Page 151 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Connor had returnedto Onnleigh with the intention of informing her that he had warned Helen and Margaret to leave her be.
But when he saw her sitting on the stool, combing her hair out with an old comb, wearing a most lovely indigo dress, those thoughts slipped his mind.
She stole his very breath away.
Her smile, so honest and genuine, asking nothing from him but kindness, made his knees quake.
The way the candlelight and flames from the brazier danced and flickered across her skin, her auburn hair, casting her in a near ethereal glow, was mesmerizing. He stood for the longest time, drinking her in as if he were a man whose thirst could not be quenched with anything earthly.
“What be the matter?” she asked. When he did not respond, she set the comb aside, her smile replaced with a look of great concern. “Have I done somethin’ wrong?”
“Nay, lass,” he answered, his throat having turned mysteriously dry.
Tilting her head to one side, she continued to look at him, curious and worried all at once. A thought suddenly occurred to her; mayhap he thought she’d stolen the dress. “I didnae take it,” she began to explain quickly. “Bridgett gave it to me. The chemise and the woolens too. Ye can ask her yerself—”
He held up a hand. “I ken she did, lass. I ken ye’d nae take anythin’ that did nae belong to ye.”
Relieved, she let her shoulders relax and expelled a long breath. “I ne’er owned such a fine thing before. I tried to tell her I did nae need anythin’ so pretty, but she’d nae listen.”
“I’m glad she did nae,” he told her in a soft, warm voice. “Ye look verra beautiful in it.”
She’d have been far less surprised had he told her she’d sprouted horns atop her head. “Don’t be daft,” she told him dismissively. As much as she would have liked to believe him, she knew ’twas dangerous to do so. Wanting to keep her mind from wandering to places it should not, she picked up her comb again.
“I be nae daft,” he told her as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Pretending to ignore him, she combed her hair and focused her attention on the brazier.
“I came to tell ye that I spoke with Helen and Margaret. I wish I could tell ye they’d nae be botherin’ ye again, but I fear ’twould be a lie,” he said as he took the chair next to her.
“Helen has nae e’er liked me,” she told him.
He raised a curious brow. “Ye’ve known her long then?”
“Aye, I ken her.”
Politely, he asked for further explanation.
“Me mum passed when I was five, ye ken. Grueber, he was nae verra good at carin’ for a wee one. He was nae good at anythin’ but drinkin’ and takin’ that which did nae belong to him. I learned early on to care fer meself, fer no one else was goin’ to. When I was nine, we came to the village. There was a group of children playin’ hide and find but they wouldna let me play. ’Twas all right, fer they ne’er let me play and I was used to it. Still, I watched from a distance, wishin’ fer all the world they’d let me in, but as usual, they did nae. Later, one of the mum’s came and gave them all sweet cakes. All but me. I was terrible hungry, I was. Ye could hear me stomach a growlin’ clear to Loch Moy, I imagine. The children, they kent I was hungry, but they’d nae share those sweet cakes. One of the boys, Thomas be his name, he said, ‘I ken yer hungry Onnleigh. Ye can have some leeks from that garden o’er there. They will nae mind.’”
Connor watched her closely as she told the story. His heart broke at the telling.
Onnleigh laid the comb on her lap and took a deep breath. “Even at nine summers, I kent well what me da was. But me hunger was powerful strong that day. I truly believed Thomas was bein’ kind, ye ken. Now, mind ye, I dunnae like leeks. But when yer hungry, ye’ll eat just about anythin’. So I tiptoed into that wee garden and I took three leeks. I did nae even get a chance to eat them, fer once Helen saw me there, she came flyin’ out o’ her cottage like her hair was on fire. She was a yellin’ and callin’ me thief. I tried to explain, but she would nae listen, so angry she was. Beat me backside raw all the way from her cottage to the gate. That be how I got this scar.” She leaned forward and pointed to a tiny scar that ran from her lip to her nostril.
“I tripped, ye see, and fell face first onto a verra sharp rock. I learned that day ne’er to take anythin’ from any one, and the only person I could rely on in this world was meself.” She sat back and began rubbing her fingers across her comb. “I’ve stayed away from the keep and the people e’er since. That was more ’n ten years ago.”
His contempt toward Helen turned to sheer, unadulterated hatred. How one being could treat another, especially someone so young, with such malice, such an unkind heart, was baffling.
“So ye see, Helen does nae like me much, and in truth, I do nae care much fer her,” she admitted. “But I be no thief. I be no whore or wretched creature like they think me.”
“I ken ye be none of those things,” he told her. “I be sorry ye had to endure such sufferin’.”
She looked up at him with a wan smile. “Please, do nae start pityin’ me now.”
“’Tis nae pity, Onnleigh. This I promise ye. Had I kent what you had gone through—”
“What would ye have done? Stopped them? Ye were but a lad, and if memory serves me correctly, ye were nae even here at the time. Ye were off fosterin’.”
“I would have told me da. He could have stopped them,” he told her with so much conviction that Onnleigh almost believed him.
