The Highlander's Touch

THT | 1

There were times when Saeran Sinclair felt the need to wring some throats.

Right now was one of them.

"Perhaps we should rethink this," she said for the hundredth time that morn. Her frustration was barely veiled behind the patience she was forcing herself to use with her sister.

"Nonsense," Blaine said, for once again, the hundredth time that morn. "We've been over this, sister. 'Tis for the best. I am doing this to protect you. Can you not be grateful of that? Do you want us to be separated? Is that what you wish?"

Saeran pressed her lips together.

"You know that is not my will. However, I think there is a better way to go about this. What if someone finds out? I don't have the deepest voice in the Highlands."

"Many a lad have squeaky voices. You're my younger brother, Sae. Not older. 'Tis not expected of you to look like a brute."

"I have bréasts," she said bluntly. Her sister didn't seem to understand this. She had bréasts that were nearly too large to be hidden with binding, and hair too thick and curly to be kept in the tight bun she had decided to make. "He will eventually take notice."

Blaine gave her a patronizing look. The need to wring her throat rose again. Her sister did not understand at all.

"If you play your part and help me like you promised, it won't be a problem. He'll be under my thumb so strictly that when we reveal what you really are, he won't think of sending you away. You can live with us, and life will be well. You'll see."

Then, just like that, she turned to the window of the carriage and forgot about Saeran's life-altering problem. Like it felt her pain, the carriage tipped to the side and Blaine gasped, head hitting the edge of the window.

Saeran hid her pleasure by following her sisters example, looking out the window. The Highlands were beautiful this time of year. Rolling green hills, thick bursts of forests, and flowing rivers. It felt right—like home. It had been so long since Saeran had been to the Highlands.

When their parents, Lord and Lady Sinclair of Wilkshire, had been alive, they'd stayed in the Lowlands. Blaine had flourished in court, opening like a flower to possible suitors and the gossip that swirled around like the wine and intrigue. It was never ending, and had quickly turned into a pain for Saeran.

Still, in a way, she should be grateful for their time at court. They were the last peaceful moments they'd had with their family, and while it was the court's influence on Blaine that had gotten her into this situation, she couldn't make herself regret it.

If only they had been going to the Highlands for a more pleasant matter.

Saeran sighed.

"Don't be so woeful," Blaine snapped from across the small area. The forest green and gold coloring of the inside of the carriage only made it seem smaller. "You sound like a lady."

"I am a lady," Saeran muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. The tunic was loose enough to give room for her bréasts while hiding her curves. It was a small pleasure for the pain she was going through.

"Aye, but you do not look as one, and you certainly should not act like one. Saeran, fix your hair. It is starting to fall out of the bun." The only reason Saeran listened to Blaine was because she was older and looking out for her. Otherwise, she would have reached across the carriage and followed out on her mental threat. "We should have sheared it clean off. It wouldn't have been a problem then."

Saeran started to sigh again—then cut herself short. No reason to give her sister more to complain about.

She undid the pins holding the cap to her head and gathered the soft ringlets in a fist, reaching farther up to re-tie the bun. When her hair wasn't piled on top of her head, it was shoulder length—half of what it had been before this whole fiasco. Her throat was tight as she threaded her fingers through the short curls.