Page 32 of The Highlander's Alluring Spy
Nothing would happen with Magnolia, of course. He would not, could not, push this any further. Better that he drew a line now before this could go any further. She probably felt nothing for him, regardless.
Better I stop thinkin’ o’ the soft wave to her golden hair, or the pretty way her skin dips where her neck meets her shoulder blades or those remarkable bright-blue eyes…
“Ye thinkin’ about yer nanny again, Nathair?” William’s crude, playful voice interrupted his ponderings. “Want me to get someone to fetch some cold water for yer heid? Maybe we should splash it a’ over ye, just to be safe.”
Nathair scowled at him, though he was secretly grateful for his friend’s lightheartedness. “She isnaemenanny, William. Quit yer japin’.”
“Aye, but ye were thinkin’ o’ her,” William teased. “Or are ye gonnae tell me that ye werenae?”
“Shut yer mouth, ye dobber,” Nathair replied. He picked up a piece of lint from his desk and flicked it in William’s direction. Where it struck, William theatrically fell back in his seat.
“Ye’ve slain me, Laird Bampot! All hail yer greatness! Tell me wife that me last words were, ‘I only wish I could have bedded ye one last time,’” he dramatically recited, sprawled in his chair with closed eyes. “Awfie gobby for a deid man,” Nathair commented, rolling his eyes. “I kenned it was a mistake tellin’ ye about what happened wi’ Magnolia. It was a one-time thing. It willnae happen again.”
“Mm, so ye say.” William straightened up, clearly bored of being mock-dead, and leaned forward with his elbows on Nathair’s desk instead. “Though what I dinnae understand is why a’ the fuss about a kiss in the first place. It isnae like ye bedded her or anythin’.”
Nathair stared at him, images he’d forbidden suddenly racing through his mind. Magnolia, dressed only in her petticoats, sprawled on his bed and waiting for him. Magnolia pinned against a desk in the library. Magnolia, as stark naked as the Fair Folk in the dewy night grass as she waited for him to take her…
Magnolia, where Catrina used to be.
The thought jolted him out of the pleasant images, leaving him feeling shaken, confused, and he shook his head. His voice was low and rough when he finally responded. “Stop. I just…I cannae. It wouldnae be right.”
“Says who?” William asked, frowning a little. “There isnae any wrong in being happy, Nathair.”
Nathair shook his head, too many feelings in his heart to concentrate on one at a time. “Nay. Nay. Ye dinnae understand, William. Catrina—”
“Catrina is deid,” William said, gentle but firm at the same time. “She’s been deid for years. She wouldnae want ye languishin’ away lik’ some—”
“Ye didnae ken Cat in the same way I did,” Nathair interrupted, more forcefully than he intended. “Ye dinnae ken what she would have wanted. Ye dinnae—”
“She wasmecousin long before she wasyerwife, Nathair,” William reminded him. His tone was a little colder, and Nathair instantly felt guilty. “Dinnae ye think for a second that I dinnae miss her too. I dae. She was the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister. Dinnae act like yer the only one who got hurt when she passed.”
Nathair let out a sigh and then nodded. William had been devastated, it was true…and yet, he’d also been the only reason Nathair hadn’t drowned in his own sorrow. They’d kept each other afloat. “Ye’re right. Forgive me for doin’ ye such a disservice. I’m right sorry. I am.”
William grunted but nodded tightly back to show that there was no harm done. His expression was much stiffer than usual, though.
The two sat in unnatural quiet for a moment, and Nathair began to worry he’d done damage to the only steady friendship he had left. But then William relaxed and spoke more casually, if slightly more officially than before.
“Did ye read my report about the food supplies?” he asked.
Nathair’s blood ran cold at the reminder, and he reached into his desk and drew it out. “I did. I wish I didnae. How sure are ye?”
William’s expression turned from annoyance into genuine sadness and exhaustion. Nathair knew it was mirrored on his own face. “I’m fair certain. There arenae enough able-bodied folk in the village to make enough storage for winter. And Laird MacCullen has officially canceled the supply run.”
Nathair’s fist tightened, and he banged it on the table. “Why?Why does he want to leave me people to starve? Havenae we gone to serve his and his own many times? Havenae we been allies since the time o’ my Grandfather?”
William nodded gravely. “Aye, but yer Grandfather isnae in the seat anymore. Neither is yer Faither. It’s ye he’s got a problem wi’, Nathair, ye ken that.”
Nathair scowled, resting his elbows on the desk and his forehead in the palms of his hands. “Is this about young Agnes again?”
“’Tis,” William confirmed. “Didnae ye have her Faither and her to dinner again two months back? Didnae they show any signs o’ this then?”
“I did,” Nathair replied. Agnes MacCullen was a fine girl of nineteen or so who, as her father kept hinting, had magnificent childbearing hips. “But he never mentioned a cease in trade. Curse that man!”
He knew that Laird MacCullen had expected him to marry Agnes when she reached eighteen the previous year. Nathair knew how it seemed from the other Laird’s point of view: he had spent close to four years in mourning at that point, more than enough time to fill requirements.
What else could I want but a young, willin’ wife? Well, to start, one that isnae still half a child herself.
Agnes was sweet enough, but she was very young and not entirely bright. Yes, she was exceptionally pretty, but even if Nathair was to consider marrying again, that would never be enough to tempt him.
