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

* * *

  It was nearly midday when they emerged from Duncan’s rooms, bathed and clothed, however, Isabella was in one of Duncan’s old trews and a thick linen shirt. They were heading to the sparring ground, taking advantage of the halt in snowfall and the warmer temperature.

  “Are ye ready for this lass?” he asked. “The men will hackle ye.”

  She eyed him, “Hackle me all they want, when I trounce them into the ground, they’ll be singing another tune.”

  They got to the bottom of the stairs with dual wide smiles of love and satisfaction on both faces, but their happiness evaporated when his mother walked around the corner. Elsbeth’s eyes were frosty seeing Isabella’s attire and her face soured. Duncan cursed under his breath. He hailed a man passing by and ordered him to take Isabella to the sparring ground while he chased after his mother.

  When he hurried after her toward the main hall, he caught her before she entered. “Mother, stop.”

  She spun, her eyes frosty with a hint of despair. “Why?”

  “Why are ye still put out by Isabella?” He asked. “She has not done anything to cause ye to act this way.”

  “We just had a war and she’s English,” she dropped her voice to a strangled whisper, “I dinnae trust strangers in me home. She is nay a woman yet and she hasnae inkling of what it takes to be one. Which woman doesnae ken the basics of being a helpmate? She is nay good for ye, Duncan nay one will convince me that she is.”

  “I ken she is…” he said stonily, “as I will be marrying her.”

  Ignoring her sudden bloodless face, he spun and strode off to the sparring grounds to find Isabella there, speaking to some young soldiers. He felt aggravated that his mother was still hanging onto her suspicions. A commander of a troop, Fergus, was looking at her with a sly grin. But Isabella was calm.

  “Oi, Fergus,” he nodded. “Is something wrong?”

  “I wasnae sure if I should give this lassie what she’s asking for, Me Laird,” Fergus asked. “I was kenning a wooden sword instead of the blade she’s askin’ me for.”

  “Give her the blade,” Duncan grinned, “and three of yer best men in the ring too.”

  Fergus's brows shot up. “Three of me best men, eh? This is gonna be interestin’.” He then nodded to Isabella, “I’ll be back, lassie, with yer blade and yer contestants.”

  As the man hurried off, Isabella folded her arms and looked over to the ice-capped mountains far off. “What did she say about me this time?”

  He rubbed his forehead, “Doesnae matter lass, but she knows.”

  “About the—”

  Duncan nodded. “Aye, she will have to get settled with it somehow because I am nae losing ye.”

  Isabella barely had time to react when Fergus came with a pair of swords in his hand and about ten men behind him. Duncan grinned. The crowd had come to really see if Isabella could spar. They greeted him but lingered around the edge of the ground. Fergus came forward and three men followed him.

  “Here ye go, lassie,” he said balancing a blade on his finger before lobbing it up to grab the hilt, “Perfectly balanced and light.” He then gestured. “Me Laird, ye ken these men. Lassie, here are Ewan, Grant, and Adair. Grant has asked to face ye first.”

  Grant MacNair was a tall youth, about five years younger than him with a shock of dark-red hair, a lithe body and sharp brown eyes. Isabella took the sword and greeted him. From his place, he saw the reactions when Isabella took the proper sparring position. He found a wall to rest on and look when the spar began.

  Isabella was poetry in motion. When she moved, she flowed, moving from one formation to another seamlessly. She spun circles around Grant, struck out lightning quick and had him fumbling in fighting back. Her coup-de-grace was pulling a trick on him, having him looking left when she was striking on the right. When he realized he’d been duped and spun, the tip of her blade was at his neck and he surrendered with a laugh and a bow.

  “Next!” Isabella called out.

  Ewan Dougall stepped up and he was a little more boisterous and overconfident. Duncan shook his head, knowing the man was going to be eating dirt in a few moments. Soon enough, one misstep and Ewan was on the ground, face first with Isabella’s foot in his back and her sword an inch away from the back of his neck. The men were howling at the sidelines, grabbing at each other and pointing.

  When she took her foot away, she helped him up and even dusted the dirt from his jerkin with twitching lips, “Your footwork needs…well…work.”

  He shook his head with a wry grin, “I’ll switch places with ye on the battlefield any day.”

  Shaking his hand, he was off and Adair took his place. Adair Duggal was a sly one and would give Isabella a run for her money. They circled each other before Isabella struck out aiming for Adair’s knee. It was a smart move and the man had injured it a year ago and still moved with an almost unnoticeable limp. He had to admire Isabella for spotting that. She truly had a soldier’s eyes.

  Adair countered with a swift hopping to the side and slashing his sword up to counter her blow. They traded blow for blow until Adair nearly had Isabella stumbling on her feet.

  “Whoa!” the crowd exclaimed.

  Isabella quickly got her feet under her, countered, spun and rushed into him. Their blades were swift, slashing and fluid, and Adair had some close calls until, Isabella slashed up, locked her blade with him and then swiftly plucked a dagger from her waist to point it at Adair’s belly. They stood still as one slight move would have him impaled with her dagger.

  “Surrender,” she grinned.

  He threw his head back and laughed loudly while a round of applause came from the men and Isabella pulled away, twirling the dagger in her hands. “It’s a trick my old master taught me. Your enemy will not always be as noble as you, remember that. Always look to have a trick up yer sleeve.”

  Laughing, Adair pulled away and bowed. “Oh, I will.”

  She bumped her fist with him and dropped her sword. Fergus came over clapping with respect painted on his face. “I doubted ye, lassie, we all doubted ye, but we’ve learned our lessons, I ken. If ye need me to make ye a suit of armor, just say the word, we’ll have ye on the battlefield with us any day.”

  Her delighted laughter rang through the air, “I’ll take that offer up one day.”

  “Have a drink with us in our barracks,” someone called over then looked to Duncan with a grin. “That is, if yer guard dog will let ye drink with a bunch of men ye dinnae ken.”

  She looked over to him, tilted her head to the side and smirked. “Coming…guard dog?”

  “Aye,” Duncan said and slinging a hand over Isabella’s shoulder he turned to the soldier who had made that quip. “And Callum, ye are on stable slop duty for a month for that comment.”

  * * *

  Strolling back to the castle from the soldiers’ bunker where they had eaten, drank liquor and chat, Duncan did not make any haste to get inside. It was a cool, balmy twilight, probably the last one before real winter set in, and they meandered through the ground. After the impromptu match earlier, Isabella had made a lasting impression in the men’s minds.

  “Ye do realize that me men have switched allegiance from me to ye, aye?” Duncan teased, bumping her shoulder.

  “Can you blame them?” she teased back. “I think I'm a much prettier, interesting, and intriguing master. They got over their reservations about me really quickly.”

  Nay like me mother. “Yer a woman with sword skills, able to ride a horse and shoot an arrow and flying daggers, of course, they would love ye.”

  “And you?” she asked coyly.

  They were strolling through, what in another life, had been blooming garden. However, in the middle of growing winter, the once majestic wall of trees that bordered it was just a line of spindles where crows perched.

  In the next instant, she was pushed against the nearest wall. Crammed against wood and Duncan’s body, he grabbed her hips and lifted her to meet his mouth. Her breast arched
against his granite-hard chest moments before his mouth consumed her in a hungry, demanding kiss. She had not expected it but she melted into it anyway. His mouth tasted of the ale they had drunk, but his tongue was more drugging than the potent spirit.

  She suckled on his top lip before nibbling at the bottom and then sucked on his tongue. He was groaning in her mouth and she felt the beginnings of his erection press on her bottom.

  Pulling away she smiled. “I can feel the southern border rising.”

  “Aye,” he nibbled at her neck, “and ready to invade tempting territory.”

  “For shame, Duncan,” she giggled. “We’re in plain sight.”

  “So?” he asked, nudging at her chin to kiss down her neck. “All the men ken that yer mine. I’m sure word has spread all around by now. We Scots dinnae give a flying damn about showing affection in plain sight.”

  “Some m-might,” she stuttered.

  “If they do, I dinnae ken them,” Duncan murmured from under her ear while sliding a knee between her legs, pressing on her intimacy, “What I do want is to get ye in me bed again.”

  “I thought so,” she grinned unrepentantly. “Now, let me down so we can go inside. I’d rather have a good evening without the harbinger of doom and death making my life just a tad more miserable.”

  The allusion to his mother had his blood cooling faster than if he had taken a dip into the loch beyond. Soberly, Duncan pressed his forehead to hers. “Dinnae ye worry about her,” with a quick kiss he tugged her from the wall. “When we’re inside, I’ll send up some bathwater.”

  With a firm grasp, he took her through one of the many backdoors into the dark castle. “I sent off yer letter before we went to the sparring grounds. With this winter setting in, it might take the messenger a week and a half or more to get there.”

  A playful look passed over Isabella’s face while she tugged him up the stairs to his room. She shoved the door in, looking over her shoulder, and laughingly said, “You did say you wanted me back in your bed.”

  Duncan, however, had frozen at the doorway while his jaw went stiff, “What are ye doing here, Mother?”

  22

  The cold displeasure she could feel pulsing from the woman—sitting stiffly-backed in Duncan’s chair—had her want to hide under the bed, especially considering the words she had just said. But she stood her ground and even squared her shoulders in defiance.

  Standing, Lady Elsbeth said, “Miss Dellendine, would ye please give me and me son some privacy?”

  Her words were cordial but they were not a request, instead, they were a thinly-veiled order. Isabella shot an unsure look to Duncan. When he gave her no indication or said anything, she turned to leave but Duncan stepped in the middle of her way. Wordlessly, he had ordered her to stay.

  Turning, she saw Elsbeth’s stony face then back at Duncan’s who mirrored it. This was not going to bode well and she was going to be in the middle of it. “Duncan, I think I should leave.”

  “Nay,” he said. “Mother, whatever ye have to say, ye can say it in front of the two of us.”

  “Duncan!” she said, just as Elsbeth exclaimed; her tone in shock, his mother’s in horror.

  “I’m serious, Mother,” he said. “If what I suspect ye are here for, to malign the woman I love and will marry, I will nay sit and listen to ye do so behind her back.”

  Emotion glittered in Duncan’s eyes like raw gems trapped in steel and she sucked in a breath as his look pierced her. Isabella rocked on her heels as the soft blow that warmed her heart rushed through her.

  “Fine,” Elsbeth said standing, her face a slate of dissatisfaction as she looked on them. “I’ll say me piece. I willnae mention the blatant fornication happening under me roof while I ken ye were taught better…” Isabella felt a part of her soul shrivel up and die under the woman’s scathing glare, “but as for ye son, I see the same sparks ye had for Caitrin glistening in yer eye, but I believe yer setting yerself up for more heartbreak.”

  Outraged that the woman was insinuating that she was going to stab Duncan in his back had her seething. She felt some choice words for the woman brimming on her tongue but she held them back. She bit her tongue so hard she swallowed blood. Her lips were pressed so tightly they were thin and bloodless and her blood was getting molten with anger.

  When she did speak, her words were cold, “With respect, Lady Brynkirk, I have too much regard for Duncan and your house to betray either of you.”

  The woman dismissed her with a fleeting look, then moved to the door. “Yer a grown man, Duncan. I cannot order ye like a child but I do advise ye to conduct yer affairs with wisdom.”

  Stepping aside, Isabella let her pass, and the tense line of her body sagged when Duncan closed the door behind her. The manic urge to scream or punch the wall possessed her. Her situation defined the phase, ‘between a rock and a hard place’. Elsbeth’s dislike made her want to run, but she had nowhere and no one to run to, so she was forced to live under this…dislike.

  “Isabella, dinnae fash yerself,” Duncan’s voice cut through her thoughts, “Me Mother is nay going to pull the strings around here. Throwing Caitrin in yer face was low of her but ye and she are worlds apart.”

  Confused, she asked, “What are you saying?”

  “I kent I was in love once, but that love was just physical. I was more drawn to her body than her mind but she still had enough mindfulness to make me believe she was all I needed. What I felt for her is a shadow of what I feel for ye. Ye amuse me, arouse me and I will give me life to protect yers all, most of all I want ye to be happy. Dinnae ye pay me Mother, any mind.”

  “How can I do that when I live here?” Isabella pressed dourly. “And when we marry? How can I be with you under her hate?”

  A wave of emotion crashed over her, threatening to rip her heart in two. Her breath began hitching just before his arms closed around her. “Shh, love, there’s nay need to cry. I’ll find a way to mend it.”

  How?

  She had intended to stay with him the night, to explore the other ways they could make each other reach the peak of pleasure but now, her mood was cut down to the quick and her heart was in turmoil. She could not stay with him. Pulling away, Isabella kissed his cheek. “I think I’ll stay in my room tonight, Duncan.”

  “Isabella—”

  “No,” she stopped him, not unkindly but with determination, “I need to be alone for tonight.”

  His face fell but he nodded knowingly. “I understand…but—”

  “But what?”

  Duncan kissed her comfortingly. A soft, barely-there meeting of lips. His hold felt solid, stable and strong. She felt safe with him but at the same time, she needed to think things through. Pulling away, she slipped from his hold and left the room to find hers.

  The room felt as cold as she felt inside but she slid into the bed anyway. Her weary eyes were latched on the window, and she traced the slow drift of snow down from the dark heavens. Snow was a novelty to her as living near the sea had not given her the chance to see it.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to bring up the happiness that she had enjoyed that day. Sparring had made her happy, walking with Duncan had made her even more so, feeling his touch, kissing him, and holding onto the idea of them marrying had planted a seed of joy inside. Now, desolation was threatening to pluck up that seed and freeze it to death.

  No…I’m stronger than this…I cannot allow this to break me.

  The problem was his mother. What exactly does she hate about me?

  What was it going to take to get his mother to see her and not see the country she came from or her age? She scoffed lightly, “I think his mother would rather die than accept me.”

  She slept on the grim idea and woke with a dismal feeling in her chest. Aside from Duncan, she felt alone in this massive castle. She skipped the morning meal and bundled up, found herself back at the sparring grounds. It was early, barely past dawn, but she walked anyway, seeing the shed where the training weapons were h
oused and even spotting the stable where the warhorses were kept.

  “Here for another match already?”

  Twisted, she spotted Ewan, his tawny eyes, darker than hers, were light with humor. She shook her head, “No, I was just walking and my feet led me here. Yesterday was lovely.”

  “Really,” the soldier said, “how so?”

  “To be honest,” she began. “I think I have more in common with you men than back there in the castle. I mean, I was gentle born but I don’t cling to those ways.”

  “Clearly,” Ewan nodded. “You did put three men to shame yesterday. Thank yer stars ye weren’t in the barracks last night, we got hackled for hours. If ye dinnae mind me asking, why did ye learn to swordfight at all?”