Highlander’s Frozen Heart by Shona Thompson

Chapter Eight

Stressed and fearful, Magnus kept looking over his shoulder as they rode. All he could think about was the baron and his men running after them, capturing them, and killing them, something that he couldn’t allow to happen.

His son had already lost his mother. He couldn’t die, too. He couldn’t leave his son all alone.

Every time that he heard the rustling of leaves or hooves approaching, his blood would freeze in his veins in terror. Every single time, he thought that his end had come, only to realise that it was simply another traveller or a woodland creature instead of the man he had suddenly come to fear.

Magnus used to be fearless. He used to be the kind of man who would march first into battle, sword drawn, head held high, but everything had changed once he had gotten married and his wife had given birth to their child. After that, he avoided any situation that could put him in mortal danger.

Every situation but that one, he reminded himself.

He didn’t quite regret his decision, not when he knew that Adelleine would have suffered in the baron’s hands if he hadn’t intervened. It was what Jacob would have wanted, after all, and he was glad that he could help his friend’s sister.

He was afraid, though. He was more afraid than he had ever been in his life.

“Magnus . . .”

Magnus startled, looking up from where he was sitting, leaning against the trunk of a dying tree. They had set camp for the night in the middle of the woods, where it would be difficult for the baron and his men to find them, even if they were on their trail, and Magnus had been sitting there, alone with his thoughts, as his men hunted for their dinner.

“Ach, lass, ye gave me a fright,” he told her.

Adelleine had been hostile towards him for days, but she had just begun to warm up to him. He could only hope that she could leave whatever bad blood there was between them behind, but he was also willing to give her all the time she needed.

After all, her silence was better than her nagging.

“Forgive me,” she said, as she sat down next to him on the grass, drawing her knees to her chest, “I saw you sitting here all alone, and . . . and you seemed so sad.”

Magnus couldn’t help but laugh at that. It sounded just like him, sitting by himself and feeling miserable about his life, but he had hoped that Adelleine wouldn’t have seen such a thing.

“I’m alright,” he assured her, “Dinnae worry.”

“I have come to understand that when one says he is alright, it’s rarely ever the truth,” Adelleine said, “It’s true for me, too, you know. Whenever my Aunt Victoria would ask if I’m well, I would tell her that yes, I am fine. It was never the truth.”

“Ye see right through me,” Magnus admitted.

“What is it, then?” Adeleline asked, insistent as always, “What is it that has you feeling so sad?”

Magnus hesitated. He had only known Adelleine for a few days, and talking to her about his dead wife and his son hardly seemed appropriate. She was there, though, and she was willing to listen to him.

Perhaps what he needed was a woman to talk to, after all. He could never talk to his men about such things, even though he was close with all of them, and he didn’t have another woman in his life whom he could trust.

He didn’t know when Adelleine had become someone that he could trust in his mind. She was there, though, in that list that was occupied by only a few people.

Perhaps it was because he could trust Jacob, Magnus reasoned. Perhaps it was because she was his sister.

“It’s me son,” he said with a sigh, a hand coming up to rub over his eyes, “I worry about him. Weel . . . I worry that I willnae be there for him if somethin’ happens to me.”

“I didn’t know that you have a son,” Adelleine said, and perhaps Magnus imagined it, but he thought that he had heard some regret in her tone, “How old is he?”

“He is five,” Magnus said, “He’s only a wee bairn.”

“He is . . . and your wife, dead…”

“Aye.”

It was all that Magnus could say. Every other word died in his mouth, and no matter how much he tried to elaborate, he simply couldn’t. Adelleine seemed to understand, though. Of course she did, Magnus reminded himself; she, too, had lost people that she loved.

He had mentioned his wife’s loss to her already, so he wasn’t surprised that Adelleine didn’t offer any condolences. There was no pitying look on her face, there was nothing but her hand on his own, a comforting weight.

Adelleine understood him in a way that most people couldn’t. Magnus didn’t need anyone’s condolences, and he certainly didn’t want anyone’s pity. All he wanted was to have someone to listen to him, without offering him worthless advice about how he should move on with his life, as he didn’t want to move on. He loved his wife, even after her death. He didn’t think that he could ever stop loving her or that he could possibly love another woman as much as he had loved her.

Adelleine did just that for him. She simply listened to him, speaking only when she had something to say.

“You told me she died when we first met. I was wondering what happened to her.”

“Illness took her,” Magnus said, “It wasnae fast, and it wasnae painless. I often sat by her, wishing that the illness would take me instead of her.”

Adelleine’s hand tightened around his own, and Magnus found himself opening up, just a little, even though he hadn’t spoken about his wife to anyone in years.

“I loved her dearly . . . I still do,” he confessed, “She was everythin’ to me. Sometimes I still cannae believe that she’s gone.”

“I don’t think that it ever changes,” Adelleine said with a small shrug, “To this day, sometimes I wake up in the morning and I expect to see my parents. I don’t think it ever changes, but I do think that it gets easier.”

Magnus couldn’t argue with that. In the first year after his wife’s death, he had been inconsolable. There was nothing that anyone could say or do to get him out of his room for days, and even when his son had cried for him and his mother, he simply couldn’t bring himself to go to him.

His son looked so much like Caitriona. Every time he gazed upon him, he was reminded of her.

“What about yer parents?” Magnus asked.

“Didn’t Jacob ever tell you?”

Jacob hadn’t, in fact, told Magnus anything about his parents. It was a subject that Magnus had learnt to avoid early in their friendship, and he hadn’t mentioned it to him since, as the other man seemed unwilling to even utter his parents’ names.

“Nay . . . nay, he never told me anythin’ about them.”

“I suppose it was too hard on him,” Adelleine hummed, scratching her eyebrow with the nail of her forefinger, something that Magnus had noticed she did whenever she didn’t know what to say, “It was hard on me, too, I won’t lie, but Jacob . . . I don’t think that he ever recovered from their deaths.”

“What happened to them?”

“They fell ill, too,” Adelleine informed him, “We weren’t allowed to see them for weeks, because everyone feared we would contract whatever disease they had. I think it was the pox, so we never saw them after that, no matter how much we begged and cried. I suppose it was for the best, in retrospect, but it was hard on us to not be there when they died.”

“Me son, he . . .”

Magnus hesitated, cutting his sentence short. He didn’t know how much he wanted to share with Adelleine just yet, nor did he know what he could bring himself to say out loud. There were so many things that he wanted to tell someone, and yet the words would simply die in his throat before they ever made it out of his mouth.

Adelleine gave him his time, though. She remained silent, simply sitting there, next to him, holding his hand in her own.

Eventually, he managed to gather the courage to continue.

“He doesnae speak,” he said, “He doesnae speak a single word, nae to me nor to anyone else. I dinnae ken what to do with him. Ever since his mother died, he hasn’t uttered a single thing. He can barely look me in the eye or . . . or perhaps he doesnae want to. Sometimes I wonder if he wishes that I had died instead of her.”

“Don’t say such things,” Adelleine said, quick to shut that thought down, “That’s not why he doesn’t speak, and you know that. I’ll tell you this, when my parents died, I didn’t wish to speak to anyone, not even to Jacob. In fact, I didn’t speak to my aunt until after I had lived with her for months, and it infuriated her, but I simply . . . I couldn’t bring meself to say anything to her. And I wasn’t a child of five years. I was a girl of two-and-ten. Your son only needs his time, and you . . . well, you need to be patient.”

Magnus knew that Adelleine was right, but sometimes it was simply too hard for him to watch his son suffer. Surely, if he was the one who would have died instead of his mother, he wouldn’t have taken his death as heavily as her own.

“Remember what you told me the other day?” Adelleine asked, “Stop thinking about it. It won’t do you any good.”

“How can I stop thinkin’ about it?” Magnus asked, “Do ye ever stop thinkin’ about yer parents or about Jacob?”

“No . . . no, but I remember them fondly,” Adelleine said, “You should remember your wife in the same way, without thinking about what could have happened . . . without thinking if the right parent died, because there isn’t such a thing. I could have never chosen between my parents, even if I could save one of them. How could I? I loved them both, and I know that they loved me, too.”

Magnus fell silent once more, replaying Adelleine’s words in his head. Perhaps she was right, and he had been accusing his own son of something that he would never do, especially because he was only a five-year-old child. How could Magnus ever believe that he would have chosen his mother over him? How could he have possibly ever thought that his own son would be willing to make such a choice?

“Perhaps ye’ll be good for him,” Magnus said then, turning to look at Adelleine only to see that there was a frown on her face.

“What do you mean?”

“Weel . . . since ye’ll be livin’ in the castle, I thought ye could be his governess,” Magnus explained, “He already has one, but I think ye’d be better for him. Or perhaps the two of ye could share the burden.”

Adelleine smiled at him. It was a small, warm smile, one that made Magnus’ heart flutter in his chest despite himself. Adelleine always looked beautiful, but when she smiled, she looked radiant.

“You trust me with your son’s upbringing after everything I’ve said to you?” she asked, “After I called you a fool? A vile little man? After I said your face looks like a rat’s?”

“When did ye say me face looks like a rat’s?”

“I may have said that to Duncan,” Adelleine said with a small shrug, “I don’t remember, but I have certainly said it.”

“Weel . . . do ye truly think that me face looks like a rat’s?” Magnus asked.

“No . . . no, I suppose I didn’t mean it,” she admitted, “I was mad at you for what you did, and a rat was the first animal that came to mind. Now I’d say that you look more like . . . like a puppy.”

Magnus couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up inside him. Adelleine was something else entirely, he thought. She was the kind of woman with whom Magnus could have seen himself falling in love, had he not been as broken as he was.

There was no point in thinking about romances, though. He had had his chance, and fate had snatched it away from his hands.

“Then I suppose I am fine with ye takin’ care of me son,” Magnus assured her, “Yer aunt told me that ye speak French?”

“I do,” Adelleine confirmed, “I can teach your son many things, my lord, I can tell you as much.”

Even though Magnus almost flinched at the formality, he knew that he would have to get used to it. After all, he couldn’t allow Adelleine to refer to him by name in the castle, and it was better for everyone involved to come to terms with it as soon as possible.

And yet, there was something inside Magnus, a strange knot in his stomach, a pang of something unrecognisable when Adelleine referred to him by his title. He didn’t like the formality of it; he didn’t want to think of the two of them as being that distant.

There Magnus was, he thought, thinking about romances and other silly things that he couldn’t have once more. With a sigh, he stood up and tended to the fire, eager to keep it burning as it was the only thing that kept them warm, just as his men returned from their hunt with their bounty.

“How did ye get nine whole rabbits?” Magnus asked, incredulous, as he saw all the animals that his men had killed and brought back with them.

Duncan only shrugged, as he and the rest of them began to skin the rabbits, Adelleine soon joining them to help.

“We just got it, m’lord,” Duncan said with a shrug, “We’re good at huntin’, ye see.”

“Unlike someone else, who doesn’t even try to hunt,” Adelleine piped up, giving Magnus the kind of grin that both infuriated him and left him reeling, his heart thumping like crazy in his chest.

He could have said something to her. He could have had a retort, a snide comment, anything, but instead, Magnus stayed silent. He stayed silent, because watching Adelleine laugh in the fire’s incandescence was almost hypnotising, a sight that he never wanted to forget.