Enchanted by the Highlander

by Cornwall, Lecia

  She put a hand to her belly, rubbed gently. “Tired. Worried.”

  “About Dair? Dair is a fine sailor, and he has the devil’s own luck in the kind of seas that would sink anyone else. He’ll be—”

  She held up her hand to stop him. “I know, I know. Angus keeps reminding me of it. Still . . .” she sighed. “It’s not him I’m concerned about right this moment. I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Anything,” he said.

  She smiled sweetly. “Dear, noble John. I can always count on you. I’m glad you’re here at Carraig Brigh.” He made no reply, waited for her to continue. “As you know, my sister Gillian is to be married in Edinburgh in a little more than a fortnight’s time. She was supposed to be here for a week, but it’s stretched to almost three, waiting for Dair.”

  “Aye,” he said. He was well aware of every day, every minute Gillian had been here.

  “And Dair was to escort her to her wedding aboard the Virgin and give her away to Sir Douglas.”

  He nodded. His belly tensed, suspecting now that Fia’s favor was going to be something he wasn’t going to like.

  “It’s clear that if we wait for Dair . . .” Her voice hitched. “If we wait for him, Gillian will be late for her wedding. What if her groom thinks she isn’t coming?”

  He relaxed. “Ah—you want me to find someone to take a letter to Edinburgh.”

  She gave him the kind of look women give men who are particularly slow. “I want you to take Gillian to Edinburgh.”

  “Me?” He rose to his feet in sheer astonishment. “Me?”

  Fia smiled sweetly. “Of course you. You’re Dair’s captain, and his friend. That makes you my friend, and Gillian’s. I know you won’t sail, but there’s just enough time to go by land. If you leave tomorrow, you should reach Edinburgh a day or two before the wedding. It won’t be much time, but it will have to do.”

  John stared at her. He thought of long days on the road with Gillian by his side—along with five MacLeod clansmen, of course. He wondered if they shared the same sentiments as their laird regarding Englishmen. “Why not send Angus Mor?” he suggested.

  “Because Annie’s babe is due any day now. He’ll want to be here.”

  He pointed to the door. “But surely all those fine MacLeod warriors can take her. They’re built like blockhouses. They can easily protect her. She doesn’t need me.”

  “Of course they can. They’d give their life for her. But Dair was supposed to give Gillian away—an earl, a chief, her brother by marriage—since my father can’t be there.” She looked at him expectantly, and waited.

  John gaped at her. “You want me to give your sister away?”

  “I’m sure Dair would approve, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

  “Aye, but what about your father—or your sister, for that matter?”

  “Gillian doesn’t share Papa’s view of Sassen—um, the English. She’s as meek as a mouse. Besides, Papa isn’t here to complain, now is he? I’m sure he’d see the sense in sending you as Gilly’s escort. You’re Dair’s captain, John. You have a strong sword arm, and you’re canny, charming, and cultured. You’ll fit in with Sir Douglas’s friends, the kind of educated, titled folk he knows.” She shook her head. “I dearly love every one of the MacLeod clansmen that came with Gillian, but I cannot imagine any one of them in Edinburgh society at a wedding. They’re used to handfastings and ceilidhs. They’re brave lads, and there’s none I’d rather have standing behind Gillian, protecting her from trouble. But she’s shy, John, awkward. She needs someone—different—beside her.” She bit her lip and brushed her hand over her belly. “I could go myself, but . . .”

  John swallowed hard. “It will take ten days of hard travel.”

  “Aye, I know. She was to arrive weeks before the wedding to have time to prepare. She’ll get there with just a day or so to spare now, but get there she will. I know you’ll make certain of that.”

  “There’s no way to say no, is there?”

  She gave him a bright, sweet smile. “Not unless you have a very good reason.”

  He considered. I kissed your sister hovered on his lips. I dream of kissing her again . . . But he saw the hope in Fia’s eyes, the trust.

  He clenched his fists at his sides. “When do we leave?”

  “Tomorrow. Early,” Fia said.

  She struggled to rise from the chair, awkward under the weight of the child, and he took her hand, tucked it under his arm, and escorted her toward the door.

  “I’d prefer not to leave you, Fia. We’ll ride hard. I’ll be back in a fortnight,” he said, concerned about her.

  “Nonsense. I’ll have Angus and Moire. You’re escorting a bride to her wedding, not leading an invading army, John,” she said. She put her hand over his. “Gillian’s more—delicate—than any of my other sisters.”

  He would rather be leading an army or going to war. He had faced battle and skirmish before, knew the rules of that game, but this one, with Gillian, was more dangerous. He’d be responsible for her safety and comfort, be in her company day after day, remembering how she felt in his arms.

  And at the end of it all, he’d have to give her away to another man and let her go.

  It would be torture.

  He opened the door and led Fia across the hall. Gillian had taken the children out of the room and left the MacLeods to their pacing. Fia spoke to her kinsmen, told them the plan. They looked blandly at John, the kind of careful, dubious look he’d grown used to from Scots, even after four years here. Not rude, but not entirely friendly—just a reminder that he was an outsider, English, and that made them suspicious.

  He recalled a time, nearly seven years past, when he’d faced other proud warriors in battle, men commonly called heathens there, just as the English called Highlanders heathens here. Those warriors had been every bit as proud and fierce as Highlanders, and equally loyal, brave, and steeped in their own traditions. John touched the leather pouch he wore under his shirt. The memories of those men, that wild, untamed land, made Highlanders less intimidating to him now.

  He met the eyes of the MacLeod warriors one by one as they left the hall to pack their gear and sharpen their weapons for the journey. They were devoted to their laird and by extension to his daughters. Perhaps the trip wouldn’t be as bad as he feared. In truth, he barely knew Gillian MacLeod. She was shy, nearly silent. She wouldn’t expect conversation. And he’d be busy, arranging lodging, seeing to her comfort, planning the fastest route south. There’d be no time for teasing or flirting.

  He’d only have to touch her once, just long enough to place her hand into her husband’s.

  And then? He’d be in Edinburgh, and there were any number of diversions that would help him wipe the memory of Gillian MacLeod from his mind for good.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “John Erly is taking me?” Gillian gasped when her sister came to her chamber and described her plan. “But why?”

  “Because I want you to be safe, Gilly. John is an excellent swordsman,” Fia replied.

  Gillian pulled back her sleeve. “I have my own dirk, Fia—and I have Callum, Keir, and Tam, and—”

  “They’re all fine men, but John can speak for you. He’ll see to things. There’s no need to be shy with John. He’s very charming.”

  Gillian knew just how charming.

  She swallowed. “How long is the journey?”

  “Ten days or so. You’ll be on time for your wedding, but just barely. You’ll have to leave tomorrow morning.”

  With John. What was there to say? But it appeared that her sister didn’t expect her to say anything. Fia crossed to the wardrobe.

  “We’ll pack now, before supper—just what fits on a garron, so nothing slows you down. Your trunks can go later, by ship, when Dair is home again—they may even arrive before you do if . . .” Fia frowned. “We won’t worry about that now.”

  “Of course not,” Gillian murmured. She’d ride like the wind, get there quickly, bid
John a final farewell at the city gates.

  “Oh, and John will be with you in Edinburgh for a few days. He’s agreed to give you away at your wedding,” Fia said, as she folded a chemise and added it to the pile.

  “Give me away?” It meant he’d stay, be at her wedding, beside her.

  Fia smiled. “Aye. He’ll fit in well in Edinburgh, among the kind of folk Sir Douglas knows. Callum, Tam, and Keir won’t.”

  Fia pulled out a pair of plain woolen gowns suitable for travel.

  Then she caught sight of the pink and gold gown that Gillian had worn to the masquerade. Meggie had taken one look at the lovely dress when Gillian returned home and had insisted it must be Gillian’s wedding gown.

  And there was no saying no to Meggie—not without an explanation. She hadn’t imagined John would be at the wedding to see the gown. Would he even remember what she’d worn that night? She wondered for a moment if her sister would recall seeing a woman in pink at the masquerade, but there was no recognition in her eyes.

  “Is that the gown you chose for your wedding?” Fia said, running her fingers over the shimmering silk. “Oh, Gilly, it’s magnificent! You’ll be a lovely bride.”

  “Meggie chose it,” Gillian said, clearing the lump from her throat.

  “Well, I agree with her.”

  Gillian watched as Fia folded the gown carefully, rolled it, and bundled it into a pack. The silk rustled and whispered, full of secrets, as it was tucked away.

  “It’s a shame to squash it so, but one of Laire’s maids can work the creases out. I hope there’ll be time . . .”

  Gillian raised her chin. “I might wear something else. Something simpler.”

  Fia caught her hand. “Are you worried that such a lovely gown will cast you into the center of attention? I know you’re shy, but it’s your wedding day, Gilly. It’s not the day for a sensible gown.”

  But the pink gown was the very opposite of sensible. It was a daring gown for a bold woman, the kind of woman who had adventures. It reminded Gillian of how it felt to be wild, free, and desired. Once she spoke the vows that would bind her to Sir Douglas, she’d have to be sensible forevermore. Her adventure—brief as it was—would be over.

  Gillian didn’t want to be sensible. She wanted kisses, passion, fire.

  She wanted John Erly.

  She added a simpler blue gown to the pile, and Fia sighed, suspecting why.

  But Gillian couldn’t bear the idea of wearing the flamboyant pink gown for another man, especially Sir Douglas.

  It was John’s gown.

  * * *

  John watched Gillian walk across the hall for the evening meal. As of tomorrow, she’d be in his charge and under his protection.

  The MacLeod clansmen leaped to their feet as she passed the table where they sat amongst the Sinclairs. She stopped to exchange a few brief words with them, no doubt receiving their pledges of protection for the trip. They surrounded her like a forest of oak trees, long of limb and broad of trunk. They made Gillian look all the more feminine and fragile. Delicate, Fia had said. John wondered if she was capable of long days on horseback, nights spent wherever they could buy or beg accommodation, meals taken in the saddle.

  She left her clansmen and came to take her place beside him. “Good evening,” she murmured formally, politely, and in English, too. She waited while a servant filled her cup and set a plate before her. John watched as she sipped the wine, knew she was aware of his attention, though she didn’t turn. He watched a blush bloom over her cheek, saw the pulse point at her throat begin to hammer. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks. Shy, delicate . . .

  He must have groaned softly, because she looked at him at last, her eyes luminous.

  It was going to be unbearable. “We need to get a few things straight before we leave tomorrow,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She scanned the room, probably checking to see if anyone was listening.

  “No more—” He paused. He could hardly tell her to stop making him crave her every time she entered a room.

  “We mustn’t think about the—the night of the masquerade,” she said quickly.

  “Yes. I mean, no. It’s best forgotten.”

  Something different stirred in the depths of her eyes now, something that told him that she would not forget so easily. He made the mistake of letting his gaze drop to her mouth. Desire stirred.

  “And no touching,” he said, his voice thick. “I mean, beyond the necessary.”

  “Necessary?” she asked.

  “Aye—if you need assistance mounting your horse, or dismounting, or . . .” He broke off, remembering the way his hands had spanned her waist, slid upwards over sleek pink silk to cup her breasts. He kept his eyes on her face, though his mind was a dozen inches lower.

  “Perhaps it’s best if we leave that to Callum.”

  He found he hated that idea. “Who’s Callum?” he asked, frowning.

  She nodded toward one of the MacLeods, a man with a mop of dark hair and keen, sharp eyes to match. He was built like a stone cott, with shoulders like a prize bull. He was willing to bet that Callum MacLeod could do more than lift Gillian into a saddle—he could probably carry her—and her horse—all the way to Edinburgh without the slightest inconvenience.

  “The others are Keir, Lachlan, Tam, and Ewan,” she said. “They are my father’s best warriors, all fine men.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Is that a warning?”

  She sent him a patient look. “They are names. You’ll need to know them, won’t you? Besides, Fia has informed me you’re a perfect gentleman and very charming when you wish to be. She says I’ll be quite safe in your company.”

  “Like a toothless dog—companionable, loyal, and harmless,” he quipped.

  “Not to me,” she said so softly he wondered if he’d heard her right. Her hands were tight on her eating knife, though she’d yet to take a bite. He moved his hand, reached for his cup, hoping she’d look up at him, but she kept her gaze fixed on the table.

  He took a long drink. “I shall endeavor to be chivalrous, gallant, and brave. I shall lay down my life to protect yours if it comes to it. My sword and my hands—should the doughty Callum MacLeod fail you—are yours to command,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Are they?” she asked breathlessly. He saw something dangerous shimmering in her eyes.

  “Until the very moment I place your fair hand into your husband’s before the altar.”

  She lowered her eyes again, speared a piece of rabbit, and ate it.

  “We’ll leave tomorrow at first light.” The sooner the journey began, the sooner it would end. “Are you an early riser, Mistress MacLeod?”

  She swallowed her food and glanced at him. “Call me Gillian, if you please. I think—I think it would be silly to have such formality between us, considering—”

  “Considering we once shared a kiss on a moonlit night?” He waved his hand. “Let us consider that forgotten and begin again. I am Dair’s captain, your sister’s friend, and your servant for this journey.”

  “Then what shall I call you?”

  He smiled and picked up her hand, kissed it with a flourish. “Call me anything you wish—and call me anytime you need a rogue, a rascal, or an Englishman.” The jaunty repartee fell flat when she looked at him with reproof, curled her icy fingertips against his. He felt her tremble slightly, wanted to turn her palm up, kiss it, work his way up her wrist. He glanced at the spot where her pulse hammered under her skin. He could see the hilt of a dirk strapped to her arm under her sleeve. She’d come to supper armed.

  Against him? Had he given her reason to fear him, to think . . . ?

  He let her go.

  Perhaps Fia had warned her again, told her to guard herself, that he was a faithless charmer, a rake. Faithless . . . he’d lived like a monk for ten months, not wanting anyone else. The rumors had him bedding a dozen women—two or three at a time in the more ribald tales. None of them were true. He treate
d every lass like a duchess, every man with respect. Had they bothered to notice that?

  Nay, he was naught but a Sassenach, disgraced, disowned, alone, and not worthy of a woman like Gillian MacLeod, the fine daughter of a Highland laird.

  He’d left home six years ago, sent by his father to make his own way in the world. He’d sailed away, looking for adventure. He’d found it, by God, but it had cost him dearly. Very dearly. And that butcher’s bill had in turn cost him everything else he ever had, or was. Now he was little more than a soldier for hire, paid by Alsadair Og Sinclair to do a job, and he had been given the duty of seeing the chief’s sister-in-law safe to Edinburgh. He had more sense, more dignity, than to steal kisses from a woman who was bound to another man. Her dirk wouldn’t be necessary.

  He looked at Gillian coolly as he rose and hoped that Sir Douglas MacKinnon would appreciate the hidden passions that simmered below her demure surface. Even now, from just a touch of his hand, her eyes were bright as stars, and her cheeks were rose pink. She was passionate—he knew that.

  She would be a handful in her marriage bed.

  He winced at the thought. He needed a breath of air, a cold swim, a long walk, or something hard to punch. “I shall see you in the morning, Mistress MacLeod.”

  “Gillian,” she reminded him, her voice rough edged with emotion.

  He shook his head. “Nay, I think Mistress MacLeod is safer, don’t you? It sounds untouchable, inviolable, and that is how you shall stay.” He bowed. “Your servant, mistress. Good night. We leave at dawn.”

  He left the hall without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  John found Moire waiting for him when he strode into the dark bailey. He knew by her canny grin that she was waiting for him, that she wanted something.

  He scowled at her and kept walking, but he wasn’t surprised when she scurried behind him. Her necklace, made of bones and hag stones, clacked with every step.

  “What is it, Moire? Is it Fia?” he asked, moving toward the stable, his stride long. It didn’t deter her in the least.

  “Och, no, Fia’s well enough. She’s fretting over Dair. Both the bairn and the chief will arrive when they’re meant to, safe and sound.”