Free Highland Magic by K. E. Saxon Page A

the wreck at all.”
    Maggie reached over and softly patted
Branwenn’s knee. “There, there, lass. You mustn’t fret so, for we
shall send a missive forthwith to inform him that you are safe and
sound and living here with us.”
    Branwenn’s head snapped up. Her eyes as round
as saucers, she quickly shook her head. “Nay, you mustn’t!”
    “But, why ever not? Never tell me you wish to
let your poor brother mourn you for one moment longer than is
necessary!” Maggie replied.
    Lady Maclean, who had been silently watching
and listening these past moments, interjected, “Maggie, let the
lass get settled first before you hare off and send missives hither
and thither. ‘Twill be no great sin to wait another day or two,
surely.”
    “Well...I suppose that is so,” Maggie
replied.
    Branwenn relaxed. Thank heaven for
Grandmother Maclean!
    Maggie cleared her throat and resettled
herself more comfortably on her stool. Picking up the discarded
piece of embroidery she’d been working on until a few minutes past,
she put another stitch in the cloth before lifting her head and
drilling Branwenn with a penetrating stare as she asked,
“So...’twas you who found my son in the cave this day past? You who
helped him get back to the keep?”
    “Aye, tho’ ‘tis truth, he did most of the
work himself. I only got the locks and doors open.”
    “And you bathed his brow, forget not.” Maggie
reminded.
    Branwenn sat forward, sure that that handsome
devil of a son of Aunt Maggie’s had opened his big gob and told the
lady that she, the brazen Branwenn, had invaded his manly sanctuary
the night before and gotten in bed with him. She now tried
valiantly to explain. “I only wanted to see how he fared, Aunt
Maggie,” she said in a rush. “He was quite ill when I left him in
the tower chamber. ‘Tis only that I got weary from leaning over him
as I cooled his skin with the damp cloth, that’s why I rested
beside him on the bed. I swear.” Branwenn didn’t realize it, but
she thrust her lower lip out a bit when she continued in a mumble,
“And anyway, that old Physician did naught but sleep the whole time
I was there.”
    A cold chill crept up the back of her neck,
making her scalp tingle as she at last noticed the stunned
expressions on the faces of the two women who sat before her. Damnation, Callum MacGregor, I hate your lily-livered,
toad-eyed, bird-beaked, simple-minded self! You are the
bane—the bane of my existence! Branwenn couldn’t help
it, she squirmed. “ Ahem ...umm... Well, ‘tis good that he
recovered so quickly, do you not agree, Grandmother Maclean?”
    The two ladies flashed a quick glance at each
other, but thankfully must have decided to allow the change in
topic, for Lady Maclean answered lightly. “Aye, lass. And God be
praised ‘twas not a poisoning plot of Laird Gordon’s, as Callum
first thought.”
    Branwenn’s brows arched. “Truly? But who did
the deed then?”
    Maggie chuckled and Lady Maclean joined in.
“‘Twas the doing of a wee lad—one of the new pages in Laird
Gordon’s household—his nephew, in fact,” Maggie told her.
    “Why on earth would the lad have done such a
horribly vile thing?”
    “No, you misunderstand, Branwenn. ‘Twas
naught more than a wee—very, very wee—bit of pig offal”—
    Branwenn slapped her hand over her mouth and
laughed so hard she snorted.
    —“that got stirred in Callum’s wine which
laid him so low.”
    Feeling much better now that she knew her
nemesis had had such a fine blow to his overweening
pride—especially after the way he’d manhandled her, slapped her on
her bottom as he carried her here earlier, and never thanked
her for the services rendered—she settled back with a sigh and
calmly began a new set of stitches in the tapestry she was helping
Grandmother Maclean to make.
    * * *
    Callum’s shoulder was hurting with a deep,
burning ache now as he paced the floor of his bedchamber. He might
have made it back here without