The Rogue (16 page)

Fraser turned as Birdi stood. “And how are ye feelin’, lass?”

Birdi managed a brittle smile. In truth, she felt awful, like she’d been hauled through brambles feet first, then trounced upon. Her skin felt too tight, still tingled with the memory of Angus’s hands and mouth. Her belly still churned—with what, she didn’t know—but churn it did, while her heart felt like a lodestone sat in the middle of her chest. “A bit better, thank ye.”

“Good. My Kelsea’s been fashin’ somethin’ awful about ye.”

Birdi only nodded. She wanted to cry,
as goes yer daughter’s joy, so goes my anguish,
but she couldn’t. She never had and never would let those she healed know what helping them did to her.

“
‘Tis yer burden alone to bear,”
Minnie had warned on her deathbed,
“should ye, too, have the gift. ‘Tis yer penance.”

Birdi took a deep shuddering breath, wanting but unable to ask after Wee Angus; understanding that if she did the fragile wall—the levee Angus had somehow created with his kisses—would break and the mind-bending pain still lurking within her would rush out and wreak havoc once again.

Fraser eyed the dwindling fire and threw a few blocks of peat into it. He then turned and smiled. “I’ll take my leave now and let ye eat. If ye need anything, ye’ll find me at home.”

When he left, Birdi held her breath, anxious to know what Angus would next do. Would he take her in his arms again, reinforcing the levee he’d built? She could only hope and pray to Goddess that he would.

Angus cleared his throat and then pulled out a chair, indicating she should sit. She did, wondering why he appeared so uncomfortable. He found two cups, then sat across from her, broke the bread, put food before her, and started eating.

All without touching her, without saying a word.

Confused, she reached for his hand, and he snatched it away, but not before she sensed his need for avoidance, withdrawal.

Stinging pain erupted within her chest; though all too familiar, it hurt far more than usual. Appetite gone, she swallowed the thickness burning at the back of her throat and folded her hands in her lap. What had she done or said that he now wanted to keep his distance from her? Had it been her kiss? Had it been her refusal to ask after Wee Angus? If she asked him, he’d no doubt deny anything was wrong, just as the villagers always did when she’d found the courage to ask. Finding the room suddenly stifling, fearing she’d start to keen and never stop, she pushed back her chair and rose. Without thought she held out her hands, seeking the door she kenned to be at her back.

“Where are ye going?”

Ah, he speaks.
“Out.”

W
hen the door slammed in his face and Birdi, back rigid, disappeared into the night, Angus jumped to his feet. What had he done? Said? “Augh, women!”

He wrenched open the door, expecting to find Birdi standing before the croft, back to the door, arms folded across her chest, mouth in a firm line, as he’d seen Lady Beth pose whenever she was really annoyed with Duncan. Instead he found naught.

His own annoyance forgotten, he strode out and scanned the road for her. Nothing. No Birdi, just black and gray shadows that came and went under the light of a reiver’s moon. One—thanks to fast roaming clouds—that offered just enough light to see where one set a foot down, but not enough to be seen by.

Where the hell had she gone? He shivered as the wind kicked up off the loch, pictured what she wore, and cursed again.

She knew no one here save for Kelsea and her da...
That’s it. She went to see Wee Angus. And she’ll, nay doubt, catch the flux in the process.
He strode toward Fraser’s croft.

The trail of peat-rich smoke rising from the Fraser chimney, the warm light peeking out from behind closed shutters, eased his mind considerably. At least she was warm. He knocked.

Fraser answered. “MacDougall, come in. Come in. We were just talking about ye.” He smiled as the door swung wide.

Angus, feeling the idiot for worrying for no reason, stepped over the threshold. His gaze swept the room. Finding only Kelsea and the babe by the inglenook, his heart stuttered. He told himself to remain calm—that Birdi had to be close at hand but his hands began to sweat.

“Has Birdi come by?”

Fraser’s brow furrowed. “Nay. I’ve not seen her since I brought yer sup. Why?”

“My apologies for disturbing ye.”

Angus left a bemused Fraser and Kelsea in his wake and raced to the Boar’s Head Inn. He couldn’t imagine why she’d go there, but it was the only other place he could think of that she was even the least familiar with, would feel comfortable walking within given her limited sight.

Back hunched, he pushed through the first and second doors and came to an abrupt halt. The tavern room was still crowded with shouting and grumbling men, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and stale ale, but it held no Birdi. Cursing, he shouldered his way through the crowd, ignoring the men who hailed him, hoping she’d sought refuge—from what he still didn’t know—at the back of the room where the shadows were deepest.

No Birdi.

He’d run out of logical places to look, and the clan’s talk of the marauding Gunns did naught to relieve his anxiety.

Should he raise the alarm, send the men out looking? She’d pitch a hissy if she’d simply gone to relieve herself...
Ah, that’s it.
He blew out a breath.
She’s not gone, but only relieving herself.

He turned to go and came nose to nose with Ian MacKay, an old friend and knight he hadn’t seen in years, not since they fought side by side in Burgundy.

Ian clapped a firm hand on Angus’s shoulder. “MacDougall, ye auld charger! What the hell are ye doin’ this far south?”

Angus grinned. Ian hadn’t aged a day. He was still as handsome as ever. “Looking for my ladywife. I seemed to have misplaced her.”

Ian laughed and heads turned. They always did. As big and brawn as Angus himself, Ian’s laugh sounded like thunder. “I had heard ye were on the hunt.”

Good God, did every soul in the realm know what he was about? “And what are ye doing here?” Angus asked. “Last I heard, ye were breaking virgin hearts in every alcove ye could find in Edinburgh Castle.”

“Aye, and in the attic as well, but unfortunately Albany tired of losing the competition for the fairest lasses, and sent me on this damn mission.”

“What mission?”

Ian threw an arm around Angus’s shoulder and leaned toward his ear. “Not here.”

Angus nodded. Politics and intrigue were Ian’s bread and butter. The dirtier the better, and the less said in public the better, as well. When Ian tried to guide him to a far corner, Angus remained rooted. “I’m sorry, Ian, but now isna the time. I have to find Birdi.”

“Birdi, huh?” Deep dimples slowly formed on either side of the scoundrel’s mouth as he studied Angus’s visage. “I’ll come with ye then. I need meet her.”

As they stepped into the chilled night, Ian said, “Start at the beginning. How did ye come by this lass?”

Knowing Ian was discreet if naught else and needing a sane head to fathom what he no longer could, Angus muttered, “This insanity all started with a wager. I was...

H
er heart breaking, Birdi squatted on the gravel that skirted Loch Lomond, wrapped her arms about her knees, and hunched her shoulders against the biting wind. With wet cheeks stinging, she stared into the glossy blackness lapping the shore before her.

‘Twould be easy. Just step in and end it all. No more pain, no more worrying about food for another winter. No more loneliness.

But could she drown? She’d been a swimmer since birth without a soul teaching her how.

She heaved a shuddering sigh. Mayhap ‘twas not the best of ideas. She’d likely bob to the surface like an apple in a wash bucket. But she couldn’t keep going on like this day after day, year after year, filled with such angst and pain. Seeing loathing—or worse, indifference—for her in others’ eyes. Against her will, her mind conjured up Angus as he sat across from her at the table, and her heart again felt his pulling back—his putting up a wall of restraint—and her tears spilled.

Not since her first encounter with Lady MacArthur—when Birdi had gone to the castle shortly after her mother’s death seeking comfort and aid—had she felt such pain as she did now, had she realized how truly odd she was.

“Oh, Angus, why had ye not shut me out before I’d grown so fond of ye?”

“Fond of him are you?”

“
Ack!
” Birdi jump and fell backward, her arms flailing over the water.

A stranger—as tall and brawn as her Angus—reached out and grabbed her by the waist. He hauled her close, restraining her clawing hands. “Easy now, lass. I mean ye nay harm.”

The clouds chose that moment to part, and moonlight lit the face of the man crushing Birdi to his chest. Her breath caught and her mouth fell open. Never in her life had she seen such a glorious countenance. The man appeared to be made of
or
, golden headed and golden skinned.

“I’m Angus’s friend, and ye must be the lost Birdi.”

Made mute by such an astonishing sight, she could only blink like an owl in response. She wasn’t lost, she wanted to tell him—not in the usual sense, at least. And he kenned Angus?

“I’m Ian MacKay, knight of girth and sword, defender of the faithful, and most definitely at ye service.” He smiled, displaying deep dimples, and slowly shifted his gaze from her face to her chest, where it lingered for some unfathomable reason.

She swallowed to clear the thickness that had suddenly taken root in her throat. “Umm...I’m Birdi.”

He loosened his hold on her, but kept one hand at her waist. “‘Tis indeed a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Birdi.” He then guided her toward a before-unseen boulder. “Sit and tell me why such a lovely lass is sitting here in the dark fashing over my thoughtless friend.”

Birdi twisted her fingers in her lap. “He isna thoughtless, not in the least. He’s verra kind. He’s just...he...ah,
sheet
.”

MacKay, to her shock, reared back and roared. His thunderous laugh echoed across the water as if before a gale. So astounding was it, she expected lightning to follow.

As he gained control of himself, he chuckled, “Ah, my friend has chosen well.” He then squatted on his haunches before her and took one of her hands in a huge calloused paw. Holding it gently, as if her hand were a fragile egg, he said, “Now tell me what all this greeting and fashing is about. I might be able to help. I’ve known yer querulous and stubborn man the better part of my life.”

Birdi stared into the stranger’s now solemn, wide-set eyes and something deep within her broke.

In a rush of stammered words, in a flood of tears, she spilled out her greatest fears regarding Angus MacDougall. She told the stranger how he’d found her, how she’d feared him until he’d saved her in the river, about the accidental handfasting, how he’d held her and kissed her, about the babe she’d had to give up, and how now she felt certain she’d lost Angus. All in one heaving breathe.

She then fell silent, shuddered, and waited. For what she didn’t ken; all was beyond hope, of that she was certain.

Ian MacKay silently studied Birdi MacDougall. He’d already heard Angus’s version of events—seriously abridged, he now realized—as they’d left the inn together. When they’d entered the croft and not found Birdi, his friend had panicked. They’d split up—Angus taking the back hills, he the loch shore—to hunt for her.

He’d not been the least surprised when Angus’s Birdi spewed forth so much information. Women instinctively did the moment he offered comfort. ‘Twas apparently his gift. And now, having heard her version of events he decided he’d never in all his twenty-nine years ever met such woman.

Without affectation, she’d held nothing back as she told her tale of woe, though a good part he hadn’t quite understood—likely due to her racing, breathless delivery—but she hadn’t tried to engage his sympathy, and hadn’t dissembled, placing the blame on his friend. She had, in fact, taken all the blame onto herself, though why she had he certainly couldn’t imagine—from what he could garner, his friend was behaving like an idiot—but one thing was quite clear. This incredibly beautiful woman was heart and soul, head over heels, in love with Angus MacDougall.

The lucky bastard.

And he could help her. He had the skills. After all, he wasn’t called “The Thief
”
by disgruntled men the breadth and length of Scotland for naught.

And he had the time. He wasn’t in any great hurry to find out whether the rumors about the Campbell were true— whether his friend was in fact in league with the Sassenach king, as Albany suspected. He blew out a breath.

Mayhap, if he did do this good deed for Angus’s ladywife, he too might be blessed with a woman so guileless and pure of heart someday. He snorted. He should live so long.

His decision made, he smiled the smile that made half the lasses in Scotland quake at the sight of him. “Well now, Birdi, I can see yer side and where ye might need a wee bit of help to set MacDougall’s head and heart on the right path.” He patted her hand, noting with surprise her calluses.
Ah, she isna afraid of hard work.
More the better. Donaliegh would need such a chatelaine. Last he saw it, the castle keep was bordering on ruin. But before he could help her, he had to extract a promise from her. “Will ye trust me to work in yer and Angus’s best interest? And promise not to misconstrue my intent by what I might say or do to bring yer MacDougall to heel?” He didn’t fear he’d steal her heart from his friend—she loved the fool beyond measure—but feared his upcoming antics could raise her ire. Something that he suspected from her straight-backed pose and unflinching gaze, he’d be wise to avoid.

She sniffed as she thought his request over. After a bit she said, “Aye, I promise, but ye willna harm him.” Her unique pale eyes narrowed as she leaned toward him. “Should he come to harm—”