Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Have ye seen the laird this mornin’?"
Mhairi paused outside the breakfast room, her hand on the doorframe. Inside, two maids were setting out fresh bread and cheese, their voices carrying easily in the quiet corridor.
"Nay, he left before dawn with Callum and some of the men," the older maid replied. "Out on some business at the borders, I heard."
"Out again?" The younger one giggled. "That's the third time this week. Dae ye think he's meetin’ someone?"
"Shush, ye daft girl. The laird has more important things tae dae than—"
Mhairi didn't wait to hear the rest. She turned and walked quickly down the corridor, her chest suddenly tight.
Meeting someone.
It shouldn't matter. It was none of her concern what Alpin did with his time or who he spent it with. He'd given her shelter, protection, a chance to learn healing—that was more than enough. She had no claim on him, no right to feel that strange twisting sensation in her stomach.
But she felt it anyway.
The breakfast room was empty when she entered, the food laid out but untouched. Alpin's usual chair sat vacant, and Mhairi found herself staring at it longer than necessary before forcing herself to eat.
He was out. On business. That's what the maid had said.
But the younger one had implied something else entirely.
Mhairi picked at her bannock, her appetite gone.
It was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Alpin was the laird of a large clan, of course he had responsibilities that took him away from the castle. Of course he had... other people to see.
The thought made her hands clench around her cup.
By midday, Alpin still hadn't returned. Mhairi went through her morning routine with Donnach, learning about feverfew and its uses for headaches, but her mind kept wandering. The old healer noticed, of course.
"Ye're distracted today, lass," he observed as she nearly mixed the wrong herbs together. "Somethin’ troubling ye?"
"Nay, I'm just..." Mhairi caught herself. "Just tired. I didnae sleep well."
Donnach's knowing look suggested he didn't believe her, but he let it pass.
When he dismissed her for the midday meal, Mhairi walked through the corridors with no particular destination in mind. That's when she heard them again, the same two maids, this time in a storage room she was passing.
"...saw him ridin’ out at dawn with that look on his face," the younger one was saying. "All serious and determined-like. Mark me words, he's meetin’ someone."
"Or dealin’ with those English soldiers everyone's been whisperin’ about," the older maid countered. "Stop spreadin’ gossip, Ailsa."
"I'm nae spreadin’ gossip! I'm just sayin’ the laird's been gone a lot lately, and he always comes back in a strange mood. Last week I saw him smilin’ tae himself in the corridor like—"
Mhairi hurried past, not wanting to hear more. But the damage was done. Her mind was already spinning, conjuring images she had no business conjuring.
Alpin smiling at someone. Alpin meeting someone in secret. Alpin with his hands on someone else the way they'd been on her shoulders the night before on the battlements.
She felt sick.
Back in her chamber, Mhairi tried to distract herself by reading the herb book Donnach had lent her. But the words blurred together, making no sense. She paced. She sat. She paced again.
A knock at the door made her jump.
"Come in."
Freya entered with fresh linens, her cheerful face a stark contrast to Mhairi's mood. "Afternoon, miss! I brought ye clean sheets and— are ye all right? Ye look a bit peaky."
"I'm fine," Mhairi said automatically.
"Ye're a terrible liar." Freya set down the linens and studied her with concern. "What's wrong?"
"Naethin’. I just..." Mhairi hesitated, then the words tumbled out before she could stop them. "Is the laird betrothed? Or courtin’ someone?"
Freya's eyebrows shot up. "What brought this on?"
"Naethin’. I just... I heard some maids talkin’, and I realized I dinnae actually ken anything about his... his personal affairs." The last words came out strangled.
A slow smile spread across Freya's face. "Oh, lass."
"Dinnae look at me like that. I'm just curious, that's all."
"Mmm-hmm. Just curious." Freya sat on the edge of the bed, clearly settling in for a proper gossip.
"Well, tae answer yer question—nay, the laird isnae betrothed or seriously courtin’ anyone.
He's had his share of attention from the ladies, mind ye.
Half the eligible women in the Highlands have tried their luck with him at one point or another. "
Mhairi's stomach dropped. "Oh."
"But," Freya continued, "he's never shown real interest in any of them. Oh, he's charmin’ enough when he needs to be, can make a lass blush with just a smile. But it never goes further than that. I think after losin’ his maither and sister, he's been... careful about who he lets close."
"That makes sense," Mhairi said quietly, though the knot in her chest hadn't eased much.
"Why dae ye ask?" Freya's eyes were too knowing. "Ye worried about competition?"
"Nay! I just... I dinnae want tae be a burden. Or cause problems if there's someone who..." Mhairi trailed off, realizing how ridiculous she sounded.
"Me lady." Freya's voice was gentle now. "I've worked in this castle fer five years. I've seen the laird with plenty of women. And I've never seen him look at any of them the way he looks at ye."
Mhairi's breath caught. "He daesnae look at me any particular way."
"If ye believe that, ye're blinder than old Hamish, and he walked intae a wall last Tuesday." Freya stood, smoothing her skirts. "The laird's out on clan business, naethin’ more. And when he gets back, I'd wager me best ribbon he'll come lookin’ fer ye first thing."
After Freya left, Mhairi tried to settle her nerves by preparing for the afternoon. But her hands were unsteady as she changed into a fresh dress, and her thoughts kept circling back to Alpin.
Where was he? Who was he with? And why did the thought of him with someone else make her feel like she was being torn in two?
By the time they rode through the castle gates, the sun was high overhead. Servants and warriors alike stopped to stare at the bound prisoner, whispers spreading like wildfire.
The prisoner had given them nothing useful beyond confirming what they already knew, Ashcombe was camped at the border and planning something.
"Take him to the cells," Alpin ordered. "Post two guards there, now, he should be guarded always.”
He had to find Donnach, get the man's wound properly treated before infection set in completely. A dead prisoner was no use to anyone.
The healing chambers smelled of herbs and smoke when Alpin pushed open the door. Donnach was bent over a worktable, grinding something in a mortar. And beside him, carefully rolling bandages, was Mhairi.
Alpin's breath caught at the sight of her. She was concentrating on her task, dark hair falling forward to hide her face, her movements precise and practiced.
"Donnach," he said. "I need ye in the cells. We have a prisoner with a festerin’ wound."
"Aye, me laird. Give me a moment to gather supplies."
Mhairi didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge his presence at all.
Alpin frowned. "Mhairi?"
She continued rolling bandages as if he hadn't spoken.
"Mhairi," he tried again.
"I heard ye the first time," she said coolly, still not looking at him.
Donnach's eyes darted between them, clearly sensing tension. He gathered his supplies with unusual haste. "I'll just... go see tae that prisoner now, shall I?"
"Aye," Alpin said, not taking his eyes off Mhairi. "I'll be down shortly."
The healer practically fled, leaving them alone.
Alpin moved closer to the worktable. "What's wrong?"
"Naething's wrong." Her voice was clipped, professional. She finally looked up at him, and her grey eyes were carefully blank. "I'm just workin’. As I'm sure ye were all day."
Understanding dawned, followed immediately by amusement he tried very hard to suppress. "Mhairi…"
"Ye dinnae owe me explanations about where ye go or what ye dae." She set down the bandages with more force than necessary. "Ye're the laird. Ye have responsibilities. Meetings. Things tae attend tae."
"Meetings," he repeated, fighting a smile.
"Aye. Meetings." Her cheeks were flushing now, but she held his gaze defiantly. "It's none of me concern."
"What exactly dae ye think I was daeing today?"
Mhairi's hands stilled on the bandages. For a moment, she didn't answer, and when she did, her voice was quieter, more vulnerable. "I told ye, it's none of me concern."
"Mhairi." He moved around the table, closing the distance between them. "What dae ye think I was daein'?"
She bit her lip, looking down at the worktable rather than at him. "I dinnae ken. And ye're right—it's nae me business." Her voice wavered slightly. "I just... the maids were talkin’, and I..."
She trailed off, clearly struggling with the admission.
When she looked up at him, there was hurt in her grey eyes, but also something softer—uncertainty, perhaps. Worry.
"I tried nae tae care," she said quietly. "I told meself it was none of me concern where ye go or who ye see. But I..." She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold something in. "I couldnae stop thinkin' about it. About ye. And I felt foolish fer carin' when I've nay right tae
"Ye're jealous," he said softly.
Her eyes widened, and color flooded her cheeks. "I..." She looked away, embarrassed. "Maybe. A bit." The admission came out barely above a whisper. "I ken how that sounds. I ken I've nay claim on ye."
"Ye are." He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face, though he tried to gentle it. "Christ, Mhairi, ye're actually jealous."
"Dinnae make fun of me," she said, but there was no real anger in her voice, only mortification.
She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. "I already feel ridiculous enough. I spent the whole mornin’ worryin' and imaginin' things I had nay business imaginin', and now ye're standin' here looking at me like I'm..." She shook her head. "Please just go. I need a moment."
"I was scoutin’ the border," he said gently. "With Callum and four of me men. We found one of Ashcombe's scouts and brought him back fer questionin’. That's where I've been all day. Been tryin’ tae get information out of a stubborn English bastard who'd rather bleed than talk."
Mhairi went very still. "Oh."
"Nae quite the romantic assignation ye were imaginin’?"
"I wasnae imaginin’ anything," she muttered, but the fight had gone out of her voice.
Alpin moved closer, until he was standing right behind her. Close enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands were gripping the edge of the worktable.
"The maids were gossipin’," she said quietly. "About ye being out. About ye meetin’ someone. And I ken it's stupid, I ken I have nay right tae care, but I..." She trailed off, her voice breaking slightly.
"But ye did care," Alpin finished softly.
"Aye." The admission came out barely above a whisper. "I cared. And I hated that I cared. And I hated thinkin’ about ye with someone else, and I ken that's completely stupid."
"Mhairi." He reached out and gently turned her to face him. "I hadnae realized ye were jealous. I'm glad."
She blinked up at him, confused. "Glad?"
"Aye. Because it means ye think of me. That maybe ye feel even a fraction of what I feel when I look at ye."
Her breath hitched. "Alpin..."
"I'm sorry I worried ye. I should have told ye I was leavin’ this mornin’, but ye were still asleep and I didnae want tae wake ye." His hand moved up to cup her cheek. "There's nay one else, Mhairi. Nay secret meetings, nay romantic assignations. Just clan business and a very frustratin’ prisoner."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Fer doubting ye."
"Dinnae be sorry. I should be glad ye think of me at all."
A small smile tugged at her mouth. "That's a very low bar."
"Maybe. But after everything ye've been through, the fact that ye can feel anythin’ fer anyone is... it's remarkable."
Her smile faded. "I've brought ye naething but trouble. Ashcombe at yer borders, prisoners in yer cells, danger tae yer people."
"Stop." Alpin's voice was firm. "Ye havenae brought me trouble. Ashcombe and Graham brought trouble. Ye've brought me... " He paused, searching for the right words. "Light. Purpose. Someone worth protectin’."
"I'm nae worth all this," she said quietly.
"Ye're worth everythin’." The words came out more intensely than he'd intended, but he didn't take them back. "And I'll keep provin’ that tae ye until ye believe it."
They stood there for a long moment, his hand still cradling her face, her eyes searching his.
"I should go see tae that prisoner," Alpin said finally, reluctantly. "Before Donnach gives up on him entirely."
"Aye." But Mhairi didn't step back.
Neither did Alpin.
"There's somethin’ else," he said. "Every first of the month, the clan holds a traditional dance in the great hall. It's taemorrow night."
Mhairi's eyes widened slightly. "A dance?"
"Aye. Music, food, everyone from the castle and the nearby villages. It's meant tae bring the clan together, remind us we're more than just warriors and workers." He paused. "I'd like ye tae go. With me."
"I... I dinnae ken if that's a good idea."
"Why nae?"
"Because people will talk. Because I'm supposed tae be under yer protection, nae..." She gestured vaguely between them.
"Nae what?" Alpin's voice was soft but intense. "Nae someone I care about? Nae someone I want tae spend time with?"
"Alpin—"
"Come tae the dance, Mhairi. Let people talk. Let them see that ye're nae just some lass I'm shelterin’ out of duty. Let them see that ye belong here."
"Dae I?" The question came out small, vulnerable. "Belong here?"
"More than ye ken." He let his hand drop from her face, giving her space. "Think about it. And prepare yerself tae dance, because I'm nae taking nay fer an answer."
He forced himself to step back, to break the moment before he did something foolish like kiss her right there in the healing chambers.
"I really dae need tae go," he said. "Donnach will be wonderin’ where I am."
"Aye. Go." But Mhairi was smiling now, a real smile that reached her eyes.
Alpin made it to the door before turning back. "Mhairi?"
"Aye?"
"I'm glad ye were jealous. Even if it was completely unfounded."
He left before she could throw something at him, her indignant "Alpin!" following him down the corridor.
And despite everything—the prisoner, Ashcombe, the looming threat at his borders—Alpin found himself grinning like a fool all the way to the cells.