Chapter 6

It was the last thing Colleen had expected the wise woman to say. "Cursed? Why?"

Agnes bid her to sit down. Pulling a stool closer to Agnes's writing desk, Colleen leaned forward, eager to listen.

"I have heard the rumors in the village. Yon David MacMillan could hardly be trusted to keep quiet aboot the tender healing ye gave yer patient."

Interrupting, Colleen said, "I am tender with all me patients, Agnes. Just like ye taught me to be." But the wise woman hushed her. "Wheesht. Dinnae defend yer actions, Colleen. It only makes ye look guilty. As I was saying, stories tell of a wandering mercenary—a tall, dark knight—who wears a talisman that makes him invincible. Does he sound familiar to ye? Some folks think of him as good luck. Indeed, no battle in which he participates has ever been lost. But any man who wields such power can only bring heartache and sorrow with him. The scales of fate must be balanced, after all is said and done."

Colleen felt her cheeks go red. She hated that Agnes was able to read her emotions so well. "Aye! He healed quickly, but Arran is nae yon dark knight from yer story, Agnes! He's not invincible. He carries the scar from where the wolf bit him. So there!"

Agnes laughed, but it was not a happy sound. "That man would look upon a wolf bite in the same way another man would think about smiting his brither! It is that dark knight's fate to attract those animals to him that look upon him as an equal."

"I think I should be the judge of whether Arran is cursed or nae, Agnes. He is not. He can be gruff and his moods change with the wind, but he is a good man."

"Did I say he was nae good, Colleen?" Agnes picked up her quill and dipped it in the soot ink she made herself. "Nay, I didnae. I said he was cursed. If ye bothered to venture ootside of oor village, ye would hear tales aboot these immortal Highland warriors who wander hither and thither across the land, righting wrongs and setting things to rights. And in exchange, they embrace a solitary existence. It is the only way they can balance their fate. Uncanny healing abilities forever as a trade-off against a happy home, a warm hearth, and being a husband to some bonny lass."

Feeling a lump rise in her throat, Colleen bid the wise woman farewell and ran out the door. Dashing the tears away from her eyes, she avoided the market and all the interested stares her misery would bring her, making her way to the village council hall instead. It was an imposing stone building with a thatched roof and shuttered windows. It rose dreary and gray out of the misty rain, facing onto the market square.

The elders had gathered inside it. She found Arran standing with his back to the doors, facing the old men seated on the raised stone dais at the head of the hall. His legs were astride, planted firmly on the ground, his left hand lightly clasped around the wrist of his right hand, as if he were trying to restrain it. "I am lately come from Inverness. Master Tavish paid me six shillings to take on the defense of yer village."

"What aboot the ten MacTavish soldiers that were slain on yer way here?" An elderly councilor enquired. "What if yer wounds had nae healed and ye died from them? That would have left us with a bigger problem than we had before."

The mercenary did not hesitate or apologize. "I am yer man since Tavish handed me the pouch o' coins at Inverness. I saw yer enemies gathered to prevent travelers from entering the Aberkin environs. They challenged me and denied me passage, so I engaged with them—entirely on yer behalf, ye ken."

A few titters of laughter rippled around the hall as the villagers lining the hall imagined the old councilors fighting MacKenzie soldiers.

"Very well. Ye seem to be recovered from yer injuries and young David tells us that the wolf did nae bite ye hard enough to make ye ill, so we are grateful for yer assistance in this matter. Bed and board will be paid for by this committee. Noo, let's get doon to the business at hand. How can ye–one man—send Torquil MacKenzie running for the hills, Master Sterling?"

Completely at ease in front of the council, Arran called a wee lad to bring him a chair. When it was dragged over to him, he sat down after removing the sword from behind his back and laying the weapon over his thighs. "Maiden Colleen tells me ye had three lairds bickering over yer fealty after yer liege laird died," Arran spoke aloud, his deep voice echoing around the hall. "If I get rid of MacKenzie for ye, what's stopping the nonsense from starting all over again the moment I head oot?"

Silence greeted this shrewd observation. One councilor attempted an answer. "Er, can we tempt ye to come and live here, Master? We are a friendly place and more than willing to accept another skilled master into oor boundaries."

A few cheers were heard from the villagers watching the proceedings. Colleen held her breath. Had not one of her dreams held the faint hope that such a thing might happen? She imagined a future where she would be able to walk the few miles to the small hamlet and see Arran leaning against the door frame of his cottage with a welcoming smile on his face…

But the mercenary shook his head. "Nay. I am sad to say I must decline yer generous offer. I have received only gentle kindness from yer neighbors and friends, but when me task is finished then I must move on."

Colleen heard a sound at the door and saw Agnes standing there. She looked at Colleen when Arran stopped speaking as if to emphasize that her prediction was right. Colleen pretended not to notice.

"With that in mind, Master Sterling, ye must wait for us to hold a debate aboot oor best course forward."

"Dinnae delay making a decision, Masters," Arran stood up, sliding his sword back into the sheath hanging behind his back, "MacKenzie will attack the moment he finishes training his new soldiers."

Many village maidens followed the mercenary out of the hall, giggling and whispering as they trailed behind him and pointing at his broad shoulders and the muscular thighs encased in his well-fitting leather breeks. Colleen wanted to tell them not to waste their breath, but it would have been useless to stop the bevy of besotted young women.

"Let him go, dearie," Agnes advised her as Colleen passed the wise woman, "let his fate take him where it will."

The young healer had nothing to say to that. Her mind was working furiously, inspired by something Arran had said in the hall. Even though every part of her shy nature warned her not to do it, Colleen decided she must sacrifice her timidness in order to tell Arran about her plan.

The MacKenzie. The other two lairds. The need to have a permanent fighting force ready to defend the village until the King decided to make a ruling on the demesne…Colleen knew there was a perfect solution to Aberkin's problem if Arran was willing to make a trade-off.

Pushing her way through the gaggle of young maidens clustering around the tavern door, Colleen went to Tavern Keeper MacMillan standing at the counter in the ale house. "Did yer guest ascend to his bedchamber already?" Darting a worried look at the girls standing by the door, the man beckoned Colleen forward. "Aye," Master MacMillan whispered to her behind his hand, "he sent a page boy doon to tell me he entered his room by climbing up the side of the house and through the window. He seems immune to the charms of oor local lassies—despite them falling over themselves to brighten his day."

Nodding her head and bobbing a curtsy, Colleen decided the only way she could hold a conversation with Arran without anyone else overhearing them would be to enter his bedchamber the same way he had done. Exiting the tavern, she walked around to the back lane, holding her breath against the stench of the midden pits. Pushing open the back gate, she saw the barrel of rainwater next to the roof gutter and stood on it to grip the wall stones after kicking off her chopines. The village had been built on rocky, barren land, too rough for pastures or harvests. Instead of wattle and daub houses, the locals had cleared the land of rocks and used them to build the walls of their houses. The stones provided Colleen with a good grip for her fingers and toes. Only a few moments later, the bedchamber window shutters appeared above her.

She tapped and scratched. The mercenary opened the hatch, looked down, and then reached to help her climb into his bedchamber. Colleen could see he was fighting to keep his expression neutral. She felt her blush coming back. Oh heaven! Did he think she was here for a tupping?

Reaching for the cover on his bed, he threw it over her shoulders. "The rain is thickening," he commented. "Ye should pin yer arisaid around yer head more closely." Moving to lift the blanket around her shoulders, he tousled her hair as he tried to dry it.

"They will think me hair is bed tossed," Colleen blurted out, grateful that she was too cold for her blushes to show. If the subject was not on his mind, then it was certainly on hers.

"I have no remedy for such chatter," he said in an offhand manner. "Just as I have no remedy for silly young girls chasing me through the market square as if I were a pig with a ring tied to its ear."

Colleen felt an unfamiliar tugging sensation in her belly, as if his words had the power to affect her physically. "More like a wolf," she could not help saying.

His stern expression did not change, but he moved closer to her. Touching one lock of her hair, he rubbed it between his fingers like it was a costly fabric. "Are ye not afraid of me, Colleen? Even a lone wolf feels the desire to seek oot a mate when the moon is full."

The mercenary's words mesmerized her. Despite her damp clothes, Colleen felt a pulsing heat flood her body, a gorgeous melting sensation that got stronger the closer it got to the soft mound between her thighs. "I–I feel like a lone wolf too sometimes, Master," she stuttered. "I mean…it would be nice to walk into the woods at night and howl up at the stars." She gave a nervous laugh. "How exciting that would be—but me fear always stopped me from doing it."

She would never know what he wanted to say next. The door was kicked open and Master MacMillan came in. Of course he would come up to check on her, Colleen fumed inwardly. He was David's uncle, after all.

"I have managed to get rid of those broody hens doonstairs, Master Sterling! Ye can both come and sit in the ale house and share a nice hot mug of posset."

Dropping her lock of hair, Arran replied calmly. "We will come along there shortly. Might ye have a dry arisaid Maiden Colleen can borrow?"

As Master MacMillan quickly trotted off to find a length of plaid for Colleen to wear around her shoulders, the mercenary murmured softly in her ear. "Ye will never ken what it feels like to have a hungry wolf growling at yer door, Maiden. Yer gates are shut and yer walls are too high."

That familiar heat flooded through her again. If he had carried her to the bed right then and there, Colleen knew she would not fight him. His animalistic seductiveness made her feel weak and helpless to resist him. Unbidden, her hand reached up to stroke the white scar slashing across his brow, but he had already turned to leave.

All she could do was follow him down the stairs, trying to stifle the feeling that her chance had gone. It took all of her courage to sit down next to him in the tap room and tell him what was on her mind.

"Give a man a fish to eat and he will nae be hungry for a day. Teach him how to fish and he will never be hungry again." She told Arran. He looked at her intently. "Is there a point to yer noble statement, Colleen?"

Colleen smiled. He was all serious again, but when he had been in the bedchamber with her she had sensed a certain vulnerability, a need for him to connect with another being. "Aye, of course. I want ye to stay at Aberkin and train oor men to fight."

He leaned back, a thoughtful look in his eyes. That he had not disagreed with her suggestion gave Colleen hope. "Train the likes o' David MacMillan to be a soldier?" Arran shrugged his shoulders, pushing the posset away and drinking ale instead. "That does nae sound like a very tempting proposition, Maiden."

From somewhere deep inside her, Colleen found the courage to scold him. "Oh, so when it's ye doing the tempting, Master Sterling, then that's all bonny and blithe, but when it's me doing it, then ye have a complaint to make?"

He laughed, and leaning forward, took hold of her hand. "Forgive me, lass. I forget that ye are nae like all the others. The thing is this: if yer enemies find oot ye have a captain training an army for ye, they will become curious aboot me. And I cannae have that."

Colleen decided to put her cards on the table. "Rumor has it that ye are one of the immortal Highland warriors who roam the mountains and valleys of Scotland, Master. Is that the secret ye are nae wanting to spread?"

He stared down at her with his lustrous blue eyes. Even if he was not immortal, his male beauty would live in her heart forever. Colleen had to bite her lower lip really hard to stop herself from reaching out and touching him. "I am simply a solitary man, Maiden. But to answer yer request I say ‘aye'. I will stay here and train yer men. When I deem them good and ready to protect ye, then I will leave."

And with that, she had to be satisfied. "I will go and tell the elders." She got up to go, but he stopped her. "When ye are finished, I will walk ye and yer sister back to the cottage. And noo, I will walk to the back of this fine establishment and retrieve yer clogs. Tell me where ye left them."

But when Colleen had her chopines on and went to fetch Isla from the market, her sister wrinkled her nose when she heard of the mercenary's kind offer to walk them back to the cottage. "Ye might relish the idea of tramping home with the mud sloshing around yer ankles, Sister, but I have made arrangements to spend the night with Margaret MacMillan. She is smitten with Arran and wants me to tell her all aboot him."

"Please dinnae be spreading rumors, Isla," Colleen said firmly, "Master Sterling has done nothing to deserve yer bad opinion."

Isla cried for shame on her sister as she handed her the tally of coins for the day, keeping back one penny for herself to buy thresh for the cottage floors. "I admire Arran very highly, Colleen, but if ye think I'm going to pass up being the center of attention this evening as all the girls enquire aboot yon fine-looking werewolf, ye must be oot yer heid!"

Colleen knew Isla was jesting, but she cautioned her to be discreet and then went to join Arran who was waiting for her at the village gates. "Isla is staying so that she can make a May Day game oot of all those maidens whom ye so cruelly turned away."

"If ye think I have lived this long because I dally with virgins in the same towns as their faithers, Colleen, ye cannae hold me within very high regard."

She keeked up at him to check if he was jesting. When she saw the twinkle in his eyes, she laughed. "How auld are ye, Master? I will have seen one and twenty summers in August. The priest tells me I must settle doon to become a man's goodwife soon."

He ignored her question. "Will the man ye choose take Isla into his household as well? She seems more independently minded than ye do yerself. Maybe yer choice might be better guided by yer sister."

"Whoever I marry must come to live with us at the cottage, Master!" Colleen snapped, wishing she had not left the horse with Isla so that she could mount it and ride away from this frustrating creature. "Not that it's any of yer business!"

"A bonny maiden and a wee cottage," Arran grinned, "ye sure do ken how to tempt a man, Colleen Cunningham."

She was confused and flustered. Was he interested in her? Is that what it would take to keep this wild wolf at her door? His method of wooing her and paying her compliments was so different from those of the polite young men of the village, Colleen was kept in a permanent state of guessing. Then she saw the amused gleam in his eyes and believed him to be making merry with her. Outraged, she smacked the side of his arm. "I am nae temptress, Master!"

All he did by way of reply was reach his arm around her waist and lift her over a muddy puddle.