Page 31 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

“Cheers to that,” Florence said, raising her goblet.

“So, things are going well?” Ellen pressed. “‘Tis so fortunate. I am afraid that the stories I heard painted such a bleak picture.”

Kenna tapped her finger against her goblet as she felt an unbidden smirk cross her lips. Ellen’s kindness to her earlier, the subtle hints toward friendship, had apparently just been a whim of the moment. A change in attitude fueled by the commissioning of new gowns.

Wicked women; there always has to be one, she thought as several nasty retorts came to mind.

“Ellen!” Florence reprimanded before Kenna had settled on the perfect reply. “‘Tis not a kind thing to say.”

Ellen raised a false facade of confusion. Kenna knew it well. Big, doe-like eyes, slightly parted lips shaped into an ever so slight ‘O’, leaning back in her seat and shrinking a bit as if hurt—‘Twas a facade Kenna used to perform regularly when trying to escape punishment after releasing a particularly delicious insult upon her brothers when her father was in earshot.

“I—I only meant… Hugh made it seem like the marriage was arranged so that poor Kenna would be a hostage and that she was still in mourning over her father when the wedding took place.”

“Aye. But I am afraid that the mourning must only reside in my heart. Though he died before his time, ‘twas still a traitor’s death,” Kenna said with her own smooth smile, as false as any Ellen had given her.

It wasn’t the response Kenna wished to throw down upon Ellen. She wished to scream tributes to her father, whose only crime was remaining loyal to the laird of his clan to the end, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Ellen somehow returned those words to the Queen. If Ellen were going to play games with words, Kenna would play right along like two cats circling each other, waiting for the chance to pounce.

“Oh, dear Kenna. I knew ye were a Gordon, but I hadn’t understood” Florence reached over with a small, earnest smile to take Kenna’s hand. “Losing a parent is a terrible thing, especially when it is well before their time. Our mother was killed by a few cattle rustlers when we were quite young.”

“Florence,” Ellen piped in, “ye must be careful how ye word it.”

“I will word it how I like, Ellen. She was out in the fields one day when they came. They hurt her in ways only a woman could ever be hurt. She was never the same after that. I mean, how could she be?” Florence’s voice grew vague as her eyes became glassy and distant. “Anyway, she grew sick soon after, and she was in the ground before the next change of season.”

“Florence, I am so sorry,” Kenna replied, squeezing Florence’s hand, which still firmly held hers.

“Rob took it the hardest, ye ken,” Florence went on, her green eyes catching on Kenna’s blue. “He is the one who found her, so he always thought he could have prevented it. There was nothing he could have done, he was just a lad at the time, but try telling him that. When she grew sick, he would sit by her bedside from dawn ‘til dusk, asking our father why she had lost the joy in her eyes.”

Kenna fumbled at the sudden memories Florence’s words inspired: the look of shock and pain on Rob’s face when she told him that she didn’t wish to be bedded, and then his refusal thereafter; the things he had told her after he rescued her from Queen Mary’s tortures; and the anger on his face when she told him that all wounds healed.

“Well, ladies, I am afraid I must retire,” Ellen said, gently setting her cup on the small side table.

Kenna considered telling the lass that she hardly cared if she was there or not but thought better of it.

“Aye, a fair idea. I should do the same,” Kenna said, allowing Ellen a tick of a smile. “Thank ye fer today, Florence. I had a wonderful time.”

* * *

Kenna was granted escape after a few hugs and a few gentle ruffles of her hair. She slipped down the hall and into her room, the worn floorboards creaking under her feet, and she scanned the room hopefully.

Empty.

At least, with Rob still absent, she had a bit of time to collect her thoughts. The story of what had happened to his mother was awful, well and truly, and the wreckage of it had clearly left scars on Rob’s soul that would never fade, but somehow, she was happy. For the first time, Kenna felt like she had an edge over him. She felt like she not only understood him, truly understood him, but that there was a line of a bond between them, tying their two broken souls together.

Where are ye now?Kenna wondered, a nasty piece of her mind sure that he would return home smelling of drink and cheap perfume. That would have been the case if her brothers had returned to such a party after a long journey.

With a huff, Kenna began to undress, taking particular care to lay Ellen’s dress neatly across the chair, smoothing it with both hands, so there was no chance for it to wrinkle. She wouldn’t give that witch the pleasure of dissatisfaction. The dressmakers had promised to rush a few things for her, with perhaps a gown of her own arriving as soon as dawn. How good it would feel not to have to wear something of Ellen’s again, not to allow the strength of her favor to Kenna to grow any larger.

The innkeeper must have been a very wise man, for Kenna noticed a pair of clay pitchers sitting on the small table next to a collection of mismatched cups. One was water, but the other, Kenna comprehended with a smile, was wine. Settled back into the chair, comfortable, even though it had more lumps than a cushion after years of wear, Kenna allowed herself to exhale for the first time in weeks.

Things between her and Rob were certainly not ideal, but Kenna at least was starting to hope for something good. She was finally starting to believe that there could be some happiness in the marriage she had not wanted.

Though, at the same time, the past few days had raised more questions than answers. When he had kissed her, coming on so suddenly and then retreating without a word to say for it, she felt every one of her defenses against him slip away. Stones of anger, prejudice, and assumption had been ground into dust and scattered to the wind, with no hope of return. Now she felt her eyes wandering to him whenever they were given a chance and the steady heat of him while they pressed together on the saddle had filled her stomach with butterflies.

Kenna knew he still desired her; it had become impressed upon her while they shared the saddle, his firmness rising and settling against her backside. Yet, as Kenna felt herself growing closer to him, he had not shown any desire to use the advantage. Whenever their faces came close, Kenna felt her breath catch, her lips preparing themselves for another delicious attack. But there had been nothing.

Kenna frowned as she considered the possible reasons, quickly draining the cup and reaching for the pitcher.

He never told ye that ye would have to beg fer those, she mused.