Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

His wife's laughter seemed to stir the trees, and Leo held her closer, not sure if he really believed his teasing. Yet, he could not shake the wariness that had come over him when he'd straightened with a grunt, happy with his work, and realized Agnes hadn't been behind him.

He'd turned swiftly to see that she had been standing at the edge of the woods. Had been standing there with such a look of yearning on her face, as though she could hear a song he could not. It had not given him the same fear as the Caoineag, but ‘twas still close an echo in some way that had him rushing to snatch her back.

For no matter how many times over the past seven years Leo had tried to tell himself that he hadn't heard the Caoineag's cry—had tried over and over to tell himself that it had been the horror and stress of that night, that he'd misunderstood what his grandmother said—something had changed in him that night. No longer did he laugh at the old tales.

No, he now had respect for these lands that he'd never had before. For had they not mourned their laird and lady before any of them knew they'd gone?

Indeed, looking back, Leo felt he'd been downright heedless. Now, he was mindful of his land, of leaving small offerings with Granny Ro and learning how to pay a different, closer type of attention.

"We shall honor ye in me halls, Me Lady," Leo said again in that ringing voice, "and leave a tribute in yer name."

"Oh, Leo, I'm only teasing you," Agnes said and pulled free.

"Och, I ken, lass. Go sit on the blanket."

Her face lit up with interest, and she hurried away, while Leo pulled out a small figurine of a cat he'd carved from wood, along with an apple, and a few stalks of dried herbs.

"I'll keep her safe," he murmured as he set them on a far root of the tree.

The wind rustled, as though in answer, and when he straightened up, a chill ran down his spine.

All around them, the greenery moved as though invisible figures were passing by. As though they'd gathered for Agnes. But upon hearing Leo's promise, they decided to depart. He blew out a breath, trying to laugh at himself, but at the same moment, he was glad he'd listened to Granny Ro.

Sometimes ye need a bit of superstition to keep yerself sane , she often said.

Shaking off the slight chill, he went and sat with Agnes, who beamed at him. What a lovely picture she made, in her soft gray gown, skirts around her, and hair loosened from riding. This close, too, Leo took in the flush on her cheeks, how they brightened the bewitching smattering of golden freckles, and the sparkle in her eyes.

A small part of him kept asking him what he was doing, why he wasn't keeping his distance, but he sternly shoved all that aside. Agnes deserved this after her mistreatment at the hands of the council, and her attempt to stand up to them.

This was not Leo giving in to her conditions—this was a laird doing right by his lady.

Which includes a picnic? asked a wry voice that sounded like a combination of Granny Ro's and Kristie's voices in his head.

Almost as though she'd heard his thoughts, Agnes said, "I confess, I'm not sure what this is…" Her eyes flicked up and down in a way that made Leo feel like a lad again. "But I am grateful to you, Leo."

He huffed out a laugh. "Why, ‘tis a grand ball for ye, o'course."

When Agnes nodded and cast a perplexed look at their surroundings, he realized she had not been jibing. She truly had no idea what this was.

"Have ye never had a picnic, Agnes?"

"Oh," she said and clasped her hands together under her chin. "Oh, of course. No, I never had one, but I've read about them." She reached down and patted the blanket. "Now I see. I hope it's all right that this is my first one."

"Nay," he said gravely, and she looked up in alarm. "I fear ye willnae ken what to do or—" He laughed as she reached over and pushed at his shoulder, probably copying what she'd seen Kristie and Fergus do yesterday. "Ach, careful of me shoulder."

"It was the other one," she said and reached for a satchel. When she fumbled with the clasp, Leo tried to take it from her, but she twisted away. "I'll get it. You get that one."

"Alright," Leo said with amusement.

Soon, they had their small feast spread out before them, and they tucked into it, eating the fresh bread from the kitchen, the bits of jerky and other cured meats, and the fruit tarts. Agnes ate with a vigor that Leo enjoyed, even though he suspected it was from years of scant meals at Craeghil.

When he said as much, she shook her head. "Nay, we ate well enough. The portions were small, though. I think I always dig in because sometimes Mother Superior would find reasons to take my meal away, or if I was being punished, she would not feed me at all?—"

Agnes froze as she realized what she was saying and slowly looked up. Rage surged through Leo, and he had to work hard not to lose his temper. That wouldn't help matters.

"Aye?" he finally asked in a flat, neutral voice, keeping his eyes on hers. "What else did such punishment entail? Beatings?"

Aye, that's what happened to yer back, I ken. His jaw ticked. Did they also lock ye away? Is that why ye fear being alone?

Agnes's hands twisted together. "I did not always behave." She tried to smile, but Leo did not return it. "Please, let's not speak of it."

"Me da never laid his hands on us, nor deprived us of food," Leo said. "He didnae believe that any good came from visitin' harm on a bairn."

His throat tightened as Agnes's eyes flicked down again. Dammit, so they had been beating her since she was a wee bairn. No wonder she flinched.

"I once heard him say that he wished me ma's faither hadnae died in battle—so he could kill the old man himself for beatin' her and me grandmaither over every little thing."

Agnes's head snapped up, and Leo nodded. "Aye, me faither had his fair share of punishment, but ne'er beatings. He'd never kenned of such things until he learned what happened to me ma. And then when he had us…" Leo's heart ached, thinking of his merry, big-hearted da. "Said nay matter how mad we drove him, he would ne'er resort to violence. Me gran is much the same. Just try and picture any husband raising a hand to Granny Ro, hm?"

A small smile split her face. "I cannot."

"Me neither," Leo said. "She would've killed him. But our grandfaither worshipped the ground she walked on. Theirs was a deep love—she still misses him every day, she says."

"How did your grandparents meet?" Agnes asked.

Leo knew that she wanted to change the subject to lighter, happier matters. He gave her a look saying that he'd allow it this time, but they were not done discussing it.

He wasn't satisfied that she had merely gotten away. He wanted vengeance for his bride.

One day.

Out loud, with a smile, he said, "She stole his horse."

"What?" Agnes asked with a gasping laugh, her eyes wide.

Leo smiled, falling into telling the tale of his grandparents' meeting, of a bold, Highland lass with dark, dark hair and a strapping, golden-haired MacLarsen, a rarity in their line. But with keen gray eyes, a quiet strength, and a love for horses above all else.

It was said that it seemed impossible to rattle Callum Aitken's calm, that he'd verily been born with a cool head, growing into both a deft fighter and a wise leader, with the MacLarsen wit on his tongue.

But it was also said that he preferred the company of horses to people and that his parents despaired of finding a match for him. There had even been rumors about him accepting that one of his younger brother's children would take over as Laird after him.

Until he met his promised wife, Ronalda Buchanan. She was visiting from the Cairngorms, bold, brassy, and bored—sneaking off on the same morning her clan's delegation arrived. The families had been old friends and allies and had not seen each other in an age. Callum and Ro had never even met, nor did they know they were promised to each other.

Ronalda came upon a lone gray horse in a lovely meadow, each equally bewitched, and felt aggrieved when a large, golden-haired lad appeared on the next hill. Shouting so and carrying on, then running full tilt toward her. Both lass and horse had been irked, so Ro had clambered up the fence and then leaped onto the beast's back.

Callum had lost his head then, not even caring that she was a young woman, and cursing roundly, he tried to get her to stop, but Ro took off as he nearly crashed into the fence.

On an unbroken, temperamental horse that had already thrown six grown men. Callum had spent months trying to gain its trust and gentle it and had been making progress, only for Ro to appear one morning, stroke its nose, and ride off into the dawn.

"See why she likes ye so much?" Leo asked with a smile. "Ye were keepin' tradition without even kennin'."

"I think her feat was far more amazing," Agnes said. "What happened? Did he catch her?"

"Nay," Leo said with a laugh. "She eventually came back, and he was so mad, while his faither was delighted and amazed, and her faither was… well, a bit panicked. They were ready to ride out and search for her body, thinkin' the horse had to have thrown her. Instead, she came trotting up as though the horse was well-behaved." He shook his head. "Me grandfaither didnae speak to her for a year after that, nor would that horse let anyone but Ro go near him."

"So, how did they fall in love?"

Leo rubbed his neck. "Well, the marriage was arranged," he said. "And they were both furious. They fought like cats and dogs durin' their entire betrothal, each hopin' the other would call it off. Only, Ro's faither refused. So, Gran decided to run away." Agnes gasped and leaned forward, while Leo nodded. "Aye, in the dark, she slipped away on the gray horse. But Callum must have kenned and met her on the road."

In his mind, he could see his grandfather emerging from the dark woods, the stars overhead, and his young, cloaked grandmother stopping in surprise and dismay. He could see how that dismay had turned into bewilderment as Callum had held out a satchel with supplies and money. Perhaps as bewildered as Agnes looked now.

"He didnae want to force her—he wanted her to be happy," Leo explained. "And Gran realized then that even if they'd ne'er gotten along, he'd always respected her. She said it changed how she perceived him." He laughed. "And then they were set upon by bandits, whereupon Callum leaped to take an arrow for her—and that changed how she felt about him."

The two of them had fought off the bandits, but blood loss made Callum weak, and she'd felt panic as he smiled up at her from the muddy road, telling her to go—that this was her only chance to escape, and that he'd be fine.

She'd known he was lying and kissed his forehead, telling him, nay, ye are stuck with me, Cal Aitken. And he'd laughed, then pulled her in for a real kiss.

"And that's how she took up healing, to help him recover. They got married less than a month later."

"How romantic," Agnes said warmly. "Thank you for telling me their story, Leo."

Leo nodded and glanced away. He'd never told that story to anyone, and he wondered to himself. Did he truly know what he was doing? Was he flirting with his English bride? He hadn't done so in so long—he couldn't be sure. And, well, would it count if she didn't realize it?

Part of him knew that he should stand up and start preparing to leave, that he'd gone far enough—too far today. Instead, he turned back to her and gave her a slow smile, one that felt strained on his face, but his wife's face still lit up.

"Now, ye tell me a story," Leo said in a husky voice, and Agnes shook her head. "‘Tis only fair. Tell me more about learnin' to ride horses in secret. Or where ye learned to curse." Agnes laughed and ducked her head. "Or about finding yer Lowater."

"Did you only tell me that story to get me to tell you one?" Agnes demanded.

"Perhaps," Leo said and put his chin on his hand. "Go on, then."

At first, Leo thought she wouldn't, but then Agnes blurted out how she'd once let a goat escape and had to spend an entire day chasing it down, only to stumble upon that pretty, secret little body of water.

"I was so furious at that dratted goat, but then I was so grateful," Agnes reminisced with a laugh. "I cursed him roundly—learned that from Sister Theresa, who learned it from the sailors she grew up with."

"O'course," Leo said with a laugh. "How often did ye go there?"

"Not as often as I would have liked," Agnes admitted and hugged her knees. "But every chance I got." She smiled. "I even went as far as Galloway Forest once."

"Christ in Heaven," Leo blurted out and stared at her, then let out a wondering laugh. "Ye and yer wild heart. That isnae place for a woman, ne'er mind a wee nun."

"I adored it," Agnes confessed. "I always wanted to go back."

Leo groaned and shook his head. "O'course ye did."

"I wanted to go the day we met," Agnes said. "But I'm glad I went to the Lowater."

"Ye probably shouldnae have gone there alone either."

"Good thing I did," she retorted. "You were wounded."

Leo huffed out a laugh. "‘Twas a scratch. But thank ye. I dinnae think I said that."

"You did not, but I know you were grateful," Agnes said with a smile. "I remember how keenly you watched me." She leaned in as he felt his face grow hot. "I forgot to ask your name, but I am glad that I got to learn it, Leo."

She said it in such a way that Leo's trews felt too tight and heat rolled up his spine in a delicious wave. An easy silence fell between them, and he watched her smiling to herself. Then, she sat up and shook out her hair, arching her back in a way that made his mouth go dry.

Heaven help me.

The lass could not know what she did to him.

"What did you say?" Agnes said and looked at him. " Heaven help me ? Why? Are you in distress?"

"Aye," Leo said, not caring that he spoke out loud, and caught her hand. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed her knuckles, eliciting a delicious gasp from her, and then kissed the inside of her wrist. "Nes, I dinnae ken how I've held back all these days."

" Weeks ," Agnes said in a low voice, and his eyes flicked up to hers. "And me neither." She caught his hand and brought it to her chest, where he could feel her heart pounding. "Will you touch me again? Please?"