Page 16 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

“Something sinister is going on,” Craig was saying gravelly. “And we are determined to get to the bottom of this before someone else is killed, so I am asking you all, if you can think of anything that might be of help to us, please come and see my father or me. My father is your Laird, I am his son, and it is our duty to take care of you. Whatever you say will be kept secret, and this I swear on the blood of Christ.” He crossed himself and stood back.

Malle was acutely aware of him but determined not to show it. Her eyes swept over the faces of all the men in front of her and lit on Alan Bruce, who was standing at the edge of the crowd. She had not really looked at him before.

She had disliked him laying his hands on her when he had helped her father to subdue her; something within her found him sinister and threatening, especially when he stared at her as he was doing now.

Malle prided herself that she never dropped her gaze from anyone, and this time was no exception. She stared at him until his eyes slid away from hers, then he wandered away and disappeared from her sight. She felt frightened; she always trusted her instinct and it had never failed her before.

Still, it would be unjust to condemn an innocent man on the basis of her suspicions, and she would look foolish, so she said nothing.

Presently, the two lairds went inside and Craig followed them, much to Malle’s relief. She was not in the mood for another spat with him. She went upstairs to wash, but was unwilling to admit to herself that she wanted to look pretty for him, then came down into the courtyard with the intention of taking Arthur out for a ride, only to find that Craig was standing there watching her coming out of the main entrance.

She was wearing a riding habit of gray wool and her hair was bound up and tied in a knot on top of her head. She looked elegant, yet mischievous at the same time, and he found himself desperately craving another one of her kisses. Not a stolen one, but a tender, willing exchange of affection.

Malle sped up her pace and gave him a terse nod of acknowledgement, to which he replied with an equally abrupt bow, and he watched her straight-backed purposeful stride as she walked into the stables and found Arthur placidly chewing hay. He whickered in greeting as he saw her, and she laughed softly and rubbed his velvet nose before kissing it.

“He is a beautiful horse,” Craig said, as he came up behind her to stroke Arthur’s mane. He could think of nothing else to say; he, who had always been so confident with women, felt like a ten-year-old boy again, tongue-tied with shyness.

“Yes, you said so before.” Malle’s tone was irritable. The groom had saddled Arthur and Malle was about to lead him out, but Craig was standing in her way.

“Excuse me, please,” she snapped. Craig could have kissed her right there and then. She was at her most lovely when she was angry.

“I would like to talk to you,” he said reasonably. “Surely that is not too much to ask?”

She stared at him for a moment and bunched her fists, then screwed up her eyes. “Write me a letter,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Now let me out, Dunbar, before I remind you again whose castle this is and call a guard!”

He looked down into her eyes, now dark with anger, then bowed and stepped back, but his eyes followed her as she walked away.

Malle knew that she would calm down in a short while. Somehow Arthur’s placid temperament transferred itself to her as she was riding him. The opposite happened with Craig; just looking at him made her angry.

The Highlands were beautiful in spring, when the heather, having rested after winter, began to spread its pink carpet over the hills, preparing for the glorious riot of color in the summer. Bluebells lurked underneath the fir trees, and the bright lemon yellow stripes of gorse bushes were everywhere. The farmers were busy planting seeds, plowing fields, and delivering baby animals of all varieties.

Malle stopped to watch a pair of lambs running and jumping on all four legs at once in the inimitable comic way of all baby sheep. Soon it would be time for their mothers to stop being balls of wool with legs and start resembling animals again when the shearing season began.

A drop of water landed on the back of her hand and she groaned with disappointment. It was beginning to rain, however, this was not going to be a light shower, but a torrential downpour. She urged Arthur into a trot, then a canter, but even so, they were both drenched by the time they got back to the castle. Malle dismounted from Arthur and dripped her way along to the stables. There, to complete her miserable day, stood a determined and persistent Craig Dunbar.

11

An Apology

“Are you still here?” She was annoyed and he could see that she was in a very bad mood.

“Apparently.” He looked down at himself as if to check, then smiled at her.

She sighed irritably. “I am soaked, and I am freezing. Can you please tell me what you want, Dunbar?”

“First of all, can you please stop calling me by my surname?” he asked. “I have a perfectly serviceable Christian name, Craig. Can you bear to call me that?”

She nodded.

“May I call you Malle?” he asked.

“If you wish,” she replied tersely. She was shivering and pulled her cloak around herself but that was drenched too.

“You will catch a cold,” he said gently. Then, to her utter amazement, he took off his cloak and wrapped it around her, then swept her off her feet and ran across the courtyard from the stable to the main entrance of the castle. He put her down and stepped back with a low bow.

“Thank you...Craig,” she said faintly, astonished. She called one of the maidservants to bring some mulled wine. “Sit in the parlor. I will be down soon.”

Craig sat down by the fire. The two lairds were still talking, which was a small miracle, he thought. He had left them when the rain started and he knew that Malle would be back. He was alone for once, without anyone to disturb him, with no calls on his time, waiting for a beautiful woman to join him.