Page 46 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

“I dinnae need yer fairy dust.”

“Magic dust, dear girl. Just a bit on the cheek.”

“Stop!”

Evanna walked into the clearing to see the bagpiper from the feast with a young girl. His arms were around her waist, and he had pulled her close to him. She looked terrified. Evanna recognized her as one of the tenants on their farms. The name escaped her, but the fact that she was being tormented by a rascal did not.

“What’s this, then?” she asked the bagpiper.

“I was helping.”

“Helping?” Evanna raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. You see the girl suffers from the most terrible scarring.”

The girl flushed. Indeed, her face was marked by the smallpox.

“Aye, but I see no need for ye to have yer arms around the lass if ye mean to help her complexion.”

The bagpiper removed his hands. The girl backed away immediately.

“I ken who ye are,” Evanna said. “Yer Donald Creed’s daughter, are ye nae?”

“Aye.” The girl nodded. “Me name’s Sarah.”

“Come then, Sarah, let’s take ye home.”

“But my magic dust?” the bagpiper exclaimed.

“We’ll nae be needing that, thank ye. Yer nae from around here, are ye?” Evanna asked, eyeing his shock of black curls and olive skin.

“I’m from here and everywhere,” he said, flashing her a huge grin, sweeping the hat off his head and bowing to her. “Vano, at yer service.”

“Indeed,” Evanna said coolly. “And will ye be staying in Glenlivet long?”

“Aye.” He put his hat back on, but the rakish smile remained on his face. “My tribe will move on soon, but I have an invitation from the Laird to stay on.”

“Why?” Evanna was shocked. Why would her father invite such a rapscallion to stay on?

“I suppose he enjoys my company. You could ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“I will.” Evanna turned her back to him and his amused grin, signaling the end of the conversation. She took Sarah by the shoulders and guided the young girl away. “Next time ye see him, ye run like he’s the Devil come from Hell to get ye.”

“Ye dinnae have to tell me twice,” Sarah nodded. “I was looking for Crumpet, me cat. She’s gone off somewhere. I asked Tilda, me sister, to help, but she wouldnae.”

“I imagine sisters can be vexing at times.”

“They’re always vexing.” Sarah rolled her eyes. It was such an endearing expression, Evanna almost laughed. “Are ye back for good? Only Mam says ye’ll be gone soon enough. Nae one believes ye’ve come to stay for long now that ye’ve had a taste for traveling. Mind ye, I wouldnae say nae to getting me feet wet on another shore if I were able. Da says I should join the nunnery and take me vows, and they’ll send me to the ends of the Earth as a missionary. I’d rather marry a missionary instead. Being a nun sounds like hard work. They’re so stern, the sisters in their habits. I’d nae like a life of stern walking about with a Bible and a cane. Makes ye wonder how they think they’ll bring anyone to the bosom of Our Lord Jesus if they frighten them off so.”

Sarah had a tongue on her, and Evanna could empathize with Tilda who might have refused looking for the cat just to know a moments peace. Evanna didn’t mind though. Sarah’s continuous chatter saved her from contributing to the conversation, and she could concentrate on other things such as Ashton and Clara’s letters, and the man, Vano, and how he had managed to charm her father.

“Here we are!” Sarah said, bringing Evanna out of her thoughts. “Home.”

Home was one of the smaller farms on Laird MacLeod’s lands. The roof needed rethatching, and the clotheslines in front of the house were lined with so many nappies Evanna wondered if the Creed’s were running a baby farm under the Laird’s nose. Sarah ran on to the house. Evanna should have turned back home, but her curiosity had been piqued, and she wanted to know more about the Creeds.

As she approached the hut, she heard the squeal of someone in pain. The someone was Sarah. A scrawny woman had Sarah by the hair and was hitting her shoulders with a large wooden spoon.

“Runnin’ off when there’s chores to be done, ye ingrate!” the woman yelled over Sarah’s yelps of pain. “Ye wait till yer father gets home, there’ll be nae supper fer the likes of ye.”