A Hellion for the Highlander

“When have

I ever let anythin’ get to me heid?” Alexander asked, a little ironically. “Right. Where do we start?”

But Nathair’s eyes were suddenly focused elsewhere, and Alexander didn’t even need to wait to know what was coming next.

“Well,” said Nathair. “I think ye should go an’ check out the blacksmith. Meanwhile, I’m gonnae go along to yonder market stall an’ ask some questions.”

Alexander glanced over to where a familiar brown-haired girl was selling some trinket or the other to a merchant and snorted. “Aye. Right good o’ ye,” he said sarcastically, but it was with the smile of a tease rather than irritation.

But Nathair was already wandering off.

Alexander watched him go, a little smirk on his face, then shook his head.

All right. First, the blacksmith.

There’s somethin’ odd goin’ on here, an’ I’m gonnae find out what.

Jeanie came back with the Laird and the Man-at-arms when they returned from the village, to nobody’s surprise. Jeanie had visited the farm nearly every evening since Alexander and Nathair had arrived. It amused Cicilia to see how much her friend had brightened up, bubbling with excitement whenever the Chieftain invited her on a walk or asked her a question.

At least one o’ them is pleasant.

Cicilia wished she could say the same about the Laird. After the events of three days before in the stables, he had been avoiding her whenever possible. He spent most of his time cooped in his room, or waiting until she was elsewhere before he wandered particular areas of the farm.

The way he’d spoken to her still rankled, almost as much as it irritated her when she thought of the brief moment where she would not have minded if he’d pressed his lips to her own, or perhaps trailed them down her jaw, her neck…

Madness. As if I have time for such things, an’ if I did, as if I’d choose such an unreasonable man!

The morning’s work was done, and she watched from a distance as the twins played together, brandishing sticks at each other as though they were in a sword fight.

I suppose Alexander would think it remarkably improper that Annys is actin’ so rough.

She scoffed at the thought, then heard a groan as someone took a seat beside her. She turned to see Ewan.

“Are ye hauntin’ me farm, old man?” she teased. He knew he was always welcome. His daughter and son-in-law may technically work for her, but all of them were a part of the family.

Ewan seemed to find that very funny, and he chuckled for a bit before speaking. “I hardly think I’m the one that’s an unwanted specter here, eh?”

Cicilia scowled. He wasn’t wrong. “At least Barcley seems pleasant.”

“Aye,” Ewan agreed, a little concern coloring his tone. “Me granddaughter certainly seems to think so.” He shook his head. “But tha’ is nae what I came here to tell ye. The Laird’s been askin’ questions.”

“Oh?” Cicilia asked, turning her attention to him fully. “What sort of questions? Of whom?”

Ewan shrugged. “Ye ken the sort. He’s been askin’ me, me bairn, the farmhands, the village folk—anyone he can get a hold o’ that might contradict yer wee story about yer da. I think he’s a mite suspicious, pet. Ye’ll want to be careful.”

Cicilia took his hand and squeezed it. “Dinnae ye worry. Ye ken I’m always careful.”

Ewan patted the back of her hand, then got to his feet. “Aye, I ken. Just wanted to make sure ye’re aware. Anyway, I’d better get inside before Angelica starts scolding me again.”

Cicilia smiled as she watched him walk away, but it faded as soon as he was gone.

What kind o’ questions has he been askin’? What does he suspect?

Troubled, she stood, too. She glanced once more at the twins, then headed off to find Jeanie. If she could pry her friend away from the Man-at-arms, perhaps she could find out a little about what Alexander was up to.

Alexander found the twins chatting away to their massive pet pig, no adult in sight, and stood back to listen.

“Bacon,” Jamie said, “Do ye think we did a good job the other night? Mr. Laird is still here.”