Highland Obligation (Highland Pride)

by Lori Ann Bailey

Despite her reluctance, his wife would have a maid. Normally, Grant would honor a lass’s wishes, but with her wind-tossed hair and loosened clothing, his thoughts kept turning to nights sequestered under their covers.

  All he’d been able to think about as he’d fallen asleep was tasting her lips and discovering if she would gently inhale him again. The idea that she’d been so affected by their simple kiss caused an ache in his cock. Perhaps he’d been too long without a woman’s touch, but he wanted to explore every inch of her sleek form. Damn, if he were honest, he’d been infatuated with her the first moment he’d seen her.

  He had needed a new wife, but had not wanted this lass, one who would go to war with Argyll himself if given the chance. The first time she’d caught his eyes, she’d been covered in dirt and wearing men’s clothing in the heat of a battle. She’d looked like an avenging angel then, but he’d certainly not expected her to look like a conquering goddess of mythology or a wanton temptress no matter the time of day.

  Her disheveled garments made him think of bed play. He didn’t want to be having these thoughts, so she had to be dressed properly or he might be tempted to plunder her spoils and forget himself before he fully trusted her.

  He’d pulled her gown together and tightened the laces, but the desire to loosen the bindings farther and take her to the hidden cave down the shore where they could be alone had been all too real and too sudden to examine.

  Thankfully, she had asked about Lyall, bringing him back to his senses and reminding him not of the complacent wife who had been of an arranged marriage, but of her brother, his friend, the one who now lay cold in the ground. The man he’d not been able to protect because Isobel had distracted him from the battle. She was a seasoned killer and not a woman to underestimate.

  Maybe it had been the sadness that had crept into her brown gaze as her family deserted her to a man who despised her which had given him some misplaced sympathy for the lass. But, damn, she didn’t have the right to even know Lyall’s name.

  As they approached the stables at the top of the hill, she spoke. “Will I be allowed the use of a horse?”

  “Aye. Despite what ye believe, ye arenae a prisoner here. I will provide ye with yer own.”

  “There is nae need. I will only use one occasionally. I dinnae mind sharing.”

  He felt his brow quirk. Who only wanted to borrow a horse? How could a person rely on a steed or it have faith in you without a bond formed by familiarity?

  Once they reached the stables, he had his horse and one belonging to his cousin, Skye, brought around. The lass had moved back to Cameron lands, and her mount needed some attention; maybe the mare and Isobel would suit until he could find her a horse of her own.

  As they trotted down the tree-lined path to the village, he wondered how he would feel about his wife if he’d not come upon her on that fateful day and didn’t know about her association with the Resistance.

  “Why do ye fight?”

  “How can I no’ when my family will be forced to accept the Covenanters’ wishes?” Her flippant response disturbed him.

  “There are other men to fight this battle. What if we can win the war with peace?”

  “And do ye believe that can happen?” she scoffed.

  “There is a chance.”

  She laughed and anger crept in, but he tamped it down. Sun peeked through the thick foliage canopy and lit her light brown hair, almost giving it a golden glow.

  “We must always choose peace if we have the option.” He had men to protect and throwing them into battle without proper thought was reckless.

  She mumbled something under her breath as she stared straight ahead.

  “What?”

  “Then ye are a fool,” she repeated, turning cold and distant as her chin tilted up defiantly.

  Fury roared in his chest. Did Isobel have no sense of self-preservation? Clenching his fists, he counted as he worked to control his breathing. “Dinnae ever call me that again, wife,” he ordered, his voice booming and echoing through the trees and dense shrubbery they rode past.

  She didn’t apologize, but she did nod. Maybe Isobel possessed some intellect, and perhaps he even witnessed a little bit of remorse creep into her eyes.

  He wouldn’t believe she was right. He couldn’t afford to let go of hope, but how was he to broker peace in a nation divided when he couldn’t even find harmony with his wife?

  “Yer hair has fallen down again.” Damn if she didn’t look like one of the fae come to Earth to wreak havoc on a man’s desires. He fought the urge to extend his arm and twirl the tresses between his fingers to test its softness.

  Shrugging, she smiled.

  “A maid would help ye keep it in place.” And possibly keep his mind from straying toward reaching out to touch her.

  “A maid would poke me with pins and cause my head to hurt,” her voice clipped.

  “Is there nae subject we can talk about without arguing?”

  “The weather,” she said as they reached the edge of the village.

  Maybe she would be onto something if the weather weren’t so boring to talk about. He tried anyway. “What is yer perfect day, then?”

  “I love storms. Not just a rain, but the kind that crashes around ye and makes ye aware of every second and that ye are alive.” Her voice lightened.

  Of course she would. “And what is wrong with a beautiful sunny day like we have now?” He breathed in the fresh air and glanced toward the nearly cloudless blue sky before guiding them to a post where they could secure the horses.

  “It fools ye into believing that everything is right with the world, and that men can be trusted.”

  He dismounted and, without thinking, stepped over and took her by the waist to help her down. Her skirts brushed against him and he caught her exotic sent. He wanted to breathe it in until he knew it, until he could put a name to the fragrance of Isobel. He pulled her nearer than intended, her body so close to his that he could feel her warmth.

  As he set his wife on her feet they both froze. They stood locked together, face to face, her warm gaze calling to him. His fingers still clutched her trim middle. They tingled. And he wanted to kiss her. Swallowing, he dropped his arms and put some distance between them.

  Then he remembered her words. “How do ye no’ have any belief that some men can be good?” he questioned.

  “They aren’t.” She shook her head.

  “’Tis foolish to judge a man before ye ken him.” He turned to tether their mounts and she started walking.

  “I thought ye wanted to stop arguing,” she said when he came up beside her.

  Isobel tilted her head away. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh, but what had irritated him was that they couldn’t even agree on the weather and she had no faith in men. Rain had its merits, but storms always reminded Grant of the day his uncle died. His father’s youngest brother had only been three years older than Grant and they’d grown up as if they had been siblings. And if the man had had more faith in others and not rushed into battle, he might still be alive.

  After hours of exploring the village and introducing his bride to his people, they settled in at one of the taverns for an afternoon meal.

  After the server brought them trenchers filled with roasted meat, potatoes, and sugared carrots, he asked, “What will ye miss most about yer home?”

  Isobel remained silent, but he could see her turning the question over in her head. He expected her to come back with something like her best friend or her brothers or her bed, but she surprised him and maybe herself as well when she replied, “I dinnae ken.”

  “Is there nothing?”

  “What would ye miss if ye were pawned off by yer family to another?” Bitterness entered her tone.

  “’Tis easy. My family, my horse, the mist, and the salty smell of the air on the water that protects us from enemies.”

  She perked up and smiled. “My sword and my daggers. That is what I miss.”

  Shaking his head, he reme
mbered the disarmingly bonny lass in front of him was actually the fierce battle-hardened warrior he’d first met with blood on her blade. If she hadn’t been there. He pushed the image from his head and took a bite of the potatoes, concentrating on the buttery taste and forcing his thoughts somewhere else. He wanted to find common ground with his wife, but he didn’t know where to start.

  Isobel looked dejected after working so hard for an answer, but it had soured his mood and quite possibly was the worst thing she could have said. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, then he stood. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Strolling over to the tavern owner he’d known his whole life, he pulled the man aside. “Did I hear one of yer daughters is qualified to be a lady’s maid?”

  “Aye. Annis has had some training.”

  “My wife needs a maid. Would she be interested?” He spared a glance back to the table to assure himself Isobel couldn’t hear him and that she hadn’t fled.

  “Aye, she would.” The man’s head bobbed and a large smile presented itself.

  “Then send her to Cairntay to start tomorrow.”

  “Will yer wife no’ want to meet her first?” The man seemed confused.

  “Nae, she needs someone now, and I know she’ll love Annis.” Grant smiled back at the tavern keeper.

  “She will be there tomorrow early, then.”

  Pleased, he returned to the table to collect Isobel. After they gathered the horses, they headed back toward Cairntay. About halfway there, his wife stopped and he turned to see she was climbing from the mare’s back. What was the crazy lass doing now?

  He dismounted while she was tying off the horse to a nearby tree. Once it was secured to the solid, low-hanging branch of an oak, she tiptoed toward the small, fast-flowing creek that filled the air with sounds of soft running water and ran parallel to the path. Following her gaze, he noticed a small roughhewn bag lying haphazardly on the bank as if someone had attempted to toss it in the water. It was secured at one end with a length of rope.

  A little squeal came from the bag, then another. Isobel rushed straight for the bag as if her life depended on it. After untying the rope, his wife opened the bag, and a tiny gray-and-white head with ears that flopped down and big rounded eyes popped up.

  She sank to the ground, pulling the bag and creature closer to her, heedless of the dirt. The wee creature clawed the rest of the way out of the bag, climbing into his wife’s lap and rubbing its head against her hand as it complained loudly.

  “Who would do such a thing?” she said to herself more than to him.

  Moving closer, he glanced down at the small cat making itself at home in Isobel’s skirts. “It appears to like ye.” Trusting little creature, he thought, but then let his gaze rise to his wife’s, which was fixated on the wee little thing with kindness.

  She glanced up at him and he could see her eyes had grown wide. She shook her head. “Nae, it cannae. We will find it a home.” Isobel stroked the kitten’s cheek and then its back. “How could someone toss a defenseless animal into the water?” He heard compassion in Isobel’s voice and leaned in closer, almost wanting to be near her. Almost wanting her to feel that way about him.

  “I find it hard to understand others, sometimes. The creature is lucky the person missed the water and also fortunate ye found it.”

  “What do we do with it?” After scooping it into her hands, she held the kitten up and pushed it toward him, but he didn’t move to claim it.

  “’Tis up to ye. I think it wants to stay with ye.”

  “I cannae care for a pet.” Was that panic in her typically fearless gaze? She pulled the wee thing back into her lap, but looked away from it.

  “Why?”

  Her mouth fell open but she didn’t answer. Then he remembered what Isobel’s brother, Ross, had said about her pushing people away. Perhaps the creature would be good for her.

  The kitten crawled over her hand and climbed up her gown to snuggle into Isobel’s neck. The bewildered expression on her face softened her somehow, made her look vulnerable and reachable, like a lost child.

  Could it be that his wife actually had a nurturing side?

  Chapter Four

  The wee kitten was soft as it burrowed into the space between her neck and her hair, tickling Isobel’s sensitive skin. A small giggle escaped her as it started making noises akin to the men in the Royalist Resistance camp who snored, except this noise was pleasant to the ears and pleasing to the senses as the little vibrations massaged her flesh. She pulled the creature down, holding it out by the scruff of its neck as she’d seen someone else do once.

  “How do we find it a home?” Holding it toward her husband once again, she tried to get him to take it, but he looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, or as if he wanted to laugh at her.

  “Ye will have to carry it as ye ride.”

  Panic welled inside her. She couldn’t carry it, but she couldn’t leave it here. It might not survive in these dense woods. Deer tracks littered the bank and the area probably harbored many dangers, like wildcats and foxes.

  “I dinnae ken how to hold a cat.” She drew it into her lap, where it proceeded to climb back up to her neck.

  “Then ’tis time ye learned.” Grant held out a hand to help her from the ground. She took it, noticing how solid and reassuring it felt, and she realized it was the first time they had really connected. Unbidden, her gaze fell to his lips; they were full and a pleasant shade of rose. Hell, she wanted to kiss him again. She shook the thought from her mind.

  “Why can’t ye take it?”

  “Because it likes ye.”

  Nae, it couldn’t like her. What was she to do with a pet? It would only get in her way, but the big amber-colored eyes pleaded for help. Swallowing, she decided to carry it back, but she would be finding it a home as soon as possible.

  “Here.” She held it out for him to take as she climbed onto the mare. He cradled the kitten and murmured some words to the creature, but she couldn’t make them out.

  He held it up to her, and she shook her head. “Why don’t ye keep it? Ye seem to ken what yer doing with it.”

  “Ye saved it.”

  Frowning, she sighed and held out her hands. She would argue, but he still had to climb onto his horse. The only other option was leaving it, but how would it survive?

  “And ’tis fun to see ye no’ in control of something.” Those bonny blue eyes of his lit with mirth as he smiled up at her.

  Was he making fun of her? He wanted to see her flustered. Sitting up straighter, she pretended she knew what she was doing. She chose not to give his remarks or the smirk on his face any credence. Instead, she held the wee thing in one arm and drove the horse on with the other.

  Thankfully, the ride back to Cairntay was short, because the little thing kept digging its claws into her gown and attempting to climb into her hair. She’d almost dropped it on a couple of occasions.

  After stabling the horses, she held it out to him, but a grin spread across his face as he crossed his arms and shook his head. He was amused by her discomfort and what made it worse was that she was finding she enjoyed seeing a smile on his face.

  “What does it eat?” she asked.

  “Have ye never had a pet before?”

  “Nae, and I dinnae want one.”

  “Looks like ye have nae choice. They like cream and meat. Come,” he said as they walked through the empty yard at the back of Cairntay. He led her to a little building half buried in the ground near the castle walls. After taking the steps down, Grant lifted the latch and pushed open the door, hooking it on something to keep it ajar.

  “The larder?” she asked as they walked in.

  “Aye. We’ll find something in here for it.”

  “I cannae see a thing.” The only light came from behind them and the clouds blotted out most of the sun’s rays.

  “Give me a moment.” And just a few breaths later, Grant had a candle lit.

  Shelves were piled high
with provisions, but she had no idea what she was looking for. After she set the creature down and lost its warmth, she noticed the room had a chill to it, just like the larder back home. The kitten must have missed their connection as well, because it started climbing up her skirts, claws pulling at the material.

  Gasping, she backed away, bumping into the door and loosening the latch when she hit her head on a shelf. “Ouch.”

  “Nae,” Grant called out and lunged for the door, but in his haste, he pushed it farther along on its course. He crashed into the frame and the walls seemed to shudder with the force. The sound of banging metal gave her a sickening dread in the pit of her stomach.

  Rubbing her head, she blinked, trying to adjust to only the candlelight in the room. The kitten had found her, its claws clinging her skirts. “Ah.” She pulled the creature free. She wouldn’t be surprised if the new gown had tears in it from the animal’s vicious talons.

  Banging on the door, Grant yelled, “In here.” He continued for several moments before giving in and turning his frustration on her. “It appears we are stuck for now.”

  “’Tis nae my fault.”

  “Ye should have been more careful. Ye seem to be good at doing things without thinking.”

  “Are ye referring to this or something else? I can assure ye I never do anything without thought.” How dare he blame her for this.

  “Then that makes some of yer decisions even worse.” He seemed to loom over her in the small space, the light shining on him as she backed a step. Hell, she was never afraid of anyone, and she was not going to let her husband have the advantage.

  “If anyone is to blame, ’tis ye. I told ye I dinnae ken anything about these creatures. Ye should have taken it.” Peeling it from her arms again, she held it out to him. But this time the cat twisted, clawing at her, trying to hang on.

  “Ouch.” The kitten fell, landing on its paws and scrambling into the dark. Turning away from her husband, she held her arm toward the candle to inspect the damage. Three lines had formed on her skin, small traces of red seeping through them. Then she felt her husband’s presence beside her. He reached down and took her arm.