Highland Obligation (Highland Pride)

by Lori Ann Bailey

  “Annis is here. She said ye sent for her.” Fenella’s voice carried through the door.

  “I did.”

  “Are ye ready for her? She is waiting in the kitchen. I’ll send her up if ye are ready.”

  “Yes. Send her up.” If he was quick, he could sate this lust that burned deep inside, but he couldn’t do that to Isobel. He’d sensed yesterday she might be inexperienced. Even if he only wanted to claim his rights and forget about his wife, some small part of him spoke up and said it wouldn’t be right. That she deserved more from him.

  He had only been with a small handful of lasses, but none had made his loins ache this way. Maybe if Annis helped Isobel dress like a proper wife, he’d not feel this need so intensely. It was a desire like none he’d ever experienced. Because, God help him, he didn’t think he could resist Isobel on his own.

  …

  “Who is Annis?” Isobel asked as her husband released her hands and backed away. She’d been so enthralled by his touch she’d not thought to protest. A man had never taken such liberties with her and those who tried scurried away after she pulled her knife on them or Alex or one of his men stepped in to protect her.

  This had been different. First of all, she didn’t have a dirk on her and second, Grant made her feel something she’d never thought possible. Hell, they were married and she would need to experience lying with him at some point, but she’d never thought she might enjoy the act.

  “She is yer new maid.”

  Stunned, she turned and moved deeper into the room, away from him, away from the memories that threatened to steal her breath.

  Nae, nae, nae, he didn’t. Her heart pumped harder trying to dislodge the dread that assailed her at the news. If anything could douse the flames heating her core, that did it. She rounded on him. “I dinnae want a maid.”

  “Ye will have one.”

  “Why?” She wanted to stamp her foot and act like a child. He could force her to his bed if he wanted, but he couldn’t force her to accept a maid. This was where she drew the line.

  “Ye can nae longer go around this keep dressed as if ye have just come from my bed.”

  “What?” He made no sense.

  “Ye look as if we had been caught in the middle of some illicit tryst with the way yer dress falls off yer shoulder and ye hike it up to show off yer legs.”

  “There is nothing wrong with the way I dress. I dinnae need a maid.”

  “And yer hair. ’Tis time ye do something with it, because with it loose like this, it looks as if my fingers have been in it, mussing it while we…” He made a groaning noise and his eyes darkened and dilated.

  “There is nothing wrong with my hair.” Puffing out her chest, she stood taller, but he moved closer, becoming even bolder.

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, he drew her into his hard frame. “As of now, ye have two choices.”

  She tilted her head up to his, listening to his warning.

  “One, ye will accept her help and dress like a proper modest wife.”

  She shook her head, indicating she would not give.

  After twirling her around, he pushed forward, toward the bed that had once belonged to his first wife. A few steps shy, he spun her to face him. “Or, two, ye will stay naked in this chamber ready for me to take ye whenever I want.”

  She was certain her mouth fell open. Had she ever been speechless before?

  He inched closer, urging her back; she stopped just as her knees hit the mattress, halting their progress. Raising his hand, he let his fingers slide between her shift and the skin beneath. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. “Seeing ye like this makes me want to do things ye’ve probably never heard of, and if ye want to leave this room, ye will take the help.”

  Releasing her, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him as if she’d done something worthy of his wrath, then her gaze traveled down to the bed he’d once shared with another woman. A woman who would think her unworthy of him. Hell, she probably was, and although he’d awoken feelings in her that made her want to know more, she’d be damned if she would let him take her in that bed.

  And he’d uttered something else hateful, too. He thought her responsible for some man’s death. Tomas, he had said. The only men she’d killed had been a threat to Stew, the abandoned youth who had been taken in by Royalist Rebels. Grant was either mistaken, or he didn’t know his friend well.

  She moved to the chair and sat, waiting for the new maid to arrive. When a knock sounded at the door, she called out, “Enter.”

  The door creaked open slowly and as it did, the wee kitten came bounding in, running straight for her and clawing its way up her dress. Bending to help it, she pulled its talons from her skirts and nestled it close to her cheek. It started making that noise again, the one that made her want to snuggle up with it and go to sleep.

  Next, Grant’s mother peeked her head in, followed by a lass probably about five years younger than she, just the age her last maid had been when everything had gone wrong. A lump formed in her throat. She pulled the cat closer and pushed the memories away, determined to face this head-on but stay detached at the same time.

  Straightening, she smiled and stood, still holding the kitten as a shield. “Hello. I’m Isobel.”

  The girl walked forward and curtsied slightly. “I’m Annis, and I’m pleased to come work for ye. I went with my cousin to Inverness and had training in how to be a lady’s maid.”

  “I’m sure ye will do just fine.”

  “Should we get started straight away?” Annis sounded eager.

  “I think so, but I havenae even unpacked yet.”

  “No’ a thing to worry over. I’ll help.” As the girl moved over to the trunks, Grant’s mother stepped forward. She’d been having a lovely conversation with the woman the previous evening and was finding her company quite enjoyable until her son had blurted out how he didn’t want her in his bed.

  Isobel asked, “Do ye have another room I can sleep in? Ye ken yer son doesnae want me here.”

  “Och, he wants ye here, but I agree, ’twill do him some good to realize what he’s done.”

  She smiled, relief washing over her.

  “I have the perfect place for ye to stay until yer ready to come back to this room.”

  “Thank ye. Why does he think his first wife would have hated me?”

  “Because ’twas her brother who died.”

  Now she was even more confused. “When?”

  “On the way to that meeting in Edinburgh.”

  Her thoughts once again turned to the skirmish on the road. “But I didnae kill anyone that day.”

  Grant’s mother only shrugged.

  Let him think her a heartless beast, then maybe he’d let her go. She wasn’t going to do anyone any good and there were people here who would try to make her feel again, and what if she couldn’t protect them? A shudder ran down her spine.

  If she did as her husband wished and didn’t attract his attention, he wouldn’t bed her and if he didn’t, maybe he would lose interest in her and let her go. The best course was to let this maid mold her into a proper wife so she could get out of here as soon as possible.

  Chapter Eight

  After leaving Isobel with his mother and the new maid, Grant kept himself busy, sitting in on discussions with his father, then heading out to the lists to let some of his frustrations out. Thankfully, his friend Ian was more than happy to oblige.

  While in mid-thrust, his friend skidded to the side, smirked, and said, “I saw yer wife out here this morning.”

  Caught off guard, he faltered for a moment, which was enough for Ian to smack the wooden practice sword on his back. Groaning, he straightened and faced the man head-on. “’Tis no’ proper for a lady to be doing such things.”

  “She seemed to handle herself quite well.” Ian chuckled. Grant thrusted and his friend deflected the blow meant to connect with his side in retaliation as he dutifully ignored the man’s verbal jab. He continued, “S
he’s nothing like Lyall.”

  “Nae she is no’.” Swinging hard, he aimed the blow to land on Ian’s shoulder, but his friend deflected yet again.

  “I think that’s a good thing.”

  He stopped. “Lyall was the perfect wife.”

  “Aye, she may have been, but ye two seemed indifferent to each other.”

  “What does that mean?” Grant tightened his grip.

  Angry now, he returned to their sparring and sliced through the air to collide with Ian’s practice sword, the sound of wood splintering and cracking as Ian explained, “It’s like ye were both doing yer duty but there were no emotions involved.” Looking down at his damaged sword, Ian shrugged then leveled him with a playful gaze. “I see a spark of interest when ye look at Isobel.”

  “Are ye sure ‘tis no’ loathing ye see?” A laugh bubbled in his chest, but it didn’t quite make it to the surface.

  “If ye truly hated her, ye would have found a way to get rid of her.”

  He’d had no choice, or at least that’s what he’d told himself. But there was something about his wife that had piqued his interest, which had begun on the road to Edinburgh.

  “I see it when she looks at ye as well.” His friend didn’t let up.

  “What do ye see?” Twack. Ian’s wooden blade split in two just as it collided with his leg. Damn, the man knew how to throw him off balance.

  He couldn’t even be angry because he was so stunned at Ian’s next words. “That ye two are going to fall hard for each other.”

  …

  After returning to the keep, he went to his room and cleaned up. Isobel’s trunks had been removed and he smiled, glad she was becoming more established. Maybe his friend was right and they could make this work. Ian was wrong about one thing, however: he might have to share a bed with Isobel, but he would never give her his heart.

  That evening, strolling into the hall, he found his wife sitting next to his mother, but she looked different. The maid had worked. Thank God he didn’t have to imagine her clothes falling from her body any longer. But as he got closer, he realized it wasn’t going to help.

  Isobel’s light chestnut locks were pulled up, a tendril escaping and framing her high cheekbones, calling attention to her exposed neck where tiny traces of his mark lingered on display for others to see. When she glanced up at him, he noticed for the first time how long and dark her lashes were, giving her eyes a sultry exotic appeal. She was dressed as a lady should be, but his thoughts turned to mussing up the hair and pulling those full red lips onto his.

  The changes didn’t stop there. Her gown had been tied properly, but instead of giving her a more sedate, demure appearance, it pushed her breasts up and into focus. He hadn’t realized before how large they were. Suddenly, he wanted his hands on them, his mouth on them.

  Annis might have to return to the village, because her work had not lessened his desire for his wife, it had increased it. Disgusted with himself, he tore his eyes from her and took the seat near his father, several down from Isobel.

  “Have ye thought any more on yer trip?”

  “I spoke to Ian today. He, Owen, and Boyd are going to come with us.”

  “And ye’ll take yer wife?”

  “Aye.” He guessed he’d have to take Annis now, too; obviously it had been a mistake to force a maid upon his wife, but he couldn’t think of an excuse to send her away.

  “Ye willnae have long before the rest of the signatures reach Edinburgh. If ye wish to convince our Parliament not to accept this agreement with England’s, ye will have to make haste.”

  “We shall leave in two days. I think ’twill give us enough time to prepare. I may be delayed returning.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I need to seek out the man who kens Isobel was with the Resistance.”

  “Do ye think he will tell Argyll?”

  “Since it appears he hasnae yet, I’m hoping he’ll be open to a peaceful solution.”

  His father shook his head. “Ye ken ’tis yer wife’s life we’re talking about if the man goes to the earl? And if he comes for her the whole clan will defend her.”

  “I have to try.”

  “I dinnae want war. If he is not amenable, ye may have to take his life.”

  “I ken what has to be done and will be prepared if need be.”

  As he finished dinner, Isobel and his mother stood to leave the table. His gaze was drawn to her waist as she left the room, which was small in comparison to her well-formed hips. His last wife had been tiny and frail—he’d had concerns she might not survive giving him an heir. Isobel’s body seemed as if it was made for him to grip her waist and pull her down on top of him, and her hips looked wide enough to comfortably carry many a bairn.

  He needed to do his duty and carry on the MacDonald legacy. Tonight was a good night to start. After taking one last swig of ale, he wiped his mouth then set the empty cup back on the table and made his way toward his chamber to claim his wife.

  He was surprised to discover Isobel missing. Even the small things that belonged to her on the dressing table were gone. He marched over and opened the wardrobe where her clothes should be hanging. Nothing.

  His wife was gone.

  …

  “Where is she?”

  When Isobel heard Grant’s thunderous voice boom, she flattened her back against the door of the room just across the hall from her husband’s.

  “She will be returned to yer room when ye provide her with a bed she can be comfortable sleeping in.” Fenella MacDonald’s soft but stern voice, just audible, crept through the crevices around the wooden frame that had been bolted from within. She was growing quite fond of Grant’s mother.

  “What?”

  “’Twas an awful thing to say that Lyall wouldnae have wanted her in it. Did ye even think how that would make a lass feel?”

  There was no reply from Grant.

  “She has the right to be given a fair shot at being a good wife to ye, and I willnae let ye make her think she is anything less than yer first wife.”

  Still no response, and she wished for just a moment she could see his face.

  “Have ye even gotten to ken her yet? She’s actually quite nice. A bit shy, but I can tell she has a good heart.”

  The kitten at her feet started to meow. Afraid it would give her away, Isobel picked it up and held the creature close.

  Grant’s voice was more subdued, but it still carried through the hall. “Ye havenae seen her wield a sword against a man in a battle she had nae place being in.”

  “Are ye angry that she is a warrior or that she is capable of defending herself without yer help?”

  “Nae, ye ken that isnae true.”

  “Then figure out what bothers ye so because she’s no’ going anywhere, and until ye admit that and leave the past where it belongs, she can stay in another room.”

  A light tapping filtered under the door as Grant’s mother retreated down the hall. Shortly after, the door on the other side of the hall slammed shut. Closing her eyes, she said a quick prayer of thanks then made her way toward the bed that had once been Grant’s cousin’s.

  Relaxed now, she undressed down to her shift and crawled beneath lush green covers woven from luxurious threads that cradled her flesh in soft relaxing warmth. The cat snuggled in beside her. Sleep evaded her and when it did come, visions of a lass she’d never met taunted her. The woman said she would never have Grant’s heart, that she was a monster, and that she looked like a boy. Then came the dreams that Annis was being attacked and there was nothing she could do to defend the lass because a cow sat on her chest and she couldn’t breathe.

  …

  The next morning, she awoke to a light rapping on the door just before Annis let herself in with the key Grant’s mother had given her.

  “Good morning,” she said as she sat up and stretched.

  “Good day to ye. Did ye sleep well?”

  “Aye,” she lied. No need to tell the lass she’d had
dreams the girl had been attacked and she’d done nothing to help.

  “I think the blue dress will do nicely today. What do ye think?”

  “Sure ’tis fine.” She really didn’t care what color she wore.

  “Yer kitten is playful this morning.”

  “Aye, but ’tis nae mine. Can ye help me find it a home? I cannae care for it.”

  “Why no’? Ye seem to be doing a great job and it loves ye.”

  She wanted to say because things I care for always end up hurt, but she held her tongue as she picked up the cat and pulled it in close.

  “Ye should give it a name.”

  “That would mean I was keeping it. I couldnae do that.” She set the kitten down as Annis pulled the gown over her head.

  “I think the laird’s wife wishes to show ye around some more today.”

  She nodded. Nimble fingers tightened her laces, and she took a seat at the dressing table.

  “Is this place like yer last home?”

  “Aye, ’tis very similar.”

  Och, she wished the girl would stop talking because she was adorable and innocent and charming and would be utterly helpless if a threat was near. After what felt like ages of the girl’s chatter, poking, and tying of ribbons, Annis let her up from the chair.

  “Ye look lovely.”

  What was the girl thinking? No one ever said anything like that to her. “I look like a boy.”

  “And who told ye that? ’Tis nae true. Ye are very bonny.”

  “Thank ye.” She wasn’t going to argue with the lass who had apparently made it her mission to pretend that, along with being a good wife, Isobel could actually be desired by someone.

  As she studied her hair in the mirror, pinned up at impossible angles with intricately threaded ribbons, she asked, “What happened to Grant’s first wife? Nae one has told me, and I dinnae feel right asking him.”

  “Oh, aye. It makes sense, they wouldnae want to talk about it. She was a wee thing and didnae look healthy from the start.” Chills spread through her arms as Annis continued, “They were only married a couple of months. There was nothing to be done for her. She’d been coughing when she arrived and just got worse until she wasted away.”