Hearts of Highland Fire

Chapter 3

3

Ida had never been so nervous and frightened in all her life as she led the laird into the cottage, trying not to stumble or embarrass herself as she did so. She had spent all morning mucking the stables, picking up the chores that needed to be done while her uncle slumbered away in his bed, sleeping off the drink he had consumed the night before. More and more he did that, no longer the first one up to start on the chores or at least light the fire to warm their cottage. While Ida enjoyed the business of the chores to keep herself busy, there were days that she wished she could lay around in bed herself.

Now he had nearly gotten himself killed by Laird Wallace and still could face some sort of punishment from Laird MacGregor. It would be fitting even though she knew that the laird wouldn’t lift a hand to help the drunken Scot these days, punishment or otherwise. If her laird decided that her uncle was unfit to care for the horses any longer, Ida wouldn’t be able to stay near her beloved horses either.

Swallowing hard, Ida pushed open the door and quickly looked about the small space, glad to see that her uncle had heeded her words and slunk out while she had been apologizing to the laird. Ida reached for the chair at the table and pulled it out, motioning for the laird to sit. The chair itself didn’t look like it could hold up the laird’s large frame, but he lowered himself into it anyway and Ida hurried to retrieve a rag and some water in a bowl.

When she turned, she found him looking at her meager surroundings and her cheeks heated at what he must see. Surely he lived in a great hall like the MacGregor laird did, with rich tapestries on the walls and a roaring fire in the stone fireplace.

Here, all she had was a faded blanket that separated her sleeping arrangements from the kitchen, the fire low in the soot-covered fireplace because she had been busy in the stables. She could change things around in the cottage if she wished, but Ida liked the simplicity of having just what she needed and it not being anything that her uncle could sell off for his next fix of drink. Still, Ida held her head up high as she approached the table, her breath stuttering in her lungs as his warm eyes fell on her.

By God, he was a bonny lad, with a high forehead and dark hair that fell to his shoulders in silky waves. His dark-colored eyes were framed by long eyelashes. He had strong jawline and besides his slightly swollen nose, there was nothing that wasn’t perfect about him.

“Does it look that bad?”

His deep voice jolted Ida out of her thoughts and she busied herself with the rag, dipping it in the water. “Nay mah laird. It doesna.”

He chuckled and Ida felt it straight through her bones. “Well then. I thought ye had been startled by mah horrid appearance.”

If his appearance was horrid, then Ida would eat straw for her supper. She lifted the rag from the bowl and their eyes met. There it was again, that tightening in her stomach. She had never felt anything like it before. “This may hurt mah laird.”

“Ian,” he said, straightening in the chair. “Mah name is Ian.”

Ida’s lips parted. She couldn’t call a laird by his given name! She wasn’t someone that should even be talking to him, yet fate had pulled them together in the unlikeliest of ways and now, she was attempting to keep her uncle from meeting the end of a sword or worse. “Ida,” she finally said, her voice shaking slightly. “Mah name is Ida.”

“Ida,” he repeated, tasting her name on his lips. Ida had never heard her name spoken so eloquently and certainly not by someone like him. “Do yer worst lass.”

Carefully, Ida wiped the blood away from his cheek where he smeared it with his sleeve, then around his upper lip, careful not to knock his nose while she cleaned the blood off his face. “Tell mah,” Ian said, his voice far too calm. “Who is he tae ye?”

Uncle. He wanted to know about her uncle. “He’s the only family I have left,” she stated, figuring the laird should know what would happen if he decided that uncle should deserve some sort of punishment for what he did. “He used tae be different and not wot ye see now.” Once upon a time, her uncle had been a respected member of the clan. When Ida was a wee lass, she remembered going to the keep with him and her parents, feasting on foods she had never seen before. He had smiled more back then, with an easy laugh and quick word to make another smile as well.

“Wot happened tae him then?” Ian asked softly, his breath blowing over her arm as she worked on a small bit of blood near his cheek.

Ida’s heart wrenched in her chest. “A lot of loss,” she admitted, remembering the stories that her ma used to whisper to her. When Ida grew older, she started to notice the bottle in his hand more, that his easy laughter was because of the drink he was imbibing in and not because he enjoyed laughing. He spent more time at their hut and it hadn’t taken long for Ida to realize he had nowhere else to go. “He drowned his pain in the bottle.”

“Ah,” Ian said in understanding. “Loss can weigh on a man until he feels as if he has nothing left.”

His words rang true to Ida. She had heard her uncle state those very words repeatedly. After her parents perished from a lung sickness four summers ago, he had spiraled down even further. When Ida needed comfort from her grief, she had instead found nothing from him. “Aye,” she said softly, setting the rag aside. “Wot is yer favorite color?”

Ian looked at her questionably, but before he could get the words out, she had already reached up and pushed his nose back into place, the satisfying crack pleasing her.

Surprisingly, the laird barely winced, tears coming to his eyes briefly before he blinked them away. “How does that feel?” she asked, stepping back to admire her handiwork. It was relatively straight now, with just a slight curve in it that Ida imagined was already there to begin with.

He sniffed a few times, moving his nose around carefully with his hand. “Tis feels fine. I can breathe easier now.”

Her work was done.

“Tis blue.”

“Wot?” Ida asked, confused.

He grinned and her heart started to beat rapidly in her chest. “Mah favorite color. Tis blue.”

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks blooming with color. The question was meant to distract him and she had used it numerous times over the years, but she hadn’t expected the laird to actually provide an answer.

He made no move to rise from the chair. “And yers Ida?”

“Pink, nay, green.” Truly, she had never thought about her favorite color before. “Perhaps I like them all.”

Ian laughed and the sound was like she had just drank an entire bowl of stew, warming her insides. “Ye canna like them all. There has tae be one that suits yer fancy.”

Ida thought for a moment. “Yellow then,” she decided on, thinking of the color of a fresh stack of hay or the sun’s rays as they filtered through the slats of the stable in the late afternoon. Yellow made her happy.

“Yellow then,” Ian declared, looking as if he had nowhere else to be but sitting at her kitchen table. “Do ye run the stables Ida?”

Ida swallowed hard, picking up the supplies so she didn’t have to meet his eye. If she told him the truth, would he tell the laird? No one was going to let her run the stables by herself, especially not an unwed lass, no matter who she was. If they took the horses away from her, Ida was truly have nothing. “I…”

“Donna worry lass,” Ian said a moment later. “I’m not going tae say anything regardless of wot ye tell mah.”

The worry didn’t go away but Ida knew that he could force the answers out of her if he chose to. This was the laird of the Wallace clan, a bloodthirsty clan that was known for its brutality. She had been told tales by her uncle, mostly drunken tales, but he wasn’t the only one who both hated and feared the Wallace clan.

“Aye,” she finally said, deciding that there was nothing she could do now. If he chose to tell her laird, then Ida would lose everything and there was nothing she could do about it.

“How long?” he asked, his voice full of curiosity.

Ida couldn’t remember. She had felt like she had been taking care of horses all her life. It was her solace when she needed to escape. They were part of her family now. So in the end, she didn’t answer him with more than a shrug of her shoulders.

“How did ye learn?” he pressed as she poured the water out of the bowl and put it away.

Ida looked at Ian, wondering why he would even care to know about her. “I’m naught more than a stable hand mah laird.”

He smirked as he stood, towering over Ida. She hadn’t realized how impossibly tall he was. “Sounds like tae mah that ye are more than that lass.”

Despite what had happened, a small measure of pride moved through Ida at his recognition of what she was doing for not only her uncle, but also her clan. “I will do anything tae protect mah clan.”

He dipped his head in recognition. “A warrior is nothing without a good horse under his legs.”

“And I will take care of yers as well, mah laird,” Ida responded, twisting her hands together.

“Ian, please,” he repeated, giving her an easy smile that warmed her insides. “And I have nary a doubt that ye will do just that Ida MacGregor.” He looked away. “Do ye feel as yer uncle does?”

“Aboot?” she prodded, surprised by the sudden turn of conversation.

“Aboot mah clan and the fighting.”

Ida drew in a breath, understanding what he was asking. “Are ye talking aboot the alliance?” It had been on everyone’s tongue lately, the whispers as she had passed about the no-good Wallaces and how their laird could be thinking of an alliance with the clan that had killed so many over the years.

“Aye,” he answered, a frown on his face. “Wot do ye think aboot it Ida?”

No one had ever asked her thoughts on it. “I think that tis time to be thinking aboot no more bloodshed,” she answered slowly. “All this fighting, tis unnecessary and is doing nothing but killing our fellow Scots.”

He gazed at her for a moment and Ida felt the heat creep up her neck. His gaze wasn’t uncomfortable at all, but she had never had someone look at her like that before. Most never saw her as it was. “That is very interesting,” he finally said. “But ye are right Ida. Some of the fighting has been unnecessary.”

The silence stretched between them. “I must go,” Ian finally said, stepping back. “Mah thanks for yer help, Ida.”

“Tis the least I could do,” she responded, hoping that she had done enough to appease the laird. She moved to curtsy once more but he reached out, touching her arm. “Nay,” he croaked, his expression pained. “Nay, donna think ye have tae do that lass.”

Ida felt the gentle grip on her arm, looking down to see his large hand resting on the dirtied sleeve of her dress. “But yer a laird.”

When their eyes met again, she didn’t feel like he was a laird at all. With the travel dust clinging to his fine tunic, it was easier to believe that he was just another Scot, even with the different colors of his tartan draping one shoulder. No one had ever paid much attention to Ida, thinking of her as nothing more than the lass who mucked the stables, but Ian was looking at her in a way that made her feel like something more.

Nay! She couldn’t be thinking of him like this! He was a laird and he didn’t even belong in her small cottage, much less having this conversation between them. Not only that, he was a Wallace and she should be afraid of him.

But Ida wasn’t. There was not an ounce of fear in her veins.

Finally, the spell was broken and Ian released her arm. “Thank ye lass,” he said before moving outside. Ida waited a full moment before she drew in a breath, his woodsy scent lingering in his wake. When she had awoken this morn, she could have never expected this would have happened to her, the events of the last hour or so causing her to sink into the chair that the laird had just occupied. It was still warm from his body. She would remain out of sight for the rest of the time that he was here, Ida decided and keep her uncle away from him too. She didn’t need for anything else to happen while the visiting laird was there.

Blowing out a breath, Ida forced herself to move out of the chair and to the window, looking out to see if the occupants were still in front of the cottage.

They weren’t and some of the tension eased from her shoulders, setting herself to rights. There were horses to tend to and no one else was going to do her chores.

Still, as Ida pulled on her coat and stepped into the stables, the conversation with Ian still lingered in her mind.