Page 32 of Abducted By the Highlander
Her heart tugged for the unknown young lass who had barely known her mother. “Ye have two sisters, do ye not?”
“Aye, Mary is my youngest sister, and Agnes will be sixteen next month.”
She heard the anguish in his voice. It was clear he missed his sisters and again she couldn’t fathom what terrible crime he could have committed that had condemned him to an existence as an outlaw. It was likely best to move the conversation on, but she couldn’t help herself. “I’m sure they must miss ye.”
He swallowed and looked away from her, focusing on the nearby stall and before she could think better of it, she threaded her fingers through his. Warmth suffused her when he fisted his hand, entrapping her fingers, as though in a small way her gesture had given him comfort.
“Aye.” There was an undeniable catch in his voice, and any lingering reservations she’d harbored that maybe the earl had just reason for treating him so harshly dispersed like early morning mist on a summer’s morn. “I should dearly like to know how they fare.”
She recalled he’d once told her he was a second son. “What of yer older brother? Have ye no way to contact him, to find out how yer kin are?”
His mirthless laugh sent a shiver along her spine. “It’s been well over a year since I last saw him and I’ve no way of contacting him. My brother—” He hesitated, as though he were unsure whether to continue, and then he shook his head and expelled a deep sigh. “I shouldn’t speak of him to ye, Roisin. I don’t know what he’s doing.”
If only there was something she could do to take away the pain that throbbed so clearly through every word Hugh said. And then something occurred to her that she could do, even if it meant visiting people she had never seen before.
“When I am reunited with my kin, I could give a message to yer sisters, if ye would like.”
He stared at her as though he couldn’t quite believe his ears. “Ye’d do that?”
She shoved the tendrils of anxiety that her rash offer had awoken to the back of her mind. It was, after all, such a small thing if it gave Hugh some peace of mind. In any case, she was more than hopeful that, when the time came, he would be able to give his sisters whatever messages he wished himself.
“I am. I’m certain it will greatly relieve them to know ye are alive and well.” Even if he had taken refuge with the Campbells’ bitterest enemy.
“That’s kind of ye.” There was a gruff note in his voice. “And make no mistake, I’m grateful for it. But ’tis best they know nothing about this life I’m leading. I shouldn’t wish them to think ill of me when there’s no way I can—” He clamped his jaw together, but she understood.
It didn’t matter how circumspect the message was. His sisters were bound to ask questions, and what could she tell them? They would be sure to guess she was withholding something, and she wasn’t certain she could make up a story if they put her on the spot.
But how dreadful it was that they—and Hugh’s father—might think he was dead.
Her hope that he would turn his back on this life and confront the earl for his unjust banishment surged through her and she couldn’t keep silent any longer. “Maybe when I leave, ye can join me. There must be a way ye can reclaim yer former life, Hugh. Surely the way ye rescued Grear and me from the brigands will stand ye in good stead with the earl.”
His smile was sad, and it told her all she needed to know. He had no intention of leaving the rebels when he took her to Creagdoun.
Chapter Twelve
Hugh purchased adozen apples, despite Roisin’s protest that she didn’t need that many, and stowed them in her mare’s saddlebags. She smiled in gratitude, and he tipped his head in acknowledgement, but he couldn’t help comparing these practical market apples to the gifts he’d once imagined bestowing upon her.
Extravagant luxury gifts of jewelry, perfume, and exotic delicacies. Things he’d never considered purchasing before, until he’d met Roisin.
But even at Sgur, he’d known such fantasies were unlikely. He was the second son and while Balfour Castle wasn’t steeped in debt or anywhere near the point of ruin, its income wasn’t great enough to support such a lavish lifestyle for the wife of a son who wasn’t even the heir.
’Twas ironic that, after his months as a redshank, he now possessed more ready coin than he ever had before that fateful meeting with the earl.
For all the good it would do him. He could possess a thousand gold pieces, and it wouldn’t be enough to erase the stain on his soul and allow him to win Roisin’s hand.
They moved on to the next stall and while he pretended to scrutinize a selection of pewter dishes engraved with intertwining plants, he surreptitiously watched Roisin as she examined an inkwell that had been exquisitely crafted in the shape of a woman in a flowing gown gripping the rim of a large pot.
“’Tis the finest quality bronze,mistress.” The stall holder, a matronly woman, smiled encouragingly at Roisin, who hastily replaced the inkwell. “Imported from Florence.”
“’Tis very beautiful.” Roisin gave the piece another longing glance. “But alas, I am not looking to purchase anything today.”
“Then maybe yer fine husband will buy it for ye.” The woman smiled benignly at him. “’Tis a fitting gift for such a bonny bride.”
It was very fitting, considering how dearly Roisin loved art, but she backed away from the stall, shaking her head, an enchanting blush heating her cheeks. “Thank ye, but I would never expect such an extravagant gift from—” She caught herself and looked at him, and for a timeless moment the world ceased to exist as he lost himself in the emerald mystique of her eyes. “From my Hugh.”
Her last whispered words rippled through him, more potent than any fabled aphrodisiac from ancient tales. Her kerchief framed her face, but a few dark auburn tendrils had escaped their restraints, and he had never been so captivated in his life. Without thinking, he gently brushed an errant curl from her cheek and her skin was silken soft beneath his finger. His hot gaze dropped to her tempting lips and his blood thundered in his ears. Just one more kiss…
“Ah, young love.” The words, with a hint of amusement, hauled him back to the present and he froze mere inches from Roisin’s upturned face. She appeared as bemused as him, as she blinked twice before pressing her lips together and drawing herself back so her uneven breath no longer dusted his jaw.
