The Highlander's Enigmatic Bride: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  Isabel and Charlotte breathed a united sigh of relief when a brunette beauty with the same wide, innocent eyes came into the doorway.

  “Dinnae be so sure, brother, she’s got quite a set of tits, that little maid. Perhaps I might give ‘em a good squeeze just to be sure they’re genuine,” Caitriona laughed. Her hair swished revealing gentle red highlights in the dark brown.

  Edan cracked a real smile.

  “Ignore the beast, she be dirtier than most men, but she isnae going to harm ye and ye can be sure that she’ll keep away any who might,” he promised.

  Isabel sighed and gave Charlotte an awkward hug. Women of her stature did not generally hug their maids, but as captives, it seemed the right thing to do. She looked Charlotte in the eyes with a genuine, it’s all going to be alright, expression. Charlotte responded with a slight nod that she understood, though her face still betrayed her fear.

  “Fare ye well then, and Caitriona, be careful with the lass. Ye dinnae need to terrify her any more than necessary. And keep away from Cormag,” Edan added the last part as a clear warning. His sister nodded sternly but with a faltering question in the flick of her eyelids. She assumed it was because Cormag was quite a brute about women, but something in Edan’s tone left her with a sense of distrust for the fierce clansman.

  With that, Caitriona and Charlotte left through the doorway. Edan remained, watching Isabel. She sat tall, properly, with solid posture and facing forward, yet the gentle fidgeting of her hands let him know that she was, indeed, nervous. Her green eyes would not meet his despite sensing the blue gaze on her face. Finally, she had had enough.

  She wrenched her head to face him. “May I help you in any way?” she asked with forced irritation.

  Edan’s smirk was back.

  “What be yer name?” he asked gently, running a hand through his burgundy hair as he tended to do when he was nervous and trying to hide it.

  Isabel wavered. She did not know whether or not James had mentioned her to his friend.

  “Elyse,” she glibly lied.

  “Elyse. There’s a bonnie name. Have ye any friends in our part of the world, Elyse?” He spoke slowly, tasting the name on his tongue.

  She doesnae look like an ‘Elyse’. Too fair, indeed. And those eyes, I cannae stop looking at them. God help me, he thought.

  “No, I do not. As I said before, I do not know this land very well. Only that my father has many business acquaintances here. He is a wealthy merchant,” she lied, improvising as she went along.

  “A merchant, aye? That’s good business in these times. What does he sell? And why does he need it from Dornach?” Edan pried.

  Isabel faltered again, unsure where to go next. She decided honesty was the best lie.

  “I do not know. I am not a merchant, just a young lady. So how am I to know things and affairs of business? Other than that, he sells weaponry. What is it you really want to know from me?” she challenged. Feigning ignorance was the easiest tool, but it left her feeling insecure. Then again, Isabel thought that insecurity and anxiety were a natural reaction in being held captive, so perhaps it was on her side after all if they showed.

  “I dinnae ken whether I believe ye or nae. I’ve never heard of a wealthy merchant sending his lass on such errands. Are ye sure ye be telling me the truth?” he asked.

  “As I said, my father is extremely ill, and we just lost my mother. I am his only child and, therefore, it fell to me to go on the journey,” she declared slowly as if speaking down to a four-year-old to whom she had already explained many times.

  One of Edan’s eyebrows raised in apparent offense at being so disrespected.

  “In that case, yer wealthy merchant faither will be paying to get his daughter back. I am sure Caitriona will learn where the little maid is going and will tell me how to get the ransom request to yer faither,” he promised.

  Isabel’s blood ran cold. How had she not thought about that?

  He will learn that I am James’s sister and clearly assume that I am here for revenge. That means I must act quickly. Where are my trunks? Or will they feed me soon and I can take a knife? How can I accomplish this? Isabel worried.

  “Where are my trunks?” she asked confidently.

  “My men are searching them for prizes. And, of course, they have taken the weapons. We cannae allow a prisoner to defend herself. Surely ye understand, it isnae anything personal. Just a precaution,” he said as if reading her mind about wanting the weapons.

  “Will you be feeding me any time soon? I am rather famished. I am sure most of what you have available to me will be completely inedible, like that atrocity, haggis, or something. Nevertheless, I am in need of food,” she said.

  “We dinnae waste haggis on English brats like ye,” he said harshly in response to her offending his favorite dish. “I’ll be having soup brought to ye shortly.”

  “Soup?” she whined. “I would truly love some potatoes with pheasant, or some other foul.” The reality was that she needed anything that could be eaten with a knife.

  “Great, potato and pheasant soup it is,” he replied before exiting quickly and shutting the door. Isabel heard the lock turn and the guards outside mumbling with the Laird.

  Soup. How am I meant to stab him with a spoon? she wondered.

  A half hour later, it was not pheasant and potato soup that was brought to her, but a barley and cabbage broth. To Isabel, it tasted like Scottish waste. The large, wooden soup spoon was more like a ladle that barely fit in Isabel’s pert mouth. She was angry and bitter that her thinly thought-out plan was so quickly failing her.

  Edan entered the room a few moments into her dinner. “How’s yer pheasant?”

  “Lovely,” she replied with disdain. She followed by casting a sarcastic eye roll in his direction just to assure him she was unimpressed. “Do you think that perhaps next time you could pluck him first?” she added, just to give a dramatic insult.

  “Clever. Ye be quite a wit, lass,” he responded with a dry tone to let her know that he wasn’t remotely affected by her robust attitude.

  “And ye be quite a cheat, lad,” Isabel mocked with a very poor attempt at mimicking Edan’s accent.

  For a moment, he glared at her in the doorway. A twinge in his lips showed that he felt some emotion after all and finally he could not hold it in until he began to laugh hysterically. The twinge had become a full, wide grin and staccato laughs produced from his belly.

  Isabel blushed with humiliation. Why should she care what he thought? She was here to kill him, and he didn’t even know it. If anyone was a fool, it was him. And yet, she was a woman, and her pride had been wounded. She didn’t want to admit that it was so fragile, but in moments like this, it nearly tore her down.

  Why does it matter? He’s a killer. His laugh cannot harm me near so much as his actions already have, she reminded herself.

  “Forgive me, if ye will,” Edan said, gathering himself. He placed a palm out toward her as he spoke, both defending himself and begging forgiveness, but remnants of tears still remained on his cheeks, evidencing that he had experienced true joy for the first time in a long while. It felt good to laugh again. He brought both hands over his heart and gave her a final apologetic look before making a quick exit from the room.

  As Edan made his way down the steps, he saw the figure of Robert heading toward the great hall for dinner.

  “Robert, boyo wait for me!” he called. Robert turned his head, where oil-black hair seemed to stick straight up.

  “Me Laird! How’ve ye been? Were ye with the maiden?” he asked.

  “Aye, indeed. She’s a right torch to wield. Anyhoo, ye ken what the others are saying? Ye ken they’re feared to tell the Laird their first thought, but they’ll tell ye, knowing ye’ll tell me. So, what’ve they said?” he asked.

  Robert was nodding the whole time, following the quick words of his friend and leader. While Edan was the leader of the clan, many of the men rightly feared Cormag. Unsure about their safety, they
could not tell Edan directly the extent to which they wanted him removed from their ranks, but they could tell Robert. Robert would get the message to Edan.

  “Truthfully, Edan, ye be right on the mark. They’re all terrified that if Cormag is held accountable, it’s going to have a poor impact on the clan as a whole. Ye know the English scum, they have oor heads for killing one of theirs. We are nae but a blight on their diamond in their eyes,” he replied.

  “And what are they?” Edan asked.

  “A right piece of shite on the porcelain ass of a bonnie Scottish lass,” Robert said with mock poetry, saying ‘ass’ in an Englishman’s accent.

  “And ye ken it’s true, not but shite on an arse, many of them. Never forget it,” Edan said.

  “I’ll nae,” Robert promised.

  Chapter 5

  The day passed and the sun went down while Edan and his men continued to dine in the great hall, as Isabel lay on the single bed in the room. She began to explore the heavy fabrics draped over the windows and on the canopy of the bed. Thick, wool tartans covered the bed, and she found herself powerless to the temptation she felt to crawl under and shut her eyes.

  The large room descended into total darkness around her sleeping frame when Cormag silently entered through the doorway. He knew that the door tended to creak unless you pulled down hard when opening, and he didn’t wish to give her any sense that he was there. He had also told the guards that he had been sent by Edan to check on the prisoner and give her a scare for information if necessary.

  Truthfully, his intentions were of a far more urgent need.

  Her white blonde curls splayed about her pale face. She seemed to glow even in the midst of the darkness of the room, shining like the moon itself. His blood ran hot when he glanced where her bodice strained at the half moon breasts peeking over their cage.

  His large, rough hand brushed down her neck and along her collarbone. She stirred a little but remained unaware. Then his hand began to travel down when a creaking sounded behind him.

  “That be right quite enough, Cormag,” Edan whispered fiercely in the darkness.

  “She’s English, ye really think she’d mind?” Cormag gruffly laughed, as if it were all a game. His respect for women had never been strong, but his respect for the English was even less. He had driven nearly every father in the village to hiding his daughter, but having this beautiful prisoner in the castle, it was far too great a temptation for his urges.

  “Ye might have the others afeared for their safety if yer rottenness should be revealed, but ye ken I have nae worries about planting me fist right through yer skull. Touch her again, and it’s the end for ye. I’ll have none of this. Stay away from the lass,” he ordered with a low growl.

  Cormag shuffled from the room bitterly.

  “If ye want to cater to English scum then ye should have become a duke rather than a laird. Remember who ye are. Ye’ve gone soft on them. It’d be a real shame if we lost oor manhood because ye handed yer welly to their little blooming rose,” Cormag added abruptly. The reminder to Edan that he had the responsibility of his clan at stake was more than he wished for and Cormag knew it.

  I’m nae soft, I’m human, and so are the English. Scum they may be, but they’re still human. James was human, and this angel is clearly human. Cormag is dirt. I’ll nae listen to a word the murderer has to say, Edan thought.

  His eyes strayed to the beauty lying on the bed. He could make out the outline of her rose-hewn lips and the blush in the softness of her cheek. Her lips parted just enough to allow a gentle breath to escape rhythmically. She was a wonder to him.

  Isabel’s body seemed so small as she lay, like a child’s doll. Were it not for her womanly curves, he might think her still a youth.

  Elyse, lass, what are ye doing to me? he wondered.

  She began to stir, and her green eyes opened wide to see the silhouetted figure looming above her in the dark. A yelp escaped Isabel’s mouth as she forgot where she was.

  “Elyse, dinnae worry, I mean ye no harm,” Edan insisted, holding his hands out to show her there was no weapon held in them.

  “Who is Elyse? Who are you?” she demanded forcefully. Lost to her dreams, she was completely uncertain of her surroundings now as she awoke.

  In the dark where she could not see it, Edan smirked. She had slipped up. Her name was not Elyse after all.

  Shuffling toward the door, Edan leaned out and called for a light to be brought. A guard promptly arrived with a lantern that filled the room with a ghoulish glow. Isabel was coming back to herself by then and remembering where she was.

  “Ye may leave us,” Edan instructed the guard who merely nodded, kilt swishing as he went.

  “My apologies, I was in a heavy sleep. I did not remember myself when I awoke,” Isabel said, feeling embarrassed for the ruckus she had caused.

  “Clearly ye dinnae remember yerself if ye cannae even get yer own name right, Elyse. Anything ye wish to tell me?” he prodded.

  Goosebumps rose on the flesh of her arms. Isabel was completely infuriated at herself for having slipped up. Even more so, she was anguished that he had caught her. This man she so despised had gotten the best of her, and there was nothing she could do to help it. She spluttered for a moment searching for words that wouldn’t come.

  “It is none of your business what my name is. My telling you a false name has no bearing on the truth of the rest of my journey and its factors. Truthfully, I am the daughter of an ill merchant who just lost his wife,” she said passionately.

  “I dinnae believe ye. Of all the things to lie about, why would ye choose a false name? Who are ye really?” he implored, watching her with those light blue orbs of his.

  “I told you my father is a wealthy merchant,” she began. “But what I failed to mention was that he has quite a high status, and the extent of his wealth is great. I fear that if you should learn my name, you might choose to exploit his status, his wealth.” Isabel spun the lie further and further, wondering what other details she might be missing or fail to remember should they ever again be addressed. There was too much at stake to be lost in a web of lies that meant nothing.

  “Aye, I see. Well, ye should ken that we had every intention of exploiting the situation even ‘fore ye took to yer lies. Ye didnae have to tell us ye were wealthy for us to see a prime opportunity at hand. So, lass, yer father, whoever he might be and on whatever sickbed he may be laying, isnae going to get ye back until we have a ransom for oor troubles. Understand, everything that belongs to the Scots has been stolen by English thieves.

  “This is oor way of earning it back. Hard work and dedication to keeping ye safe in a country that doesnae particularly like yer type. It seems only right that we should receive a just reward for oor efforts, ye ken?” Edan reasoned. He knew it was a slim excuse, but it was one they had used many times for raiding English troupes that passed through their territory. They had no reason to allow themselves to be taken advantage of.

  Isabel glared at him through green, slit-eyes. Like a snake ready to strike at its prey, she responded, “Aye, I ken.”

  Edan smirked again at her mocking. At least with this subtle phrase, she was able to hide some of her poor accents. His eyes remained locked on her frame. His devotion to his clansmen, along with his hatred of the English, kept him strong. But she had wounded his pride with her mocking and, worse, she was a sight to behold.

  “I suppose ye’d better get some rest. In the morning, I promise ye’ll have bread and even butter. By that I mean that the bread will already be buttered,” he added, getting satisfaction at raising and subsequently squashing her hopes of even a butter knife.

  What a terror he is, Isabel thought bitterly even as she watched his strong frame exit the room in the dim light. His nightshirt clung to the muscles on his back in a way that shadowed every ripple. She found herself hypnotized in spite of herself and gazing while echoing insults paraded through her mind.

  After little rest, the morning light d
awned, and Isabel woke feeling strangely rested despite the interruptions and sleeplessness. The bed had been shockingly comfortable, and her body did not wish to rise.

  A guard knocked and opened the door while silently placing a tray of buttered bread, scrambled eggs, and milk on the small oak table in the corner of the room. Isabel made her way to it, realizing that she was again quite hungry.

  Would they dare poison me? she wondered to herself. It would make for a very poor ransom. No, they would not risk it. They have no care about my life or death, I am just a random English girl to them. They know only about money. They would never kill me and risk the ransom.

  After thoroughly convincing herself, Isabel dove into the breakfast. She used the bread to scoop the eggs into a sandwich and ate heartily, drinking the milk beside. She wished only for tea in addition but knew not whether it would be brought.