Highlander's Sinful Desire (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Maddie MacKenna

  Taran eyed her as if he knew she was not telling him everything. He did not push it. Instead, he said, “We are well north of the most disputed area now. All the local folk know of this lodge. Me clan makes it available to anyone who needs refuge. It is well hidden and well protected. If an enemy tries to get this far north into the disputed lands, someone will alert us. Trust me, lass, me friends already ken we are here. Ye saw young Donnie, remember?”

  While they talked, Malcolm busied himself with cooking stew in a pot over the fire with the vegetables that Rowena and Taran had brought in. He opened a bag of oats and tossed a handful into the stew as well. Like most Highland men of that time, Malcolm and Taran both carried dried oats with them all the time. They used it for emergencies and would never go hungry.

  Taran retrieved a fresh loaf of bread and some salt pork from a cupboard near the fireplace.

  Rowena watched, hunger pangs rolling in her stomach. Her usual breakfast at St. Martha’s consisted only of a hunk of bread dipped in wine. It would be wonderful to have a good meal.

  While the men worked, she busied herself tying herbs into bundles and stuffing them in her bag. We may need these if any of us get sick during the long journey ahead. She watched Taran and Malcolm cooking out of the corner of her eye. “This is quite a meal,” she said. “Now I understand where you Highlanders get your strength and endurance!”

  Taran smiled. Rowena had already determined that he was quite proud of his Scottish heritage. “Aye, the might of we Highlanders is legendary. Nourishment is the reason why we will always defeat yer English armies.”

  “Daenae forget the righteousness of our cause!” Malcolm chimed in.

  “Aye!” With that, Taran reached for earthenware drinking cups and poured them each some ale. He raised his cup in salute. “To Scotland!”

  When the stew was cooked well enough, they each ate their fill. The food and ale made them feel good, and they chatted like old friends. Malcolm joked, “Taran, dae ye think I’m a better cook than Lady Deirdre?”

  Taran blushed and looked at Rowena. She asked, “Who is Lady Deirdre? Is she your cook?”

  Malcolm guffawed at her question. “Nae, Sister. Lady Deirdre is young Taran’s betrothed! Some day she might well dae some cookin’ for him, but I’ll wager that will never happen!”

  “Oh, you are engaged to be married,” Rowena said, unsure how she felt about this news. A pang of disappointment rippled through her, but she smothered it and hoped it did not sound in her voice.

  Taran said, “Aye. We are to be wed in December.”

  Rowena said, “Congratulations, Taran. You must be very happy.”

  Taran shrugged. “Aye. I reckon I’m a lucky man.”

  He does not sound like a lucky, happy man, Rowena thought.

  Taran changed the subject. He peered at Rowena and said, “Ye are determined still to go to the Isle of Iona, are ye?”

  She hesitated a moment, then nodded.

  “Dae ye have any idea what that journey will entail?” He asked.

  She looked at him in silence. Obviously she did not.

  “It’s quite a journey, Sister. If ye have any doubt about it, tell us now. It’s nae a trip to be taken on lightly.”

  Rowena bit her lip. There was that nagging little doubt again. The doubt she had mentioned to Sister Prudence. The doubt that would likely go away once she took her vows.

  Taran raised an eyebrow. “Come outside. Let me show ye what it will involve.”

  Taran took Rowena’s hand and led her outside, with Malcolm following. The air was cool, and Rowena pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Taran knelt on one knee in front of her. She fought an urge to reach out and caress his face.

  Taran used his knife to draw a rough map on the ground showing Rowena where Iona was and what kind of terrain they would have to traverse to get there. She crouched down beside him to get a better look at the map he was drawing.

  “The entire west coast of Scotland is bordered by hundreds of islands, large and small. This,” he said, drawing shapes that resembled three fingers in the dirt, “is the coast of Loch Lomond. Its high ridges rise from the sea and run inland diagonally from the southwest to the northeast.” He drew a large circle at the end of the northernmost fingertip. “This is the Isle of Mull.” He drew a smaller circle right next to it and said, “This is the wee Isle of Iona.”

  Rowena nodded. It was a journey that would require travel by foot and by boat. He was doing a good job of making the point. It would be a long and arduous trip. “I see. How far is it from here?”

  Taran looked at Malcolm and said, “About one hundred and fifty miles, would ye agree, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm said, “Aye. On horseback it will take about four, maybe five days travel to reach the boat crossing at Oban. That is the safest place to cross.”

  “I agree,” Taran said. He looked at Rowena, staring deep into her eyes. “Are ye up to it, then, Sister Rowena?”

  She gave a self-assured nod of her head. If Earl Strongbow was hot on their heels, she would not rest well until she was safely hidden at St. Columba’s on Iona. “I am anxious and ready to get started this moment,” she said. That was an understatement, Rowena thought. But was she motivated more by a desire to escape, or by a desire to serve the Lord? She was not certain.

  By now, everyone at St. Martha’s knows I am missing. Quite possibly a search party led by Earl Strongbow is underway.The sooner we can get moving, the better.

  “Ye’re in a hurry, I see. So be it,” Taran said. “Let us take our leave at first light on the morrow then. We will go on foot north to me clan’s castle. We’ll have to stay overnight at Carneluke, and be at me castle by the next night.. Tis’ safe there. We’ll have a warm bath, fresh horses, fresh clothes, and everythin’ else we will need for our journey. We can stay there as long as we need to prepare for our journey to Iona.”

  9

  Earl Strongbow kept the pace as fast as he dared over the changing terrain. They climbed up and over rocky outcrops then back down and along the boggy riverside. In the soft ground here and there, he could see indentations forming the partial outlines of men’s boot heels. Occasionally a smaller footprint was visible, as though they were left by a lighter weight person. A woman, perhaps, Strongbow surmised.

  The marks were fresh and they headed north staying on the path. The only other prints he could find were going the opposite direction. Those were deeper and had churned up the ground much more. Most likely those were left by the retinue of English soldiers that they had encountered earlier. The same soldiers who had seen a woman. It had to be Rowena. It all made sense.

  “Let’s make haste, men,” Earl Strongbow called. “I know they are close! I just know it in my bones!” The ground rose and leveled back out. He urged his horse into a faster trot.

  The river valley they were traveling through had opened up into a wider flatter plain, and the path had leveled out as it continued to parallel the river. Earl Strongbow was thinking about his future with Lady Rowena and the benefits he would reap from an alliance with her powerful father. With my connection to King Richard and Lord Kensley’s hold on the wool trade in Staffordshire, we will all be richer than anyone can fathom. And once Rowena is my wife, she will bear our children. The girls will be beautiful like she is, and noble, and our sons will carry on my name.

  Distracted by such thoughts, Earl Strongbow had not noticed that the footprints they had been following had vanished. His daydreams were interrupted by one of his knights who said respectfully, “My Lord. The trail has gotten cold.” The knight pointed to the ground which was undisturbed by recent traffic.

  Earl Strongbow halted his horse and looked down. “By Christ, so it would seem,” he said. Where had they gone? he wondered.

  He called to his men, “Look around, gents, does anyone see anything?”

  They all began inspecting the ground alongside the path. A couple of them hopped off their horses so they could get a closer look at the gr
ound. They retraced their steps, poking the brush with their boots looking for any evidence of their quarry.

  “I see nothing but animal tracks . . . birds, maybe a rat… nothing human,” one of the knights mumbled.

  Earl Strongbow thought for a moment. He turned back to the rest of the men and muttered, “They cannot have simply disappeared. We have overlooked something. But what?”

  He stroked his chin and said, “Let’s split up.” He pointed at two of them and ordered, “You two, come with me. We should be very near St. James now. We will go there. Even if Rowena is not there, perhaps someone has spotted her or knows something. The rest of you, go back the way we came and look for signs that she or the men she may be with left the main path. If they went another way, follow it! We shall reconvene at St. Martha’s in a day or two’s time . . . preferably with the Lady Rowena! Are we all clear?”

  “Yes, m’lord,” the knights muttered.

  The knights split up as Earl Strongbow had ordered. Seven of them turned their horses around and headed back in the direction they just came from. They trotted their horses at a slow jog, keeping watch for any sign they may have missed earlier that Lady Rowena had been through here the night before.

  The Earl watched them go for a moment, muttered a curse, then spun his horse around and galloped off in the direction of St. James, flanked by his two knights.

  10

  When Taran had finished describing what their journey would entail, he stood up. He then took Rowena’s hand and helped her to her feet. He used a boot to wipe out the map he had drawn in the dirt.

  Taran said, “Before we go, I have something I want to give ye, Sister. Somethin’ special.”

  Rowena looked at him, bewildered. “What is it, Taran?”

  He ran into the house. Rowena looked at Malcolm with a perplexed smile. Malcolm winked at her, shrugged his shoulders and said, “He’s a charmer that one is! Full of surprises, too! ”

  Taran was back in moments, with something in his hand. He took one of her hands and laid it carefully in her palm. It was a crucifix. It was made of wood and gold, with a fine filigree of gold on each end of the cross. Rowena took it from him. “It’s lovely, Taran. But this looks very special to you,” she said.

  Taran nodded. “Aye, tis’. Twas’ me mum’s. I brought it here after she passed. But I have nae looked at it nor prayed in years. I want ye to have it. Maybe it will give ye inspiration to stay on the path of yer callin’.”

  Rowena gasped. “Thank you, Taran! I will cherish it. This is so kind of you.” She kissed him on his cheek. She suddenly felt heat race through her body and wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him long and deeply. She pulled herself away from him, then kissed the crucifix, and placed it in her shoulder bag.

  Taran’s face had turned as red as his hair. He cleared his throat and said gruffly, “I’m pleased, Sister. Now, let us be on our way. Malcolm, stuff yer pockets with some drink and fodder for the long walk ahead of us, douse the fire, and close up the lodge right well. Then we’ll be off.”

  “Aye,” Malcolm said. “Tis best we move along quickly. Nay need to wait another night and give the Englishmen time to find us. Are ye ready to go now, Sister Rowena?”

  She said, “Yes. While you finish up in here, I’ll go out and spend a few moments with God. Would you mind?”

  “Nae at all,” Taran said. “Daenae stray too far now. We’ll take care of things here.”

  Rowena gave him a respectful nod of her head and walked down to the beautiful birch grove. She needed to pray. Taran watched her as she removed her cloak and laid it on the ground. She knelt on it, closed her eyes, and bowed her head in prayer.

  Malcolm nudged Taran. “Let’s nae tarry, lad,” he said. He and Taran went inside to pack things up and secure the house.

  Once they busied themselves getting prepared to leave, Malcolm said, “Taran, me friend, I’ve knewn ye a long time. I ken how ye are with the lassies. Ye have a way of meltin’ their hearts and then breakin’ them. I’m seein’ how ye’re lookin’ at Sister Rowena. She is nae a lass to be trifled with. She is a godly one, and ye cannae be spoilin’ that, now.”

  Taran sighed. “Aye, ye dae ken me well, Malcolm. She is lovely and I cannae take me eyes off of her. But I swear to ye I have nay intent to toy with this one.” He took a handful of oats from a barrel and shoved them into the leather pouch hanging from his belt. His hands kept fumbling and spilled them onto the floor. “Lady Deirdre would likely make me pay for any transgression.”

  Malcolm watched his friend making a mess, glad that he was going to respect the lovely nun’s honor. He began to examine the condition of his knives and his sword.

  Taran knew Malcolm had something on his mind by the way he was pretending to be overly interested in his weapons.

  “What is it now, Malcolm? Ye’re actin’ like an old wife. Out with it.”

  Malcolm was too happy to oblige. He said, “Tell me, lad, I’ve got to understand. Why are ye riskin’ yer life to escort this lass to the islands? Are ye sure tis’ a sensible thing ye’re doin’? We daenae even ken her. Or what she is up to for certain.”

  Taran shook his head and shrugged. He put the oat barrel away and brushed away the mess he had made on the floor. “I daenae, Malcolm. I cannae say why. She saved our lives. I feel as if we owe her, that we have to help her now. She will nae survive the trip alone, ye ken that, dae ye nae?”

  Malcolm stopped examining the edge of his knife and gave Taran a long look. Then Malcolm asked, “Are ye sure that’s all there is to it then?”

  Taran shot Malcolm a hard look, his green eyes flashing. “What’re ye tryin’ to tell me’, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm stopped stuffing a rolled up blanket into his cross-shoulder pouch. He said, “I’m sayin’ I’m questionin’ yer judgment, Taran. I think ye’re havin’ second thoughts about yer weddin’ to Lady Deirdre!”

  Taran sighed. “Thank ye for sharin’ yer thoughts with me. Ye’re wrong about all that. I’m just tryin’ to dae the right thing. Maybe God is real. If He is, He’ll owe us one if we help Sister Rowena.” With that, Taran slammed a cupboard door closed. His friend knew him too well.

  “Ye’re welcome,” Malcolm said. He put his knife away in his boot. “I’ll go find the Sister and we’ll be waitin’ for ye outside.”

  Alone now, Taran was able to think about what Malcolm had just said and whether he was thinking clearly. Was Malcolm right? Was Sister Rowena affecting me judgment? Yesterday, me only concern was meeting the wool dealers in Staffordshire. Today, I have promised to deliver the beautiful Sister Rowena to the nunnery on the Isle of Iona, 150 miles northwest of here, and the wool dealers can be damned! Sister Rowena’s beauty, her purity, and her grace are quite unlike anything else I have ever knewn. Yet she has chosen to give her life to God, and I must respect that. I have only just met her, and already I find myself watching her, me thoughts turning to her. I have barely thought about Lady Deirdre. It cannae—

  Taran’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by sounds of shouting. Malcolm burst through the lodge door with Rowena right behind him. “Get your weapons, Taran! English knights! They’re upon us!”

  Taran felt for the sword on his hip. He grabbed the crossbow that was hanging on the wall by the fireplace and threw the quiver of arrows over his shoulder. The sounds of shouting grew louder and mixed now with the thunder of horses getting closer.

  Taran saw Sister Rowena peering out a window. “Sister, get out the window! Run to the woods! Hide yerself!” Sister Rowena looked at him with her wide crystal blue eyes. He saw no fear in those eyes. Taran called out after her, “Get to the woods and wait there for me. I’ll come for ye when it’s safe!”

  When she was out of sight, Taran and Malcolm went outside to confront the knights. Taran immediately realized these Englishmen outnumbered Malcolm and himself. He counted seven of them, all on horses. They were wearing the heraldry of the noble classes, but not of their King Richard. That meant they were here
on a private mission, most likely. Taran noticed none were wearing plate armor, and a few of them were wearing only light chain mail. Good, Taran thought. That light mail would not protect against a knife or a crossbow. He thought, they’ve nae right to be here, the bastards. Nonetheless, better to avoid a skirmish if we can. We’ll fight them if we need to. We’ll fight them to the death.

  Taran held the crossbow at his waist in one hand, in his other hand he held arrows ready to load. He called a greeting to them. “Good day to ye. Have ye lost yer bearins? Ye’re in Scotland.”

  One of the knights answered, “We are quite aware of our whereabouts, jocko.” Taran clenched his jaw over the knight’s use of the Englishmen’s favorite pejorative term for a Scotsman, but he ignored it, for now. He let the knight continue as if he had not heard or understood the word.