Ravished By The Iron Highlander (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Read online

  He pulled away with a small bite to her lip. “Ye taste wonderfully sweet, and smell of wet grass and sweet heather.”

  “That’s because you rolled me into them,” she whispered. “Take responsibility for your actions.”

  Her actions were fuel to fire as he slid his hands to meet at her waist and slid them up to rest just under her breasts. “Don’t ask for what ye cannae handle, lass.”

  Smiling wryly, she swung her body off his and sat near him. “You’re right.”

  Duncan sat up, and reached over to pluck twigs and leaves from her hair, “Sorry lass but the moment was ripe.”

  “I can’t blame you,” she said. “It was pretty amusing, and I think I know why you warned me to expect the unexpected. I don’t suppose we’ll have time to share more moments like this when we do get to your home.”

  “I wouldnae say that,” Duncan said as he got to his feet and went to the stone where he laid his washed shirt on to dry. He plucked it off and tugged it over his head, “We can still find the time.”

  Helping her to her feet, Duncan rested on the horse and joined her. “Are you sure ye ate enough?”

  “Yes,” she said, as they moved off. The thick blanket of trees blocked out the little bit of sun above and caused shadows to grow around them as they rode off north. The air was much cooler under the boughs of trees but Duncan’s body was a constant source of heat behind her back. The chirping of birds was distant and the small creatures darted from one shadowed bush to another.

  When they did break out of the forest, the lands were wide and wild. But they soon found a road where the horse could pick up the pace to a canter.

  “There’s a village up ahead,” Duncan murmured in her ear. “If ye like, ye can use some of the coins yer aunt gave ye for a proper bath, food, and a bed.”

  “It's tempting but no,” Isabella said after a moment of thought. “I’d prefer we stay out of sight until we absolutely have to. In case my aunt has not successfully fooled my brother and if he goes looking for me, he’d find a trail.” She looked over her shoulder to him and saw his nod. In relief, she smiled. “You understand then?”

  “Aye,” he replied. “When ye have an enemy ye do have to take precautions. Honestly, I should have known better. It's basic warfare tactics to throw yer enemy off yer trail.”

  While holding the reins in one hand, he rested the other on her hip. Resting her palm over his, Isabella asked. “Duncan, do you remember anything from the war?”

  “Some of it,” he said and his voice dropped to wary, “and there are parts that I would rather not. Why d’ye ask?”

  As if she was in a battlefield laced with traps, Isabella cautiously asked, “What role did you play in it?”

  “I was a commander,” he explained. “With me position as a Laird, it was expected of me to take control. I may nay have lived in the lowlands but I ken the area. I was made the head of fifty men and fought side-to-side with them.” Sorrow then colored his voice and she could feel his pain bleeding into his words, a hurt as red as real blood spurting from a wound. “My second was killed right before me eyes, in the most gruesome way. I—I should have kent better. Orrick had a family, a wife, and bairns that I should have never ripped him away from to fight in a war.”

  Isabella regretted asking and sucked in a breath. “I am so sorry, Duncan, I should have never asked.”

  “Nay,” he corrected her, “ye should have asked. I’ve held it in for the moment I remembered him, but I never had someone to tell. If ye hadnae asked, I wouldnae have said a word.”

  “His death pains you dearly,” she said, knowingly.

  “Aye,” he said. “He was me friend and comrade. In all aspects, he was me brother.” He dipped his head to drop a kiss on her neck, right above her pulse point. “I cried for him the very night I remembered, right there on yer aunt’s bed.”

  The road was getting wider as they neared the village but Duncan stayed off the path to the forest, while keeping the road in sight. The path took them to a hillside that was over the tiny village resting in the hollow base of it. Duncan found a place for them to rest and while she sat, he tied the horse to a grazing patch and went to gather kindle for a fire.

  The glen where they rested was wide with patches of grass and patches of bare dirt. The trees that surrounded it were little more than tall shrubs that had branches, short enough to have wood broken from them and wide and leafy enough to cover them from rain.

  While he was working, she saw the pain of his friend’s death still stamped on his face. When he had the fire going, she speared the cold beef with sticks and jammed them into a steeple over the fire. Duncan was making tiny fires around them, to keep off the wildlife that might come wandering in.

  He was crouching when his leg gave out from under him and he fell, luckily catching himself on his hands. Isabella was by his side in moments and offered her hand. He looked away with a stubborn expression fixing his face in a hard set as he tried to get up.

  Twice he tried and twice he failed but she never took her hand away. Finally, he took her hand and hobbled up with his legs still shaky under him. When they neared the blanket, she helped him down then sat and let his head rest on her lap. Softly, she dug her hand into his thick hair and began massaging his scalp. She was not going to say a word until he said one first.

  The chirp of insects was in the air before he broke the silence between them. His eyes were closed but his expression was tortured, “I feel weak.”

  She did not reply, instead, she reached over to pluck the stick of steaming meat from the fireside and blew on it to cool it. “I won’t pretend that I understand the full tragedy of war, but think of him, think of his nature, how he would act. Would he blame you for his death?”

  His eyes slotted open and his mouth downturned. “He wouldnae.”

  Placing the skewered meat before him, Isabella reached for the sack and pulled the bread. “Before he died, were you two close?”

  Duncan rubbed his forehead, “We were. I always lent him a hand when he needed it and he’s been there with me for years. Once, on a huntin’ trip, he even pushed me out of the way of a raging boar and narrowly—and I mean by a hairsbreadth—escaped being gored to death himself.”

  “That sounds like a deep bond,” Isabella said as she worked up to her next question. “Was there anything you could have done to stop him dying?”

  “I could have left him at home where he belonged,” Duncan mourned.

  She leaned over him to stare him right in his eyes, “You know what I mean, Duncan. Stop acting like you do not. Was there anything you could have done on the battlefield to stop him from dying?”

  “Nay,” he uttered, softly and loaded with regret.

  “Do you think that he died with the confidence that you would take care of his family with him gone? That you would do right by him?” Isabella finished.

  Duncan did not speak for a prolonged moment and she was getting worried when Duncan sat up, twisted, hauled her onto his lap and kissed her—hard. Isabella barely got time to jam the stick in an upright position before he laid her back, covered her slight frame with his and kissed her deeply. Delving between her lips with his tongue, Isabella, having recovered from the sudden move, kissed him back, chasing his tongue with hers.

  She might be a virgin, but there was no mistaking his arousal the two times they had kissed, and now, on her back, she felt him on her thigh.

  Tearing her mouth from his she breathily asked, “Aren’t we to eat?”

  “Oh, I’m eating,” Duncan growled lightly, as he sealed his lips to hers again. His mouth consumed her, controlled her, laying claim to her body with each pass of his tongue. Her hands clutched at his shoulder while the other had sunk into his hair.

  His kiss softened to mere suckles on her swollen, tender lips before he strayed and kissed a path down the slope of her collarbones, his kisses as fragile as a butterfly’s wings. His hands were on her legs, rubbing her outer thigh and dear god, his movements
might be slow but a fire was building inside her, too hot and too quickly for her comfort.

  A warm, rough tongue was licking under her ear, sending indecent thoughts running through her head. But she managed to snatch the splinters of her control from the corners of the earth they had been flung to and softly pushed him away, “Duncan, stop.”

  His breath was hot on her neck and he kissed her neck once more before pulling away and laying on his side, toward her. His smile was faint. “I got carried away, and I apologize.”

  Refraining from licking her lips, Isabella smiled, sat up and reached for her meat, that thankfully had stayed upright. “Let’s eat.”

  * * *

  It was the tiny groan that first tugged Isabella out of her sleep. Duncan was near her, sleeping on the blanket that her aunt had given them. They had placed both blankets side by side and she used her coat as coverage.

  She closed her eyes again, thinking that it was probably the pain from his injury flaring up. She turned away and tried to settle back down but this time his pained grunt was louder and as she was reaching over to touch him, he yelled out and snapped up, flinging his fists at invisible opponents.

  Isabella cowered away before him before reaching out to grab his now flailing hands. His chest was heaving and she sat on his lap, cupping his face. She felt the faint pricks of his beard and the twitching of his jaw and forced him to look at her. “Breathe, Duncan, breathe for me. It was just a night terror. Whatever you saw, was not real. Look at me. Look at me!”

  The wild look in his eyes calmed and his breathing was not as frantic. Suddenly, he slumped and pressed his forehead to her breast. His hands looped around her waist and pulled her tight. With one hand she massaged his scalp and with the other, rubbed the back of his neck.

  His breath was soft, “I saw him again, Isabella, I saw the moment Orrick died, how he was cut down and—” his shoulders shuddered and his rough palms were running over her back.

  Was it because I had forced him to think of the battle…to think of his friend?

  Squelching her guilt, Isabella kissed his hairline. “I’m sorry.”

  “‘Tis not yer fault,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I woke ye. D’ye ken ye can go back to sleep. It’s a few hours to dawn still.”

  She wanted to ask how he knew that, but did not. All she could see around them was dark, the bushes were dark, and the sky above was more so. “I can try.” She caressed his cheek, “Lie with me.”

  “So ye can protect me from more terrors?” he asked, his tone a little dry but she heard sadness as the undertone.

  “Because I want you near me,” she clarified. “Unless, you’d rather sleep on the ground, alone and cold?” Her last words were teasing.

  She earned herself a slap on the rear. “Minx.”

  Isabella slid off his lap and laid sideways to face him but he softly turned her over and tugged her back to his chest. Looping an arm around her waist, his nose ran over the back of her neck, evoking a small shiver from her. He dropped a small kiss, “Go to sleep, sweetling.”

  Covering his broad hand with hers, she sighed and under his hold, slipped back to sleep.

  14

  “This is the town of Lanark, lass,” Duncan said. “I ken we’re far enough from yer aunt’s to have a night in an inn, eh?”

  “Yes…” Isabella said absently and he knew why. Her eyes, just like his, were locked on the dark mass of St Kentigern Church, glinting darkly in the afternoon sun. The large box-shaped church, with a gothic-styled chancel arch at the north side, was perched on a hillside over the large market town.

  He smiled, “Tradition tells us that the church over yonder was founded by the Saint himself, shortly before he died at Hoddam,” Duncan said. “‘Tis said it was where William Wallace was married.”

  “Wallace…” Isabella mused before her tone changed. “Wallace, the traitor?”

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “Typical that ye should only ken that about him. The man was a hero who spearheaded the movement to secure our freedom from the English,” he spurred the horse forward. “Then again, he was hanged, disemboweled, beheaded, drawn and quartered, so, pick and choose which aspects of his life ye want to remember him by.”

  He was right. “I apologize. We have been taught to see the worst of your people by giving us all the bad parts and leaving out the good.”

  Rewarded with a nod and smile, she, deeply mollified, looked ahead of them “Can we get something in the market? I smell baking bread and I want something warm in my stomach. Soup, broth, anything.”

  “We can do that,” Duncan agreed as he steered the horse toward the market. The Mercat Cross was prominent in the middle of the entrance and to the side of the sign, shopkeepers and traders were gathered, loudly discussing—or debating, rather—mercantile matters.

  Duncan alighted and took her off the horse. He saw her rub her legs and then patted her cloak where he knew, held in a secret pocket, was the pouch of money her aunt had given her.

  “Lass,” he advised, “give me a few of the coins. It's better for me to have them as the sellers with sharp eyes will latch on to ye if they see the money, ken yer nay from here, and charge ye double. And let me speak too.”

  Isabella hugged him and used his body to shield her as she dropped a few silver pennies into his hand. Kissing her cheek, he grasped the horse’s reins and walked with her between the stalls. They spotted stalls filled with grain and hay, others covered with fruits, and men who had pens of live cattle and sheep, racks with dried and tanned hides. A mix of scents, raw fish, cattle dung and cooking food—familiar to him but not to her—was in the air.

  Women were haggling over food; men were gambling in a corner and cooks were stirring pots over coal fires in the far side. Isabella went to the first cook but Duncan was the one who spoke, “What’s inside this broth, ma’am?”

  “Corn, pumpkin, an’ green leeks, a bowl fer a penny,” the capped woman said, “Fer a doble, I’ll throw in the broiled beef.”

  “Wash the bowls out, first,” Duncan ordered as he held Isabella close while the wooden bowls were washed out and the broth poured into them. He handed over the two pennies and gave Isabella the first bowl. He pulled her out of the way of other hagglers for them to drink.

  A dash of salt could have made the broth better but it was warmed, spiced, and filling. Isabella was nibbling on the corn but his eyes were on two young men at the far side of the wide space. He saw them eyeing Isabella and gave one of them a warning glare.

  Finished, he handed the bowls back to the woman. “What else d’ye want?”

  “Bread, cheese, and whatever we can carry to serve us on the road,” Isabella said.

  A foreboding feeling, stemming from seeing those two men before, was settling into Duncan’s gut. “I can get those meself while ye are at the inn. C’mon, let’s leave.”

  Holding her hand, he guided her out of the market to the back entrance, but at the gate, a man grabbed Isabella’s hand, “Well, what have we here?”

  He spun as the scruffy grabbed the crotch of his dirty, stained trews, and grinned, “Yer a pretty little wench. Perhaps yer man can give me a turn with ye—”

  Duncan’s fist squared on the man’s jaw and he reeled away, tottering on his feet before he fell. Boiling in rage, Duncan was ready to get on his knees, wrap his hands around the man’s neck and kill this leech, but Isabella’s hand on his arm stopped him, “Keep yer mitts to yerself,” he spat.

  Tugging Isabella away, he put her on the horse, not caring about the many eyes peering at them both, and joined her. He spurred the horse into a run and in a few moments, not even the tip of the highest tent in the market behind them could be seen.

  “Duncan,” Isabella giggled, “slow down.”

  He grunted.

  She twisted, “Are you always this possessive?”

  “Aye,” he said gruffly. “It angers me to see anyone, manhandling ye like that, and for that stinkin’ louse to ken ye were a whore made me want to do mor
e than plant a facer on him. He had earned me hands around his neck.”

  Her soft hand rested on his tense arm and his anger began to lessen in his chest. “Don’t worry about it, Duncan, I won’t ever see him again.”

  “But to ken ye were a whore and that he could take a turn,” Duncan seethed. “Lass, let me tell ye, ye are the farthest thing from a whore.”

  They were coming to a house that had an inn sign hanging over the road and he took the lane inside. “I know you’ve been with women before but…a woman from that profession.”

  He sighed, “It’s a dark part of me past, Isabella. I’m nay proud of it but at one time, I was in company with men who paid frequent visits to such houses and aye, I went with them, just to slake me lust. At that age, I was only seeking that…bliss…any randy youth was. But now, I am finding meself looking for a love like the one me parents enjoyed. They loved, cherished, and adored each other.”