Wedded to the Highlanders Page 4

  A chilly gust of wind blew through her, and she shivered. All her life, she had been surrounded by her family and the strong, deep ties of the village. But perhaps the old saying was true, that everyone died alone. She wondered if it were possible to make more of a mess of things than she already had.

  That wasn’t the worst part, though. The very worst part was that, sitting on the cold, hard rock with one foot in a pool, the soreness in her rear decided to make itself known. It reminded her of how happy she had been with Steen just a few hours earlier. Why hadn’t she been content? She knew almost every woman in the village grew to love two men, who they ultimately married, but she felt like she had let down the man who loved her while she chased after something impossible. If nobody found her, it only meant her foolish actions had stolen Steen’s happiness, as well as her own future.

  She wished he was here right now, to dispense some gentle encouragement and sage advice. Whether or not the muscular baker actually knew any sage advice was debatable, but right now she would gladly accept whatever platitudes he’d dredged up from the back of a cocoa tin, if only she could hear his voice again.

  Time went on and she began to shiver with coldness. Her ankle ached and throbbed, and she could no longer feel her toes in the leather boot. Because of the way the rocks had caught her ankle, she couldn’t remove the boot, either, to see how bad the damage was.

  All the stones were arranged haphazardly here, and if she’d had the strength of a man she probably could have lifted one of the rocks away to free her ankle. But she was a woman, and her main skill in life was baking. It was Steen’s best talent, also, and she was proud her baked goods could rival his. Fat lot of good they’d do her, here, though.

  Chapter 6

  Hugh was repairing some rigging for his fishing boat near where the river Crief joined the sea. It was an inane task and working with his hands left him with plenty of time to think. Thinking, of course, swiftly went from the day-to-day minutiae of whether he needed to do any laundry and catapulted him straight to wondering about Lucy.

  She had clearly been coming out of the alcove after someone, and if he made bets (which he didn’t), he would wager Steen had been there, too.

  He did not know what was taking place between them, but it appeared they had been able to overcome their differences. Hugh wanted to be happy for Lucy, but part of him couldn’t be, because he wanted it, too: For him and her to be able to get over their history.

  Whether it was because the Circle Dance was almost upon them, or the summery weather making it difficult to think clearly, Hugh knew not, but he was enamoured with Lucy and wanted nothing better than to hold her in his arms. Just for them both to exist, together, in the same moment.

  He would never be happy with another woman.

  As he was pondering this, the waters of the Crief bubbled and swirled, until a white-haired young woman appeared before him. Her hair was dripping, her skin was deathly pale, and she appeared to be wearing a dress of dead, brown leaves and other detritus that might have been scraped from the bottom of the river.

  He recognised her at once as one of the creatures from the spirit world, although he did not know which one.

  “By my estimation, ye’re a nymph?” he hazarded.

  “Correct.” She spoke with the voice of a precocious child, although from the outline of her body, even beneath the dead leaves, it was clear she was an adult.

  “If this is about the big fish Angus caught several years back, I can guarantee I had nothing tae do with it,” he remarked.

  “No, this is about your heart. I am Keelie, a nymph of the water; the element of emotions. I can feel your heart calling out for something which you believe it cannot have.”

  “Lucy,” he breathed.

  “Indeed. She is in need of assistance.”

  “Is she hurt?”

  “Perhaps.” The nymph’s answer was infuriating. “You will find her if you walk north along the shore. Tarry not. I can answer no more questions, for I am not supposed to be here...”

  With that, she slowly turned transparent and tumbled backwards into the river, looking for all the world like falling raindrops as her form vanished into the greater body of water.

  Hugh dropped the rigging he had been working on, not caring whether it tangled again, and got to his feet at once. He knew, on the west coast of Scotland, to walk northwards on the beach, he simply needed to keep the sea to the left of him. He hurried in that direction, hoping against hope he would find Lucy. If she was hurt... he dared not think about it.

  Keeping his mind on the task before him, he put one foot in front of the other. The last thing he needed to do at this moment was to foolishly slip on the oft-treacherous rocks whilst trying to reach Lucy.

  When he saw a shape hunched on a rock, his heart clenched and it took all of his self-control not to run. The rocks were so slippery, here, though, and he would be no use to her if he fractured his leg.

  She looked so cold and dejected. What on Earth was she doing out here just sitting there?

  Lucy was exhausted and despairing when she finally realised the rhythmic crunch-crunch-crunch was a man’s footsteps on the beach. She sat up straighter and looked around in every direction until she finally spotted him; it was Hugh, and he had his usual inscrutable expression on his face.

  “Found you,” he remarked. “What in the world are ye doing oot here by yourself, lassie?”

  She looked up at him and her words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m sorry, Hugh, I was walking in the forest and a water nymph appeared and told me I could find your cat in the cave here and I came as fast as I could, but before I got there I slipped and now I’m stuck.”

  Hugh sighed. “Let’s have a look at ye.” He crouched down and examined her ankle, then tried to pull it out. She screamed in pain.

  “This is... so completely you, Lucy. Coming oot here, looking for my cat two months after it vanished, and instead getting trapped like this. What am I tae do wi’ ye?”

  “I’m sorry, all right?” she grumbled. “I wouldnae have come here if the water nymph hadnae told me tae. It could have happened to anyone!”

  “Anyone? Really?” He raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Dinnae move, lassie, I’m going tae try tae lift the rock.”

  She watched him step into the rock pool to balance. He bent his knees and picked up the enormous rock. His arms bulged as his huge muscles worked, and she pulled her ankle out of the water with sweet relief as he tossed the rock away. It flew fifteen feet through the air before landing with a thump nearer to the sea. Lucy marvelled at his strength.

  “Let me see it,” he said, lifting her calf with both his hands. He unlaced her boot and looked at the damage. In the cool air, she shivered. “I’ll need tae get ye into some better light, but I dinnae think it’s anything serious. Might be a sprain, though. Can ye walk?”

  “I’ll try,” she replied. She attempted to stand but her ankle burned with excruciating agony when she put any weight on it, and she ended up balancing on her other foot, doing a hop in an effort to avoid falling over, and dying slightly inside at the fact, of all the men in Scotland, it had to be Hugh who saw her in this situation. Not only that, but she had never found his cat, either.

  As she thought about it, she wondered if Keelie had even known where the cat was at all, or whether she had sent Lucy out here to get into a predicament so Hugh would find her. But how could he have known where to find her?

  “Here, lassie, let me help ye.” His voice was gentle, not condescending, and she felt reassured.

  He put out his hands and steadied her. Handing her the boot, he lifted her off her feet, with one of his strong arms behind her thighs and the other supporting her back. She innately wrapped her hands around his neck and rested her head against his chest, telling herself it was just because it was easier to balance like this.

  “The water nymph said the cat was near that cave over there,” Lucy said, as tiredness caught up with her.

  �
�Perhaps we could take a look. But I want tae get ye back tae the village as soon as possible.”

  He carried her up the shore and Lucy tried to keep her eyes open. If the cat was around here, she wanted to see it.

  Hugh’s feet crunched on the ground as they headed to the cave. Lucy eyed the dark opening as they walked into it. She shivered as a cold breeze swept through her. It was exactly the sort of day where the temperature had probably been pleasant, if only she hadn’t been sitting still on a cold rock with one foot in chilly water for goodness knew how long.

  “I dinnae see Felix anywhere,” Hugh remarked, stepping further into the cave. Lucy couldn’t pick out the cat anywhere, either.

  “Maybe he wandered off, again.” She sighed. All this trouble, and the cat wasn’t even here. Had he been here earlier, or had Keelie tricked Lucy?

  “C’mon lass, let’s get ye back tae civilisation.” Hugh turned and left the cave, and Lucy was glad when they returned to the slightly warmer air of the shore. How long could Hugh carry her, though?

  “Ye dinnae have tae tire yourself out, Hugh. I can try tae walk, maybe.” Lucy felt a little guilty that he was taking her weight, and they had a fair walk back down the shore before they’d find the place where the beach became the path to the village.

  “Ye’re no’ walking in this state, and that’s final,” Hugh remarked. Lucy said nothing. She liked that he was here to take care of her, and she definitely didn’t want him to think she was ungrateful, but she didn’t like him having to go to all this trouble over her.

  “Thank you,” she said at length, then nestled against his chest once more, listening to his reassuring heartbeat as he carried her.

  Then, she seemed to lose all sense of the situation, because she drifted off to sleep against his reassuringly strong chest, still wondering what happened to the cat.

  Chapter 7

  When Lucy awoke, she was in someone else’s bed. It was still light outside, which confused her a little. Hugh sat on a chair barely three feet away, watching her intently.

  “Why am I here?” she asked.

  “Ye fell asleep while I was carrying ye back from the sea, and I wanted tae check on ye, tae make sure there wasnae any lasting damage. How d’ye feel?” His voice was different to how she remembered it; softer and kinder, somehow. When their gazes locked, she saw beautiful autumn leaves in the patterns of his irises. How she had missed this side of him?

  “My ankle still hurts. I have tae get home, though. I’ve cakes tae bake.”

  “Is this for Pauline?”

  His question surprised her. It was rare for fishermen to know what the women of the village were getting up to.

  “Aye. Edith Milton’s planning it. But how did ye ken?”

  “If it’s supposed tae be a secret, it’s the worst-kept one in the village! There’s painted wooden signs everywhere tellin’ people tae come. And anyway, how would Edith get people tae buy the cakes if the only people she’d told were the village’s various cake bakers?”

  Lucy giggled. “I hadn’t really thought about any of that. Mind ye, I’ve been a little preoccupied with all sorts of nonsense tae do wi’ ye and Steen.”

  “Nonsense? Go on, lass, explain.” Hugh gave her one of his stern glares, and Lucy raised her chin—as best as she could while she was lying in bed, anyway—and stood her ground.

  “Let’s see, first there was that misunderstanding between Steen and Millie, then there’s been this ongoing nonsense wi’ your cat, and that’s just the things I can tell ye aboot without getting anyone else intae your bad books.” Lucy thought about Lindsay, with her seamstressing, and decided wild horses couldn’t make her tell Hugh about it. Even after the effort she had gone to today, she was still almost positive that he hadn’t forgiven her for what happened to his cat, and she didn’t have the energy to ask, right now.

  “My bad books?” Hugh’s expression softened. “Lass, d’ye really think I’m some sort of ogre that ye have tae avoid?”

  Lucy looked up at him, wondering how to answer. At that moment, he poured some tea. She sat herself up in the bed, and saw that he had brought a pot and two teacups upstairs on a little tray.

  “I think ye’ve changed, Hugh,” she said at length. “We used tae be friends. We used tae have good fun. Before your parents died—which I’m really sorry about—we used tae get up tae all sorts o’ mischief. Remember how we caught that red squirrel, when I was twelve and you were fifteen?”

  They had been out in the woods together, going to the stream to fish with makeshift rods made from sticks and string, which they’d been doing regularly since Lucy was old enough to go out without her parents. When they were very young, it had been because they’d wanted to actually try and catch fish, like the adults did, but as they’d gotten older, they’d gone out every Saturday afternoon, after their chores were done, simply to sit quietly, away from the rest of the village, and spend time together.

  On this particular day, Lucy remembered, they’d found a squirrel on the forest floor with a nasty injury. It looked like a fox had attacked it. Between them, Lucy and Hugh had caught it. Lucy still wasn’t sure how it hadn’t bitten them both to pieces, but it hadn’t. Instead, the injured squirrel had allowed them to take it back to the village, where they had hidden it in a chicken crate in Lucy’s garden.

  With no real idea how to look after a squirrel, they had fed it whatever they could think of. Lucy remembered asking her parents many very careful questions about squirrels.

  “I remember,” Hugh said, and if Lucy didn’t know better, she thought his eyes might have filled with tears. “It was hurt, and we brought it back tae your house. Neither of us knew what tae do wi’ it, so we took turns feeding it and cleaning it.”

  “And then my parents found out,” Lucy said softly.

  “Aye. And they told ye tae take it back tae the forest.”

  “Only I was worried it couldn’t survive.”

  “So ye came tae me, wi’ tears running down your cheeks and that squirrel in its little house, and ye asked me what tae do.”

  “And ye took the squirrel’s crate in one hand, and ye grasped my hand in your other one, and walked back tae the woods, and we set it free.” Lucy remembered how scared she’d been, that the poor squirrel couldn’t possibly survive in the wild. And she remembered how safe and reassured she had felt when Hugh had held her hand, and calmly placed the container on the forest floor, then unfastened it.

  “And the little squirrel leapt out and scurried up the nearest tree, an’ disappeared. And when we went fishing, the following week, what did we see?”

  “The squirrel was in one of the trees, and another squirrel was nearby.” Lucy remembered how overjoyed she was to see the same squirrel. They’d recognised it at once, because of the patch of bare fur that hadn’t returned after the animal got injured. Then she frowned, as sadness pierced her heart. “But if ye’d seen that squirrel nowadays, ye probably would have wrung its neck to put it out of its misery instead of helping it,” she accused.

  Hugh sighed. “Ye’ve a very low opinion of me, ye ken.”

  “That’s because I remember how you used to be. We used to get along so well. Talking tae ye was a joy. And then... ye changed. Grew so serious and grumpy. Always had to ken best about everything. Where ye used to guide me, now ye just make me feel bad about not doing things the same way ye would have. Ye have perfect hindsight for every mistake I make.”

  “What makes ye think it’s only me who’s changed?” Hugh asked.

  Lucy frowned. “Have I?”

  “Aye. I feel as though the bubbly, happy girl I used tae fall oot o’ trees with and sit beside when we fished in the stream has grown up into a fearful, worried little thing. Ye’re always scared o’ getting things wrong. Ye dinnae take advice any more.”

  Lucy stared at him, and tears sprang into her eyes. “I am scared. And I dinnae ken why. I just have this feeling like if I do things wrong, something terrible will happen. And like I need someon
e tae guide me, but not by making me feel bad when I get things wrong. By steering me beforehand.”

  Hugh sat in silence for a moment, and Lucy wished she could tell from his expression what he was thinking.

  “Neither of us can go back to how we were before,” he remarked. “After my parents died, you were the only thing that I cared about.”

  “Me?” Lucy was so surprised she nearly dropped her tea. “I thought Felix got that honour.”

  “I wanted tae keep ye from harm. I couldnae bear the idea of anything happening to ye.”

  “Is that why you’re always criticizing me? Because ye were trying tae keep me safe?”

  “Aye. I never meant tae make ye feel bad.” Hugh looked despondent.

  Lucy shook her head and drank her tea thoughtfully. “We cannot change. But we need to find a path where we can be together.”

  “I’m willing tae try if you are,” Hugh said.

  Lucy nodded. “All right.”

  She smiled at him, and for the first time in months, she saw some warmth when he smiled back. That had to be a good sign, she decided.

  “Now back to the bake sale—” he began.

  “I need to get baking those cakes,” she interrupted.

  “You’ll not be doing any cooking while your ankle is injured,” he chided her. “Can I help, instead?”

  “You? What d’ye ken about baking?” She tried not to giggle because she could clearly see Hugh was earnest, but he was the last person she’d want to let near a cake recipe.

  “Less than nothing,” he admitted. “Very well, I cannae cook a cake, but I could fill your table wi’ fish tae sell. Wouldn’t that raise a pretty enough penny for Pauline?”

  “Aye, until the fete-goers all complained aboot the stench o’ the raw fish an’ the other bakers upped sticks and moved their stalls.” Maybe she should just let him do it and see how it turned out. At least it would be better than an empty table where there ought to be something for sale.