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

  Her worry was reaching a critical, destructive point when Matilda said. “I know dear, I knew from the moment he looked at you when we embraced.”

  Daring to lift her head, Isabella saw a mixed riot of emotions on her aunt’s face but what she hated to see were pain and regret. Clearly, the affection Duncan had shown her had evoked some long-buried memories of the man Matilda had loved.

  She felt horrible.

  “Aunt—”

  With Matilda’s shaking head, Isabella was quieted, “No, Isabella, you have nothing to be blamed for. I am happy that you’ve found love even where you wouldn’t have expected it.”

  Because you did the same. Feeling conflicted, Isabella reached over and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I’ll leave you to rest, then?”

  “Yes,” Matilda said, “I truly am tired.”

  Standing, Isabella crossed over to the door and aimed a smile at her aunt over her shoulder, “Rest well.”

  The door of the room where Agnes was in was firmly shut and she assumed that if the woman was as tired as her aunt was, she would be resting too. Quickly, she left and went to the upper level, with bounce in her step. She was past elated that her aunt had come and that at least, she would not be so alone in this house.

  She neared Duncan’s room and the half-opened door where an argument spewed forth.

  “How could ye nay tell me ye were sending for her relatives?” Lady Elsbeth asked.

  “If I had asked, would ye have agreed?” Duncan’s voice was tight.

  “Nay,” his mother spat.

  “Then ye left me nay choice,” his tone had dipped to dark. “They helped me when I was near dead and, like it or nay, I love Isabella. The lass is alone here, and ‘tis only her aunt she trusts. She needs someone here who, besides me, loves her.”

  His mother flinched at the direct jab at her unkindness. “But ye brought more English people at me home without even asking! Duncan! We are still reeling from the savagery of war. Do ye nay ken that people might target them with vengeance for those who they lost?” Lady Elsbeth snapped. “They might die.”

  “They will nae,” Duncan replied solidly, “or our soldiers and guards nay worth their salt. Our people ken that Isabella saved me life, when they ken her aunt was the one who helped me too, word will spread and all suspicions will be gone.”

  “Spreading word is a double-edged sword, Duncan,” Lady Elsbeth stressed. “Some might appreciate it, other might nae.”

  Isabella could not bear to hear anymore. As quietly as she could, she backtracked from the hallway and down the stairs, and took off to the barren garden. She did not want to go to the sparring grounds or the stables were the men she had grown to take as friends would see her distress.

  She found a copse of trees and hid in the aching roots, hugging her knees to her chest. She was not wanted here and she felt it deeply and dearly. She stayed until the darkness fell and the night critters were crawling out. When she finally dragged herself from the barren circle of trees and made it to her room, she had resigned herself to not being accepted. But how was she going to make this relationship with Duncan work?

  She barely closed the door behind her when it was shoved in. Duncan was frantic, his eyes wide and worried, his face lined with stress and his body a slab of rigid steel. “Isabella! Blood and thunder, I was searching for ye for hours. The men said they dinnae see ye. Where were ye? Are ye hurt?”

  His caring words had her back on the verge of crying, but she shook her head slowly. Her throat was locked up tight and her tongue felt tied. Duncan shut the door behind him and his eyes dipped to her pants, and she knew he saw the dirt stains there.

  “What happened?”

  Her head notched up. “I heard you and your mother speaking about my aunt,” she swallowed. “If we’re that much of a problem for you, we’ll leave.”

  “If ye ken its best,” Duncan said and his voice was deep with sincerity, “But I’ll be chasing after ye the whole journey.”

  He was kneeling at her feet now and grasped her hands. “Yer staying, love. I’m the Laird here and me word goes over everyone else, naysayers included.”

  “But living here, with this hate hanging over my head, is going to be uncomfortable,” Isabella said hating that her voice had tripped into distress. “I ran away to stop myself from looking over my shoulder, not to come here and do the same.”

  He stood and took her with him. Pressing her close, Isabella hid under his chin and forced her chest to not start heaving, “Ye won’t have to. I’m going to make sure of that.” Sliding his hand to her hips, he smiled. “Because I’m in love with ye, Isabella, and I won’t let ye go without a fight.”

  Her stunned look had him kissing her head. “Ye dinnae have to say it back, love. I know—”

  “Duncan, be quiet,” she ordered and when he quieted, she added, “I’m in love with you too, and it scares me a little.”

  His arms closed around her waist, and his kiss was deep. “Good, I ask for nothing more.”

  Twisting, he kissed her hand and tugged them to the bed, “Sleep with me, m'eudail, please. ‘Tis nothing more, I just want to have ye here, beside me.”

  Nodding, she rested her forehead on his and whispered, “Yes.”

  24

  Winter was settling in but the stormy skies and cold air outside paled in comparison to the constant frosty air between his mother and Isabella. Consequently, her aunt and her aunt’s maid had been dragged into the quiet tension. His mother had not outrightly given Isabella’s aunt or her maid any disrespect but the cold-shoulder had not been ignored.

  He was stuck playing goal-keeper, trying to keep both sides from getting hurt. At the same time, his people needed him. After being war-torn and losing men, the village was hurting. He was there for hours every day, trying to fix mends that he had indirectly ripped open.

  Some women lost husbands, sons, brothers. Not as much tragedy had happened as in relation to the other larger clans, but the damage had been done. He arranged for supplies to be sent to them weekly, but even so, it felt paltry. Their lives had been torn apart on behalf of him and every time he saw a teardrop or a face schooled into stoicism to hold back the grief, he felt his heart rip.

  There was nothing more he could do for them. Words of comfort felt empty, gestures of goodwill were hollow. He always left them and found himself at the same cove where he had asked Isabella to marry him. Seated on the rock, he stared into the deep blue of the loch and wished he could turn back time.

  When he did go home, it was to more distress. His mother offered cold hospitality to Isabella’s people, and Isabella escaped by running to the soldiers’ barracks. His jealous nature knew no one would touch her as they had too much respect for him but it pained him that his home was split in two.

  Untethering his horse, he rode back to his home through the dead woodland. When he got there, he was told Isabella had gone riding. Hiding his grimace, he went to speak to Isabella’s aunt. He had to speak to her, and if she cursed him for taking her niece into this situation, he would agree with her.

  * * *

  Something is wrong.

  The thought niggled at the back of Isabella’s mind while she directed the horse to climb an incline in the hills behind Duncan’s home, but she did not pay it any mind.

  Craving a horse ride that morning, she had left to get some solitude to think. She had stayed out longer than expected, but exploring the ridges and hills, she felt calmer than she expected. As the horse stepped up, she felt the saddle shift and grabbed the reins.

  The horse lurched forward again, the saddle jerked and then—snap— the leather straps of her saddle broke and she pitched off backward. A startled cry shot from her mouth before all sound was cut off. Her head slammed into a rock and red-hot pain blasted through her mind like a fire eruption a split moment…before all went black.

  She dimly flicked back into consciousness to feel the ice of snow begin to fall on her. Then, while Duncan’s name ran through her min
d, all, truly went black.

  Even unconscious, her body was subjected to the snow and as the crystals fell in thick lumps, she grew covered and colder. Her skin began to turn blue and her breath grew short. Blood trickled from her head, staining the ground, her breath turned to ice…and so did her body.

  * * *

  The air was quiet and Duncan did not shift his eyes from Miss Dellendine’s. The woman had taken his apology without a flicker of surprise.

  She tutted. “I’m not surprised, that the shoe has turned backward while on the other foot. But there is no blame to be had on her part.” Miss Dellendine added. “It was your cleverness that had us saving you, Mr. Goreidh. Dressing like an English soldier did give us cause to save your life and when you were found out to be a Scot—one with no danger to us—gave us more.”

  Her answer stunned him and he was not able to speak for a moment but then an unexpected voice answered for him.

  “Duncan,” his mother said, “ye forgot to tell me that part.”

  He was on his feet and spun, “Mother!”

  Miss Dellendine had not moved from her seat and was looking on with impassive eyes. Duncan had to rate her, she was not easily moved by any situation. His mother shook her head, then looked at the three of them, he, Miss Dellendine and Agnes, her faithful maid that was so quiet, she had slipped into the background.

  “To me discredit, I’ve been listening in from the doorway and while I thank ye, Miss Dellendine, I must admit, I do have reservations,” Lady Elsbeth said walking in, with her hand clasped before her “Me people were at war, their wounds have nay even healed and are left open, gaping. To have people from the same country that was at war with us, in our home, could be taken in two ways. The zealots would take us to be traitors, but those who have the Christian vein, would take us to be good Samaritans. However those who are understanding are few and far between.”

  Duncan’s eyes shifted between the two women and grew tense when Miss Dellendine stood. “Mr. Goreidh, I appreciate your effort, but I think it is best for me and Lady Brynkirk, to speak…alone.”

  Looking between the two who both held a mirrored similarity of strength and resolve between them, Duncan bowed out. “I’ll leave ye be.”

  Closing the door behind them, he strode off, ready to find Isabella and make up for the times he had been away. Her room was empty so he went to the barracks, and was told that she had not been there at all. The bailey was empty and so was the garden.

  With each place she did not appear, his worry grew. When he ran to the stable, his last resort before speeding away to the village, he was told she had taken a horse out to ride.

  “And how long ago was this?” he asked, brushing snow from his shoulder.

  “From just after sunrise, me Laird,” the boy quivered.

  “What!” Duncan roared. “It's nearly sunset! Where did she go?”

  “The hill path, me Laird,” the boy cringed.

  Grabbing a horse, Duncan hopped on its back and sped out, desperate with fear and trying to banish the image of her dead body from his mind. The snow was falling harder, and the path was covered with it. He rode halfway up the hilly path, praying the dying sun would stay above until he found her.

  He rounded the corner and by pure reaction, yanked his horse to a reeling stop. His heart stopped beating for the longest, most terrifying moment of his life, as he launched off the horse and ran to the woman half-covered in snow and pale as the ground around her.

  Cradling her head, he stood with her in his arms and felt panic set in at the gash to the side of her head. It was coated with dried blood and her breath was shallow. He had to get her to a sickbed as fast as his horse could gallop.

  Hoisting her on the horse, he joined her and nestled her head under his chin. With her held securely, he rode down the hill, measuring his pace to not jostle her, even with his need to get her back home being heavy on his chest.

  Home…that has a right ring to it.

  The constant thudding of his heart was in his ears while he rode into the backlands of the castle. Over his shoulder, he ordered the soldiers who had come running. “Find her horse!”

  He rushed her inside; he took the stairs two at a time to the infirmary. Isabella had not moved and that boded ill for her. Her breaths were still shallow and her blood was still seeping through the wound on her head.

  Rushing through the door, he called, “Help. Now!”

  Women rushed to his call and she was taken from his hand and rested on a bed. He was shoved away while the healers began to work, cleaning off the blood from her head and removing her sodden clothing. He turned his head while they covered her naked form with thick blankets and laid a coal pan at her feet.

  He rubbed his face with both hands, and prayed, “Is she alive, still?”

  “Aye, me Laird,” a woman said. “Escaped by the skin of her teeth, I’d say. It’s goin’ to take her a while but she’ll be all right. When she’s warmed up and wakes, she’ll have a bloody hot headache to suffer through but she will live through it.”

  Vowing to be by her side when she did wake, he was about to pull up a seat when a man came to tell him the soldiers had found Miss Isabella’s horse. Shooting a reluctant look at the overly-pale woman lying on the bed, he went to attend to the soldier’s call.

  Taking the stairs, he dropped to the last one and then strode to the backlands. A man held the horse in question and another—a grim-faced Ewan—held the saddle.

  Why have they taken the saddle off?

  “What have ye found?”

  Ewan hoisted the saddle up and showed him a girth that had been cut halfway but then frayed for the last half-inch. “The motions of the horse and the tilt of the slope had it snapping, me Laird…”

  Duncan’s blood ran cold before Ewan ended, “Someone tried to kill her.”

  Fingering the cut girth, his mind began to race. Who could have done something as heinous as this? Isabella was alive, but barely and whoever had done so, would be found and punished severely. Was his mother—and Isabella as well—right in saying they were bound to have enemies who were bound to see her as a symbol of their enemy?

  But who would be—

  The thought had barely formed before a horrible suspicion took its place. “And that person will pay the price,” he said stonily.

  “Ye ken who it is, then?” Ewan said after him.

  He spun and facing the soldier who he knew was loyal to Isabella, he nodded. “I have a suspicion, but I need more evidence.”

  With a nod, thanking Ewan for his help, he left and went directly to the stables. The stables only had one lamp lit and it was dangling off the hook a few feet above an empty pallet. He heard movement and called out. “Who’s here, come tae me, now.”

  A youth, not the one he had met before came out; he was stouter and a bit more mature than Johnny. He dragged his cap off and bowed, “Me Laird?”

  “How long have ye been here, boy?” he asked.

  “From mornin’, me Laird,” he said, then licked his lips nervously. “But…I had to run out for an hour or so to use the outhouse, me stomach was giving me trouble.”

  He cursed under his breath. At that time, someone had gone and tampered with Isabella’s saddle. But, how would that person know which saddle to cut? Was it pure luck that the person had chosen the right one or—

  “Did ye saddle the horse for Miss Isabella?” he demanded.

  “Nay, me Laird,” he said. “Most times, when the miss goes to ride, she saddles her own horse.” A fond smile flit over the boy’s face before it was gone, “Said ‘tis only right for her to do what she can do and not have it done for her like some pampered doll sitting on the sideline. Erm, those were her words, sir, nay mine.”

  As troubled as he was, Duncan could see Isabella uttering those words.

  “Lad, show me where all the saddles are,” he ordered and the boy went pale.

  “Sir, I was just about to come to ye about that,” he swallowed. “I heard about M
iss Isabella’s accident and I went to check the saddles. Sir, every one of them had their girths cut to the point they would fray and snap if they were ridden too hard.”

  Duncan felt shock freeze his inside and soon the shock turned to pure rage, but he swallowed the fury down. The boy was not the cause of it so he would not be forced to bear the brunt of it either. “Show me where they are.”

  After being led to the far back where the saddles rested, he saw the thick leather girths with the same slashes like the one on Isabella’s saddle. There were over thirty saddles there. Whoever had done it, had moved quickly and efficiently, like a man with a mission.

  His left fist clenched tightly but then he forced it to open. Whoever had done this, had not left anything to chance. He was facing a dangerous enemy. Someone, anyone else could have been less fortunate and could have died. That made his blood chill.