Drostan, a Scottish Historical Romance, the Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle

by Gwyn Brodie

  Another hour passed before Willowbrae came into view. Drostan's heart filled with pride as it always did upon his return home. As heir apparent, he would one day become laird and Mackintosh chief. He prayed he would do nigh as good a job as his father had for the past three decades.

  Shouts and whistles from the ramparts told him the guards had recognized him from a distance. A guard raised the portcullis, and he rode across the moor and into the bailey, hoping his mother had not invited every unmarried lass from the surrounding countryside and nearby village to his homecoming. She had known he would be there, for he never missed her birthday.

  At the stables, he dismounted and led Eachann inside. He frowned. They had guests, for there was not an empty stall in sight. Drostan growled under his breath. The wooden door creaked behind him, and he turned around.

  Bern, the stablemaster, grinned, the corners of his pale blue eyes crinkling. "I kenned ye'd be home, lad. Ye ma and da will be most pleased to see ye, as am I." The old man squeezed his shoulder affectionately just as he had since Drostan was but a wee lad. 'Twas many a day he had spent in the stables alongside the stablemaster, who had taught him the majority of what he knew about horses. "I'll see to Eachann," Bern said, taking the stallion's reins.

  Drostan snorted. "Where the devil will you put him?"

  The old man chuckled. "The new stables are finished. I'll put 'im out there."

  The building of the more extensive stables had been underway when Drostan had last departed Willowbrae, a little over a month ago. He had since been visiting Blackstone Castle with his good friend Laird Alex MacPherson, his lovely wife Ceana, and their wee son, Jamie. "Whose horses are these?" Drostan inquired, as his gaze traveled from stall to stall. He wanted to know what he was walking into beforehand.

  Bern gently patted Eachann's nose. "I dinnae ken, fer I was away on an errand fer the laird when they arrived yesterday. Gus, the new stable lad, said they were guests of your mother's."

  Drostan frowned. How convenient that they had planned a visit when the lady of the castle knew he would be home. "Where are my brothers' horses. Are they in the new stables as well?"

  Bern shook his head. "Nay. This morn, after breaking their fasts, the lads rode off to Inverness to purchase a gift fer ye ma's birthday."

  "Perhaps then I'll have a wee bit of peace until their return."

  The old man chuckled before leading Eachann away.

  Drostan left the stables, readying himself for the onslaught of females his mother would most likely parade before him. He blew out a long breath, then entered the castle. The midday meal was in progress, and the delicious aroma of roast meats and freshly baked bread greeted him as he headed for the great hall. His parents sat at the high table, but he saw no guests—save for a vaguely familiar middle-aged woman sitting beside his mother.

  A smile spread across his mother's features when she saw Drostan, and his father grinned at his wife's reaction. The laird was as smitten with Lady Margaret Ramsay Mackintosh today as he had been the day they had wed—and no wonder. She was a beautiful woman, with a heart as big as all of Scotland. Her one downfall was she had set her sights on finding Drostan a wife, and he did not want—nor need one—yet. As heir apparent, he would one day have to make that choice, but for the time being, his father was in perfect health, and Drostan wanted to enjoy his freedom for as long as he could.

  When he reached the table, his father rose to his feet and grasped Drostan's forearm in a warrior's greeting. "'Tis good to see you, son." William Mackintosh was a formidable combatant and a fine laird, for his grip was as strong as a man's half his age and his mind sharper.

  "'Tis good to see you as well, Da."

  Drostan leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek. He took the black leather pouch from his sporran, and after removing the rings, handed it to her. "For your birthday, Ma."

  Her blue eyes shimmered with tears. "Thank you, my darling." She reached into the pouch and pulled out the broach. "'Tis lovely, Drostan." You remembered how much I love thistles." Her finger slowly traced the intricate design.

  He smiled. "Aye, I did. I'm glad you like it."

  "I do, I do." She fastened it to her gown. "I'm most pleased you arrived in time for the ceilidh."

  Drostan's heart sank. That was the reason young women were not coming at him from every side—they would be arriving in a few days.

  His mother suddenly gasped. "Good heavens! Where are my manners?" Drostan, surely you remember my good friend, Lady Agnus Fraser, whose family I fostered with for a time as a child?"

  He nodded. "Aye. 'Tis good to see you again, my lady."

  Lady Fraser smiled. "'Tis good to see you as well, Drostan." She turned to his mother. "He's grown into quite a handsome lad, Maggie."

  His mother beamed. "Aye, he has at that. In fact, all my sons have."

  Drostan smiled. "Speaking of my brothers. You didnae go and marry them off whilst I was away, did you now?" he teased, knowing full well where they were.

  She chuckled. "Not yet. With you being the eldest, you're first on my list."

  He frowned. "Umm."

  His father laughed. "I think by now, he's keenly aware of that, my dear."

  When Earie and Cait saw Drostan, they jumped up from the nearby children's table and headed his way.

  He grinned, then squatted beside the table and waited for them.

  When they reached him, they threw their arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

  Drostan grinned. "How are my favorite sisters?"

  Cait giggled. "Oh, Drostan. Earie and I are your only sisters."

  His brows shot up in mock surprise. "Why, you're right. Then I suppose these must belong to the two of you." He opened his hand.

  Cait gasped. "Is the blue one for me, Drostan?"

  "Aye, 'tis the exact color of your eyes—a blue sky on a spring day. This amber one is the same hue as your sister's bonny eyes and the finest Scottish whisky."

  "'Tis beautiful, brother." Earie, older than her sister by two years, slid the ring onto her small finger. I'll cherish it always."

  "As will I," Cait said, her gaze fastened on her new trinket.

  Each girl kissed him on the cheek, before returning to their table to finish their meal.

  Drostan took his usual seat at the table across from his father and filled his trencher with venison stew and bread. He took a bite, savoring its delicious taste. Then a sudden thought struck him. "Lady Agnus, your daughter, is she with you? A wee lass, she was, last time I saw her. At the time, she'd seen perhaps nine or ten summers."

  Agnus smiled. "My, it has been a while, for she's now seen almost twenty summers." She looked around him. "There's my Isobel now."

  Drostan glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes widened. Isobel Fraser was none other than the lass he had rescued from the highwaymen a few days earlier. And she looked very much different in the burgundy gown emphasizing her small waist and full breasts than she had in the belted plaid and too-large shirt. 'Twas good to see her safe and well after what he had witnessed in Queensferry and having thought for a moment that the dead girl might have been her.

  Their gazes met, and her bewitching dark eyes narrowed, daring him to utter a word about what had happened between them. Then the wee fox sweetly smiled and proceeded on to the table.

  His mother pointed. "My dear, take the seat across from me."

  Which just so happened to be beside him. Even though he found Isobel extremely attractive, and she had occupied his thoughts for days, he did not trust the lass as far as he could toss her. His ribs were still tender where she had kicked him the last time, he had gotten too close.

  "Much thanks, Lady Mackintosh." Her skirts rustled and brushed against his legs as she sat down.

  "This is my eldest son, Drostan. You were very young the last time you saw him."

  Isobel turned to Drostan. "I remember you."

  He forced a smile. "As I do you, Lady Isobel." His gaze dropped to her full pink lips, and
just as before, he had the strongest urge to kiss her.

  "Drostan, perhaps you'd like to show Lady Isobel the gardens after the meal." His mother raised a brow, compelling him to say yes. If this was all part of another one of her schemes, and she thought he and the lass would make a good match, she would be sorely disappointed. He had no intention of getting himself entangled with a wildcat like Lady Isobel Fraser—no matter how much he desired her.

  He nodded. "Of course, I'll be happy to show Lady Isobel the gardens—if she is so inclined."

  "I'd love to." Isobel picked up her goblet of heather ale and heartily drained its contents.

  "Isobel!" Her mother looked horrified.

  The lass placed the goblet back on the table. "Forgive me, but I'm afraid I was quite thirsty."

  Drostan filled their trencher, while a knot as hard as a stone sat on the bottom of his stomach.

  Isobel was drying her fingers when she dropped the linen cloth onto the floor between them. Before Drostan could fetch it, she bent and picked it up herself, granting him a birds-eye view down the front of her bodice. He inwardly groaned as he admired her—sizeable attributes. Desire struck him like a broadsword between the eyes.

  She looked up at him, and innocently smiled.

  The wee witch had known precisely what she was doing. What she did not know was that she was playing with fire. He went back to his meal, wondering how he would get through a walk in the gardens without wringing her pretty neck—or kissing her.

  A quarter-hour later, Drostan pulled Isobel's arm through his and escorted her out of the castle and into the gardens. "Do you have a favorite flower, Lady Isobel?"

  "Aye. I love roses—especially the pink ones."

  "Then I'll take you through the rose garden first."

  "Much thanks for not telling my mother and your parents about the highwaymen," she said, surprising Drostan.

  He shrugged. "I didnae think it would serve any purpose, as I've already told you what I thought of your gallivanting about the countryside alone."

  Isobel closed her eyes and buried her nose in a rose, the same shade of pink as her lips. "Ummh. It smells wonderful." She plucked it from the shrub. "Dinnae you think so?" She took a step closer and shoved it beneath his nose.

  "Aye," Drostan said hoarsely. The truth was, he hardly noticed the scent of the rose. Hell, he could barely breathe. "Perhaps we should return to the castle."

  "Do we have to? 'Tis such a lovely day." Her disappointment tugged at his heart.

  "Perhaps you'd like to see the waterfall then?"

  Isobel nodded. "Aye, I would."

  In a far corner of the garden, water poured over a stone wall into the shallow pool below. As young children, Drostan and his brothers had loved playing in the water, despite their mother's dire warnings of them coming down with some dreadful fever.

  Isobel gasped. "'Tis lovely." She slipped her arm from his.

  Many the day, Drostan and his brothers had played in the gardens while their mother stood guard over them like a mother hen protecting her chicks. He smiled as memories from his childhood flooded his thoughts. Taking a seat on a stone bench beneath the low-hanging branches of a Rowan tree, he watched Isobel flit from flower to flower like some exquisite butterfly.

  Chattering from the limbs above drew Drostan's attention, and he looked up to find a red squirrel who was none too happy with his close proximity. When he turned his attention back to Isobel, he found her beside the waterfall—removing her shoes.

  "What are you doing?" Mesmerized, he watched her remove her stockings, then lift her skirts, giving him a good look at her long, shapely legs as she stepped into the water.

  "'Tis freezing!"

  He snorted. "What did you expect? 'Tis the Highlands. Perhaps you'd best come out of there afore you catch your death of fever." Drostan cringed. He sounded remarkably like his mother.

  Isobel grinned and raised a brow. "Why didnae you come in?"

  He growled and shook his head. "Nay, but I'll help you out." He rushed over to the waterfall, stepped onto the stone ledge, and held his hand out to her—then his foot slipped. He hit the water hard, causing an enormous splash.

  Isobel doubled over with laughter, as he floundered on his back in the icy water. At the very least, it might cool the smoldering desire that had gripped him since Isobel had walked into the great hall.

  "Impertinent lass," he growled, grabbing her arm and yanking her down.

  She squealed as she landed on top of him.

  Keenly aware of every place her body touched his, Drostan inhaled sharply as a wave of need struck him like a stone.

  Isobel's brown eyes widened as she splayed her hands against his chest and pushed herself up. She stilled as their gazes locked. Her dark curls had loosened from their combs, and water streamed down her face. Droplets clung to her dark lashes and full mouth. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He reached for her.

  "Good heavens! What has happened here?" His mother's voice cut through the thick fog that had gathered inside his head.

  Isobel quickly rolled off of him.

  He got to his feet and helped her from the pool. "'Twas but an accident."

  Lady Agnus looked ready to faint dead away as she stared, open-mouthed, at her daughter's bare legs and feet. "Come, Isobel, 'tis time you went inside."

  As Isobel obediently followed her distressed mother across the garden, she impishly smiled at him over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner of the castle.

  He raked his fingers through his wet hair, not feeling at all himself. Being around Isobel was likened to being punched in the stomach and having the wind in your sails all at the same time.

  His mother plopped down on the bench and glared up at him. "I assured Agnus you would see that no harm came to her daughter."

  He snorted. "Do you think I forced the slippers and stockings off of Lady Isobel? Nay. I but tried to help her out of the water and slipped on the wet rocks."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Did Isobel slip as well?"

  He grinned. "Nay. I'll admit that when she laughed at me, I pulled her down into the water. I couldnae help where she landed. 'Tis obvious, your friend doesnae ken her daughter very well. Isobel does as Isobel pleases."

  Her eyes widened. "You speak as if you ken the lass."

  "Let's just say our paths have recently crossed, but I'd rather you didnae tell Lady Agnus as much."

  "I'll not if you dinnae wish me to." She got up from the bench. "We should go inside. You need to change into dry clothing before you catch your death."

  He chuckled and kissed his favorite lady on the cheek. Then drew her arm through his and escorted her into the castle, wondering all the while what sort of mischief the dark-haired vixen, Isobel, was up to.

  IN HER BEDCHAMBER, Isobel shivered before the fire as Glena helped her out of her wet clothing. Once she had slipped on a dry shift, she slid beneath the bedclothes to warm her damp skin.

  "Where are yer slippers and stockings, m' lady? Glena glanced about the room.

  "In the gardens—next to the waterfall." The tantalizing memory of Drostan's hard chest beneath her hands sent a rush of heat to her cheeks—and the rest of her. She was confident, had their mothers not intervened, he would have kissed her—and she certainly would have kissed him back.

  "I'll fetch them then." The maid had long ago grown accustomed to Isobel's ways. Naught appeared to surprise her anymore.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Glena hurried to open it.

  Drostan's deep voice reached Isobel from the corridor. She sat up, drawing the covers to her chin.

  "I've brought Lady Isobel her things."

  "Much thanks, sir."

  "Isobel slipped out of bed, wrapped a blanket around her, and went to the door. "'Twas most kind of you."

  His dark gaze swept over her, and she shivered. "The sky has darkened. I feared their ruin if it rained. I'll leave you to your rest." He turned and headed down the stairs.


  Isobel returned to her bed, feeling a bit breathless. She closed her eyes, recalling in vivid detail the shape of Drostan's mouth and the odd way he had looked at her just now. Since their first encounter, she had thought about him often, wondering who he was and if she would ever see him again. 'Twas both a shock and a surprise to find him sitting at that high table. Glena's prediction had been correct. Fate had once again brought them together.

  DROSTAN LEFT THE CASTLE and headed to the stables. He hoped the rain held off, for he needed a ride to clear his head. When Isobel had appeared in that bedchamber doorway, dressed in naught but an undergarment, with a blanket haphazardly drawn around her, his body had reacted accordingly. With her dark, untamed hair curling wildly about her shoulders and over her breasts, the lass had looked as tempting as a leg of roasted mutton to a starving man. Drostan was by no means starving, yet he desired her in a way he could not explain. It had taken every ounce of his strength to pull his gaze away from her.

  After saddling Eachann, he left the bailey and rode out across the open moor, putting the enticing lass behind him. A few minutes later, he brought the stallion to a halt at Creag Iolaire, the stone circle on the hill overlooking the castle, and dismounted. Ever since he was a child, whenever something bothered Drostan, this was where he had gone to think. He sat down on an outcropping of stones facing Willowbrae and blew out a long breath. What the devil was wrong with him? He already knew the answer to that question.

  ISOBEL WATCHED FROM her window as Drostan rode away from the castle and out of her sight. She envied him such freedom—the very reason she had slipped out, dressed as a stable lad, whenever the opportunity arose. But the situation with the highwaymen and the murders of the young women had frightened her—more than she had admitted to Drostan, or even herself, for that matter. Perhaps she could persuade him to take her for a ride on the morrow.

  A movement on the hilltop above the castle drew her attention. Had it been someone lurking about—or an animal—she had seen? After studying the figure for a moment, she realized it was Drostan. What was he doing up there? She folded her arms and leaned against the windowsill to watch him, thinking again about the way he had looked at her. It had stirred strange, unfamiliar feelings inside her. Had what she felt been desire for the handsome Highlander with the quick smile, intense brown eyes, and fair hair, she ached to caress between her fingers?