Free When a Laird Takes a Lady: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel by Rowan Keats Page B

took off at a run, the parchment flying into the air, the charcoal rolling across the dirt floor. Muirne hesitated only a moment before scurrying off after her lady.
    Aiden eyed Brother Orick. “Find a few more helpers and finish what she started.”

Chapter 5
    M agnus chopped wood until every muscle in his arms ached with the effort. A cool winter wind swept across the loch and snatched away his breath, but no matter how hard he worked, nothing could rid him of the nagging sense that he should be somewhere else.
    When the wood was split and neatly piled shoulder high behind the bothy, he paused.
    Only then did Morag approach him. “Remain angry if you wish,” she said, “but accept this water. Spiting your body to get back at me is childish.”
    He faced her squarely. “Tell me the truth, and we’ll have no more quarrel.”
    “Nay,” she said, her long black hair floating loosely on the breeze. “You are not completely healed. I will not risk your life by sending you back into danger unprepared.”
    “My memory has not returned in three long months. More rest is not the answer. I must seek out those who might know me.”
    She laid a gentle hand on his left side, just below the ribs. “You were nigh on dead when I found you, and your injury was caused by a sword. If you leave now, while your body is not fully mended, you’ll meet an unfortunate fate.”
    Magnus brushed aside her hand. The wound she spoke of had healed. It was his leg—and his lost memories—that still troubled him. “My injuries may never heal completely. I cannot hide forever.”
    She said nothing, her silence an answer of its own.
    “If you will not tell me what you witnessed the day you found me, then we’ve nothing more to say.” Magnus snatched up his bow and a quiver of arrows and limped toward the edge of the forest. “I’ll fetch something to eat for supper.”
    She watched him until he disappeared into the depths of the trees—as she always did. Most days, he enjoyed the feel of her eyes upon him, but today it only fueled his frustration. Being coddled like a bairn did not sit well with him. He was no longer badly injured. He was as healthy as he might ever be. It was time for him to go, to seek out his past—no matter how ugly that past might be.
    And it might indeed be ugly. Only nobles and soldiers carried swords. If he’d been injured by a blade, he had almost assuredly stood on the wrong side of the law. A worry that was upheld by Morag’s fear for his safety. Although she refused to reveal the details of that night, the pallor of herface when she spoke of it suggested she had witnessed the attack, not simply found him lying in a pool of blood.
    Magnus lifted his gaze to the stone tower in the distance.
    Castle guards had felled him, most likely. Which made him at best a thief, a spy, or a poacher. At worst, a murderer and a knave.
    Not that he wanted to believe he was any of those. His gut insisted he was an honorable man with a fine purpose. But with no memories of his past, how could he be certain? His only clues were the vague feelings that assailed him—like the one that insisted that somewhere, in some place he couldn’t envision, someone was waiting for him to come home. Or the bone-chilling sense of dread that always followed his attempts to recall who that someone might be.
    Magnus slipped behind the wide trunk of an ancient oak tree. Up ahead, through the thin winter brush, he could see the telltale dark brown coat of a hind. His mouth watered at the thought of eating venison, but Magnus did not lift his bow. Downing a deer would set the castle huntsman on his tail—deer were reserved for the nobles. In truth, all the animals of the forest belonged to the laird, but hiding the carcass of a dead rabbit was a great deal easier than hiding a deer.
    A branch cracked to his right.
    The hind took fright and bolted into the trees. Magnus flattened himself against the trunk of the oak and slowed his breaths to a