by Gwyn Brodie
His father looked up from his desk and smiled when Drostan entered the library. "What weighs heavy on your mind, son?"
Drostan smiled. Somehow, his father always knew if anything was amiss with his children. "I've a favor to ask."
The laird leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "What favor?"
"I've asked the lads to journey away from Willowbrae to gather some information of great importance, and I'd like to send several guards along with them for protection."
His father frowned. "What information do you seek?"
Drostan exhaled loudly. "I've never kept anything of significance from you, Da. But until I ken the truth, I dinnae wish to answer that question."
James Mackintosh eyed Drostan for a long moment before speaking. "Send however many guards you need to, and I'll be waiting for your answer."
Drostan nodded. "Much thanks." He turned on his heel and left the library, grateful to his father for being so understanding. He would choose only the Mackintosh guards he could trust to keep whatever his brothers learned to themselves—which was not a great many. There were a few Mackintosh guards whose tongues wagged as loosely as those of some of the women in the village.
He would tell his brothers of their father's decision, then go in search of Isobel. As Drostan stepped out into the keep, he prayed no other lass would lose her life before justice could be served.
Chapter Ten
Later, at the stables, Drostan lifted Isobel onto Bramble's back. "There's a place I've wanted to show you, lass. 'Tis on Mackintosh lands, but still a bit of a distance away. Would you like to see it?"
Isobel beamed. "Aye, I would."
He was not surprised in the least, for Isobel was always up for an adventure. "I'm glad. I've not been there in some time and would like to see it again myself."
A moment later, the portcullis lowered behind Drostan and Isobel, and they headed across the moor. The day was beautiful, with not a cloud in sight, and he intended to do his best to kept his fashing at bay. He was alone with Isobel. What more could a man want?
After an hour or so, Drostan brought Eachann to a halt at the top of a hill and waited for Isobel to reach him.
She rode up beside him and sharply inhaled as she gazed at the multitude of bluebells, buttercups, heather, and other varieties of flowers carpeting the tiny glen, while a waterfall streamed down a steep rock face, before splashing into the pool below. "I've never seen so many flowers in one place, and the waterfall is magnificent. I'm so glad you brought me."
He grinned. So was he. "I've always liked it here. 'Tis a favorite place of my mother's. She calls it Gleann Fhluraichean."
Isobel smiled. '"Tis fitting as it is indeed a glen of flowers. Might we go closer?"
"Aye." They rode down to the edge of the pool, and Drostan dismounted, intending to help Isobel do the same, but she had gotten herself down and was now on her knees among the many flowers.
She picked one and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. "I love the scent of bluebells."
He sat down beside her, appreciating her windblown hair and flushed cheeks. Then his gaze fell on her full pink lips. "Come here, lass."
"Is it time for another lesson?" she teased, already leaning toward him.
He grinned. "Perhaps." He pressed his mouth against hers.
Without breaking the kiss, she straddled his lap and slipped her fingers into his hair.
He pulled his mouth away. "What is it you think you're doing?" he said hoarsely.
"I wish you to make love to me." She purred against his neck.
Drostan snorted. "'Tis a dangerous game you're playing, Isobel. If you kenned how badly I wanted you, you'd get back on Bramble and make haste to Willowbrae."
She raised a brow. "Then, why not have me?" She pressed her lips against his collarbone.
With her astride him, all he needed do was raise his plaid. A war raged inside him. She was an innocent and had no notion of the consequences of what she asked. But his desire for her muddled his brain, urged him to take her, to give her what she asked of him.
Drostan pressed his mouth against Isobel's throat, while deftly unlacing her bodice and shoving aside the fabric of her chemise.
She gasped as he kissed first one breast, then the other, sending wave after wave of sensations through her heated body.
He raised his head, his lids were heavy, and his eyes dark with passion. "Are you sure this is what you want, Isobel? Once I make love to you, there's no turning back."
With heart pounding, she nodded. Suddenly, she found herself beneath him on the ground.
Their gazes locked as he slowly ran his hand up her leg, each brush of his fingers against her skin sending tremors through her. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he touched the most sensitive part of her, and she trembled.
"Isobel," he whispered, kissing her as each tantalizing stroke of his long fingers set her body aflame. She clung to him, crying out his name as he took her higher and higher until the world around her shattered in a fiery rain.
Drostan watched her face as she found her pleasure, wanting naught more than to bury himself inside her and satisfy his own need. When he had touched her, all his good sense flew out the window, and for a moment, he meant to take her, make her his own. But he had fought the desire that threatened to consume him and won—if one could call turning down an offer to make love to a beautiful young woman winning. He tugged down her skirts.
"Did you...?" Her breathing was uneven as she tightened the laces of her bodice.
"You're still an innocent if that's what you're asking. Trust me, if I'd taken my pleasure, you'd have been well aware of that fact, especially with your body being untried."
She sighed. "I've never felt anything so marvelous. What was it you did to me?"
He grinned. "I'll keep that to myself for the time being, lass, but I'm glad you enjoyed the experience. We'd best be heading back, or else your parents will have a search party out looking for us."
She chuckled.
He gently kissed her and lifted her onto Bramble, then mounted Eachann, knowing he would never forget this day—and neither would Isobel. That he would bet on.
THAT NIGHT, LONG AFTER the castle residents had found their beds, Isobel lay awake, reliving over and over in her mind the day's events. She could not believe how wanton Drostan's touch had made her feel. She had never known such pleasure was even possible. If the joining was more gratifying than what she had experienced amidst the flowers, she could hardly wait. But there was but one man she would ever freely give herself to, and that was Drostan Mackintosh.
Feeling the urgent need to relieve herself, she got out of bed. Donning her robe and slippers, she left the bedchamber and made her way to the garderobe. No candle was needed, for the Mackintoshes kept the corridor well-lit at night.
A few minutes later, as she returned to her room, she found Marcus waiting for her in the open doorway of his bedchamber. Her heart pounded as she drew her robe tightly around her and tried to walk past him.
He stepped out in front of her. "Why the hurry, Isobel?"
"Marcus, please allow me to pass." She heard her voice tremble and was confident he did as well. "I'm certain you dinnae wish me to scream and wake my parents. What would my father think of you, then?"
He snorted. "I see your father has finally seen fit to inform you of our impending betrothal. You'll soon be mine, then I'll make certain Drostan Mackintosh stays away from you any way I have to. I see the way he looks at you, touches you as if you were his and his alone. But of course, you're not. You're mine. You'd best be remembering that."
She glared up at him. "I have no intention whatsoever of wedding you." The sudden coldness in his eyes caused her to take a step back.
Marcus sneered. "No matter. The marriage will take place with or without your consent. 'Tis time we kenned one another better."
Fear raced up Isobel's spine.
He grabbed her, bringing his mouth down hard against hers
, bruising her lips and causing her teeth to sink into the lower one. Though she wore only thin slippers, she kicked him hard in the shin, but his boots caught the brunt of the impact.
His hands were suddenly inside Isobel's robe groping her. Tears filled her eyes as she stuck him about the face, shoulders, and chest to no avail. Was it his intention to drag her into his bedchamber and force himself on her?
She opened her mouth to scream, and a bedchamber door opened.
He quickly let her go.
With trembling hands, she closed her robe and started backing away.
Maggie was headed in their direction. She frowned. "Is something amiss, Isobel?"
"Would you mind walking with me to my bedchamber?"
"Not in the least." Maggie glared up at Marcus, who, without a word, turned and entered his own room. "Did he do you harm?"
"I feared he might. I was ready to scream for help when you came out of your bedchamber." They stopped in front of Isobel's door. "I'll be fine now, Lady Mackintosh. Much thanks."
"You're most welcome. Be sure and bolt your door."
"I will. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Inside her bedchamber, Isobel scrubbed her mouth on her sleeve, hoping to wipe away any remnant of Marcus's brutal kiss. She kicked off her slippers and tossed her robe onto a chair, then jumped into bed, drawing the covers over her head. Then she wept.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Drostan had just finished dressing when a knock sounded at his door. He opened it to find his father and mother standing there. Had something happened to one of his brothers? His wee sisters? His heart drummed against his chest as his mother sailed into the room, his father on her heels.
"Drostan, there's something I need to tell you." She looked up at his father.
"What is it?" He closed the door and waited, with his stomach tied in knots.
His mother took a deep breath, then began. "Late last night, while on my way to the garderobe, I came upon Marcus and Isobel in the corridor. Drostan, she looked absolutely terrified. She asked me to walk with her to her bedchamber, which I was more than happy to do, and I told her to bolt the door, though as frightened as she looked, she no doubt would have."
He felt ill. "Did he harm Isobel? For if he did..."
She shook her head. "Nay, but Isobel did say she feared he would have had I not come along."
Drostan gripped the back of the chair so hard his knuckles turned white. "Do you ken Marcus's whereabouts now?"
His father nodded. "He and two guards left Willowbrae a short while ago."
"Have you seen Isobel this morn?"
His mother shook her head. "She sent word she would break her fast in her room."
He hurried toward the door. "I must speak to Isobel immediately."
"Drostan?" His mother's brow was creased with worry.
"Aye?"
"We are well aware of how much you care for Isobel, but please, be careful when dealing with Marcus. As you've seen firsthand, his cruelty has no bounds."
"Which is the reason he'll never have Isobel, for I'll not allow it." He left the room and went down the corridor to Isobel's bedchamber. He knocked. "Isobel?" Silence. Panic had started to raise its ugly head when he heard the door being unbolted.
Isobel stood in the doorway, her eyes red from crying, and her bottom lip swollen. As for the cause of both, he was about to find out.
"Might I come in, lass?" In the short time he had known Isobel, he had never seen her so quiet.
She nodded and stepped aside.
He entered the room and closed the door. A platter of food and drink sat on the table untouched. "Tell me what happened with Marcus last night."
Tears sprang into her eyes.
He drew her against him and held her. "I love you and want you to be safe. Whatever he did to you, I need you to tell me."
She nodded. "Have you eaten?"
"Nay, I wanted to speak with you beforehand."
"Please, sit down, and we'll break our fast while I tell you about last night." She took a small bite of cheese and winced.
"Start with what happened to your mouth. Did Marcus strike you?"
"Nay. He grabbed me and kissed me so hard, my teeth sank into my bottom lip." She touched her mouth. "I feared 'twould be bruised this morn."
Until that moment, Drostan would never have believed it possible for him to hate Marcus any more, but he did. He gently brushed his thumb across her lower lip. "Only a wee bit."
She caught his hand and held it against her cheek for a moment before letting go. "He said I was his, and I'd best be remembering it." She shook her head. "I could never give myself to a brute like him. I told Marcus I had no intention of marrying him, but he said it didnae matter what I wanted."
"After we finish eating, would you care for a walk in the gardens?"
H"What if we run into Marcus?"
"He's not here, but 'tis about time I confronted him about you." He took her hands in his. "I promise you this, Isobel, you'll not have to marry Marcus." And Drostan meant to keep that promise if it was the last thing he did.
LATE THAT NIGHT, ON the River Ness, Marcus Anderson, dressed as a man much below his means, sat in an unlit corner of The Boar's Nest Tavern and sipped his third whisky. Though it tasted little better than long-standing water, it warmed him on the damp and rainy night. He lifted the cup to his mouth, watching the bar wench over the rim. She had seen perhaps thirty summers. Her dark hair was loose about her shoulders, and the bodice she wore was tightly laced, shoving a good deal of her bountiful breasts over the top. She was the sort of woman who pretended to be naught more than what she was, unlike the wealthy daughters of lairds who said one thing and did another. Nay, this woman and those like her, was who Marcus sought after when he wanted female companionship without complaint—no matter his needs.
As she headed toward his table, desire surged through Marcus, and his breath quickened.
Her pink lips spread into a smile. "Do ye wish another whisky?"
He nodded once and tossed her a coin, then held up another. "This one's fer ye, lass." He dropped it in her outstretched palm.
"I thank ye." She shoved it into the deep valley between her breasts. "I'll bring ye drink."
He tugged the hood of his cloak down even further, hiding the majority of his features.
The desirable wench returned with his drink. "Let me ken if ye'd like another."
He reached across the heavily-scared oak table and grabbed her hand. "I've two more coins fer ye if ye meet me after the tavern closes."
A smile broke across her face. "As soon as I'm finished here, I'll meet ye at the supply shed beside the river. I've the key," she whispered.
He grinned and let go of her hand. The tavern had been built on the edge of River Ness and catered to those who worked on and near it. He took a gulp of his whisky and was pleasantly surprised. Apparently, it had come from a different keg altogether. Marcus leaned back against the stone wall and smiled as he contemplated the night ahead.
AFTER A SHORT MORNING ride with Isobel, Drostan was returning their horses to the stables when Eachann nuzzled his ear. "If you're vying for an apple, lad, I'm afraid you're in for a disappointment this morn, for I have none."
It had been two days since the morning Marcus had ridden away from the castle, telling no one, even Kinkirk, where he was headed. He had been waiting for Marcus to return and had asked Ian to let him know when he did, for Drostan had much to say to the bastard.
A little more than a week had passed since Drostan's brothers left Willowbrae on the mission he had allotted them. And now he entered the stables, to find them standing about.
Morgan grinned. "We were waiting for you. Bern said you and Lady Isobel had gone out for a ride."
He grasped Taran's shoulder. "I'm glad to see you've all returned safely. Break your fasts, then we'll meet in the library." As anxious as Drostan was to find out what they had learned, his brothers' well-being was first and foremost.
&nb
sp; An hour later, the five entered the library, their father closing the door behind them. "Drostan, I'm ready to learn your reason for the secrecy behind the lads' journey." He sat down behind his desk, folded his arms across his chest, and waited for his son's answer.
Drostan drew a chair up close to his father so as he might speak, and no one standing outside the door could hear. "When we found Lady Mary's body, you'll remember that we saw a cut and bruising left on her neck from a ring on the killer's right hand." He refused to glance Robbie's way, for he did not wish to see the pain the memory invoked in his brother.
His father nodded. "Aye. I'll never forget."
"The killer took the brooch Robbie had given her, and at the Queensferry murder, the McDaniels lass had that same cut on her neck, and her necklace had been taken from her, as relayed by an old woman who was a member of the McDaniels's household."
The laird straightened. "I take it there's much more you've yet to tell me."
"Aye. Several days ago, Marcus insisted Lady Isobel accept an expensive piece of jewelry, which she refused, but to appease him, she wore it to supper that evening. All this she told me when I commented on it. Later that night, I remembered the description of the necklace the old woman had given me."
His father frowned. "Are you telling me, 'twas the same?"
Drostan nodded. "Three rubies on a gold medallion—an exact match. Do you remember the morn I was late breaking my fast, and Ma sent Ailig to fetch me?"
He nodded.
"'Twas because I was searching Marcus's bedchamber, thinking that if he were indeed the killer and took the necklace, Mary's brooch would be among his things, as well as personal items of the other victims."
"Well, tell me, what did you find?" His eyes were filled with curiosity.
"Mary's brooch, along with several other pieces of jewelry." Drostan nodded to his brothers. "They've been visiting the families of the deceased to have them draw and give a description of any item missing from the victim's body."
