Highland Bride

by Colleen French

  "I don't doubt ye."

  "Harry doubted me."

  "Harry does not know you as I know you. It sounds like one of Rob's tricks. To sneak into the castle with the crowd, not to make trouble, just to see if he could get away with it. He's taunting us."

  "Will he take cattle tonight?"

  "'Tis likely. I'll gather a group of men now, ones I can find sober. We'll divide into patrols. We cannot protect all of the herds, but at least the larger ones nearer to Dunnane."

  He was no longer stroking her back, but she could feel the warmth of his presence behind her. "Be careful," she whispered, stroking the monkey's fine, downy fur.

  "I wish you could come tonight."

  "With so many in the castle?" She laughed aloud. No one noticed them. It was too late at night, most were in their cups. "Ye might as well come up the tower steps and announce yourself."

  "I might surprise ye some night. I don't like you leaving the safety of the tower."

  Kara thought of the doors that now stood between her chamber and Harry's, between hers and Isla's. Would they dare? Were they completely mad? Was this what love did to a man and a woman? Drove them mad?

  "I think you're right. I'm tired." She rose from her chair. "I'm going to sleep."

  He stood back from her chair. "Sweet dreams," he whispered.

  "Sweet dreams," she returned.

  "Only of you..." His voice was so soft that it was but a whisper in the warm, smoky air of the hall, but she did not miss his reply as she passed him.

  Kara carried Harry's monkey under her arm as she crossed the great hall. She found Harry near the door that led out into the passageway. "I'm going to bed," she said.

  He smiled crookedly. "Then I shall come, too."

  "Nae. It's not necessary. It's your birthday. Ye should stay." She didn't want to deal with Harry another minute. She wanted to climb into her bed and sleep. "Ye should stay with your men."

  The monkey blinked drowsily at her as Harry took it from her and nestled it safely into the crook of his arm. "I'd rather be with you."

  He gave a wave to Ian and followed her out of the hall. Kara groaned. Now she would have to see to his nighttime ablutions, order him a cup of chocolate, find one of his missing slippers.

  "My lord?" a voice called from behind as they retreated down the corridor.

  It was Dungald.

  "Just a moment with you, my lord. I see you're retiring with your lady wife. 'Twill take only a moment."

  Kara kept walking. She would not speak to Dungald; she hadn't the stomach for it.

  Behind her she heard Dungald's voice, low and rumbling. Harry said something. Dungald spoke again. By the time she reached the stairs, Harry had caught up with her.

  They entered their chambers through his door. "I was thinking I might call him James. What do you think?" Harry carried the monkey to his bed and placed it on his pillow. The monkey curled into a ball and went back to sleep.

  "After the king of England?" She shook her head. "You'll be lucky if you're not hauled to London and tossed into the Tower."

  He laughed. "Methinks His Majesty has better things to do than worry what a boy calls his monkey in the northeastern foothills of the Grampians of Scotland."

  She presented her back to him. "Unlace me, will you?"

  When Isla was asleep or not available, Harry always helped her out of her gown. Kara had sent Isla to bed long ago.

  She felt him tug on the ribbons at her back. She dropped her chin to her chest. She was so tired she thought she could fall asleep upright.

  "I took care of the possibility of the reivers being nearby. I sent Ian and a patrol of men. They won't dare strike."

  She rested her hands on her hips and turned her stiff neck one way and then the other. He was taking too long to unlace her gown. She could feel his cool fingers on her back through her shift.

  "It was a bold move to rule on the MacFae-Gordon dispute." She pressed her hands to her waist. "I was proud of you."

  He stepped closer to her, his warm breath on her bare back. "You were?"

  "Aye. Your men will respect you for making a stand. For not tolerating their childish behavior."

  "I hope. More likely they'll just all hate me. The MacFaes for not giving all the land to Matty—George Gordon's band for not granting it all to him."

  Kara thought a bath would be nice and relaxing, but it was too late. "Are you through unlacing me?"

  She stiffened as his hands slid around her waist. He didn't normally touch her this way when he unlaced her.

  "'Tis done."

  She felt his mouth close to her ear. His breath was thick with the bite of scotch.

  She tried to move away, but he resisted, tightening his arms around her. He pressed his mouth to the side of her neck. His movement was awkward, but his intentions undeniable.

  He had taken her completely by surprise. "Harry!"

  He kissed her shoulder, his lips wet and soft.

  She shuddered, on the verge of repulsion. "Harry, please don't do that."

  Holding her with one arm, he came around to face her, surprising her with his strength.

  "Why shouldn't I?" He leaned forward to kiss her collarbone, bared by the shift.

  She pushed his head away. "Because I don't want you to!"

  He looked up, still not releasing her. "It's my right, you know," he declared boldly.

  She looked him straight in the eye. "Is this you talking, or your cousin?"

  Color flared on his cheeks.

  She had hit it right. This must have been what Dungald was talking to him about downstairs in the hall. He had put Harry up to this. Anger rose in her throat.

  He let go of her, but did not back up. "I... I am your husband. You are my wife." He made a fist. "I have a right to—"

  "You have a right to force yourself upon me?" she demanded. "You have a right to take me against my will? Hurt me?"

  His gaze fell to his boots, which were spotted with splashes of ale. "Everyone wants me to be the earl. They want me to act like a man. And a man... a man..." He gestured toward the bed, not having the vocabulary to say what he meant. "He... he exercises his rights with his wife. He gets a son."

  Kara ran a hand over her eyes. She'd known this would come eventually; she just hadn't expected it so soon. Not tonight. She tried to calm herself. "Harry, you are fourteen years old," she said quietly.

  "I'm old enough to—"

  "You are not old enough to understand what it is to love a woman. You are not old enough to take a woman into your arms and make love to her." She met his gaze.

  His lower lip trembled and his gaze fell to his boots again.

  "You are not old enough to love me the way I deserve to be loved."

  He drew back his foot and kicked a small table, sending a vase of white flowers crashing to the floor. The painted Chinese vase shattered, the flowers sprayed, the water pooled.

  Her gown hanging off her shoulders, she stared at the broken vase at her feet, wondering if his childish reaction had made him feel any better. It was a silly thought, but she hoped so.

  Fat tears ran down his cheeks as he was transformed from a young man to a boy again. "You don't love me," he whispered.

  Kara felt drained. She put out her hand to touch his shoulder. "I love you," she said quietly. "Just not in that way." She took a deep breath. "And it has to be in that way between a man and a woman for it to be right. Do ye understand?"

  In truth, he looked a little relieved.

  "I just want to do what's right." He wiped at his face, embarrassed. "I don't want you to hate me."

  "I don't hate you, Harry." She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. "But you have to do what you know is right. Let your own mind, your own heart, be the final judge. Not Dungald, not me, not even Ian."

  He sniffed as he lowered his head to her shoulder. "I know you wish we hadn't had to marry, but if I had to marry someone... you know, older, I'm glad it was you."

  She smiled sadly,
stroked his hair, and said nothing.

  Chapter 17

  The following week Ian glanced over his shoulder to see what delayed Harry. He had been beside him when they left the courtyard, headed for the mews to see the new falcon that had just arrived.

  Dungald. Who else? The man was worse than a flea.

  Dungald was talking to Harry. Harry walked along, balancing his pet monkey on his shoulder, making a good effort of watching his boots and nodding periodically.

  "What do ye speak of that you can't share with me, Dungald?" Ian called over his shoulder in challenge. He didn't trust Dungald, not as far as Harry could toss him, but he had no tangible proof the man was anything but what he appeared be—an annoying relative.

  "No concern of yours. Only busy making plans to overthrow Dunnane," Dungald said cheerfully. He flashed even, white teeth with his handsome smile. "Actually I've no need to bring in soldiers. My cousin and I have struck a deal, haven't we, Harry?" He slapped him on the shoulder.

  Harry glanced up, offering a lopsided smile, as if amused, but only Ian knew that smile. Harry was not amused.

  "My cousin says he will grant me title to Dunnane and all her holdings for three fine stallions, a hundred head of cattle"—Dungald counted off on his fingers—"a bottle of two-hundred-year-old scotch brewed upon the premises, and a red-haired whore."

  "If I am as well informed as I believe I am, methinks you've no holdings to offer but your piss pot," Ian said. "His lordship holds possession of all the horses, cattle and scotch upon these lands. In fact, correct me if I am wrong, but your cousin Harry, the Earl of Dunnane, even owns your piss pot."

  Dungald didn't like being reminded that he was a poor relation. He had once held a small land plot and some monies, but had gambled them all away years ago. He lived here by the grace and goodwill of his younger cousin, and everyone knew it. The men who served him served only because they had nowhere else to go and by his name could also reap the benefits of the castle walls.

  Dungald glared.

  Ian returned a grim smile.

  Harry missed the exchange between the two men.

  "And besides, what would I want of a whore when I have a beautiful red-haired wife?" Harry asked.

  "Harry, leave Kara out of this," Ian said quietly.

  "Aye, how can one forget the Lady Dunnane?" Dungald said as they reached the mews.

  His hackles raised at the barely discernible sneer in Dungald's voice, Ian lifted the latch and stepped inside, the small structure not much larger than the smokehouse. Three of its four walls were lined with cages, two or three high, depending on their size. The outbuilding was warm and smelled of sawdust, bird droppings and feathers. Light streamed in through the door and the single louvered window.

  "Did our falcon arrive safely?"

  One of the caged hawks screeched. Others made cooing sounds, almost like the doves they hunted.

  "She arrived safety, my lord, from the shores of Iceland," Ian said to Harry, ignoring Dungald, hoping he would go away.

  He did not.

  "Tell me, how is your dear wife?" Dungald asked, sidling up to Harry.

  Harry peered into the cage at the gyrfalcon. "Well enough, sir."

  He handed his monkey to Ian, who irritably sat it atop an empty cage. Since when had he become the monkey keeper? The monkey, wearing a green coat similar to Harry's, sat staring at its small front paws with great interest.

  "Is she?"

  "Aye, she... she's quite well," Harry repeated stiffly.

  "No, no, I mean how is she?" Dungald cackled and drove his elbow into Harry's side. "Between the sheets, I mean."

  Harry's face reddened. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

  The hair prickled on the back of Ian's neck. "Dungald, this is not appropriate."

  "Certainly it's appropriate. It's what men do." He threw open his arms. "We talk of our bedchamber conquests and we scratch our stones." He demonstrated, then leaned in to Harry again. "Ye know, I'll bet she's a screamer," he continued without taking a breath.

  Ian flexed his fingers and drew them into a fist at his side. He had a good angle on Dungald. He could punch him in the nose and lay him flat.

  "She is, isn't she? A screamer." Dungald waggled a finger. "Ye know, I've found that the bossy ones, the ones who flutter about the castle by day giving orders to men, are the loud ones by night." He arched a dark eyebrow. "I'm right, am I not?"

  Harry glanced quickly at Ian, then concentrated on the latch of the falcon's cage. Only the bright red of his cheeks showed he had any inkling at all of what Dungald meant.

  "Dungald," Ian warned softly. The only reason he had not yet stopped this was that he knew he must let the boy defend himself and his own. His first instinct was to come to Kara's defense. It was only his love for Harry, his sense of duty to him that made him bite his tongue. Besides, to defend Kara might cast suspicion in Dungald's eyes, and that was the last worry they needed right now.

  "What? Ye gods, boy, don't tell me you've still not ridden her?" Dungald plucked at his chin. "What of our little talk on your birthday? Surely you've—"

  Ian ground his teeth, but still held back.

  "Aye," Harry blurted suddenly. "Of course I have."

  Ian looked to the boy, surprised by his outburst. He was lying, of course. Ian knew that. Still, he didn't like to hear the words come out of his mouth.

  "Aye..." Harry stammered. "Of course I've... we've... consummated. Don't be ridiculous."

  "Well, thank God! Ye know, there are those who were beginning to talk."

  Ian's gaze fell to the mew's dirt floor. His anger spread through his limbs like the white-hot heat of a branding prod. He wondered if anyone would miss Dungald if he killed the bastard now. If he buried him at his feet, would anyone even know he was gone?

  Still, Dungald would not let up. "Not me, of course, but others within the castle walls. There should soon be signs of pregnancy, they say," he mocked.

  "Dungald!" Ian snapped. "A woman...." He quickly corrected himself, " A man has a right to some privacy."

  "Privacy, privacy, ye say." Dungald turned on Ian. "Is that why that little slut comes so late at night to your chambers? For privacy's sake?"

  Ian stiffened. He and Kara had been so careful, so quiet. Surely Dungald could not know... and yet he did know something.

  "Who is she?" Dungald wheedled.

  Ian exhaled in relief. Dungald didn't know who came to his room. Of course he didn't.

  Harry released the latch on the falcon's door and slipped his hand inside to stroke his new acquisition.

  The new falcon was a gyrfalcon, brought in from the shores of Iceland. Some two feet high, she was an impressive bird with white plumage and a few spots of gray. A gyrfalcon was not as easily trained as a peregrine, but most definitely more desirable and far costlier. There was something about the way the falcons held themselves, the way they flew, that gave them a regal aura no peregrine could claim.

  "Who is she?" Dungald repeated. "Do tell. Surely not the blond wench, Kara's maid? Doesn't her belly get in the way of—"

  "Dungald!" Harry snapped, gripping the spindles of the cage. "Will you shut up?"

  Dungald stared, wide-eyed.

  Ian had to suppress a smile of pride. So the boy had some stones after all.

  "If ye haven't something constructive to say, then for God's sake, say nothing at all!"

  It was all Ian could do not to give the boy a cheer. He had known he had it in him. He had known all along.

  "Go make yourself useful for once," Harry ordered Dungald, waving him away. "I tire of your constant, senseless chatter."

  Dungald stood for a moment, silent, still stunned by Harry's outburst. He was completely taken off guard. "I... I'll see to that work in the catacombs you ordered. Should... should be nearly complete."

  Harry nodded and turned away.

  "My lord..."

  Ian watched Harry glance at Dungald again. It wasn't often he addressed him wi
th the respect he deserved.

  "Aye?"

  "I... I want you to know, I only inquire of your bed because of my concern for Dunnane. For you, my lord."

  He turned to go and Harry made a response under his breath. At first Ian thought he had misunderstood his young brother. Then he broke into a wide grin as he realized there could be no misunderstanding. When Dungald had said his only concern was for Dunnane, young Harry had definitely and bitterly said, "My ass."

  * * *

  Kara lay back on her bed and waited, her entire body trembling with delicious expectation. The room was dark, lit only by the feeble light that came through the open window. As she lay naked upon the sheets, the cool night breeze swept over her body, making her skin tingle with sensation.

  Tonight Ian would come to her.

  They had passed earlier in a hallway and she had whispered under her breath that she would come to him tonight. But he had shaken his head no. "Me to you," he had whispered.

  Now she waited.

  Ian had never come to her chamber before. They had both thought it too dangerous. After all, Kara, as mistress of the household and keeper of the keys, had a right to be in any part of the castle, even the men's wing. Ian had no right to the tower. No one did, without Harry's permission.

  Kara didn't know what had changed to make Ian say he would come to her, but she could not stifle the shiver of anticipation as she thought of his coming here to her bed. When she went to his chamber, all she could think of on the long trip down that last corridor was of being caught. She imagined being hauled into the dungeon, stripped naked and beaten. She imagined Ian being dragged into the courtyard and hanged for the greatest crime known to a Scotsman—treason.

  But even her haunted thoughts could not keep her from Ian's door. No matter how dangerous their situation was, she knew she could not, of her own free will, give Ian up. Not any more than she could, of her own free will, cease to breathe.

  And now, wicked, fallen woman that she was, all she could think of was being able to fall asleep in Ian's arms and not have to rise in the darkness to return to her own cold bed. All she could think was: one more night together. One more night together and she honestly thought she could live in everlasting hell. It would be worth it.