Lady Nellie Read online

  Seeing the grass revealed that they indeed had wandered off the road at some point, although she doubted there was any usable road near Barrach Castle after people avoided the area for fifteen years. She decided to choose an arbitrary spot in the distance and nudged Lily forward towards it.

  The grasslands melded into a forest mixed with birch and oak. As she walked deep into it, the trees began to look similar. It was quiet; Lily’s hooves lightly crushing the foliage on the forest floor was the only thing Nellie could hear, which was utterly resounding. She worried that it would wake up any sinister creature that could be lurking in the darkest shadows.

  Heavens, were they going in circles? She recalled a fairy story of a woman walking endlessly around an enchanted oak forest, trying to find her love. Unbeknownst to her, he had been killed in battle. The Unseelie fairies turned her into a banshee so she could roam the forest for eternity, frightening any traveler who dared to step foot on her land.

  Nellie decidedly did not want to turn into a banshee. She whispered a prayer of thanks as they made it through the forest, although she still could not tell where in the bloody hell she was.

  Now, the sun was beginning to set. What little warmth she could gain from the sun was beginning to leave, but her body was heating up. A fever? She wouldn't survive the night if she didn't find shelter. Lily was slowing, her breath coming out in heaves.

  “Just a little longer, Lily,” she coaxed, perhaps more for her benefit than the mare’s. Sweat began to drip down her back and her body began to ache. No, I cannot die. Not when I’ve gotten this far. Her parents couldn’t escape the curse, but she would. She must.

  Darkness fell like a blanket. As they walked on, the fog began to break, revealing a scattering of light flickering in the distance. Civilization. Food. Shelter. She repeated those words like a prayer as she forced Lily to walk faster.

  Lily was struggling. She slipped once, falling to her knees and almost sending Nellie flying overhead, but her blessed steed got back up on shaky legs and trudged on.

  It was not a village up ahead, but a castle. Nellie smiled perhaps her first real smile in weeks as the salty air hit her nostrils. I have reached the sea!

  In the dimming light, the castle stood at the edge of a cliff, glowing like a watchtower overlooking the sea. A few houses were scattered throughout the land nearby, chimney smoke swirling up into the twilight sky. Candles were lit in the windows, giving off a cozy, warm glow. Her heartbeat quickened with newfound hope.

  She decided to head toward the castle to seek assistance. "We are almost there,” she said to Lily. “You’ll get a nice bath, fresh food, and a long drink of water. Then, you can sleep in a warm stable for days, if you so desire.”

  The longest part of her journey seemed to be in those few moments nearing the castle. Cold tears dampened her face when she was but a few steps from the castle doors.

  I made it, ma and da, she thought as she sobbed into Lily's mane. Some tears were from relief, but most were for the utter sense of loss gnawing at her heart. Her life had changed forever, and she had yet to know if it indeed was for the better.

  She did not realize she was falling forward until it was too late. Lily's legs had finally given out and Nellie landed roughly on the grass, hitting the side of her head on something hard. A fiery pain shot through her body. As her vision dimmed, she heard someone shout. Then, utter silence.

  Chapter 2

  Dunaid Castle, Scotland

  Adam Maxwell, Laird of Dunaid Castle, stood on the parapets of his great stone building, tasting the salty air as he licked his lips. He gazed out at the Firth of Lorne. The sea was choppy as the cold wind beat against his skin like a whip. It was enough for some of his men to huddle with their fur mantles in the corners of the parapets to shield their bodies from the wind’s wrath. But to Adam, it felt like a lover’s caress.

  I am home.

  Oft, he would dream of standing here as he lay in his dark cell in England, with nothing but the rats to keep him company. But never, ever, did he expect to stand here once again in the place he grew up in. Not as a living man, anyway. He vowed that never again would he take this place for granted.

  His men welcomed him home two days prior. Considerably less men than before, he thought sadly that first day as they clapped him on his back and embraced him. So many of them had died during the battle for King David II.

  His cousin on his ma's side had taken Adam’s seat during his absence and had every right to keep it, but instead, handed it back to Adam upon his return. “I have no mind for politics,” Alister had told him. “Only fightin’, drinkin’, and makin’ love to Isla.”

  So, upon his return, Adam was once again Laird of Dunaid.

  Families—mostly tenants of his sprawling land—came to Dunaid Castle to celebrate. There was even bonny Mary in attendance, who had grown from a young lady to a beautiful woman in the two years he'd been away. Of course, he'd seen her eyeing him from afar as he walked through his halls. But he had not a heart for pursuing the nicer things in life. Not yet, anyway.

  As they all drank themselves stupid and danced around the candlelight like it was the fires at Beltane, Adam sat in his chair, detached, like he was seeing everyone through a foggy glass. He'd excused himself early, feigning a headache, and ignored the jolly pounding on his door from his drunken guests who called him a prissy woman for retiring so early.

  He was still recovering. Not just from the physical torture he’d endured during his imprisonment, but also emotionally. Yet, he couldn’t bear to tell it to any one of his clansmen. He needed to put up a face of a strong leader. He just… needed more time.

  Not for the first time, Adam wished his father was still alive. Calum Maxwell had also been a soldier for the king. He had his share of battle, and he’d know just what to say to mend the emptiness Adam now felt.

  But his da had been dead and buried since Adam was ten. The current Laird of Dunaid was very much on his own now.

  "My laird."

  He turned abruptly at the interruption. "What is it?" he barked.

  The serving boy standing next to him recoiled from Adam’s words like he’d been hit. It wasn't the first time his clansmen acted like he'd turn into some beast, ready to eat them. Have I changed that much?

  "We 'ave an unexpected visitor, my laird," the boy croaked nervously. Was it MacKenzie's whelp? He'd have to get these faces remembered again.

  "Who is it?"

  "I dunno, my laird. It's a woman. She was found o’ the ground 'longside a dead mare. She's in the hall room. We've called the healer.”

  "Verra well," Adam told him. "Run off now, lad." The boy fled. A visitor, eh? Shaking his head, Adam left the parapet and descended the winding stairs to the main hall.

  Before reaching the hall, he was met by his cousin, Alister, who looked like he had already taken a glass or two of the French wine out of the barrels.

  "Ach, Adam," his cousin said, taking in the sight of him as he swayed on his feet. "It looks like you haven't cracked a smile in a hundred years." He slapped him companionably on the shoulder.

  "Not verra much to smile about,” Adam replied, brushing past him. "Where is this woman?"

  “Isla’s maid found her and some men brought her in,” Alister told him. “She doesna look too well, I fear. A fever and ague, or perhaps something worse."

  Adam walked down the stone steps and through the door to the hall, stopping in the doorway. A slight form, bundled in blankets, lay on a makeshift bed by the hearth. She was deathly still. A gaggle of women hovered over her, only to scatter out of the way as he walked closer to peer down at her sleeping stranger.

  Her cheekbones were sunken like she hadn't eaten in weeks and her face flushed from fever. However she was a pretty little thing, with golden, plaited hair that trailed down the side of her body like a rope, soft skin, and plump lips. He found himself wondering what color her eyes were. Green? Hazel? His fingers brushed hair away from her temple, revealing a nasty-looki
ng red welt. Dried blood caked her skin and surrounding hair.

  She is not sleeping. She is unconscious.

  "My laird." He turned to find an older woman standing behind him. Lachina had been Dunaid Castle’s healer since well before Adam was born.

  A young lass whom he assumed to be Lachina’s apprentice stood next to the old woman, clutching a basket in both hands. She looked at him nervously, her eyes lingering at the scar that cut through the middle of his eyebrows and down the right side of his nose. She seemed to have finally remembered herself and gave him a small curtsey.

  “My laird.”

  “Lachina,” Adam said, ignoring the lass. He leaned forward to give the old woman a kiss on her cheek. “It’s been too long. You know you can call me Adam.”

  “I pray you’re well, Adam,” Lachina said, smiling up at him.

  She had been a midwife to his mother. After she died birthing Adam, Lachina continued to care for him until his father found a second wife. They had always been close. He was relieved that she still lived after those two years, as old as she was.

  "She hit her head, it seems," Adam told Lachina. He stepped out of the way for her to inspect the unconscious woman. "And running a fever on top of that."

  "I can take over from here." Lachina assured, giving the woman a brief glance-over. "Firstly, she needs outta these sodden clothes.”

  Adam noticed Isla and her maid still hovering nearby. Clearly, this was their entertainment for the evening. "Was she with anyone else?" he asked the maid.

  "Nay, sir. Just her and her dead mare.”

  "Did you find anything on her person?"

  "Nothin’ of interest," the girl squeaked. "Well, except for the brooch pinned to her breacan." She pointed to the shiny thing lying next to the woman, on top of a soiled, moth-eaten breacan. Adam walked over to it and picked it up, twirling the piece of jewelry between his thumb and forefinger. Sapphire glinted in the firelight. Well, whoever this woman is, she either stole this or she came from a well-to-do family.

  “Oh! And a dagger, too.”

  He placed the brooch back down on the breacan. The glint of the blade peeked out from underneath the cloth. Adam took it and slid it into his boot. But what was this woman doing alone, especially in this type of weather?

  “Why is she on the ground? Why isn’t she in a bed?”

  “Every bed is taken, my laird,” Isla informed him.

  The guests were still in his castle for his homecoming celebration. It wouldn’t do to have them walking all over this lass while they feasted tonight. Adam rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger.

  “Take her to my room and have her rest there,” he finally decided. The ladies stared at him like he had grown a second head. “Ach, never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

  As careful as a newborn kitten, he lifted the woman from the ground, careful not to bump her head on his arm. She weighed lighter than a chicken feather. What in God’s name happened to you, lass?

  “I don’t believe that’d be appropriate,” Lachina began, trailing after him.

  “I’ll sleep elsewhere, then,” Adam growled as they left the hall and ascended the steps to his room. “She is no’ sleepin’ on the stone floor. ‘Twould be the death of her.” He laid the lass on his bed and took a few steps back so that the women could continue to fuss over her.

  "My laird, if you please." Lachina had her hands on her hips and gave him the harshest glare that she dared, which wasn’t very threatening. Lachina was as soft as pudding. "We need to undress the lass. I verra much doubt she would want you here. Isla, lass, do ye have an extra shift she can wear?"

  “Yes’m,” Isla said, sliding out the door to retrieve it.

  “Fine. I’ll take my leave.” After giving the unconscious woman one last glance, Adam left for the hall.

  The long wooden table was being set for supper. Perhaps he would spend this night with his clansmen, so as naught to have them think he had, indeed, turned into a hermit. They looked to him as their laird and he needed to honor that, even if it meant getting wretchedly drunk every now and then and breaking up a brawl or two when people get out of hand.

  Not soon after the hall was filled, he was on his second mug of ale. Alister sat down next to him. “How does it feel to be back?” his cousin asked, biting into a chicken leg. Grease dribbled down his chin and he wiped it with the back of his hand.

  Adam glanced down the table at his clansmen and shrugged. “Everything’s different, yet the same. At times, it’s like I never left. Sometimes I wonder if time merely stopped while I was gone.”

  Alister laughed. “I take it you were given some books on philosophy durin’ your stay in England,” he said jovially. “I hear King David still gets the royal treatment.”

  Adam’s mouth drew into a tight line. “Nay, I was not given the same treatment as King David. Why would they do that for me? I was treated no better than a mongrel, beaten for just givin’ someone the wrong look.”

  Alister stopped in mid-chew, looking uncomfortable. “Look, Adam. I hadn’t any notion…”

  “O’ course you hadn’t,” Adam growled. He shook his head, forcing himself to take a sip of his ale. “Sorry, Al. ‘Tis nothin’ I want to talk about. Not yet.”

  “Verra well,” Alister said. “We’re still here for you, brother.”

  He gave his cousin a reassuring smile that did not quite reflect how he felt. He entertained his guests for a while longer, but soon found an opportunity to slip out of the hall. He managed to find refuge in a quiet corner of the castle where he best believed he wouldn’t be stumbled over by a drunk. He wrapped his breacan around his body to ward of the chill that came through the window above him.

  But sleep did not come to him.

  He thought about the woman just a few rooms down, lying in his bed. He wondered if she had awoken. Or perhaps whatever ailed her already claimed her life...

  Nay, Lachina would have sought him out if that’d happened. But he hadn’t seen the healer since he’d left his room before supper.

  If she’s awake, mayhap she can tell me who the hell she is and why she came to Dunaid Castle.

  Adam stood up and wrapped his breacan around his shoulders as he made his way to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he spotted Lachina snoring softly in the chair beside his occupied bed, her chin resting on her large bosom.

  She must have the ears of a hawk, for her head snapped up just as he walked in. “My laird,” she greeted groggily. “Er… Adam. How late is it?”

  “Late enough. Lachina, get one of my men to take you home. Get some sleep."

  She glanced at the bed. "What about the lass?"

  "I will keep an eye on her. Two, perhaps. I'm not lookin’ to sleep tonight."

  Lachina frowned at him. "That's gonna catch up to ye someday, lad," she told him sternly.

  "Aye, I believe it already has."

  Her frown did not lighten, but she sighed and pointed to a bundle on the ground. “There are some supplies in this basket here. Her fever seems to have left, for now. But if she wakes up, be sure to offer her water.” She looked to say more, but she shook her head. “Aye, but I’m sure you know what to do. You are your mother’s son.”

  Before she left, the healer turned back around to him. "I canna begin to know who this lass is," she told him. "But she seemed to have been through a lot. There is hardly any meat on her bones, an’ Heaven knows how close she was to death tonight." She gave him a curtsy and left.

  He sat down next to the woman and looked at her. Her cheeks had changed to a healthy glow; as Lachina said, the fever seemed to have died. A bandage was wrapped around her head and her unbraided hair had been delicately brushed and spilled across the pillows like a golden wheat field. He had the sudden urge to run his fingers through her hair.

  Who are you?

  He noticed blood soaking through the bandage. It probably needed to be redressed. He dragged the basket of supplies Lachina left over to the bed, relieved to see some
fresh linens folded in it. Sitting back down next to her, he gently unwrapped her bandage, lifting her head up slightly to reach the backside. Indeed, her hair felt like silk against his skin.

  He carefully cleaned her wound and redressed it. When he gently laid her head back on the pillow and tucked the edges of the bandage for it to stay put, her eyes blinked opened.

  They were the color of the sea just after a storm, when the sun breaks through the clouds and the warm rays hit the water—dark blues and grays, with flecks of yellow around the pupils.

  She looked at him silently. His breath caught in his throat and he soon realized he was staring. "Hullo. Would you like some water?" he managed to say.

  She blinked a few times at him, as though she had troubled focusing. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely, struggling to sit up.

  "Lemme help," Adam insisted. “You’ve hit your head, so let’s be careful.”

  He gently put his hands under her arms and pulled her up so she was sitting comfortably against the pillows. As Lachina attested, he felt naught but skin and ribs, which wasn’t an uncommon sight living in the gallows in England. But what about a bonny thing as herself? But he knew better than to ask her any questions of the like when she was still recovering.

  Instead, Adam handed her a cup of water. Seeing how her hands struggled to grasp it, he took the cup in his own hands and gently lifted it to her lips for her to drink. A few drops of water spilled from her mouth onto her linen shift.

  Of course, in any other circumstance, it would be considered indecent to be alone with a woman in naught but her bedclothes, but being away from civilization for so long, the concepts of indecently were lost to Adam. Still, he had enough propriety not to look too closely at how the thin dress clung to her body. Despite her slight form, she was still a woman with some curves, and he was still a man not immune to the fairer sex.