more than enough blankets to keep her from catching a chill in the night. You must see that this is for the best.”

For a moment, Fergus considered rejecting all of this. He thought about riding through the gates, commandeering the first healer he could find, and ordering her to see to the girl and put her up in a warm and furnished chamber no matter what anyone else thought about it. Was this not his right? Was he not still laird of this clan? Why should this innocent woman be seen as culpable for his mistakes in the eyes of his people?

Deep down, though, he knew that Edmund was correct and that the man had Fergus’s best interests at heart as he always had.

Besides, he selfishly welcomed the idea of spending the night away from the judgmental glares of his countrymen…and in the company of this girl instead.

So he nodded heavily and allowed Edmund to lead the way to the stables.

The stablehands were all busy tending to the horses that had returned from the battle, so Edmund helped Fergus set up a cozy corner with plenty of dry straw and clean blankets. The girl was carefully covered, and when Fergus put a hand to her brow, he could feel that her body was beginning to regain its warmth after what it had been through.

Her clothes were still slightly damp, and Fergus once again bitterly wished that she could be kept at the castle so that servant girls might undress and change her—modesty forbade him from doing so, obviously—so all he could do was make her as comfortable as possible until new garments could be fetched for her in the morning.

Edmund offered to stay and keep Fergus company, and although the offer was greatly appreciated, the laird gave him leave to return to the castle and supervise the care of the wounded Brodies. They might feel ill at ease where Fergus was concerned, but they would no doubt still appreciate having someone oversee their recovery, and Edmund seemed the best candidate for that. So he bid them both goodnight and withdrew.

Soon, the stablehands had left for the servants’ quarters, and Fergus was alone with his unexpected guest.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Fergus found he was unable to stop looking down at the woman’s face. She seemed so peaceful and vulnerable in her slumber, and his heart went out to her. Yes, Edmund had been right in saying that a healer would probably not have been able to do anything more for her.

If she had been strong enough to weather whatever ordeal she had been through, Fergus had to believe she was made of stern enough stuff to pull through and awaken eventually.

If only because he longed to see those striking green eyes open and looking at him once more.

He resisted the powerful urge to touch her cheek or stroke her hair, knowing that such gestures would be improper under the circumstances. He was unfamiliar to her, and he did not wish to violate the sanctity of her sleep, especially since she might be frightened if she awoke to the caress of a stranger.

Still, he could not stop himself from gazing at her and counting the hours until daybreak when she might shake off her slumber.

What might she say? What story could she tell of how she came to be on that shore?

Fergus chided himself for being silly and fixating so much on a woman he’d never seen before in his life, a woman who could have come from anywhere or nowhere. For all he knew, she could have been a demon sent from the depths of hell itself, a succubus come to tempt and ruin him in his darkest hour of failure and self-doubt.

But her fair face appeared so free from sin, and he was wrapped up in the mystery of her as surely as he was wrapped in the rough-woven horse blankets Edmund had fetched for him to keep the cold night air at bay.

He hoped she would remain warm until sunrise rather than succumbing to a chill that might worsen her condition. Even so, she was obviously strong if she had survived whatever perils had brought her to him.

He firmly believed that there was no way such a woman could have clung to life this long, only to perish having found safety at last.

Fergus fought the heaviness of his own eyelids for as long as he could, greedy for every glimpse of her that he could steal. Eventually, though, the black tide of sleep washed over him, and he fell into uneasy dreams of bloody fields and angry oceans.

Fergus was awakenedby a sharp cry and a scrambling commotion next to him.

His eyes snapped open, and he saw that the girl had fallen onto the floor of the stable. She was on her back and skittering away from him like a startled crab. Her green eyes were fixed upon him, but they were filled with confusion and terror rather than the warmth and gratitude he would have preferred to see there.

‘Tis not her fault, he reminded himself. She does not know that I have rescued her, only that she has awakened in an unfamiliar place next to a man she does not recognize. I must be patient with her.

“It’s all right, lass, I assure you.” He held his hands out in what he fervently hoped was a non-threatening gesture. “You are safe. None shall harm you here. I give you my word.”

But the girl kept dragging herself backward across the dust and straw, shaking her head frantically. When she hit the wall, she yelped…

...then fainted again, slumping to the floor.

This is turning out to be rather more difficult than I anticipated, Fergus thought ruefully.