Page 19 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
“You can ride in the carriage,” he told her. “But in its fragile state, it may not be able to hold my weight, so I will walk alongside.” He looked down at himself ruefully. “I need to clean myself.”
“There is a burn over there,” Erin said, pointing to the stream behind him.
“I have nothing to dry myself with,” he grumbled. “Perhaps some grass will do.” He looked around himself, frowning.
“Absolutely not!” Erin was appalled at the suggestion. “I will find something. Go and wash.”
He did as he was told immediately, then Erin hid behind a tree and tore a large piece from her thick linen petticoat. Fortunately, her dress was long enough to cover the damage, but she felt cold and uncomfortable and hoped that Caillen would not work out what he was drying himself with. That would be dreadfully embarrassing.
She walked over to the stream where Caillen was standing sluicing freezing water over himself and just missed being soaked as he shook his head like a wet dog. Erin jumped back with a squeal of fright, and he turned around and laughed.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning and not looking sorry at all.
Erin gave him a narrow-eyed smile, then handed him the “towel” and watched as he dried his chest and shoulders. It was obvious that he would be unable to do the same for his back, so she took the fabric from him and began to rub it dry.
“How did you manage to build all this muscle?” she asked curiously. “And how did you manage to go to university?”
“My father was a farmer,” he said, turning to her with a smile, “and I helped him on the farm for a few years. That is where the muscle came from. I wanted more, though. I taught myself to read with the help of my local priest, and then I read everything I could get my hands on.
“Father Quinn had quite an extensive library. I was fascinated by the classics and by the law, and I found that I had quite a flair for mathematics, too, although words were—and still are—my passion. But my father hated to see me studying. He said it was a waste of my time, and I belonged on the farm, so I read at night, and any other free moment I could get. He kept me very busy, but I am a very determined sort!” He chuckled.
“Then, one day, I was sitting in our local church reading Augustus Caesar’s memoirs when Michael came in. I knew he was a local merchant and a wealthy man, and I think I knew the moment I saw him that he was going to be important to me. He looked at what I was reading, and I could tell he was very impressed. ‘Who taught you to read Latin?’ he asked.
“‘Father Quinn helped me, and I read a lot,’ I answered him. I felt very proud because nobody had ever been interested before.
“‘What an amazing achievement!’ he said. ‘Would you like to study further?’
“I remember looking at him in complete disbelief, but I was doubtful; I knew nothing about him. He told me that he was a merchant. He sold all manner of things and had traveled widely over Europe, all the way from Scandinavia to the borders of Turkey. He was well dressed and seemed like a good man, but I was still young, and I did not trust him. He was a stranger, after all.
So I asked Father Quinn, and he assured me he was a trustworthy man. So that only left my father. Michael paid him a handsome sum of money to let me go, so I went. I spent three years at the university, and Michael paid my expenses and gave me somewhere to stay. While I was there, my speech gradually changed from Scots to English, so I can speak both.”
“And how did you manage to stay in such fine shape?” Erin asked curiously. She dried off the last drips and reluctantly handed Caillen his shirt.
“Can you imagine hundreds of young men in one small space at the same time? All that energy?” He laughed softly. “We wrestled, fought with our bare knuckles, with sticks, lifted weights, and ran races. It was mostly fighting, though.”
“A popular male pastime,” Erin observed drily. “And did you win most of the races and wrestling matches?”
“Yes, most of them.” He grinned, then pulled on his coat and escorted her back to the carriage. Caillen’s boots were crusted with mud up to the knees, and his once snow-white shirt was a fetching shade of deep brown, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“I look like something the cat dragged in,” he said mournfully. “What will Laird Nugent think of me?”
“He will think you are a hero,” she replied, smiling. “As I do.”
9
Since Caillen was walking and Erin was riding, she was obliged to speak to him out of the window of the carriage.
“It is a good thing you are so tall,” she remarked.
“I have been used as a ladder many times,” he told her. Erin watched his eyes crinkle into a smile, absently wondering how such dark eyes came to be paired with such fair hair.
“Have you met him before?” Caillen asked curiously.
Erin was jerked out of her daydream. “Laird Nugent? Many times,” Erin answered. “He and Nairn had been good friends for many years and were even rivals for the same lady’s hand at one time! Neither won, although Laird Nugent married another woman after that. He is now a widower, though, and it is best you do not mention his wife. She died only a year ago, and he loved her very much. Nairn stayed single for many years.”
“Then you came along,” Caillen observed, raising his eyebrows in a question.
“He needed an heir, and my parents had a daughter,” she said, somewhat bitterly. “But that is a tale for another day. You wanted to know more about the laird?”
