Page 32 of Highland Sword
“And you think you can do all that with a cool head?”
“I can be reasonable.”
“Youcan, on occasion. But not always.”
Morrigan had a temper. She’d be the first to admit it. During the years following their return to Scotland from Wurzburg, Isabella had witnessed more than a few tantrums. Those years had been difficult for her. Coming back to Scotland brought back the nightmares. Too many times, the corridors of their Infirmary Street house rang with her angry and frustrated outbursts. She knew even then that she was not an easy person to live with. Her father and other members of the household had borne the brunt of it. Isabella, however, had always been a pillar of self-control. She never allowed herself to be dragged into the arguments.
Morrigan felt she’d outgrown a great many things since then, and she also knew that much of her unhappiness at the time was caused by the forced silence about the past.
“Losing my temper with this artist,ifI can find her, won’t end their campaign against either Cinaed or the reform movement,” Morrigan said. “They’ll just go out and find someone else to create their falsehoods.”
“You’ll need to remind yourself of that when you find her.”
“These days, I’m always in control. Well, mostly in control.” Morrigan let out a sigh, looking at the unconvinced quirk of Isabella’s lips. “Very well. I admit I still lose my temper occasionally.”
“And hurt people, however inadvertently.”
“I haven’t hurt anyone.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Morrigan realized her error. On Saturday, she’d fetched Isabella to inspect the cut above Aidan’s eye. “I take it back. You’re thinking of the accident in training yard.”
“The man could have lost his sight.”
She felt terrible enough without being reminded. She’d run all the way to Isabella’s room. Everything about that morning kept coming back to her. Regardless of him holding back, despite her complaints, Morrigan enjoyed battling with Aidan. The competition wasn’t only about skill, it was a battle of temperaments, of personalities. She felt a warm glow even now as she thought about it.
“We were sparring good-naturedly and—”
“Did your blow to his eye have anything to do with what happened between you two in Inverness?”
Numerous accounts of what had occurred continued to circulate within the castle walls, mostly as a result of Sebastian’s enjoyment in deviling Aidan. She didn’t think a supper passed when she wouldn’t hear a new version of the story. She knew the younger brother was the source, for neither Aidan nor Morrigan spoke of it. And regardless of how they behaved toward each other, the teasing continued.
“Absolutely not,” Morrigan assured her. “I was learninghow to fight with a dirk, and he was showing me a few defensive moves. I hit him very much by accident with the butt of the handle. Everyone gets hurt in the training yard at one time or another.”
“That’s exactly what he said. He took full blame for it, of course. Said it was entirely his own fault.”
“It wasn’tentirelyhis fault,” Morrigan retorted. “I mean, I did actually strike him. But it was not to hurt him or blind him.”
She didn’t know why Aidan was continuing to do this to her. Being so blasted nice. Two days had passed, and she continued to think of him. They’d stood so close, his hand holding hers, and she’d seen the look in his grey eyes as he studied every flaw in her face. It was disconcerting.
She’d tried to avoid him since. He needed no stitches, but from what she’d heard from others, his eye looked quite bad.
“Well, you two will have plenty of time tomorrow to decide whose fault it was,” Isabella told her.
“Is he coming too?” She didn’t want to be happy at this news, but she couldn’t help it.
“Aidan Grant is going to visit his clients in the Inverness jail. So I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Don’t hurt him, and come back in one piece yourself.”
The sky in the east had barely begun to lighten from diamond-studded black when Morrigan stood in the courtyard, running her hand over the shoulder of her mount. As the others prepared to leave, she thought again of the conversation with Isabella. She was determined to honor her promise.
More Mackintosh fighters than the last time were accompanying the group going to the port city. She wondered if these trips were for the purpose of bringing back weapons. The rumors of an imminent attack by British forces from Fort George or Fort William were no worse than before. But with Cinaed gone, not every item of news reached her family’s ears.
The excitement in the castle and the village was focused more on the upcoming celebration of Samhain, only a fortnight away. The festival, marking the end of the harvest season, was the time for taking stock of the clan’s supplies of food, grain, and livestock before the winter cold set in. This was Morrigan’s first autumn in the Highlands. She’d been hearing that the festivities at Dalmigavie were legendary. Eating and drinking, music and dancing. And of course, games of skill. Lachlan, Cinaed, and Niall were expected to return before then. Looking at the line of carts now, Morrigan thought it was quite possible they were simply conveying supplies for the holiday.
Morrigan spotted Aidan speaking with Searc near the castle gate. She led her horse to a safe place at the rear of the column. Carrying a torch, Blair strode along the line until he found her. As usual, he needed to check on her before their departure. He was still approaching when he launched into his well-rehearsed speech.
“Ye know how this goes, lassie. No riding off. No shortcuts. No lagging behind. No unexpected stops. Ye stay with the rest of us. Yer but a wee link in this great chain. Are ye listening?”
