The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series)

by Carmen Caine

  He took a deep breath of the crisp spring air.

  His family had lived on this land for generations. And for the first time in his life, he felt he belonged there as well.

  Adjusting his plaid, he smiled.

  Castle Huntly was filled with his closest friends and kinfolk, all of them waiting for the arrival of the bride before proceeding to the kirk a short distance away.

  Aye, this very day he would wed Liselle.

  Today, she would truly become Lady Gray.

  He’d spent a peaceful winter—nay, a wondrous winter—courting the lass in Edinburgh. She had wanted to be wed immediately, but he had insisted upon a proper courtship. Never had he cherished a woman so. And he knew in his heart that he would love her until his dying breath.

  “I’m certain they will be here soon, my son,” his mother’s voice sounded from his side.

  Julian turned to see his mother and Lady Sutherland standing behind him.

  His mother was a lovely woman in her own right, and her calm green eyes and lined face were alight with excitement. Wearing a blue satin gown and her flaxen hair bound by a jeweled net, she was ready for the wedding she had spent months preparing for with Lady Sutherland. A wedding she had dreamed of for years—a wedding that Julian knew his mother hoped would turn her scandalous son into a respectable man once and for all.

  And then Lady Sutherland’s blue eyes widened. “They are here, Lord Gray.”

  Spinning on his heel, Julian saw a party of horses approaching at a mad pace. He scanned the riders quickly, but the moment he caught sight of the familiar honey-colored tresses flying loose in the wind, he saw nothing else.

  It seemed but a moment later that he was swinging Liselle down from her horse. Sweeping her close in a warm embrace, he buried his face in her hair.

  “I’ve missed ye sorely, lass,” he whispered.

  “It has only been a week, Lord Gray,” she replied with a husky laugh.

  “A week is long enough to make a man mad,” he teased lightly. “I have to see ye to return to my senses, lass. I can't stand to be apart from ye.”

  Capturing a handful of her hair, he rubbed it against his cheek and then stood back to eye her in open, frank admiration. Her green-velvet gown hugged her figure in the most seductive of ways. And her lips were as full and kissable as they always had been.

  With his mouth curving into a wicked grin, he began in a low suggestive rumble, “Aye, ‘tis time I kissed ye rough and slow—”

  “It is good to see you hale and hearty at last, Lord Gray,” Pascal’s amused voice cut in.

  Startled, Julian whirled on his heel.

  Ach, how had he forgotten the dozen or so horsemen who had accompanied Liselle? And judging by their wary demeanor, rich black attire, and piercing eyes, every one of them belonged to the Vindictam.

  “I shall leave you now,” Liselle whispered in his ear.

  With a capricious smile, she attempted to dash away, but he snagged her by the wrist and pulled her close once again.

  “Are ye leaving me to face a dozen assassins on my own, ye wee devil?” he asked lightly.

  “You are Le Marin, are you not?” Her hazel eyes sparkled. “Surely, the ruling elite of the Vindictam will be no match for you.”

  Slipping from his grasp, she darted away to join his mother and Lady Sutherland. He watched them disappear into the castle before turning to face the Vindictam once again.

  Pascal and Orazio had dismounted and were moving his way.

  It had been nigh on six months since he’d last seen them.

  Pascal had grown broader of shoulder, and he moved with an air of authority that most likely meant he was now the Dominus Granditer, but Julian knew it was not something he could ask.

  With an obvious reluctance, Orazio clasped arms with Julian in greeting. But then leaning close, he warned in a voice heavy with emotion, “If you even make her weep, Lord Gray, you will shed tears of blood.”

  Had any other man said those words, Julian would have been insulted. But from Orazio, he knew it meant the man had accepted the marriage at last.

  Pascal confirmed it with a dark smile, but he couldn’t resist adding, “And should you try to run and hide, we will find you, Lord Gray.”

  “Aye, fair enough.” Julian chuckled, recognizing his twisted humor. “I’ve no need to hide from ye, lad.” And then turning to Orazio, he nodded once. “Your wee sister will never weep because of me.”

  For several long moments, Orazio locked gazes with him. But then his expression softened, and his chin dipped in the minutest amount in acknowledgement.

  Behind them, the dark-clothed horsemen had dismounted to scan the area critically. Their tense movements spoke of a barely contained ferocity.

  Julian suppressed a sigh.

  Life with Liselle was not likely to get easier. Not with her vigilant brother and her cousin the Dominus Granditer of a powerful family of assassins.

  But the lass was well worth the trouble.

  “Welcome to Castle Huntly,” Julian said, bowing to them all. “My home is yours.”

  They had almost reached the entrance when Pascal’s sharp eyes spied an old man sitting in the sunlit garden a few steps away.

  It was Dolfino Dolfin.

  The old man glanced up and tottered to his feet.

  Pascal froze.

  “And who be our guests, caro?” Dolfin called to Julian, waving a trembling hand at the Vindictam.

  But before Julian could reply, the old salt spy laughed.

  “Ah, I know right well. I may be old, but I am not blind.” With a wide smile, he shuffled towards them to stop in front of Pascal. “Guests! We have guests, Julian. Guests for the wedding. It is the season for love!” With a laugh, he kissed the air. “Amór!”

  “Amór!” Julian repeated with a fond smile.

  Dolfin’s mind had grown weaker with each passing month, and the moments of clarity were few now. It was surprising that he had even remembered the wedding.

  “Amór, bón pare,” Pascal said softly.

  A brief expression of compassion crossed his face, but it was so fleeting that Julian wasn’t entirely certain he had seen it.

  And then Pascal turned his sharp eyes upon Orazio and exchanged a meaningful look with him.

  “The man reminds me of someone I knew once, long ago.” Pascal’s tone was cool. “But that man is dead now.” And then holding out his hand, he said, “Do we not have a wedding to attend? Let us not tarry here. I would leave this barbarous land as soon as I may.”

  As Pascal turned on his heel and walked away, Julian led Dolfin back to his chair in the sunlight, and after seeing the man settled, straightened his plaid and made his way to his castle to wed his bride.

  The events passed in a whirlwind.

  More guests arrived and among them were Ewan and the highlanders from Mull, Cameron, his wee wife Kate and their newest bairn.

  The wedding and the feast was everything his mother had hoped it would be. She spent the entire day and evening, weeping tears of joy.

  As for Julian, he spent more time keeping a watchful eye on the members of Vindictam at the feast than not, but for the most part, Liselle’s kin mingled easily enough amongst the highlanders. And after observing them for the entire day, Julian supposed the two groups had much in common. Fierce loyalty, protection, and honor ran as thick through the Scots’ blood as with the Vindictam.

  Soon enough, the bride was carried to the bedchamber, and Julian was laughingly escorted by a group of men so drunk they couldn’t successfully navigate the stairs.

  “I relieve ye of your duty, lads.” Julian laughed, shooing them back down the steps. “I know the way well enough.”

  Amidst their cheers, he dashed up the remaining flights and slipped inside his tower bedchamber.

  The room was dim, lit only by the dull glow of the dying fire and the light of a single taper, but it was enough to illuminate Liselle standing by the window.

  He paused a moment,
watching the candlelight flicker, casting shadows over the rich tapestries and brocade, curtained bed, but most captivatingly, playing on the soft satin folds of the gown gracing Liselle’s slender hips in a way that made his blood boil.

  Aye, the lass was bonny, and the long creamy expanse of her throat called for his lips. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her close against his chest, and with a soft growl, he kissed the back of her neck.

  He felt her shiver and then she laughed. “Lord Gray, you are quite bold!”

  His hands stayed upon her hips as she twisted in his arms.

  He could drown in those hazel eyes.

  “Ye are bonny beyond measure, lass.” He groaned softly, and then catching her chin in his hand, he lazily investigated her mouth in a long slow kiss.

  Her lips were soft and pliant under his, eagerly opening to allow her tongue to dance with his.

  After a moment, he pulled back to breathe lightly against her cheek. “Aye, but your lips are a sinful pleasure, lass.”

  “You speak too much, Lord Gray,” she whispered with a sultry smile.

  “And what would ye have me do instead, Lady Gray?” he asked with a playful wink.

  Wild desire burned in her eyes as she pulled his head down and caught his lips lightly between her teeth.

  Crushing her even closer, he reclaimed her mouth in an instant as he allowed his hands to explore her soft curves. And then placing feather-light kisses along the curve of her neck, he traced a long slow line down the side of her neck and over her collarbone with his tongue.

  Liselle shivered uncontrollably, and a soft sigh escaped her throat.

  Julian chuckled.

  Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her to the bed. And removing her slippers with a low growl in his throat, he bent down and kissed the viper mark upon her ankle.

  She gasped in pleasure.

  Slowly, his kisses moved upwards, but when she slid her hands beneath his shirt to run her fingernails over his skin, it was his turn to shiver with desire.

  “It is too bright,” she whispered, nodding at the candle.

  Pulling himself away, it took him a moment to focus his eyes on the flickering flame, and when he moved to oblige her, he heard her soft laugh.

  “Please, Lord Gray!” she murmured in amusement. “Allow me.”

  He heard the soft rasp of metal as a bone-handled stiletto appeared between her delicate fingers. And then she took aim.

  Unerringly, the blade flew through the air to slice the wick from the wax.

  And as darkness fell, he heard the laughter in her voice. “Pray continue, Lord Gray.”

  With a grin creasing his cheek, he pulled her closer and whispered his reply, “As you wish, Lady Gray.”

  Epilogue

  Julian stood on top of the wall of the castle, commanding a fine view of Lochmaben.

  Below him stretched the dark waters of the loch mirroring the summer trees as ducks arrowed through its surface in the afternoon light.

  It was St. Magdalene’s Day, and the villagers had chosen to celebrate with a fair. From his position on the wall, Julian could hear the laughter and calls of the hawkers selling meat pies and other treats. The place was a hive of activity. Gypsies wearing red and green attire awed the crowds with feats of skill on horseback whilst clansmen tossed cabers and played the pipes.

  Idly, Julian watched as a man wearing a russet cloak guided his shaggy garron towards the castle entrance. He gave the man little thought, instead choosing to think of his wee wife. He missed her sorely. He prayed this business would soon be over, so once again, he could ride north and spend his time in her company. He shook his head, amused. Lord Julian Gray was in danger of becoming a homebody.

  And then the shaggy garron turned to trot along the castle wall and pause directly beneath him. Curiously, he watched from above as the man dismounted, but then he heard a familiar husky laugh.

  It wasn’t a man at all.

  It was Liselle.

  Shaking out her mass of honeyed tresses, she squinted up at him and waved.

  “Ach, lass! Ye shouldna be here!” he rumbled in disapproval, and swinging his legs over the edge, promptly climbed down the wall to kiss her warmly in welcome. “I left ye safe in Huntly, ye wee minx!”

  Locking her arms around his neck, Liselle murmured between kisses, “Buy me some ribbons and sweet cakes from the fair, Lord Gray.”

  The soft shimmering waves of her hair and her pouting lips made his blood run hot and it was with some difficulty that he set her firmly aside.

  “Ye have no cause to be here, lass!” he chided softly. “’Tis business—”

  “Santo Ciélo, Julian! Can you not admit that you were wrong?” she teased as she began plaiting her hair to one side. “There is no sign of Albany or the Black Douglas. King Edward of England is dead and his brother Richard now sits on the throne. He is busy with internal strife, Lord Gray, and has no time to pester your Scotland!”

  “Albany rides to unleash a rebellion, lass,” Julian corrected with some difficulty. Aye, but her soft curves were distracting. Shaking his head a little, he added, “Albany’s hoping there are yet those who might feel loyalty to the Black Douglas in spite of his many years of lurking in England.”

  Liselle smiled, and walked her fingers up his arm. “But I do not see them now. Mayhap we can find better ways to spend your time, Lord Gray?” She lowered her lashes provocatively.

  Aye, ‘twas fair tempting.

  “And even if they should arrive, Ewan MacLean is ready for them, is he not?” She suggested and gestured towards the men standing on alert about the castle and beyond.

  Even from this distance, Julian could spot the flaxen hair of his cousin, Ewan. Aye, the lad was a natural-born leader and unholy swordsman. Albany didn’t stand a chance against such a fearsome highlander.

  But then his wee wife’s words played back in his mind.

  “Should?” he repeated, turning back to her in wry amusement. “Dare ye doubt the word of Le Marin that Albany will arrive soon with five hundred men?”

  “It is the number five hundred that has me wagering Le Marin is mistaken this time, Lord Gray.” Liselle laughed outright. “Five hundred is such a paltry sum, he would not dare!”

  “But I told ye his stratagem is different this time, lass. He hopes to start a civil war,” Julian rumbled as he moved to join her. And then wrapping his arms about her slim waist, he rested his chin upon the top of her head and asked in a suggestive tone, “But tell me, just what are ye willing to wager?”

  But she didn’t answer. Instead, she grew serious all at once.

  Following her gaze, he saw horses, helmets, and spears on the horizon.

  “Sweet Mary,” Julian cursed beneath his breath. “I had hoped to be wrong.”

  And then ordering her to take safety in the castle behind them, he appropriated her garron and urged the animal down the gentle slope towards the fair.

  He had covered only half the distance before he spied Ewan vaulting onto his horse, and as he watched, the young man pulled back the string of his bow and let loose an arrow.

  As the shaft whistled over the heads of the crowd in a clear signal of warning, the battle cries came, starting first with “A MacLean!” but soon resounding with the names of other clans.

  Men shouted and horses reared. The air crackled with danger. As the women and children fled to the surrounding hills, the village men took up their axes to gather behind Ewan and his men.

  “Aye, Albany doesna stand a chance.” Julian nodded grimly. “Not when even the townspeople rise to take up arms against him.”

  And as he joined the fray, Albany and the Black Earl bore down upon them.

  The battle was a short one.

  Ewan led the men forth, engaging Albany head on. And before the clouds of night had even gathered, the rebels were routed and Albany was captured, bound, placed upon a horse, and taken as prisoner to the castle.

  “Well don
e, lad,” Julian greeted Ewan with a fond clasp on the shoulder.

  “Julian,” Ewan acknowledged him with a crisp nod. “Your tidings bore true. ‘Tis fortunate that Cameron called us here in time.”

  For the most part, Julian was satisfied to find that the young man was unharmed—suffering only a scratch upon his cheek—but there was a coldness in his eyes that was worrisome.

  “Your skills played no small part in this swift victory, lad,” Julian inserted, tilting his head speculatively to the side. “Walk with me a moment, Ewan, will ye?”

  Ewan said nothing, but joined him to move a short distance away.

  “Are ye well, lad?” Julian asked abruptly.

  The young man merely lifted a cool brow before glancing briefly over his limbs. “As you can see, I am unharmed, cousin.”

  Julian snorted softly. “I meant your heart.”

  At that, Ewan’s head snapped back, and an expression that Julian had never seen before crossed his face—an expression of anger and pain. But it was gone before he was even certain that he had seen it.

  “Heart?” Ewan repeated icily. “Have ye not heard, Julian? I have no heart.”

  Astonished, Julian merely stared at him.

  And then Ewan smiled, but there was little warmth in it. Gesturing to the battlefield, he added coldly, “How can a man who wields a sword that has killed so many even have a heart?”

  And then without a further word, he pivoted on his heel and was gone, leaving Julian to stare at his departing figure in consternation.

  The next few days were eventful ones.

  Albany and the Black Douglas were escorted to Edinburgh, and upon entering the city gates, the town folk pelted them both with vegetables and small stones. Soon, Albany was imprisoned in the David’s Tower to await justice, and jubilation abounded in the city below; the common folk, weary of his treachery, called for his head.

  But Albany wasn’t through yet. It was only a matter of days before he’d escaped by getting his guards drunk. He had then lowered himself from a tower window with a rope made of sheets and had fled once again to France.