Page 15 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

“So, young man,” Lord Ashby took up conversation now that Evanna had let up. “This is your first time out of Scotland, is it not? How are you finding our fair city?”

Aleck groaned internally. He hadn’t had a decent meal in five days. What was a man to do to get his fill of the food and damn the conversation? Aleck had never been much for talk. He believed actions spoke louder than words. His vow to his father meant little less than the wind that blew on the hills unless there was thunder and rain to follow the promise of it.

Aleck chose his words carefully. Though his journey had been arduous and the destination disappointing, he couldn’t insult his host by saying so. Aleck was the Laird’s man, and the Laird had nothing but disdain for England, especially London. How could his loyal man say anything different?

“The buildings are grand.”

He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that they hadn’t been the most complementary. Thankfully, Lord Ashby laughed.

“You remind me of Julius. He was a cantankerous guest when we were young. Didn’t like anything. Well, I should say, nothing except one.”

“Ah, yes,” Lady Ashby smiled, playing with her glass. Though she was speaking to them, her eyes were far away, lost in some memory. “He was quite taken with Mary. Love at first sight. Did you know your father fought a duel over your mother?”

This was news to Aleck as much as it was to Evanna who had stopped eating. She shook her head delicately, her eyes wide and sparkling. It occurred to Aleck that the lass had no memory of her mother. Though Laird MacLeod loved her greatly, he never talked of his wife. Aleck assumed it hurt him too much to speak of his beloved, but to deny a daughter the second-hand memories of her mother felt a little cruel.

“Mary was the incomparable of that season. My best friend—she really was a beauty. Oh!” she laughed suddenly, a sudden trill that was both intimate yet inclusive. “I remember Julius’s turmoil. He was so enamored by Mary, but he thought she was English.”

“Didn’t eat or sleep for three days, the poor chap.” Lord Ashby nodded. “He was smitten, but he was fighting it like a bad infection. Every day he would vow not to go see her, and every night he would fight the urge to dance with her till he could hold himself no longer.”

“His erratic behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. Mary and I often conversed about the strange Laird MacLeod and how his eyes told her one thing, and his scowls another.”

Evanna had stopped eating. Aleck glanced her way. She was leaning forward slightly, her body tense as she hung to each word. A small smile played at the corner of her lips, and he spied a glaze of unshed tears over her blue eyes. A protective emotion came over Aleck, which was completely different from his duty. His duty charged him with Evanna’s physical wellbeing. This emotion wanted to protect her heart and its fanciful childish dreams.

Aleck looked away. What silly emotion was this? Was this how Laird MacLeod felt about his daughter? Then it was a dangerous feeling to have, and he would try his best to smite it.

“The day he found out Mary was Scottish,” Lord Ashby continued. “He ran out the door without his hat. They were inseparable afterwards.”

“Then why the duel?” Evanna asked.

“William Spencer.” Both Lord and Lady Ashby said the name together and in much the same tone of disdain. Lady Ashby even rolled her eyes. Clara and Evanna broke into giggles.

“Was he very horrible?” Clara asked.

“I wouldn’t wish a man like William Spencer on my worst enemy, and that should tell you all you need to know about the man.” Lady Ashby took a decided bite of her veal.

“Portia is biased because of all the heartache Lord Spencer caused Mary and Julius,” Lord Ashby waved a hand, dismissing his wife’s uncharacteristic outburst.

“So, what sort of a man is Lord Spencer?” Clara asked.

“And why was there a duel?” Evanna piped in, turning the conversation back to what she thought was more important.

Aleck took the opportunity to finish his meal in peace. His eyes kept darting to Evanna to make sure she was okay, but every time they did, he cursed his own weak will.

“Lord Spencer was a man who did not know denial. He had never been told no, and so when he decided to marry Mary, he assumed she would be more than willing.”

“So sure was he of this, that he didn’t feel the need to propose to Mary.” Lady Ashby interjected, her tone dripping venom. “He went and directly had a marriage license issued.”

“When Julius and Mary announced their engagement, Spencer took affront and tried to sue Mary’s poor father for breach of social contract,” Lord Ashby explained. “He had never proposed, and Mary had never assented, but all anyone could talk about was the fact that a marriage license had been procured, so there must be some truth to Spencer’s claim.”

“It became a question of Mary’s honor,” Lady Ashby sniffed. “Of course, Julius had to fight to reclaim her reputation.”

“What happened then?” Evanna asked.

“They dueled.” Lord Ashby dabbed his lips with a napkin. “Spencer lost a toe and a finger.”

“How did he manage that?” Clara laughed in surprise.

“Julius wasn’t going to kill the man, so he aimed for his feet. Spencer on the other hand,” Lord Ashby grimaced as if he had bitten into a lemon, “he aimed for the heart but his musket backfired and took his little finger clean off.”