Page 6 of Abducted By the Highlander
After all, what awaited him if he returned to Argyll? Although he’d sent regular reports to the earl, he’d been unable to discover the whereabouts of Douglas, and without a direct order to return home, he doubted the earl would be pleased to see him.
“Aye,” Symon said agreeably. “Maybe ye did. I’ll drink to it either way. And since ye’re set for a handsome pay rise, ye can buy us another jug of ale.”
“I’m not going out in this weather to get more ale.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
Hugh shook his head but couldn’t help laughing before a thread of regret inched through him. If only Symon wasn’t a MacGregor, there could be true camaraderie between them instead of this uneasy twilight alliance. Yet if the other man ever discovered he wasn’t merely a Campbell, but one from a high-ranking family, even that would shatter.
“All right,” he conceded.
“And now ye can write to yer lady love and let her know when ye return, ye’ll be able to afford a wife.”
And just like that, his laughter died. What a damn fool he’d been, within weeks of arriving in Eire, to make the mistake of telling Symon there was a lass back home waiting for him.
There was no lass waiting for him in Argyll. Or anywhere else.
But Symon and the other redshanks had been talking about their families and their sweethearts, and when Symon had turned to him and asked him outright, his heart, aided no doubt by the ale they’d all consumed, had overruled his head. And his deeply buried dream had found a voice.
“There’s a bonny lass at home waiting. One day I hope to make her mine.”
But Lady Roisin MacDonald of Sgur Castle on the Isle of Eiggwasn’t his lass, and she wasn’t waiting for him. For all he knew, she could be wed by now.
A dull ache wrapped around his heart, and he finished his ale in one long swallow as Symon ambled on about his own sweetheart who waited for his return.
It wasn’t until much later, when he and Symon had returned to the manor and were in the small chamber the chieftain had allocated to them for the harsh winter months, that he allowed his mind to once again recall Lady Roisin’s gentle smile when they had talked together at Sgur.
A year ago, this week.
The sound of Symon’s snores filled the chamber, and in the soft glow from the lantern that stood upon a stool between their pallets, Hugh opened a leather pouch that hung from his belt and pulled out its precious contents.
Tenderly, he traced the delicate square of lace where she had embroideredRoisin MacDonaldin the corner, encircling a tiny, exquisite rose. She’d given him her handkerchief the day they’d sailed from Eigg and he’d all but promised that one day soon he’d return.
God, how he wanted to. But even if he earned a small fortune from his time in Eire, unless the earl called him back, he was little more than an outcast from his clan and no noblewoman of Lady Roisin’s impeccable lineage would wish to associate herself with such a dubious character.
It didn’t matter that it was Douglas who’d somehow offended the earl. Douglas was his brother, and it was only the earl’s sense of honor that had prevented him from venting his displeasure upon all of Hugh’s family.
In return for finding Douglas and befriending men of Clan MacGregor, the earl would ensure Hugh’s frail father and his two young sisters were taken care of.
The earl had framed Hugh’s assistance as a request, but in truththere had been no choice. Because the alternative to taking up arms for O’Grady had been the loss of his sisters’ future security. When they came of age, they deserved good men and advantageous marriages, but that could only happen if the earl looked favorably upon the Campbells of Balfour Castle.
He pressed the lace that Lady Roisin had spent untold hours creating against his lips and inhaled deeply. But although the last lingering hints of her scent had long since faded, the ethereal aroma of crushed rose petals still filled his mind with a bittersweet longing for what once might have been.
Chapter Two
Isle of Eigg, June 1567
Roisin MacDonald clutchedthe bedcovers and gazed up at the ceiling in her bedchamber, her heart pounding in her chest. Dawn had scarcely broken, and pale shards of light glowed through the cracks in the window shutters as sweet Ecne, her beloved terrier, pushed his wet nose against her chin in a gesture of comfort.
Slowly, she loosened her grip on the covers and buried her fingers in his fur.
’Twas just a dream.
Like the other dreams that had plagued her since the day her elder sister, Freyja, had wed Alasdair Campbell and left the isle. Strange, fragmented dreams, of unfamiliar landscapes and shifting perspectives, and threaded throughout, a pervading dread that something dark lurked just beyond the far horizon.
She glanced beside her, where her maid, Grear, still slept soundly. Thank goodness her troubled dreams hadn’t disturbed her as they sometimes did. Grear thought she should confide in her grandmother, but there was a good reason why she didn’t want to.
It was because in her dreams she’d left her beloved Sgur Castle for the Highlands. And as the last remaining daughter, that was something she could never do.
