Enraptured by the Highlander

“I am thinking of seeing France, Ireland, and Scotland,” Adelaine clarified as she spooned the warm stew. “Speaking with Caelan has me thinking that there is more to this life than just living in England.”

She looked up to see Martha’s eyes locked on hers and her maid smiled, “Which means you want to go see Scotland.”

Adelaine shrugged and took a bite. What was the sense of trying to fool a woman who knew her much as Martha knew her? “Essentially.”

“He’s made such an impact on you,” Martha said; it was more of a statement

than a question.

“He has,” she replied as her eyes drifted to the window where the snow was lazily drifting down. She spotted the tip of the keep and twiddling the spoon in her hand, she smiled. “Very much so.”

At daylight, Adelaine went to her father’s office. The door was not guarded, something she had feared her father had ordered to be done. She slipped inside and paused just two steps inside the door. This was not a room she favored. It was the helm of her father’s control as the decisions he made in this room spread over hundreds of miles and affected thousands of people.

Rarely did she see councilors or advisors come to the house to speak with her father as he preferred to do things alone. His word was law. She skimmed the room, the laden bookshelf, the large desk, the chests of old tomes and felt a bit overwhelmed.

Where is the first place to search?

She went to the bookshelf and saw books on laws, some with French, Dutch, and German titles. She could read the French books but doubted that would help her. She needed records and she could only find those in the drawers at her father’s desk.

That is if it's not already destroyed.

The first drawer she managed to open had stacks of papers and she knew it was impossible to search it in the time she had. Still, she sat and began to work through them. All of them, written in her father’s hand, were laws or suggestions of laws. Some had amendments and others had none.

Other papers outlined the taxes for tenants, banalities for his serfs, the Knights fee and other taxation for other assets. She read over endless reports from his steward about his derelict serfs or which village needed more crop seed. She had worked through half the drawer when her eyes began to burn.

She rubbed them and looked out the window, only to see that the sky was getting gray again with a threat of snow. Soon enough, she would have to light a lamp to keep searching. Reluctantly, she replaced the papers she had taken out and closed the trunk. Her legs had cramped as she stood but as blood began to flow back to her limbs she felt better.

Leaving the room, she closed the door behind her. It was disappointing but she had time later that day when the sky cleared.

I’ll keep searching, Caelan, I promise you. If there is any mention or records of that tunnel, I will find it.

She arrived at her rooms as Martha was bustling around, dusting and straightening up. She drifted to the nearest chair and sat as she felt the room go colder.

“My Lady?”

“Hm?”

Martha was holding out her fur-lined mantle, “It’s getting colder, would you like to wear this with your hooded cloak when you go see him? I wouldn’t want you to get ill.”

She had feared to answer the guard’s questions every time she came to the keep. He would give her a narrow look but then, with the lightest tone say, “I thought you would have given up on asking the Scot questions by now.”

“I still have not gotten a confession and until he does give it, I will continue to come and ask,” Adelaine said, thanking God that her asking Caelan questions about her brother was all he thought she was doing. “God will it, I’ll have my answer this time.”

“Yes, God will it,” he replied as he looked to her cup. “Is that cider, My Lady?”

“Yes,” she replied. “The dungeons are cold so I need something to warm me up. Will you please open the door? It is getting colder out here as we speak.”

“Oh, yes, my apologies, My Lady,” he said as he pushed the door open.

I don’t like how he’s looking at me…I hope he won’t be a problem.

The guard had seen the cider, but what he did not see were the honey cakes she had smuggled in under her coat. She had come to ask Caelan questions about his home. At the mouth of the staircase, and still half-shrouded by shadow, she spotted Caelan running in place—shirtless.

His body was a masterpiece, broad shoulders, muscled back, corded arms and, when he twisted, she saw rivulets of sweat running down his rippled stomach, her breath was lost and her knees nearly turned to water. His dark red hair was getting long; it brushed his shoulder blades and curled at his temple. She caught a flash of his square jaw which had a thick beard and his firm lips pressed into a thin line.

Her stomach fluttered, and she went toward him. As usual, he sensed her from the moment she stepped into the dungeon and turned toward her. It was not helping her breathing to see the full display of his chest. It was like a brick wall, with the broad span of his chest down to the rise and fall of rigid muscles in his stomach.

He’s…so beautiful. I can see the soldier in him but…his eyes, his eyes are so much more…