A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book)

by Amy Jarecki

  “Aye.” Gyllis grinned. “His mother died giving him birth. The rest of us are all Lady Margaret’s children.”

  “I see.”

  “Come, Gyllis,” Helen said.

  The eldest Campbell girl turned to Meg with a friendly arch to her brow. “Have you eaten?”

  Meg rubbed her stomach. “Nay, I daresay I’m famished.”

  Gyllis flicked her wrist toward the girls. “You go on. I’ll have some porridge with Lady Meg.”

  “Where are they off to?” Meg asked, relieved to have someone to divert her mind from her harrowing thoughts.

  “The kitchen. Cook’s baking apple tarts.”

  Meg’s stomach growled. “I daresay that sounds better than porridge.”

  “Aye, but Mother volunteered us to peel and core the apples.” Gyllis licked her lips. “I’d rather eat the tart and let my sisters practice peeling apples.”

  “I miss my sisters.” Meg chuckled. “Though I’m the youngest, and thus usually the lass given the brunt of the work.”

  Gyllis led her to the massive hearth. “In my mind ’tis payback for all the years I had to care for them.”

  The pot of porridge sat atop a cast-iron grill in front of the hearth. When Gyllis handed Meg a bowl, she had no choice but to grasp it with the claw while she spooned in the oats.

  “Can I help you with that?” Gyllis asked.

  “Nay.” The familiar sensation of prickly heat crawled up Meg’s neck. “I can manage on my own.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need.” Meg tried to smile. “I try to keep it hidden.”

  Gyllis picked up a bowl and served herself. “Why would you do that?”

  “Some uneducated people might think me a witch or worse.” Meg chuckled. “If only I had the nerve to chop it off.”

  “That’s terrible. People should tend to their own ills.” Gyllis cringed and led Meg to the high table. “Does it pain you much?”

  “Not at all.” The last thing Meg wanted to do was talk about the claw. “So what’s it like having a brawny knight for a brother?”

  Gyllis scrunched her nose, sliding into a chair. “Duncan?”

  Meg nodded, frowning back her smile.

  “He’s a bit overbearing at times, but as of late, he’s been away on king’s business more than he’s been about the keep.”

  “Rescuing ladies and the like?”

  “Honestly, I do not ken.” Gyllis shrugged. “Aside from keeping peace in the Highlands, he’s never brought a lady back to Kilchurn. That’s for certain.”

  Meg’s heart skipped a beat. She liked that he hadn’t brought other women to the keep. Lowering her gaze to the bowl, she spooned a bite of porridge.

  “But what I cannot fathom is why you’re dressed like a crofter. I would think the daughter of an earl would have an endless selection of lovely gowns.”

  Meg looked at her soiled dress. “Alas, there was no time to collect my trunks when I was kidnapped.”

  Gyllis’s jaw dropped. “You were kidnapped? Och, how dreadful.”

  “You did not know?” She spooned a few more bites of porridge.

  “Ha.” The lass batted the air. “Do you think anyone around here would tell me something that important?”

  Meg dabbed her lips. “I suppose there’s no reason to keep it quiet.”

  “Everything is hush-hush, as if I’d run out to the town crier and create a scandal. I swear my parents still think me a child.”

  “My family as well.” Meg regarded Gyllis’s endearing dimples. “Pray, how old are you?”

  “Nine and seven.”

  “Honestly?” Meg tapped Gyllis’s arm. “Many a maid is wed at such an age, though not I.”

  “And your age, Lady Meg?”

  “I’m rather embarrassed to admit . . .” She leaned closer so she could whisper. “Two and twenty.”

  Gyllis formed an O with her mouth. “Truly, and you are not yet married?”

  Meg held up the claw. “I doubt I shall ever be.”

  “’Tis senseless rubbish.” Gyllis twirled one of Meg’s ringlets around her finger. “You are simply adorable to the eye.”

  Meg snapped a hand to her chest. “And you are touched in the head.”

  Gyllis tugged on Meg’s arm. “Come. Let us go above stairs. I’m sure we can find something more fitting for an earl’s daughter to wear.”

  Duncan’s hand shook as he scooped up a bite of porridge the groom had brought to his chamber. He hated weakness in a man, especially in himself. His backside still felt like it had been gouged by a smithy’s rasp. In all honesty, his limbs were so weakened, he doubted he’d be able to raise his sword. God forbid he’d ever admit that to anyone.

  As soon as the food hit his belly, his verve mercifully began to revive. Another day or two and he’d be back to normal.

  He scooped the last spoon of oats. What on earth was he to do about Lady Meg? Had he been in his right mind last eve, he never would have allowed things to go that far.

  But he had.

  Duncan swallowed the bite and wiped his mouth with a cloth. His attraction to Meg equaled no other. Her spirited heart-shaped face, the color of fresh cream with slightly rouged cheeks, made the cobalt of her eyes all the more striking. And her hair set his blood to boiling. Deep red locks twisted and curled in a ravishing mane, one in which he could completely lose himself.

  Though he’d been semiconscious, he could still recall the sensation of having her in his arms. Her ample breasts nestled seductively against him, her skin softer than satin. His fingers twitched. He needed to hold her in his arms again, at least one more time. Oh, to run his hands through her wild locks, to kiss her succulent lips. The woman drove him to the very brink of lunacy.

  With a knock, the chamber door opened. “John said you had roused.” Da stepped inside.

  Duncan stood too fast, and clapped his hand on the table to steady his dizzy head. “I’m much better, thank you, sir.”

  “’Tis good to hear. I cannot express enough how worried your mother and I have been.”

  Duncan gestured to the chair across the table. “Ye ken I would never succumb to a flesh wound on my arse.”

  “I pray not.” Da sat. “Lady Meg refused to leave your side. I reckon you owe your good health to her tireless ministrations.”

  “Aye.” Duncan picked up his tankard and watched the ale swirl within. Da could never know exactly how tireless Meg had been.

  “She’s grown a fondness for you.”

  He hid his smile behind the cup. “Oh?”

  “What are your feelings for the lass?”

  Of course, Da wouldn’t let it rest. Duncan needed to find neutral ground, though his father would see right through him if he denied all attraction. “She’s a woman with spirit, indeed. A beautiful one, truth be told.”

  “But her family may scorn us. I crushed the Black Douglas uprising back in ’52. They’re kin to the Red.”

  Duncan’s shoulder ticked up. “Hardly. The Lord of Angus claims no family ties between the two clans.”

  “But the earl put his faith in you to return his sister unscathed.” Da jammed his finger onto the table. “And that is exactly what we shall do.”

  Duncan swallowed, the tic above his eye deciding it was a good time to return. “’Tis what I’ve always intended.”

  “That is what I needed to hear.” Da leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs. “From what the lass tells me, you left the English standing on the pier in Glasgow.”

  “Aye, but—”

  “I’ll have a retinue escort her back to North Berwick on the morrow.”

  Duncan sat forward. “The morrow?”

  “Aye,” Da said with a lord-of-the-keep command to his voice. “You need to convalesce. You’re too weak to ride.”

  In no way could Duncan allow Meg to head home without him. “I’ll be right in a day or two. I negotiated with the earl. At the very least, I should have the satisfaction of returning his sister
unharmed.” And without her maidenhead intact—he may be forced to atone for that, but atone he would. “Please, certainly she can wait another sennight.”

  Da frowned and drummed his fingers. “A sennight at the most, and if I am not satisfied with your progress, John will lead the guard back to Tantallon.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll hear no more on it. I saw you nearly wobble off your feet when I entered. Your survival is more important to me than completing any task assigned to the Highland Enforcers. You are my heir.”

  Duncan studied his boots. “Yes, sir.”

  “If something were to happen to you, the lordship would pass to John. Though he’s a kindhearted soul, you are what our clan needs. You have the strength to keep order in the Highlands. John would deliver alms to all who asked and merely shake a finger at thieves. He hasn’t the stomach to govern.”

  Duncan had heard it before. True, John wanted to join the priesthood, but his brother had more grit than their father recognized. “John would rise to the task if forced.”

  “Perhaps, but you are the firstborn and my choice as heir. Think about that the next time you nearly die from a jagged cut to your arse.”

  After Da took his leave, Duncan swilled his ale. John escort Lady Meg back to Tantallon Castle? Duncan would rather succumb to his wound than to say good-bye and allow someone else the privilege of delivering the lass to her brother. He had nearly recovered from his wound already. Surely he would be ready to spar with the guard come the morrow.

  Gyllis must have had a dozen gowns scattered across the bed. They were either too long or didn’t provide enough room in the bust, or both. Gyllis was taller than Meg by a hand, but reed thin.

  “I wish I had full bosoms like yours,” Gyllis said.

  Meg pressed her hand to her chest. “I do not know, at times they get in the way. Besides, I’m three years your senior. I’ll bet yours have yet to completely come in.”

  “I hope so. I look more like a lad than a lass.”

  “That isn’t true in the slightest.” Meg stole a glance at the lass’s bosoms. She was perfectly formed—had not a thing to worry about.

  Gyllis dug down in her cedar chest and gasped. “This is perfect.” She pulled out a deep blue kirtle and shook it out. “It will have no choice but to fit. The color matches your eyes precisely.”

  Meg rubbed the fine silk between her fingers. “Oh my, it is exquisite. Where on earth did you acquire this?”

  “It was Mother’s. She wore it before she birthed a boy and four girls.” Gyllis chuckled. “She said her waistline would never be the same again, even with the new stays that are all the rage.”

  “Do you have a set?” Meg rubbed her ribs. “I hear some women wear them all the time rather than just to court.”

  “Mother ordered stays for all of us lassies. They arrived from Edinburgh not but a sennight ago.”

  “My, you are fortunate to have your mother to dote upon you.”

  Gyllis dropped her arms. “Has yours passed?”

  “Aye. Ever so long ago.”

  Gyllis smiled and held the dress to Meg’s shoulders. “I think we should turn you into a queen tonight. You shall wear this gown. It has a matching surcoat embroidered with gold thread.” Gyllis tossed the kirtle on the bed and dug in her cedar chest again. “Here it is.”

  Meg clapped a hand over her mouth and gasped. “Oh my, that is lovely.” She ran her fingers over the ermine at the collar. “I daresay it is a gown fit for court.”

  Gyllis twirled in a circle then pointed her toe to the side. “Well, Campbell land is the court of the Highlands, make no bones about it.”

  Meg admired the workmanship. “Truly, my own gowns at home are not as nice, though I am the daughter of an earl.”

  Gyllis held the gown to Meg’s shoulders. “Aye, but you haven’t your ma to dote on you.”

  Meg’s heart squeezed. Yes, her sister Elizabeth had fulfilled the role of mother, but it wasn’t the same. She glanced around Gyllis’s chamber. Everything was ideal—her own chamber was stark in comparison. Meg knew the Earl of Angus’s coffers were healthy, but her brother made the decisions on her allotment. All her life she had been prudent, though she did have some lovely gowns at home. Besides, all this wouldn’t matter once she took up the veil.

  Heat coursed across her skin, and she clapped her hands to her cheeks. Once she took up the veil, she would never again lie in Duncan’s arms. A tear slipped to the corner of her eye and she blinked, swiping her hand across it.

  “Are you well, Lady Meg?” Gyllis asked. “You look suddenly sad.”

  She forced a smile. “Aye. I was only feeling sorry for myself for a moment. ’Tis not often I miss my ma.”

  Gyllis grasped the claw and squeezed. Meg tensed and started to pull away, but one look at the lass’s friendly smile and Meg relaxed. “We shall have so much fun this eve,” Gyllis said. “I have the perfect veil we can secure with a bronze circlet. I daresay even Duncan will not recognize you.”

  Meg’s stomach swarmed with butterflies. “Do you think he’ll like the gown?”

  “Of course he will.” Gyllis winked. “Especially with you wearing it. He’s got an eye for the pretty lassies, for certain.”

  Meg didn’t like the sound of that. What other pretty lassies were flitting about? “Are there many around?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, though she wanted to shriek to the rafters. Heaven help her if Duncan flirted with other women whilst she was present.

  “What?”

  “Pretty lassies?”

  “Only when we’re having a grand feast. People come from throughout Argyllshire on May Day or Midsummer, ye ken, that sort of thing.”

  “Ah.” A relived sigh whistled through Meg’s lips.

  Gyllis tugged on her arm. “Come, let’s away to the bathhouse, and then we shall have plenty of time to dress.”

  Meg followed. “I ought to check on Duncan first.”

  “Och, you worry overmuch.” Gyllis batted the air with her hand. “Alana can tend him.”

  Meg stopped and shook her head.

  The young brunette pursed her lips. “Very well, but just a tap on the door and we’ll be off.”

  “Thank you.” Meg strode beside her. “I feel responsible for him. He was injured in the process of rescuing me.”

  “The way you carry on, I’d think you might fancy him.”

  Meg’s cheeks burned. Fortunately, the passage was dimly lit, and Gyllis was in too much of a hurry to notice the blush that most certainly was coloring Meg’s face.

  Proceeding through a maze of stairwells and passages, Meg finally recognized the corridor outside Duncan’s chamber. Her palms grew moist and her breathing quickened. Gyllis rapped upon the door and they waited. She rapped again. Still nothing.

  “Perhaps he’s asleep,” Meg said, clasping the latch and peeking inside. But Duncan was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Duncan wasted no time calling his men together. He’d been abed for nearly a day—too long for any man of three and twenty. It was always sobering to have the Lord of Glenorchy sit in his chamber and tell him how he should conduct his affairs. Yes, he loved his father dearly, but Duncan was now a man. Da had handed Duncan the reins to the Highland Enforcers, an honor and a duty he would never take lightly. And every waking moment, one fact was never far from his forethought—he must strive to prove himself worthy and make his legendary father proud.

  Aye, Duncan had been on many missions before, but this was the first high-level task where he’d been completely in control. He’d had a small setback with his injury, but all in all, he’d accomplished the mission successfully, at least thus far. Meg still must be returned to her brother—and then there was his indiscretion, but he’d figure a way to handle that. Beautiful, lovely Meg. As soon as he concluded this meeting, he’d go looking for her, since she hadn’t returned to his chamber after breaking her fast earlier that morn.

  Duncan’s inner circle of five men
sat around the table in the solar. That his father chose to stay away from the meeting reassured him. Prior to handing the lead to Duncan, Da sat at the head of the table and directed their affairs. Now Duncan filled that leather-clad chair. It was well worn, but none too comfortable, especially with the wound in his backside.

  Lord Colin Campbell had earned notoriety and respect throughout Scotland, and it was expected that Duncan step into that role seamlessly. There was no question that if Duncan made a serious misstep, his father would push him aside. That was something Duncan could never allow. He’d been given trust and respect, and had every intention of holding on to it.

  Guilt needled the back of his mind. Duncan pushed it aside by placing his palms on the table. “’Tis fortunate to see you all in good health.”

  “Aye,” Robert said. “You’re the one we’re all worried about.”

  Duncan nodded thoughtfully. “Lady Meg saw Percy’s man-at-arms as we were sailing from the pier in Glasgow. Did any of the rest of you run into the English?”

  Sean stood and collected seven tankards from the sideboard. “Not after we crossed the Tweed.”

  Duncan watched him pull the stopper off the ewer and pour the ale. “Bloody hell, I was sure they wouldn’t follow us west.”

  John reached for a tankard first. “I reckon the bastard followed you because they saw us at the farmer’s barn. Only one horse went west—one horse with two riders.”

  Eoin leaned back in his chair. “I hope you got a good look at him.”

  “Nay. By the time Meg said something, he’d been swallowed up in the crowd.” Duncan reached for the last cup and drank. “What about the Earl of Douglas? How did he take the news that we were taking a detour?”

  John shrugged. “He was thankful we got her out, but not so happy about our methods. What would you expect?”

  “Aye, but it could have taken us a month or more if we’d dallied in Alnwick and attempted to be hired on as Percy’s guardsmen.”

  James sat forward. “So when are we setting out to take her back? I’ve a few things in need of my attention in Loch Rannoch.”

  Duncan shrugged. “A sennight.”