Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2)

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  The ambers at her neck hummed as well, pulsing warmth beginning to heat her skin.

  “I am not afraid.” She drew a deep breath and pushed away from the wall. Straightening, she brushed at her skirts and then smoothed her hair.

  Kendrew was a danger to himself, not to her.

  But he could ruin everything if he caused a scandal at the high table.

  She couldn’t allow that to happen.

  She hoped the charmed ambers weren’t warning that it would. Even the worsening of the night’s storm and the odd stone-like rumble of thunder seemed to hint that some kind of trouble that had been lurking just out a range was now preparing to rush in and cause havoc.

  Touching her necklace, she curled her fingers around the pulsating stones, willing them to cool and be still.

  Blessedly, they obliged, quieting at once.

  Isobel’s spirits lifted.

  This night was crucial. A turning point that needed to bring the triumph she yearned for so fervently. Kendrew’s glance at her a moment ago had melted her. Even if he hadn’t actually seen her, he’d certainly sensed her behind the wall. The air between them had crackled, proving that she wasn’t alone in her feelings.

  He did care for her.

  What stood between them had been a long time in coming. And it went much deeper than stolen kisses and forbidden touches. They were perfectly matched in all ways. Their bonding was powerfully right and – she was sure – absolutely inescapable. And although there wasn’t a moment when she didn’t yearn to feel his arms tighten around her, she also knew that the longing inside her was more than lust.

  It was love.

  And she couldn’t bear the damage that would ensue if Kendrew offended Hugh and a fight erupted on the dais.

  Hugh spun tales. He wasn’t a warrior.

  But he’d defend Isobel to his last breath – and if he challenged Kendrew, the result might very well be Hugh’s final gasp.

  And then…

  Isobel pressed the backs of her fingers to her lips and hurried along the corridor. Worrying about a fracas she meant to prevent would solve nothing. Returning to the high table as swiftly as her feet would carry her, was what she needed to do. So she kept on, ignoring the other peepholes she passed and pretending not to notice how the shadows seemed to shift and follow her as she hastened toward the hidden door that opened beside the dais hearth.

  When she reached it, she set her hand on the latch, pausing for only a heartbeat.

  Then she prayed the hinges wouldn’t squeak and opened the door. She stepped through onto the well-lit dais. Her eyes rounded at the sight that greeted her, her jaw slipping as she stared at Kendrew and Hugh.

  Kendrew towered over Hugh’s still-sitting form, his expression so earnest it was almost comical.

  Her brother Hugh was twisted around on the trestle bench, looking up at Kendrew with shining eyes, his ruddy face flushed with pleasure.

  Hugh was preening.

  And Kendrew was goading him, using Hugh’s vanity to maneuver him into a corner.

  The scene was strange, and entirely different from what she’d expected to find. Isobel could only stare at the two of them – as did everyone else at the high table.

  No one even noticed when she slid quietly into her own seat.

  “Och, nay…” Kendrew waved a dismissive hand, looking uncharacteristically humble as he peered down at Hugh. “Honored though I am, I have too much respect for bards to take your rightful place at the top of the table.”

  He placed a hand over his heart, shaking his head. “You’ve earned thon place beside your clan leader.” He glanced there now, ignoring James’s narrowed eyes. “If you’ll treat us to one of your tales later, I’ll gladly sit here where you’ve kindly warmed the bench for me.”

  “You do make a point…” Hugh swelled his chest a bit, his gaze flicking down the table to his usual seat, now cleared and held free for Kendrew. “I am rather accustomed to my own place at the table. And” – he pushed to his feet, stepping over the bench – “I will be telling tales by the fire later, after the feasting and dancing. Folk enjoy hearing them before they go abovestairs to their beds.”

  “I’ll look forward to the pleasure.” Kendrew claimed Hugh’s seat with speed.

  He didn’t even glance at Isobel, but the foot he pressed down over hers beneath the table proved that he knew she was there.

  And that he considered tricking Hugh a victory.

  It was, too.

  “Well done.” Isobel looked across the table at him. She kept her voice low, but not so soft that he’d loudly prompt her to speak more clearly.

  The glint in his eyes assured her that he wouldn’t hesitate to do anything so outrageous.

  “You tempt me to do many things, my lady.” His words proved it.

  Lifting Hugh’s left-behind ale cup, he took a long sip, watching her over the rim.

  “Why else would I be here?” He set down the cup, arching a brow at her. “You know there is only one reason.”

  His deep voice rolled over her, its richness making her pulse quicken. For such a big, burly man, he did have a beautiful voice. But it was the implication of his words and the intensity of his gaze that melted her. She could see her own feelings mirrored in his eyes, a truth he couldn’t hide behind his bluster.

  “You do not speak, lady?” His tone went a shade huskier, as if he knew what he did to her and reveled in watching her squirm.

  “Be glad I can temper my tongue.” Isobel lifted her chin, letting her eyes flash.

  “And since you ask why you’re here… Perhaps you wished to pay respects to the battle fallen and support friendship and amity between the glen clans?” She tried to pull her foot from beneath his.

  He smiled and clamped down harder on her toes. “What the glen needs is strong men and sharpened steel.”

  “There are other ways to promote peaceful living.” Isobel held his gaze.

  “No’ for warriors.” Kendrew raised his voice, looking round at the other men at the table. “Men speak with their swords. Mackintoshes” – his tone rang with pride – “let their axes talk for them.”

  Near James, Alasdair set down his eating knife. “I agree with Lady Isobel.” His gaze lit briefly on Marjory, still trapped between two stony-faced Mackintosh guardsmen. When he looked again at Kendrew, his expression was direct, almost challenging. “Our host, James Cameron, and my lovely sister, his wife, Lady Catriona, prove that connubial bliss serves as well as any blade to foster good will between warring clans.”

  Marjory’s cheeks turned pink and the wine cup she’d been about to lift to her lips nearly slipped from her fingers. “He speaks true, Kendrew. Such unions have borne fruit and ended feuds throughout the Highlands. Wedding an erstwhile enemy does have merit.”

  She didn’t look at Alasdair.

  But she didn’t need to.

  Her own troubles forgotten, Isobel held her breath, waiting for Kendrew’s outburst.

  It came as a smile. And it was a slow, damning smile that spread across his face as he turned to fix his sister with a chilly stare. “Marriages between allies are better.” He looked around the table again, as if expecting agreement. When no one spoke, he picked up his ale cup and drained it, slapping it down with a loud clack.

  “That’s why” – his gaze once again pinned Marjory – “I’ve just decided to find you a husband amongst the many Norse nobles in the north. A fine Orkney earl or a Norwegian prince-”

  “Here, here!” James leapt to his feet, rapping the table with the hilt of his meat knife. “Now isn’t the time for such talk, Mackintosh.”

  Up and down the table, men agreed.

  Kendrew scowled, but held his peace. “As you wish,” he conceded, sending a glare at Alasdair all the same.

  Alasdair fisted a hand on the table, returning the look with equal boldness. “No Highland woman used to the grace of our fair glen should be made to suffer endless winters of blackness in places where nothing grows but f
rost and ice.”

  “My sister loves the cold.” Kendrew flashed a look at her. “Isn’t that so, Norn?”

  Marjory tightened her lips, calmly buttering a bannock rather than responding.

  “Did you not have a special announcement to make this night?” Alasdair turned towards James, purposefully showing Kendrew his shoulder. “Something that should cheer all present, though there will surely be one or two” – he hesitated only a beat – “exceptions.”

  His words earned chuckles from the Camerons and MacDonalds on the dais.

  With the exception of the two Mackintoshes flanking Marjory, and Grim who was seated at a nearby long table, Kendrew’s own men were dancing.

  Kendrew muttered something under his breath that sounded like he’d ‘show Alasdair an exception.’

  Grim heard and shot him a dark look.

  But Kendrew only snapped his brows together, glaring back at his thick-bearded friend.

  Isobel leaned forward, trying to send Kendrew her own silent warning.

  Ignoring her, he cleared his throat. “I ken what would please me, and without exception.” He emphasized the last word, tossing a look of scorn at Alasdair’s back before turning his attention on James. “Can it be the tide has finally washed away the foundation of Blackshore Castle? And MacDonald is leaving the glen to seek new lodgings far and away from Loch Moidart with its always rising water?”

  “Kendrew.” Isobel abandoned caution and reached across the table to squeeze his arm.

  “The like must be said.” Undaunted, he smiled, seemingly pleased by the frowns aimed his way from up and down the table. “It’s only a matter of time before that pile o’ stones falls into the loch.”

  “Blackshore is a fine holding.” Isobel hoped Catriona hadn’t heard him.

  Looking toward her friend, Isobel saw that Catriona and her brother, Alasdair, had their heads together, speaking low as they peered up at James.

  And – Isobel blinked - apparently they were no longer paying Kendrew any heed.

  He wasn’t looking at them either. His gaze was back on her, his blue eyes watching her intently.

  Beneath the table, he kept his foot on hers.

  Only now, his knee also rested against hers, the intimate pressure sending strings of pleasure rippling up and down her leg. Her skin tingled, and try as she might, she couldn’t take her hand from his arm. She could feel the solid, rock-hard strength of him through his sleeve and – even though everyone could see her touching him – she couldn’t bear to pull away.

  As if he knew, he broke the contact for her, jerking free as he narrowed his eyes at her. “I told you once, my lady, you tread where you shouldn’t.”

  “And you?” She met his gaze, leaning her knee more firmly into his. “What are you doing?”

  “Making you see your folly.” He gave her a bold look surely meant to unsettle her.

  Instead, she felt herself melting – especially when he stopped merely pressing his knee against hers and used it to rub her thigh. And he was doing so most deliberately, in a knowing and provoking manner.

  Isobel swallowed, her body quickening with excitement. Delicious warmth flooded her, tingling sensation that pooled low by her thighs, sweet and insistent.

  She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t guess.

  He cocked a brow, proving he knew.

  Then he lifted his ale cup, sipping slowly, his gaze locked on hers as he continued to caress her leg with his knee.

  “Friends, kinsmen!” Still standing, James rapped his dirk hilt on the table again, the interruption bringing Isobel to her senses.

  She blinked, knowing she had to keep her wits if she meant to turn this night’s opportunity to her advantage. Allowing Kendrew to distract her – to seduce her at her own high table and in the presence of others - when she most needed to pay attention would only thwart her chances of seizing the right moment when it came.

  And seize it she would.

  Such a chance as having Kendrew held captive across the high table from her might never come again.

  This must be her night of triumph.

  Chapter 15

  “My friends – your ears!” James called out again, looking round Castle Haven’s crowded great hall. Smoke from wall torches and the candles burning on every long table hazed the air. But high expectation could still be seen on the faces of the celebrants as they turned toward the dais. Even the guards lining the walls gave James their attention, though they were too well trained to leave their posts or loosen their grips on their spears.

  Servants bustling about carrying ale jugs and platters of food paused to listen from the shadows beyond the hall’s main aisle.

  Isobel sat up straighter, aware of what was coming. She just hoped that someday she and Kendrew could make a similar announcement.

  She bit her lip, not wanting to consider the consequences if they couldn’t.

  Her wishes and the sacred pact with her friends weren’t just about her attraction to Kendrew, her appreciation of Nought and its deep roots to the northern culture that drew her so strongly. The love for Kendrew that she knew burned deeply in her heart.

  So much more was at stake.

  Bitter memories needed erasing. Peace in the glen should last longer than an ever-fragile truce. So many wounds needed healing. Scars that could rip open again if ignored. A forever bond must be forged, guaranteeing amity and goodwill that would last lifetimes and beyond.

  The importance of her task made her heart pound and dried her mouth. She didn’t dare glance at Kendrew. A man used to fighting hard and walking away victorious, he wouldn’t surrender easily.

  This night, she needed to be the winner of battles.

  So she sat proud, keeping her gaze on her brother.

  In the center of the hall, the music stopped then and the energetic dancing slowed, the crowd surging forward to catch his pronouncement. James waited until all shuffling and shifting stopped and everyone quieted. When the hall fell silent, he lifted his voice.

  “My lady wife and I have tidings!” He set a possessive hand on Catriona’s shoulder, pride ringing in his words, shining on his face. “In honor of the new memorial cairn gracing this land, the child that Catriona carries beneath her heart shall bear the second name of Cairn. Whether a boy or a girl, the babe’s middle name will become tradition, passed from one generation to the next so that none may forget the proud and noble sacrifices made to bring peace and goodwill to this, our beloved glen.”

  Cheering and whoops greeted his words. “Hail the babe, Cairn!” the cry rose from all lips. Well-wishes filled the smoke-hazed air, men slapping others’ backs, some pounding fists on tables. “Long life and many blessings on Lady Catriona and her child!”

  The din shook the rafters.

  At the next table, two guards just returned, cold and drenched from patrol, argued about shadows one man claimed to have seen. The other guard denied anything had been there, telling his friend that if his eyes were so poor, he needn’t be out on patrol.

  Everywhere else men and women beamed. Cavorting castle dogs joined in with a chorus of barks and howls. James raised a hand and nodded to the musicians, giving them his permission to begin playing again.

  And they did, the skirling pipes and screaming fiddle even livelier now, as was the dancing, which resumed with renewed vigor.

  Only two souls in the hall weren’t smiling.

  Kendrew sat as if carved of granite, his face hard and stony.

  And his sister, Marjory, in turn, could’ve been fashioned of marble.

  Isobel’s heart squeezed for her friend. Alasdair had used the ruckus to leave the high table. No doubt hoping to avoid a full-fledged fight with Kendrew, he’d joined his guardsmen at a lower table on the far side of the hall. He’d taken a seat in their midst, jesting with the men and seeming glad for their jovial company.

  Although…

  His besotted gaze kept straying to Marjory.

  But then Marjory glanced at Isobel and
her stricken expression changed. It was replaced by a tightening of her jaw and a determined light that suddenly shone in her sparkling blue eyes.

  Marjory was up to something.

  Proving it, she leaned past the huge Mackintosh warrior to her right and fixed Kendrew with a dazzling smile, its brilliance a sure warning.

  “My brother.” The lightness of her voice was equally telling. “You see now” – she tossed a look at James and Catriona, surrounded by well-wishers – “the blessings that come of such unions.”

  “I see you trying to needle me.” Kendrew proved she wasn’t fooling him.

  “Then you see wrong.” Marjory held her ground. “I haven’t declared to a well-filled hall that I’ll be seeking a Norse or Danish bride for you.”

  “Hah!” Kendrew slapped the table edge. “So that’s the string you’re harping on. And” – he leaned toward her – “you can keep on plucking it, because the last time I looked, it’s fathers and brothers that find husbands for their daughters and sisters.

  “It’s ne’er the other way around.” He paused as a surge of agreement rose from the men sitting near. “Even if it was, I’d be having none of it.”

  More chuckles and hoots from the men.

  Marjory sat up straighter, readying for an assault.

  Isobel looked right at her, opening her eyes wide in a silent appeal to get her friend to leave Kendrew be. The last thing Isobel needed was him to become aggravated and storm from the dais.

  But Marjory wasn’t finished.

  “If you wish to ruin my life, then perhaps you should be the Mackintosh to wed an erstwhile foe.” She threw down her gauntlet, challenging him.

  Isobel wanted the floor to open up and swallow her.

  It was painfully clear that Marjory was attempting to steer her brother in Isobel’s direction.