Page 23 of Her Highland Destiny

Rather than answer, Fergus extended his awareness into the cave in an effort to identify any creatures within. Finding none, he ducked into the low ceiling and carried her to the edge, where he could still see well enough, and set her to the dry dirt floor. Her right foot settled on the ground and she gave a hiss of pain despite her protests of being fine.

He pulled off her shoe and rolled down her thick woolen stockings to reveal her slender calf and a misshapen ankle already beginning to bloom with shapeless blotches of purple and red. Definitely not a good sign.

Cassandra lifted and lowered her foot then turned it side to side. “It hurts, but I can move it. It's not broken.”

“Nay, but it still needs care. Ye need rest. And a healer.” He, of course, knew the best healer in all of Scotland, though he'd been hesitant to go and see her after all these years. She hadn't liked Allisandre, yet she'd still traveled for miles to come and see him after his wife's death. He should have visited sooner, he knew, but excuses piled upon one another until he had been gone too long and remorse had prevented him from facing his wrong. Guilt had a way of settling in the soul like a stain and keeping one from doing what was right.

It would appear Cassandra's injury would finally make right that wrong from so long ago.

Fergus would finally go to see his mother.

9

It had been over a decade, yet even through the whirling snow and mounds of slushing mud, Fergus was able to find his way home. The manor sat on the outskirts of a small village, away from the bustle and noise. Exactly as his mother preferred.

A simple thatch roof cottage had once sat in its place. When Fergus was first approached by the king for help, it was within Fergus' grasp to barter for a better life. Fergus had been given wealth and had insisted his mother have a comfortable home with worthy staff. Despite everything Fergus' sacrifice afforded them, he knew his mother wished for life as it was before his mark had appeared.

He hopped down from his horse and aided Cassandra from hers. He helped her limp to the door and rapped upon it. Footsteps immediately sounded on the threshold and the door swung open, bringing with it the familiar scent of his childhood - warm baking bread and drying herbs.

The maid stared down her hawkish nose at him and gave a cold smile which only served to thin her narrow lips. Helga lifted a brow and he could read her disapproval as readily as if she'd spoken it aloud.

Too long gone with too little care for his mother. A pity when she loved her boy so completely.

The thought cut into his heart.

Helga's gaze shifted to where Cassandra leaned against him.

“Helga, get Mother.” Fergus spoke briskly. Before the bitter woman could think something awful about Cassandra.

“She's in the kitchen,” Helga replied dryly. “Of course.” She widened the door to allow them to enter. He strode past her with Cassandra clutching his side for support. He’d wanted to carry her, of course, but she’d insisted on walking herself rather than being carried like an invalid.

A sense of appreciation washed from behind Fergus as Helga's gaze burned over him followed by thoughts he never wanted to hear from the old maid.

Cassandra choked on a cough and he knew she'd heard as well. Damn her. He slid her a dark gaze, but her mirthful grin didn't dissipate.

“She'll no' believe ye're hurt with the way ye're smiling,” he scoffed.

“I canna imagine a lass who wouldna smile in the presence of my son.” The soft voice was exactly as he remembered, kind and gentle and loving.

His heart warmed immediately, and he looked to the doorway where the voice had come from. His mother stood at the center with a wide smile on her face, her eyes crinkled with her joy.

“Ma.” His heart caught.

She looked older, significantly so. Her rich golden hair had gone almost completely white with a thin, cotton-like consistency that threatened to fly free of her bun. She opened her arms and came to him, intent on the hugs she insisted she give and he insisted he was too old for.

Still supporting Cassandra on his left arm, he hugged his mother tight to him. Her head barely came up to his ribs, at least that was the same. Her embrace was tight and full of enough love to light up the whole of Scotland. Indeed, it made his heart glow.

She held no anger at his delay in coming to see her, no sorrow at his absence, nor even frustration that he'd brought someone with him. Not his mother. She was simply glad to have her son home, because with him there, her heart was truly complete.

The idea left a knot in his throat. He had never been able to fully read his mother's thoughts, not like now with the benefit of the stone. He knew she loved him, but never had he truly understood exactly how central to her world he was.

“Are ye going to introduce me?” She glanced to Cassandra. “Surely yer mother raised ye better than that.”

“This is Lady Cassandra. She is traveling with me to Edinburgh and has injured her ankle.” He turned to Cassandra. “This is my mother who will provide ye with the best care of any healer or physician in all of Scotland.”

“Ach, listen to him.” His mother chuckled. “Ye'd think I'm a healer myself with all his praise. I'm merely a mother who sought the best care for my son when he was ill as a lad.”

Despite her humble words, he could sense how his praise made her swell with pride.