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

  Duncan was pulling his shirt on and the neck got wet with his damp hair. Isabella reached up and fingered his hair. “When we get to your home, would you let me cut your hair or do you want it long?”

  “This is the longest it has been,” he admitted while shaking his head. “Normally, it's cut short.”

  “How short?”

  His expression changed from natural to sly as he leaned in. “Dinnea ye worry, Isabella, ye can still sink yer hand into it.”

  While aiming a playful slap to his face, her hand got caught and the back of it, kissed. “Let’s get back on the road, so we can get ye some food and,” he reached over with his free hand and caressed her face, “get home.”

  17

  The looming castle made from pure black rock was a sight for Duncan’s sore eyes. After three long days on the forested road, passing through two ice-cold lochs and taking a rocky mountainside road had him finally getting back to his home, the Lairdship of Brynkirk, home of Clan Goreidh.

  He had stopped the horse just to gaze at the home he had believed he would never see again. His heart felt a breath away from bursting with the tumultuous senses of relief, happiness, and homesickness all swirling inside him. When he had ridden out to go to war, he had pinned his hope on coming home alive. But in the heat of the war, he had decided that if he had to die to save his home then he would die.

  Now, alive and somewhat well, the sight of his home, made a heavy lump form in his throat. His eyes dipped to the lovely lass resting on his chest, asleep. Isabella was tired, had been for the past two days, and he hated that he had put her through such a grueling journey. The last good rest they had shared had been two days ago on the wide plains of Glen Coe, in an inn close to the border of Lochaber.

  At least we’re home.

  It disappointed him that she had not seen the beauty of the Loch Mhòrair but in the days to come, she would. As his eyes traced the high walls, the towers protruding from the curtine walls were topped with walkways that he had used a race- rack in his childhood. His lips twitched at the square crenellations that he had nearly fallen through and broke his neck on those runs, and his heart swelled with happiness.

  Isabella must have sensed the lack of movement because she stirred in his arms. Her eyelashes fluttered and her head twitched on his chest. She sat up and looked around and he smiled when he saw her lips open and her jaw drop. Awe and a little disbelief were painted starkly over her face. He felt pride warm his chest when she took in the fullness of Castle Goreidh.

  He kept quiet as her head swung slowly from left to right then turned to him with deep respect in her gaze. “Is this your home? Are we here?”

  Speechless, he nodded and she said, “Duncan, I see why you’re so proud of your home. It is…magnificent. Your words pale in comparison.”

  Duncan’s eyes flickered up the wall in front of him and he saw the leather frock of a guard disappear from view. They had been spotted and he was happy about it. He suspected that when he did ride in, the whole clan would be in the courtyard, practically climbing over each other to see him.

  “Wait till ye see inside,” he smiled and dropped a quick kiss on her temple. He spurred the horse forward, through the open gate and into the courtyard moments—mere moments—before the front doors blasted open and people streamed out like a sudden landslide.

  They were surrounded but no one came close. His eyes skimmed over faces that he knew, a cousin here, an aunt there, an elder hobbling on his cane, and a pregnant woman resting her hand on her belly. Then, a woman, as dark-haired as he was pushed to the front.

  His mother, Elsbeth, was clad in a dark sackcloth, a dress of mourning—mourning for him. She saw him then stepped away, her hand flying to her breast in disbelief, an emotion shown on her paling face. He swung his leg around and slipped off the horse to go to her.

  When he opened his arms, she sank into them and her knees nearly crumbled under her. She sagged on him and he could feel her deep sigh of relief. “Thank God yer home, son,” Elsbeth breathed.

  His heart was wound up somewhere along his Adam’s apple while he hugged her back. “Aye, Mother I’m back,” he pulled away to smile. “It’s been a long while in comin’ though—eight days on the road.”

  She nodded, her blue eyes, several shades lighter than his own flicked over his shoulder and he shifted. Isabella was there, not quite looking at anyone, or meeting anyone’s eyes—and there were dozens of eyes on her.

  He was about to explain who she was but when he and his mother parted, the others came bombarding him. He got hugs, exclamations of joy, and sighs of relief from the men and women of his clan. A child, Roland—affectionately called Roy— his cousin’s child, came and tugged at his leg. He lifted the small tow-headed boy up to his chest and hugged him.

  He tugged the boy’s thumb from his mouth, “Stop that.”

  “Who is she?” his mother asked while pulling away. Duncan held back his grimace at his mother’s suspicious expression. “And where is Orrick?”

  “It’s a…” he breathed, while looking at a decidedly uncomfortable Isabella and feeling the grief of his dead friend and comrade bubble up in his chest, “a very long story, Mother but the lass…she saved me life.”

  His admission did not make his mother’s look any softer. But he had to press forward, “It’s been a long journey, Mother, we need to rest, she more than me.”

  Elsbeth’s look was sharp. “And will ye let me know who this lass is?”

  “Nay here, Mother, let’s go inside and I’ll tell ye everything,” he said then handed the boy off to his mother and went to get Isabella.

  He lightly grasped her waist and helped her down to the ground. She briefly hid her face in his chest before facing the curious onlookers. She did not look skittish like a young filly but she was not as brave as he expected. Her hand gripped his tightly as they went forward.

  The crowd dispersed, trickling away in spurts. Soon, it was mainly him, his mother, and Isabella standing in the courtyard. Guards were lingering but he paid them no mind.

  “Mother?” He asked pointedly and she nodded.

  “Welcome to our home, please…” she flicked a look at Duncan, “come with me.”

  Isabella’s grip tightened so hard her nails made crescent marks on his skin and he understood why—his mother’s words were welcoming but her tone was edging into frosty. This certainly was not the welcome he had imagined they would receive. He had almost died! If not for Isabella and her aunt, he would never have lived.

  Mayhap, Mother will be more understanding when I explain it all to her. I did just bring a stranger on her doorstep.

  Guards held the door open to a long rectangular entrance room that surprisingly felt more intimate than imposing. The floor was made with the same rock as the wall, but it was covered with rushes. The inner dark walls, however, had been overlaid with wood to give a warmer feel.

  A large stone staircase with a wooden railing spiraled down at the end of the hall while a wide doorway to the great hall was to the other. As he passed by the entrance of the great hall, he could feel the warmth from the fires inside wash over him with deep familiarity.

  He did not have to look to know that all four fireplaces of the cavernous room were filled to their capacity with roaring fires. It had been designed to make sure all the inhabitants were warm while they ate. They took the stairs up to the upper chambers.

  His eyes did not skip over the rough warriors with weapons tied to their backs and belts, and faces hardened with severity. Their home might be far removed from the insurgency at the English borders but it was still wartime. It would be deeply foolish to let their home be unsecured as the whole country was at war.

  They passed the first floor and the second up to the third where all the family rooms were laid out in the long, carpeted hall. His mother took them to a room and held it open for them. “I willnae take much of yer time, but will ye two sit with me for a few minutes?”

  A pair of overstuffed ch
airs were resting on a circular carpet, beside the hearth. Isabella tugged her hand away and sat, while Duncan chose to stand. Leaning his back on the wall, he folded his hands and prayed that this will be short.

  His mother sat and looked at them, “Will ye introduce me?”

  Duncan said while watching his mother closely, “Mother, this Isabella Dellendine, she was the one who found me when I was lying half-dead on her aunt’s property—in England. Isabella, this is me mother, Lady Elsbeth Goreidh.”

  Elsbeth’s lips tightened at the word England but she did not show much animosity. “I am indebted to ye, Miss Dellendine, thank ye.”

  “I feared he was dead,” Isabella said, her voice dipped and her expression shadowed, but she did not shy away from his mother’s gaze, “But then he looked at me and I had to call for help.”

  His mother looked confused. “How was it that ye took a Scottish warrior in yer home without reservations? I’d think ye would have rather kill him than give him mercy.”

  “I had dressed as an English soldier, Mother,” he clarified. “I had nearly been captured and after running off, found meself in their land and kent it better to look like one of them. If only to get some time to recuperate.

  “When they did find out I was Scottish, they still gave me aid.”

  He could see the most important question—why is she here?—flashing in his mother’s eyes but she did not ask it. “I see,” she nodded, “how long have ye been on the road?”

  “Eight days,” Duncan said, “and for the last three, we journeyed on from the break of dawn to dusk, sometimes even longer.”

  “I can see the tiredness in yer face, Miss Dellendine,” his mother said. “Let me show ye to a room so ye can rest.”

  A look she threw over his shoulder was a silent order for him to stay put and he nodded. As Isabella stood, and followed his mother out of the room, he sat and rubbed his aching thigh. He knew his mother would not be harsh or ungrateful to Isabella but he knew she was not happy having a Sassenach in her home.

  He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face. A part of him had wanted their arrival to be one without any problems but he should have known better. He had come back—proverbially from the dead—from a country, they had warred with, with a woman from the same enemy country with him. When it got out to the neighboring clans, he was going to be the talk of the Highlands.

  Rubbing his eyes, he looked up when his mother came in and closed the door behind her. “Tell me the truth, Duncan, why did ye carry her with ye?”

  “Because I ken I’m beginning to love her,” he said plainly and his mother staggered in her step.

  18

  “Duncan!” She exclaimed. “What in God’s name is this? How can ye love her? She’s a Sassenach!”

  “She is also the woman who saved my life,” Duncan said and began to tell her what had happened in the war, how he had nearly been captured, and how he had tottered miles past the battleground to Miss Dellendine’s lands. “I passed out resting on their barn, Mother, injured, bleeding and one cold night away from death. Isabella found me there and yes, even though I had on the uniform of their people, she could have easily left me for dead, I was a stranger with the power to kill—but she dinnae.”

  “But Duncan,” she said alarmed, “she’s English. How do ye ken the others will see ye if ye get intimate with her—that is if ye havenae been already?”

  “Nay, Mother,” he gave her a wry smile. “We havenae.”

  She still looked troubled, “But Duncan, we’ve been searching for a Scottish woman to be yer wife, and ye ken that. Why would ye jeopardize this by bringing her here?”

  He had not wanted to give her the whole truth about Isabella’s presence as he had not thought it was his place to speak but he had to put his mother at some kind of ease, “Mother…she was about to be married off, nay, sold off, to a man who was going to ill use her. She was fearing for her life. I couldnae leave her to suffer that dismal fate when I had the opportunity to take her away from it.”

  Elsbeth’s face tightened at his words. “I see, but Duncan, if ye must be wise, conduct yer affairs with care.”

  Her words were tactful but Duncan knew what she meant. “I am nae going to hide her away from me people, Mother. She isnae a horrid secret I want to keep away from sight and buried. Isabella is worth more than that.”

  “Duncan, I…" she trailed off and his brow ticked up at her silence. When she did not speak for a few moments of heavy silence he decided that they could have this conversation at a later time—one when he was not tired and dirty from the road.

  “I’ll speak to ye later, Mother,” he said standing. “I desperately need a bath and a bed.”

  Her lips flattened, “I’ll send for yer water.”

  With a nod and an uttered thanks, he left the room and entered his old quarters. The room looked untouched but there was no dust or dirt on his things. The linens on his bed looked clean and fresh too so at least his mother had kept his room in order in case he did come home.

  He lifted a trunk and took out a pair of clean trews, a linen shirt, and breeks to rest on the bed. He was very grateful for the linen clothes Miss Dellendine had given him but English clothes did not sit well with him, or on him for that matter.

  A knock on his door had two servant boys coming in with two buckets of water each. They poured them into the wooden tub before greeting him with genuine words of welcome and relief before leaving. The bath was soothing to his tired body and his stiff leg.

  While scrubbing his hair, he smiled at the image of Isabella’s hand sunk through it. He had to get it cut and the bristles on his face shaved off. Many Scotsmen loved thick beards, and for his location, far up in the Highlands where the cold could be bitter, it was a sensible thing but he liked his cheeks bare.

  The warmth of the bath was tempting him to go to sleep so he stepped out, dried off and got dressed. He laid on the bed and sudden exhaustion had him feeling like a rock sinking into the deepest part of the loch below. Pressing his hands into his eyes, Duncan felt that he had pushed this tiredness away because of the deep and heavy anticipation of getting home.

  A small nap cannae hurt…just a small one. I’ll probably be up by suppertime.

  The softness of the sheet and the malleability of the pillow felt worlds better than rocky ground for a bed and his arm for a cushion. I’m home…I’m finally home.

  ***

  After living with Ralf for years, Isabella knew what passive aggression was. Duncan’s mother was cordial to the point coldness began edging in. The frosty silence between them had her aching to be alone. The lady opened a door to a room and held it. “Ye can rest here, Miss Dellendine.”

  “Thank you,” she said while stepping in.

  The lady nodded, closed the door behind her and walked off. Isabelle dropped her sack of clothes and looked at the good sized four-poster bed in the middle of the room, topped with pillows, a small table beside it, a few trunks to the side and a wide window facing west. There was no fireplace in the room but on the table was an iron bed pan for holding warm coal.

  I’m not welcome here…am I? My suspicions were right. No one is going to open their arms to someone from an enemy country.

  It felt so disappointing to come so far and be taking in with a grudging welcome. But staying at home or with Aunt Matilda was not an option.

  She sank to the edge of the bed and clasped her hands on her lap. Happy memories of her rolling on the grass with Duncan tickling her sprang up and made her lips twitch. Perhaps she should allow the woman some time to get accustomed to her.

  And mayhap I am just the foolish lamb who walked into a lion’s den.

  The dismal thought had her thinking of all the decisions she had made. Was choosing to know how to swordfight wrong? Had learning to be comfortable in breeches just as dresses wrong? Had running away with Duncan been wrong?

  But the way he makes me feel, like a queen, a woman he admires. A woman who he…desires? Or a
m I going ahead of myself with desire?

  Duncan might not be a master at hiding his feelings, but he had not said too much about his emotions either. She knew she felt his lust when he kissed her and his tender touch at night and his playfulness when he chose to.

  “He said he’s learning to love again, that does not mean he loves me or is in love with me…” she sighed, “it’s still too early for that.”

  The concern kept niggling at her mind even while tiredness had her stretching out on the bed and grasping a pillow. The softness of the pillow had her thinking that it was filled with soft down. She was snuggling into it when the door was pushed in and she could feel—as absurd as it was—that it was Duncan there at the door.