A Hellion for the Highlander

Catherine simply smiled. “Aye. But I think ye’ll find this is me room, an’ now I’m bettin’ I’ll have to get someone to bring up clean sheets.”

Cicilia blushed, but there was no censure in Catherine’s tone. In fact, the older woman simply seemed amused. Perhaps even pleased.

“Aye, well, ye did lock us in here,” Alexander told her, folding his arms.

Catherine chuckled. “That was Nathair, nae me, but I’ve got to admit it was a stroke o’ genius. An’ it worked, did it nae? Ye’re friends again?”

“Where is Nathair?” Alexander asked, folding his arms and looking annoyed.

“An’ Jeanie?” Cicilia added.

“They went off back to the Castle,” Catherine said with a shrug. “An’ took Iain wi’ them to feed him there or somethin’. I said I’d rather wait on the two o’ ye.”

Cicilia couldn’t help but smile in response to the happy look on Catherine’s face. There was something bright and infectious about the woman. Where her brother was like the moon, a solemn light shining in the darkness, Catherine reminded Cicilia of a bright sun.

Alexander cleared his throat. “Well, we should be getting’ back, too. Ye can p

ay up yer balance to the tavern keep; o’ course ye’ll be stayin’ in the Castle. Cicilia’s got yer old room, but I’m sure—”

“I’m sure she will nae be usin’ it,” Catherine said pointedly, glancing at the messy bed behind them. “An’ dinnae worry, I’ve got a lady’s maid with me. She was out at the market when ye arrived, but she came back and brought the bairns up to the castle wi’ yer friends.”

Alexander seemed to perk up, and Cicilia saw rare open happiness on his face. “Ye brought the bairns?” he asked.

“O’ course,” Catherine replied. “Alice is near three-and ten, so she’s travellin’ wi’ me most places. An’ Matthew refused to be left behind, an’ ye ken his faither cannae say nay to the next Laird.”

“This is yer niece an’ nephew?” Cicilia asked.

Alexander nodded. “Aye. Alice was born nae so long before me parents had their accident. Matthew is a wee bit younger, I think nine?”

“Ten, now. He just had his birthday,” Catherine corrected. “Och, an’ wait ‘til ye see him, Miss Cicilia. He’s like wee Sandy born again wi’ his dark hair an’ his serious expressions.”

Cicilia felt her heart flutter at the idea of little Alexander, adorable and innocent. “I look forward to meetin’ them,” she said politely.

“Aye,” Catherine agreed. “Now, Sandy’s gonnae go on ahead like a good uncle so he can have some time wi’ the bairns. Ye an’ me, Cicilia, are gonnae head up there together an’ have a wee talk, aye?”

“Nay,” Alexander said sharply. “We’ll all go together.”

Perhaps it was residual annoyance at his earlier behavior, but Cicilia found his disapproval served only as fuel to make her wish to do as Catherine suggested. “I’d love to get to ken ye, Madame Sinclair,” she said. Then she grinned. “The real ye, the one nae pretendin’ to be Kitty.”

Catherine laughed. “Och, me Mither called me Kitty when I was small. It was nae a true lie.”

“Ye can get to ken each other if we’re walkin’ together,” Alexander insisted.

Cicilia and Catherine glanced at each other, and then Catherine laughed. “Och, what are ye afraid o’, Sandy? What I’ll tell Cicilia? Or what she’ll tell me?”

Alexander huffed out an irritated breath. “Aye. Exactly.”

But the women’s minds were set, and eventually, Alexander left ahead of them. They waited until they were sure he was gone before the pair of them walked out together, first settling Catherine’s room with the owner of the establishment.

As the cool evening air buffeted Cicilia’s face, only now did she realize how heavy her burden had been over the past week or so. She still had work to do—certainly, she would need to continue her village visits—but things felt less oppressive now. Working out her anger and being held in Alexander’s arms had soothed a ragged part of her soul that she hadn’t even realized was injured.

“I was right, though, was I nae?” Catherine asked pleasantly as they walked through the village gates and on to the path back to the castle. “About ye an’ me brother?”

Is she askin’ me if I slept wi’ him in her room?!

Cicilia didn’t answer immediately, but Catherine’s patient silence made her realize after a moment that, no, that wasn’t what she meant. No, what she was asking was much more embarrassing, and weighed down on her a lot more heavily.

She remembered what Catherine had asked her before Alexander walked in and spoiled the ruse. ‘How long have ye been in love wi’ him?’