Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  “True beauty goes far beyond the surface of the skin,” Magnus said. “Young Kelvin knows that.

  The other lads, they said ye are so beautiful because of the magical amulet ye wear around your neck.”

  She put her hand to her chest, suddenly nervous. Did everyone know of the dragon?

  “But your Kelvin said nay, twas the beauty of your soul that shows through on your face.”

  Magnus chuckled, the sound rusty and rumbling. “Still, he said, he wouldna mind having a magical dragon himself.”

  She dropped her hand away. “Tis a lad’s fierce imagination only, I fear,” she said. “The pendant is not magical atall, only beautiful.”

  “Of course,” Magnus agreed. “But I have been thinking I might craft one for him out of wood if I could but get a good look at it.”

  “At Dragonheart?”

  The old man appeared surprised, though he seemed to be looking right past her. In the clear morning light she could see that his eyes were as cloudy as watered milk.

  “Ye have named the pendant?” he asked.

  She laughed, feeling foolish for her fears. He was, after all, a decrepit old man, lame, nearly blind, and wanting nothing more than to give a gift to a lad who had done him a kindness.

  “I did not actually name the dragon,” she said.

  “Someone else, then?”

  She scowled as she drew the pendant into her hand. “I dunna know, exactly. It seems as if he had the name long before I knew of him.”

  “Him?”

  She laughed at her own foolishness. “Tis my way, I fear, to imbue mere objects with personalities. I have named my favorite chair ‘Miller,’ for it has arms like the man who grinds the grain.”

  The old man chuckled. “Tis little wonder the lad is fascinated by anything ye wear, for ye surely must make everything seem magical.”

  “Tis not magic,” she repeated.

  Magnus turned back to gaze toward the boys again, his bent hands placed, one atop another on the head of his staff. “In truth, lass, I dunna believe in magic. When ye have seen as many years as I, ye find ye believe in naught but hard work and good luck.”

  “And in God Almighty, of course.”

  He turned to her, his white eyes disconcerting. “Of course,” he said. “And in kind wee lads who have a mind to help old men. Might I take a look at the dragon so as to whittle a rough replica for the boy?”

  She paused.

  “Ye dunna need to fear that I will run off with it, for I believe ye could best me in a footrace.”

  Shona laughed. “I guess there would be no reason to deny ye.” Slipping Dragonheart from her neck, she approached the old man.

  “Shona!”

  “What?” She jerked around to find Liam only a few feet behind her.

  “I’ve been calling to ye for half an hour. Didn’t ye hear me?”

  “Nay, I was speaking to Magnus.” She turned toward the old man, but the tree stump was suddenly empty.

  Lifting her gaze, she saw his bent figure turn into the woods and disappear.

  “Who was that?” Liam asked, gazing into the trees.

  Shona tightened her fingers over Dragonheart, and felt almost as if she were awakening from a dream. “Just an old man.”

  “What?”

  She drew herself from her reverie with a start. “God’s wrath, Liam, ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost. What troubles ye?”

  He turned his gaze quickly to hers. “Why is Dragonheart out?”

  “Magnus wanted to—”

  “Magnus?”

  “The old man. He wanted to craft a replica of the dragon for Dugald. But ye must have scared him off. Ye’d scare a troll with that scowl. What ails ye?”

  “Shona,” He relaxed a bit, becoming more himself. “Have I not warned ye to keep the dragon to yourself?”

  “He is just a harmless old man,” she said, ascending the bank and heading for the bridge.

  “Aye, well some might have thought the same of…” His voice trailed off.

  “Of who?” She stopped to stare at him.

  He shifted his eyes sideways, as if expecting a winged demon to come flying from the woods.

  “Of Warwick,” he murmured.

  “The dark wizard is dead, Liam. Killed by Boden’s blade. Warwick will bother ye no more.”

  “Shh. Dunna say his name aloud.”

  “Are ye still losing sleep over him?” she asked, feigning concern as she touched his forehead with her palm. “Mayhap I should ask Rachel to give ye something to ease your nights.”

  “Aye, Rachel would be happy indeed to fix me one of her witchy remedies—mayhap a spot of hemlock.” He darkened his scowl. “Speaking of old horny, here comes the she devil herself,” Liam said. He glanced over Shona’s shoulder, and Shona followed his gaze.

  But she only saw Rachel approach. Like a dark-haired angel she was, as beautiful as the dark waters of Loch Ness.

  “I will never understand your feud,” she said. But when she glanced at Liam again she saw that his gaze remained fixed on her cousin. “Liam?”

  He stood absolutely immobile, every muscle tensed.

  “Liam?”

  “What?” He came out of his private thoughts with a start.

  She blinked at him. “What’s wrong with ye?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Ye were staring at Rachel as if ye were transfixed—”

  “There is naught wrong,” he said, but his tone was irritable.

  “There is naught wrong with what?” Rachel asked, reaching them.

  “There is naught wrong with Liam,” Shona said, and Rachel laughed.

  “That is indeed a welcome change,” she said. “I’ll tell the heralds to raise the flags.”

  “There is the reason I lose sleep at night,” Liam said. “Thinking up spells to stifle your cousin’s barbed tongue.”

  “Be careful that in your thrashing ye dunna turn yourself into a wart. But wait,” Rachel said.

  “Ye already are—”

  “Rachel,” Shona interrupted quickly. Twas always best to stop these two before things got out of hand. “Did ye need something?”

  “Aye.” She drew her attention from Liam with an obvious effort. “I came to administer your herbs.”

  Shona made a face. “They taste like horse dung.”

  “Pray tell, Cousin, when was the last time ye tasted horse dung?”

  Liam laughed. “Despite Rachel’s evil ministrations, ye seem to be healing. Indeed, ye look far better today compared to—”

  “Horrible disfigurement,” Shona finished in unison with the Irishman.

  Rachel took her arm. “Dunna listen to him. Ye are greatly improved. In fact, ye are healing faster than I dared hope.”

  “Complimenting your own skills, Rachel?” Liam asked.

  She turned toward him. “Mayhap ye’d like to credit the amulet?”

  “That would be more likely.

  “God’s balls, Shona!” he snapped, noticing she still held Dragonheart in her hand. “Get that thing hidden away.”

  Shona slipped Dragonheart’s chain around her neck and shoved the amulet into her bodice. Then she scowled at his tone and placed a hand over Rachel’s where it rested on her forearm. “Did ye know he still frets about Warwick?”

  Rachel raised her brows and beamed a smile at the Irishman. “Really? Afraid of ghosts, Liam?”

  “Tis no laughing matter,” he grumbled, but his expression was sheepish.

  “On the contrary, it is,” Rachel said, and both women laughed as they turned away.

  “Lady Rachel.”

  Shona sucked in her breath. Dugald stood not ten feet away.

  “Speaking of dragons,” Rachel said. “I have not seen ye for days.”

  “Dare I hope you missed me?” he asked, reaching for Rachel’s hand and kissing her knuckles.

  “I’d hate to be the one to stifle hope,” Rachel said, then glanced at Shona, her brows slightly raised as if she could reach he
r cousin’s very thoughts. Shona hated that about Rachel. Twas unnatural.

  Dugald laughed as he straightened. “Then I shall continue to do so,” he said. “But I fear I must be off to Edinburgh soon. I heard you also would be traveling south, and I wondered if we might journey together.”

  “There would be added safety in numbers.”

  “What horrible circumstances could worry Dugald the Daring?” Shona asked.

  He stared at her, his expression solemn. “Any manner of thing might happen. I only hope to dissuade any disaster.”

  “If you’re worried about your girth breaking, I’ve tested it for ye,” Shona said. She knew she was being shrewish, but the sight of him kissing Rachel’s hand irked her no end. So what if she had scratched up her face a little? That didn’t mean he immediately had to move on to fairer game. “I’d suggest ye buy a new one.”

  “I would apologize again, lass,” he said, stepping closer, “but I believe you asked me to leave you be.”

  Not a soul spoke, but finally twas Liam who stepped forward to break the silence.

  “I dunna believe we have met. I am Liam, a friend of these two cousins.”

  Dugald nodded. “Dugald of the Kinnairds.”

  “I fear ye have been misinformed, Dugald,” Liam said. “Rachel’s home lies to the north of here.”

  “Oh? Do you know of another party that might be traveling south?”

  “Not that I am aware of,” Liam began, but Rachel interrupted him.

  “Shona has been called to Blackburn. Mayhap ye could accompany her party.”

  Panic spurred through Shona. The thought of spending days on the road with him, nights confined in a small company, did horrible things to her imagination.

  “I willna be leaving for days,” she said, her tone more tense than she had intended. “I am certain he will need to leave before then.”

  His gaze seared hers. “On the contrary,” he said. “I can wait.” He bowed at the waist. “My thanks for your invitation.”

  “I didna invite—” she began, but suddenly he touched her hand. The contact burned the snipe from her mind.

  “How interesting,” Rachel murmured, watching them. “Mayhap twould be well worth my time to accompany ye.”

  “Nay!” Liam said. His sharp tone startled Shona from her reverie.

  “What say ye?” Rachel asked.

  He gritted his teeth. “I am certain Shona can find enough trouble without ye, Rachel.”

  “Trouble?” Rachel watched him, her brows arched. “Hardly that, Liam. My cousin has been badly wounded. Horribly disfigured I believe ye called it. Tis my duty as a healer to see to her well-being.”

  “Rachel!” Liam stepped up close to her, his expression utterly serious. “I know we have had our differences in the past. But I’m asking ye now not to do this.”

  Shona watched as Rachel turned her eerie eyes up to his. “Why?” she asked. “Why are ye asking?”

  A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Dunna push me, Rachel.”

  “If ye dunna wish to be pushed, Liam, ye dunna have a right to ask me not to go.”

  “I would say that I agree with the Irishman,” Dugald said. “With things as they are it might well prove to be a difficult journey.”

  “And ye dunna think me up to the task?” Rachel asked.

  There was clearly laughter in her voice. Dugald grinned. “I confess you seem a delicate thing.”

  And what was she then, Shona wondered? A road mender?

  “I assure ye, I am hardier than I seem,” Rachel said. “Isn’t that so, Liam?”

  The muscle flexed again as did his fists. “Dunna go, Rachel. Shona has chosen this course with the king. But ye dunna have to.”

  “And yet I made a vow on your precious amulet to come to her aid when aid was needed,” she said.

  “Your aid is not needed now,” Liam said. “Return to the safety of Glen Creag with your father.”

  Silence. “I beg ye.”

  “Liam? Begging?” she said softly. “Tis hard to believe.”

  “And harder yet to consent to my wishes,” he said, his tone flat.

  “I believe Shona might well need me before the journey’s end.”

  “Go then, if ye will,” he said finally. “But know this.” For a moment he seemed to be fighting a losing battle with himself. Finally he continued. “If ye go, I go—”

  No one spoke, but finally Dugald broke the silence. “We shall be quite a merry party. The day after tomorrow, then,” he said, and turning, left them.

  But Shona was not lucky enough to return to the castle without more problems. Just as she crossed the drawbridge it caught up with her.

  “Daughter.”

  She turned with a wince at the sound of Roderic’s voice.

  “Father?”

  He strode toward her, his strides quick. Were they angry strides? Twas not the first time she’d tried to read his mood from his posture.

  “Good morningtide, my laird,” Rachel said. “I was just about to tend to Shona’s wounds.”

  Roderic scowled, not even bothering to look at Rachel. Twas a bad sign. Every man looked at Rachel. Her sweet gentility drew them. Even her uncles were usually not immune to her charm.

  “If she could possibly resist a challenge, she would have no wounds,” Roderic said.

  “Twas not my fault, Father.”

  His scowl deepened. She winced. Twas not the thing to say.

  “Can ye think of another to blame?”

  “If given enough time.”

  He wasn’t amused. “Might I have a word alone with my daughter?” he asked.

  “Her wounds truly should be—” Rachel began.

  But Liam suddenly took her by the arm and pulled her toward the keep. “I doubt he’ll scar her too badly, Rachel,” he murmured, then, “We shall wait for ye in the hall, Shona. Take your time, my laird.”

  Treason. Shona scowled after them, then brightened her expression with an effort and chirped.

  “Ye wished to speak to me, Father?”

  The world was quiet.

  “I did not wish to scold ye before. After all, I thought ye had, mayhap, learned your lesson about impetuousness. When I saw ye beneath that beast’s hooves…” His voice trailed off. His gaze turned away. But in a moment he found his voice and his scowl again. “But to break off the betrothal, Shona! What were ye thinking?”

  She winced. “I should have spoken to ye first.”

  “Spoken to me! Ye made a vow, lass, and your mother and I as well. We promised ye to Lord William. Does our good name mean nothing to ye?”

  “It does, Father, but—”

  “But what?”

  “But…” Suddenly she could think of no good reason to give him. Surely she could not tell him that she yearned for another. That she could think of nothing but Dugald’s hands on her skin. “But he has a big nose.”

  “A big nose!”

  From the drawbridge, Bullock turned to stare at Roderic’s outburst. Near the well, Muriel and Bethia looked up.

  “A big nose?” Roderic growled, lowering his voice. “Ye broke off your betrothal to the duke of Atberry because of the size of his nose?”

  She winced. “Well when ye say it like that, it sounds quite petty.”

  “Petty!” he all but screamed.

  “I jest, Father,” she whispered, eyeing the additional faces that turned to peer at them from the bridge. Bullock was accustomed to their battles, but she hated to involve strangers. “Tis just that…”

  She searched for words and finding none, finally touched his arm entreatingly. “Tis just that I do not love William.”

  Roderic’s expression softened. “Love is something that grows with time, Daughter.”

  “So ye did not love Mother on the day of your wedding? So ye did not adore her and long for her, and think her the most wondrous person ye had ever met?”

  Silence, deep and long.

  “Father?”

  He ground his teeth as he
drew himself from his reverie. “Ye are not me, Daughter.”

  “So I dunna deserve to love as ye did? As ye do?”

  “Ye use my words against me.”

  “Nay, I use the truth.”

  He sighed and ran splayed fingers through his hair. “Still, ye had no right to break the betrothal without so much as talking to me first.”

  “I was wrong,” she said softly.

  “Aye, ye were wrong. And what’s this I hear about ye traipsing off to Blackburn again?”

  He was softening. She could tell it by the shape of his mouth. “I dunna think ye can call a request from the king traipsing,” she said.

  “Dunna make light of this, Daughter. All of Scotland is in an uproar. Tis not safe for ye to travel so far.”

  “Liam is coming with me,” she said, and saw no reason to mention Dugald.

  “Liam!” he said. “Tell me ye dunna think twill just be he and ye on the road.”

  “I had no wish to deprive ye of men to guard me.”

  “Deprive me! Ye’ll take a dozen armed men and Bullock, or ye’ll not go atall.”

  “A dozen?”

  “In addition to Laird William and his men.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  Roderic drew a deep breath. “He came to me this morning. It seems even he has heard of your journey. He said ye had had words and he apologized for his harshness. In truth, lass, despite his…coolness, I think he cares for ye. He asked to be allowed to escort ye to Blackburn.”

  “But—”

  “And I said yes.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he glared her down. “Yes, Father,” she said finally.

  “And ye will be kind to him.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “And ye will reconsider his offer.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “And if ye say ‘yes, Father’ so sweetly once more, I shall know for certain that ye are not truly the daughter I raised from a wee lass, but a changeling left by the fairies.

  “When are ye leaving?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  “Ye will be careful?”

  She smiled at his gentle tone. “Aye. I will.”

  He looked as if he would say more, but finally he turned away.

  “Da,” she said softly.

  He glanced back over his shoulder at her.

  “If William were half the man ye are we would already be wed.”