Page 49 of Deception of a Highlander

“Yes, Grandmother,” Coira said as Innes began to pull her away from Mariel.

The girl looked up and studied Mariel with a furrowed brow as though unsure what to make of her.

Mariel met the girl’s wide-eyed stare and mouthed the words, “Tapadh leat.” Thank you.

A brilliant smile spread over Coira’s lips and lit her small face.

A bittersweet sensation filled Mariel’s chest. Jack had been about that age when she saw him last, although the two years of growth since they had seen one another would have stripped away the remaining vestiges of the chubby-cheeked boy she remembered. Nostalgia stung at her heart. Were he with her now, she would be able to take the ridicule with the nonchalant stride she’d maintained in her youth. They could be happy.

Though exhausting, this was the life she had envisioned for Jack and herself. A humble living earned by the hard work of her hands. A life where she went to bed tired but honest. A life where Jack had everything he needed and was not subjected to the darkness of Aaron’s underworld.

The women’s sharp words gave her an idea, one that would have made the old Mariel smile. The Mariel who would have never let herself be so hated. She would have taken the slights of the clan and turned them into jests. The life she lived would have been embraced and cherished, as it should be.

If she had the acceptance of the clan, Kieran would not be able to ignore her.

A slow smile quirked on her lips as a thought came to her. She knew the Highlanders did not care for King James despite his Scottish blood. Likewise, the peasants of England bristled against the jeweled hand that lay heavy over their heads. As a result, she had learned quite a few interesting ditties during her time on the streets of London.

She hummed softly for a moment, remembering the tune, and then sang the first line.

“King James, so powerful and great,

With mighty stance and graceful gait.”

Several women cast her angry looks.

“Dressed in silks and jewels and pearls,

Decadent fans and lots of curls.”

Brows furrowed, and eyes narrowed.

“He wins at cards as only king can,

And rejects lady love for that of a…”

The few women who spoke English gave shuttered smiles as their friends asked for a translation. After a quick glance to ensure Coira was not within earshot, she sang the last word.

“Man.”

One woman laughed out loud, and a couple of others grinned at her. Mariel cast them a glance and winked before turning back to her wool.

Perhaps she could win them over yet.

* * *

Mariel hefted the weight of the basket off the tender scar on her hip where the bothersome wound had finally healed. The sun shimmered like a medallion of gold in the clear blue sky, and the pale green grass spread before her. Perfect weather were it not for the gusts that whipped against her with such force it lifted her braid from her back and threatened to pull the basket from her tightly clenched fingers. While Skye was not as cold as the rest of Scotland, the wind was merciless.

The sight of the stables in the distance caught her eye, and she quickened her pace. She was almost to the small building they used for storing dyed wool, where she would get a reprieve from the incessant gales.

She knew the surrounding area well. In the time since she’d arrived, she’d spent hours combing through the area, plotting out an escape if necessary. Just over the hill opposite the stables was where the boats were kept—small ones she could operate. She already knew the one she would take if need be.

Excited shouts came from the stable, muffled by the howling winds. Her step faltered.

“Coira!” Innes’s voice rang out.

A shrill cry laced with fear answered the call. “Grandmother!”

Coira raced through the field. Her little legs blurred with her speed, her chubby arms outstretched as she screeched in panicked wails. Mariel dropped the basket, already darting down the steep hill when she saw the large horse thundering behind Coira. He matched her turns and dodges, easily closing the distance between them as breath steamed from his nose like billowing smoke.