Highland Sword Page 18

  She’d miss him when he was gone. She already did.

  Frowning at the increasingly mangled post, Morrigan finally paused to catch her breath. A cold rain was now falling. She hadn’t even noticed.

  “You still rely too much on a two-handed grip. While I am gone, perhaps you could practice more using only one hand.”

  Morrigan’s chest tightened. She looked over her shoulder at Aidan standing beneath the overhang of the weapons shed. His face was in the shadow, but she could see his long legs were sheathed in breeches and boots. He was ready for his travels.

  “Anything else I should work on?”

  He crossed the yard to her.

  Morrigan stared into his handsome face. For the first time in her life, she understood what the poets and novelists meant when they described someone as “smitten.” She was definitely smitten, unfortunately. Painfully, dangerously, irrevocably smitten. Blast.

  “Practice your lunges and recoveries.” He came to stand next to her. “Your footwork could be faster. You need to work on your agility.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my agility.”

  “You should also train with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.”

  Morrigan liked his idea, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “When did you become an expert in training?”

  “Also, practice with the sword held in your opposite hand. Attacking with your left hand always surprises an opponent.” He took the weapon out of her hand and put it in the left.

  Standing so close, feeling his touch on her hand and arm, thrilled her. She glanced up at his mouth, and the memory of their kiss returned.

  He raised her left arm, but she let it drop. The point of the sword struck the dirt with a thud.

  “You should definitely lift heavy things every day to build strength.”

  Morrigan spun the blade once in the air and drove the tip into the wet ground between them.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to go this morning, Mr. Grant?” she asked. “Some place really, really, really far away?”

  He smiled and she caught herself staring. If she’d sighed out loud—as she nearly did—she would have had to throw herself off the top of the tower.

  “I do have somewhere to go. But I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

  Morrigan wished he hadn’t said that. She didn’t need to feel worse than she already did.

  “Well, you’ve given me a rigorous schedule of lessons that I’m already following.” She tried to keep her tone flippant. “Have a safe journey, sir.”

  “You should also visit the library daily and make a list of interesting volumes you and I can discuss when I get back.”

  “You are an educated man, sir. You need no list from me.”

  “Oh, but I do. My education is severely limited. Besides, I have an ulterior motive.”

  “Which is?”

  His hand brushed against hers. “Do you have to ask that question, Miss Drummond?”

  She was relieved and disappointed when a number of fighters entered the training yard at that moment, greeting Morrigan and Aidan as they passed. Two men stopped to talk to him. There wasn’t a conversation at Dalmigavie that didn’t involve the trial he’d won. He couldn’t be more popular if he were a Mackintosh.

  Morrigan decided this was the right time to disappear. She returned the sword to the rack and hurried out.

  She didn’t get far. Aidan caught up with her as she was passing through the garden on her way to the kitchens.

  “Miss Drummond … Morrigan,” he called out. “May I have a minute of your time before I leave?”

  It would have been better for everyone to say no to him, to walk away. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. The rain had eased to a mere mist, and they were alone in the garden. This was perhaps the last time they’d have a moment like this.

  “I need to apologize for the way I behaved at Samhain. For taking advantage of you and the situation.”

  “You didn’t take advantage of me. You asked if you could kiss me. How many men would do that? And I was the one who kissed you. But it was wrong. I shouldn’t have.” Morrigan felt heat rising through her chest and into her face. “And you would do me a great service if you could forget what happened between us and never mention it again.”

  “If you wish, I’ll never mention that moment again. But forget?” He shook his head. “For me, that kiss we shared was too passionate to forget so easily. I’m afraid I’ll never forget it.”

  Her fists clenched. How did it come to this? This is not what she wanted. Why couldn’t she feel nothing for him? Confusion churned her stomach and scrambled her thoughts. She could no longer hold it in.

  “Why? Why must you be who you are? If you were a scandalous rake or if you were a dull and virtuous gentleman, I could cheerfully send you on your way. I could forget you. But you insist on being something in between. Why?”

  “Not fish nor fowl. Not man nor beast. You’re not happy that I’m going, and you can’t forget me.” He took her hand and placed a kiss on the backs of her fingers. “I have great hope for us.”

  Damn him. He was to be her ruin. Morrigan had no desire to wander around this castle for however long he was gone, drifty and misty-eyed, like Maisie before being reunited with Niall. She stole her hand back.

  “Your fellow travelers must be waiting. Go.”

  “My fellow travelers are Sebastian and Kane Branson, and they can bloody well wait.” His expression turned serious. “I wanted you to know that Searc has offered to move Wemys to Inverness. He can stay at his house in Maggot Green. He doesn’t have much time left, but there is no need for you to put up with having him here.”

  “I’ve already spoken to Isabella. It’ll be better if he remains here. She’ll look after him until the end.”

  Wemys. Morrigan no longer felt anger at the mention of his name. She didn’t feel any emotion whatsoever. As brief as their exchange had been, that conversation had closed a door for her. She no longer felt any need for revenge. And after what Wemys had done in dragging himself from his deathbed, going to Inverness for the trial, and telling the journalists of his involvement in Sir Rupert’s schemes, she was content to let him be.

  Isabella was a physician to her very core, and she had the ability to separate her personal feelings from the responsibilities of her profession. She knew Morrigan’s history with Wemys, but she was still capable of performing her job. He could die as the maker had arranged.

  “In that case…”

  Morrigan noticed he was still reluctant to go. The longer he stayed, the harder it became for her to see him go. “You’ve given me unsolicited advice. You’ve brought up in conversation a dalliance that I wish to forget. You’ve made final arrangements for your informer. What else is left?”

  “I have a gift for you.”

  “No gifts,” she said. “Unless you’ve stolen my shoes and are returning them. Perhaps a handkerchief that I loaned to you?”

  He reached into his coat and pulled out a few folded flyers.

  Opening them, she realized they were two caricatures. “New work by Madame Laborde.”

  “I found them pasted on the walls near the courthouse and knew you’d want to see her latest.”

  Morrigan had thought a lot about the artist since the day she left her in the garden at Barn Hill. She hadn’t been back to Inverness since, but even if she did go, she had no idea where to search for her. Looking at these etchings in her hand, Morrigan knew that she was alive at least, and still working for Sir Rupert.

  She needed a dry flat space and Maisie and Fiona’s astute minds to see what hidden messages, if any, had been conveyed in these drawings. Madame Laborde had to know Morrigan would be looking.

  “Thank you. These are a gift.”

  He stretched out his hand. “Then I want them back.”

  She held them behind her back. “You can’t take back a gift.”

  Morrigan was surprised when Aidan lifted her chin until she
was looking into his eyes. “I knew you’d want to study these flyers to see what secrets they hold. I know that if they contain anything of value, you’ll find it.”

  His touch lingered. She waited. That wasn’t all what he had to say.

  “But I worry that you’ll do something unsafe to try to find this woman on your own.”

  “Me? Do something unsafe? Ha! Never.”

  “Morrigan, please listen to me.” He searched for the words, and she feared what he would say. “I don’t have near enough time now to make you understand how much I care for you … and how much I worry that something might happen to you while I’m gone.”

  She tried to say something flippant, but he placed his fingers gently against her lips.

  “I’m asking you to take care of yourself and wait for me to return. We have more we need to say to each other. Much more.”

  His face was close to hers. Morrigan looked into Aidan’s eyes, and she could not deny her feelings for him. What she felt was more than friendly affection. She never imagined she could love a man, but she loved Aidan Grant.

  The hopelessness of the two of them ever being together was still there. But suddenly, it didn’t matter.

  His thumb traced her bottom lip. “May I kiss you before I go?”

  Standing in the gardens with a hedge separating them from world, Morrigan kissed him first again. She pressed her lips against his, and Aidan’s arms immediately encircled her.

  She forgot to breathe, and the castle walls surrounding them disappeared. All she was conscious of was the consuming fire that was racing through her. The etchings fell to the ground, and Morrigan’s hands moved of their own accord, slipping around him.

  A noise emerged from the back of his throat, or maybe it was from hers. Powerful arms gathered her closer, pressing her to him until there was nothing left between their two hearts, pounding as one.

  She’d never experienced passion before Aidan. She’d believed no one could ever conjure in her the need that gripped her now. She never thought any man would even tempt her. Not after what she’d been through. But this was different. Entirely different. Now, wrapped in Aidan’s arms, she found herself burning. He drew her into a shadowy archway. When she pressed her back against the cool stones, his body followed. He tore his mouth from her lips and pressed it to her throat.

  “Morrigan,” he murmured. His hand glided down over her breast and stomach, and all she could do was clutch at his hair and drag his mouth back to hers for another searing kiss.

  Sebastian’s voice came from the garden entrance, calling out for his brother. The two of them leaped apart.

  “Well, that settles two things,” Aidan said, smiling.

  “What is settled?” she asked, trying to catch her breath.

  “You’ll wait for me to get back.”

  “And the second thing?”

  “I have to kill Sebastian.”

  With that, he brushed a final kiss across her lips and walked away.

  CHAPTER 22

  MORRIGAN

  The three women examined the etchings closely. The artwork didn’t differ greatly from the flyers Morrigan had brought back from Inverness. Making a mockery of the son of Scotland was the central theme. The nuns and students were depicted around the edges.

  “Now that I’ve met her,” Morrigan said, “it’s easier knowing we were correct about how she uses the periphery of the artwork.”

  Maisie agreed. “It would have been impossible to locate her without the clues that placed her at Barn Hill.”

  Morrigan watched her and Fiona continue to study every detail. She had no idea where Madame Laborde was taken. Until Aidan gave her these, they had no way of knowing if the woman were still alive. Actually, they still didn’t know for certain. These could have been made from the drawings the artist was delivering to Sir Rupert the day they met in the gardens of the estate in Inverness.

  Morrigan had spoken to Searc about it when he returned to Dalmigavie after the trial. Now that they knew who she was, he had his people searching for her. But so far, nothing had come back. Even Mrs. Goddard was at a loss regarding where she’d gone, and she was quite concerned about it.

  Maisie shook her head and stepped back from the table. “It’s truly a shame that Madame Laborde should waste her talent supporting the wrong side.”

  “One would think she could have earned a decent income doing caricatures for your newspaper friends in Edinburgh and Glasgow,” Fiona said.

  “I doubt they would pay as well as Sir Rupert and the Home Office.”

  Morrigan agreed. “If money is her only motivation, then she’s aiding the side with the deepest pockets.” She thought back over her conversation with Mrs. Goddard and Madame Laborde. “She’s a widow who has fallen on hard times. She has no family to go to. She’s needed to rely on the charity of women who are strangers to her.”

  “Are you justifying her actions?” Maisie asked.

  “Not at all. But it’s important to understand her desperation.” Morrigan owed her freedom to the artist. If she had not prodded her to go, reminding her of the consequences of what could happen, she might had been foolish enough to face Sir Rupert. “When it comes to survival, the fact that we’re women stacks the cards against us. Take away marriage and inherited title and wealth, and we must rely on some talent that we’re not averse to marketing. Marriage is not always an option or a preference.”

  The two women stared at her for a moment and then exchanged a look.

  Maisie was the first to speak. “Has he asked you?”

  “Who? Asked what?” Morrigan turned away and sat on the bed, smoothing her skirts. She had the answer to both of those questions, but she was unsettled. She didn’t know what to make of how easily Aidan’s attentions left her starry-eyed and hopeful, in spite of everything.

  Still, they had no understanding as far as she was concerned, and she couldn’t imagine how there ever could be. The obstacles were too many to count.

  Maisie sat on the bed next to her. “Pray don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you. What happened between you and Mr. Grant before he left?”

  “Nothing.” Morrigan was definitely not going to tell them that she’d kissed him. Twice.

  “He’s coming back,” Fiona said.

  “He has to come back. He’s standing for the election when the time comes,” Maisie affirmed. “Niall told me Searc and Cinaed already have a number of social events planned for him to attend around Hogmanay.”

  These would be social events where he’d be introduced to at least a dozen unmarried women who would no doubt make better wives for a politician. The pang of jealousy was sudden and sharp and left Morrigan disturbed. She stood and walked to the window.

  The mountains heard that Samhain had come and gone, and a dusting of snow covered the peaks in the distance. The seasons were changing. Time was moving on.

  Morrigan thought of the words Madame Laborde said to her in the garden. Look at you. No home, no family of your own, no dowry, and no prospect of marriage. You have no future, Miss Drummond.

  “And no talent,” she said aloud.

  “Who has no talent?” Maisie asked.

  Morrigan turned around and faced her friends. The artist had none of those things either. But the woman had her art. It was her only real means of survival. “I have no talent.”

  “That’s not true. You’re talented in so many ways.”

  “Don’t exaggerate,” she told Maisie. “Isabella is a fine physician. You, an accomplished writer. Fiona, you’re a revolutionary.”

  “That’s not a talent,” Fiona said with a laugh. “It constitutes a lifetime of trouble.”

  They liked to tease, make less of what they did. But Morrigan knew the truth. She valued what they’d done and continued to do.

  “You’ve accomplished things. You and Maisie established the Female Reform Society in Edinburgh. You have motivated women to break their chains and speak up. For representation. For just laws.” Morrigan l
ooked from one to the other. “But what have I done that has been worthwhile? And what can I do in the future that means anything?”

  “I don’t know a tougher woman than you.”

  “Or any woman braver,” Maisie agreed with her friend.

  “And what am I going to do with that? Disguise myself and join an army? Become a rebel leader and haunt these hills?”

  She looked over her shoulder at the distant mountain peaks. Perhaps there had been a day not so long ago that such a life attracted her. But no longer. She’d always wished to be independent and proficient. She’d strived to protect herself so that no one would ever be able to abuse her again.

  “My training with those weapons fulfills a need in me, like eating and drinking. It’s a regimen. I don’t consider it a talent. It certainly provides me with no way of supporting myself or contributing to society.”

  “For years, you worked at your father’s side. Isabella swears that no medical student who ever assisted her matched your abilities,” Maisie said. “Have you considered becoming more proficient in the area of medicine? You could study under her. She’d love to have you beside her.”

  “Isabella is university-trained. And she’s brilliant. Beyond her academic training, she is also a born healer. And she has a way about her that makes people accept her. She doesn’t let narrow-minded prejudices and fears get in the way of the care she provides for her patients. And she’d never turn her back on anyone who needed help.” Morrigan thought of how Isabella continued to care for Wemys after learning the truth about him, regardless of how much she abhorred him. “She and my father both could separate their feelings and their duty. I don’t have that ability.”

  Fiona motioned to the stack of books on the bedside table. “You’re a reader.”