A Hellion for the Highlander

Nathair looked at the spot where Alexander had been, a small smile on his face despite the tragedy. Jeanie exited the room a short while later, and as the pair of them walked down to the kitchen, Nathair pondered Alexander’s last words in his head.

Everythin’ an’ anythin’, he says. And do ye ken, I think he means it.

Chapter 11

Ductus Exemplo

To Lead By Example

Nathair and Jeanie only returned once during the day, to let Alexander know that their questioning of the farm’s residents had given them nothing. The two traveled out to seek a trail, while Alexander focused all his efforts on the traumatized farmer and her siblings.

“I just dinnae understand,” Cicilia kept telling him. “I dinnae get why anybody would do such a horrible thing.” She had stopped crying after a while, but her face was still pale, her eyes still wild.

“I dinnae ken either, Cicilia,” Alexander said for the hundredth time as they sat together in the library. He didn’t mind repeating himself. He knew she just needed to work the grief out of her system, and he could do nothing but serve as a sounding board yet.

An’ besides, it is nae just the loss o’ the animals. This is her faither’s farm, an’ the poor lass feels like she’s lost him all over again.

She hadn’t said as much, but Alexander was sure that he was right in thinking so.

They’d moved to the library as a distraction. Still, Cicilia couldn’t focus on books, and so Alexander had simply sat with her. He had embraced her and muttered soothing things when she cried earlier. Now, he didn’t try to speak or comfort her unless she asked.

He was trying not to think about his own current appearance. The whole morning had gone, and he was still in his rumpled nightclothes. Not even so much as a comb had run through his hair. It filled him with more discomfort than he would like to admit…and, yet, he couldn’t leave Cicilia’s side, not until she explicitly asked him to go.

She may nae yet want to talk much, but I ken how someone just sittin’ quietly beside ye can help ye through the first hours.

“Did ye mean it?” she asked quietly.

“Hm?” Alexander looked up, distracted from his thoughts. “Did I mean what?”

“About…about buyin’ me a few animals. Ye need nae feel obligated, Laird,” Cicilia said. Her voice was hesitant and unsure, a far cry from how he’d heard it before now. “Ye dinnae—”

“Dinnae be ridiculous,” Alexander interrupted with a snort. “I ken I’ve got a bit o’ a tough reputation, but I just want order. I dinnae want me people to starve.”

He turned to look at her and was much surprised by the way she looked at him in return. There was something unreadable behind her reddened eyes, and her full lips were slightly parted. “Thank ye, Laird,” she practically whispered.

Alexander stared at her. She was so small, and while she was not especially slender, it was the muscle of farm work and the delightful curves of womanhood that gave her such a unique form. Her hair, though it frustrated him with its disorder, was fascinating, even now as it frizzed uncombed around her head.

She couldn’ae be less like Ilene if she tried.

Her eyes, those strange eyes which looked so much greener after her tears, and that odd golden glint that set her apart. The freckles that Alexander had once thought marred her skin, emphasized the prettiness of her blush.

He would never think inappropriately of a woman in such a state of grief. In fact, he rarely had time to think of women inappropriately before in any sort of situation. But despite how infuriating she was, despite how disordered, despite how they quarreled every second they were together, something changed at that moment.

As she watched him with gratitude and surprise and a thousand other emotions, the sun’s light emphasizing her messy hair and dirty night things, Alexander could only think one thing.

She’s like somethin’ from another world that I cannae understand. Frustratin’, nonsensical, dangerous, even…but rare bonny. I’ve never kent a sight so lovely as this messy lass.

Before he could catch himself, he opened his mouth, unsure what he would even say. “Cicilia, I—” he started.

He was interrupted as the door opened, and the young twins entered. They were clean and fresh after their baths and their naps, but sorrow still wore heavily down upon their little bodies.

Cicilia got to her feet and rushed over to them, holding them both in one embrace. “Och, me buttons. How are ye?”

“Sad,” Annys said bluntly. “Right sad, Cil. Katie said ye were in the library an’ we needed to see ye, because of …because…”

Her little voice cracked into a sob, and Jamie took over. “Is Bacon really deid, like Daddy?” the little boy asked.

Annys elbowed him. “We are nae supposed to tell!”