MacArthur's Challenge - Laird's Love Vol. 2

The Next Meeting

Although Aimil had promised him that she would not hide, Iain nevertheless did not see her for another month. Shortly after their talk, some of the villagers had come to him with a problem. That problem bore the Crosbie name.

The Crosbie clan was one that could barely claim the title, to MacArthur's thinking. While once having a chief, the clan had gone for nearly twenty years without one. There were relationships that kept the Crosbie people together, but there was little organization and – importantly to the MacArthurs – no true sense of control when some of the people stepped out of line.

It would seem that several of the Crosbie farmers had been struggling. Rather than address that struggle through hunting or additional work, they'd taken a page from the book of the border families. No less than five of the MacArthur households had fallen prey to reiving. Cows and horses had been taken, along with easy to carry items that might assist the Crosbies in smoothing their woes.

Because he could not permit the actions of the Crosbies to go unanswered, MacArthur had to pull in his warriors and train up for an altercation. Then, on a night in the third week following the first known theft, the MacArthur fighters laid in wait. As several Crosbie males snuck under the cover of night, the MacArthurs circled 'round.

With a battle cry that pierced the territory, MacArthur led his men to converge on the Crosbies. Because the thieves had thought they had gone unnoticed, they did not carry weapons sufficient to overcome the MacArthur men. In less than half an hour, all of the reivers were captured, with some sorely wounded.

Bounties could be had with a taken man, and so Iain MacArthur stored those who were healthy enough in the deepest reaches of the keep. Those who were not went to Aimil's stepfather, who had a hand in healing. Although MacArthur did not know it, Aimil spent the seven days following Iain's successful trap tending to the Crosbie's wounded.

The work was gruelling, but Aimil had enjoyed being helpful. While her preferences leaned toward the kitchens, she found that assisting her stepfather gave her a similar sense of accomplishment. And the Crosbie men were not complaining.

While Aimil was kept primarily to the unconscious in order to protect her from the potential harm from an angered captive, she nevertheless caught the attention of several men as they healed and then were taken to the keep. One in particular, the grandson of the last Crosbie chief, was fascinated by the woman. As he recuperated from his wounds, he watched her.

And he planned.

Hour after hour, Duncan Crosbie observed Aimil as she worked upon the injured and eased their pains. The lass did not turn away from blood or injury, but rather seemed to disregard it as she toiled. When the man who seemed to be the main healer would instruct her, she would respond with swiftness and without complaint. That man called her Aimil and Duncan found it suited the beautiful, dutiful lass.

When she came to treat him, Duncan pretended sleep. He'd noted that the healer wouldn't allow her to be near any of the awakened Crosbie men. When she touched his shoulder, cleaning a wound that would not have kept him down for long at all but which he used as a reason to avoid the keep, he felt something striking.

Aimil's small hands felt like they carried the heat of the noon sun in them. Wherever she touched, Duncan was burning. And, as she leaned close to ensure that his flesh was free of dirt, her hair fell forward. She smelled of flowers and peace and Duncan had to fight the instinct to pull her close. 

"Aimil," the healer called, pulling the woman from Duncan, much to his displeasure. She settled the bandage on his shoulder and stood, taking her warmth and scent with her.

"Aye?" Duncan heard her soft voice ask.

"The Laird has been looking for you agin', love," the healer said, causing Duncan to frown. Before she responded, the healer spoke again. "Go on with you, love," he ordered. "Iain MacArthur may be a patient man, but everyone 'as 'is limits."

"I've not pushed 'is limits," Aimil responded, a slight spark of fire in her voice. Duncan's lips curved upon hearing it. She hadn't shown much ire in her with the ailing, but this proved that it was there.

"'ave ya no'?" the healer replied drily. "I heard tha' ya avoided the man for a full two months before all this Crosbie nonsense arose," he countered.

"Mayhap," Aimil returned, her voice lacking any emotion.

"Aimil," the healer said on a sigh and she huffed.

"Ya canna be cross with me fer seeing the risk to 'im," she said, heat in her voice. "Bu'," she continued when he looked ready to argue. "I've tol' Laird MacArthur I'd no longer hide from 'im, so I'll be going now."

Duncan watched through lowered lashes as Aimil left the room where he and four others had been kept to heal. As he considered his best means for leaving the MacArthur Territory, he included Aimil in his plans. From the discussion he'd just overheard, the lass would be sure to thank him for taking her to the Crosbies.

Aimil, meanwhile, was walking carefully toward the keep. She had not lied when she'd said that Iain's interest had caused her some trouble. There were two women in the clan who were certain that they would be the Laird's wife. Those two did not take kindly to the Laird showing an obvious liking toward someone who dirtied her hands in the kitchens or soils of the garden.

This night, however, Aimil was blessed with smooth travels back to the keep from her stepfather's home. Although she had been working to help in healing the men and she was bone weary, her heart was skipping in her chest as she entered and made her way toward the main hall. She was certain she would find Iain there and her breathing wouldn't settle in her chest as she anticipated it.

"Aimil," Iain said from behind her, giving her a start as she whirled toward him.

He'd been waiting in the shadows, anxious to see the lass after so long a time. As he took in her appearance, though, he became concerned. Raising his hand to cup her face more into the light, Iain scowled.

"Why do ya appear so tired, love?" he asked. Aimil's brows rose as she replied with a sauciness that Iain would soon learn was her penchant with those she actually trusted.

"Ach," she said. "But I so awaited your sweet nothings and lover's compliments." Iain's lips twitched as he stepped closer, staring into the gold flecks in her eyes as his nose took in the flowered scent that seemed to cling to her.

"Naer let it be said tha' I am predictable in the ways of wooing a lass," he replied. Aimil laughed and nodded, her humor matching that in Iain's eyes.

"Come, love," he said. "I had cook set aside a meal for us and have it carried up to the east wall."

Side by side, the two walked up to the upper reaches of the castle, their steps in sync. Should any have noticed that the backs of their hands brushed as they moved, they would have been told twas a coincidence. And, should the same person have noted that Aimil sat between the Laird's legs as they gazed up at the stars, his arms around her as they talked and ate, then such person would be informed that conserving heat was surely not inappropriate.