Page 40 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
They continued for a while until Emma felt her neck grow hot and stood up to stretch her back. Moving over to a nearby well, she picked up the metal cup from the ledge and helped herself to a drink of water.
Glancing over at Kyla, she was about to ask the woman if she wanted some, but the healer was inspecting the plot of dirt. Her shoulders drew inward, and Emma itched to know why.
It’s a wonder that she told me anything at all about her life. What a sad story about her family, shattered because of the previous Laird’s selfishness. Such a cruel man to try and find a poor girl?—
“MacLarsen,” Emma said out loud, and Kyla turned. She almost tripped over her feet as she rushed toward the healer. “Briorn. You—you’ve met Laird MacLarsen?”
“I have met him, yes, and supped with him and his kin, but I doubt he remembers me. Perhaps his sister, Lady Kristie, and his man-at-arms, Fergus, remember me.”
Those names rang a bell, and Emma pressed her hands to her chest. Were those people—were they with her sister now? Did they consider her kin or just an English interloper?
“We saw little of each other while I apprenticed with his grandmaither. He was often travelin’. And when he was home, he was buildin’ Briorn Castle.” Kyla’s expression dimmed. “MacLarsen Castle was lost in a terrible fire started by a raid—as were his parents.”
“Oh,” Emma murmured and leaned against the wall. “Are they…” Her heart lurched. “What are they like? What is he like?”
A soft smile spread across Kyla’s face. “Despite everythin’ they had been through, Clan MacLarsen is still a jolly and warm one.” She sighed. “Laird MacLarsen had been through a terrible ordeal, though, and he’s been hardened by it. But he is a noble man and cares fiercely for his kin. He would do anythin’ for them. Just like Laird Ronson would do anythin’ for his own kin.”
“They call him a Beast.”
Kyla gave her a sharp look. “Did ye hear me say such a thing? Nay, I willnae hear disparaging words against the MacLarsens, even if it was Laird MacLarse’s foolish idea to hold onto the title,” she scoffed. “Nay doubt invented by that viper Flora Grierson.”
“I…” Emma’s eyes burned. “I apologize. It was something I had overheard—I was meant to marry him.”
Kyla’s eyes went wide. “Och, so that’s why ye were askin’. But… he married another woman, did he nae? A novice from the Craeghil Convent.” She snorted then. “Those old crones. Never appreciated Sister Theresa’s medical knowledge, and now she runs the place. As she should, for bein’ a maither to Agnes all those years…”
A choked sound escaped Emma’s lips, and she took a step back from Kyla.
Kyla clapped a hand over her mouth. “Merciful heavens,” she gasped, then lowered her hand. “I couldnae determine why ye looked so familiar. But ye are—ye are Agnes’s sister, are ye nae?”
“You know my sister?” Emma asked.
“Aye.” Kyla nodded. “Well, a bit. I spent time at Craeghil, learnin’ from Sister Theresa, and Agnes was always around, chatterin’ and laughin’, sneakin’ off to Lord kens where—gettin’ into trouble.” She shook her head with a laugh. “What a creature of mischief she was, and those nuns treated her so abominably?—”
Emma’s heart, which had soared upon hearing stories about her twin, now plummeted. “What—what do you mean?”
Kyla’s eyes went wide, and she looked down at her basket. “Och, but I never talk this much. ‘Twas the same with Agnes—I should’ve kenned ye were related.”
“Please explain.”
Kyla told Emma about the cruel Mother Superior, her harsh rules, and Agnes’s determination to break them.
“I saw her slap and beat that poor girl—but the worst was when she’d lock her away,” she added softly.
Emma’s mind reeled, and her blood ran cold.
“And ye could just see that poor Agnes wanted to be free. Her whole body and soul craved it.” Kyla shook her head slowly. “And now, as Lady MacLarsen–”
Unable to bear it, Emma fled, nearly blinded with her tears. She rushed out of the garden, down the alleys, knowing that Kyla did not have the answer to the question burning in her heart.
But she knew who might.
CHAPTER 17
Once again,Grant sat at his desk, sorting through paperwork that should’ve been handled months ago. Some of it appeared to be his brother’s business matters and correspondence, which he dumped into an untidy pile on the side.
Griersonleaped out at him as he made to discard another letter, and he paused. Perfume wafted up from the paper, and he frowned. Willy Grierson had certainly not done such a thing.
Grant flipped the letter over, noting the flower in the wax seal.
