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

  Again, his eyes gravitated to the mountains beyond. The land was so flat he was gazing on the rises of Merrick, Kirriereoch all the way to the mystic peak of Craignaw Mountain. All those he would have to pass over or circumvent to get to his home in Loch Mhòrair. The cool air from the rivers before and beyond the home flittered over his face.

  He used the dying light to see where, if possible, he would go to leave this home. He spotted the same barn where the horse and cow rested and debated with himself if it was right to steal the poor woman’s sole horse. If possible, he did make it out on foot, he might be able to acquire a horse somewhere else as it did not sit right with him to disadvantage a woman who was good to him.

  He lingered at the window until darkness fell fully and then, knowing those in the house had gone to bed already. He began to walk again and made it around the room much easier than he had done the night before. He even squatted a few times and felt his knees hold up much better.

  Sitting, he tugged his leg up to his chest and felt the burn in his lower thigh and smiled. This was familiar to him. Every morning, back home, he would stretch and run miles into the rocky heights and swim a few lengths in the loch below. His body was always refreshed and invigorated when he did so, despite the strength he had used up in doing so.

  He alternated between resting and flexing his muscles and time passed. He had spent all day in bed resting so he had enough strength to use up. Time was ticking away and he felt that he would never see Isabella again before he did leave. That was until he heard the door push in and the golden eyes ran over his body. He did not move while she examined him.

  “You’re feeling better, I take it,” she said softly.

  “I am,” he replied. “Not to discount ye, as I do appreciate ye coming to see me, but ye should not be here.”

  “My aunt’s asleep,” Isabella said as she came closer to sit on the edge of the bed near him. “She went out early this morning and came back tired so she went to rest. She takes a concoction to ease her swelling knees at times, it makes her sleep for longer hours too.”

  Duncan gently let his leg down to rest on the floor. “Lass, yer aunt specifically said ye shouldnae be here.”

  She did not speak but reached over to where he had placed the jar of salve after the maid had given him his supper. She opened it and scooped some out to slather over his wounded arm. He stilled at her touch.

  “Aside from my aunt’s request, is there a reason why I should not be near you?” She asked quietly as she rubbed it in. “I don’t get the sense that you’re dangerous…” her eyes flicked up and then back to his arm, “are you?”

  “I am nay dangerous to ye but I have it within me to be,” he said. “I have killed people, Isabella, nay because I wanted to but because I had to safeguard me home.”

  Her hand was still caressing his arm and the soft sensations traveled all through his body. “You came here with a soldier’s uniform on, but I know it was the wrong one. I know that you are a Scottish warrior but I don’t know why you put on an Englishman’s clothes.”

  This is what he had feared, having to explain the frame of mind he was in after the war. “T’was pure survival lass. When one is desperate, one kens differently. I was in English country and kent me real apparel would make me a walking target for those seeking revenge. And I was injured, I couldnae fight.”

  “I still don’t know why it happened,” she added pensively. “Why all this bloodshed?”

  Duncan took her hand from his arm as her touch was making it a bit difficult for him to think. “Lass, this whole war stemmed from petty revenge and bad blood between two families. The Percy’s of yer country have a long hatred for the Douglas’ of mine, for almost a hundred years. The first skirmish was because a Percy had come to hunt on Douglas’ land which Douglas had forbidden but he still did it anyway. Yer Earls suffered defeat after defeat and now this last Earl has invaded Scotland,” he grimaced. “All this damned bloodshed for a family feud.”

  “What did you fight for?” Isabella asked, “Patriotism, allegiances, money, territory perhaps?”

  “My family,” Duncan said as his eyes lifted to the window, “Just me family, lass, nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

  “And where is your family?” she asked, with her head trained in the same direction.

  “Far, very far from here,” he said nostalgically, “Past these diddly mountains ye see around here and into the real heart and crown of Scotland. I put me sword in me hand to make sure me mother wouldnae be taken captive or the young lads would not be called to fight when their lives are just starting.”

  Isabella’s head twisted and he got a whiff of her rosewater-scented hair, “You sound so protective of everyone, is there anyone else there that might cause you to be so defensive?”

  He laughed and twisted to look at her. “Are ye trying to find out if I have a wife, lass?”

  “I was,” she replied directly, “but I didn’t want to be too obvious about it. I was told recently that prying into other people’s lives is not to be done.”

  “Well, I dinnae have one,” he said while ruffling his hair. “No bairns either. Which might be an issue when I get back. Me clan is going to be expecting that of me.” The words slipped out naturally as talking to Isabella only had put him in a deceptive comfort.

  “Why would that be expected from you?” She asked.

  I cannae tell her that I am a Laird, not yet until we’re clear of England territory. I trust her but I cannae ken if she might slip and tell the wrong people and word gets out. “Just that me clan is very small, we need children to carry the name on.”

  “I suppose you will be wife hunting then,” Isabella said and the small note of grave emotion— disappointment, pain, regret possibly— was in her voice. He turned to look at her and met her eyes.

  “I probably will, why?” he asked. Why were her lips going flat and a small tic forming at the corner of it? She looked at him, shook her head and stood up.

  “Don’t worry, it has nothing to do with you,” she made for the door. “Good nig—”

  Duncan reached out and grabbed her hand. She stopped and spun while he tugged her closer to him. Standing he tugged her even closer and felt when her breath hitched as she was a handbreadth away from his chest. He knew why he had stopped her but he had to know if she felt it too, this need building inside him, putting him on edge. She might be a virgin, but she was astute. She had to feel it too.

  As he looked into her eyes a foreign, heavy feeling came over him as if he had just lifted a cask of wine to his head and drank it all. His hand slipped up her arm to her shoulder then to her neck, and gooseflesh rose up on her skin. He felt her pulse beating hard against his hand, fluttering like a manic butterfly against his hand. He pressed his thumb just under her chin and her plump bottom lips slipped open a little.

  “Lass…” he said. His words stopped as he slid his thumb from her chin to her cheekbone. Her eyes were wide as he inched forward. He knew she was innocent; he could feel it but he ached to kiss her, to know what her lips tasted like, to feel her tongue against his. His head came within a hairsbreadth of her mouth but he would go no further. It was up to her to give him permission to kiss her.

  Isabella’s hand came up and she clutched his borrowed shirt. He felt her mouth open and her breath, holding the sweetness of honey met his lips but then just as she began to tip on her toes, she ripped herself from him and was gone.

  Stunned, Duncan slowly sat and rubbed his forehead. “Serves me right for thinking more of her…” he uttered as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, “I’m sorry, Isabella, please forgive me.”

  He sank back to bed and placed his long legs on the footboard while his hands slipped under his neck. He knew she probably would never come to see him again after he had scared her. Isabella was so many things he had not expected from an English woman. She was mild-mannered but he could see in her eyes deep defiance and loyalty to her family while having her own fierce inde
pendence.

  He still had not gotten the chance to ask her if she was a dancer and he would probably never get the chance. His eyes began to drift closed but he was still too riled up to sleep. Instead, he pictured his home, the deep waters of the loch, the black castle that held golden-hearted people. His mother’s blue eyes, his wide room situated in the highest loft in the castle, the enormous great hall and then the white marble appointment stone sitting in the middle of the inner courtyard.

  His home, his people, his life; all that he had nearly sacrificed his life for. He was hiding the last part of himself from Isabella, a part that was the most important—that he was the Laird of the Clan—but he could not afford to let that tidbit slip if he wanted to preserve his life.

  “Just a few more days…” he murmured, “I have a few more days to make this right and then leave.” He turned on the bed and breathed out, “God help me.”

  9

  God, I’m so sorry…

  Isabella closed the door to her room as quietly as she could then tottered to her bed to fall sideways on it. Her legs came up and she cowered in on herself. What have I been thinking?

  She had seen people kissing, she had read of it, she had been told it was pleasurable, the gateway to pleasure, but she had never done it. She had not known what to do but right there, clutching to Duncan’s shirt and having his lips near hers…she had wanted it.

  His body against hers was a rigid wall of heat, a soldier, though wounded, was still in his prime form. She swallowed, and she felt the heat and strength of his hand as he tugged her into him. His eyes had been dark in the dimness but she knew he had seen her clearly. His cheeks had a shadow of dark hair on his chin and the hair swirling around his shoulders only made his striking appearance that much arresting.

  The way he had whispered her name still made her tremble. Was this what many called desire? Was that the emotion that fueled wars and caused of heroes to risk their lives? Her hand dropped to her belly where a quiet quivering was still running through her middle.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip.

  But what would his kiss feel like? Duncan seems to be a man that does not leave anything done halfway. He comes off as one who will do all he can to the point of perfection. I think he would kiss me with passion, focus, power, and expertise. A kiss that would teach me how to kiss him back…

  She imagined his lips pressing against hers, those broad lips firm and insistence, stoking velvety over hers. Would he part her lips and slip his tongue inside as she had come to know that many kissed that way? Would his hands slide into her hair as he had done just a while ago?

  The questions came barraging through her mind, one after the other but no answer came. The one question that pained her dearly was if she should have stayed and allowed him to kiss her. That question stayed with her, building a leaden ball of regret inside her stomach, as she drifted off to sleep.

  Waking up to meet her aunt to pray was a chore. Her body felt heavy and reluctant to leave the warm covers. Through bleary eyes, she washed her face and her mouth and got dressed to go to her aunt. At her aunt’s door, she knocked and got a terse, “Enter.”

  Pushing the door in, she saw her aunt sitting with her Book of Hours on her knees. “You’re late.”

  “I apologize,” Isabella said quietly. “I did not get much sleep last night?”

  Aunt Matilda’s sharp gaze landed on her, “Why?”

  “Worry, Aunt,” she replied, “I worry about a lot of things…” my life, my happiness, my future husband, my freedom…Duncan’s kiss, “and I don’t sleep.”

  “You do know that unwarranted worry is an insult to God,” her aunt said. “The Bible says to be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God—”

  Isabella hung her head. She had no patience to be dealing with another one of her aunt’s sermons but she listened as much as she could. Her fatigue was pulling at her and her aunt's voice was making her that much more apathetic. She couldn't take it anymore.

  Swallowing, she said, “I’m sorry Aunt, I can't think. Please, excuse me.”

  Without waiting for permission to leave—an act Isabella knew she was going to answer for later—she got up and left the room, hurrying back to her bed. She closed the door and sank to the bed, caging her face in her arm. Isabella breathed deeply, “He’s going to leave, I know he’s going to leave, and when he does go, the chance I had last night is gone.”

  A quick memory of her aunt’s appalled expression when she had bolted out of the room made her grimace. When Duncan was gone, she still had to be with her aunt and she did not know how she was going to explain her actions or how to hide that she had broken her aunt’s orders to stay away from Duncan. Worse of all, this connection, this feeling she had for him was inexplicable. Can I hide this from my aunt?

  She did not move from the bed for hours and was quietly surprised that her aunt had allowed her this privacy. A skeptic part of her wondered how long it would last and what price she had to pay for it later.

  Eventually, she plucked herself out of the bed somewhere along noon and sat on the edge of the bed. With her hands braced on the edge, she hung her head and felt worried. She did not know what to do or say when she saw her aunt again. If she was in her garden, that would only give Isabella a little postponement, but it was only a brief delay to the inevitable.

  Knowing that it was cowardly to hide in her room, she left to get something to eat. Fortunately, Agnes was in the kitchen stirring a pot of what smelled like soup. The maid looked up, “Good day, Miss, are you feeling well?”

  Sitting, Isabella nodded, “I am, now, I was just a bit fatigued this morning. Is that soup finished? I’d like to have some.”

  “It is,” Agnes nodded, “just let me get a bowl for you.”

  Watching Agnes reach for the wooden bowls up on a shelf, her eyes drifted to the window and her hand framed a fist under her chin. The mountains she had once marveled at came back into view. Duncan had said that these mountains were dwarfs as opposed to the one in the real heart of Scotland. She began to imagine—how tall were they? If they were as impressive as Duncan had hinted, they were probably tall enough to be God’s footstool.

  Pity, I will never be able to see them.

  The bowl of soup was rested before her and she began to drink. Agnes was a very talented cook, the soup had bits of roasted pheasant inside it, with garden peas, diced carrots, and mild spices. She was halfway through when her aunt came in and spotted her. Instantly, her stomach felt tied in knots.

  “Isabella, when you’re done, I need a word with you,” her aunt said calmly but Isabella had to stifle the ominous chill that ran over her skin. Unable to eat anymore, she pushed the bowl away to stand.

  “Thank you, Miss Polver,” Isabella said with a nod as she followed her aunt out of the room.

  They did not speak until they entered the small sitting room she had beside her bedchamber. With each step she took, she pushed her anxiety and guilt to the forefront of her thinking.

  She closed the door behind her and began to speak even before her aunt did. “I am sorry, Aunt, this morning I was too tired to stay with you. I did not mean to insult you or God but…” she grimaced. “I was just so tired and worried that I…please forgive me.”

  Matilda’s lips were flat and her eyes were exacting. “That’s good and all, but that is not what I called you here for.” She then reached for a letter by her beside and handed it over to her, “This came for me today.”

  Isabella was confused about why her aunt was giving her a letter sent to her, but took it anyway. She unfolded it and dropped her eyes to read Ralf’s overlay slashing handwriting. Instantly, she wanted to chuck this letter into the fire but forced herself to read it. She skimmed past the not-so-pleasant greetings and then dropped to the meat of the matter.

  Lord Lofter has settled in from his week-long trip and is ready to have the nuptial ceremony with my obstinate si
ster in the next three days. I will be sending the carriage for her tomorrow night. I had put faith in your ability to get her to see the most sensible path and I expect her to be of a more amiable frame of mind when she gets here.

  She dropped the letter and looked away, allowing her fists to clench on her skirt. Ralf was ordering her to come back much sooner than she had expected. Of course, he just wanted his business deal to go through. “I see.”

  “And have you come to see the sense of marrying this Baron?” Aunt Matilda asked.

  “I have seen the sense of it,” Isabella replied flatly. “But it still is not what I want.”

  Her words made her aunt’s face go stony, “Isabella—”

  “Pardon me,” Isabella said. “I think I have to go prepare myself for a lifetime of misery, wretchedness, and dejection.” Again, she left the room without her aunt’s by-your-leave, with Ralf’s letter clutched in her fist.