Scoundrel’s Redemption (Highlander’s Pact #3)

Chapter Five

T eagan was never so relieved when a servant offered to show him to his chambers. He knew it was so Randolph and Bartholomew could speak privately with Edmund about him, and that was fine. He had faith in his friend to play the part well.

They had been lucky when a man named Alfred made no comment upon joining them. Unbelievably enough, he was the very soldier Teagan and Edmund had come upon in that border village during the war. The one who had defended the lasses. It seemed he was a cousin of the family and resided at the castle but most likely because of his stutter, was not welcome during a “gentleman’s” conversation. Or so Teagan assumed when he was dismissed almost as soon as he arrived.

Over the course of an ale, Randolph and Bartholomew had spent more time looking at Teagan haughtily than anything else. Not to be mistaken with the flashes of disgust in their eyes. It mattered little that he was an English sympathizer, for, at the end of the day, he would still be Scottish. He would still be their long-time nemesis.

To be expected, they asked pertinent questions. Ones he answered readily enough, sure to look mightily impressed by the castle, not to mention the men themselves. That they would honor him with an audience. What more could a simple Scot ask for? ’Twas a bloody dream come true.

Or so they thought .

The moment he was shown his quarters, rather surprised he wasn’t given a stall in the stables instead, he set out to explore, grateful for some time alone. Or, if he were to be honest, hopeful that he would run into Greer. That he might finally introduce himself properly and exchange a word or two with her.

An opportunity, it just so happened, that presented itself shortly after that in a hallway near the top of the castle. As good at stealth as his brother, Malcolm, he kept to the shadows, then crouched near Greer and a little girl, talking in hushed tones. Also very good at hearing, he caught every word exchanged. Despite his realistic view of the world, he found their conversation endearing.

He couldn’t help but participate when the opportunity arose.

“I think ’tis verra likely yer warrior-hero will save ye,” he whispered loud enough for them to hear when the little girl asked if Teagan—hero that they painted him—might save them.

He would, too. By all that was holy, he meant it. He need not know them to feel this way, either. Just off what he’d seen of this place so far, he would bring the whole of the MacLauchlin Clan down on Randolph and his self-important sidekick Bartholomew if given half the chance.

“Go on now,” Greer whispered to the wee lassie before he had a chance to say it was unnecessary. She need not flee. It seemed, however, much like the lad who had stubbornly tried to stay with her earlier, the little girl wasn’t going anywhere.

Rather, much to Greer’s obvious mortification based on her widening eyes, she headed Teagan’s way.

“Hello,” the girl whispered. She looked around for intruders before daring to speak to him in their native language. “ An tàinig thu dha-rìribh gus ar sàbhaladh an uairsin?”

“Aye, I’m truly here to save ye if ye’re in need of saving, lassie.” He asked her if her parents were here as well. “A bheil do phàrantan an seo cuideachd?”

Just her mother and brother , she replied .

“My apologies,” Greer said, joining them. “She…we…” She cleared her throat, blushing prettily. “We were just enjoying the view from up here. It really is a nice hall…”

The way she trailed off and her cheeks flamed crimson gave away how embarrassed she truly was.

“ ’Tis a nice view.” Determined to put her at ease, he smiled and gestured that they join him. “Though ’tis a bit smoky from the fire up here, aye? Mayhap some fresh air would be good? Mayhap even a tour of the grounds?” He knew that probably wasn’t proper to ask, given they’d only just met, but he could care less. Unless it got her in trouble. “If ye think ’tis appropriate, that is?”

“Oh, ’ tis ,” the little girl exclaimed, introducing herself as Besse.

“Nice to meet ye, Besse. I’m Teagan.” He winked at her. “Or yer warrior-hero. Whichever ye prefer.” He perked a brow at Greer. “My full name is Teagan MacLauchlin, though. ’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, lass.”

Her gaze found his face before it dropped obediently. “And you.”

“Why are ye lookin’ at the floor, mistress—” Besse began before he gently cut her off.

“Likely because she has the magic to see right through it to the level below,” he admonished, gesturing that Besse lead the way, “then straight out to where the air is fresh and the springtime bountiful.”

“She does have magic,” Besse conceded. As they headed downstairs, the wee lass shared more than he imagined Greer was comfortable with. “’Tis the magic o’ stories like ye couldnae imagine.”

“Aye, then?” He smiled at Greer over his shoulder, only for her to avert her eyes and blush even more if such was possible. “I do love a good story.”

“Well, then, ye should spend plenty o’ time with Mistress Greer if—”

Besse stopped mid-sentence when her brother called out, and they were only halfway down the stairs that her mother was looking for her. She sighed and went to race off but paused when Greer cleared her throat. In turn, Besse faced them again and curtsied. “’Twas nice to meet ye, warrior-hero Teagan.”

Before he could respond, she was gone, and he and Greer were alone.

“Might we continue on?” he asked, praying she would agree. “’Tis a bonnie estate and a lovely day for a stroll.”

She swallowed hard, clearly wanting to say one thing but voicing another. “I should not.”

“Have ye a commitment then?” he asked, even though he knew full well what she referred to. Bartholomew would not like it. “For, I could use the company.”

That was no lie, either. Or should he say when it came to her, he desperately wanted it? Not because she was utterly lovely, and he was essentially here to woo her, but because he sensed she needed company as much as he. A perfect stranger to talk to that might understand where she came from. A fellow haunted soul.

Greer shook her head, crushing all hope before she surprised him and replied the opposite. “Well, perhaps just a quick stroll.” She pointed ahead. “Go right at the bottom of the stairs. There is a nice stretch of woodland that affords…peace.”

He knew she meant to say “privacy” for fear of her overbearing fiancé seeing them. In all actuality, he preferred that description. For it felt peaceful being around her.

“This way.” Greer grabbed a basket once they were outside and headed down a path into the thick woodland beyond the castle’s outer wall. “If you think the estate’s beautiful, then you should see the area just around the bend.”

She picked up her pace a little, almost as if she were running from something. Not surprising, considering what she dealt with here. While yes, some of her rushing might have to do with someone seeing them, he suspected it was also a need for escape .

Though a gentleman would insist they stay within sight of others, or at least get a chaperone, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it. Mostly because he understood how she felt, he’d felt something similar when Keenan and Malcolm went off with Fionna last autumn, and he was left behind. Then the same sensation when he’d initially thought Malcolm wouldn’t let him join him on his venture north to retrieve Isabella.

Whilst Greer’s reasons were no doubt more extreme, he suspected her need to break free was similar to his own. Not just free of her physical barriers but those in her mind. Those that kept her trapped in another time and place.

“Yes, I know,” she whispered.

“What was that?” he asked, assuming she’d been talking to him.

She shook her head and came up with an explanation he sensed had nothing to do with what she’d said.

“I said, I know,” she replied. “I know ’tis just ahead.”

“Aye, then.” He kept a cordial smile for the first time in longer than he could remember. Not only because he wanted her to feel at ease but because, quite honestly, being with her felt natural.

She slowed, then stopped beside a tree overlooking a river. Lined with silver birches and towering beech trees with thick twisted trunks, he understood her draw to the location. Rather than sit on the bench provided, she gazed out over the water, her eyes adrift for a moment.

“’Tis a bonnie spot.” He got the sense it meant a great deal to her. “’Tis special to ye, aye?”

“Yes,” she whispered before she cleared her throat and gestured back the way they had come. “I suppose that must seem strange to you given the wealth of my surroundings and the beauty of my uncle’s castle.”

“Nay.” He admired the water curling around moss-covered rocks and the trees swaying in the wind. “I think this is worth far more than the castle. I ken why ye enjoy it here.” He glanced her way, guessing at something. “Why ye might prefer it here.”

“Do you?” she murmured, still not looking at him. “But, of course, you do.”

He arched his brows, curious why she would say that. “You sound so certain.”

She blinked a few times as though she’d been in a trance and finally glanced his way. “I’m sorry. I meant no offense. It just seems like you would enjoy such a place over worldly goods.” She shook her head. “Forgive me, sometimes I just…”

Though he should probably leave it alone, considering they had only just met, when she trailed off, he couldn’t help but prompt her along. “Sometimes, you just what?”

“Tend to think more than most, I suppose,” she said more bluntly than he anticipated. “Or should I say get lost in my thoughts?”

That didn’t surprise him, considering this place and the people around her. He would probably do the same. Yet, he sensed it went deeper. That it was related to whatever had happened to her.

“I would think getting lost in yer thoughts would help yer magic.” He smiled, doing his best to make her feel normal, not less-than for being different than most. Because she was different. Wounded. Maybe even broken. “It undoubtedly lends to yer storytelling, aye?”

“Oh, that’s just something I do for Duncan, Besse, and their mother.” She blushed and picked an herb for her basket. “A means to give them a bit of happiness.”

“’Tis nice.” Though tempted to shift closer, he remained where he was lest someone happened along. “What brings them here, anyway?”

Her brow furrowed. A heavy frown marred her delicate features as she picked another plant. “They were given to my uncle after a border skirmish in payment for a debt owed.”

He tensed. “So they are yer uncle’s property now?”

“Yes,” she replied tightly. “Which means they will eventually be split up. Likely sooner rather than later. ”

She didn’t need to elaborate. He understood. Bloody Sassenach. He sighed and helped her pick plants, careful not to curse aloud and risk offending her. For not all English were bad. Cecille and Julianna most certainly were not, nor was Greer.

“Ye truly dinnae want them split apart, aye?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head sharply. “I most certainly do not.”

“What do ye want then?” he asked, not merely to state the obvious but to see just how far she might go. How far she dared.

As it turned out, far indeed.