Chapter 4

The next morning dawned bright and fair. Not daring to look at the mercenary after the warm dreams she had had about him during the night, Collen lowered her gaze. "There's food for ye to eat in the front room." He dutifully followed her out of the bedchamber.

A bowl of porridge, honey, and cream was waiting for him on the small wooden table. After nodding his head in thanks, Arran set to breaking his fast. Colleen watched as he pulled a stool closer to the table and began to eat. He was so tall and muscular, Colleen had to hide a smile because he made everything in the cottage look tiny. Turning, she went back into the bedchamber she shared with Isla to tidy it up.

It might be a good day to air the bolster. Heaven knows he's strong enough to help me lift it.

As Colleen began to move the pillows and blankets, Arran's strong masculine scent permeated the room. Without thinking, she held the pillow on which his head had been lying to her face and inhaled deeply. Immediately, her senses were transported into his arms. It was like he was caressing her, kissing her, letting her run her fingers through his hair as she licked his chest…

What am I doing? If the village priest kent I was having such intimate daydreams, he would have me down on me knees doing penance for the rest of the week.

Before she sent Isla away, Colleen's little sister had helped her heave Arran's heavy body onto the bed. It was a massive undertaking, but they succeeded in the end. Afterward, Isla had offered to stay at their market stall in the village, bringing them news of the stranger's survival. Colleen told her to stay there until she sent word that it was safe for Isla to come back. They both knew that the death of ten MacKenzie soldiers would bring reprisals from Torquil.

For the first time in her life, Colleen did not miss her little sister. As much as she loved Isla's constant jabbering and funny remarks about the villagers, it was interesting to be alone with a man without Isla injecting her opinion about Arran's potential as a husband. Every Highlander maiden knew not to pin her hopes on a mercenary. Those men were great for protection and perfect for home defense, but once their work was finished, they would be back on the road, looking for their next job. They were the kind of men who looked for female company in bawdy houses and never attended kirk on Sundays. Dangerous, unpredictable men, whose only devotion was to violence and money. No one could blame mercenaries for turning their backs on marriage and setting up a home: their job was to kill or die trying. And these were hardly qualities a woman wanted in the man she married and had bairns with.

Pulling off the sheets with a determined frown on her face, Colleen placed them in a rush basket and carried the dirty linen through to the wash basin outside. Arran was no longer sitting at the table, but Colleen did not worry over much. He understood her reasoning to stay away from the village until a decent amount of time had passed. She found him when she went to the well to draw water.

Arran had tied a length of wool around his waist and was indulging in a second wash. She waited and watched with the basket resting on her hip. He saw her there, but had nothing to say about it. As the wool got wetter, it clung to his skin, pulling the material down past his hips.

Without a word, Arran sniffed, wiped his face with his hands, and tipped the bucket of water over with his foot. Pulling up the length of wool a few inches, he stepped over to where he had dropped his clothes. "Counting me scars?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Ye have more scars than there are stars in the sky. It would be useless for me to do so."

He laughed. "Was that a compliment or were ye scolding me?" Pulling his shirt over his head, Arran grabbed his breeks next, but instead of trying to put them on, he leaned against the well wall, holding them in front of him. "Would ye like help carrying that water?" he asked as Colleen began lowering the bucket into the well.

"I will use ye for other things if ye dinnae mind, Master," Colleen replied politely. "Isla and I always struggle when airing the bolster. If ye think a bucket of water is heavy, ye should try hefting a feather mattress!"

"Having never owned a bed or mattress for the last twenty years," he said, "I will bow to yer better knowledge on the subject." Colleen wanted to ask him about his talisman and what spell knit his wounds together when he was injured, but she was too shy. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her. "D'ye mind me asking why ye insist on standing there naked? If someone were to visit, they would get the strangest notion aboot oor relationship, Master Sterling."

He laughed but did not move to put on his breeks. "Be assured that I will dress fully once me legs are dry, lass. And I'm nae naked—only the lower half is. From yer saucy remark, I can only gather that ye have never tried to pull on leather breeks over wet legs before."

Amazingly, Colleen chose not to take offense at his humorous remarks. She giggled. "The lower half is the part that counts when it comes to nakedness, Master Sterling. But I understand the cause of it noo, and I thank ye for yer kind explanation."

"Are ye trying to turn me up sweet?" Arran wanted to know, "What is it that ye want?" His smile took away the sting of his words. For some absurd reason, Colleen was enjoying this bantering conversation with her guest. "Airing a mattress is a lot harder than ye think, Master." Balancing two wooden buckets on either side of her lifting pole, Colleen shouted to him over her shoulder. "Come inside when ye are dry. Ye are nay use to me with only yer shirt on!"

A cauldron was already hanging over the fire, and it was into this that Colleen poured the water. The liquid hissed and steamed as it hit the metal bowl. After adding a handful of herbs and ash, she gauged the water ready to use. Grunting softly, she lifted the cauldron off the flame and set it on the flagstone floor. Her strange guest was still outside. Fascinated with his natural manners and friendly attitude, she was drawn to observe him through the small window.

His face was tilted back as he closed his eyes against the sun. His dark, damp hair clung to his back and shoulders. As she watched, he shook his head and a spray of droplets made rainbows in the air around him. The mercenary seemed completely at ease with his body and his surroundings. With one lithe movement, he cast aside the leather breeks to check his legs for water. Colleen caught a glimpse of his rigid torso under the shirt. She had been too afraid to touch him when he lay in her bed, but he looked less threatening when viewed from afar. Still, the healer could not shake the feeling that there was something animalistic about him. He was a large man with expansive movements, yet this did not stop his actions from possessing a certain grace.

Realizing she was mesmerized, Colleen gave herself a shake and tried to go back to work as her braw visitor began to buckle his belt and tuck in his shirt. He left his jerking off. The sun was warm enough as it rose in the sky. Sighing, because, for some peculiar reason, she felt restless and unfulfilled, she went outside to fetch the tub. In a moment, he was by her side, offering to help her. Not long after, the tub was full of cauldron water, and the sheets were ready to be cleaned.

"Now it's time for me to take off me clothes," Colleen laughed. She took great pleasure when she saw his shocked face. It made her laugh. Hoisting up her tunic and smock and tucking them under her belt, she asked him if he had never seen a woman wash the sheets before.

Leaning against the washing pole, he folded his arms to watch her. "We had servants. I was a young, adventurous lad—too busy making mischief to bother with chores."

This little bit of information about him caught her attention. "Really? Servants? How fortunate ye are." Stepping into the tub, Colleen began to stomp on the sheets. He held out his hand for her to use for balance. Blushing rosily, she took hold of it. "Are yer parents happy with yer choice of job? Is yer mither nay terrified that ye will perish while protecting some stranger?"

He scowled, and she felt the pressure on her hand increase. He noticed her concern at once, and laughing, loosened his grip. "Forgive me, lass. I have a temper. I must learn not to take it oot on ye. And to answer yer questions more courteously, nay, me mither and faither dinnae worry aboot me."

She darted a triumphant look at him. "Well, why should they? That talisman ye wear. Does it not give ye the miraculous ability to heal yerself?"

Colleen stopped stomping, standing in the middle of the tub, holding his hand and waiting for him to reply. Their gaze locked for a long while. As a healer, Colleen was used to reading people and predicting their moods, but she could not read this man's expression.

He must have decided it was safer to change the direction of their conversation. "Have ye finished?" Arran moved to lift her out of the tub, grabbing her by the waist as if she weighed nothing. When he set her gently down on the grass, he clapped his hands together, saying in a business-like tone, "Let's get that bolster aired, shall we?"

She had to admit to herself, if not out loud to Arran, that it was nice to have a man helping her with the household chores. In bigger houses, stable boys and pages would always be on hand to do the more menial work. Isla always complained or sulked whenever Colleen asked her to help. It would drive Colleen to distraction, having Isla whine about the dust or the heavy lifting.

Entering the bedchamber, Colleen pointed to the bolster. "I have fresh sacks of feathers in the shed if they are needed. But let's rip open the mattress and see if the stuffing needs to be refreshed."

Arran's mouth twisted into a smile. "If ye ever want a change from being a healer, lass, ye can always set up as a captain in the army."

Opening her mouth to apologize, Colleen prepared to explain, but he cut her off. "It was a jest. Work me as hard as ye want, lass. I owe ye for letting me stay here and for healing me too. It cannae have been easy waiting for me to turn into a wolf while I lay on yer bedsheets."

Colleen blushed. "I–I had me reasons for observing ye, Master…with yer uncanny recovery and scarred body…believe me when I tell ye that a wolf would have been the least of me worries! Black magic is far more scary than a wild animal."

That made him laugh, which Colleen found extremely frustrating. "Please, listen to me withoot mocking me! Ye blow hot and cold on me depending on yer mood! It is maddening because I dinnae ken what will make ye smile or frown. It's…it's like living with a tempest one moment and a summer breeze the next!"

Ignoring the well-stuffed bolster, Arran moved swiftly towards her. Colleen could not help herself from taking a step back—his height and strength were so intimidating. Grabbing her by the upper arms, he pulled her towards him. "Dinnae be afraid o' me, Colleen," he growled in his deep voice. "I cannae stand that. Ye're sweet and untouched by malice. D'ye ken how lovely ye are to someone so jaded by time and toil as I?"

His mouth was a fraction away from her lips. Going from anger to comprehension in the blink of an eye, Colleen tried to understand his dilemma. This man was hiding a secret he could share with no one. Her compassion for him brought tears to her eyes. When he saw it, he released her, looking away. "Och, lass, I dinnae want yer pity."

She clung to him, and the bright sunlight streaming through the small cottage window turned her hair into golden russet splendor. "It was wrong of me to scold ye, Master. I want to bring ye comfort and release yer pain. Let me help ye."

Giving himself a shake and laughing away his dark mood, Arran bent down and hoisted up the bolster onto his mighty shoulders. "Dinnae fash aboot me, lass. Let's get this mattress oot under the sun and let's see how pressed the feathers are."

The moment was lost. She followed him outside, silently marveling at his strength.

Fortunately, the feathers had not begun to molder, but they did need to be replenished. He asked her where those who came to be healed usually spent the night. Colleen confessed that the mattress her patients used was not nearly so well kept. "I cannae afford to replace the covers and feathers every time, Master," she laughed. "With all the spewing forth, sweating, and whatnot, I make them lie on a rough canvas bolster stuffed with hay."

"I'm honored ye allowed me to share yer bed last night then," he said in a rallying tone. "I guess I'll have to bite me tongue when ye kick me oot to lie on yon foul-smelling canvas bolster!"

"Ye were sleeping so heavily, I could have laid ye on a bed o' nails and ye would nae have batted an eyelid!" Colleen had never felt so light-hearted before. It was as if all the tightly formed barriers of shyness and hesitance had crumbled the moment this man came into her life.

"What's going on here?" Isla stomped into the backyard, carrying a small bundle in her hand. "What are ye laughing aboot?" She eyed the mercenary with misgiving. "So, ye have nae turned into a wolf yet? I kent those bampots were talking a load of auld nonsense."

Colleen felt her cheeks get warm even though her younger sister did not sound critical, only interested. "Oor guest is helping me with those chores that require strength to fulfill, Isla. Is nae he kind?" She chose to ignore the rest of her sister's probing questions. Dropping to her knees next to the now fully stuffed bolster Colleen picked up her needle and thread saying, "P'raps ye better show oor guest to the hayloft? I think it will be more comfortable for him to sleep there instead of on the mattress we keep for those visitors with maladies."

Jerking her head for Arran to follow her, Isla led the way to the hayloft saying, "Were ye honestly thinking of spending the night on the sick bed? It's pox-riddled and nasty! I'm pleased to see ye're feeling better, Master, but one look at that brown-stained bed and ye'd need the sick bucket."

Colleen cringed as she heard Isla say innocently, "Is that what those marks on yer body are? Are ye marked by the pox?"

But all Arran Sterling did was give a short bark of laughter.

It was past noon by the time the washing was hanging from the cord strung between the wash posts. The plump bolster was back on their bed too. Colleen heated pottage for their dinner. Isla had returned from the village with news and a reckoning of their accounts. Arran listened with keen politeness as the two sisters exchanged news. He seemed to enjoy hearing about the humdrum matters of village life.

"Torquil's men burnt doon more fields," Isla told her sister, in between mouthfuls of pottage. "With the other two lairds bowing oot of the fight, it leaves only Torquil for the villagers to acknowledge as their liege. A few of his tenants came bearing a message. They said it would be better for us to burn oor own fields doon rather than accept Torquil's lairdship over us. His men act like beasts, as well we ken."

Taking dainty sips from her spoon, Colleen enquired after the sales. This made Isla more cheerful. She loved being in charge of their little stall in the market square. "I sold three bottles of violet tincture to Mistress Wetherley. She said she was taking it to her daughter in Inverness. The poor girl suffers most cruelly from bad breath. Farmer Doone paid for the entire pot of salve. He needs it for his horses and plough cattle. It stops them getting chafed from the harness. Oh, and the chief alderman wants to ken how soon yer braw patient will be ready for work. The sheriff and bailiff have set spies around MacKenzie's boundaries and report that he is amassing a large troop o' soldiers."

Putting her hand into her pockets and drawing out a coin, Isla flipped it into the air and gave Arran a wink. "Everyone wants to ken why ye would sell yer life so cheap, Master. Six shillings is nae much to die for a bunch of strangers."

Both females looked at him, one curious and the other a bit alarmed that Arran would give away too much. "It is plenty enough for me needs, Isla," the mercenary gave her a lopsided grin. "I rely on the kindness of strangers, and if there is none, then I continue walking."

"Hoots!" Isla crowed. "What a mean existence. How d'ye stay so braw if ye dinnae care aboot gold?"

"Isla!" Colleen scolded her sister, turning to Arran. "Please forgive her, Master. I am afraid I overindulge me sister—she's me only kin. Everyone else has been lost to us over the years, but more so since Torquil MacKenzie began his persecution of oor village."

Looking from one sister to the other, an almost tender look came over their handsome visitor's face. "Does that rabbit hound Torquil bother ye, Colleen?"

Colleen blushed to hear her name come out of him in such an intimate way. Isla chuckled and dug her elbow in her sister's ribs. "Colleen is famous for two things, Master Sterling: her healing potions and her bonny face. Everyone in Aberkin says that it is only a matter of time afore she catches Torquil MacKenzie's eye."

Standing up from the table, Arran bowed to Colleen and thanked her for his dinner. Then he asked for a quill and parchment. "What are ye going to do?" Isla enquired, not at all put off by her eldest sister shaking her head and frowning.

"I must get back me sword. Auld Hamish and David forgot to sheath it when they found me lying in the road. I feel naked withoot it."

"Why?" Isla could be a pest when it came to getting her questions answered, but the mercenary did not seem to mind.

"I'm going to need me sword, Isla, if ye want me to kill this Torquil o' yers."

Colleen and Isla gave one another sideways glances. The Cunningham girls thought he was joking, but it was sometimes hard to tell with the mercenary.

"K–kill Torquil MacKenzie?" Colleen stuttered. "Just like that?" She snapped her fingers. Arran grinned at her demure reaction. "D'ye ken any other Torquil round here whom ye want dead? Come. It's time I started earning those six shillings Tavish gave me."