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

by Gwyn Brodie

  Drostan Mackintosh was no green lad, but a man full-grown, and one whom she was certain had bedded more than his fair share of lasses. Isobel had seen nigh on twenty summers but had no idea whatsoever as to how to please a man, except for what little information she had extracted from the servants—which had not been much. Most of her friends had already wed, and though none of her suitors had caught her fancy, she knew that if she did not choose a husband soon, her father would pick one for her. Isobel could not allow that to happen, for she believed love was the most important reason to wed. She knew her father and mother loved one another, but it had not always been so. Her marriage would be different. She would love the man she married, or else she would refuse to wed.

  No longer able to see Drostan, she stretched out across the bed. What might the handsome Highlander expect his wife to know on their wedding night? Would he undress her? Would he expect her to undress him? Then what? Pondering about such things caused her face to flush, and her breath to quicken. She smiled. Truth be told, she would not mind in the least having Drostan Mackintosh for a husband.

  Chapter Four

  After spending the remainder of the day in the library going over Willowbrae's accounts with his father, Drostan headed for the great hall. He deeply inhaled the delicious aroma of roasted meats and freshly-baked bread as he made his way across the crowded room to the high table. Isobel was already there, her mass of dark curls fastened atop her head—except for a few ringlets that had somehow managed to escape captivity. To Drostan, there was naught more tantalizing than the soft curve of a woman's neck, and he had the overpowering urge to press his lips against Isobel's. He grinned. That would certainly go over well with Lady Fraser and his mother.

  As he sat down beside her, Isobel smiled up at him.

  His heart leaped against his chest. How could such an innocent gesture have such an impact?

  Isobel took a strawberry tart from the platter. "These are delightful." She took a bite.

  Drostan chuckled. "I've always thought so." He dried his hands on the linen towel, then he leaned across the table for a chunk of warm bread, his thigh accidentally pressed against hers, and Drostan could have sworn he felt the heat of Isobel's bare skin right through the fabric of her gown. He swallowed hard, fighting the need she stirred in him. Get a hold of yourself, lad!

  She leaned close and whispered, "I hope you were not injured when I fell on you earlier."

  "Nay," he said hoarsely, forcing himself to concentrate on the venison stew in the trencher and not the tempting lavender scent enveloping her.

  "I'm glad. I was afraid I might have injured you." She turned to her mother.

  She had, but not in the way she thought. Reeling, he shoved a stew-soaked hunk of bread into his mouth. Never in his life had a woman had such an effect on him, as did Isobel Fraser. Drostan felt completely daft when he was around her. He looked across the table to find his mother's gaze fastened on him. Could his own flesh and blood have instigated the whole matter? But then, how could she have possibly foreseen Drostan's reaction to Isobel? He shoved the thought aside and gulped down his goblet of spiced wine, already anticipating the slow burn from the bottle of whisky stashed in his bedchamber.

  AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT, Drostan made his way across the crowded great hall to the high table, uncertain as to why Isobel had invaded his dreams as she had. He fought back a yawn as he greeted everyone, then took his seat beside the young lady in question.

  Isobel turned to him, her cheeks and lips as pink as the rose she had picked in the garden the day before. "Morn, Drostan. I hope you slept well."

  His hand stilled over the bread platter. Was there a reason for the lass to believe otherwise? Perhaps she was a wee witch and could read his thoughts. "Aye," he lied, taking a slice of warm bread. "I hope you did as well."

  She frowned. "I did—until the howling woke me." She visibly shivered.

  He grinned. "'Twas the wolves, hunting along the ridge above the castle—as they often do. 'Tis naught to fash yourself about."

  The lass appeared satisfied with his answer and took a bite of her porridge, before grimacing and adding to it a great deal of honey. "Might I request a favor?"

  He swallowed his mouthful of cheese and raised a brow. "Aye, of course."

  "Would you take me riding?" Her dark eyes pleaded with him. "I so enjoy being on the back of a horse, and my Bramble could certainly use the exercise."

  Drostan could not have refused her even if he had wanted to. He grinned. "Will after we finish breaking our fast be soon enough?"

  The broad smile that spread across her lovely face sent his heart into a whirl. "Much thanks." She turned to her mother, sitting across the table. "Once the meal is finished, Drostan has agreed to take me riding."

  Lady Agnus' eyes widened. 'Twas all too clear she did not trust him near her daughter. Hell, sometimes he did not trust himself.

  His mother patted her friend's arm. "The lass will be fine, Agnus. Drostan will take good care of her. I ken I said as much yesterday, but I promise you, he's as fine a lad as you'll ever see, and will keep Lady Isobel safe." With blue eyes narrowed and her mouth pressed into a fine line, she glared at Drostan, daring him to do otherwise.

  He bit his lower lip to keep from grinning.

  Beside her, his father shook with silent laughter until tears swam in his brown eyes. "When you've finished with your meal, son, I'll walk with you to the stables," he said, fighting to conceal his obvious mirth. There was naught the Laird of Willowbrae enjoyed more than his wife's nonverbal chastisements—even when they were directed at him.

  Once Drostan was done with breaking his fast, he turned to Isobel. "I'll meet you in the bailey."

  "I look forward to it." She took a sip of her heather ale.

  He rose to his feet and followed his father out of the great hall.

  Once they were outside the castle, his father burst into laughter. "The glare your dear mother shot your way was more than I could bear." Still chuckling, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

  Drostan grinned. "Aye, but she has no reason to think I'd not look after the lass. What happened yesterday at the waterfall was not of my doing. The wee lass has a will of her own."

  The laird smiled and nodded. "As does your mother."

  "'Tis the truth you speak. How long will the Frasers be staying at Willowbrae?"

  "Maggie wishes for them to remain until the end of summer. Laird Fraser should be arriving soon. Lady Fraser said her husband had some business to attend to before making the journey."

  Which meant, the lass would be around for at least a few weeks more. He was not sure why, but the thought of Isobel leaving anytime soon did not set well with Drostan. Aye, the lass drove him mad with desire, but there was also something about her that made him want to protect her, to keep her near. Perhaps it was because he feared she might succumb to the same fate as those other young women. With his head filled with thoughts of Isobel Fraser, he made his way to the stables alongside his father.

  ISOBEL SHOOK OUT THE skirts of her dark blue riding dress and waited while Glena drew tight the laces of the bodice. She was so excited about her ride with Drostan she could hardly keep still.

  The maid chuckled. "Did I no' tell ye fate would bring ye together again?"

  "Aye, you did. But I have to wonder why."

  "Dinnae fash. Sooner or later, fate will show ye that as well. If ye dinnae mind m' asking, m' lady, do ye truly care for the lad? I've never kenned ye to act so about a young man."

  She smiled. "I do, but I dinnae ken if he cares for me as well."

  Glena smiled. "I've seen the way he looks at ye when he thinks no one sees. He may no' ken it yet, but the lad cares." She handed Isobel her cloak as June in the Highlands could at times be quite chilly.

  Doubt tugged at Isobel as she walked down the winding stairs. What if Glena was wrong?

  WITH HIS AND ISOBEL's horses in tow, Drostan and his father were making their way back from the stables, when familia
r battle cries filled the air.

  His da grinned and shook his head. "It appears your brothers have returned."

  Drostan laughed as they walked to the portcullis to await his four younger siblings and the six guards accompanying them.

  The youngest of the four, Taran, rode into the bailey ahead of the others. He grinned when he saw Drostan. "I knew you'd be here. You never forget Ma's birthday." He dismounted and grasped forearms with his brother and father.

  Ailig, Morgan, and Robbie came through the portcullis and dismounted, greeting Drostan and their father in the same manner. Drostan was proud of them all—as most certainly was their father. They were all excellent warriors, and their handsome features tended to draw the lasses' like bees to flowers. Ailig was two summers younger than Drostan's twenty-eight, Morgan, two less than Ailig, Robbie two less than Morgan, and Taran two less than Robbie. The girls had come along a bit later.

  Drostan playfully poked Morgan in the chest with his finger. "When I arrived home, and didnae find any of you here, I asked Ma if she'd gone and married the lot of you off."

  Morgan grinned. "Thankfully, we didnae have to worry about that for the time being. As long as you're unwed, brother, the rest of us are safe from our mother's plotting."

  Ailig, who stood eye to eye to Drostan, squeezed his shoulder. "Did our dear mother have no bonny lasses' waiting for you in every nook and cranny of Willowbrae upon your arrival?"

  He raised a brow and shook his head. "Nay, but there's the ceilidh in a few days. The good Lord only kens how many young women she's invited."

  Male laughter echoed through the bailey.

  The castle door opened and out stepped Isobel dressed in a riding gown that more than adequately displayed her shapely curves. She was without question, breathtaking.

  Drostan grinned at his brothers' wide-eyed stares.

  Isobel came up beside him.

  He smiled down at her. "Lady Isobel Fraser, my brothers Ailig, Morgan, Robbie, and Taran."

  Taran grinned. "I remember Lady Isobel well. We played together as children. Our families visited one another often back then. You were away studying in Edinburgh, then in France."

  The others nodded their agreement. It appeared that Drostan was the only Mackintosh who had not known Isobel very well.

  Isobel's gaze traveled over them. "I cannae believe how time has passed. It seems only yesterday that we were children. And how handsome the lot of you grew up to be."

  A pang of unexpected jealousy prodded Drostan in the ribs, as broad grins spread across his brothers' faces. He shoved it aside, satisfied he would soon have her all to himself.

  The laird squeezed his youngest son's shoulder and looked at the other three. "Your mother will be most pleased that you returned in time for the festivities."

  Morgan grinned. "We made a point of doing so. While in Inverness, we purchased a bolt of pale green silk for her birthday—shipped all the way from Paris." He patted the blanket roll behind his saddle, before carefully removing it.

  Their father smiled. "I'm certain she'll be most pleased. Come, let us see what Elspeth has for you to break your fast."

  Drostan nodded toward the lass at his side. "I promised Lady Isobel I'd take her for a ride this morn. When I return, perhaps we could meet in the solar for a whisky."

  They agreed and headed into the castle with their father.

  Isobel handed Drostan her cloak, and he slipped it around her shoulders, marveling at the softness of her hair as a curl brushed against his fingers.

  She smiled. "Much thanks for taking me riding. I'd have gone daft if I'd had to spend the entire day in the solar doing needlepoint with our mothers."

  He gasped. "Are you telling me you dinnae care for needlepoint?" he teased.

  "Nay, not especially—but dinnae tell my mother. She thinks 'tis of the utmost importance that I learn to make proper stitches. I do try—for her sake."

  Drostan grinned. "Your secret is safe with me, my lady." He lifted Isobel onto Bramble, then mounted Eachann. He motioned for Angus to again raise the portcullis and rode off across the meadow with Isobel beside him.

  After a few moments, she brought Bramble to a halt.

  He drew Eachann up beside her. "Is something amiss?"

  She shook her head. "Nay. I was but admiring the great beauty of this meadow. The buttercups, heather, and thistles are breathtaking. Oh, and see the bluebells over there?"

  He looked across the meadow, seeing it for the first time through her eyes. She was right. His gaze moved to Isobel, with her flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, and radiant smile. "Aye, breathtaking."

  "Drostan?"

  "Aye?"

  "From my window yesterday, I glimpsed you on the hill overlooking the castle. Might we ride up there?"

  Why had she been watching him? "If you'd like, but have a care. The path is quite narrow."

  A short while later, they rode into the circle of standing stones. Isobel gasped. "'Tis stunning!"

  He dismounted, then helped her down.

  She slowly spun around. "Amazing," she whispered, her eyes wide with wonder.

  "I've always thought so."

  Isobel was a sight to behold, with the wind whipping her long dark hair wildly about her cheeks, as she dashed from stone to stone, running her fingers over the runes left there by some ancient people. The lass belonged among them, for she was as much a mystery as the stone circle itself and just as mesmerizing.

  Drostan sat down on one of the two logs he and his brothers had dragged inside the ring many years before. Since the completion of Willowbrae Castle, centuries past, every clan decision made by the Mackintoshes, be it domestic, or of great importance, such as whether or not to go into battle, had been reached on that hill. Now it was Drostan and his brothers, along with their father and clan elders, who used the site for such matters.

  Isobel sat down beside him and smiled. "I love this place."

  For some reason, her saying so gave him great pleasure. "This is Creag Iolaire. 'Tis said there's magic in the stones, and that the spirits of the old ones remain among them.

  "It must be so, for I feel downright giddy."

  As did he, but it was not the stones, but her nearness causing it. He rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Come. There's a spectacular view of the castle from up here."

  She placed her hand in his.

  His heart pounded against his ribs as he led her to the edge of the clearing overlooking Willowbrae. "This was where I was when you saw me." A light rain began to fall, and he drew her beneath the low-hanging branches of a nearby great pine.

  "'Tis beautiful. Do you come up here often?"

  "When I need to think."

  She turned her face up to his. "Is that what you were doing yesterday—thinking?"

  "Aye," about you. Drostan's gaze dropped to Isobel's mouth. He had wanted to kiss her since the first time he had laid his eyes on her. Did he dare to do so now? What would she do if he did? He was about to find out. He slowly bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, savoring the tantalizing taste that was Isobel.

  She shivered.

  He inwardly groaned and reluctantly raised his head, when what he wanted to do was take her into his arms and kiss her until they both were breathless with need.

  Her eyes were wide, but she said not a word.

  Drostan stepped away from her. The temptation to hold her was just too great. "The rain has ceased. We should return to the castle. Your mother will make herself ill with worry."

  Isobel nodded, then turned and headed toward Bramble.

  Drostan blew out a breath. Perhaps he should not have kissed her, though she did not appear to be upset. He helped her onto the mare, then swung onto Eachann.

  As they rode away from the stones, Isobel suddenly gasped. "Look!" She pointed to a rainbow. "'Tis magnificent!"

  He smiled. "Aye, 'tis."

  "I love rainbows." Her excitement was catching.

  Drostan chuckled. "Then how fortuna
te, lass. Look, there are two of them."

  "I see it! Wait until I tell mother we saw not one, but two rainbows during our ride. My grandmother believed 'twas lucky for those who saw them."

  He grinned, reveling in her childlike enthusiasm. "We'd best hurry. There appears to be a wall of rain heading in this direction."

  The rain caught up to them just before they rode through the portcullis and into the bailey. Isobel's hood had blown off her head, and even with the cloak fastened about her shoulders, the rain had drenched her to the bone. Drostan dismounted and quickly lifted her down. "Hurry inside before you catch your death of cold." It seemed he found himself saying that often where the lovely lady was concerned.

  SHIVERING, ISOBEL HURRIED into the castle and up to her bedchamber, where Glena sat beside the window, mending a gown. She jumped to her feet when she saw Isobel.

  "M' lady, yer drenched again!"

  "Aye, the rain caught us during our ride." She removed her boots and stockings.

  Glena quickly built a fire, then helped Isobel out of her wet things and into a dry gown, before returning to her mending.

  Thunder rumbled through the hills, and the wooden floor beneath Isobel's bare feet trembled. A crack of lightning lit up the room. Thankfully, they had returned to Willowbrae just in time. Since a child, Isobel had loved storms but did not wish to be outside during one. She shivered, pulled the blanket around her shoulders, and knelt before the fire to dry her hair. As she stared into its crackling flames, Drostan entered her mind. The effect his kiss had on her was nothing short of amazing. And it had confirmed what Isobel already knew—it was he she wished to wed and no one else. Though she hardly knew Drostan, her heart told her he was a good man who would treat her well—and she always trusted her heart. But just how did one go about getting a husband? "Glena?"