Page 14 of Only a Highlander Will Do

“I give you my word as a gentleman.”

Her heart turned over at the seriousness of his tone. She briefly closed her eyes, breaking the connection with him, then nodded. Despite his promise, she would be well served to stay vigilant. When she opened her eyes, she saw the tension in his shoulders relax. She reached out her hand, but instead he grasped her about the waist and lifted her into the boat. He settled her on the seat at the bow before he gave the boat a mighty shove, then hopped inside, taking a seat in the centre. He picked up the oars and settled them on the crutches before he started rowing with strong, even strokes.

The air was soft and warm. The cries of the birds and the seals that were so prevalent during the daytime were quiet now, giving the loch a silent feel. The only sounds were the oars as they dipped in and out of the water and the sound of their own breathing. “Where are we going?” she asked, clutching the edge of the seat beneath her.

“To the jetty. An adventure awaits there.”

By the light of the moon, she could see the smile on his face, but his excitement brought her little comfort. “How will we see anything? It’s so dark.”

“I know every rock and crevice on this jetty. I spent a great deal of my time here as a youth, trying to escape my father’s overbearing nature. Instead of oppression in the castle, out here I felt at peace.”

Silence fell between them as she thought about what he had said. Whether he meant to or not, he’d just told her something of his past life here. Would he continue sharing bits of his life with her? “Why is your mother a spirit?”

He drew a deep breath, then released it. “I suppose I owe you an explanation. It’s not every day a ghost appears at supper.” He drew the oars up and let the boat drift for a moment, then drew another breath as if gathering strength. When he looked at her, his eyes were sombre once more. “My father was not always a horrible man. There was a time when he was a good laird—generous to his people and kind to his family. But during a battle with the MacDonalds he took a serious blow to the head and after that the man was different. He was suspicious of everyone and angry all the time. He beat the staff, and abused his own children. My mother always put herself in the middle of any such physical abuse, and ended up bearing the brunt for all of us.” He drew another breath and released it slowly. “One day my father had had enough of her interference and tossed her into the dungeon.”

Fiona gasped as she brought her hand up to her chest.

He did not seem to notice her interruption as he continued. “Alastair tried to free her, but our father knocked him senseless. Not wanting anyone to release her, our father locked the rest of us in our chambers until she was dead three days later.”

His story sliced through her and Fiona fought a lump in her throat. She was tempted to reach out and take his hand but held herself back.

He picked up the oars again and started rowing, faster, harder. “I cannot be certain of why our mother is still here at Dunvegan but I think it has something to do with wanting to offer her continued protection over her family, either that or she hasn’t had the opportunity to go to the beyond. Perhaps this Samhain will free her.”

Grief and understanding mixed as the image of the Grey Lady came to her mind. “Alastair is laird, so your father is—”

“Dead,” Tormod finished the word for her. “Before that day though, we three eldest brothers all left the castle as soon as we were able. And we just returned weeks ago.”

The boat lunged forward and suddenly scraped along the shore. Fiona clung to her seat for balance as it came to a stop.

Tormod stood. “We are here.” He offered her his hand to help her to her feet. When she was up, instead of guiding her to the edge of the boat, he swooped her into his arms and carried her through the swallow water and onto the shore before he set her on her feet again.

Fiona looked around. In the darkness, the vegetation looked silently malicious. How had he found his way to the clearing on which they’d come ashore? It had obviously been reclaimed by nature while he’d been away. Suddenly she was glad she wasn’t alone. She could believe Tormod would protect her, though what there was to protect her from she didn’t know.

Tormod lifted a small bag from the boat and joined her once more. “Follow me.” He drew his sword and started hacking his way through the menacing bushes ahead.

She stayed right behind him, not wanting to lose sight of where they were headed as he cleared what must have been a trail in the past. It wasn’t long before they broke through the trees and shrubs and came to another beach on the opposite side of the jetty. Here there were many rocks and a small sandy area. He left her at the rocks and moved to the beach. He must have gathered wood along their way because he dropped an armload onto the sand before gathering the smaller pieces together. He removed what must have been flint and steel from his bag because after a few strikes, a spark appeared, then a fragile reddish flame. He continued to add wood until a fire burned brightly, casting the shadows away.

She could see him clearly as he moved back to her and took a seat on the large rock beside her. “You look like you’ve done this before.”

He smiled but said nothing more.

The heat of the flames reached out to Fiona, relaxing her earlier tensions. They sat in companionable silence as they stared out at the inky-black waters of the loch. She was still this man’s prisoner, but in this moment it felt more like they were somehow friends. She’d never had friends other than her servants Ginny, Higgins, and Mrs Bagley, and she’d had her flowers to keep her company.

She’d often wondered what it would be like to have a real friend, and to be a friend in return. Perhaps Gwendolyn and Rowena were two such people. They’d been very accepting of Fiona’s presence at Dunvegan so far, and had gone out of their way to make her comfortable. She could easily keep them at a distance if she wanted. There was no chance they’d get too close or see things in her eyes she did not want them to see.

Unlike Tormod, who had a way of seeing straight to her soul.

Nay, Gwendolyn and Rowena were nothing like Tormod. She closed her eyes, shivering slightly.

“Are you cold?” Tormod removed his surcoat and settled it about her shoulders. Instantly the warmth from his body seeped into hers.

“My thanks,” she said, nestling deeper into the folds of the heavy fabric.

“I have no right to ask after forcing you to this castle, but would you tell me something about yourself? All I know is that you were promised to Alex MacDonald and that you like flowers.”

“Why?” She twisted towards him, her eyes filled with challenge. “So you will have more information to use against me?”

He looked surprised. “I am not that kind of man. You yourself said that trust must be earned. Trust me with some small detail and I will prove to you that I deserve to be trusted.”