Page 11 of Claimed Highland Brides

The courtyard of the inn was just as busy as it had been when they left. A new stagecoach had arrived and passengers were alighting, stretching their legs or shambling off to the privy. Julieta and Fiona ignored them all, slipping down the side of the inn and scurrying towards the kitchen. A young boy was sitting by the door. He looked up as their loud footfall announced their presence and smiled, wide and pleased. “Good day t’ye both,” he said softly.

“Good day t’ye lad.” Julieta smiled and waved while Fiona cast him an absent glance. Now that she was here, she could feel the increasing pounding of her heart. She could only focus on getting to her chamber and locking the door behind her so that she could pretend to have been there all night.

“Dinnae fash,” Julieta whispered to her as if she knew Fiona’s fears.

“Easy for ye tae say. Ye’re no the one who will be scolded if’n the soldier kens we left.”

“I beg yer pardon! O’ course I shall be scolded. Ye dinnae think I’d let him scold ye on yer own?”

Fiona laughed. “Och nae. O’ course not. Ye’re the soul of loyalty my Julieta.” She patted the maid on the arm. “Now gang and see if ye can get us something tae eat and drink. I’m hungry again.”

“Ach. Ye've a hungry worm in yer belly I dinnae wonder, Miss. I shall gang the noo.” She turned back to the kitchen, leaving Fiona to proceed on her own.

Almost humming softly under her breath, an amused smile on her face, Fiona strolled the rest of the way to her chambers. She came to an abrupt stop at the door, realizing it was open and a pair of booted feet were visible.

Taking a deep breath, she peered into the relative gloom of the room and sighed with resignation as she caught sight of Daividh, lounging on the bed nearest the door.

“Good even tae ye.” His deep baritone was even and calm but she could still tell that he was seething.

“Uh...good even.” She swallowed. “What are ye doing in my chambers?”

He snorted, his mouth twisting as he looked away from her. “The question is, why are ye no in yer chambers? Where have ye been?”

Her heart tripped, rapid and irregular, her vision dimmed and steadied in ever-decreasing circles of blurriness. Her hands shook and her face paled. She did not know why she was so afraid all of a sudden. There was nothing that Daividh could do to her at the moment.

“Weel? Will ye no tell me what was so urgent ye had tae leave wi’out a word?” He bit out every word curtly although his tone stayed even.

Fiona sighed. “I...uh, we went frae a walk. We dinnae go far. The room just felt very close and we needed some air.”

“Is that sae? And ye couldnae tell me aboot it why?”

Fiona shook her head, looking away. She had no viable explanation to give him for her actions. All she had was childish defiance and she suddenly did not want him to think of her as a child. “I dinnae think tae do it. I’m no used to accountin’ frae my presence or absence to anyone.”

“Is that so? Not even yer faither?”

Fiona gave him a sharp glance. “My faither is deid,” she said sharply.

He bowed his head. “And it is sorry I am frae tha’. But ’tis a recent occurrence is it no? Did ye no answer tae him afore he died?”

Fiona pursed her lips in annoyance. “Nae. I dinnae answer tae him. He let me have my freedom.”

Daividh’s eyes narrowed. “He must ha’ been an exceptional man. A man o’ worth.”

Fiona’s bottom lip trembled as she tried to compose herself. She and her father had always been close. Ever since her mother died, Fiona had stepped into her shoes, knowing that she had to be the mother figure for her younger sisters. Their father saw what she did for them and was very appreciative but also worried over her a lot.

“Ye’re a young lassie too, my dear,” he would say gently, stroking her vivid red curls, his sad eyes watching her. “Ye shouldnae have tae care frae yer sisters like this. I should find me another wife.”

His tone was always listless when he spoke of remarrying. Fiona knew he did not want to do that. The flame of his love for their mother still burned bright and strong. No other woman could measure up.

So she did her best.

She had loved him so, and she missed him like a lost limb.

“Aye, he was,” she said quietly.

He got up from the bed and took a step toward her. Very tentatively, he lifted his hand and put it on her shoulder. He squeezed, saying nothing and politely looking away as she tried to compose herself. She dug in her pockets and extracted a kerchief, wiping away the tears.

He inhaled loudly and expelled the breath with force before turning back to her. “However, Miss Douglass, what ye did, just disappearin’ like a ghost…” He shook his head. “It wasnae righ’. Ye should ha’ told me. Something might ha’ happened t’ye and I wouldnae ha’ been any the wiser.”