Page 34 of Highland Sword
Morrigan knew from the harsh tone, the hardened look on Aidan’s face was hiding long-held feelings of mourning and guilt. She felt his sadness. They were living in Edinburgh when the news came of Napoleon’s defeat. She recalled the days of celebration afterwards, before an understanding of the price of victory began to sink in for a wounded and hungry nation.
“Your brother told me he would not have lived if not for your heroism. You carried him to safety.”
He shrugged as if it were nothing. “Sebastian lost an arm. I was unscathed.”
Morrigan looked at him and considered all he’d been through, during the war and since then. Guilt was a sickness. It ate away at people, directing their lives. Morrigan had felt it in her own life. She saw it in her father. Archibald Drummond felt a deep-seated guilt that he tried to bury within himself. But it affected him. So many of the decisions he’d made in life were influenced by that guilt.
Morrigan brushed aside her own memories. “And thanks to me, you’re no longer unmarked by battle.”
He smiled, slowly shaking off his seriousness.
“And your brother owes me his gratitude as well,” she continued, “for you now realize how valuable it is to have him at your side, keeping you safe.”
“I enjoy Sebastian’s company, but I need no bodyguard.”
“Obviously you need more cuts and bruises. I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“Is that a promise, Miss Drummond?” He laughed, and the sound of it pleased her.
“You’ll find me in the training yard most mornings.”
“And I’ll be working in the library most nights.”
She knew and she was tempted to find an excuse and go there. But each time sanity prevailed. “Your mind is finely tuned, sir. It’s your body’s conditioning that needs work.”
“There was nothing wrong with my health until I met you.”
“Well, your brother serves a purpose and so do I. I’ll promise to be a constant reminder that you’re not invincible.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Your offer is very generous. And that reminds me, I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?” Morrigan eyed him warily. She was unaccustomed to receiving gifts from strangers. While she was curious, she also didn’t want him making any assumptions about their relationship.
He reached into his coat and pulled out something rolled in a piece of sacking. As soon as she saw the shape, Morrigan knew what it was.
She removed the weapon. “Returning my own sgian dubh to me isn’t a gift.”
“It is if I intended to keep it.”
“You couldn’t keep it. You knew it belonged to me.”
“Any court would consider it to be ‘spoils of war.’”
“Spoils of war?” she snorted. “We barely scuffled. You only took possession of it because I forgot to pick it up.”
“You didn’t forget to pick up your dagger. I wouldn’t let you. Do you remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” she replied. “And my offer stands about meeting in the training yard.”
He laughed. Morrigan replaced the knife in her boot with her trusted one. She wrapped the other in the sacking and tucked it away. When she looked up, he was watching her.
“Tell me, how often do you draw that weapon?”
“Every time I train with Blair.”
“Aside from our meeting, have you ever drawn it for your own protection?”
“Of course. Dozens of times.”
