The Highlander's Honorable Savior (Iron Of The Highlands Series) Read online

  “Whist, man,” he murmured to himself. He looked away, forcing himself to stop staring at Bonnie and Barra. The two of them were such a stark contrast, the farmer’s daughter ruddy-faced and bubbly, Bonnie sitting still and silent, her dark hair flowing down her back as it dried into a river of curls. They clearly got along well, he thought sourly.

  “What?” she asked, catching his eye on her. “Arthur? Were you going to say something?”

  “Aye, lad! Stop staring like somebody trying to hit a nail with an arrow.”

  They all laughed at the farmer’s joke. Even Bonnie, he noticed. He turned away from the group, feeling bitter and resentful.

  What was the matter with him? He asked himself harshly. He was Arthur Radley, sailor, traveler and womanizer. He was not, absolutely was not, planning to settle down in Scotland at war, raising chickens and starting a family.

  As he thought it, his mind made him a picture and his heart ached. He was surprised. Was that what he wanted? He didn’t know.

  “It’s about time you did something and straightened your head out,” he told himself firmly. He grunted as his knee cracked and he got to his feet, swearing under his breath as the feeling returned, slowly, to his toes, which were no longer cramped and cold. They throbbed and ached and he stood where he was, counting under his breath and waiting for the agony to die down.

  “Would you like to sit by the fire again?” Barra asked at the table. Arthur could hear their voices though he stood with his back to the table.

  “In a minute, yes,” Bonnie murmured.

  He turned. He saw Bonnie and her friend pause and stare up at him as if he’d finally let go of the moorings of his mind. He tried to ignore them and hobbled with tenuous dignity to the barn.

  “You’re losing your wits, lad,” he told himself harshly. He sat down on the straw and curled up in it, ignoring the two sacks, stuffed with straw, that had been laid out for them. He felt annoyed with the farmer, and with Bonnie, and, right now, with the whole world.

  I’m annoyed with myself.

  He chewed on a strand of hay, trying to quell the feeling of jealousy that stirred in him, watching Bonnie with another companion. It was ridiculous, he knew it was! He hadn’t realized how accustomed he was to her smiles being directed solely at him.

  “Lad, she doesn’t want you,” he reminded himself. He closed his eyes, knowing that it was true. The last few times they had kissed, he had tried to address new territory – a hand on her thigh, gentle pressure against her body. She had resisted. Bonnie didn’t want him. He was a comfort for her, a safe companion. A man who wasn’t going to hurt her. Whatever had happened in her past, it had ensured that anything else he had to offer her was not a thing she would want.

  So, he decided, drawing in a long breath, the best thing he could do right now was to leave. Bonnie would be safe here. He would leave her here in the safest place he could imagine, then go back to Dunbar. Once he was there, he would find a boat and head with it to the Continent, and, from there, find his way onto one of the big ships that sailed around the world, to those distant places where silk and spice were.

  It was the life he was used to, the sailing life. That was all he knew. It had to be what he wanted, didn’t it?

  He dozed off, the warm food in his belly making him relax more deeply than he had for days. His hands had finally come around again and he could feel all his fingers. His face was warm and his knees didn’t ache anymore. It was a feeling as delicious as anything he had ever known.

  When he opened his eyes, it was because he’d heard a scuff of a boot sole on the floor. He found himself looking up into Bonnie’s shining face.

  “Arthur! Isn’t it grand here! I spent a whole hour talking to Barra, and she’s a rare sort…so kind and funny! Her story about chasing chickens through the woods was funny, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” Arthur said softly. “I didn’t hear it.”

  Bonnie seemed distracted. She flopped down onto the pallet bed, looking up at the barn roof. Her lips were smiling and he thought she looked relaxed and happier than she had since he had first seen her. She looked a little dazed, too, as if so much happiness was new.

  “Oh, I am so glad we found this place,” she said, rolling over and looking into his eyes. “Thank you so much, for bringing me here.”

  Arthur felt his heart twist, but nodded. “Aye,” he said softly. “I’m right glad we came.”

  He rolled over in the hay and tried to sleep.

  Duty

  The scent of dust drifted up to Bonnie’s nostrils. She reached down to collect the eggs from the nest and felt herself lost in a sweet memory. She was five, and she was helping out on a farm. The scene filled her thoughts. She was standing in the barn, the warm fresh eggs held one in each hand, the light of the morning shining in and turning the hay to gold.

  “Bonnie?” a voice called from the farmyard. “Did you find any?”

  “Found some!” Bonnie emerged triumphant, a basket full of eggs on her arm. She beamed at Barra, and her friend slipped her arm through hers as they walked together back to the farmhouse.

  “Did you find some eggs?” Mr. Hume, the farmer, asked. He was standing on the doorstep of the kitchen, breath making a fine steam in the cold air.

  “We have a dozen eggs! Bonnie was so right…the fennel is working a treat!” Barra said.

  Bonnie looked at her feet as the farmer turned approving eyes on her. Her stomach tingled and her face went warm with pride. She had never in her whole life been received so warmly before. If only Arthur wasn’t being so odd, she would be so happy here. In the week since they had arrived, he had simply grown more and more distant until now, they barely spoke to one another.

  “By, that’s a grand thing,” the farmer said. “We’ll be able to make a fine bread, eh?” he asked his daughter. “That one you make for feast days.” He gave his daughter an affectionate smile.

  Barra made a face. “Oh, Father…but today isn’t a feast day,” Barra teased him, starting to transfer the eggs from the basket to a bowl near the sink. Bonnie followed her to the fireplace and sat down beside it. “We can’t make that if it isn’t a feast day, and today isn’t one.”

  “It probably is,” her father grumbled. “You just go and ask one of those priests. Always ringing those bells up there…telling us to observe this feast day or that fast day…noisy blighters.” He shook his head wearily.

  “Father!” Barra said. “That’s a terrible way to talk about the priests.”

  Bonnie noticed that her eyes were shining, though, and that she and her father shared an ironic grin. The kitchen was filled with a warmth and familial closeness that was utterly new to Bonnie. The scent of spices and wood wove through the air like a fabric of closeness, making the place cozy, warm and safe.

  Bonnie went over to the fire, falling into the easy task of making tea. She had become accustomed so swiftly to life here. She realized, looking around the big, warm kitchen with its roaring hearth and polished flagstones on the floor, she was happy. She felt happier here than she had ever felt in her life before.

  “Bonnie?” her friend queried. “Do you have any mallow? I’ve a mind to add it to the cake, to sweeten it.” She had her hands in a wooden bowl, and was mixing something or other.

  “I do have some,” Bonnie nodded, looking into the basket where, yesterday, she’d stored the herbs she’d picked. There was enough mallow there, she though, for her friend to use it and still have some left over for an eye wash for the cattle.

  As she passed it to her and then sat down by the fire, preparing the roots while her friend stirred something furiously, she felt herself relax and wondered, a little sadly, if she could stay here forever.

  The only thing was that she saw little of Arthur. It had been a week, since they arrived, but he’d taken to spending long hours in the fields, helping the farm laborers work. He came back in the evenings, exhausted and sweat soaked, barely awake enough for a conversation about the day.


  I wonder, she thought a little sadly.

  He had changed in the last few days, he had been so open and trusting with her, and she had been with him, too – more so than with anybody else in her life. However, since their stay at the Hume house, he had been avoiding her. He barely talked to her and if they did happen to see each other – in the barn, or in the kitchen, rarely – he would mutter a greeting and go back to staring into space.

  If Arthur would only be a bit more friendly, she would feel completely at peace. Instead, she had a feeling as if he was trying not to talk to her. As if he was trying to avoid her. She was so often with Barra that it was rare she had the time to talk to anyone, but when they had a moment, it seemed he brushed her aside.

  “Bonnie?” a voice called from behind her. She turned around and found a tall man with sandy hair looking down at her. “Och, sorry, lass – I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

  “You didn’t,” Bonnie said, looking up at him. Hogan was his name, and he worked for the farmer, tending to things around the farm. She liked him. “Did you want to ask me aught?”

  “Um…well…only if it’s no trouble,” he said shyly. “I just, well, you see…my auntie has a cough, and I heard you ken things about plants, so I thought…”

  “Of course,” Bonnie said, smiling up at him. “I can give you a tea for her, if you like. If you wait a moment, I’ll mix the leaves for you.”

  “Och, thank you, lass. That would be grand.” He beamed at her, tension disappearing to be replaced with a big smile.

  Bonnie smiled back and turned to her supply of dried herbs. She heard Hogan’s boots crunch on the floor and then the door opening.

  As she mixed the herbs, Bonnie wondered about the friendliness she had received here, and about Arthur’s growing distance.

  It’s your imagination, she told herself firmly. He wasn’t really avoiding her, she was sure of it. Why would he be?

  “Bonnie? Is that tea ready yet?” Barra’s voice interrupted her gloomy thoughts. “I thought it would be grand to go with those fresh cakes I baked this morning.”

  “Yes,” Bonnie nodded, swiftly checking the kettle where it hung over the fire. “It’s ready.”

  “Grand,” Barra said, looking pleased. She moved over to the table, wooden bowls and plates clinking as she set them down.

  “Whist, it’s cold out there,” Barra muttered. “A proper wintry day, eh?”

  “It is,” Bonnie agreed, packing her things away, wrapping up the little bunch for Hogan to take with him. It was springtime, and the weather was unseasonable, but she wasn’t about to mention that. As farmers, they knew better than her what weather to expect from the weather.

  “Miss?” a voice interrupted her thoughts. She smiled as Hogan came in through the door, cleaning his boots on the step so as not to track ice through Barra’s cleaning efforts. “I just wondered if the tea was ready yet?” he smiled nervously.

  “Of course,” Bonnie nodded, feeling touched by his hesitance to approach her. She smiled up at him, trying to dispel his nervousness. He went bright red. “Here they are,” she added, passing them over.

  What’s the matter with him? She wondered. He has no cause to be so afraid of me!

  “Thanks so much,” he said nervously. “I…I brought you a little something, to say thank you.” He was even more red than before, if that was possible, as he passed her a small parcel. She felt it, frowning as she noticed it was heavy, and then opened it and gave a little cry of happiness.

  “Oh! The last of the winter apples! Thank you!”

  “Och, it’s nothing, Miss.” Hogan’s big face disappeared under his blushes.

  As they spoke, the door burst open. Arthur came in, letting the cold in along with him. He stared at Bonnie. She felt her heart freeze over. His gaze was ice.

  Hogan looked at him, then bowed to her and hurried through the door. Bonnie stared at Arthur’s angry expression, wondering what she could possibly have done to cause him so much temper. She felt nervous, and went to the table to sit down with the Hume family.

  “Whist, man!” Barra chided, setting her cup down on the table firmly. “Shut the door before we all catch our death of chills.” She gestured at the door, a frown on her brow.

  “It’s blowing a gale out there,” Arthur informed them as he walked past the table. “Sorry that I let it in after me. I mended the fence over by the pasture,” he added respectfully to Mr. Hume as he went past them to the fire.

  Bonnie looked at him, but he studiously avoided her gaze. She looked back down at her tea.

  “Thank you,” the farmer nodded politely. “Stay awhile, then.” He nodded to a chair across from him. “You’re always rushing out of here like your trousers are on fire. Sit, have tea. Take a rest.”

  “Thank you,” Arthur said, pulling out a chair and joining them by the table. He was opposite Mr. Hume and beside Bonnie, but he barely looked at her, reaching for the teapot and pouring himself a cup. The atmosphere in the kitchen felt tense suddenly. Bonnie could feel a coldness between Barra and her friend, but she had no idea why.

  Bonnie watched as he took one of the warm oat cakes and covered it generously with butter. He looked at her, and his next statement surprised her. “There’s lads out there talking of joining the resistance.”

  The words slammed into her like blows. He spoke to the farmer, but, Bonnie thought, the comment was directed at her personally. He watched her eyes, as if gauging her reaction. She looked at her plate, taking a mouthful of cake. It was like sawdust and she swallowed hard, rinsing it away.

  “I reckon they’ll find enough men, aye,” the farmer nodded. “Want to join them?” He spoke carefully. Bonnie waited. Every piece of her was stretched with tension, waiting for his reply.

  Arthur nodded, swallowing and rinsing his mouthful down with some fresh-brewed tea. “Aye,” he said.

  Bonnie looked at the floor. She could feel his gaze on her. It felt as if he was challenging her, as if he were daring her to do…what?

  “It’s a rare fool who’d pit himself against that lot,” Barra opined, swallowing a mouthful of oat cake. “I reckon it’s a far better idea to stay here, grow oats, and pay taxes to whoever the new ruler is when this is over.” She beamed at her friend, as if she was sure she would be of the same view.

  Bonnie felt heat flood her face.

  “Well, lass?” Mr. Hume asked gently. “Are you of the same views as my daughter, eh?” he chuckled indulgently and was rewarded with a glare from Barra. His eyes remained on Bonnie. As were Arthur’s. The tension in him was obvious, as if he waited for her reply.

  “I have to go outside…excuse me,” she murmured, standing and pushing back her chair. It felt so hot in here, so oppressive suddenly. “I don’t feel well…” She fled.

  The yard was cold and the wind was icily chill, but it was so, so much better than inside! Bonnie found her feet taking her across the yard and to the barn.

  Arthur found her leaning against the wall in the yard, gasping for breath. She felt as if her meal was going to come up again. Her chest heaved and her stomach growled. She felt a touch on her shoulder and turned around, finding Arthur right behind her.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was low and he sounded gentle, as always. Bonnie stared into his eyes, a searching gaze.

  “You don’t want to do this,” she said softly. With every day, tales of the English massing to fight the Scots growing more frightening and intimidating, it was insanity. King Edward was sending an army of a thousand, they said. No, others argued, it was five thousand, with two hundred knights. She shivered. No matter which estimate you took, or even if you took half, the prospect was horrific.

  Arthur raised a brow. “I do,” he said. “Why not?”

  “Arthur…” she looked away across the yard. Her eyes were not focused on the place, but instead on the images that flowed to her – knights riding down helpless foot soldiers. The scream of maimed men. The stench of death. She made herself foc
us, to stare to where Brewer, one of the farm helpers, was dragging a handcart loaded with water from the stream. The creak of the wheels and the familiarity of the scene calmed her down. It dispelled, for a while, at least, the images of massacring warfare.

  “What?” His voice was gentle, which was a pleasant change. Bonnie looked up into his eyes. She could see a softening there, but there was still that decisiveness. She shook her head, knowing he had made up his mind.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. What could she say? I don’t want you to go. I want you here. I want to see you every day, and talk like we did before we came here. It mattered to her.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Bonnie…It’s my duty to do this. As a Scotsman. I cannot let these people in here to oppress our people!” His voice was hard.

  The pale wintry light shone on his tall form, the soft air raising the auburn hairs on his head. With his broad shoulders set, and that fixed expression hardening his face, he looked like the picture of Scottish resistance. Bonnie looked away.

  “I need to let you go, to do your duty,” she murmured. Was that not, after all, her duty? As a daughter of Scotland? To let the man fight would be the right thing for her to do.

  “Bonnie…” Arthur murmured, but she was already walking away, turning back towards the barn.

  Even though Barra would have let her share the room in the farmhouse, Bonnie preferred the barn, where she felt welcome and safe. She breathed in the scent of hay and let the familiarity calm her. She bit her lip as she glanced over at his pallet, not wanting to cry.

  “Curse you,” she whispered, horrified at her own language. She knew it was unseemly to use such words, but who was here to hear her? Arthur deserved the worst words she knew – he didn’t care about her, after all! He didn’t care about anything anymore. These lads here with their talk of defending their land had won his head. All he cared about now was that, and glory.

  Well, Bonnie thought, tears rolling down her cheeks, he was welcome to them. If he wanted to turn his back on her, if her friendship and her trust meant nothing to him, then he must go and find renown on the battlefield. She wanted no association with a man who thought killing was a good idea, that violence was good!