Page 93 of Taming the Highland Misfits
She stopped for a moment to look at them, frowning, but Aidan happened to glance upward at that moment and he grabbed the cloaked figure’s arm, then they both left through the front entrance and headed towards the stables.
Freya stood for a long moment, her gaze following them, before turning back to climb the stairs, feeling distinctly uneasy. Something about the cloaked figure reminded her of the nightmare she had had recently, and goose pimples erupted all over her skin.
When she arrived at her bedchamber, she sat on her bed and found that she was trembling all over, but when Caitrin and Mhairi, who had been consulting with the seamstress, arrived a few moments later, she had calmed down a little.
Nevertheless, the memory of the two sinister figures haunted her for the rest of the day, and pursued her into her dreams.
13
When they walked out of the kitchen, the young men were in a jubilant, mischievous mood. They had humiliated Jamie, but there was still plenty of sport to be had. Next, they paired Alex up against his brother Callum, but despite Alex pulling his punches a little to give his brother a chance, Callum was no match for him and threw his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender after less than a minute. Alex hugged him tightly. He had always felt very protective of his younger brother.
“Better luck next time, wee brother,” he said fondly. “You need to practise a bit more.”
“That is very easy for you to say, big man!” Callum said, laughing cynically. “You were always big and broad like Da. I was always wee and skinny like Mammy, and it does not matter what I do—I cannot put on muscle like you can.”
“But I cannot draw pictures like you,” Alex pointed out. “Or sing like Duncan.”
This was true. Both of his brothers were extremely creative, and he envied them for their musical and artistic abilities; he could not draw to save his life, and he compared his own singing to the howling of a wolf, even though that was far from the truth. He had a reasonably pleasant voice, but he was not gifted like Duncan, who had a fine, deep baritone voice which he used to good effect to charm young ladies!
“Yes, but drawing a robber’s portrait while he is attacking me is not a good form of self-defence!” Callum retorted.
Alex threw back his head and laughed heartily at that. He recognised that Callum’s quirky sense of humour came straight from their mother, whom her sons had all adored. When she had died of a fever, it had taken them all years to recover from the shock, and sometimes Alex found himself still dreaming about her. She had been a kind and loving woman, and if she had a fault, it was letting people take advantage of her generosity. She had not been perfect, of course–no one was, but she had been well-loved.
Their father, after whom Duncan had been named, had been a large, sturdy man with the wheat-blond hair that Alex had inherited, as well as striking blue eyes, which he had not. Alex possessed his mother’s golden brown ones. He had died after falling from his horse and hitting his head on a sharp stone, leaving three orphan sons behind him. Callum and Duncan had only been eleven at the time and Alex, at only fourteen years old, had been unable to look after them.
Since then, their Uncle Lachlan had been their father, and the three brothers loved him as such. They had never forgotten their own parents of course, but time had healed the worst of their pain, and now Laird MacNeill was their rock and their stability.
As he was talking to Callum, Scott approached them, cracking his knuckles as he prepared for his session with Alex. That bout, he knew, was going to be more difficult than the others. Scott was a very good boxer, and almost matched Alex in size, although no one else was quite as strong.
When the fight started, Scott took the initiative, not giving Alex time to even put his fists up to defend himself, and struck a hard blow to his right cheekbone. However, Alex was not fazed. He hooked his fist under his opponent’s chin and pulled upwards, and the uppercut made Scott stumble backward. Taking advantage of this, Alex drove a fist into his stomach, but in the process of concentrating on the blow, he dipped his head forward, giving Scott the chance to swipe him hard across the jaw.
The two fighters circled each other warily for a few moments before engaging again, but this time it was clear that Alex’s superior fitness was going to win the day. After a few more minutes of exchanging punches, with the advantage going from one man to the other and back again, Alex saw his chance. When he forced his opponent backward after a punch to the jaw, Scott, unbalanced, left the whole front of his body open and vulnerable.
Alex took advantage of this then stepped in between his cousin’s flailing arms and hooked his fist upward under Scott’s chin so hard that he looked as though he might be lifted off his feet. He landed on his back on the hard ground and lay there, unmoving.
Alex’s heart skipped a beat as he ran over to his fallen opponent. What if he had seriously injured Scott? What if he had killed him? He was lying so still that for a moment he thought that his cousin was dead.
He looked down into Scott’s face. His cousin’s eyes were closed and not a muscle twitched anywhere. Alex shook his shoulder and Scott’s eyes fluttered open. “Are you all right?” he asked, as a wave of relief swept over him.
Scott looked up at Alex and answered: “Do I look all right, you eejit?” Then he grinned painfully. “I am going to have a lump on my head the size of a goose egg tomorrow!”
“I am so sorry.” Alex sat back on his haunches and dragged his fingers through his hair backward in a gesture of agitation. He felt wretched. “I should not have been so rough.”
Scott sat up and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “It was a boxing match, Alex,” he pointed out. “Not a ladies’ tea party. We sometimes get hurt–that is the nature of the game. The best man won, so well done.” He slapped Alex on the back and rubbed the back of his head.
“Do you have to kiss Mary too?” Alex asked mischievously. “And do I get another ten shillings?”
Scott glared at him in mock hostility, then they walked back to the others, who had gathered around them to watch the action. Quite a few of the guards were there too, and they cheered both the combatants as they went inside.
When they were back inside, they were all exhausted and hungry, so Scott ordered lunch for them and they sat around the big table in the dining room. It was a long time since they had all been in one place at one time, and the mood was boisterous, despite all the injuries.
Platters of cold meat, fruit, cheese and bread were brought in as well as wine. It was still some time until their evening meal and Alex was ravenous. As soon as there was food in front of him he attacked it, then ate without stopping or looking up until his hunger was assuaged. When he finally raised his head, he found that his cousins and brothers were all laughing at him.
“Leave some for us!” Jamie complained. “You won all the boxing matches–we need some consolation.”
Alex looked down at his plate. “Oh, dear,” he said, trying to sound sorry but not quite succeeding. “I have been a bit of a glutton.”
“Reminds me of the time I had my eighteenth birthday party,” Scott said, grinning. “I invited all the young men and women in the area and had a special cake made. Remember?” He looked accusingly at Callum and Duncan. “When the time came to eat it, though, we found that a big lump of it was gone. These two,” he pointed at the twins, “had eaten about a quarter of it between them!”
