Highland Jewel (The House of Pendray Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  His mother’s blush came as a complete surprise.

  “I thank ye for yer care of Lady Jewel,” the Highlander declared, “and for allowing us to camp here on yer property. Condolences on the death of yer husband.”

  This polished side of Murtagh caused his mother’s face to redden further. “’Tis a grand honor to tend the daughter of Hannah Kincaid,” she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes.

  Garnet’s astonishment at her reaction lasted only a moment. “Wait! She told ye that?”

  “Nay, she recounted the tale ye told her, and I kent immediately who she was.” She returned her attention to Murtagh. “I’m sure Lady Jewel will recover her memory in a few days.”

  Irrationally irritated that he was the one she ought to be reassuring, Garnet cleared his throat. “Our friend has something else to tell ye.”

  “Aye,” Murtagh replied without the hesitation Garnet expected. “I’ve passed through this valley before,” he admitted, “as part of a band of Highlanders during Glenheath’s Uprising.”

  The smile left his mother’s face as she tilted her head to one side. “I see.”

  “My comrades and I filched a few sheep—I was the cook, ye understand. We made a lot of noise, screaming and shouting to scare ye, but I swear the old manor house was still standing when we rode away.”

  “Ye were part of Glenheath’s mob?”

  He puffed out his chest. “Aye, and proud to serve in his personal troop.”

  His mother looked back at the graveyard then at Garnet. “Ye kent this when ye brought him here?”

  “Aye.”

  She swallowed hard. “Then ye must believe what he claims.”

  “I do,” he replied. “He’s an honest mon.”

  “’Twas a terrible time,” she said hoarsely. “My husband’s parents never got over the destruction of the house, but even they didna blame Glenheath himself.”

  “’Twas impossible to control every marauding band,” Murtagh said. “Some clansmen used the turmoil of the rebellion to settle old scores.”

  She sighed heavily. “’Tis true, and we live in a more modern, comfortable house now,” she said with a wink.

  Garnet hadn’t known his mother possessed the ability to wink, but Murtagh chuckled, clearly relieved by the flirtatious ploy.

  “If ye need to, ye can take one of the lambs to feed yer men.”

  “I thank ye again. Can I come to the house to see Jewel from time to time?”

  “Aye. What’s yer connection to her?”

  She nodded thoughtfully while Murtagh explained Jewel and Gray’s kinship with Glenheath and the years he’d spent living with the Pendray family in the Lowlands. “But I sense ye’re still a Highland laddie at heart,” she said with a grin.

  “Aye,” he laughed. “That I am, as are most of these men.”

  “I’d be pleased if ye’d introduce them to me,” she said, linking her arm in his.

  Scratching his head, Garnet watched them saunter off, chatting like old friends. “Weel, that went better than expected,” he admitted.

  Mrs. Barclay allowed her to come downstairs to sit in a rocking chair.

  “Everybody says my name is Jewel, so I suppose I should answer to that,” she said.

  “Aye, here’s yer brother coming in the door,” the woman replied. “He’ll help ye remember.”

  Gray sat on a stool, held her hand and told her about their parents and a place called Kilmer where she’d apparently been born. He talked about another brother named Munro, and recounted some of the shenanigans the three of them had got up to when they were bairns.

  “Munro’s married now,” he said. “With a babe on the way.”

  He went on to recount how Munro had met his English wife, Sarah, in Birmingham. Her eyes drifted closed when he launched into a tale of Sarah’s father being a traitor because he signed some document or other.

  He got to his feet when she yawned. “I’ve gone on too long. ’Tis just that…”

  He hurried away, clearly upset. She felt terrible she had no memory of any of the things he’d mentioned.

  The sound of a gruff voice woke her some time later. The Highlander named Murtagh had come to visit. He eyed the stool, then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her.

  “I ken a thing or two about tending sick folk,” he said. “Ask yer Da. I amputated his finger years ago.” He held up his own mutilated hand—four fingers, but no thumb. “I lost a digit, as ye see. Took it off myself. An occupational hazard for a blacksmith.”

  She curled her fingers deeper into the plaid tucked around her. “Ye willna…”

  He laughed. “Nay. Dinna fash, lassie. Ye need rest, and then yer memories will return. I’ve seen it happen to men before, when they’ve been injured in battle.”

  “I hope so,” she replied wistfully. “I dinna even recall how I bashed my head.”

  He proceeded to tell the tale of her abduction and Garnet’s determination to rescue her.

  She shuddered when he described the bottle dungeon. “Have Garnet and I been friends for a long while?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nay, but a mon can tell when two people are destined to be together. More than friends, if ye get my meaning.”

  “Ye’ll tire the lass out,” Mrs. Barclay chided as she joined them.

  Jewel was glad of the interruption and the chance to avoid answering.

  He uncrossed his legs and stood with surprising agility for an auld man.

  “Ye’re in fine fettle,” Mrs. Barclay remarked with the first smile Jewel had seen brighten her wrinkled face.

  “Aye,” he replied with a grin. “There’s life in the old dog yet.”

  They walked to the door arm in arm and spent a few minutes in conversation before he left. Jewel assumed they must be old friends since they seemed to get along well.

  She dozed intermittently as the day wore on. Anyone entering the house was quickly reminded by Mrs. Barclay to be as quiet as a mouse. She was briefly introduced to two men, Beathan and Alastair, husbands of Sissy and Margaret. “They take care of our little domain,” Mrs. Barclay explained. “I’m too old for that, now.”

  The men were smeared in muck and smelled of sheep. Wrinkling her nose clearly made them uncomfortable and they soon left.

  “Good lads, my sons-by-marriage,” Mrs. Barclay proclaimed. “They usually wash off the day’s grime with hot water from the hearth, but they can use the pump.”

  “I’m in the way,” Jewel said, attempting to rise from the chair.

  “Nay,” Garnet insisted.

  She hadn’t seen him enter behind Beathan’s bulk, but his nearness and the sound of his deep voice lifted her spirits. She’d missed him and squealed when he scooped her up then sat down with her in his lap.

  “Hopefully, ye’re nay too tired for another visitor,” he said softly.

  She curled into him, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

  “I’ll take that as a sign ye’re glad to see me,” he whispered.

  Garnet knew Jewel’s history. Every Highlander was aware of her mother’s legendary bravery during the Rebellion. He surmised Gray would have talked to her about family matters.

  Murtagh, too, had probably told her stories from the past, hoping to jog her memory.

  Garnet wanted to resurrect more recent memories—the alchemy that had flared between them from the moment they met, the feelings he was aware she had for him before the kidnapping. He might talk all evening and achieve nothing, so he held her tightly and rocked, hoping she would remember and come back to him.

  Almost without realizing it, he began to croon a well-loved lullaby from his childhood.

  Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,

  Garnet is here with dreams to sell.

  Hush now wee bairn and sleep without fear,

  For Garnet will bring you a dream, my dear.

  Hush your weepin',

  All the wee lambs are sleepin'.

  Birdies are nestlin', nestlin' toge
ther,

  Sweet the skylark sings at morn,

  Heraldin' in a bright new dawn.

  Wee lambs, they huddle doon together

  Along with their ewies in the heather.

  His nephews gathered quietly to sit at his feet. “’Tis supposed to be Angus selling the dreams,” Ian whispered.

  He tapped a finger to his lips. “I ken, but I want to be the god of Jewel’s dreams, nay Angus,” he explained.

  The wee ones gaped, clearly confused, but Ian’s sly grin and wide eyes indicated he understood.

  His mother and sisters busied themselves around the kitchen fire, placing bowls of broth on the massive wooden table as the men and bairns took their places.

  “Will ye join us?” his mother asked.

  He was torn. He was exactly where he wanted to be, with the woman he loved asleep in his arms. However, throughout his incarceration in Amsterdam, he’d longed to be sitting at table with his family, sharing a meal. “Jewel,” he whispered, kissing her silken hair, “Mam’s made supper.”

  She stirred, rubbing her eyes. “I’m nay hungry.”

  He eased her off his lap. “Ye must eat to regain yer strength. I’ll help ye.”

  Sissy made room for them at the end of her bench.

  Yawning, Jewel stared at the bowl of broth in front of her.

  Garnet dipped the wooden spoon and blew on the steaming liquid. “Careful, it’s hot,” he cautioned as he held it to her lips.

  She sipped. “Good.”

  The others at the table resumed their own meal, smiling with obvious relief. Garnet felt like a proud papa who has just convinced a recalcitrant bairn to eat her food. His confidence faltered when she balked after two or three spoonfuls and gripped his wrist, staring at the spoon.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I had a spoon,” she murmured.

  It seemed an insignificant memory yet Garnet’s hopes rose as his family waited, mouths agape, for more details.

  Unexpectedly, it was his mother who spoke. “Aye, ye’d a wooden spoon tucked up the sleeve of yer gown.” She fished in the pocket of her apron and brought out the spoon. “’Twas odd, but I forgot about it in all the excitement.”

  Jewel gripped the handle and closed her eyes. “I hid it there,” she said at length. “For protection.”

  One of the bairns giggled, but Margaret’s glare quickly silenced him.

  Garnet put an arm around Jewel’s shoulders. “Where did ye get it?”

  She opened tear-filled eyes. “I dinna ken.”

  Blue Glass

  Jewel lay in bed, clutching the spoon’s smooth handle. “I feel silly,” she confessed.

  “It might help you remember,” Garnet insisted.

  She was glad he’d promised to sit in the chair at her bedside until she fell asleep, but…

  “I might wake up in the middle of the night.”

  He stroked her hair. “I willna leave ye.”

  She stared at his face in the dim light of the candle’s flickering glow. She didn’t remember him, but he obviously loved her and there was no denying the alchemy between them. His nearness did peculiar things to her nipples, not to mention the craving sensations in her woman’s place. “Did we ever kiss?” she asked.

  His naughty smile sent winged creatures fluttering in her heart. “Aye. We did.”

  She averted her gaze, afraid she might go too far. “If ye kiss me again, mayhap…”

  Without hesitation, he leaned forward and gathered her into his arms. He nibbled her lower lip, then coaxed with his tongue. “Open for me, my Jewel.”

  She surrendered to his invasion, willing her brain to remember, lost in the emotions flooding her heart and body. She suckled his tongue, inhaled the pure masculinity of his scent, and savored the warm taste of the mead opened in celebration of his homecoming. But tears trickled down her cheeks—she had no memory of his kiss.

  He wiped the tears away with his thumbs when they broke apart. “I love ye, Jewel,” he rasped. “Ye will remember me.”

  “It doesna matter,” she confessed. “I love ye too.”

  Garnet savored the words he’d longed to hear, but did Jewel really love him, or was she simply adrift in an unknown world and grateful for being rescued? “Sleep now,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes. “Sing to me again.”

  His instinct was to curl up in bed with her. She would need protection from any ghastly memories sleep might resurrect. Bowing to propriety, he regained the chair, held her hand and crooned the Dream Angus lullaby, this time with the right words.

  She opened her eyes. “’Tis Garnet I want in my dreams, nay Angus.”

  Throwing caution to the winds, he climbed onto the bed and curled his body around hers, resisting the urge to slip between the sheets. He took it as a good omen that she didn’t recoil or resist the physical contact. When soft snores indicated she’d fallen asleep, he slowly edged his hand beneath a breast and nuzzled his nose into her tresses. Resigned to a sleepless night with a rock hard arousal, he inhaled the scent of soap and woman, happier than he’d been in a long while. He and Jewel belonged together. She was made for him.

  Jewel dreamt she’d slept in Garnet’s arms, but was disappointed to find herself alone when the sun filtered through the window. She sat up and discovered the wooden spoon beside her. “Useless,” she muttered.

  No closer to remembering who she was despite sleeping soundly, she slipped out of bed and donned the shawl hanging on the back of the door.

  She found Mrs. Barclay and her daughters busy preparing oatmeal in the kitchen. “I want to help,” she said.

  “There’ll be time enough for that,” Margaret replied. “When ye’ve recovered yer memory.”

  “What if I never do?” she asked.

  “Ye will,” Mrs. Barclay assured her. “Garnet will make sure of it.”

  Everyone had spoken at length about Hannah Kincaid and Jewel wished she had a mother here now to confide the emotions swirling in her heart. She was drawn to Garnet Barclay like a moth to the flame, but was it fair to him to allow a relationship to develop? Mayhap, she was already promised to someone else.

  She touched fingertips to her lips, swaying unsteadily when an image of a blue, stained-glass window flashed before her eyes.

  “What is it?” Sissy asked, taking her trembling arm.

  “I dinna ken,” she replied. “A chapel, I think. Mayhap, I am wed.”

  Mrs. Barclay frowned. “The lads are out in the stables. Go and tell Garnet what ye’ve recalled. He might be able to explain.”

  The Scent Of A Horse

  Garnet threw down his pitchfork as soon as he caught sight of Jewel clinging to the frame of the stable door. He’d hoped to tiptoe into the room later and wake her with a kiss—after washing off the smell of horse and wet hay.

  His heart could barely contain the emotions that flooded him as he took her arm. Even wrapped in a homespun shawl with her hair tousled, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Clad in an auld shirt and Beathan’s farm overalls he felt distinctly unworthy.

  Her frown was of greater concern. Was she angry he’d slept in her bed? Or frustrated because she’d remembered nothing. Or mayhap she had recalled something. “Good morrow,” he tried, opting for safer ground. “How are ye feeling?”

  Wrinkling her nose, she accepted his support with a smile, evidently not upset he’d shared her bed, or unaware of it.

  “I dinna smell too sweet,” he quipped, afraid to ask if she’d had an epiphany.

  “I saw a blue window,” she whispered, “but I dinna ken…” She stopped abruptly, staring open-mouthed at something behind him. Then, she let go of his arm and walked away.

  His heart leapt into his throat when he turned and saw she was holding her beloved horse’s halter, forehead pressed to his muzzle.

  “Scepter,” she rasped.

  He put his arms around her waist, nuzzling her nape as she sobbed. Her love for the horse evidently went deeper than her feelings for him.
But it was a glimmer of hope.

  Memories came flooding back at once—the smell of smoke in the Guthrie house, the cold stone floor of Castle Gloom, the knot of dread in her belly throughout the long ride, the stark terror of the bottle dungeon. Jewel was afraid she might swoon as nausea constricted her throat. “I have to sit,” she rasped, clutching Garnet’s arms around her waist.

  “Ye recognized Scepter,” he said, pulling her back against his body.

  His strength bolstered her trembling legs as she turned to face him. “Aye. And I remember ye, bonnie mon.”

  He frowned. “I expect ye do. I’m the one who left ye to enter a house full of murderers alone.”

  She rested her head on his chest and surrendered all her weight to his support. “I dinna blame ye. We thought Axton and Balford were in prison.”

  He scooped her up into his arms. “I hope ye dinna mind the reek, but I’m taking ye inside.”

  She clung to his neck. “I think the smell of horses jolted my memory.”

  He chuckled. “So ye willna object to marrying a farmer?”

  The lass who’d set out from Kilmer would have blushed coyly and babbled some inane quip in response. Now, Jewel Pendray was a woman reborn who recognized the strength of her feelings for the loving man who held her. “Put me down,” she said.

  The smile fled from his face as he complied. “I ken that was no way to…”

  She touched a finger to his lips and looked into his blue eyes. “The answer is aye, Garnet Barclay.”

  Garnet was struck dumb. He’d dreamed of this moment, rehearsed what he would say when he proposed, what he’d do if she said no. He’d never imagined the happiest moment of his life would come about in a stable. He didn’t know what to do first—shout out his immense joy, strut about crowing like a rooster, or kiss Jewel silly.

  “She said aye, ye fool,” Alastair shouted from a nearby stall. “Kiss her.”