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

  She kept quiet and wondered if he would come in. When he did not, she heard him close the door and walk away. He must think I’m asleep and want me to rest.

  The softness of the pillow did lure her into a light rest but her mind was still troubled. It was a cold chill coming through the window and the soft rumblings in her stomach that woke her and she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

  A quick look out the window told her that the day had sunk to dusk and having not eaten for almost half a day, she decided it best to go and find something. Leaving the room, she felt a deep silence in the hall and knew no one was there. She followed it to the end and then, down the stairs.

  Halfway down, a happy sound of chatter and the clinking of metal goblets drew her to the great hall and, on the ground, the succulent smell of food was thick in the air. She hesitated but drew near to the wide door and stopped there, daring herself to enter.

  * * *

  The clamor and hullabaloo that surrounded him made him smile. Word had spread about his return and it felt as if the whole village crammed into the hall. Men, women, and children filled the room, partaking in the evening meal.

  Darkly clad servants bobbed and weaved through the long tables carrying wooden trays laden with roasted beef and pheasant, smoked potatoes, boiled turnips, and roasted leeks, others carried pitchers of water, ale and wine.

  The succulent aromas filling the air had his stomach grumbling. He did not make it three steps more before people came grabbing at him, hugging him, breathing their relief and uttering their best wishes. He pried himself away and hopped onto the high table where his mother sat. A chair, looking like a throne, sat in the middle. It was where his father had sat and where he had not attempted to sit in, even in his five years as the Laird.

  Taking a seat near her, he kissed her on the cheek and sat. “They are all happy to see me.”

  “Of course they are,” Elsbeth said while sipping her wine. “They do love ye.”

  He reached for a wooden trencher and piled it with meat, bread, roasted potatoes, and reached for his wine. I’ll send up a meal when Isabella awakes. Digging in, he felt pleased with the spice and succulence of the meat.

  He was halfway through the meal when the whole room hushed. His head darted up to see Isabella at the doorway, her face paled in fear, before she spun and ran.

  Whispers erupted as he stood and darted after her. She was halfway up the stairs and soon was at the top, and taking the corridor to the stretch of her room. He hurried after her and went to her door just in time to shove a foot inside the jamb to stop it from shutting. Gently pushing the door in, he met her pacing.

  “Isabella—”

  “I should never have come here,” she said furtively, shooting him a look of desperation and fear. “I should have never come. Your mother doesn't like me or perhaps she is afraid of me. I don’t know, mayhap it’s one or the other…possibly both.”

  He reached out to touch her but she jerked away from him. Her eyes, those gorgeous golden orbs that he loved, were rife with regret, “I saw it, I saw it when I went to your hall, the stares. It was like they were looking at a bizarre animal.”

  Duncan did grab her this time and embraced her tight. “Stop.”

  Trapped in his hold she did not try to pry herself away but her body was shaking terribly. “Please understand, we dinnae have visitors frequently much less someone from England. I can tell ye lass, yer more of an interest than an aberration.”

  “But…” her tone was tight and timid, “our lands were at war, Duncan. It had been much easier for me to find out you were a Scot after your charade. We'd already taken you in but…but, now, they know right from the start, that I’m not one of you. Many people died in that war, Duncan, many people with brothers, fathers, sons who died. What if they do see me as…the symbol of strife and death and hate me for their loss?”

  “Anyone who hates ye for what ye were nay a part of is a fool,” Duncan said steadily. “Truly, I should have considered that but ye are here now. I’m nae going to send ye away or hide ye just because some fools or zealots are out there.”

  She did not look convinced but gave him a nod. “I don’t think I can go back there, not now anyway. Is it always filled with so many people?”

  He took a seat and shook his head. “Nay, it’s only because word got out that I am home, safe—” he looked at her, “—and with a lady friend.”

  An emotion began to build behind her eyes but it was masked immediately. “And what do they think I am to you?”

  “I cannae say,” he replied, trying—and failing—to catch her eyes. “But I dinnae care what they say, what ye are to me is none of their business.”

  “But it is,” she stressed while coming forward to grab his hands. She even knelt and her distress pained him, “You’re the Laird of the clan. They look up to you. You need to be clear with them about me, tell them who I am. Secrecy will only lead to wild assumptions and that will birth spiraling rumors.”

  He began to deliberate and came to one conclusion. “I had already decided to nay keep ye as a secret but I wasnae ready to do it now. But ye make sense; ‘tis better for them to know who ye are.” He paused and cocked his head to the side, “Are ye ready to do it? If this is going to work, ye will have to be there with me.”

  She paled. “Is it the only way?”

  Duncan nodded. “Sometimes warriors wouldnae sew up a wound to heal, they seal it shut with a hot iron. If we cut it in the bud, things will be easier.”

  A glistering sheen of unease and worry were making her face pale but she nodded. “I’m ready.”

  As tenderly as he could, he pulled her close, dipped his head and kissed her softly, a mere suckle on her lips. Her hand fisted his shirt tightly but she kissed him back. Parting, he dropped another on her cheek. “I’ll be right by yer side.”

  Her fear was still rife across her face even as he held her hand down the stairs and back into the great hall where the chattering had gone back to normal. Duncan expected another hush to take the hall when he walked in and as he did with Isabella’s hand tightly grasped in his, the room went quiet.

  The dais might be best for his announcement but he thought it better for her to be on the flat. His eyes met his mother’s briefly and her hand was so tight around her goblet, her knuckles were white. He turned with Isabella in the middle of the room and holding her close, spoke.

  “By now, ye’ve all been wondering how it was that I am here, alive when many of our men arenae,” he said. “The reason is this woman, she saved me life when I was near death.” Pausing to see the ripple effect of shock, surprise, and wonder he continued. “Her name is Isabella Dellendine, and aye, she’s English, but she isnae an enemy. On the heels of the war, she could have easily left me for dead but she dinnea. I was taken in, and nursed back to health. I just ask that ye treat her with as much respect as ye give me.”

  His keen eyes were skimming the room face by face to see any that were discontent at his words. A few looked away and he noted to personally speak with those few but for the rest who did not, he felt pleased. A few even lifted their goblets to him with contented nods.

  One by one they turned to go back to their meals, and he felt Isabella grip go lax. Her stiff shoulders dropped an inch and her face lost most of its tense strain. Dipping his head, he asked, “Would ye like to eat with me?”

  Shifting, she rested her other hand on his elbow. “If it’s all right with you, I think it's best for me to go to my room.” she swallowed. “You can send someone with my meal, can’t you?”

  “Aye,” he said and as his hand lifted to swipe a curl away from her face, he had to yank his hand back. It was not wise to start showing that kind of attention to her when he knew there were some who were not happy with her presence. “Someone will be with ye shortly. Let me follow ye back to yer quarters.”

  Isabella shook her head, “No. Stay here with your mother and the rest; I’ll be fine.”

  As she disappeared through the door,
he made sure to watch if anyone followed her and when no one did, he went back to the high table. His mother was not pleased.

  “That was reckless of ye, Duncan,” she said. “Word is going to spread now.”

  “Word was going to spread one way or another,” he said while reaching for his goblet. “And if she was kept a secret those words would be less than flattering,” he muttered over the rim. “At least now, I see a few who arenae happy she’s here and I can nip that in the bud.”

  He gestured for a serving woman and she came closer. “Aye, Me Laird?”

  “What’s yer name?” He asked.

  “Linda, Me Laird,” she said, her hands twisting in her apron and light blue eyes loaded with apprehension. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

  “Nay, nay,” he said forcing a chuckle in his voice to get her at ease, “I just need ye to take some food to Miss Dellendine’s room, meats and sweets. She is the fourth door from mine. Thank ye.”

  His light mood fell like a stone sinking into the middle of the loch when he saw a woman entering the room with a babe in her arms and a boy at her side—Lara, Orrick’s widow.

  19

  The pain in Lara’s eyes had his guts twisting. The poor woman was not older than twenty-seven summers but had a boy of five and an infant of three months. With no husband to take care of her and her bairns—a husband he knew she loved—it had to be tearing at her soul.

  For a second time, he left the dais and went to her. He rested a hand on her son’s shoulder and bit back a wince when he saw her green eyes dark with pain.

  “Let me take ye to a room, Lara,” he offered.

  She shook her head and her hands hugged her baby boy tighter. “Tell me the truth…” she swallowed hard, “is he dead? Is me husband dead?”

  He was about to answer her but she rushed on. “I kent that when ye came back, perhaps he would have come with ye but I dinnae see him and me—” her face was heavy and unshed tears were shining in her eyes. “I had hoped that he was injured or—” her voice shattered on the last words and Duncan’s hand shot out when she began to sway on her feet.

  “Is he in a room recovering?” her voice was desperate with hope.

  Duncan did not give her the assurance she needed—as he could not— and when nothing came from him, a low keen of pain came from her. She did totter on her feet this time and he grabbed her. The poor woman did not deserve this.

  “Let me help ye, Lara.”

  She nodded numbly and with an arm around her back and a hand resting on her son’s shoulder, he led them out of the room. He took them into a room big enough for a family, a floor above the ground floor where they hosted visitors.

  He assisted Lara into a chair and set her son on the edge of the bed. Getting another chair, he sat and clasped her free hand with both of his. “I’m so sorry, Lara…but aye, he’s gone.”

  She sucked in her bottom lip and her eyes clenched tight. A tear did slip from her left eye and she pulled her hand out to wipe it. “I had hoped, prayed, begged God to have him come back but…” she shook her head then looked at him with grieved eyes, “who’s going to help us now?”

  “I will,” Duncan vowed. “Ye can call on me for anything ye need. Orrick was like my blood-brother, whatever I can do for ye and yer bairns, I will.”

  Lara sucked in a breath, “How—how did ye survive?”

  “I had…help,” Duncan said and in short, concise terms told her how he had found aid in England and the women who had given it to him. He ended with, “I barely survived, Lara, and I wish I could have saved Orrick from his death but…” Isabella’s words came to him and he smiled, “a wise person counseled me to believe that he passed kenning that if I did live, I’d take care of ye and his bairns, and he is right. Me hand is open for ye to hold when ye need it.”

  “Thank ye,” Lara sighed.

  Duncan twisted to look over his shoulder and found the boy fast asleep on the bed behind him. The child’s young face still had chubbiness from his baby age, and was even more precious in sleep. He turned back to Lara, “Are ye hungry? I’ll send some food up for ye.”

  She nodded. “Thank ye.”

  “I wish I could take yer pain away, Lara,” Duncan said solemnly. “It pains me too but Orrick gave his life to save mine. I kent he loved ye to the day he died. It’s cold comfort but ye can rest assure that ye were loved and cherished.”

  Lara was rubbing her babe’s curly head. “I ken, me Laird. I ken he loved us.” She looked up and her expression was tired and a mix of her exhaustion, worry, and grief had her lovely face pale and gaunt, “I trust ye, me Laird.”

  He closed the door behind him and went back to the great hall. Most of the people had gone, leaving a few lingering on the benches, drinking and speaking among themselves. His mother was gone from the now bare, high table. He found a servant and sent her to arrange meals for the poor widow and her children.

  The day had been so long it felt like a malevolent deity had shoved three days into one. He took the stairs, went to Isabella’s room and knocked on the half-open door.

  “Come in,” she said and he stepped in.

  The only light came from lit candles and his eyes landed on her hair, unbound, cascading over her shoulders and pooling on her lap. She was holding a thick section and combing it out. In the candlelight, she looked ethereal, goddess-like.

  Her hand paused. “Duncan?”

  Perching on the edge of her bed, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. “How are ye feelin’?”

  “All right,” she said dropping her hand and resting the comb on her lap. “I am…anxious about how tomorrow will be with the whole castle and village knowing who I am.”

  Cool air was coming through the window and the stars were twinkling on the horizon. “Nay one will mistreat ye, lass, they all ken that ye save me life. They owe ye a debt for that, just like me mother said.”

  She looked quizzical and lifted her hand to his face. He turned so his lips would kiss her palm. Her thumb was stroking his cheekbone. “Now, you look troubled. What is it?”

  “Orrick’s widow Lara came here,” he sucked in a breath. “She heard that I had lived, and she came to see if her husband had done the same.” He grimaced. “It was the hardest thing to do telling her that he had died, Isabella.”

  Slowly, he laid on the bed and carried her with him. He laid on one of the pillows and snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her so their bodies were close. His eyes closed as he fought the despair for Lara.

  “I’m sorry, Duncan,” she whispered while stroking his face.

  The comfort she was giving him tempted him to take more. He cupped her face, rubbing her petal-soft skin with his rough fingers. They lay close to each other, trading soft comforting touches. His mind began to stray from his sorrow for Lara and to the almost seductive care and attention Isabella was giving him.

  He cupped her face and the press of his callused skin made her breath hitch. He slid his hand up her back and into her hair. His kiss was slow but passionate and the taste of sweet apples, had him seeking more.

  “Ye taste like temptation and yer soft as a kitten,” he said huskily.

  Her voice was breathy “You’re not.” She wetted her lips and his eyes followed the movement. “You’re hard…all over.”

  Any inkling of sorrow was overridden by the arousal shooting through his veins. As he kissed her again, heat began to build under his skin. Holding her close, he kissed down her neck, pulling the collar of her dress away to skim his lips over her shoulders, nipping and licking at her collarbone. He pulled away to kiss her mouth again, spreading her lips with his eager tongue, thrusting into her mouth, egging her to grab at his clothes and fist it with her hand.

  As they kissed, his body moved over hers, and with her laying on her back his chest was pressing on her beading nipples. He loved curving his hand to slide over the firm petite curves of her body, and loved how she shivered at his touch. From her shoulder he dipped to her breast, seeking the peb
ble peak pushing through her gown to seal his lips over it. Her spine arched off the bed and ravenous hunger grew inside him.

  He flicked the taut tips, suckled at them then laved them with his tongue, loving her breathy moans. He cupped her breast, loving the firm weight. She was writhing under him and he tugged the thin cloth down. With her bare, he latched onto her pale mounds, suckling from one breast to the other.

  Her hands were in his hair, her fingers sinking into his scalp and her moans were fuel to his fire. His lips slipped down her middle to lick at her navel and her shudder had him yearning to touch her. “Isabella, please tell me to stop.”

  “Why?” she groaned, her hips tilting up oh so gently.

  He pinched her thigh. “Ye ken why, Isabella.”