My Rebel Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  He couldn't know that she'd never been held and comforted like this, not even when she was a wee lass, not by her father, and certainly not by her late husband. How could Rebbie give affection so selflessly and carelessly as if it was the easiest thing in the world? 'Twas almost as if he cared about her, but how could he? He didn't truly know her.

  Once he did know her and all the nooks and crannies of her deceptive heart, he would shun her and revile her. She deserved no affection at all, but she would take it from him as a thief might, just as she had stolen something else from him years ago.

  He smoothed her hair, long and hanging loose about her shoulders, then he kissed her forehead and wiped her tears away with his thumb. "Shh. Stop your crying now," he whispered gently. "There is naught to cry over. I'm not angry that you came to me that night. In fact, I'm thankful 'twas me and not some miscreant who would've mistreated you. You shouldn't have taken such a great risk, but I understand why you did it. Everyone needs affection once in a while, aye?"

  She squeezed her eyes tight, tears still stinging them and her face burning once again. Good Lord, how pathetic she sounded. She was unsure if she could ever look him in the eye again. What was she? Some stray lapdog or kitten begging for any affection someone might toss her way? And Rebbie, being the generous soul he was, gave her what she'd asked for.

  "'Twas exactly what I needed that night, too," he said. "And so… I'm glad you found me."

  Although the situation wasn't ideal, she was glad she'd found him, too. As he'd said, things could've turned out much worse. Though not a virgin, she'd still been quite naïve at eighteen summers, and being desperate, she'd simply taken her maid's advice about how to solve her problem. Although her actions had solved one problem, she'd created several more.

  While she would love to lie here with her face buried against Rebbie's chest for the rest of the night, feeling his soothing hand stroking over her, 'twas time to face reality.

  She sat up, unable to meet his gaze after the intimacy of him holding her while she cried like a silly bairn, and pushed away from him. She stood and crossed the room to find her handkerchief to blot at her eyes and nose.

  "Do you have any other family?" he asked. "Brothers, sisters?"

  "Nay. Laird Barclay is my closest living relative, my father's cousin. He inherited my father's barony. I had a dower house from my mother, but Stanbury gambled it away, too. 'Twas one of the first things to go, even though he'd promised to never touch it."

  "What a bastard," Rebbie growled. "Pray pardon."

  "Nay, you're right."

  "What of the Stanbury Estate?"

  "'Tis entailed. Thankfully, Claybourne cannot get his paws on it. 'Tis held in trust for Jamie when he comes of age. But there is little in the castle beyond the trestle tables. 'Tis mostly an empty shell. All the furnishings which were not entailed were sold to pay Claybourne. Of course, the crofters remain on the lands and that is the only money going into the estate. Stanbury's brother-in-law manages it for Jamie." She knew her former staff members had a difficult time finding work, though she'd tried to help them as best she could. But she could not perform miracles and hold it all together.

  "'Tis a tragedy," Rebbie said. "But at least you and your son are safe."

  She nodded. "Aye, thank the saints for that. And thank you as well. If you hadn't come along, Claybourne would've made off with me. It makes me sick to even imagine what he had in mind." Nausea consuming her, she shook her head. "He claims Stanbury wagered me also, once he ran out of funds."

  Rebbie shot from his chair. "'Slud! Surely not."

  Startled by Rebbie's aggressive movement, she drew back a step, but then calmed herself. His anger was not directed at her. "I know not. Stanbury certainly never told me that. 'Haps Claybourne made it up. But Stanbury was fond of whisky. And the more he gambled, the more he drank. So, I can easily imagine him making such a drunken wager." It wouldn't surprise her, for he hadn't cared as much about her as he had his favorite horse or even the sheep of the field.

  Through clenched teeth, Rebbie muttered a scathing curse, then paced from the fireplace to the door and back again. "He is not worthy of being called a man. Such a bastard is lower than a worm."

  Her watery eyes burned anew, for no one had ever risen to her defense so vehemently. Though she felt unworthy, she appreciated it… appreciated him more than she could even comprehend.

  "How could he care so little for his own wife?" Rebbie muttered. "The mother of his child. And why would he risk his son's future like that?"

  "I know not. He was not a reasonable man."

  "Obviously, he was mad as a ravening wolf," he grumbled.

  Rebbie couldn't believe what a pathetic bastard she'd been married to. The man had best be glad he was dead, for if he were alive, Rebbie would call him out. 'Twould not be the first dual he'd fought. And he was deadly accurate with a pistol.

  Damnation, but Calla deserved so much better than she'd ever received. Both her father and her husband had treated her no better than a stray mutt who'd happened to slink in the door of their esteemed homes. God, how he wanted to give her something right now, something to show her how amazing and beautiful she was, but he knew not what. In the dim firelight, she looked like a lost angel, fallen to earth, with her long blond curls cascading over her shoulders. He could scarce breathe, seeing her like this, all disheveled and vulnerable.

  When he'd held her against him, her tears had near broken his heart. At the same time, her light weight upon his lap had sent hot, sweet arousal flowing through his veins. And if he didn't leave her now, he feared what he'd give her was something she didn't want or need. Besides, hadn't she been taken advantage of enough by her damnable husband and the whoreson, Claybourne?

  Annoyed beyond reason, he shook his head. "Well, I will let you get some sleep. I'm certain you're exhausted." He forced himself to head toward the door, instead of pulling her back into his arms as he wanted. "Rest assured that I will protect you from that lunatic Claybourne."

  "I thank you, Laird Rebbinglen."

  He turned back. "Rebbie, please."

  "Rebbie," she repeated, her voice soft. 'Haps his eyes were playing tricks on him, but her glance through the dimness appeared to beckon to him, her silvery-gray eyes tinted dark as twilight. Aye, she'd seduced him once simply by laying her hand upon his, letting him know without words what she wished. If she did that again, he'd be hard-pressed to say nay.

  But she didn't. She remained where she was.

  Something about her was very different than it had been all those years ago. It wasn't only that she was a curvaceous woman now, but 'twas something deeper that compelled him and appealed to him even more than before.

  He nodded. "I bid you goodnight."

  "Goodnight."

  "Bar the door after I leave. I don't trust MacFadden."

  "Very well."

  Rebbie stepped out the door and closed it behind him. He inhaled the chillier air of the dark corridor, hoping it would cool his lust. No such luck. He headed toward the chamber he'd claimed for himself, the laird's chamber, since he'd removed MacFadden from it.

  He was sparing the man no quarter. He would again try to take over if he allowed him to keep the laird's chamber. He'd had the housekeeper tell the maids to clean it out and change the sheets.

  Stepping into the chamber, he noted it smelled fresh and a warm fire burned in the hearth. He paced before it, remembering how lovely Calla was in the firelight, her honey-gold hair gleaming. He'd yearned to kiss her, but he feared he could not stop with only a kiss. And with that bed nearby… damn! He feared he'd not be able to control his actions unless she told him nay. And he didn't think she would.

  Besides that, the betrothal to Lady Elena was still in force and legal. He had no intention of marrying the girl, but he had to make sure the engagement was a thing of the past before he became intimate with Calla again… if she was interested.

  Though she was a woman full-grown, Calla still had the endea
ring and naïve habit of displaying her emotions clearly upon her face and in her expressive eyes. Given the heated way she'd looked at him, and the indulgent way she'd kissed him the night before, she was drawn to him. But he didn't know if he could resist her until all the other problems were solved.

  Knowing she'd been married to another man at the time of their encounter, he felt torn. If he'd known then, he might have declined. But now, he didn't regret it. Mayhap she'd needed him more than he'd needed her at the time, if what she'd said about her husband was true. That he cared not one whit about her, nor had he given her any pleasure or affection.

  Too often in their circles, marriage was a cold political arrangement with no emotion save resentment, bitterness and anger. The women were the ones who suffered, for the men sought their pleasures elsewhere. He admired Calla for her bravery in seeking out her own satisfaction. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and went after it. He was just glad she'd happened upon him and not some rotter who would've abused her.

  Even though she was strong, she had a delicate vulnerability about her that made him want to protect her with all his might. Too many had already abused her… Stanbury and now Claybourne. If only he could protect her, while also resisting her.

  He blew out a harsh breath. Damnation, he did not want to resist her. He wanted to seduce her and wallow in the most delicious encounter he could imagine. He still remembered the beauty of all her luscious, slim curves in the candlelight. The passion in her eyes when he'd brought her to the peak of pleasure.

  Aye, he craved that again to the pit of his soul.

  ***

  From his hidden place in the wood, Edward Claybourne watched the garrison of three dozen or so leave Draughon Castle and head north just after daybreak. The dark-haired Highland chief he'd met two days before was among them—MacGrath, he'd said his name was—riding at the front, along with another plaid-swathed man with lighter hair. Both of them were brawny and formidable-looking warriors, but he did not fear them. They would bleed just as easily as anyone else.

  He narrowed his eyes. They had to be going after Lady Stanbury and her rescuer.

  Claybourne held up his hand for his men to remain silent and still so as to alert no one of their presence. Once the others were out of sight, he said, "We follow them at a distance."

  They proceeded from the wood.

  He could hardly wait to get his hands on Lady Stanbury—Calla. He smirked, remembering how he'd slowly and methodically stripped all possessions from her husband and left him an empty, sotted pauper, just before he'd knifed him in the back. He'd always hated the man who had killed his mother and treated him like refuse when he was a lad.

  Aye, when he'd been six or seven years of age, Claybourne's mother had been Laird Stanbury's mistress. The bastard had beaten his poor mother and taken all from her. When Claybourne had leapt onto Stanbury's back to try to make him stop hitting her, Stanbury had tossed him against the cottage's stone wall like a rat. Claybourne had been knocked out and awoke hours later, his mother crying over him, thinking he was near dead.

  Stanbury had never shown his face again there. A few months later, his mother had died, screaming and bleeding in her bed. He now knew she'd had a miscarriage of Stanbury's bastard. And Claybourne was sent to live with relatives.

  He remembered Stanbury well and swore his revenge. He'd raked and clawed his way out of the gutter, changed his name from Edward Leslie to Edward Claybourne, then he'd bought his first merchant ship. From there, buying a failing estate had been easy and with that he'd become a landlord. Though not a member of the aristocracy, he had more money than some of the barons and earls in the area. He'd approached Stanbury one night after watching him gamble recklessly at a tavern in Edinburgh. The man hadn't recognized him as the young lad he'd almost killed some twenty years earlier.

  The two of them had gambled off and on for years, Claybourne taking a bit more each time, which drove the older man half-mad, for he'd always wanted a chance to win back what he'd lost.

  The night Claybourne had first seen the fresh, young Lady Stanbury, he knew he had to have her. She was a fair-haired angel with the curves of a harlot. He grew hard just thinking about her. 'Twas easy to tell she had a brilliant mind behind those cool gray eyes. That was why she had eluded him thus far.

  He'd set out to own everything of Stanbury's. His estate was entailed for his young brat, but his luscious wife…. The night he had conned and cajoled her husband into wagering her as his last valuable possession, Claybourne had been overjoyed. Not that he could claim her by law, but he knew how to easily dance around it.

  He was tired of receiving the ridiculous, piddling payments she was sending him. She needed to pay her husband's debt while lying on her back.

  ***

  "What the devil is this, MacFadden?" Rebbie asked the next afternoon, gazing up at the half-finished tower on the far side of the castle, which had not been a part of Tummel Castle on his last visit.

  "A new tower." MacFadden sent him a hesitant but gleeful smile.

  "I can see that. Who is having it built and why?" Although Rebbie already knew the answer, he wanted to hear the other man say it.

  "I am… was." MacFadden pressed his thin lips together and rolled them inward.

  "Who is paying for this?"

  "T-the money is coming from the estate."

  "Ah. Of course. I wondered why I was getting no income from this estate." Actually, he had paid no attention to it. He hadn't been home in over a year to look at the books. But he trusted the treasurer of Castle Rebbinglen. No doubt the steward here had sent the funds last year. "I'll have a look at the books later and decide whether to continue the construction."

  "'Tis almost completed, m'laird. And 'twill be a grand addition. I-it will balance the whole edifice of the castle from this side." Excitement lit MacFadden's eyes.

  Rebbie frowned, wondering why the man cared. Was he half imbecilic?

  "Do you not agree?" MacFadden asked.

  Rebbie glanced from one end of the castle to the other, seeing that the new tower did add to the beauty of the whole structure. "Aye, 'haps you're right."

  The other man grew even more animated. "'Twill contain spacious new suites for the laird and lady."

  "Hmph," Rebbie grunted. What did he care? He wasn't going to live here permanently. Although—he turned and gazed at the view out over the glimmering loch toward the setting sun over the western mountains—'twas an incredibly lovely place.

  Mayhap he would stay here part of the year, and spend part of it at Castle Rebbinglen, which was far larger with a much bigger staff.

  "How is the hunting here?" Rebbie asked.

  "Excellent in the autumn. The deer come down from the high mountains and congregate in this glen for the rut."

  Was MacFadden trying to get him to stay? If he wanted the castle for himself, seems he would've said the hunting was terrible, hoping Rebbie would never return. He hadn't yet figured the man out. Mayhap he was indeed mad. Or maybe he was hoping Rebbie would allow him to take over the position of steward.

  A short distance away, Calla, wearing her cloak, stepped from the castle's front portal. Now, where was she headed?

  "We'll talk more about this later," Rebbie told him, then strode toward Calla. "And where are you off too, m'lady?"

  "'Tis such a lovely afternoon, I had to get outside."

  He glanced upward. 'Twas true; there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

  "Staying inside all the time makes me daft," Calla said. Seeing Rebbie's handsome face, rich brown eyes and windblown hair sent an unwanted thrill through her. Though she'd had a difficult time meeting his gaze that morn at breakfast, he had tried to make her feel comfortable, as if last night hadn't happened, but she couldn't forget it.

  "Well, 'tis dangerous for you to venture beyond the walls. But we could take a walk in the kitchen garden," he suggested.

  She grimaced. "Doesn't sound too exciting."

  "It could be." He raised a brow
and gave her a sensual sidelong glance.

  She blushed at the implication. Well, aye, of course it would be exciting if he came along. "I don't take walks with scoundrels."

  "I'm glad." He chuckled and offered his elbow. She enjoyed the hardness of the muscle beneath his sleeve. Aye, this little walk was already more exciting than she'd expected… just because she was touching him. A tingle traveled from her hand, up her arm and to her breasts. The soft breeze wafted his appealing male scent to her. It reminded her of last night, when he'd held her tightly.

  But, nay, she could not grow close to him. He represented a danger she could hardly even fathom. Not just a danger to her, but a greater one to her son, for if Rebbie exposed her, Jamie could be declared a bastard and lose everything.

  They followed the flagstone pathway around the side of the castle toward a low stone wall and a wooden gate. He opened it for her and she proceeded through.

  "I didn't know the garden was this big," she said, simply to make conversation.

  "Aye. I've been back here once before."

  "Tis much more than a kitchen garden. There are flowers and even an orchard."

  "Indeed."

  Her hand still on his arm, they proceeded along the stone path beyond the vegetables, toward the flowers and the small grove of fruit trees. Releasing her, he took out his short sgian dubh and cut a red rose from the climbing vine upon the stone wall. Now, what was he about? Feeling her face heat, she wondered if he planned to give it to her. She found herself holding her breath. In that moment, he reminded her of wee Jamie. Her son had a habit of snapping off flowers and presenting them to her as the bonniest and most precious gifts on earth. And she did treasure each one. A sheen of moisture burned her eyes.

  Rebbie removed the thorns with his knife, then handed the rose to her.

  She grinned. "How beautiful. I thank you." She brushed the silky petals beneath her nose, and the rich rose scent filled her senses. "Smells so good."

  A pleasant expression lighting his eyes, he studied her.

  She forced herself to glance away and change the subject. "Do you think your friends will arrive tomorrow with a garrison?"