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

“I’m serious, Isabella,” Aunt Matilda said, “Truly, I did not want you to marry the Baron, but then I reasoned that you needed to be provided for. I know what you are thinking, I will deal with Ralf for you. But Mr. Goreidh, I am waiting on your promise.”

  Duncan dipped his head. “I swear on me life that Isabella will want for nothin’. I’ll protect and provide for her with every breath I breathe.”

  His words had her swallowing hard over the fluttering inside her chest. Never had she heard a promise like that, but she knew they were not empty, that he meant every single word he said.

  Aunt Matilda nodded, “Good, go with him Isabella, but let me get you some provisions first. Mr. Goreidh, go and saddle the horse. All you need is inside the barn.”

  As her aunt hurried back to the house, Isabella turned to Duncan and reached for him. “You’re truly a Laird?”

  “Aye,” he said with a sigh of relief, “I am.”

  She stood and watched him go off while a chilled breeze ran over her body and she immediately regretted running out in the cold night with only her night shift on. She breathed out in nervousness just before Duncan came out with the horse and the saddle. As if it was daylight, he quickly had the saddle on without one wasted move.

  Grasping the reins, he guided the horse to her and licking her lips in nervousness, Isabella asked, “How far is your home?”

  “As the horse rides, eight or nine days far from here,” Duncan replied. “It’s very far up in the Highlands, where the mountains are high and majestic and the waters are deep and bottomless.”

  She heard his words but what stuck in her mind was the nine days. Could she bear nine days with this man, alone? With one kiss, one touch, her body had been awakened, what more would happen if they delved deeper than a touch and go further than a kiss?

  Duncan’s hand skimmed up her hand to her arm and then nudged her head up with his knuckles. Her head tilted up and while she expected him to kiss her again, he only asked, “Are ye sure about this?”

  More than anything, but she only nodded. Hugging herself to stave off the chill, she was going back to get a dress and a coat when her aunt came with a few bags. “Here,” Aunt Matilda said, “some bread, cheeses, smoked meat, and fruit.”

  She dropped that sack and then opened the other where she took out a dress and a coat. “Quickly now,” she ordered as she helped Isabella into the dress then put her coat on before shoving the sack in her hand. “Here are two more dresses, a washcloth, and a blanket. Run far and run hard. I’ll try to misdirect your brother’s men from going after you, but we both know that he will move heaven and earth to find you when he realizes that he’s been tricked.”

  Clutching the lapels of the coat tightly, Isabella staved off the icy chill that ran through her veins. Ralf was not one to be crossed and his anger was a smoldering one, burning longer and hotter than a marsh fire. Aunt Matilda hugged her, “There are some gold coins in your pocket. Do not send me a letter until I know Ralf is off your tail. Take two or three weeks,” she said before pulling away, “Keep safe, Isabella and be happy. Now, go!”

  * * *

  From the shadows of the backlands, eyes darkened with livid hate looked on the two as they rode off. Every word that had passed between the three had been heard but the one that jabbed cold spikes of fury into the observer’s heart was the name of the Scotsman’s clan.

  Goreidh…A clan of murderers.

  He will never get away with his kinsmen’s crime. Justice will be served one way or another, after all, an eye for an eye is revenge justified, I will have mine!

  11

  These are the beginnings of fairy tales...

  The rhythmic motion of the horse under them as they sped away from the Cumbria house and into the wild darkness of Scotland. A cold chill that hinted of soon-coming rain lingered in the crisp, cool air but Duncan’s warmth at her back belied the chill in the air.

  Her aunt’s story had made so many things that she had once been confused about crystal clear.

  She had loved a Scotsman and had not been given the chance to live it out.

  She did not know how long they had been riding but Duncan had whispered into her ear a while ago that they had passed through Gretna. Settled on his lap, his arm was around her as they rode. Her head rested on his shoulder and back on his chest.

  It’s so tragic, and I feel so badly for her. If that had happened to me, I would have run, far, far away from a constant reminder of what was taken from me.

  She tried to watch her surroundings as they rode but all she could discern was dark roads and even darker bush all around them. Duncan seemed to have the eyes of a wildcat as he spotted things she only saw the bare outlines of.

  “Duncan,” Isabella whispered after several moments of contemplation.

  “Aye, Isabella?” he replied and his words caused a deep rumble in his chest that she felt through her back.

  “I know you did not have the freedom to tell me more about you but I want to start to know who you are,” she said. “We have all the time now, don’t you think?

  “Aye, we do,” Duncan said as he brushed his lips on her ear. “All I told ye is true. I dinnae have a wife or bairns and I did fight to stop others from me clan from doing so. Boys that our clan needs to be men in the future.”

  Remembering the discussion about the feud between the Percy’s and the Douglas’, Isabella’s smile was wry, “Aside from those who have a personal stake in the matter, no English lord would ever be forefront at a war. They kill by proxy.”

  “Cowards,” Duncan uttered darkly, “all of them.”

  Grimacing at a memory of rage on Ralf’s face, she said, “My brother is the same when it comes to using others. To him, I am just the means to an end, Duncan. My aunt is right, he will try and find me and he will go to the end of the earth to get me back. I would not put it far from him to make a deal with the Devil himself for it.”

  “I willnae let ye be a pawn in his game,” Duncan swore. “By me troth, ye will never be in his hand again.”

  His words were comforting but she knew Ralf, she knew the dirty, underhanded tactics he would reach for just to get her back and she knew he would play Lord Lofter as a piece in his game. “He was going to marry me off to a Baron, Duncan, a man with soldiers numbering sand on the seashore at his disposal. If he does find me and sends his men, will you be able to withstand him?”

  “Never ye fear,” Duncan said, “I’ll try me damndest.”

  Fear for him, and fear for her aunt, and even fear for herself were like a lead ball in her chest. She tucked her head under Duncan’s chin and sighed. “Thank you.”

  His arms were even closer around her and feeling safe and secure, Isabella allowed herself to drop off into a light doze. The rocking motions were even more incentive to sleep. Duncan’s body held her more secure than any memory of her father holding her as a child or her mother singing her to sleep.

  When she woke it was to Duncan’s hand softly lifting her off the horse and unto her feet but her knees began to buckle under her. She grabbed him just as he grabbed her. “Calm down, lass, ye’ve been in the saddle too long. ‘Tis common for yer legs to go numb for a long time in the saddle, yer strength will return.”

  The pink-blue rays of dawn were through the boughs of the trees in the small clearing he had found.

  “Duncan, where are we?”

  “Near Dumfries. Ye need to rest properly,” he said with a slanted smile. “Dinnae get me wrong, I love having ye on me chest but ye need a real bed. It is only for a few hours. You need to rest, and eat and then we’ll move off.”

  Taking the saddle and blanket off the horse, he tied the bay-colored steed to a low-lying limb for him to graze. He then laid the blanket on the ground then added the softer one Miss Dellendine had given Isabella over it. Using the sack as her pillow, Isabella laid down and used her coat as her cover.

  Duncan then sat, took the second sack and peered into it, “Lass, d’ye want bread with cheese or meat
or fruit?”

  “Fruit,” she said, smiling at the striking profile he cut in the growing light. He plucked two large, yellow-green apples with bright red flushes and handed them to her. She wiped the fruit on her blanket and then bit into it. The firm, crisp flesh had a sweet-sharp tang and she ate it quickly.

  “Will this do?” he said to her.

  “For now,” Isabella said while chewing. A drop of juice slipped from her lips and trailed down her jaw. Duncan’s finger swiped it from her jaw only to have him slip the finger into his mouth. She stopped chewing and her cheeks bloomed as red as the apple. Her eyes dropped as he chuckled.

  She finished her second apple in silence and curled up under her cloak. Duncan settled down on the ground not far from where she was, but his body was angled to her and their gazes met.

  “You like looking at me,” she mentioned.

  “I do,” he replied. “And I dinnae ken that a day will come when I won’t. When I saw ye first that day, laying on yer aunt’s lawn half-dead, I kent ye were an angel.”

  “Of death?” She giggled.

  “Salvation really,” Duncan said, “An angel of mercy, healing, comfort,” he shrugged. “And yer beauty stunned me.”

  Her fingers were tracing on the blanket. “I thought you were dead,” she admitted. “You looked like you had passed through the threshold of death already but when you looked right at me, I was even more terrified, because I feared you’d die under our care.”

  “And now?” Duncan asked while eating some bread.

  “Somewhat,” Isabella admitted as her eyes traced over his body. It did not escape him that his injured leg was extended and through the thin cloth she could see the red, angry scar on his thigh. “I know you’re still not fully recovered.”

  To accent her words, his hand slipped to his thigh as he massaged the injured limb. “Is it paining you?”

  “Nay,” he said. “Sometimes it just goes stiff and throbs but I’ve had worse injuries in the past, Isabella, I’ll mend.”

  Soft shivers ran over her skin at how he said her name. He was not looking at her then, instead, his head turned enough that for a bated breath she saw his full profile, and her breath hitched.

  He did indeed resemble a knight of old, one who had survived a perilous mission and bore the scarred badges of his troubles. The high structure of his cheekbones, the tilt of his nose and the tiny furrow of his eyebrows were made even more striking by dark hair resting on his shoulders.

  When his jaw firmed, she knew that his expression would be as impenetrable as tempered steel. He had told her she was beautiful but she felt pale in comparison to him. A glimpse of his eyes, the deep elemental force of water, had those dratted flutters erupting to life in her stomach.

  “Duncan, what can I do to help?” She asked. “I feel that I need to help.”

  He gave her a wry grin, “Unless yer aunt dropped that tub of salve in yer bag, or ye have the miraculous powers of Raphael the Archangel then I dinnae ken ye can do.”

  The quip about her aunt dropping the salve into her bag had been said in a tease but she still checked the bag anyway. Rooting down pass her dresses and nightshift, her finger came upon a stone jar. Grinning she plucked the jar out and waggled it in front of him. “Ye might need to eat yer words.”

  Her mangled impersonation of his accent had him howling in laughter. “Lass, me accent ain’t for ye.”

  Huffing to stifle her smile, Isabella opened the lid and scooped some of the Goldenrod salve into her hand and then shuffled closer to him. “May I touch you?”

  “Aye,” he said then rolled up his pant leg. Below his knee, spring dark hair was down his shin but his thigh was smooth. Grimacing at the angry scar, she gingerly rubbed the salve in, hearing his deep sigh of relief. “Jesú, that is a relief.”

  She pulled her hand away and closed the jar. “Duncan, I—” the words dried up in her throat. How was she going to say that she wanted to forge the bond they had into something deeper? The emotion was there but the feeling did not translate directly into words. Isabella pulled away and felt embarrassed at how her lips were moving but nothing was coming out.

  Duncan smiled and reached out to cup her face. His hand was large enough to cover her jaw and ear. “I ken lass and I dinnae want to rush anything either, trust me, I’ve been down that road and it did not end well.”

  She felt torn in two directions. He did want what she wanted, that fire, the heat from his kiss, his touch, but then he did not want to take it further so quickly. Isabella wanted to know why, “What happened?”

  His eyes dimmed with hues of discomfort and regret, “She wanted to control and manipulate me, I dinnae take well to ultimatums.”

  There was a history there and though she wanted to know, she knew it was not the time to do that either. She had to wait and let him tell her how he had been hurt. Offering him a commiserating smile, she pulled away and put the jar back in her pack.

  “I think I’ll rest now,” she said, knowing it was time for them to have some separation. She laid back on the blankets and tugged her cloak over her then dropped her eyelids to slits.

  Duncan was massaging his thigh while his eyes flitted over to her periodically. While trying to fake sleep, she did slip off into slumber. She woke up to take care of her bodily needs and stirred to see Duncan asleep. She crept to a bush and used it before coming back.

  Sitting, she folded her legs under her and looked at Duncan with another set of eyes, one that had her seriously considering what she was doing. She had run away with a man, a Scot, because of some ephemeral bond that pulled her to him. And by doing so, had put her aunt in danger of her brother. Duncan and his people, and even herself, were in danger of her brother if he did find them.

  Was it worth it?

  Her aunt’s haunted look when she spoke of her dead love made her feel somewhat comforted that she was doing right by herself. If it did not work out, then—and here she stumbled. What would she do? She could not run back home because Ralf would imprison her and she would never see the light of day again until she died.

  She wanted to go over and slide her fingers into his wind-blown hair and feel the silk that it looked like—but she did not. They had not reached that point…yet. The flame of attraction was there but it would be snuffed out if there was no basis for it to grow. She had to earn his trust first and he, hers.

  “I can hear yer gears grindin’, lass,” Duncan said sleepily before he opened his eyes and gave her a warm, sleepy look. “And by the look on yer face, I was right.”

  Isabella did not know what look he was referring to, as the look he was giving her made warmth settle deep down in her chest. “That is somewhat impossible.”

  “Not if ye were friends with a miller’s son and ye can hear gears running,” Duncan rebutted humorously. “It dinnea matter if it's in yer mill or in yer head, it’s the same sound.”

  Why is he friends with a miller’s son? That is akin to a king being a comrade with a blacksmith.

  As Duncan stood and stretched, unfolding his body with delicate care, her eyes darted up to see that the day had calmed. The sky was benign blue and the sun’s heat was mild. It was probably past noon.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Her attention turned to Duncan, “No, but I think it's sensible to eat something.” His confirming nod had her reaching for the sack of food and she broke some bread. Unwrapping the cheese from the cloth, she broke some and ate.

  Duncan was seeing about the horse then called over, “He needs water. In fact, we all need water. I think we can find a stream or a pool close to here on the way.”

  She realized that he would need the horse’s blanket, so she put away her food, took the blanket up, and handed it to him. Duncan quickly covered the horse before putting the saddle on him. She quickly finished eating and dusted the crumbs off her hands.

  Duncan gently lifted her into the saddle before he joined her. Grasping the reins, he kissed her cheek quickly. “Keep yer eyes open
, look at the countryside. It's nay the best as the real Scotland is in the Highlands but it’s something.”

  She twisted to look at him, “You’re really partial when it comes to your home.”

  “Partial yes, but proud, even more so,” he said without a speck of remorse. “Me home is unspoiled by the various people that pass through. The lowlands are influenced by the Irish, the French, the English, and whoever that makes it to their shores. They dinnae venture into the mountains where I am happy to say, we hold onto our culture tightly.”

  “What do you mean by your culture?” She asked. “Aren’t you Christians?” He took a deep breath and she quipped with a grin. “Now I can hear your gears turning.”

  She earned herself a chuckle. “We believe we practice a better, purer Christianity than the Roman Catholic church, even as there are Druidism practices added into it.”