Taming the Highlander. Terri Brisbin

is alive and well, lady,” he answered. “You must speak to the laird about the rest.”

      Ailsa arrived at her side and glanced from one to the other. Someone as astute as this woman could not miss the tension between them. Instead of agreeing that she should rest, Ailsa took her by the arm and guided her toward the doors of the keep.

      “Come, lady. I think a short walk would aid you more than keeping to your chambers.” The maid began walking, but Jocelyn paused. This was not done yet.

      “Duncan, when can I speak to the laird? Where will I find him?”

      “He’s ridden to one of the outlying villages. He will return late this night or in the morn.”

      So, she must wait hours and possibly a day to find out Athdar’s fate. There was nothing she could do now, nothing but insult or provoke Duncan, which would give her much enjoyment but no favorable results. She did not doubt his words about the MacLerie’s return or that her brother was well.

      “I will speak to him on his return then,” she agreed and followed Ailsa’s guiding steps away.

      She looked back at Duncan once as she walked away, trying to read his thoughts. His face was filled with as much frustration as she thought hers must be, but for exactly the opposite reasons. However, she knew that Connor MacLerie was at the center of both of their situations.

      Speak to the laird?

      Oh, aye. She would speak to him.

      Jocelyn discovered that Ailsa was in truth a tyrant disguised as a small, old woman. The rest of the day and even after dark fell, the woman nearly forcibly escorted Jocelyn from place to place within the keep and without, until Jocelyn was ready to drop. When the laird had not returned in time for the evening meal, she was tempted to curl into a ball and fall asleep in some secluded corner where Ailsa could not find her.

      Her plan was not a success. Ailsa did relent and allow her to retreat to her room and eat her meal there. The lack of appropriate women and men for that matter would make it awkward for her to take her place alone at that table. So, she found herself in her room, with a well-blazing fire in the hearth, a tray of foods giving off the most wonderful of aromas, and, even more wondrous than the appetizing food, a book she’d discovered during her tour of the keep.

      Although she tried to slow her pace, Jocelyn gulped down her food and finished one full goblet of ale before stopping. Not aware of how hungry she’d become, she shook her head in surprise over it. Now stretching and leaning back against the tall, cushioned chair that had appeared in her chambers just today, she spied the bed.

      She would fall asleep the moment she laid her head down—she could feel the physical exhaustion dragging her down now. But, she wanted to be awake and ready when Connor arrived for she had many questions for him.

      Questions that had begun simply about her brother and now included many about herself and her place here in Lairig Dubh and the clan MacLerie. Questions that had increased both in quantity and intensity as the day passed and her lack of position in the eyes of these people was made clear over and over again.

      They didn’t need her guidance on matters of food nor the preparations for winter. The steward, in his position for decades, was quite competent, even creative, in handling those duties. They did not need her assistance in the duties of overseeing the keep or the woman who lived there, for other than the laundry maids, some of whom now assisted Ailsa, there were no women living in the keep.

      So, she found herself in a nearly empty keep, with no sign of her brother or her husband, and exhausted from the miles walked this day. The bed, which she’d purposefully ignored, now beckoned to her. It looked so inviting—piled high with pillows and many layers of linen and blankets—Jocelyn soon found herself standing next to it.

      “I just put some hot stones under the blankets, lady. Let me help you in.” Ailsa lifted the robe from her shoulders and helped her climb up. Then she adjusted the location of the flannel-wrapped stones until they were close enough to warm Jocelyn’s feet.

      Sinking into the comfort and warmth undermined her plans to be awake to speak to the laird on his return. Her body allowed the cushiony softness of the thick mattress to pull it toward sleep.

      “Ailsa,” she whispered, struggling to say the words before she drifted into the oblivion of sleep. “Tell the laird I wish to speak to him when he returns—whenever that is.”

      “Aye, lady. I will tell the laird.”

      She wanted to ask about the tone in the woman’s voice, but her body was settling into sleep. Although she could still hear the woman moving around the room, Jocelyn had not the strength to form and speak more words. And once more, her dreams were filled with images of Ewan.

      And sometime in the dark of the night when the fires had burned down, he came to her in her dreams and warmed her body and soul.

      Chapter Six

      ’Twas long after midnight when he led the men back into the keep. The guards on the battlements, at his orders, had been prepared to wait for his return and to open the gates for him. This was much later than he’d planned to return, but the light of the fullest moon of the month lit their way and gave him the additional time he needed to continue searching for the vermin who had attacked some of his clan in the small village six hours away. The intruders paid for their arrogant beliefs that they could take what they wanted from the MacLeries and not face retribution. The retribution dealt to them was so severe that others of their ilk would think twice before attempting the same.

      Releasing his horse to one of the stableboys, he dismissed the men and walked to the keep where he knew Duncan would await him. A few torches burned in sconces set high up on the walls of the great hall, but the rest of the huge chamber was darkened and the sounds of sleep emanated from the men who slept on pallets there. A few sounds not related to sleep also echoed through the hall as he walked quickly to the steps and high table.

      Tempted to determine who was involved in those, he shook his head and continued forward. The only women who slept on, or rather, visited the hall’s floor were the village whores when invited by one of his men. He did not need to watch that particular transaction of business—the occasional sounds were proof enough of it.

      He found his seat and found Duncan sitting nearby and a servant appeared just as he sat down at the high table with a bowl of hot porridge, some bread and a jug of wine. After suffering the effects of last night’s overconsumption of wine, he waved it off and asked for some ale.