Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  She could refuse his hand and hop up on shore herself, but the effort would take some scrambling and thus give him a view of things better left unseen. Or she could accept his assistance— in which case she would have to remove her arms from her breasts, which would also give him a view of things better left unseen. Damn!

  His smile brightened as if he was thinking the very same thoughts, and in that moment she made a decision. Unbending her arms, she offered him her hand.

  For a moment he remained as he was, frozen in place with his attention focused on her chest.

  “No eels,” he said quietly, and reached out to grasp her fingers.

  Their gazes met.

  “But something far better,” he added huskily.

  She made no attempt to stop her blush, but even as the hot color raced across her cheeks, she braced her feet against the rocky ledge and yanked with all her might.

  Not if she lived to be a hundred would she forget the look on his face. For a moment it was all smug satisfaction, and then, as if he’d been struck by lightning, his silvery eyes widened. He teetered momentarily on the edge, tried hopelessly to correct his balance, and finally careened past her to splash head first into the water.

  Shona couldn’t help but laugh. But in an instant his hand brushed her arm. She shrieked, jumped toward shore, and heaved herself onto the rocks. All but naked, she was quick and light.

  Still weighed down as he was with his fashionably ponderous clothing, he was slower. But even so, his fingers scraped her ankle. She jerked her leg away and leapt frantically to dry land. One glance behind told her she would not beat him in a footrace.

  She had no options, she assured herself. Leaping forward, she grabbed the stallion’s trailing reins, yanked herself into the saddle, and wheeled the steed away.

  Shona heard Dugald’s sharp expletive only inches behind her but dared not wait around to discuss the sin of blasphemy. Kicking the stallion’s sides, she pushed him into the woods and away, whistling as she went.

  Trees skimmed past. From her right, Teine sped toward them, racing along with her head bent low and her reins flapping.

  A few minutes later Shona pulled the stallion to a halt. Dismounting, she caught the mare and set the stallion free. He refused to go. She scowled at him and tried to shoo him off. He merely rested his oversized head on her shoulder and blew hot air into her ear.

  Finally, frustrated and impatient, Shona looped one of his reins loosely over a branch, fed him a few choice stems of fodder, and hurried off.

  Dugald the Dolt would find his mount soon enough. Until then he could enjoy the knowledge that she had outsmarted him. She allowed herself a tiny smile.

  It was then that she realized she’d forgotten her breeches.

  Chapter 2

  The hall was filled with revelers. Guests had been arriving for days and now occupied every available seat as they shared trenchers and goblets. Every maiden was dressed in her finest, every lord groomed to perfection.

  Upon the dark wood of the wall above the huge stone fireplace, the MacGowan crest was centered between two pair of crossed spears. It was a symbol of power and tradition, but tonight power was forgotten as pleasure was sought.

  Roderic the Rogue skimmed the faces of the men present and quickly classified each one—too old, too weak, too callous, too cocky. He ticked off their shortcomings silently in his mind. How would he ever find someone for Shona? Or rather, how would any man ever survive marriage with the Flame’s only daughter?

  His attention hurried along, then returned to a young man who sat with his back to the wall. Why Roderic’s attention was caught, he wasn’t sure. The man wasn’t particularly impressive in either height or bulk. He was dark of skin and hair, wore a black tunic, and was staring at Shona. A typical Scotsman. Yet there was something different about him. Noticing Roderic’s attention, the stranger shifted his gaze to the Rogue’s, nodded once, then turned his eyes smoothly back to Shona.

  “Daughter,” Roderic said.

  Beside him she jumped at the sound of his voice. “What?”

  He raised his brows at her. “Is something amiss?”

  “Nay, everything is grand,” she said. “Whyever do ye ask?”

  He scowled. What the devil was wrong with her? True, twas wise to hold a gathering at Dun Ard at this time of political unrest, but his main objective was painfully obvious, both to the world at large and to Shona, he feared. He had gathered all the most likely suitors here to find her a husband.

  And that was not going to be a simple task, for despite her bonny figure and her angelic good looks, she was trouble. And the more innocent her expression, the more trouble was sure to follow.

  God help him. He took a deep breath and prayed for the safety of his clan and Scotland at large.

  “Listen, lass,” he said, “in truth, I dunna even want to know what ye have done to make ye so fidgety. I only wish to know who that man is.”

  Her eyes, he noticed, looked exceptionally large this evening and very green, exactly like her mother’s. “What man?”

  Expressive to the extreme, her eyes were his weakness, and she well knew it, so he scowled, to make certain she didn’t think she was fooling him with her false innocence.

  “The man who is staring at ye,” he said.

  She laughed, but the sound was high-pitched and a bit giggly. Shona was not the giggling type.

  “Why, Father! I should hope in all this array of folk there would be more than one man staring at me.

  Else I fear your plans have gone awry.”

  He deepened his scowl, though he already felt himself weakening. Flanna had said more that once that their daughter played him like a brass-stringed harp.

  She smiled. The hall lit up. Roderic tried to staunch the bittersweet swell of nostalgia he felt at that smile, for in his heart he knew it would lead to no good. Even when she’d been a gap-toothed child, that smile of hers had boded trouble. He reached beneath the table to grasp his wife’s hand.

  Flanna, known as the Flame, sat to his right, and though she was conversing with the guest to her right, just the touch of her fingers gave him a soft burn of satisfaction.

  “Dare I ask to what plans ye might be referring?” Roderic inquired.

  “Tis said that Roderic the Rogue dares all,” Shona said, dimpling.

  Flattery. Twas a clever woman’s quickest defense, he thought, but he forced his mind back to the matter at hand. “Just what do ye think our reasons were for calling this gathering?” he asked.

  “To marry me off.”

  He laughed. “Mayhap ye think yourself too important. When all Scotland is in turmoil, might it not be that these festivities have nothing to do with ye?”

  She glanced about the assemblage then quickly brought her gaze back to his. “There seems to be an inordinate number of unwed noblemen here.”

  “Can I help it if young eligible men arrived among the crush?” he asked. “Mayhap they heard there is a flame-haired maid here who needs a firm hand, and they came to see if they were up to the task.”

  She opened her mouth as if to disavow his accusation, but glancing up, he spoke again.

  “He is still staring at ye, Shona. Ye must know who he is.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head for emphasis, but Roderic couldn’t help noticing that she never looked up to see who he meant.

  “Isn’t he the fellow who lost his horse?” Flanna asked, and leaned against her husband’s arm to join in the conversation.

  “His horse?” Shona asked, sounding surprised.

  Roderic shifted his gaze from his daughter’s wide eyes to his wife’s. The similarities still shocked him.

  “Is he the man Bullock spoke of?” Roderic asked.

  “He said someone arrived at the gate yesterday morning asking if anyone had seen a stallion running loose.”

  “A stallion?” Shona’s surprised tone was a bad sign, for in truth, she knew everything that happened at Dun Ard, from the birth of each new lamb
to the courtship of every maid.

  “Aye.” Flanna pressed her breast against Roderic’s arm to look into her daughter’s eyes. “I saw him just this morningtide. A fine specimen he is.”

  Roderic turned toward his wife and felt his brows rise toward his hairline. “Are ye referring to the horse or the man, Wife?”

  Flanna blinked, showing an expression of perfect innocence. The frightening thing was, he feared she had learned it from their daughter, for the Flame of the McGowans usually had little use for coquettishness. God help him.

  “The stallion, of course,” she said. But Shona had seen the stallion; he was as ugly as mud.

  “Though the man’s eyes are quite arresting. Rather almond shaped. What was his name again, Shona?”

  “I dunna believe ye’ve introduced me to him,” Shona said, and forced herself to keep from squirming in her seat. It was a shaded truth at best, for she knew who he was. His name was Dugald, and he was a conceited lout. But hardly could she afford to tell her mother that, for she would surely ask how they had met, and that story put her in a rather poor light. “But if ye dunna even know him, why has he come for the gathering?” Shona asked, then gasped softly and reared back as if struck by some awful thought. “Mayhap he is a spy and he should be thrown out of our midst.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Shona could feel her parents’ intensified gazes on her now, but dammit, why did that blasted Dugald keep staring at her? In the past two days she’d been introduced to more men than there were fleas in a pillow, and each one had had enough good manners not to stare blatantly at her. True, Stanford had a tendency to glance at her with big moony eyes, and Hadwin would often smile at her, and there were a dozen others who would follow her about when she left the hall. But Dugald the Daft was the only one without even enough courtesy to turn aside when she glanced his way.

  What was wrong with him? Was he always so rude, or did he, God forbid, see some resemblance between her and her evil twin who’d given him a dousing at the burn? But no. He couldn’t know she was the one he’d found in such disarray. He couldn’t. She’d been half dressed, soaking wet, and hidden behind her hair.

  “Throw him out of our midst?” Flame asked.

  “Well…” Shona cleared her throat. “If ye dunna know him…”

  “I dunna know half the folk here,” Flanna said. “Tis the way with festivals.”

  “Mayhap he’s one of the crush who heard ye needed a firm hand,” her father suggested.

  “Me?” Shona tried to sound wounded, but she was afraid her innocent act was losing its edge.

  Without trying, she could remember how her nipples had shown through the saturated fabric of her borrowed tunic, and she feared her dreams of the night before had been less than saintly. Still, if she didn’t want her father to marry her off to the first old coot who could croak “I will,” she had better improve her act. “I have been naught but the epitome of genteel manners since my return from Blackburn Castle, Father.”

  “Umm,” he replied. It wasn’t a good sign. Her father was generally nothing if not loquacious.

  And she had given him her best smile, too, even added the big-eye thing, but he still didn’t seem to be softening.

  She hurried on. “After all, tis my duty to look after Kelvin since I found him alone and helpless in the streets of Edinburgh.”

  “Ahh.” Roderic nodded and gazed at the urchin who sat across the table from them. Shona only wished the lad could look a bit more tragic. But her eldest brother Ramsay was regaling young Kelvin with a tale which, if they were lucky, might contain a shred of truth. Kelvin’s expression was a wee bit short of what one might call sober dignity. Mischief and mayhem more closely summed it up.

  “So ye intend to set a good example for the waif, then, lass?” Roderic asked.

  “Oh, aye,” Shona said, willing the boy not to pull any pranks at this moment. “I know the lad is a tad high spirited at times, but I am certain with some somber influence he will grow into a fine, responsible man.”

  Her father was watching her far too closely. And though she couldn’t be sure, she thought that despicable Dugald fellow was still staring at her, too.

  “Just so I understand ye, Shona, are ye saying that ye intend to be that somber influence?”

  She lowered her eyes. Her cheeks felt warm, and though she couldn’t quite stop her fingers from fidgeting upon her goblet, she hoped she managed an expression of abject sincerity. “I know I have been less than…sensible at times in the past, Da. But I am no longer a child. In fact, I am nearly a score of years in age. Mayhap God sent Kelvin to me for the express purpose of teaching me maturity and self-control.”

  “Self-control?”

  She yanked her gaze to her father’s, hoping against hope that she hadn’t heard laughter in his voice. But though his eyes gleamed, making him look little older than Kelvin, his mouth remained in a firm line. She held her breath. “Ye must admit I have behaved admirably since my return to Dun Ard, Da.”

  “Aye.” He nodded. “Your mother just commented on how responsible ye’ve been of late.”

  She granted him a smile, breathed a silent sigh of relief, and offered him a bone. “Twas certain I was to mature well, what with two such fine parents as I have.”

  She thought she saw his chest puff out a bit then he smiled that smile that still made maids from Copenhagen to London swoon. “Aye, we have done well. Still, I am worried…” he said, and paused.

  “Worried?” She touched his arm. She was in her element here. Manipulating men was a God-given gift. “Whyever for?”

  He leaned closer. “Because I wonder how your breeches came to be hanging on the drawbridge.”

  “My…” She felt her skin go cold and her face pale. “My breeches?”

  “Aye,” he said, and took a sip of wine.

  “Whatever makes ye think they were mine? That is, how on earth could my breeches have gotten to the burn?”

  “The burn?” he asked and snapped his gaze to hers.

  “The bridge! I meant the bridge.”

  His eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s. “Ye seem strangely befuddled this night, Daughter. Are ye feeling quite well?”

  “Aye. Fine. I just…I simply dunna know why ye thought the breeches were mine. Why would I leave them there? That would make no sense.” She widened her eyes and tried a new ploy. “Has Liam arrived? Do ye suppose one of his magic tricks went awry and my breeches were somehow whisked away?”

  Roderic took a sip of wine. Shona noticed with intense gratitude that her mother was busy talking with the man on her right again, but in a moment Roderic turned his attention back to her.

  “As a matter of fact, Liam has not yet arrived. Bullock was at the gate when ye returned from your ride the day afore last. He inquired about your well-being.”

  “My well-being?” she said. Bullock had long delighted in tormenting her.

  “Aye, it seems he thought it strange that ye returned to Dun Ard wrapped in a blanket on such a bonny day.”

  She cleared her throat. She was not a liar by nature, but twisting the truth was another of her God-given abilities. She hoped to use it wisely now. If her breeches had been left by the burn where she’d hung them, instead of being taken to the drawbridge, she wouldn’t have to go bending the truth at all. Damn that Dugald.

  She’d thought herself lucky, for once she’d realized her state of undress, she had returned to Dugald’s stallion and found a nondescript blanket tucked away in a bag amongst a lot of unidentifiable paraphernalia. She would have liked to snoop around in it, but goose bumps had begun to form all over her body, so she’d mounted her mare, wrapped herself carefully in the blanket, and hurried home. No one should have been the wiser. But despite her clever planning, she now had to think of some explanation for this new mess.

  “Listen, Father, I can explain,” she began. Just then a movement caught her eye and she swiveled quickly to the side. “Laird Halwart,” she exclaimed, sincerely thrilled by the pu
dgy lord’s arrival. “Tis so glad I am to see ye.”

  The young man who bowed over her hand was not much taller than she. He was a bit red-faced, from either ale or the warmth in the hall, and since his father’s death and his own subsequent elevation to lord he seemed a bit full of himself. But overall, he was a good enough fellow, and one she had known for many years. In fact, black bulls and sore rumps came rapidly to mind.

  “Lady Shona.” He kissed her knuckles and lingered dotingly over her hand. “Your beauty challenges the glow of the sun.”

  Oh God, not the sun line, Shona thought. But she beamed at him nonetheless.

  “Father,” she said, “ye surely remember Laird Halwart.”

  “Aye. Black bulls come to mind,” he murmured.

  “Black bulls?” She tried to look befuddled.

  “My laird,” Gilmour Halwart said, looking embarrassed by the mention of his youthful foolishness. “My apologies again for letting your daughter ride that beast.”

  “Apology accepted,” Roderic said, then raised his goblet and murmured against the rim, “Better men than ye have tried to disallow her.”

  Shona was certain she had heard her father wrong and stared at him in disbelief. Roderic might be a rogue, but he was a tamed rogue, and usually a flawless host.

  Halwart, however, didn’t seem to notice Roderic’s jibe. “And my thanks for such a splendid feast,” he said.

  Roderic all but grunted.

  “And my Lady,” Halwart continued, shifting his attention to The Flame. “Your daughter only personifies your beauty.”

  Shona didn’t know what that meant, but she had no wish to allow her mother to bluntly question his meaning, and she was too desperate not to use his words. “Laird Gilmour, ye flatter me so.”

  “Nay. Nay, indeed.” He squeezed her hand in apparent earnestness, though what he was earnest about she was completely unsure. “The Highlands were not the same with ye gone.”

  She tried to blush. “I’ll wager you’ve said that to a hundred lasses.”

  “Nay, tis not so. There is none other with your…” For just a moment his gaze dipped to her decollete. Shona supposed it was her own fault that men’s eyeballs kept falling down her bodice.