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

  The scar on his thigh was garish and would probably be something he would carry for the rest of his life but it was healed enough that he could try and exercise it. He had to bend and prayed that when he did, the scab would not burst open like frayed cloth. Shifting the sheet back he flexed his arm. It still stung but he had to get his body back in order. Being sedentary was not something he was used to.

  Tonight, when everyone is asleep, I will test myself. I ken it’s time for me to leave this place and I want Isabella to trust me enough that she will come with me. Even if it doesnae go that way…

  Later that night, after his supper, and when he had taken about two hours of sleep, he rose from the bed and tentatively placed his feet on the ground. The floor was cold and his muscles were sore but he had to get his body back in shape, or as close as possible. He braced his hand on the bed’s short post and pushed himself up. His very bones ached but he stood and slowly took his hand from the post.

  His leg felt unfamiliar to him and he tried to step but tottered. Grabbing at the post again he shifted his feet again and letting go of the post stepped away. This time, his legs did not buckle under him. Going close to the wall, he began to walk the room, hugging the four walls.

  The moonlight was streaming through the open window and guided his way around the room. He made three unstable trips around the room before he had to sit and massage his throbbing thigh.

  Pressing his hands into the stiff muscle, he looked to the dark sky. “With me limited time here…how do I get ye to trust me, Isabella?”

  7

  “Please, Aunt,” Isabella asked, “It’s just one ride.”

  Her aunt gave her a scathing look before going back to her Book of Hours, “Where rogue soldiers can come upon you at any moment? What should I tell your brother, then? Do you want me to send you back to him in the burial shroud?”

  Isabella was getting to the near end of her rope when it came to staying in a house that was so bland and lonely. She had read her books three times over and she had not caught on to the routine her aunt performed every day. All she was asking for was one horse ride on the lands near her aunt’s home.

  “You have men servants, don’t you?” Isabella asked, “Why not ask one of them to shadow me?”

  Her aunt stopped turning her page but did not look up. Isabella could feel hope building inside her but just as she was about to get her aunt’s permission, the older woman said, “No, and that is final. I’d advise you to go read your Bible, like yesterday when I saw you after I came home from church.”

  Disappointment curdled her stomach, “Aunt, how do you not get bored to tears here? There is nothing to do.”

  “I pray and I read my Bible,” her aunt replied stonily. “You should do the same.”

  Why were the people she was counting on to help her, just keep disappointing her and pushing her away? Swallowing her frustration, Isabella nodded and turned away. Her steps were clipped on the way back to her room and she closed the door behind her a bit too hard.

  Sinking to her bed, Isabella felt the bleakness inside her and her growing frustration blended together. She began to wonder if she should just run away. Going to the window she again gazed on the mountains beyond. Could she run there?

  “But what could be there for me?” she wondered.

  The day felt like it was a standstill and she did not know what to do or where to turn. She had to do something or Ralf would come for her and then she would be married to the Baron. She went back to the room and sat, only to fall forward and cage her face in her hands.

  Ralf had sent her to a physical prison before he was going to sentence her to an emotional one. The Baron was going to kill her on all levels, her freedom, her mental stability, her ability to feel any emotion especially love and then lastly, he would chip away at her soul.

  She did not have the heart to leave her room for supper that evening but she gladly accepted when Agnes came with a bowl of warm porridge. Even after she ate, she did not feel comforted and sleep was elusive that night. She kept staring at the rising moon. The night birds were out singing their baleful songs and the insects were chirping away but she had not gotten a wink of sleep.

  Shucking the covers off, she put her slippers on and tugged a coat over her nightdress and left her room. Isabella had aimed to go to the kitchen for some milk but she found herself at Duncan’s door. It was past midnight and this idea was insanity defined but she rested her hand on the latch.

  Through the door, she could hear hesitant footsteps, and feeling quizzical, she pushed the door open. Duncan was on his feet and his head snapped to her. She felt frozen in place before she remembered that she was standing in plain view of the corridor. Slipping inside she closed the door behind her softly and came closer.

  He spun around as she came closer, her head tilted up to meet his eyes that stood about five inches over hers. His body, now upright, was magnificent. His broad shoulders looked like they could hold the weight of the world on them, and his hair, thick and full, rested loosely about his neck and shoulder blades.

  The moonlight cast shadows on the arches of his cheekbones and his eyes, now as dark as night, were intense and enigmatic, but held her gaze steadily. She came closer almost as if invisible tether was pulling her to him. Her voice was hushed, reverent, as she spoke, “You’re up…you’re walking.”

  Duncan reached up and his fingers lingered over her cheek for a small eternity before he slid his hand behind her neck to pull her closer. “Why are ye here, lass?” His head canted to the side, “And so late too.”

  “I don’t…know what to tell you,” Isabella said quietly. “I did not aim to come here but…” she paused delicately, “something about you calls to me.”

  He pulled away but he added, “I feel the same way.”

  “What are you doing up so late?” she then spotted how he was massaging his thigh and began to consider a few options. “Is your leg paining you? Is that why you’re up?”

  “Nay,” he sighed. “Nothin’ to do with that.”

  There was a note of reluctance in his voice and it drew her near to him. “But what is?”

  His hand, wide and warm, hovered near her cheek but then dipped to land on her shoulder. “Go back to your room, Isabella, ‘tis not right for ye to be here.”

  “But—”

  “Nay,” he cut in, his voice low, but warm and husky. “Nay buts. Ye will have hell to pay if yer discovered with me. Go back to yer room.”

  Her lips folded under as she did not agree but he made sense. Nodding curtly, she pulled away and while doing so, his fingers brushed her cheeks. Again, warmth filled her from his touch. It was little but she felt it and it made her pause. She did manage to pull away and then slipped out the door and successfully got to the kitchens without being discovered.

  First, she lit a lamp then went to the pails where the milk was stored. Filling a pan, she got a fire going and placed it over a hook. While it was warming, she touched her cheek and smiled. What was it about Duncan that made all these fluttery feelings fill her stomach?

  She grasped a cloth and reached for the pan when a voice nearly made her stumble and trip into the fire a foot away from her. She managed to regain her balance but lurched away from the wide fireplace. Her head snapped to the door to see Agnes standing there.

  “Agnes,” she breathed with her hand on her chest, “You frightened me.”

  “My apologies, Miss,” Agnes said, “but why didn’t you call for help if you needed something here?”

  Isabella heard a territorial note in the maid’s voice and felt—absurdly—that she was infringing on the woman’s territory. “I did not want to wake anyone. Warming milk is something easy, I did not think I needed anyone to do it for me…unless there is something about this fireplace that I don’t know about.” Her last words were said with a tiny laugh as she was trying to diffuse Agnes’ tension.

  “Nevertheless, Miss,” Agnes replied as she came forward to take the cloth from her ha
nd, “next time, please call one of us. It is our role to help.”

  Relinquishing the cloth, Isabella took a seat and watched Agnes efficiently go about pouring out the milk. While the woman was working, Isabella began to ponder how it was that Agnes had suddenly shown up the moment she had gotten there.

  Had she seen me coming from Duncan’s room?

  Fear began to trickle down her spine but she decided to calmly investigate. “Were you coming here to have a cup of warm milk too?” Why are you at the kitchens so late?

  Agnes came over with the milk and set it before her. “I was afraid that I had left a window open and came to check it.”

  At the same time, I came here?

  Sipping the milk, she tried to dispel the suspicious feeling that was actually fear. She feared that the maid had seen her coming from Duncan’s room but if that was the reality, and knowing how loyal Agnes was to her aunt, why had she not got to Matilda already? If she had, her aunt would have stormed into the room a long time ago and as Duncan had said, she would have hell to pay. Perhaps, she is telling the truth.

  As for the territorial edge to the maid’s voice, she knew that some servants took their workspace as their domain and were very particular about what went on inside it. As Agnes controlled the kitchen, Isabella could understand the maid’s attitude.

  Sipping the milk, she tasted some sweetness, and asked, “Agnes, did you add some honey to this?”

  “I did,” she replied. “If it's not to your liking I can—”

  “No, no,” Isabella cut in. “It's very thoughtful and exactly what I needed though I had not thought of it before. I could not sleep so this is wonderful. Thank you.”

  She drank while Agnes went around the room and checked the windows, making sure all were shuttered and latched. Even through the shuttered window, Isabella could hear the night creatures hooting and chirping away. At the last window, Agnes stopped and nodded. “Is there anything else you need, Miss?”

  “No,” Isabella smiled over the rim of the cup. “I’ll just finish this and go back to my room. Thank you and good night.”

  Agnes said the same and with a last nod, left the room. Isabella did admire the young woman. Most women her age were married and already had children. Agnes rarely left the compound so Isabella doubted she had a male friend in the nearby village. She doubted she had children. Servants rarely had the chance to marry well or even marry at all. Perhaps that was another reason why Agnes kept all her private business close to her chest.

  “Poor woman,” she stared into the little amount of milk in her cup and sighed. “But then, I would switch my marriage situation with hers in a heartbeat.”

  Spinning the cup as she had seen some fortune-tellers do, she laughed again when no magical answer came from it. Finished, she rinsed the cup out before going to her room. She closed the door and slipped under the cool sheets. Soon she was drifting off to sleep and the cool breeze flitted through the room.

  Even then, she went to sleep with Duncan on her mind. She knew he was up to something, but what was he hiding?

  * * *

  It was a knock that woke her the next morning and she had barely lifted her head up to see her aunt coming in. She blinked sleepily at her aunt who was dressed in a coat and shawl. Is she going somewhere? “Aunt?”

  Aunt Matilda was pulling her gloves on. “I’m going to Longtown for some supplies, medicinal and otherwise. I don’t expect to be there long but the trip is lengthy both ways. Do not go riding, do not leave this house and do not, let me repeat myself, do not, under any circumstances, go and see Mr. Gordon, do you understand?”

  “Aunt—”

  “Do you understand?” her aunt snapped.

  Irritation soured her stomach, but she calmly said, “Yes, I understand.” Understanding doesn’t mean I’m going to do the last one but I will have to be crafty about it.

  Turning away to go back to sleep, Isabella could feel her aunt’s eyes on her but felt too irritated to meet her gaze. Eventually, Matilda left and closed the door behind her. I had no freedom with Ralf and no freedom with my Aunt. Seems like I can’t win either way.

  She lingered in bed long enough to feel that her aunt had left, only then did she rise and ready herself for the day. She was decided on going to see Duncan but knew her aunt had set others to look out for her breaking her rules.

  Dressed and with her hair in a braid, she went to have her meal. Agnes was in the kitchen puttering around. She greeted her and sat near a window.

  “What would you like to eat, Miss?” Agnes asked while wiping down a table.

  “Some more warm milk like you made last night, with the honey and some bread and butter, thank you,” Isabella replied, giving the woman a smile then turned to look out the window. This way, she got an even bigger view of the Scottish mountains. Idly, she asked, “Agnes, have you ever been to Scotland?”

  “No Miss, I have not,” Agnes replied. “I am not…financially capable of traveling much. I am fortunate though, your aunt gives me a room, food, and a stipend.” Her cup and plate of bread and a tiny platter of butter and some cut-up fruit were placed before her while Agnes added. “I do thank your aunt.”

  Isabella stifled the urge to ask her more in respect for her aunt and Agnes herself. She ate her meal with quiet calm then gave her dishes to Agnes to wash. While the woman was occupied, she went to a cellar where her aunt held jars of medicine. She took one and took the lid off to smell that it was one of the many goldenrod salves her aunt made.

  Smiling, she took the tub and carried it up to Duncan’s door, laid the salve on the floor, knocked quickly then hurried off. She made it to her aunt’s room and was rifling through some prayer books when Agnes came in, armed with cleaning materials. She looked up with a smile.

  “Miss?”

  Isabella gave a long-suffering sigh and replaced the book, “I know I should not be here but I was incredibly bored. I’ll go to my room. Pardon me.”

  With another smile, she left. Isabella dared to go past Duncan’s room and saw the pot of salve was gone. Happiness settled deeply into her chest and she went to her room, nearly bouncing on her feet. She settled in and took up one of her books. She opened it on her lap but began to daydream.

  Oh, what if I had a man like King Arthur…brave, chivalrous, dashing…handsome…he’d whisk me away to his castle and I’d be his Queen…but he probably does not exist, she sighed and flipped the page, but what if he does…

  8

  The slickness of the salve was still between his fingers. Duncan glanced back down to his thigh where the salve had been smeared all over his injury. His muscles had been extremely tight earlier but now all that tension was gone.

  He knew who had given him the salve, as he had heard Isabella’s quick footsteps hurrying away. He wondered if she was a dancer to have such light feet. Nevertheless, he vowed to thank her before he left. He did not know if he could do so but if the opportunity came about, he would take it.

  She’s a lovely woman, virtuous, kind, selfless, and so beautiful. I wonder if the Gods sent her in my path to tempt me. This country is nay worthy of her. She’s a goddess among men.

  The evening was darkening to dusk and the only person he had seen that day was the maid, who spoke with the appropriate greetings and curtly gave him his meals. She would come back to collect his trencher and cups without another word. He had not seen Miss Dellendine at all and did not mind it. At least, he would not be forced to recant his story and possibly add another inaccuracy to it.

  He massaged his leg again and lifted his knee up and smiled to feel his leg flex properly. Standing, he dared to squat and his leg bent as it should. He tried to run in place but could barely move his legs five times before his knees threatened to give out on him. He sank back to the edge of the bed, and massaged his knee. It was not perfect but it was a start.

  Someone came to his door and he saw the shadow under it. Was it Isabella? If not, was it too much to ask if Isabella would come to see him
that night? He waited for the person to come in but the shadow moved off and he shrugged. It was probably a servant going down to get something down the hall.

  Last night when Isabella had come to his door, he had thought it to be a dream. The same woman he had hoped to see was there in a thin shift that outlined her body. He had seen every dip and curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and her lovely feet. He had been tempted to coax her to stay but he did not. Instead, he had ordered her to leave him. The moment she had closed the door behind her, he had cursed himself a fool a thousand times over but he knew he had done the right thing.

  He leaned back on the bed and flexed his arm, rotating the shoulder cuff back and forth to get some flexibility. He clenched his fist, just to make sure his hand was able to hold a sword again. He slid out of the bed and went to the window.