Page 31 of Bound to Her Highland Lord
“They arranged for me to marry another wealthy merchant. A friend of my father’s. They would have shared trade routes, wares, and profits, each man doubling their business with the marriage.”
“So why are you here then? It sounds as if you could have been a great lady.”
“Lady to a man older than my father with rotten teeth and an even worse penchant for drink? Nay, thank ye,” she scoffed. “I left home in the dead of night with only a small pack and my brother’s boots.”
“You left your family?”
“Are they truly family if they are willing to sell ye to the highest bidder?” she asked in reply. “I found Aila and Taryn nae too long after. They had each left their homes as well for reasons all their own, but we managed to make a wee family for ourselves with each other. Aila taught us how to fight. Taryn was the healer and cook.”
Oliver hummed thoughtfully as she returned with the herbs she needed—lavender and willowbark jars—and a few clean bandages.
“What did you provide other than your lovely company?”
There was a note of teasing sarcasm to his words, but Sorcha let it pass, too weary to argue anymore.
“I was the brains, I suppose. I could talk us in and out of any situation we found ourselves in. It had been my life’s work to sell things to people who didnae need them. It was nay hard thing to change to convincing people to part with the things we needed to survive—food, a warm blanket, a horse at a better price.”
She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she spoke.
“Remind me to guard myself against your charms, then.”
With a chuckle, she pressed the herbs against his cut and started to wrap the bandages around him again. His shoulders were so wide that she had to step closer, and closer still, until she was in between his legs, her arms looping around him, passing the roll from one hand to the other. His breath was warm atop her head. He smelled of horses and honey and cedar. It was intoxicating, robbing her of her train of thought.
“Where are Aila and Taryn now?”
His question pulled her out of her own mind and back into the harshness of reality.
“Aila married Laird Lachlan Kincaid some weeks ago. We met him in the ruins of his family seat and found that our causes aligned. As I told ye before, Baron Dudley destroyed nearly the entire Kincaid Clan, leaving only those who could outrun the guards alive.”
“How brutal.”
“Aye. We somehow managed to adopt three wee orphans into our makeshift family; Elsie, Christopher, and Arran. Arran is Lachlan’s godson. To hear the both of them tell the tales of that day is quite haunting.”
She knotted off the bandage and wiped her hands clean on her apron.
“We had managed to make a happy wee family. Aila and Lachlan at the helm. A handful of lads and lasses running around. The few remaining survivors of the Kincaid Clan back toreclaim their homes. My sisters were close.” She paused on the mournful thought. “They are my people now. My home. I would do anything to keep them safe, anything to protect them from harm.”
Oliver gathered her hands up in his, a gesture growing more familiar by the hour. Understanding lingered in his eyes as he watched her.
“I know the feeling well, Sorcha. It is a heavy burden to carry, but one I would not throw off for any amount of money.”
“Aye,” she breathed. “That is why I went to the Baron’s estate. I suspected he had captured Taryn. They were once betrothed, but she ran from him. I thought he had finally managed to find her and kidnap her. But I saw nay sign of her.”
“You risked your life for your friend?” he asked incredulously.
“There was nothing else I could do,” Sorcha defended. “Aila and Lachlan went in search of allies to help us stand against the Baron. But they had nay need of me. I thought I had a better chance of finding Taryn on my own. So aye, I risked my life for her and I would do it a hundred times over if I had to.”
Silence, thick and heavy, hung between them. She gently pulled her hands out of his, needing the space to be able to breathe, to be able to think clearly.
“We are more alike than I thought,” Oliver admitted.
She studied him for a moment, watching shamelessly as he tugged his shirt back on.
“Aye,” she agreed. “I think we are.”
“These lands, these people,” he told her, gesturing with his hands, “they are mine to own and manage simply because of who my father was. It was little more than luck that secured my place in the world. But I do not take my role lightly. I do not lord my position over my people.”
“What do ye mean?”
