Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  “Umm.”

  “I thought his posture in the saddle seemed a bit awkward. What gallant offered ye his plaid?”

  Shona scowled as she remembered the infuriating episode by the tower wall. “There was no gallant. I can assure ye of that.”

  Sara smiled knowingly as she reached for the plaid. It was a fine weave, deep rich blues crisscrossed with shades of dark crimson. “So ye say ye found this likely looking woolen lying about in the…” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Let me venture a guess. The stables, I think.”

  “Remind me to swear ye to silence if Da ever questions ye about my activities,” Shona said wryly.

  “Your secrets are safe with me, Shona. Always they have been, but tell me who owns this plaid.”

  “He is of no consequence,” Shona assured her, though even now her stomach felt a bit queasy at the thought of him. She ignored the sensation and slipped the wet gown over her hips and onto the floor.

  “Ahh. A man without a name.”

  “I’ll not be speaking to him again,” Shona assured her, but just then a stone rattled against her latched shutters. “What was that?” she asked, jumping at the sound.

  Sara grinned. “It sounded like a stone against your shutters. Were ye expecting company?”

  Shona granted her a peeved glare as if to say she was being foolish, but in her mind, an unbidden image of a dark-haired scoundrel plagued her. “I fear your Boden has ruined your sense of humor.”

  “Tis the truth,” Sara said, then, “I’ll see who it is.”

  “Nay!” Shona exclaimed. “Tis no one.”

  But at just that instant another stone pinged against the blinds.

  Shona yanked her attention to the window. Sara raised her brows, then, with perfect aplomb, skirted her cousin to lift the latch from its mooring.

  The shutters creaked open beneath her fingers.

  “Why, look,” she said, peering out and trying to sound surprised. “How charming! There’s a man dressed in naught but a tunic. And he’s throwing stones at your window.”

  Chapter 4

  Dugald glanced up at the small rectangle of light that opened in the wall above him. He had left his sanctuary on Isle Fois with strict orders, and none of those orders included throwing stones at Shona MacGowan’s shutters. But nothing about this mission had turned out as it was intended to.

  “Damsel Shona?” he called, canting his head slightly and trying to make out the person framed in the window. It might be her, but he didn’t think so, for when light struck Shona’s hair it sparkled like rubies. This lady’s shone like sunlight.

  The woman turned away for a moment, and he thought he heard a hissing noise from the background. The fair lady turned back, and when she spoke, he heard a hint of laughter in her voice.

  “I fear Shona is a wee bit preoccupied at the time. Might I give her your name?”

  He wondered wryly how many men tossed stones at her window in a single night’s course.

  “Tell her it’s the gallant who came to her rescue this eventide.”

  The lady turned away. There was a distant murmur of voices, then, “She asked which of the mob ye might be.”

  He laughed out loud. Lord Tremayne was certainly right about one thing—she was vain. “Tell her I’m the one who went naked so that she could be clothed.”

  But before the lady repeated the words, Shona was at the window.

  “Ye were not naked!” she hissed, glancing sideways as if worried that she might be overheard.

  “Ahh, so there ye are.”

  “Of course I am here. What is it ye want?”

  “Besides your everlasting devotion? The feel of your sweetness in my arms? The brush of your —”

  He thought he heard her swear, and had to exert a good deal of self control to keep from laughing. “What did you say?” he asked.

  “What do ye want?” she rasped.

  “I want to hear my name whispered on your lips, to feel your petal-soft hand in mine, to—”

  A faint expletive again.

  “You know, lass, tis quite difficult to be romantic when you keep interrupting my soliloquy.”

  “And it would be even more difficult if I dumped the slop bucket on your head, so have your say and be done with it.”

  “I thought, now that you are dry, that you might come down and walk with me for a spell.”

  “Or I might just let Da know ye are bothering me and see how long your head remains above your neck.”

  “He was not upset that you accompanied that foolish Halwart to the stables then?”

  He could imagine her scowl, even though the light was too poor to allow him to see it. Damn the darkness, for though he was a man who sought peace, he found now that her impetuous nature drew him somehow. Twas not a discovery that made him happy.

  “Why are ye here?”

  “You do not believe I’ve come to worship you from afar?”

  “Not afar enough.”

  He held his chuckle. “I am deeply wounded.”

  Voices rose from the darkness to his left.

  “Go away,” she hissed.

  “Naked?”

  “Ye are not naked!”

  He shrugged. “But I am trying to save myself for you, and surely if other women see me thus they will be unable to resist. The Duchess of Avery said that any woman who could resist me must surely be made of—”

  His heavy plaid hit him squarely in the face. By the time he’d removed it, the shutters were closed, the rectangle of light gone.

  “Stone,” he finished, and scowled at the intricate rock work of the tower.

  So that was where she spent her nights. Twould be a simple enough task to reach her room. He should not delay, of course. The sooner the job was finished, the sooner he could report back to Lord Tremayne and return to his own home.

  But he wasn’t ready to perform his mission. Dugald scowled at his own thoughts. Something didn’t feel right. Something wasn’t as it should be.

  He glanced at her window again. It was just framed by a glimmer of light.

  One thing he knew—if he delayed, there would be trouble.

  But without trying, he remembered the feel of her satin skin beneath his hand, the wild vibrancy of her beneath his fingertips.

  Ah yes, there would be trouble, he thought, and turned away.

  The following morning dawned bright and clear. Shona awoke early and opened her shutters with hardly a thought for the bothersome knave who had been beneath her window the night before.

  Still, she had to glance down once to make certain he hadn’t camped at the tower’s base. Her father always took umbrage when some swain slept beneath her window. But the spot was empty now. She firmly told herself she was not disappointed and glanced up at the sky.

  It was a rain-washed blue, dotted with lamb’s wool clouds and worshipped by a vast array of greenery below.

  Shona ducked back inside.

  Muriel would be assisting their many guests, Shona knew. Thus she dressed unaided, donning a bright blue gown. It was embroidered at the neck with twining ivy and accented with slashed white sleeves that laced at the shoulder. She tied her favorite golden girdle about her waist and let the tassels trail nearly to the floor. With a few quick strokes of her wooden comb, she tried to subdue her hair. But after several moments, she decided it was a useless endeavor and twisted it up to the back of her head, where she secured it with brass pins. A few opinionated tendrils escaped her efforts and floated down around the right side of her face like bothersome flies. Scowling into the tiny gilt mirror she held in one hand, she tried to trap them again, but it was no use. In the end, she pulled a few wisps out of the left side of her chignon to match the right and called it good enough.

  After rubbing a few rose petals against her neck, she hurried down the narrow hall to the next door, but with one glance she saw that the room was empty. Kelvin and his sleeping companions had already begun the day, she knew, so she continued down the stairs to the hall
.

  Even at this early hour it was crowded. In the far corner, near the doors, an old man gave an impromptu puppet show for the mob of children that huddled at his feet. Kelvin was amongst them, sitting between Sara’s foster son and a large gray dog that looked suspiciously like a wolf. Next to the beast sat a small flaxen-haired girl with her fingers curled tight in the animal’s fur. Nearby, Stanford strummed a lute and sang in a melodious tone.

  His gaze lifted to Shona’s and for a moment he seemed to forget the words to the ballad. She smiled at him and he blushed before finding his voice and singing on.

  A score of faces turned toward her as she made her way down the stairs to the table at the center of the hall.

  Sara sat near her husband, her gaze on his face as she talked to him. Boden leaned closer to whisper back, and they both laughed.

  For a moment something ached in Shona’s breast, ached for that indefinable element that made Sara glow and Boden beam. That something had kept him close by her side since the day they married. But whatever they shared seemed only more intense now, almost as if they were one soul, bound for eternity by their fierce devotion to one another.

  Would Shona ever have that? Indeed, would she even be able to understand it? She was not like Sara—the ultimate lady, the shining, perfect jewel any man would covet.

  Oh, it wasn’t as if men didn’t covet her, Shona thought, as she watched the couple. But they did so for entirely different reasons. While Sara was a jewel to be treasured, Shona was a prize—a prize that consisted of a bonny face and a vast dowry.

  Since her parents had married, Dun Ard had thrived. Because of his loyalty to the Crown, the Rogue had gained a baronage. All this could not help but draw suitors. But who amongst them pursued her because of herself—what she was inside?

  “Ye dunna wish for them to starve to death, do ye?” Sara asked.

  “What?” Shona drew herself from her reverie.

  Sara smiled. “Your suitors,” she explained quietly. “If ye dunna sit down, they’re apt to stare until they waste away with hunger.”

  “At least Da would know then that this gathering has not been for nothing.” It was not like Shona to be irritable, but the last few days and one Dugald Kinnaird had taken their toll on her natural exuberance.

  Sara laughed then scooted even closer to her spouse, patting the bench beside her as she did so.

  “Are ye saying that the Rogue has to pay to get men to stare at ye?”

  “He seems to think so.”

  “Then his coin is paying high dividends,” Sara said. “I dunna think there is a male amongst the crush who is not agog.”

  Shona scraped a few recalcitrant tendrils of hair back behind her ear. She’d never been good with hair. “Mayhap they think some vermin has taken residence upon my head,” she muttered.

  “Ye are most probably right, Shona.” Sara chuckled. “They only stare because they are astounded at your ugliness. Dunna ye think so, Boden?”

  Her husband, large and quiet, turned his wry grin on Shona. His eyes crinkled becomingly at the corners. Now, there was a bonny man, Shona thought, but he was also one who had, long ago, been captivated by Sara.

  “Tis an ongoing difficulty with you cousins,” he said. “Certainly the Rogue must spend half his day browbeating his men, lest they do nothing but stare at you aghast.” Lowering his gaze, he lifted a hand and touched Sara’s cheek. “Tis always my most basic problem.” His eyes were filled with such incredible tenderness that Shona felt her mood drop a notch lower.

  “I dunna think my flagging spirits can endure much more of your adoration for your wife just now, Boden,” she said. “Could ye not at least pretend that you notice I am in the same room?”

  He laughed as he looked up. “I think there are enough men about to fawn over you, Shona.

  Hardly do you need my poor attempts.”

  “Ye could at least make an effort,” Shona muttered.

  “Never fear,” Sara said, looking past Shona. “I believe I see a bit of a spirit-lifter approaching even now.”

  Glancing up, Sara saw Stanford approaching. A bit tall and gangly, he moved with a sort of birdlike stride. But even as she watched, his movement changed radically. His legs flew off in opposite directions and his arms windmilled wildly. Trying to right himself, he grabbed hold of the nearest thing—which happened to be Effie, a broad-hipped woman who had served at Dun Ard for more years than Stanford had lived. They collapsed in a wild tangle of skirts and limbs.

  The hall went absolutely quiet, and then, into the silence, the aging widow squealed as if pinched. “Och, lad, do I make ye so lusty that ye canna even wait for some privacy?”

  The hall erupted with laughter. Amidst the uproar another man rose from his seat. Stepping over Stanford, he approached Shona, bowed, and offered a boyish grin.

  “Laird Hadwin of the clan Nairn,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I dunna know if ye remember me.”

  Shona drew her attention from poor Stanford, who was bumbling to his feet, his face red. “Of course I do,” she said, and remembered to flirt prettily as she offered her hand. After all, her father had invested a great deal here. “How could I forget?”

  His smile increased. Kissing her knuckles, he drew himself to his full height, which, if he were lucky, was just above Shona’s own. “I know tis a great deal to ask, but I wondered if ye might walk with me down by the burn. Tis a bonny morn.”

  “The lass hasn’t even broken the fast yet,” Boden said, but just then another man skirted Hadwin and bowed.

  “Tis just the reason I had this basket prepared. Tis good to see ye again, Lady Shona,” said the newcomer, and nudged the smaller man aside as he lifted a large wicker in one hand. Not much younger than her father, Laird William had hair that was sprinkled with silver.

  “I didna know ye had already arrived, William,” Shona said. A niggle of nervousness twisted in her gut. It wasn’t that she didn’t like William, for he was always perfectly polite and thoughtful. It was simply that she knew, as did most of Scotland that he hoped to marry her. And since he was extremely wealthy and well placed, twas generally thought she would agree. That idea made her somewhat tense, since in actuality she had no idea what she would do. “Word was that ye might be delayed until after the games begin.”

  “His arthritis is improved,” Hadwin said. “But ye know how this type of weather bothers such old joints. Best for him to stay inside. Why don’t I take that basket off your hands, William?”

  “Please forgive my young cousin here,” William said, ignoring the other’s grip on the wicker handle. “He does not mean to be a pest. He simply cannot help himself.”

  “You’re in my way, William,” said Hadwin, still smiling.

  “Then move,” William suggested.

  “My lady,” Hadwin said, stepping forward again. “I would be the last person to say anything bad about my cousin, but I fear the rumors ye have heard about him are true.”

  “Rumors?” Shona asked.

  “Aye.” Hadwin leaned forward to whisper loudly. “He is already wed—to three women.” He lifted the proper amount of fingers. “And all of them quite large and jealous.”

  “Indeed?” Shona said, laughing.

  “Indeed. Tis an ugly thing when—”

  “And it will get uglier if you don’t get out of my way,” William said, and reaching out, pushed the other man aside. “Lady, I entreat ye, have mercy on me, I was forced to spend the entire night in my cousin’s wearing company and I am in great need of the healing balm of your beauty. Might ye accompany me on an outing?”

  She considered refusing, but one glance at her father reminded her that he was still peeved at her, and since it had been two years since Roderic had asked her to consider William as a possible husband, now seemed a good time to act the dutiful daughter. “I am quite hungry,” she said.

  “Tis settled, then,” William said, and turning slightly, offered his arm.

  Shona rested her fingers near Wil
liam’s wrist.

  “Never fear, my lady,” Hadwin said softly. “I know tis your duty to entertain even the old gaffers this day. But dunna be too selfless. When ye can no longer bear the boredom, you’ve but to signal, and I will come to your rescue.”

  Shona laughed. “I thank ye for your concern and will keep your words in mind.”

  “I am forever in your service. In truth—”

  “Shut up, Hadwin!” ordered William, and steered Shona toward the door.

  In actuality, William turned out to be quite interesting. The morning was indeed lovely, with only enough breeze to ruffle the dark, spiny leaves of the mistletoe that grew at the south end of the garden.

  “Your cook makes a fine Brie tart,” William said, pouring Shona a bit more wine.

  “Aye. Bethia has been with us as long as I can recall. There are few who can organize kitchens as well as she, I think.”

  “A woman? In charge?”

  Shona laughed at his surprise. “I never thought it strange. I suppose we at Dun Ard are a wee bit odd.”

  He smiled. A nice smile on a comfortable slightly rounded face. “I suspect all the great houses could be considered strange. In truth, when my young cousin was crowned king, the servers all wore-

  —”

  “Your cousin?” She did not try to contain her own surprise. “Your cousin is King James?”

  He laughed out loud. “Surely ye knew.”

  “I must have forgotten,” she admitted, and chastised herself for her lack of memory. That seemed like the sort of thing a true lady would remember, especially if she were seriously considering a man as a husband. But somehow, William of Atberry always managed to slip her mind.

  He laughed. “Tis like ye to forget such a thing, Lady Shona. But in truth, my sire kept his title rather quiet. After his brother was banned to France for his attempt to gain the crown, Father thought it wise not to call too much attention to himself. It has seemed best to carry on that tradition. In this time of unrest, the powers that be are often looking for someone to blame for political atrocities.

  Those closest to the king usually are bequeathed that dubious honor.”