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

  “He only beat you because you were rebellious,” she spat. “You never sat one day to learn from him unless you were forced to. Don’t blame me for your mistakes.”

  Ralf’s eyes were serpentine slits. “You won’t survive a day with Lofter, he will kill you.”

  “Like he did his many other women,” Isabell spat. “I will not go to him so you better kill me here, with the people who do love me.”

  “Do not tempt me,” Ralf said as his hand lifted to strike her again.

  “Put one more hand on her and I’ll have yer head on a pike,” Duncan’s murderous voice cut through the air.

  Her head darted up to see the man she had thought dead, at the mouth of the great hall, sword in hand. She felt her eyes were tricking her but when he came in, his body was covered with so much blood that he must have killed a legion of men by himself.

  “Duncan—”

  Ralf held her fast, “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  “I am nay, but yer men are,” Duncan said. “Look out the door, yer men are staining my land with their blood. Now, I’ll repeat myself, let her go so you can die peacefully or don’t and your death will be a message for others.”

  “I came here with two hundred men,” Ralf sneered. “And your ranks were a fraction of mine. How are my men dead?”

  A man she did not know came in with a heavy mace over his shoulder. And then a second with a halberd…and then a third with a battle-ax. Men continued to file in and soon the room was lined off with a mix of Duncan’s men and the strangers. Ralf, and the red-coats he commanded, were beginning to look nervous but his pride masked it.

  “A week ago, I sent a message to my fellow clan, just a few miles across the mountain range, to send help if they heard my battle horn,” Duncan explained calmly. “See, up here in Scotland, neighbors help neighbors. I was sent three hundred fighting men, from Clan Dillian, the moment they heard the battle horn. Yer men saw the futility of fighting but still did. Now, for the last time, let my wife go.”

  A strangled noise came from Ralf’s throat, “You’re married! You compromised yourself with this beast!”

  “He’s better than the worm you are,” she spat, not even contesting Duncan’s declaration of her being his wife. “Or the hill of putrid dung that Lofter is.”

  Ralf’s face was working and his face was ruddy with rage. “You’re worthless to me now. It would be better if you were dead.”

  He barely got his sword up before a dagger went into his neck and a sword was rammed through his gut. Isabella yanked away from the blood spilling out of his body and scurried away. Duncan had moved faster than she had ever seen and the dagger in his neck had come from…she looked to see Ewan’s hand still lingering in the air.

  Ralf’s eyes were wide and his hand was twitching in the air before Duncan yanked the sword out of the man’s body to drop him to the ground like a piece of trash. He reached for Isabella and took her up. Her shoulder-length hair fluttered around her face as she rested her head on his chest, even as bloodied as he was.

  “Are ye gravely injured?” he asked.

  Numbly, she shook her head, and let her relieved breath slide out of her body. She had been prepared for death but God had chosen to have her live.

  “What happened to your hair?” he asked tenderly.

  “I sacrificed it,” she said, “It was either my hair or my life. I chose my life.”

  “Laird Brynkirk,” a rough voice said as a burly body forced itself to the front and was holding a squirming, twisting body—Agnes. “This wench was trying to sneak into the infirmary where yer mother is resting. Is she familiar…d’ye ken who she is?”

  “Oh, I ken her all right,” Duncan said emotionlessly with an arm around Isabella’s back. “Welcome back Miss Polver, we need to have a talk.”

  30

  While his soldiers and some of the villagers set about to get the castle somewhat back to order, removing the dead bodies and taking the injured to the infirmary, Duncan grabbed Agnes and hauled her into his study.

  Shoving her unto a seat he ordered, “Confess before I send ye to the gallows.”

  Trailing the two, Isabella tried to calm him. “Duncan—”

  His flinty gaze had her snapping her mouth shut. The Laird then perched himself on his desk and glared, “Ye can start from the time ye tried to kill Isabella, then me soldier, then me mother and then yer mistress. And why in the bloody hell did ye burn down my bailey?”

  Agnes looked pale and sickly, and her eyes were dim, “I—”

  His fist struck the desk. “I dinnae have time to dally with ye, woman, tell me why ye were out to kill me people.”

  Agnes’ head lifted and her mouth was thin, “Because yer men killed mine.”

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed and his voice was cold, “What?”

  “When I was sixteen, my father, the only person I had after my mother died, was killed by a man from your clan,” Agnes said emptily. “I was young and hiding under the bed when I heard the man say his name was Hector Goreidh, and that he was a part of the border patrols. He murdered my father for nothing then went to ransack our home. I grew to hate all Scots.” She paused, “When you were back in England, I felt that something was off with you and that you were not what you pretended to be. After you ran off that night, Mr. Dellendine came to take Miss Dellendine back to his home, he was sent off empty-handed. I had overheard it all, how you were Scottish and how Miss Dellendine had fallen in love with one. When she got your letter and decided to come to you, I went with her to finally get my revenge.”

  Isabella came around and sat near Duncan, with shock slathered all over her face. “But why my aunt?”

  “I felt betrayed in a sense,” Agnes said tightly. “When I knew that she was in love with a Scot, I felt disgusted. I saw that man, who guarded you at your door and felt repulsion at his loyalty. When the bailey was set afire, I realized that I could not do it alone so…I ran to Mr. Dellendine. He took me in and gave me exoneration but asked me to lead him back to the clan, assured that he would be victorious.”

  “All that is good and dandy,” Duncan snapped. “Why me mother?”

  “I wanted to let you feel my pain for losing a loved one,” Agnes said plainly. “My life was turned on its head when my father died and I needed you to feel it too.”

  “And me,” Isabella asked, “why me?”

  “I wanted to scare you,” Agnes said hollowly. “If you got to your senses and went back to England then…” she shrugged, “you would have been left out of the fallout when your brother came.”

  “That is nay the truth,” Duncan said directly. “Admit it, woman, you just wanted to tear Isabella away from me, from the people who loved her, with the poisoned soup, innit?”

  Agnes swallowed but uttered, “Yes.”

  “Say yer prayers,” Duncan said stiffly while standing, his voice as frigid as the iced Loch Mhòrair, “Ye will be executed on the morrow.”

  Isabella grabbed at his hand and her look was beseeching, “Don’t kill her, please, you don’t need more blood on yer hands.”

  He snapped his head to the woman, “She tried to kill ye, she tried to kill me mother and yer aunt. She deserves death.”

  “I know,” Isabella agreed, “An eye for an eye, is written but…” she looked Agnes who was staring placidly at her lap, “she needs help, Duncan. An abbey where she can get help for her mind would be best.”

  He was decided on sending the woman to death, after all, she had done more than enough to warrant it. Even worse, the woman was blasé with her acts, as if she did not care about her life or not. If she did not, he was happy to help her cross over to the other side. It was only his strident belief to not kill a woman that stopped him from running a blade through her himself.

  Literally vibrating with his trapped anger, Duncan huffed out a breath, “I dinnae see eye-to-eye with that now, but I can see the…compassion in ye for her. We’ll send her away. She will be under lock and key until we are able to
ship her off. Ye should go talk to yer aunt. I need to rid meself of yer brother’s blood.”

  She lingered in the doorway, casting apprehensive looks onto the seated woman. Under his anger, Duncan felt awe for Isabella. How could anyone know that someone had tried to kill them—twice—and still felt pity for them? She finally shook her head and turned away.

  He gestured to the guards at the doorway and waved them inside to safeguard Agnes. He strode up the stairs and headed to his quarters. He heard her quick steps behind him and as he pushed the door open, Isabella grabbed his arm. “Duncan, please wait.”

  “Isabella—” his tone was sterner than he aimed for.

  She slid in front of him, and cupped his face in both hands. “I know what you're thinking. No, I don’t forgive her, no, I don’t empathize with her, and no, I don’t think she has any right to go free, but she’s ill, Duncan. She’s been ill for years. She saw her father die right in front of her. If I had seen that I’d be addled too. She needs a sanatorium, Duncan.”

  Her beseeching eyes had taken on the tone of dark-amber gems, and he felt the stiffness in his arms lessen. He let out a deep breath. “When I was thrown over the ledge, I felt I’d be dead. I could only see ye, Isabella, only ye. Ye were the reason I grabbed at the rock and stopped meself from plummeting to the depths.

  “I scrambled up just in time for Dillian’s men to come through charging. I felt the will to live, just for ye, love. No one else and nothin’ else, just ye,” he ended.

  His clothes were bloody but she embraced him anyway. “And my hair…it was cut. I decided if you were dead, I’d meet you on the other side. There was no reason for me to stay.”

  A battle-scarred hand touched her uneven locks. “I might grow to like it.” His thumb caressed her cheek, before he dipped his head to kiss her. “Go see yer aunt, while I wash up…” he sighed. “I’m putting ye in charge of seeing that woman away from this house. This clan is going to take a while to recover but…with ye with me, at my side…I ken we can make it.”

  Leaning her head into his rough hands, she sighed, “I think so too.”

  Epilogue

  A month later

  The sight of Clan Brynkirk castle had Isabella sighing in relief. She had taken a trip back to England to settle the legacy of her father’s business and empire. She had even accompanied her aunt back to her home on the English side near Gretna. Agnes had been shipped off to a nunnery near the border of Ireland that was rumored to be more of a work camp than a nunnery but as long as she was out of their presence, and not harming anyone, Isabella was not bothered.

  When she had gotten home, to her deepest surprise, her dog Bandit was alive and well and he was by her side. He trotted up to the castle ahead of her and the guide Duncan had sent with her to England. With no heir to the business and with her not willing to live in England, she had sold the house and had taken the profit and her dowry to her new home, not that it needed it.

  The large dog was near her side sniffing at the spring scents unknown to him. The castle was dark under the sunlight and she ascended the stairs with relief. She nearly entered the home when Duncan came bounding down the stairs. His eyes went wide at the large dog at her feet.

  He kissed her, “Welcome home, love.” His gaze dropped, “This must be the famous Bandit.”

  Nestling into his arms she smiled, “He is.”

  “Mother had been waiting for ye, love,” Duncan said, “I ken ye’re tired, but she wants to speak with ye for a moment.”

  The poisoned soup Lady Elsbeth had eaten about two months ago had weakened her body severely. When she had woken from her comatose state, she had laid bedridden and weak. Now, she got by, but spells of breathlessness took her at times.

  Isabella kissed his cheek, and tugged her light coat off before going to the lady’s room. Knocking quickly, and getting permission to enter, she went in and saw the older woman at a window seat. Her legs were covered with a blanket and she closed a book on her lap.

  “Miss Isabella,” she called, “please, come in.”

  As she sat, she reached out and took the woman’s hand. After the whole ordeal with her brother, the woman had woke up. Isabella, relieved that she had not died, grabbed the opportunity to tell her that she accepted her apology. They had begun to form a bond from there—a tentative one—but a bond nonetheless.

  “I’m here, My Lady,” she smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” she sighed. “But…I’ve seen ye stick by me son through it all. I gave ye me apology but now I ken it’s time for me to give ye me blessing. Stay by my son’s side, Isabella. He’s a new man with ye at his side.”

  Lady Elsbeth's words had her feeling a little giddy and proud, but under all that, she began to wonder where this was coming from. Her relationship with the woman had grown stronger but this was unexpected. “I will be at his side, as I do love him and he loves me.”

  “That’s all I ask,” the lady said, her voice exceptionally frail. “I ken ye just arrived from a long journey so please go and rest.”

  Rising, Isabella dropped a kiss on the lady’s cheek. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Still wondering why the lady had given her such a cryptic blessing, she went to Duncan’s room. Bandit was there, laying on the balcony in the sun with his tongue hanging out. Duncan was on a chair, his feet up on another and he gestured for her to come and sit.

  Perched on his lap, she smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. He kissed her cheek, “How was the trip?”

  “Long,” she sighed, “and lonely. I came back with a few bags of gold to add to your coffers. I sold my home.”

  “Ye’re worth more than the gold ye brought here,” he said while loosening the braid that held her shoulder-length hair in one. “You said it was lonely…missed me, eh?”

  “You, this home…this room, all my friends here,” Isabella admitted. “I am still so sorry that so many people died, Duncan, Fergus, Adair. Ewan got injured—again, you almost died and—”

  “Hush,” Duncan interrupted her, “Hush, sweetling. I kent what I was taken on when I took ye to me home. Even before you warned me, yer aunt did. Aye, I regret that some died but I dinnae regret taking ye with me. I love ye, Isabella, heart, and soul.”

  Resting her hand on his chest, she said, “Yer mother gave me her blessing a while ago. It felt…odd.”

  “Hm,” he contemplated. “I’ll see about that tomorrow but for now, a bath is waiting for ye and some food. Then…” he smoothed her hair from her neck and kissed her neck, “we have some making up to do…a month’s worth. I want to welcome ye home properly.”

  With her lips a hairsbreadth away from his lips, “I’m excited already.”

  * * *

  Isabella was more concerned with keeping the flowers braided into her hair than falling off the horse she was riding to the chapel in the rebuilt village. After Ralf’s men had set fire to most houses, it had taken them almost half a year to rebuild. Luckily, wood and stone were in abundance. It was the first day of spring and while the druids were on hillsides celebrating the day with bonfires, she, however, was getting married.

  She was trailing Duncan’s large dark stallion as they drew near to the stone kirk. As they neared, the street was lined with the silent villagers, all out in their best for the wedding. Each step the horse took, her heart was in her throat. There was no hesitation in her heart but the reality of what she dreamed about was a bit too real for her.

  Marriage. To Duncan. My lover. My life.

  She had to fix herself on those words to still her beating heart. When the horses stopped, she was helped down and assisted into the kirk. The stone walls were somber but some effort had been put into putting boughs of heather and wildflowers in the crooks and nooks of the room. It was somewhat warm, intimate, and the man at the pulpit gave her a welcoming smile.

  Her aunt was her witness and Ewan—one of the newest co-captains of the soldier ranks—was Duncan’s, taking the place of his mother who had p
assed away some days after she had given Isabella her blessing. The castle had been plunged into mourning, replacing the happiness of the upcoming marriage. Duncan, most of all, had been almost inconsolable but time soothed the wound.

  “Please, come to the pulpit and kneel,” the priest beckoned.

  With her knees on the cushion, Isabella felt Duncan take her hand and hold it in his strong grip. While the priest read out the rite, Duncan’s action made her feel grounded, safe…secure and her heart fluttered. How he had known she was feeling so scattered, she could not fathom but she loved him even more for it.