Page 47 of It’s in his Highland Kiss

She wondered what her parents would say about her development if they ever found out. Surely, neither of them would be pleased. They had sent her to the Highlands under the condition that she would return to them as the perfect bride, someone who had learned everything that she needed in order to be married off to a wealthy man. They hadn’t asked for a soldier or a spy, and yet Marion was more soldier and spy than a dutiful wife.

The thought amused her. She wondered if they would ever find out and, if they did, whether she would get to see their reactions.

“How long have ye been here?” Eiric asked. “Ye dinna have to stay with me, ye ken. Ye can go and rest. I’m sure that ye need it.”

“I’m fine,” Marion said, and she truly was. She had had her rest, even if the chair wasn’t the most comfortable place where she could sleep, and she didn’t need to go to her room. If anything, she thought that she would have a harder time sleeping in her room than in Eiric’s own, where she could still keep an eye on him.

“And me parents?” Eiric asked. “Are they alright?”

“They are scared,” Marion said. “They are worried, but that was always to be expected. Do you wish for me to call them here? I’m sure they’d be happy to know that you’re doing well.”

“Na, let them sleep, lass,” Eiric said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m sure they’ll come first thing in the mornin’ . . . or, weel, me maither will.”

Though Eiric didn’t have a strained relationship with his father, Marion knew that the two of them didn’t always know how to communicate, how to talk to each other without arguing. She also knew that the laird adored Eiric, and he had been worried sick about him ever since the horse had come back to the castle without its rider.

“He worries about you, too,” Marion told him. “Your mother shows it more, but that’s in her nature. Don’t be harsh to him . . . you two are more alike than you think.”

“We are?” Eiric asked, a small frown on his face. “Do ye really think so?”

“I do,” Marion said. “You speak like he does. You walk like he does. And you are both very stubborn.”

“Ach, lass, I wouldna be talkin’ about stubbornness if I were ye,” Eiric said, and his words brought a small smile to Marion’s lips. “Ye’re the most stubborn person I ken.”

“I think you’re the most stubborn person you know,” Marion countered. “But at least now you admit that I am not a helpless damsel. Now you know I can take care of myself.”

“Ye can take care of others too, which is more important,” Eiric said. “Ye’re right . . . I was wrong to think that ye werena ready, but ye must understand, I still worry for ye. It doesna matter how many times ye save me life, I’ll still worry about ye, in the same way that I am certain ye worry about me. I will never be happy with ye doin’ somethin’ dangerous.”

Eiric had a point, of course. Marion wasn’t happy every time that Eiric put himself in danger, after all, and he had two decades worth of experience over her. Something could always go wrong. He could always be unlucky or too slow or too tired, and he could always fall to his death.

The same was true for her, so it was only natural that Eiric was worried, she reasoned.

“I understand,” she said. “But I am asking you to let me do what I need to do. You have a duty, and now so do I. We both have a duty to Scotland, Eiric, and I am asking you to let me do what’s right.”

Eiric stayed silent for several moments, and Marion watched him carefully. He seemed reluctant to agree, as though something was holding him back, even though he understood her.

Perhaps it was a battle that Marion had already lost. Perhaps Eiric would never agree to such a thing.

Then again, she didn’t need his permission.

“How are you feeling?” Marion asked, just so that they had something to say, knowing that she would never get a reply from Eiric, or at least she wouldn’t get the one that she wanted.

Eiric, for his part, seemed to be relieved about the change of subject. “I’m just fine, lass,” he assured her. “Never been better.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that.”

“Is it because of me face or the broken bones in me hand?” he asked, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Weel, if ye wish to ken the truth, I’m in pain, but I can handle it. I’m just glad that nothin’ happened to ye when ye came to find me.”

“Not a single scratch,” Marion confirmed.

“That’s good.”

As he spoke, Eiric began to sound drowsy once more, and it wasn’t long until he had fallen asleep again, snoring softly. Marion watched him for a while, content to be next to him, lost in her own thoughts in the silence of the room.

She was happy. She was happy that Eiric had woken up, that he had talked to her and sounded like himself. She didn’t know what it was, precisely, that the English had done to him, but when she had first seen him, she had been worried that he would never recover. Now, looking at him, she realised that he was much stronger than that.

Marion spent the rest of the night there, which turned out to be short. The sun soon rose in the horizon, bathing the room in a soft light, and no sooner had the morning come than Adaria burst into the room, eager to see her son.

Just like Eiric had expected, the laird wasn’t with her. Marion could only assume that the man simply couldn’t bear to see his son in such a state. No amount of business could be more important than Eiric, she thought, not even for the laird.