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

  Her words were said calmly but Isabella heard a hint of anger underlying them. Frowning a little, she thought of how her aunt had been cagey on the subject of Agnes' presence and decided to press the issue as far as she could get.

  “That’s good though,” Isabella said cheerfully. “I suppose your family is glad to see that you’re in good hands.”

  Again, Agnes’ jaw firmed so hard that Isabella knew her teeth were clenched.

  Why do I feel as if I’m treading on dangerous ground? “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  A horrendous clatter of pans and metal utensils on the table beside the stove crashed onto the stone floor, and had Isabella cringing. She did move but she did not ignore that Agnes had not answered her question. Mayhap it was time to drop the subject. “Do you need help?”

  “No, Miss,” Agnes said as she bent to gather the pans and scoop up the utensils. “I can handle it. Please, don’t come around here.”

  “Agnes?” Aunt Matilda came in, this time in a cleaner dress and her face was clean. Her eyes were flitting between her maid and Isabella. “What happened?”

  “I slipped, Miss,” Agnes said as she came up with the filled pan, swiping an arm over her forehead, “Supper is cooked if you are ready for it.”

  Isabella turned away, trying to hide her guilt but it was not fast enough to escape her aunt’s searching look. “Not yet, Isabella, a moment? We’ll be back soon, Agnes.”

  Her aunt did not have to give her the command to follow her, as a strident look was enough. Meekly, Isabella followed her out of the kitchen and into a room down the corridor. Her aunt closed the door then gave Isabella a searching look, “What happened?”

  “I made a mistake,” Isabella said. “I know you said Agnes was not forthcoming with her past but I didn't really believe you. I asked her if she had lived here for long and she got tense. I did not heed the warnings. I asked her about her family and she got…well, angry. I should have left it alone.”

  “You should have,” Aunt Matilda said tersely. “Private matters are just that, Isabella, private. As long as Agnes is doing right by us, she is allowed to keep what she wants to keep to herself.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts, Isabella,” her aunt stopped her mid-sentence. “You need to go back in and apologize to Agnes.”

  Bowing her head under the admonishment, Isabella nodded. “Yes, Aunt. I will.”

  The lines in her aunt’s face deepened, “And do not ever do anything of the sort again.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” she bobbed her head again and went back inside to see that Agnes had cleared all the clutter up and was now dicing some herbs. “Agnes, I apologize. It was not my place to ask about your private matters as I know first-hand how aggravating family matters can be. I will not pry again.”

  The swift motions of Agnes’ knife stopped momentarily before she nodded, “Thank you, Miss, I appreciate it.”

  Her aunt's gaze was on the back of her neck and though Isabella felt that she needed to add more to her apology, nothing came to her. She sighed and turned to her aunt, her expression a little pained. Her aunt’s eyes showed that she was not all that mollified but she nodded anyway. “Let’s eat.”

  Taking her seat, Isabella kept quiet as Agnes placed the wooden trenchers on the table before she added the serving bowls filled with stewed beef, a platter of roasted fish and another one of steamed beets and millet rice. She bowed her head as her aunt prayed and after dutifully adding her part in giving thanks, finished and took her servings.

  Eating, quietly, she contemplated why Agnes had not said anything. Eventually, she decided that her aunt was right, if Agnes was an orphan, she would have had no family to speak of and that reminder had to be painful. She felt awful for her actions, and knew what her aunt was going to tell her to do that night.

  After finishing her meal, Isabella said quietly. “I know, Aunt, I’m going to pray for forgiveness this evening.”

  Her aunt’s approving look gave some ease in her spirit. After the wooden trenchers were washed, she gave her aunt a quiet good evening and went to her room. Again, the somberness of the room made her pensiveness even dimmer. She pressed a hand to the cold wall and sighed. Taking a chair near it, she rested her temple on it and fixed her eyes on the wooden cross above her bed.

  She did pray, repenting from causing Agnes pain and asked forgiveness for her inconsiderate actions. Then she slipped into silence, and as every time she went quiet, her mind went to Duncan. She had to see him but her aunt had banned her from going in alone.

  I wonder what’s best?

  She then remembered that her aunt would be at church the next day and that those three hours would be the best time to go see him. Lifting her legs, she curled her arms around them. “It’s the only way.”

  Determined, but sorrowful about how she was going to deceive her aunt, Isabella passed most of the evening and the night planning what to tell her. She could plead that her monthly flux was upon her but that was not due for a good while.

  What else?

  An upset stomach was her only resort and it was what she decided on. Her aunt checked in on her once and they spoke briefly. Isabella was once again reminded to not pry into other affairs and she agreed. She went to bed, asking God for another pardon for tomorrow’s lie to her aunt.

  But there is no other way to see him and I must see him…I must find what it is about him that calls to me…who is he and why do I feel as if finding him was not so accidental at all…

  6

  “Damnation!” Duncan swore as he lifted his injured arm with a deep grimace. The skin was tight as it was knitting back together and though he was careful to not rip the healing skin apart, he had to get some strength back but the soreness while doing so was painful.

  This was the worst part of healing, when his body was black and blue, mottled purple and dull red. Every part of him throbbed with dull pain, all except his head. Sometimes his limbs felt heavier than lead boulders. He hated convalescing, from the first day he had been injured at fourteen, he had despised the infirmary bed.

  It was hard when he was on familiar ground, but laying ill in a stranger's house had him hating it even more. The only thing good about his situation— if he dared call it good— was that lass, Isabella. He had not seen her for the past two days but he did not have to wonder why. He knew her aunt had warned her off and he could understand it. He did pray nightly to see her again, even if it was a glimpse.

  When he had woken to see her that first day, he had felt she was different but the connection had been severed in the bud. Not seeing her had his heart yearning to get that bond repaired, but he did not see that coming anytime soon. As time ticked away and he went through the long days and even longer nights, his hope had been siphoned away.

  I glimpsed an angel…I suppose that’s all I was allowed.

  His head slipped sideways on the pillow and his eyes landed on the closed door. From there, his gaze ran around the room and traced over the wooden cross on the wall. It seemed that the aunt was a very religious woman. Perhaps overly so.

  His mother Elsbeth was fairly dedicated in her faith but she did not have a cross nailed to every room. To be fair, their castle was a bit large for crosses to be placed everywhere, and then there were some who still held on to the old religion with many gods and consulted druids.

  The memory of his mother made his heart sink. He knew she must be worried to death’s door by now. If he had not been counted among the dead, and had not returned injured, that meant he was missing and that was just as bad. He swore to make it up to her when he did go back.

  His thoughts were disrupted when the door was pushed in softly. He was about to address Miss Dellendine when he saw that it was Isabella who lingered in the doorway. She looked cautious as well as she should.

  “Should ye be here?” he asked.

  “I should not,” she replied while coming in and closing the door behind her. “But I could not stay away. I had to
see you.”

  He slanted his head so that his hair would fall across an eye. His smile was slow and crooked, “I dinnae see ye as one to break the rules. Ye come off as a good girl, Isabella.” It pleased him to see her cheeks flush. “Yer aunt bade me address you as Miss Dellendine…but I dinnae want to. I’ll do it if ye want me to.”

  She took the lone seat in the room and met his gaze. “Please, don’t.”

  “Only when yer aunt in with ye then,” Duncan replied, “But ye dinnae reply to me statement, are ye a good girl, Isabella?”

  Her chin stuck up in defiance. “I’m not a girl by any means. I am almost twenty and for the most part, yes, I am good. But I did lie to my aunt, faking an illness this morning to get out of going to church. All because I needed some freedom to see you.”

  Ye risked yer aunt’s anger to see me…Isabella, yer bravery is nae like any other lass. Ye’ve already captured me attention with yer looks but ye’ve captured me admiration with yer acts. What else may I learn to like about ye?

  “Pardon me for me misconception,” he replied as his eyes liberally drank in her lovely face. “I was told that ye are about to marry soon, I wish ye all the best.”

  Truthfully, he hated uttering the words as it was only right for him to do so, but why was her face going sour. “Are ye…nay pleased with yer husband-to-be?”

  “No,” she said and her eyes flashed with heat. “In fact, I despise the man. He’s three times my age and a self-entitled brute. I cannot pull myself out of it as women of my station have little-to-no say in their engagements, if it is in the hands of a male family member. Especially if that male family member hates you and is selling you off for personal gain.”

  His heart leaped with anger. “How can yer Faither be so cruel?”

  “My Father passed,” she said tightly. “It is my brother who is doing this. My Father would never push me to do something like this but my brother does not care. He wants to marry me off to some overbred blue-blood Baron, but I will not let him barter me off like chattel at a local market.”

  “What do ye plan to do?”

  Her lovely face contorted with frustration and she pushed off the chair to go to the window. “I don’t know yet…” her laugh was bitter, “if only I had the wings of a bird, I would fly away.”

  Duncan wanted to tell her that back home his kinswomen chose who they wanted to marry and when. Most of his people did not stick to the stifled society rules the English did. A wind was picking up and Isabella’s hair was fluttering. With the morning light playing off her face, she looked transcendent. Her face was tight and when she turned to him her eyebrows were tightly knitted in the middle.

  “I did not socialize much when I came of age to do so,” she explained. “I went to a few balls but I observed the ladies there, daughter and wives of rich men. The society ladies are more vicious than their delicate appearance makes you think. I quickly found out that they would act like your friend but sabotage you, and stab you in the back, while smiling and sipping tea and eating sweets. I called off attending their parties and eventually, the invitations dried up. I did not meet any eligible men and that is what my brother used to arrange a marriage to a veritable relic.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Duncan said as true distress cloaked his chest. “Ye deserve much more.”

  She spun and the wind lifted her hair. “Tell that to my brother, and worse, my aunt agrees with him. I thought…” she wrapped her arms around herself, “I thought she would understand and see reason that I…don’t want that.” Her last words were said in a whisper and her eyes were cast to the ground.

  “What do ye want?” Duncan asked. “What kind of man do ye want?”

  She looked at him and her lips slipped open a little but then closed. He wondered what she was holding back. “Even if I told you, it would not matter.”

  Daring himself, Duncan lifted his hand to her and held it there, hoping she would take it. Isabella’s eyes were locked on his hand and she came forward. She took his hand and warmth chased with a mild shock flowed through the limb. She curved her hand over his but still did not move for long, bated breaths of time. Entranced, he lifted his hand to brush his battered knuckles on her soft cheek.

  What kind of man do ye want, Isabella?

  She licked her lips and the motion had his gut aching. God, she is beautiful. She calmly pulled his hand from her face and smiled, “I can see questions in your eyes but you must ask them another time,” her eyes shifted. “My time with you is limited.”

  Pulling away, she left her fingers to slip through his as she moved away, from him and through the door. He flipped his hand over and stared at his palm, as if to see if there were any lingering, visual, remnants of her touch. He closed his fist tightly as the notion came to him. Isabella needed someone to protect her, someone to see who she really was…someone to take her from all this unhappiness.

  But that cannot be me…I’m living a lie here…

  Duncan closed his eyes and his mind went to his home, just on the brink of Loch Mhòrair. His mental eye ran over the large spans of deep unfathomable blue water then up the cliffside to the black castle carved from pure rock, sealed and made one with the mountain behind it.

  Castle Goreidh, his ancestral home, in the center of Brynkirk, sat like the most precious jewel in a crown, high and securely perched atop the steep mountainside that led down to the loch below. The watchtower, the highest point in the castle was a jagged spit of dark rock that seemed to pierce the heavens. God above, he ached for his home. But then, he would be leaving Isabella to her unwanted fate, to marry this man she despised.

  If God could give me one gift, I’d like it to be Isabella. This connection I have with her, this urge to touch her, to be near her, to have her in me arms…could she be mine?

  Lifting his hand, he winced at the stretch of his skin and covered his eyes. A ridiculous thought came to him, what if he brought Isabella with him back home? She’d be free to choose whoever she wanted. But then, would she want to come with him? He had not given her anything to make her trust him. He had not even told her who he truly was.

  If I want to help her, I’ll have to get her to trust me…but how do I do so?

  His contemplations to get her to trust him went from furtive to sluggish and then, as they began to repeat themselves, he slipped off into a doze. It did not last long though as he heard footsteps, harder ones, not like the bare whispers Isabella walked with, coming near him. He jerked awake as the door was pushed in and Miss Dellendine came in. She walked heavily and when he glanced down, he saw why, on her feet were heavy outdoor shoes.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Gordon,” she said while tugging her shawl away from her neck. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better,” he said slowly, “thank you.”

  “I’m glad you’re healing quickly, I still would like to know where you might go when you are healed,” Miss Dellendine said. “Are you sure you don’t have anyone to go back to?”

  It makes sense…she does not want Isabella near any man who is not her husband-to-be, nay matter how unwanted he is.

  “No family,” he said, “but there might be an old family friend… mayhap a cousin.” The moment he uttered those words he knew he had just dug himself deeper into the pit of lies.

  “You just said you don’t have any family,” Miss Dellendine said. “How is it now you have a cousin?”

  He swallowed. “I said perhaps, from the second and third branches. Very far removed.”

  The lady’s eyes narrowed a little in suspicion, but she nodded. “Very well, I’ll see you on the morrow.” She paused at the doorway then with her hand braced on the frame looked over her shoulder, “Has my niece been here?”

  “No,” he said, “I have not seen her.”

  “It appears she can obey orders,” Miss Dellendine muttered under her breath.

  His head fell back and his breath whooshed out his nose. He felt an ominous tickling in the back of his mind, it was time
for him to leave. He scratched the back of his head and sighed. It was nearly a week, he was getting better by the hour and in a few days, he would be able to ride a horse.

  It would take more than three days to get back home based on his injuries, but five days maximum would take him back to his home. He had to go back home as soon as he was able.

  He wished he could go out and find Isabella to speak with her but her aunt was home and she would be under a watchful eye for the rest of the day. And night. And probably three more days until her aunt goes back to church. Even then, Duncan doubted she would be able to get away with the same lie twice in a row. The reality was that he would leave her, not knowing who he was.

  His thoughts shifted back to him leaving. He needed to but with his weak limbs, he would not be able to mount a horse much less ride one. He had to get his limbs back in shape. He shifted the sheet to look at his injured leg.