by Gwyn Brodie
Drostan, A Scottish Historical Romance, The Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle
The Highland Moon Series, Book 6
Gwyn Brodie
Published by Gwyn Brodie, 2019.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Drostan (The Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
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Drostan
The Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle
Gwyn Brodie
A madman is going about Scotland murdering young women of high status. Who will be his next victim?
Drostan Mackintosh, the heir apparent to Willowbrae Castle and the next Mackintosh chief, rescues Lady Isobel Fraser from highwaymen bent on stealing her mare. Once he learns she's female and not a lad as she portrayed herself to be, he gives her a good scolding for going out riding alone.
Isobel is quite taken with the handsome Highlander, and when their paths cross a second time, she realizes he's the only man she would ever wed. But just how does one go about catching a husband?
Even though Drostan is not looking to wed anytime soon, he finds himself attracted to the lovely Lady Isobel, but she is unconventional, independent, and as wild as a wee wildcat. And Drostan pities the poor fool who tries to tame her. Then why can't he get her off his mind?
By the time Drostan realizes Isobel's father is about to betroth her to Marcus Anderson, the next Earl of Kinkirk, and a man Drostan despises, he has fallen hard for the dark-haired lass and vows to stop the betrothal. And when he learns there's a killer beneath Willowbrae's very roof, he places his own life in peril to protect that of Isobel's.
Drostan
The Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle
By Gwyn Brodie
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Copyright 2019, Gwyn Brodie
License Notes
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, locations, and events are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental or from this writer's imagination.
Dedication
To my husband, Michael, for always being there when I needed him.
To my friend, Vonda, for her unfailing encouragement and motivation.
Drostan
The Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle
By Gwyn Brodie
Chapter One
Perth, Scotland, June 1610
"Leave me be!" a female shouted, disturbing Drostan Mackintosh's slumber on the bed of pine needles.
"I didnae touch you, lass," the heir apparent to Willowbrae Castle and future Mackintosh chief mumbled sleepily.
The scream that followed brought Drostan wide awake and to his feet. His hand on the hilt of his broadsword, he stealthily slipped from beneath the pine into the thick underbrush and peered through the branches.
Surprisingly enough, he saw no female, but a lad in a belted plaid, astride a black horse wedged between two unsavory characters on horseback—most likely highwaymen looking to steal the mare, which probably belonged to the young man's laird, for 'twas a most exceptional piece of horseflesh he rode. If they succeeded in taking the animal—which Drostan was not about to allow to happen—their pockets would be well-lined once they sold her.
"Get away from me!" the boy shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Give us the horse, and we'll be more than 'appy to oblige ye." The man in a stained brown doublet jumped off his mount and grabbed at the mare's reins.
The toe of the young man's boot caught him beneath the chin, and his head snapped back.
"Good lad," Drostan whispered.
"Ye'll pay fer that, ye filthy cur!" After a short tug of war with the lad, he managed to capture the reins.
Wide-eyed, the frightened mare tossed her head, squealed and danced about.
The second man dismounted, drew his dirk, and pointed it up at the lad. "Get yerself off that mare, whelp, afore I spill ye blood."
Drostan whispered a curse. He had seen enough. Unsheathing his sword, he quietly stole through the wood. With the two thieves' focus on taking the mare, they never saw him emerge onto the path a few feet behind them. "Step away from the horse."
The two men spun around.
"'Tis none of yer business," the stocky, bearded man sneered.
"I'm making it my business then. I'll tell you once more. Move away from the horse." Drostan raised his broadsword and took a step toward them. He was at least a head taller and much broader through the shoulders than either man. 'Twould have surprised him if either rogue had seen many battles, for rather than fight fair, their kind would sooner slip a blade between a man's ribs from behind.
The grey-haired man's eyes widened. "Come on," he told his partner in crime.
His comrade snorted. "There's only one of 'im and two of us, ye old fool," he growled, his gaze locked on Drostan.
"Aye, but look at 'im?"
After a moment, the doubleted man shook his head, blew out a breath, and dropped the reins. "We'll go, but ye'd best be watching ye back, mister. Ye've no' seen the last of us."
Drostan raised a brow. "Trust me; I will be."
Grumbling and cursing, the would-be thieves scrambled back onto their mounts, and after sending several murderously foul glares in Drostan's direction, rode off down the path.
He waited until he could no longer hear the pounding of hooves, before sheathing his weapon and going to see about the lad.
The boy sat quietly in the saddle with the hood of his cloak drawn over his face, and his hands were trembling. The outlaws had frightened him much, for he had not spoken a single word since Drostan had arrived in the midst of it all. Perhaps he had somehow been injured during the scuffle.
"Are you hurt, lad?"
He shook his head.
"Are you certain?"
"Aye, but I thank you for your concern—and your help."
Drostan's eyes widened. His earlier assumption had been correct, for that voice sounded remarkably female—and that of a lady. He stepped closer to the mare and found himself peering up into the face of a breathtakingly beautiful young woman. He gently tugged the hood from her head, earning himself an angry flash of dark eyes and a river of silky brown curls spilling over his fingers.
"Dinnae touch me!" she spat, kicking him hard in the ribs.
Pain shot through his side, and he grabbed it, uttering a curse.
She tried to kick him a second time, but he caught her leg. An unbidden wave of desire washed over him, as his fingers closed around the bare skin of her calf. He quickly turned her loose and jumped out of her reach. "I'll do you no harm, lass. But do you have any
idea what would have happened to you had those two highwaymen kenned you were a female?"
Her gaze dropped.
"'Tis quite obvious you're a lady. Why the devil are you riding unaccompanied?"
"I enjoy doing so, if 'tis any of your business." Her narrowed gaze threw daggers his way.
He snorted. "I enjoy a good ride myself, lass, but you didnae answer my question. Why are you out here alone pretending to be a lad?"
"It grants me the freedom to go where I please. Besides, I've never had any trouble during any of my rides—until today."
The lass had a most kissable mouth, with full pink lips, and big dark-brown eyes that tugged at his soul. "'Twas but a matter of time before you did. If I hadnae been close by, you would have been left without a horse and most likely dead. But either way, you'd have no longer been an innocent."
She inhaled sharply. "Then, I thank you again for rescuing me."
"I was glad to do it, but remember, next time, no one might be around to save you. Last week, the bodies of two young women were found not too far from here. The week before—near Stirling—a man tending sheep found the body of a lass, and another showed up near Loch Lomond. All brutally compromised before being strangled to death. There's a killer out there hunting young women, lass, and if you're not careful, you might end up being his next victim. I'm sorry if I've offended your delicate sensibilities, but I need for you to understand why I'm so adamant you dinnae ride alone."
Her eyes were wide, and she visibly paled, but held her head high and drew herself up in the saddle. "You havenae offended me, and I do understand."
He hoped—for her sake—she did. "Where do you live? I'll escort you there. You never know if, and when, those two scoundrels might decide to circle back around."
She quickly shook her head. "Nay. My parents cannae ken I've gone off again."
He raised a brow. "Just where do they think you are then?"
"In my bedchamber—asleep."
Drostan blew out a breath and shook his head in disbelief. If she had been his daughter, he would have bolted the door from the outside. But then she would have probably crawled out the window. "I'll see you safely there, then be on my way. I promise to keep out of sight."
She thought for a long moment before answering. "Very well."
"Stay put until I fetch my horse." He would not have been the least bit shocked if she had ridden off without him, but to his surprise, she had waited for him to retrieve his chestnut stallion, Eachann. He had left the horse tethered next to the loch, with easy access to water, plenty of lush green grass on which to graze, and hidden from view by a cove of oak saplings. Drostan had wished to make certain no highwayman would take notice of the fine animal.
"'Tis this way." She turned her mare around, and he followed. "I dinnae live at Ivy Manor. My parents and I are only visiting there for a few days."
"I see. What's your name, lass?"
"Isobel, and this is my Bramble." She leaned forward and patted the mare's neck.
"Well, Isobel—and Bramble—I hope you've gone out on the last of your riding excursions alone."
"Perhaps, but I'll sorely miss doing so. What are you called?"
"Drostan."
"I'm sorry I kicked you, Drostan. Truly, I am."
"I'll live. Having been blessed with four brothers, I've suffered much worse treatment at their hands."
Her mouth spread into a lovely smile, and his heart listed.
"Does the plaid belong to your father or brother?" It surprised him how much he was enjoying her company.
She shook her head. "Nay. We're from the Lowlands—near Edinburgh. I borrowed it from the stable lad. I cannae for the life of me understand why all of this extra material is necessary."
He chuckled. "Take my word for it, my lady. It comes in handy at times."
She tugged the bottom of the plaid down over the tops of her boots. "Well, all I can say is if my maid wasnae a Highlander and knew what to do, I'd have never figured out how to put the wretched thing on."
Drostan grinned.
A magpie swooped down onto the branch of an adjacent oak tree, an insect clutched tightly in between his beak. A second magpie joined the first and made an unsuccessful lunge for the other's tasty morsel.
"Serves you right, wee thief." She wagged her finger at the unlucky bird.
He watched her, mesmerized by the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. He shook his head to clear it and kept his gaze on the path for the remainder of the journey.
Just outside the village of Perth, a large manor house rose up before them.
"You must leave me now." She threw her leg over the horse's back and slid to the ground, providing Drostan a quick glimpse of her long shapely limb. "I must slip around to the stables and change my clothing."
"You have an accomplice waiting there for you."
"Aye, Glena, my lady's maid."
Several guards were milling about the grounds. "The place seems well-guarded. How the devil did you manage to get out without being found out?"
"I paid them to look the other way."
Drostan snorted. "How shrewd of you." Isobel was unlike any woman he had ever met—and she was utterly enthralling. "Very well. I'll be on my way. And remember what I said about not going out riding alone."
She nodded. "I'll remember. And I thank you again." Isobel led Bramble through an opening in the shrubs and disappeared.
He swung Eachann around and pointed him toward Edinburgh. The lass was clever and lovely beyond measure, but she was also reckless, unconventional, and as fierce as a wee wildcat. Drostan pitied the poor fool who tried to tame her.
WITH GLENA'S HELP, inside the tack room, Isobel quickly changed out of the belted plaid and into her morning dress, then hurried back to her bedchamber. Once inside, she rushed to the window and peered out across the landscape, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Highlander who had rescued her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, she sighed and stretched out on the bed.
Drostan was most handsome, with a finely carved mouth and features, long fair hair that grazed his broad shoulders, and soft brown eyes she could have stared into all day. The memory of his warm fingers wrapped around her bare leg caused her breath to quicken and her heart to pound. Never had she had such a reaction to a man's touch—not that one had ever put his hands on her in such a manner. Even his nearness had been nigh overwhelming and had stirred unfamiliar feelings inside her.
Had the two highwaymen chosen to stay and fight, they would have quickly regretted their blunder, for the Highlander was unmistakably a warrior. The well-honed muscles of his arms and chest had been most evident beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. She could not help but wonder what those same muscles would feel like beneath her hands. Isobel shivered.
A knock sounded at the door.
She grabbed the covers and pulled them up to her chin—just in case it happened to be her mother. "Aye?"
"'Tis only I, m' lady."
Glena. Isobel breathed a sigh of relief. "Come."
The maid struggled through the door, balancing a tray loaded with food and drink. "I hope ye're hungry. When I told ye mother that ye wished to take yer meal in your bedchamber, she and Lady Drummond wanted to make certain ye broke ye fast well." She chuckled and placed the tray on the table beside the bed, then went back and closed the door.
Isobel threw aside the covers and swung her legs over the side. "Thank the saints! I'm famished." She picked up a small chunk of cheese. "Do ye ken what happened this morn during my ride?" she asked, keeping her voice low, before shoving the tasty morsel into her mouth.
Glena smoothed out the skirts of the burgundy gown Isobel had worn to supper the night before and carefully placed it inside the chest. "Nay, what happened, m' lady?" Glena busied herself, straightening the bedchamber.
"I was set upon by two highwaymen."
The middle-aged maid paled and clutched at her chest, before dropping onto the settle. "Saints above! However, did ye manage t
o escape the fiends?"
Isobel smiled and stared out the window in the direction Drostan had gone. "A most handsome Highland warrior intervened on my behalf. Those two thieving bastards were trying to steal my Bramble, and you ken how much I love that mare. Then Drostan—that was his name appeared from out of nowhere and confronted them. Once they realized he wasnae a man who would back down, they got on their horses and left."
The maid tucked a loose red curl behind her ear, exhaled loudly, and slowly got to her feet. "Thank the heavens. Did the Highlander ken ye were a lass?"
"Well, not at first. But once he did, he insisted on seeing me back here to Ivy Manor, but not before giving me a good scolding about how a young woman shouldnae go out riding alone."
Glena raised a brow. "Did ye listen to what he told ye, m' lady?"
She nodded. "Aye, I did—reluctantly, for Drostan also informed me someone was traveling around Scotland attacking and murdering young women."
Glena frowned and nodded. "I fear 'tis true, for I've heard as much m' self."
Isobel slowly shook her head. '''Tis awful how those poor women must have suffered before losing their lives." Her heart ached for the victims and their grieving families. She took a sip of her heather ale as her mind wandered back to Drostan. "I wonder if I'll ever see him again?"
The maid chuckled. "Liked him, did ye now?"
"Aye. Drostan has a presence about him that says he would protect you at all costs."
Glena smiled. "'Tis the first young man ye've taken notice of. Perhaps 'twas fate that brought him to ye. If so, then 'twill again."
Isobel dipped a chunk of warm, crusty bread into her honey-sweetened porridge and took a bite, hoping what Glena had said was true. If so, then all she had to do was wait—and she would, for just thinking about the handsome Highlander, had a most unfamiliar and profound effect on Isobel.
Shouts coming from outside the manor house startled her from her thoughts, and she jumped up and hurried to the window. Two male servants were carrying William Drummond, the laird of Ivy Manor and a good family friend, across the courtyard. He had a large gash across his forehead, and from that distance, Isobel could not tell if he were dead or yet lived. "Saints above!"
