The Lord’s Highland Temptation

‘I do not know,’ the girl replied. ‘He’s a stranger.’

‘Stuff!’ the boy said. ‘There are no strangers hereabouts. Not on our land, anyway. We know everybody.’

Their land? Where was he, if not Belgium? Where had the stench of blood and gunpowder gone?

Lucas struggled to open his eyes, but the light stung them. He braced himself against the stone at his back and tried to rise. ‘Bradleigh.’

His legs wouldn’t hold him. He collapsed, scraping his head as he fell.

Their footsteps scrambled towards him and he forced his eyes open a slit. Two young people, a girl and a boy, floated into view, like apparitions.

‘Sir! Sir! Are you hurt?’ The girl leaned down to him, but she was just a blur.

Lucas tried to speak, but the darkness overtook him.

* * *

Mairi Wallace shook the dirt from her apron and lifted the basket of beets, carrots and radishes that she’d gathered from the kitchen garden. What a scolding she’d receive if her mother knew she’d been digging in the dirt.

‘Now, Mairi,’ her mother would say in her most patient but disapproving voice. ‘It is not fitting for a baron’s daughter to gather vegetables. If you must put yourself out in the sun, cut flowers. You are not a kitchen maid, after all.’

Except that all the kitchen maids except Evie had left. So many of their servants had bolted for positions that actually paid their wages that the household was woefully understaffed. Only two housemaids remained and two footmen. Mairi did not mind taking on some of their work. She rather liked the sun and fresh air on such a fine Scottish day.

She turned and gazed over the wall and caught sight of her younger brother, Niven, running down the hill as if the devil himself was after him.

Mairi frowned. Had he not gone for a walk with Davina? Mairi’s heart beat faster. Where was Davina?

She dropped the basket and ran through the gate.

‘Mairi! Mairi!’ Niven called. ‘Come quick! I need you!’

Mairi rushed to his side. ‘What is it? Is it Davina?’

‘No. Well, a little.’ He fought to catch his breath. ‘Oh, just come with me. Now.’

Niven, at sixteen, was old enough to have some sense, but he was as impulsive and impractical as their father. This would not be the first time Mairi had had to pull him out of a scrape. But Davina, their younger sister, was typically more prudent. Slightly.

What did he mean, a little? Was she hurt? If something had happened to Davina, she could not bear it!

Mairi followed Niven over the hill and to a part of their land that remained rustic and wild. They rushed too fast for talking. Niven led her to the stone circle, a place of danger, magic and mystery, according to family lore. She saw Davina silhouetted against the sky, the stones framing her. The ache in Mairi’s throat eased a little.

Davina ran to meet them. ‘Mairi! I am so glad you are here. We did not know what to do.’

Mairi wanted to embrace her in relief, but held back. ‘Do? About what?’

Davina gestured for her to follow, leading her into the circle where a man—a stranger—was slumped against one of the stones, no hat on his head, his grey topcoat open and his clothing underneath rumpled and stained.

Two empty whisky bottles lay at his side.

Mairi’s skin grew cold.

‘He’s passed out,’ Davina said. ‘I believe he is sick.’

Drunk, more like.

Mairi seized her by the shoulder. ‘Did he hurt you?’

‘Hurt me?’ Davina pulled away. ‘What a silly question. We found him leaning against the stone. When we called out, he tried to rise, but he collapsed again. I sent Niven for help.’ She knelt at the man’s side. ‘I think he is feverish.’

Mairi wanted to drag Davina away from him. Her sister had no idea how dangerous a man—a drunkard—could be.

But the stranger was senseless at the moment, so there was no immediate threat. Mairi leaned down close.

Davina touched the stranger’s forehead. ‘He feels hot to me.’

The man was pale, but fine-looking. Fair-haired. A chiselled chin, strong nose, and lips befitting a Greek statue.

‘Is he dead?’ Niven asked.

Mairi forced herself to press her fingers against the side of his neck. She felt a pulse. ‘He is alive.’ She placed her palm against his brow. ‘He is feverish, though.’

‘Do you suppose the Druids got him? Mayhap he came here at midnight.’ Niven spoke in all seriousness.

Tales of the Druids had abounded for generations. It was said their spirits would rise to attack anyone disturbing their midnight frolic amid the stones.

His clothes were damp.

‘More likely he was caught in last night’s rain,’ Mairi said. What had he been doing on these hills in the middle of their land? The dampness of his clothing indicated he might have been there all night.

Davina’s voice rose. ‘We must be like the Good Samaritan.’

Davina had heard the sermon on Sunday? Mairi had thought she’d been too besotted with Laird Buchan’s youngest son to heed Vicar Hill.

‘We cannot leave him here,’ Davina went on.

Leave him was precisely what Mairi wished to do. She wanted to run from him and take her brother and sister with her.

‘No, we cannot leave him,’ she said instead. He was ill, even if he was also drunk. He was in need.

And he could pose no danger in the state he was in. Could he?

She reached out her hand, but almost took it back again. She made herself shake the man’s shoulder. ‘Sir! Sir! Wake up.’

His eyes opened—blue eyes, vivid blue eyes—but they immediately rolled back in his head. They would never get him on his feet. And he was too big for them to carry.

Mairi turned to her sister. ‘Davina, run back to the stables. Tell MacKay or John to come and bring a wagon.’

MacKay, older than their father, had stayed on as their stableman, and John was his only stable worker. In better times they’d had five or six men keeping the horses and carriages in fine order.