Highland Burn: Guardians of Scotland Book 1

by Zak, Victoria

  “How old is he?”

  “Ten-and-two, we believe.”

  “Thank God James has given the lad a home. I can’t imagine what he’s been through.” Abigale searched the hall until James came into view. He was with his men, talking. As she watched him from across the room, it warmed her heart knowing what he had done. He’d saved Neven’s life. The Bogeyman didn’t seem so evil after all.

  The tempo of the music picked up as a tin whistle joined the harp. A few ladies danced to the music while the men drank their mead and recalled a time in their younger years when they could keep up with the lassies.

  Abigale noticed Magnus as he stood and adjusted his tunic over his plump belly. He searched through the great hall as if looking for someone. “Och, Alice, ye bonny lass, come dance with me!” he yelled over the crowded tables.

  Alice stood with her hands on her hips. “I thought ye’d never ask.”

  As they joined in with the other dancers at the front of the great hall, Abigale watched Magnus twirl Alice to the music. She sighed. She wished it was she and James dancing. He’d be holding her close; she’d feel his strong body next to hers, all the while making her feel as if she was the only lass in the room. She sighed again. Oh, what a wonderful feeling that must be. Abigale Bruce, even if he asked ye to dance, there’s one small problem. Ye don’t know how.

  Looking away from the dancing couples in disappointment, she began to leave the sitting area when Marcus grabbed her arm. “Lady Abigale, would ye care to dance?”

  Oh no! Quickly, Abigale thought of an excuse. She’d never danced with a man before. “Thank ye kindly, but I dinnae think my husband would take kindly to me dancing with another man."

  Marcus pulled her close. “James is my cousin. ‘Tis fine.”

  “Aye, how silly of me to have forgotten.” How was she going to get out of this situation? For certain she would look like a fool stumbling and stomping all over his feet. A princess was expected to be graceful, for that's how you caught the eye of an admirer. At least that was what she’d been told; there was no dancing allowed at the nunnery. Oh, she could just hear the laughter now throughout the hall as their princess fell on her arse.

  “Come.” Marcus nodded to the other couples and started to guide her toward them.

  Abigale planted her feet on the ground and tried to pull away from his grip. “Nay. I can no’.”

  Confusion swept Marcus’s face. “Why not? I told ye, James won’t mind.”

  There was no telling this man no. True to his word, Highlanders were stubborn. In order to save herself from the humiliation, she had to tell him the truth. Taking in a deep breath and then slowly letting it go, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I dinnae know how to dance.” Abigale closed her eyes, anticipating his laughter.

  Marcus placed his finger under her chin, tipping her head up. “Och, Lady Abigale, ye’re in good hands I can assure ye. I’d be honored to teach ye."

  Abigale shyly smiled. “Are ye sure?”

  He placed his hand over his chest. “On my honor.”

  Marcus took her by the arm and led her to the front of the great hall where they joined the other dancers. Placing her right hand into his, he spun Abigale around as if he was showing off a prized possession. Pulling her close, he smiled. “Relax, follow my lead."

  Marcus was quite a gentleman, he never once complained when Abigale stepped on his foot or tripped over her own. They just laughed about it and continued their dance. He spun her, and she truly felt beautiful. Abigale was surprised how quickly she caught on, and by the third dance, she was the one who led.

  When the dance ended, she was winded and her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Marcus was indeed a skillful dancer and an excellent teacher. Leading them over to a table so Abigale could sit and regain her breath, Marcus poured her some ale and sat across from her. He leaned over as if he had a secret to tell. “May I speak openly, my lady?"

  “Ye shall.” Curious about what he had to say, she leaned in closer.

  “My cousin is a fool for allowing his bonny wife to dance with another man. If ye were my wife, I’d never allow it.”

  The intensity of his tone left Abigale uneasy. Certainly, she had enjoyed dancing with Marcus, but she hoped she didn’t give him the wrong impression. “I must go. Thank ye for the dance.” Without causing a scene, she quickly excused herself.

  * * *

  Long, sharp talons protruded from James’s fingertips and scored the wooden tabletop. The more he watched Marcus twirl Abigale around as they danced, the deeper his daggers plunged into the wood. Marcus was mocking him, wasn’t he? Pulling her body close, feeling her soft curves. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. James growled.

  Uncontrolled jealousy surged through him. It cranked his dragon senses to hyper-sensitive. Never had he felt this way before, and quite frankly, he didn’t like it.

  James raked his claws down the table, leaving a trail of splintered wood behind as he saw Marcus whisper into Abigale’s ear. God’s bones! The urge to jump over the table and rip Marcus's head from his body was consuming him. His dragon vibrated and rumbled inside, itched to be released.

  The sound of wood cracking caught Conall’s attention. A sharp pain blasted across James’s shin as Conall kicked him.

  “Och,” James exclaimed. “What was that for?”

  Conall nodded to James’s claws. “Is that necessary?”

  He looked down, shiny black talons gleamed back at him. Instantly, he retracted them.

  Shite, what the hell was wrong with him? Never had he lost control like that, not in public. This was not the place nor time to be testing his dragon’s appetite for blood. Rubbing the back of his neck, he blew out a heavy sigh. He grabbed his tankard and drained it.

  “Are ye all right?” Conall asked.

  “Aye.” James took out his frustrations on his tankard as he slammed it down onto the table. “Need more mead.”

  * * *

  As Abigale weaved through the crowded great hall, she was stopped a few times to be introduced to clan members. Names and faces started to blur, for she had met so many people in such a short amount of time, it made her head hurt. Furthermore, her feet were killing her. All she wanted to do was to slip into bed and drift off to sleep.

  As she reached the stairs, she’d felt as if someone was watching her. By the way her heart raced, she knew who it was. She looked across the hall and met James’s smoldering gaze. His dark brows sharply arched over his amber eyes, enhancing his dangerous warrior appearance. The way he was looking at her led her to believe he would be joining her in her bedchamber tonight. Quickly, she looked away. The man shook her to the core.

  Or mayhap it was wishful thinking.

  As she reached her chamber, her maid was walking out with an armful of her belongings. “What are ye doing with my clothes?”

  The maid bowed. “Princess, upon request, ye’ll be staying in the laird’s chamber.”

  “Who gave that order?”

  “The laird, my lady.”

  “I’m so sorry for any misunderstanding, but I will be staying in my chamber.” Abigale proceeded to her chamber, but the maid blocked her.

  “Please, Alice will no’ be happy with me if ye dinnae obey the laird’s command.”

  Abigale didn’t want to be difficult, for Alice had been kind to her. Nor did she want her chambermaid to be scolded because she hadn’t obeyed the laird.

  Thinking it better to keep the peace, Abigale followed the maid to the laird’s chamber. She couldn’t stop the constant worry fluttering in her stomach. Mayhap the laird thought it was time to consummate their marriage.

  With her nerves rattled, Abigale walked into James’s chamber, her gaze went straight to the bed with pleasant satiation. It was huge with layers of sheets, blankets, and furs.

  The maid undressed her down to her shift. Abigale started to unbraid her hair and was quickly stopped. “My lady, ‘tis my job to cater to yer every need.”

  Abiga
le let the braid go. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to such treatment.

  She sat down in front of a table while the maid brushed her hair. An assortment of hair accessories and a polished silver plate were on the table. She picked up the plate and looked at her reflection. She’d gone from living life in a nunnery to being treated like a princess. Now a laird’s wife.

  The door to her bedchamber slammed open and two huge dogs barreled through and leapt onto the bed, making themselves right at home. Startled, Abigale raced to the bed. “Ye smelly mongrels, get down, shoo!” A wet tongue lapped at her face while the other dog made himself comfortable at the end of the bed.

  “Sorry, lass, Lennox and Mahboon, stay.” James filled the doorframe as he staggered in, pulling his boots off. “What are ye doing in my chamber?”

  “Alice told my maid that ye wanted me moved to yer chamber.”

  His brows furrowed. “I said no such thing. But since ye’re here, lass.” He winked and pulled his tunic off and started to fumble with his kilt.

  Holy Mary, Mother of God. Heat rush up her body to her cheeks. Her first response was to close her eyes, but female instincts told her to gaze upon every corded muscle the man was offering. She stared at his tanned, muscled chest to the ripples of his abdomen to the line of fine, dark hair that disappeared below his plaid.

  “This is what ye want…no?” James asked.

  James stalked toward her. Every dominating step he took, she took two in retreat until the coldness of the stone wall bit her back.

  “My laird, I think there has been a misunderstanding. I should go back to my chamber.” Abigale tried to move past him, but he pinned her against the wall with his body. She felt his body heat through her thin shift.

  God help her, she wanted this man, though he frightened her. Not that she thought he’d harm her in any way.

  His arm moved, and a part of her prayed he was going to touch her. Instead, he rested his forearm on the wall above her head and pressed his naked body against hers. He looked down at her with lustful eyes. “Ye have my attention, lass. Now what are ye going to do with it?"

  Her legs threatened to buckle. Breathing became difficult as her chest worked hard to pump air through her lungs. Well Abigale, what are ye going to do? A man who claimed he did not want her, yet here he was for the taking. Was this his way of intimidating her, to scare her and make her leave the bedchamber?

  Intimidation did not sit well with her; in fact, it brought out her feisty side. No longer would she allow threats to rule her life as they had back at the nunnery. Should she dare make the first move? Mayhap he wasn’t bluffing at all. Instincts told her to tread cautiously, but her body craved his touch. Something about the way he made her feel brought out her courage, and she was going to claim her first kiss.

  Never having been kissed before, she didn’t know where to start. Should she place her hands on his shoulders or wrap her arms around his waist? Should she close her eyes or leave them open? Awkward didn’t begin to describe how she was feeling. Wasn't the man supposed to make the first move? Not if they are as stubborn as James Douglas.

  She placed her hands on his chest. Aye, this felt right. Astonished by his muscles, she explored his smooth chest. Her thumb grazed over his nipple, causing him to growl deeply. So, she did have an effect on him after all. She smiled.

  “Och, if I’m not to yer liking, I can go find Marcus.”

  “Marcus?” In one moment she had been ready to claim her first kiss, while James had been concerned about Marcus. Did he really think she wanted to bed another man? It had just been a dance, nothing more.

  “Ye didnae seem to mind his company earlier.”

  “I only danced with him because he’s yer cousin.” Abigale tried to reassure him, but it seemed he didn’t believe her.

  “I have an idea…I’ll go fetch Marcus and he can join us. What say ye?” James started to pull up her shift.

  “Enough. Ye’re drunk.” Abigale swatted at his chest. “There's no need to be jealous. It was just a dance.”

  “Jealous?” James released his grip on her shift. “Nay, I care not.” He walked away and made his way to the bed. He sprawled out over the black furs while Lennox and Mahboon took up residence at the foot of the bed. James folded his hands behind his head. “Last offer, lass. Aye or nay.”

  Most definitely nay. He was drunk and wanted to claim her out of pure jealousy. Damn him and his stubborn ways. Abigale stormed over to the bed and grabbed a fur. “I’d rather sleep in a byre.”

  “Suit yerself, but if ye change yer mind—”

  “Ye’re a barbaric arse.” Abigale quit the chamber.

  8

  Confessed faults are half-mended. ~ Scottish Proverb

  James woke to a wet kiss on his cheek and heavy panting in his ear. He swatted at the annoying noise and moaned in protest. Another kiss and James cracked open an eye, catching Lennox, his prized hunting dog, staring at him and panting. “Enough, lassie.” James wiped the slobber from his cheek and sat up. His stomach lurched, the room spun, and he grabbed his head as if it would help stop it from spinning out of control. He searched the bedchamber for any sign of life other than his dogs. He sent a grateful plea to the gods that he was alone. God’s teeth, mead was going to be the death of him.

  As James lay back down, he was surprised he had fallen asleep. Nightmares of death usually haunted his dreams; so peaceful slumber eluded him most of the time. Unless the amber liquid went down smoothly, then it never failed; he would drink until the mead took over.

  A vision of Abigale dancing with Marcus invaded his thoughts as he recalled the way her body swayed to the music. He had never seen that kind of grace and beauty before. For a moment, he was content just watching her from across the great hall. Her face softened with a smile and the sound of her laughter soothed his soul.

  That was until he had noticed the way Marcus had set his wandering eyes on her. Just like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Marcus was testing his limits, waiting to strike. Aye, he did not trust him, and that’s when the drinking began. James Douglas, if ye were half the man ye thought ye were, ye would have claimed that dance last night. Aye, if only he was just a man, mayhap he could be the one for Abigale.

  James licked his lips and swallowed hard, still tasting his wife’s kiss that lingered on the tip of his tongue like it had just happened. Shite. He had been such an arse to her. He had tried to walk past her bedchamber last eve, but his body betrayed him. After seeing another man with Abigale, it took all his strength not to throw her on the bed and take her…brand her…sear her body with his, so every Dragonkine or man would know she belonged to him. But he could not do it, so he took the coward's way out by intimidating her. His eyes flew open. Abigale? She’d been there. He leaned over and felt the sheets next to him; they were cold.

  James sat up, and Lennox hopped off the bed. “Och lassie, ‘tis time to lick my wounds and go find the princess.” Lennox ran to the door, Mahboon right behind her. They both scratched at it. Donning his kilt and tunic, James quit the bedchamber.

  The last place James looked for Abigale was in the stable, knowing all along she would be there, yet he didn’t want to face the consequences of last night. The sweet smell of fresh-cut hay filled the space. The horses paid James no mind as he walked down the main aisle except for his black mare who stuck her head out of the stall and nickered. He patted her nose. “Settle, lass, ‘tis me,” he whispered.

  Passing an empty stall, he thought mayhap Abigale wasn’t there. He began to turn around and leave until he heard a soft sigh and the crunch of hay. Abigale?

  Curled up in a fur on a hay pallet next to Fergus, Abigale slept. A soft gray muzzle was buried in her hair, as if the beast was protecting a prized possession. Long, black eyelashes rested on her cheeks that were pink from the cold-night air. Her lips quivered. God’s blood, he was an arse.

  As James got closer, Fergus stirred and pinned his ears back, warning James to proceed with caution. “Eas
y, lad.” James whisper. "I will no’ hurt her.” He held out his hand, and Fergus nipped at it. James took a step back. Fergus stood so as to not wake Abigale and pinned his ears again. James held his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know, I’ve made a foul mess of things. Let me take her inside to get warm.” This was a first, he thought, negotiating with a horse.

  Fergus raised his head to intimidate James, then neighed. James reached down, never losing eye contact with the stallion, and grabbed a hand full of hay. He offered it to Fergus. “See lad, I’m not so bad, am I?" The protective warhorse paused. With caution, he lowered his head and blew out a puff of air from his nostrils. With his neck stretched out, he investigated the peace offering by moving the hay around with his nose. James took his other hand and stroked Fergus’s pure-white forehead. "Peace?”

  Finally, after three handfuls of hay and a promised carrot or two, Fergus deemed James as a friend for now, and allowed passage to Abigale. He went down on bended knee beside her. Gently, he took her in his arms, and Abigale snuggled deep into his warmth. She felt perfect against his chest, almost like she was made for him. He thought himself a hundred times a fool for intimidating her. The oath he had taken was to protect her and aye, he could do that, but could he protect her from himself?

  James entered his bedchamber and laid Abigale on the bed.

  “James?” Abigale said, half asleep.

  “Shhh, my bel ange. Rest.” He placed his hand on her forehead as his magic washed over her, sending her into a restful sleep. He tucked the blankets snugly around her body and kissed her forehead. Before he left the room, he placed more peat on the fire.

  The lass had to go.

  * * *

  The next morn, before the sun rose, James and his men left on a long hunting jaunt. He needed to clear his thoughts, take in some cool Highland air, bond with his Dragonkine brethren while hunting red deer and boar. He needed to refocus on recruiting neighboring clans to join Clan Douglas and fight for the king. This was not an easy task, for Scotland was unstable and fragmented. Kinsmen fought kinsmen over who they thought should be the rightful king. Side with the wrong clan, and truces would be broken between long-time friends. James had seen clans wiped out for joining forces with accused traitors.