A Hellion for the Highlander

“An’ in case ye have nae noticed, ye’re Cicilia O’Donnel. Ye dinnae cower to any man. Ye own up to yer mistakes an’ ye celebrate yer victories. Ye dinnae let rumors get ye down. If ye’d have acted like ye’re actin’ now for the last year, the farm would scarcely be standin’ anymore,” Jeanie told her, a little more firmly than she’d spoken before.

Cicilia didn’t reply. What could she say to that?

Aye, I’ve been operatin’ in secret right under Alexander’s nose all this time, but this is different. Now I’ve hurt him personally when we were—whatever we were.

Because that was gone now too, she knew. The feelings that she’d allowed to sneak into her heart regarding the Laird, the soft happiness she felt whenever he smiled, the way his touch made her body feel—all of that, she would need to forget.

Ye were startin’ to fall in love wi’ him, ye silly lass. An’ what good would o’ come o’ that? Better that he hates ye now than ye foolishly break yer own heart later.

But she still needed to clear his name, at least of the rumors that regarded her. She owed him that much. She could not—would not—give up her farm to a stranger, but she would keep it on her own terms, and without dragging Alexander through the mud.

The women walked in silence until Cicilia saw the village gates appear up ahead. They walked towards them with purpose, heading to a little tavern just inside the boundaries, when Jeanie said, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell ye somethin’.”

“Hm?”

“Nathair an’ I are to be wed,” she said casually.

Cicilia stopped where she was and turned to stare at her friend. “Ye’re to be what? An’ ye dinnae think to mention that before now?”

“Well, he only asked me yesterday,” Jeanie replied with a defensive shrug. “An’ I have nae talked to me Mither yet, or him to me faither. An’ we need to ask Alexander’s permission to move me permanently into the castle, too. Och, an’ there’s Grandda to think about…”

“Jeanie!” Cicilia interrupted, placing

her hands firmly on her friend’s shoulder. “Are ye seriously tellin’ me ye’re gonnae marry the Man-at-arms as casually as if ye’re tellin’ me it’ll rain on the morrow?!”

“I hope it doesn’ae rain on the morrow,” Jeanie said seriously. “I’m gonnae have to send a messenger to me parents, an’ I’d feel awfie bad if it was pourin’ while he traveled all the way.”

Cicilia stared at her friend for a long moment, then laughed and pulled her into an embrace. “Well, all right then,” she said, hugging her tight. “Congratulations, ye mad woman. He’ll make a fine husband.”

Jeanie finally let out a happy little squeak. It was clear to Cicilia that her friend had been keeping that locked up all morning, desperate to share the news, and now that she had, the happiness was radiating from her. “Thank ye, Cil,” she replied, hugging her tightly back. “I’m so glad ye approve.”

Cicilia felt happy tears in her eyes. Finally, some good news in the midst of all this mess. She’d almost forgotten what that felt like. “O’ course I approve. Nathair is a good man.”

“He’s a great man,” Jeanie replied adoringly. She pulled back from the hug, took both of Cicilia’s hands in her own before saying, “An’ dinnae ye worry yer heart, me love. Ye’ll be next.”

I doubt that, somehow. Maybe, if I had nae been so foolish…but nay, I cannae dwell on the what-could-have-beens. I’ll drive meself mad.

The very short remainder of their trip was spent enthusing about Jeanie’s upcoming nuptials, and then they arrived at the tavern. This early in the day, it was still relatively empty, just a few people breaking their fast late or having an early luncheon before returning to the fields. There were a couple of older men at the bar, who Cicilia was half-convinced were permanent fixtures here.

She scanned the room and found the person they were here to meet almost immediately. She was the only woman in the tavern besides Cicilia and Jeanie, and she stuck out like a sore thumb.

The woman had hair that danced the line between brown and blonde, and her face was covered in fair freckles, not unlike Cicilia’s own. Perhaps that was why Cicilia felt a shiver of recognition, despite being certain she’d never seen this woman before in her life.

She was a pretty woman, though not unduly beautiful, the kind who could choose whether she stood at the forefront or faded into the background of any situation based on her poise and dress. When she caught Cicilia’s gaze, there was kindness and intelligence shining from behind her deep blue eyes.

She looks like she could read me heart an’ soul at a glance.

The man with her, sitting protectively close, was rather unremarkable. Dark hair and beard, dark eyes, and a plain face wearing an extremely serious expression. Cicilia figured he was a fighter and imagined that he probably was not a man of many words.

“Kitty!” Jeanie called out, waving. The woman smiled and waved back, and the two of them approached the table. “Kitty, this is Cicilia, me best friend. Cicilia, this is Kitty, an’ this is her…”

“Me friend, Iain,” Kitty replied with a gentle smile. “Forgive him, he doesn’ae talk much. It’s a pleasure to meet ye, Cicilia.”

Cicilia shook her hand then immediately blushed, realizing how lower-class and mannish the gesture had been. If it bothered Kitty, it did not show on her face.

As they sat, Cicilia noted that Kitty seemed much older than Jeanie—older than Cicilia herself, too, by a fair bit. She was perhaps in her mid-thirties, though she still had the blossom of youth about her features.

“Kitty is from the Sinclair lands,” Jeanie explained happily. “She’s new in town, too, just like us.”