A Hellion for the Highlander

Catherine nodded. “Good plan. Ye an’ Cicilia head on up to the room I’m rentin’ upstairs, an’ me an’ the rest will deal wi’ the politics.”

Alexander paused. “I dinnae think—”

“Nay—” Cicilia started.

But before they knew it, Jeanie and Nathair were bundling them off, and soon they up the stairs and in a tidy, clean room with a large, soft bed in the center. It adjoined to another, presumably the smaller room where Munroe had been sleeping.

Once they were satisfied that Cicilia and Alexander were inside, Nathair and Jeanie closed the door. Alexander was so surprised he couldn’t even object properly as he heard their footsteps retreat back downstairs.

He immediately moved to the door and tried to open it. “Locked,” he muttered.

Cicilia threw her hands in the air, exasperation evident. “Locked! O’ course it is! I’m gonnae slaughter her, an’ then we’ll see how pretty she’ll look for her weddin’.”

Alexander blinked. “What do ye mean, weddin’? Are ye talkin’ about Jeanie?”

Cicilia frowned as he turned to face her, as though she was trying to work out if he was teasing her or not. “O’ course I mean Jeanie,” she said slowly. “Who else would I be talkin’ about?”

Och. An’ Nathair was really just gettin’ to like the lass, as well.

“Bit cold o’ her, is it nae?” Alexander asked, folding his arms.

“What’s cold?” Cicilia snapped, instantly defensive of the friend she’d been threatening to murder a moment before. “Fallin’ in love? Carin’ about her grandda doesn’ae mean she’s tied there for life. Old Ewan will manage. Believe it or nae, Alexander, people are allowed to be happy.”

Familiar frustration trickled down Alexander’s spine. “Aye, an’ what o’ Nathair? What o’ his happiness? I’ve rarely seen him so taken wi’ a lass!”

“An’ that’s an issue?” she fired back. “What, is poor wee peasant Jeanie nae good enough for yer Man-at-arms in yer eyes?”

Only then did he understand what miscommunication had occurred, but that didn’t make any sense. “Are…are ye sayin’ that Jeanie is marryin’ Nathair?”

Cicilia let out a breath, apparently realizing he wasn’t criticizing Jeanie now. “O’ course she is, ye great pillock. The pair o’ them are smitten as a pair o’ swans. How could ye suspect anythin’ else?”

An’ he dinnae tell me? Since when do we keep secrets? Has Cicilia kent this whole time? Has she been laughin’ about it behind me back?

He knew that thought was irrational, but it filled him with hurt and anger anyway, even as her insult bounced off him with barely any effect.

“What?” Cicilia demanded. “Why are ye lookin’ like that?” She sighed, and some of the gentleness returned to her voice. “He was gonnae tell ye, obviously. He maybe dinnae get a chance yet, is all.”

She’s right. An’ yet…

“We’ve been together all mornin’,” he pointed out. “Why would he nae mention it then? Clearly, yer Jeanie did. Or is she just nae able to keep a secret?”

Too harsh, Alexander. Jeanie dinnae do anythin’ wrong. Ye’re annoyed about somethin’ entirely different. About Nathair lyin’ about Catherine, about Cicilia bein?

? the way she is…

But Cicilia’s eyes flashed with anger, and she said, “Well, maybe Nathair would o’ talked to ye if ye could get yer heid out of yer own backside for more than a mornin’ at once!” she accused angrily. “Ye’ve been poutin’ this whole time, have ye nae? Avoidin’ me, avoidin’ me siblings. Jamie cried the other night because he thinks ye dinnae like him anymore!”

The unfairness of this threatened to overwhelm Alexander where he stood. “Jamie’s cryin’ because o’ me?” he snapped back, matching her tone. “How in the world can ye stand there wi’ a straight expression an’ say such things? Ye’re the one who turned on me at a second’s notice. Ye’re the one who heard a bad thought an’ decided I was a villain the whole time.”

“Aye, I made a mistake!” Cicilia shouted, her cheeks red with fury once more.

She was stalking towards him, getting extremely close, and now they stood next to the bed, her staring up at him. “I made a mistake, an’ ye’ve been makin’ me pay penance for near a week! Meanwhile, I’ve been in the village tryin’ to clear yer name, while ye sulk in yer castle. How am I supposed to make people believe ye love them if ye cannae even show yer stupid, proud face?”

Alexander tightened his hands into fists, feeling the nails digging into his palms. “I dinnae ask for yer help!” he snarled. “I was doin’ just fine on me own for years until ye an’ yer chaos came along an’ messed everythin’ up!”

“Oh, is that right?” Cicilia snapped. “An’ did it ever occur to ye that I dinnae ask for yer help, Alexander? Eh? Ye showed up at me farm, drew out all me painful memories, threatened me livelihood, then moved me into yer Castle, an’ now ye won’t even speak to me!

“Because ye dinnae trust me, even after all that!” Alexander yelled in frustration. “What do ye nae get? I saw ye sufferin’ an’ I tried to help an’ ye threw it in me face!”