Awaiting the Wolf Killer Highlander by Alisa Adams
11
Once Sorcha was settled into her chambers, she quickly fell asleep, even though the sunlight still streamed in through the window. She had been utterly sapped of her strength from the travails of the day.
Her dreams were besieged by wolves, ones that stood on two legs, who threw stones and swung executioners’ swords and demanded that she be punished for the curse she’d brought upon her clan. They challenged her to defend herself, and she wanted more than anything to speak on her own behalf, to explain that she had never meant for any of these awful things to befall the Campbells.
But she could not speak. Only a gasping, wheezing croak emanated from her mouth, and when her hands went to her throat, she found that she had flapping gills like those of the fish in the moat. She could not take in enough breath to proclaim her innocence. She was drowning on dry land.
The wolves advanced upon her, accusing her with their bloodshot yellow eyes. Their pack was sick. Their muzzles were caked with foam and dried gore. Their fur was matted and oozing with sores.
They were dying, and they blamed her. They followed her once, but now they were led by another, and they had turned on her.
Not just her, but all who shared her name.
As they lunged to tear out her throat, she saw the flash of Malcolm’s daggers from the corner of her eye and was filled with sharp and sudden relief…
...and then she sat up in bed, gasping for air and checking to make sure there were no gills on the sides of her neck.
Thankfully, there were none.
At first, she was confused as to what day it was. After all, she had drifted off in sunlight and awakened to it as well. But when she got out of bed and peered through the window, she noted the position of the sun and realized that she had slept through the night.
She dressed, wondering what the new day would bring. Would she be able to convince Nathan to marry her?
Did she truly want to?
You must, she told herself sternly. Otherwise, you have pledged to marry that loathsome Ryan McKenna. As it stands now, you have no third option.
Since she had awakened in an unfamiliar place, Sorcha had a sudden strong desire to see Malcolm. She believed she would be comforted by a familiar face and that her comfort would put her at ease, settling her nerves enough for her to make a compelling case to Nathan.
That, at least, was what she told herself as she made her way down the corridor to Malcolm’s chamber and knocked on the door. “Malcolm, it is Sorcha,” she whispered.
“Are you safe, my lady?” Malcolm’s voice responded.
The question put her off her guard. “Why…yes, I am. Would you please open the door?”
There was a pause—such a long one, in fact, that Sorcha found herself possessed by an absurd impulse to knock again just to make sure that he had not left the room through the window.
Then the door opened, revealing Malcolm with rags wrapped around the bottom half of his face. “What do you wish of me, my lady?”
“I…suppose I wanted to, er, say good morning to you and ensure that you had a safe and restful night.” She paused, then added sheepishly, “In truth, I had hoped to take solace in the face of a friend.”
“Ah. Yes.” His eyes were unreadable, but his tone sounded uncomfortable. “I would have thought you’d understand why it would be unwise for me to show my face while we are here.”
She looked up and down the hallway, confused. “There’s no harm in it, Malcolm. We are quite alone.”
“Aye, and we were quite alone when we retrieved horses from the Campbell stables and rode to see Davina,” he reminded her, “yet somehow, we were still spotted. We cannot afford to abandon caution, my lady. Or at any rate, I cannot.”
She hated to admit it, but he had a point. They could not afford to be incautious while they stayed there, but it did not change her disappointment at having to content herself with seeing only his eyes above the wrappings on his face.
“I apologize,” she said tightly. “I suppose I was not thinking sensibly. Moments like these, perhaps, stand as proof that I am a feather-brained woman and not fit to lead a clan without a man by my side.”
Malcolm frowned. “I did not say that, my lady, nor was that what I meant. I merely meant to suggest that the stakes of this visit are high enough for both of us without taking unnecessary risks. Surely you would agree? If it is found out that you are in the presence of…an undesirable such as myself, Nathan will be unable to marry you. And my own fate will be most dire.”
“Very well, then.” She remained irritated with him but could not understand why. Why had it suddenly seemed so important to her to gaze upon his face first thing in the morning? Why did the mention of Nathan under the circumstances make her feel so uncomfortable?
She did not know, and she had no time to figure such things out. “We should go down to meet with him for breakfast,” she said.
Sure enough, Nathan welcomed them both warmly once they came down, ushering them into the dining hall and shutting the heavy oak doors behind them. Every inch of the table was occupied with dishes of gold and silver, all of them painted with colorful and fascinating images, and all of them piled high with food.
“I instructed the servants to bring all the food at once and leave us undisturbed,” Nathan explained, “so that ‘Malcolm’ here might remove his disguise and feast to his heart’s content.”
“That was most considerate of you,” Malcolm replied steadily, “but I believe it might be wiser for me to simply wait and eat in my own chambers once the two of you have concluded your repast.”
Nathan frowned. “Why on earth would you do that, Brother? Your secret will be perfectly safe in here!”
Malcolm shook his head. “Do you remember when we were children together in this place, Nathan? The hidden passages we explored, allowing us to eavesdrop on all of our father’s private conversations at will? I would venture to say that those same nooks still exist and that the servants have just as much use of them as we once did. So no, I shall not risk it…and I would ask that you become more comfortable calling me ‘Malcolm’ and less so calling me ‘Brother.’”
There was an odd look on Nathan’s face, one that told Malcolm that yes, his brother had forgotten how they used to spy and play together as boys.
But the laird recovered quickly, giving him a big smile. “I shall tell you what I do remember, speaking of strange names for each other. And Lady Sorcha, I have no doubt that this will amuse you as well. When our father took us on a walk through the hills one day, we spied a few birds and pointed them out to him that he might identify them for us. Two of those names struck us as so silly that we began to use them ourselves as nicknames. Did we not, Corncrake?”
Malcolm searched Nathan’s face carefully. The words were jovial and wistful enough, but there was a thorny edge to them as well, almost as though his brother were mocking him.
“Surely I can still call you that, at least?” Nathan prodded. “They were our secret names for each other, and besides, there is no one left here in the castle who served during the days of our youth. A strange reminder, I suppose, of how much time has passed. Now come, do you remember your name for me as well?”
Malcolm did, though he had not thought of it in many years. “Bonxie. Yes.”
Sorcha giggled. “It is an odd thing indeed to imagine the two of you calling each other such ridiculous names!”
Nathan grinned at her. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? We were a pair of little fools who believed that the whole world was our playground. And in a way, I suppose yours was, eh, Corncrake? You have had ample opportunity to travel and have adventures while I have been shackled to this castle by my responsibilities.”
Malcolm was deeply unsettled that Nathan continued to speak to him in ways which might betray their previous relationship to any who overheard. But he had already made the request for Nathan to abstain from such talk, so what more could he say? Either Nathan was too simple and self-absorbed to recall the stated preferences of others for more than a few moments at a time (which would not have surprised Malcolm much, given what he remembered of their youth together)...
...or he did remember, and he was making an unsubtle point about how little he cared for Malcolm’s preferences. Which would also be in keeping with his prior behaviors as Malcolm recalled them.
Nathan had been a bit of a lout from time to time when they were boys. He had acted that way, not from any meanness of spirit, but simply from an occasional lack of good sense—at least, that was what Malcolm had always told himself when excusing his brother’s actions.
Even so, have I made a grave error in bringing Sorcha here?he wondered. In recommending Nathan as a potential groom, I had imagined him as I knew him last…a decent fellow, if a flawed one. Fifteen years is a long time, and it can change a man tremendously. What if those years did not mature him?
What if they only made him more set in his unpleasant ways?
“I am sorry that your time here proved monotonous,” Malcolm said through clenched teeth. “If it provides any consolation, the ‘adventures’ I endured were frequently unpleasant ones, and I doubt you would have wished to trade my place for your own quite comfortable one.”
The smile fell from Nathan’s face, replaced by a look of studied sympathy. “Yes. That was most insulting of me, was it not? You have my deepest apologies, Corncrake…not only for my lack of tact just now but for all of the hardships you suffered. I never forgot your sacrifice, and I have tried to carry out my duties in keeping with what I felt you would have wanted from me.”
Why does every word out of his mouth sound so rehearsed and insincere?Malcolm thought. As though he has used all this time to sharpen his tongue into a fork, that he might use his every breath to deceive. What have the pressures of leadership done to him? Perhaps I made the wrong decision all those years ago. Perhaps I should have remained, and he should have fled.
But it was far too late for such concerns now.
Out loud, he said, “Thank you. That is most kind of you to say.”
Nathan continued to relate amusing stories of their childhood to Sorcha while Malcolm’s eyes constantly moved around the room, seeking out the hiding spots of their youth and inspecting them for servants who might be listening in.
Thankfully, he saw none…though it did little to ease his anxiety.
