Page 15 of Hunted By the Hard Highlander

“Nay, I daenae think he will,” Aurora mused, glancing toward the window as laughter filtered in from below. She smiled when she turned back and caught her brother’s gaze again. “But that doesnae mean that he isnae goin’ to say infuriatin’ things. I think that all men say infuriatin’ things.”

“I willnae,” Adair said stubbornly. It was the kind of conviction and sureness that only a nine-year-old could have. “I promise ye.”

“Are ye tellin’ me that if ye ever say somethin’ infuriatin’ I can tell ye that ye were wrong?” she asked, stifling a giggle at the seriousness of his expression.

The boy paused for a moment, blinking as his brow furrowed in contemplation. Then, a little hesitantly, he said, “Aye. I suppose ye could. But ye willnae need to.”

“I certainly hope so,” Aurora said, reaching over to smooth out a bit of his hair that was sticking up. “But I daenae think I will care. Ye are still me brother, even if one day ye say things that irritate me.”

Silence settled over the two of them. It was warm, comfortable, the way it used to be when they still had their parents. She savored it now, thankful that they had finally gotten a moment of peace, even though she knew that it had been earned through her own sacrifice.

She was not yet sure what that meant.

“I will help ye learn to deal with him,” Adair said after a moment of contemplation. “Ye must if ye are goin’ to be dealin’ with him for the rest of yer life.”

Aurora shook her head incredulously, smiling despite herself. Even though he was still fighting off the last bit of his illness, his thoughts were on her, on making her life more tolerable. It was as if he had inherited every single admirable quality from their parents.

“I can handle meself just fine,” she told him, reaching forward and ruffling his hair, which he seemed to hate more than her fixing it. He made a noise of indignation, his arms flailing as he attempted to swat her away. “But I appreciate yer offer.”

“I am still helpin’ regardless,” Adair said as he fixed his hair. “I will be Laird one day, and I will have to leave ye here.”

“Ach, that is nae somethin’ ye need to worry about just yet,” Aurora said, not wanting to imagine a day in the future when he would no longer be at her side. “That isnae happenin’ anytime soon.”

“Ye are the one that told me I must always be thinkin’ three steps ahead of everyone else,” he pouted, the jut of his lip making him look all of his nine years. “I ken I will be Laird, so I will behave as such.”

“Aye, and ye should. On both accounts,” Aurora confirmed, resisting the urge to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. “But that is thinkin’ nearly one hundred steps ahead. There are too many things that can change between now and ye leavin’ to reclaim our land. I have plenty of time to adapt to his ways without yer help.”

She yawned then, wondering what she had done to bring on such tiredness. By all accounts, she had done less today than she had in the days prior. Perhaps it was the weight of all the running finally catching up with her.

“Ye should lie down,” Adair said, his tone shifting to something much more serious. “It seems that ye need rest.”

She wanted to fight him on it and insist that she was feeling fine, but the weight of her eyelids stopped her. Instead, she sighed softly and said, “Perhaps ye are correct. A nap might do me well. Though just a short one.”

So, though she was enjoying her time with Adair, she rose from her seat. Pausing to drop a kiss to the top of his head, she took a moment to appreciate seeing him this way again. Everything that had happened and that would happen was worth it so long as he kept getting stronger.

“I will come and see ye after I rest,” she promised him.

“Just rest, Aurora,” he said as she left the room. “I will be all right.”

She told herself that she would only lie down for a few hours, but as soon as her head hit her pillow, she drifted off to sleep. The dreams she had were blurry, shapeless things. She could only remember the deep feelings of unease.

Aurora’s eyes did not open again until the morning sun filtered in through her windows. They were heavy and dry, as though someone had rubbed sand in them. When she rolled to her side, there was a tray loaded with pastries, left by a maid whom she had not heard enter.

I must have been more tired than I thought.

As she sat up, her door opened, and Mrs. Duncan walked inside. The housekeeper put her hands on her hips, looking over Aurora’s form. Her gaze lingered on Aurora’s cheeks, then she clicked her tongue.

“Ye are lookin’ pale, Lady Aurora,” she said, crossing the room and pressing the back of her hand against Aurora’s forehead. A huff slipped through her slightly parted lips. “And ye are warm. Are ye feelin’ well?”

“I’m feelin’ fine,” Aurora said, though it was not the entire truth. Her limbs still felt heavy, and exhaustion sat on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. “I only just woke up. That is all.”

It was obvious that Mrs. Duncan did not believe her. Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced at the door behind her as if she were contemplating calling for help. Aurora held her breath, but after a long pause, she said, “Ye should spend the day in bed. It will be good for yer energy levels.”

“Nay,” Aurora said, forcing herself to stand and ignoring the way her muscles screamed in protest. She refused to look weak under a man’s roof. “Adair may still need me, and there is plenty to be done around the castle. I daenae have time to rest.”

“Nothin’ is so important that ye should be pushin’ yer body to its limits,” Mrs. Duncan said, and for a moment, Aurora thought the woman would push her back onto the mattress. Her hands twitched at her sides as if she were holding herself back from doing just that. “But I suppose that attendin’ to yer wee brother isnae too demandin’ of a task.”

“Thank ye,” Aurora said before beginning the slow, almost painstaking process of dressing herself.