The Niece of His Highland Enemy by Alisa Adams

4

Fergus waited with Moire in silence as the servants were sent to fetch food for them. She sat on the bed, and he took great care to sit in a chair on the other side of the room. That way, there would be no hint of scandal for the servants to gossip about.

He feared that they would anyway. The thought made him uneasy, but there was little he could do about it, and he had larger matters to attend to at any rate.

He took pains even to avoid making eye contact with her. It was a tremendous effort when he wanted nothing more than to gaze into those intense green orbs that seemed capable of looking into his very soul. But again, he did not want the servants to see the longing in his eyes upon their return and make sport of it. More than that, he did not wish to make Moire feel uncomfortable or scrutinized.

A servant girl entered with plates of boiled chicken with carrots and cabbage and a pitcher of water with two cups.

Moire eyed the food uncertainly. The hunger in her eyes was obvious, but she also seemed scared. She peered at Fergus’s face, as though searching it for any sign of ill intent.

“Do you fear that I wish to poison you, Moire?” he asked gently.

She was too timid to respond, but it was clear that the answer was yes. Based on how consumed she seemed by terror and suspicion, Fergus was becoming increasingly convinced that whatever had left her washed up on that beach had been a malign force indeed.

He took a moment to consider how he might best put her at ease so that she could consume the sustenance she required to feel better. Then he arrived at an idea.

Fergus stood and walked across the room toward her. She flinched briefly, as though certain he intended to punish her for refusing to eat. But instead, he took her plate from her hands tenderly and replaced it with his own. Then he took a bite of the chicken from her plate and a sip of water from her glass.

“There,” he said. “You see? No one here means you any harm at all. We only wish to help you. Now please, eat. You have been through an ordeal, and you must regain your strength. I’ll not have you survive drowning in the depths of the ocean only to expire from hunger in the comfort of my home.”

He grinned, and she gave him a demure smile in return. He was relieved. Perhaps she was beginning to relax a bit after all.

For the first few bites, Moire was clearly determined not to betray how powerfully hungry she was. But then her empty stomach got the best of her, and she wolfed down everything on the plate so thoroughly that Fergus was almost surprised she left the bones.

Good, he thought. The color is beginning to return to her cheeks already.

His initial impulse was to begin to ask her questions as soon as she was finished eating, but he stopped himself. Better, perhaps, to ease her into all that if what she’d been through was as traumatic as it seemed.

“Will you permit me to show you the rest of the castle?” he asked. “Mayhap a firmer knowledge of your surroundings will put you more at ease.”

“That would be lovely, sir,” she answered gratefully, setting her plate aside. “Thank you.”

“You need not call me ‘sir,’” Fergus assured her. “You are not a Brodie, and I am not your laird. Fergus will suffice.”

“Fergus, then,” Moire agreed gamely, taking his arm and following him out of the room.

The young laird led her through the various corridors, showing her the library, the dining hall, the sitting rooms, and his own private study. As he did, he could see her bearing growing more relaxed, her fear slowly but surely replaced with wonder at her surroundings. Fergus was pleased to see that she was impressed by his home.

They strolled across the courtyard and past the gates, wandering the fields outside the walls of the castle. Moire walked a short distance ahead, picking wildflowers absently. Fergus sensed that she was slightly apprehensive again, no doubt waiting for his questions to resume. He supposed the longer he kept her in anticipation, the greater her anxiety would be, and he had no wish to put her further on edge.

Besides, his curiosity threatened to overwhelm him.

“Are you able to recall how you came to be on that beach?” he asked.

She kept her back to him for several moments, as though afraid to answer. Finally, she responded in a voice so quiet he almost couldn’t hear it: “Yes.”

“I am certain that you are not in haste to recount the horrors you have endured,” Fergus said. “However, if you are willing to try, perhaps I might be in a position to better give you aid.”

She sighed softly, and her narrow shoulders slumped as though a heavy load had been lowered onto them. When she spoke again, her voice was strained, as though she was trying to hold back tears.

“Three men. They…accosted me while I was walking just outside the walls of my clan’s castle and picking flowers.”

As she said this, the blooms she had plucked fell from her slender fingers, as though she were suddenly afraid of carrying them further for fear of tempting the same fate which had befallen her before.

“I asked them what they wanted from me,” she went on hoarsely. “They refused to speak. They simply seized me and dragged me to the shore…and the last thing I remember was having my head held underwater, feeling the water choke me and fill my lungs. Until you revived me.”

A strange story, to be sure, Fergus thought. To be waylaid by brigands is common enough, certainly, except that they would generally not venture so close to the walls of a clan’s castle for fear of being spotted and shot with arrows or hanged. Likewise, it’s peculiar that such men would simply carry her to the nearest body of water and drown her rather than holding her hostage or trying to take her maidenhead.

All of which leads me to conclude that whoever attacked her did not do so at random. They had a specific agenda in attempting to murder her…or rather, they were likely carrying out someone else’s agenda. Someone with a grudge against her clan, perhaps?

Or a member of her own clan, with motive to see her dead?

It seemed that for every answer Fergus received, a dozen more questions raised their heads.

“Do you remember anything of your family?” he asked.

“Aye,” she replied, nodding slowly. “I have no parents living, but Dand is my older brother, and I have a younger brother as well, named Aodh. And two younger sisters, Sorcha and Freya. I have not seen my three siblings in a dreadfully long time, and I am determined to see them again and reunite what remains of our family, whatever it takes. That I recall above all else, for that goal has consumed me utterly for as long as I can remember.”

“I see.”

Fergus considered her recollections. They weren’t much, perhaps, but they were a start. He briefly wondered whether he might be able to assist her in locating the family members she spoke of. They would, naturally, provide additional pieces to this puzzle, would they not? More information and context with regard to the specifics of her plight so that he might be able to deliver her from it?

He momentarily remembered Edmund’s admonition that as laird, he should be more focused on the situation with the Campbells and the Sinclairs than saving Moire. There was plenty of truth to that, he knew. It was his duty, after all.

But the enemies of their clan were not going anywhere, were they? They had successfully fended off the Brodies and held on to their captured lands. They would have no immediate urge to press their advantage, and so that was a plight which would almost certainly wait for Fergus’s full attention.

This poor girl seemed utterly bereft and alone in the world. She was sitting right in front of him. He may not have known what to do about the opposing clans, but he could do something about her, at least.

Not to mention the fact that he remained oddly sure the two circumstances were connected somehow. He didn’t know how, but the certainty had sunk its teeth into his heart and stubbornly refused to let go.

“Do you happen to know where your siblings are now?” he ventured. “Perhaps we might be able to bring you back to them.”

“I am uncertain of where Dand is at present,” she admitted, sounding ashamed. Clearly, before tragedy had befallen her, she had been quite dedicated to locating her missing relatives.

“However, he and I have been living with my uncle, Ronald Campbell.”