Highlander's Sweet Promises

by Tarah Scott

  Amidst their cheers, he dashed up the remaining flights and slipped inside his tower bedchamber.

  The room was dim, lit only by the dull glow of the dying fire and the light of a single taper, but it was enough to illuminate Liselle standing by the window.

  He paused a moment, watching the candlelight flicker, casting shadows over the rich tapestries and brocade, curtained bed, but most captivatingly, playing on the soft satin folds of the gown gracing Liselle’s slender hips in a way that made his blood boil.

  Aye, the lass was bonny, and the long creamy expanse of her throat called for his lips. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her close against his chest, and with a soft growl, he kissed the back of her neck.

  He felt her shiver and then she laughed. “Lord Gray, you are quite bold!”

  His hands stayed upon her hips as she twisted in his arms.

  He could drown in those hazel eyes.

  “Ye are bonny beyond measure, lass.” He groaned softly, and then catching her chin in his hand, he lazily investigated her mouth in a long slow kiss.

  Her lips were soft and pliant under his, eagerly opening to allow her tongue to dance with his.

  After a moment, he pulled back to breathe lightly against her cheek. “Aye, but your lips are a sinful pleasure, lass.”

  “You speak too much, Lord Gray,” she whispered with a sultry smile.

  “And what would ye have me do instead, Lady Gray?” he asked with a playful wink.

  Wild desire burned in her eyes as she pulled his head down and caught his lips lightly between her teeth.

  Crushing her even closer, he reclaimed her mouth in an instant as he allowed his hands to explore her soft curves. And then placing feather-light kisses along the curve of her neck, he traced a long slow line down the side of her neck and over her collarbone with his tongue.

  Liselle shivered uncontrollably, and a soft sigh escaped her throat.

  Julian chuckled.

  Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her to the bed. And removing her slippers with a low growl in his throat, he bent down and kissed the viper mark upon her ankle.

  She gasped in pleasure.

  Slowly, his kisses moved upwards, but when she slid her hands beneath his shirt to run her fingernails over his skin, it was his turn to shiver with desire.

  “It is too bright,” she whispered, nodding at the candle.

  Pulling himself away, it took him a moment to focus his eyes on the flickering flame, and when he moved to oblige her, he heard her soft laugh.

  “Please, Lord Gray!” she murmured in amusement. “Allow me.”

  He heard the soft rasp of metal as a bone-handled stiletto appeared between her delicate fingers. And then she took aim.

  Unerringly, the blade flew through the air to slice the wick from the wax.

  And as darkness fell, he heard the laughter in her voice. “Pray continue, Lord Gray.”

  With a grin creasing his cheek, he pulled her closer and whispered his reply, “As you wish, Lady Gray.”

  Epilogue

  Julian stood on top of the wall of the castle, commanding a fine view of Lochmaben.

  Below him stretched the dark waters of the loch mirroring the summer trees as ducks arrowed through its surface in the afternoon light.

  It was St. Magdalene’s Day, and the villagers had chosen to celebrate with a fair. From his position on the wall, Julian could hear the laughter and calls of the hawkers selling meat pies and other treats. The place was a hive of activity. Gypsies wearing red and green attire awed the crowds with feats of skill on horseback whilst clansmen tossed cabers and played the pipes.

  Idly, Julian watched as a man wearing a russet cloak guided his shaggy garron towards the castle entrance. He gave the man little thought, instead choosing to think of his wee wife. He missed her sorely. He prayed this business would soon be over, so once again, he could ride north and spend his time in her company. He shook his head, amused. Lord Julian Gray was in danger of becoming a homebody.

  And then the shaggy garron turned to trot along the castle wall and pause directly beneath him. Curiously, he watched from above as the man dismounted, but then he heard a familiar husky laugh.

  It wasn’t a man at all.

  It was Liselle.

  Shaking out her mass of honeyed tresses, she squinted up at him and waved.

  “Ach, lass! Ye shouldna be here!” he rumbled in disapproval, and swinging his legs over the edge, promptly climbed down the wall to kiss her warmly in welcome. “I left ye safe in Huntly, ye wee minx!”

  Locking her arms around his neck, Liselle murmured between kisses, “Buy me some ribbons and sweet cakes from the fair, Lord Gray.”

  The soft shimmering waves of her hair and her pouting lips made his blood run hot and it was with some difficulty that he set her firmly aside.

  “Ye have no cause to be here, lass!” he chided softly. “’Tis business—”

  “Santo Ciélo, Julian! Can you not admit that you were wrong?” she teased as she began plaiting her hair to one side. “There is no sign of Albany or the Black Douglas. King Edward of England is dead and his brother Richard now sits on the throne. He is busy with internal strife, Lord Gray, and has no time to pester your Scotland!”

  “Albany rides to unleash a rebellion, lass,” Julian corrected with some difficulty. Aye, but her soft curves were distracting. Shaking his head a little, he added, “Albany’s hoping there are yet those who might feel loyalty to the Black Douglas in spite of his many years of lurking in England.”

  Liselle smiled, and walked her fingers up his arm. “But I do not see them now. Mayhap we can find better ways to spend your time, Lord Gray?” She lowered her lashes provocatively.

  Aye, ‘twas fair tempting.

  “And even if they should arrive, Ewan MacLean is ready for them, is he not?” She suggested and gestured towards the men standing on alert about the castle and beyond.

  Even from this distance, Julian could spot the flaxen hair of his cousin, Ewan. Aye, the lad was a natural-born leader and unholy swordsman. Albany didn’t stand a chance against such a fearsome highlander.

  But then his wee wife’s words played back in his mind.

  “Should?” he repeated, turning back to her in wry amusement. “Dare ye doubt the word of Le Marin that Albany will arrive soon with five hundred men?”

  “It is the number five hundred that has me wagering Le Marin is mistaken this time, Lord Gray.” Liselle laughed outright. “Five hundred is such a paltry sum, he would not dare!”

  “But I told ye his stratagem is different this time, lass. He hopes to start a civil war,” Julian rumbled as he moved to join her. And then wrapping his arms about her slim waist, he rested his chin upon the top of her head and asked in a suggestive tone, “But tell me, just what are ye willing to wager?”

  But she didn’t answer. Instead, she grew serious all at once.

  Following her gaze, he saw horses, helmets, and spears on the horizon.

  “Sweet Mary,” Julian cursed beneath his breath. “I had hoped to be wrong.”

  And then ordering her to take safety in the castle behind them, he appropriated her garron and urged the animal down the gentle slope towards the fair.

  He had covered only half the distance before he spied Ewan vaulting onto his horse, and as he watched, the young man pulled back the string of his bow and let loose an arrow.

  As the shaft whistled over the heads of the crowd in a clear signal of warning, the battle cries came, starting first with “A MacLean!” but soon resounding with the names of other clans.

  Men shouted and horses reared. The air crackled with danger. As the women and children fled to the surrounding hills, the village men took up their axes to gather behind Ewan and his men.

  “Aye, Albany doesna stand a chance.” Julian nodded grimly. “Not when even the townspeople rise to take up arms against him.”

  And as he joined the fray, Albany and the Black
Earl bore down upon them.

  The battle was a short one.

  Ewan led the men forth, engaging Albany head on. And before the clouds of night had even gathered, the rebels were routed and Albany was captured, bound, placed upon a horse, and taken as prisoner to the castle.

  “Well done, lad,” Julian greeted Ewan with a fond clasp on the shoulder.

  “Julian,” Ewan acknowledged him with a crisp nod. “Your tidings bore true. ‘Tis fortunate that Cameron called us here in time.”

  For the most part, Julian was satisfied to find that the young man was unharmed—suffering only a scratch upon his cheek—but there was a coldness in his eyes that was worrisome.

  “Your skills played no small part in this swift victory, lad,” Julian inserted, tilting his head speculatively to the side. “Walk with me a moment, Ewan, will ye?”

  Ewan said nothing, but joined him to move a short distance away.

  “Are ye well, lad?” Julian asked abruptly.

  The young man merely lifted a cool brow before glancing briefly over his limbs. “As you can see, I am unharmed, cousin.”

  Julian snorted softly. “I meant your heart.”

  At that, Ewan’s head snapped back, and an expression that Julian had never seen before crossed his face—an expression of anger and pain. But it was gone before he was even certain that he had seen it.

  “Heart?” Ewan repeated icily. “Have ye not heard, Julian? I have no heart.”

  Astonished, Julian merely stared at him.

  And then Ewan smiled, but there was little warmth in it. Gesturing to the battlefield, he added coldly, “How can a man who wields a sword that has killed so many even have a heart?”

  And then without a further word, he pivoted on his heel and was gone, leaving Julian to stare at his departing figure in consternation.

  The next few days were eventful ones.

  Albany and the Black Douglas were escorted to Edinburgh, and upon entering the city gates, the town folk pelted them both with vegetables and small stones. Soon, Albany was imprisoned in the David’s Tower to await justice, and jubilation abounded in the city below; the common folk, weary of his treachery, called for his head.

  But Albany wasn’t through yet. It was only a matter of days before he’d escaped by getting his guards drunk. He had then lowered himself from a tower window with a rope made of sheets and had fled once again to France.

  The entire affair provided the Scottish court with plenty of gossip, but there was no longer any real danger. The French were as angry with him as the English now. The man had succeeded only in making enemies of those who would help him.

  The summer waned, and the hint of fall was in the air.

  With Albany’s latest doings safely behind him, Julian found himself growing restless in Edinburgh. In the past, he would have set himself off to a foreign land to let adventure take him where it willed, but now he longed instead for his ancestral lands.

  Slipping into bed next to Liselle, he drew her close and chuckled. “I no longer recognize myself. Ye’ve made me far too respectable this past year, ye wee vixen. I fear Le Marin will fade into the realm of stories.”

  “Never!” Liselle protested, flipping onto her stomach to nuzzle his ear. “But I see no harm in him staying by my side until next spring before venturing forth again.”

  Julian frowned. “And why only till next spring? Will ye weary of me for good so soon?”

  A softness crept over her face, and then pulling his head down, she whispered into his ear.

  His gray eyes widened in shock.

  A bairn.

  Aye, but it seemed adventure had found him this time. And finding himself grinning like a daft fool, he caught Liselle up into his arms and kissed her passionately.

  * * *

  At any other time, Liselle would have enjoyed the sweet autumn and the crispy crackle of the fallen leaves as she stepped upon them, but she found little joy as the days marched on.

  She was worried.

  Nicoletta was more than a month overdue and winter would arrive soon. Only the most persistent yellow leaves clung desperately to the naked branches surrounding the castle.

  “Ach, lass, fretting ‘tis harmful to the bairn,” Julian murmured against her neck early one morning as he lovingly caressed the small curve of her belly. “And if I know Nicoletta, she’s most likely harping on Pascal or Orazio this very moment. Ye’ve no cause to fret over her. Stay here and rest a while.”

  She knew he meant to comfort her, but she was too restless to listen to reason. “Nicoletta has only just regained her health,” she said, frowning a little.

  Rising from the bed, she pulled on her gray-leather boots and a cloak trimmed with fur, and leaving the castle, trudged across the frost-tipped field to stand near the road.

  But Nicoletta did not come that day.

  Nor the next.

  Time passed. Winter arrived.

  And each day, Liselle wandered restlessly. And each day, Julian faithfully rode his horse behind her, waiting until she grew tired to lift her with a strong arm into the saddle and carry her safely back to the castle.

  “Ach now, ye wee devil, ye’ll catch ill!” he chided gently each afternoon.

  Yet, she could not bear to sit still.

  And then one particularly cold afternoon, Julian swung her lightly down from his horse when a willowy beauty wearing an embroidered lavender silk with a jet and silver brooch clasped about the graceful curve of her throat swept from the castle doors to greet them.

  It was Nicoletta.

  Wordlessly, Liselle ran into her arms and the two of them set about wailing and weeping tears of joy until Julian stepped between them.

  “Mayhap ye’d care to continue this in the warmth of the hall, ladies?” he suggested with an uneasy eye cast in Nicoletta’s direction.

  Her head swiveled his way. Placing a finger upon her lips, she responded coolly, “Silence will be your friend, Lord Gray.”

  His brows arched in surprise. “Are ye ordering me to be silent in my own house?” he asked in astonishment.

  “O cièl!” Nicoletta rolled her eyes. “Is the man deaf?”

  Bursting into laughter, Liselle pulled her sister into the hall, and then tossing her cloak aside, grabbed both of Nicoletta’s hands in hers. “Tell me the news! All of it, Nicoletta!”

  But Nicoletta’s face registered shock. “Are you with child, Liselle?” Her lips broke into a smile that quickly withered as her gaze fell upon Julian.

  He grinned.

  “Osti!” Nicoletta wailed before turning back to Liselle and hissing with a gleam of hope, “Please tell me that macaròn is not the father!”

  “Nicoletta!” Liselle gasped, but more in amusement than anything else.

  Pipes keened, announcing it was time for the midday feast, and as Liselle drew her sister towards the high table, Nicoletta sighed heavily.

  “I worry for you!” she said, her voice taking on a dire tone. “You are cast alone in a savage land!”

  “Alone?” Julian repeated in a tone of derision.

  Politely holding out Nicoletta’s chair, he waited until she had taken it before playfully shoving it forward a bit with his booted foot.

  Nicoletta sent him a dark look, and glancing up at Liselle, she repeated, “And you are cast alone in a savage land, sorèlina cara!”

  “My lady, please sit.” Julian smiled warmly at his wife, assisting her with exaggerated care and kissing the top of her head before taking his place by her side.

  Liselle watched the two of them, amused.

  The meal passed pleasantly enough, and when Julian finally rose to excuse himself on estate matters, Nicoletta turned excitedly to Liselle.

  “Have you heard the news of Albany?” she whispered.

  “Albany?” Liselle blinked in surprise. “Is he not in France?”

  Nicoletta tossed her head back and laughed. “He was, cara.” The smile on her lips was a smug one.

  The way she said the
word was spoke volumes. “He is dead then,” Liselle said.

  It was the hand of the Vindictam. She could tell by the expression in Nicoletta’s eyes.

  “Soon, you will hear the tidings,” Nicoletta said a bit proudly. “They will say that he was killed in a tournament in Paris—from a splinter entering his eye. They will never discover how he truly died. And Orazio! His hands flow with gold. England, France, and Scotland, they each secretly paid him to see the deed done!”

  Orazio had ever been the wily one in such matters, but Liselle could only stare at her sister in slight horror. “You?” She swallowed.

  “Not I!” Nicoletta shook her head, but her denial rang false.

  Liselle glanced away. “Albany caused many to die,” she said finally. “I suppose it is only fitting.”

  At that, Nicoletta reached over to cup Liselle’s face between her hands. “Forgive me, but I forget, cara! You do not have the assassin’s heart. Let us speak of other things.”

  Liselle took a deep breath. She had changed. Far more than she had realized.

  Across the hall, she saw the tall form of her husband clad in his white shirt and favorite plaid. Sensing her eyes upon him, he turned and grinned. Santo Ciélo, but his smile alone weakened her knees.

  And then glancing down at the small curve of her belly, she closed her eyes, and for the first time in her life, she felt complete and at peace.

  She was where she belonged.

  Reaching over, she hugged her sister tightly.

  “You and Orazio were right from the start, Nicoletta. I should have listened,” she said softly. “I was meant for other things.”

  The End

  The next book in

  “The Highland Heather and Hearts

  Scottish Romance Series”:

  The Bold Heart

  “Moridac is beyond skilled as an archer, I’ll grant him that,” Ewan agreed, eyeing the slim, dark-haired youth playing a rowdy game of dice in the corner with several of Ewan’s men. “And his heart is as brave and valiant as any. But we are at war. There’s no place for a lad to ride amongst us.”