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

by Amy Jarecki

  Trotting through the Glen Orchy wood with Gyllis did nothing to settle Meg’s nerves. By the time the ram’s horn announced the evening meal, Meg had herself convinced that Duncan would use the healer to tend his wounds from here on out, her avens oil had caused a rash, and he’d decided to take her back to Tantallon at his first opportunity.

  She clutched the claw against her midriff and squeezed. If only she weren’t a cripple, she might find happiness in this life. She stood outside the solar door wondering if Duncan was already within. Meg stared at the latch, deliberating as to whether to turn tail and lock herself in Gyllis’s room, or collect her wits and continue on with it.

  Should she knock?

  Meg slapped her cheeks to clear her head. She wasn’t one to dally and she most certainly wouldn’t start now. With a deep inhale, she grasped the latch and pushed open the door. Then she gasped.

  Duncan snapped his gaze to her and quickly stood. Meg had never seen a man look so magnificent. He wore a forest-green plaid emboldened with a hint of yellow in Highland style, gathered around his waist and pulled over his left shoulder, held by a large brooch with an amethyst center. Beneath, he wore a quilted black doublet atop a ruffled linen shirt.

  His black hair was combed away from his face and touched his shoulders in thick waves. He’d shaved since Meg had seen him that morning. His chin almost glistened, and when he looked at her, his eyes turned dark, as if telling her to step inside and lock the door behind her.

  She did exactly that.

  “Lady Meg, you look lovely this evening.” He approached and raised her hand to his lips. “Thank you for meeting me. I’ve no idea what I would have done if you hadn’t come.”

  Meg allowed him to lead her to a seat. Then she noticed the lavish display of food upon the table. “Will the family be dining with us?”

  “Not this eve.” He chuckled. “This night my desire is for you not to want for anything.”

  So much extravagance when he’s planning to send me back to Tantallon on the morrow? Meg sat in the chair he held and looked closer at the dishes spread on the table. Pheasant stuffed with sweetmeats, apple pottage with currants and aromatic spices, lamb shanks, stewed dates, and a trencher of hearty bread.

  He reached for a glass bottle with a wide, flat bottom. “This wine is from our finest vintage.” Duncan poured for Meg and then for himself. He held up his goblet. “To us.”

  Meg lifted hers and arched a brow. “Us?”

  “Yes, I wanted to enjoy a delicious meal with you before I . . .”

  She couldn’t breathe. “Yes?”

  “Before we partake in the most scrumptious dessert.”

  The delicious scent of cloves wafted from the apples. “You mean there’s more?”

  Duncan brushed his fingers across the back of her hand. “Aye, so much more, but first we must eat. I want this evening to be perfect.”

  Meg’s hand trembled as she sipped her wine. The more Duncan talked, the more confused she became. She studied him, sitting back in his chair. Did the healer have a better salve? “How is your back feeling?”

  “’Tis coming good, thanks to your avens oil.” He cut the leg quarter of the pheasant. “You prefer the dark meat, as I recall?”

  “Thank you.” She held up her pewter plate. “Has the healer been applying my avens oil? I have scarcely seen you in days.”

  “Apologies for that, there was much to be addressed. And yes, my prying mother instructed Alana to apply your salve, though I daresay your hands are far gentler.”

  “You mean my hand.” Meg held up the claw. “This one isn’t of much use.” When Duncan frowned, she clasped it in her lap. Why must she draw attention to her deformity? He was well aware she was impure—never would she be an acceptable match, especially for a man as virile as Duncan Campbell.

  He sat like a statue and stared. “I disagree. Both of your hands are gentle. I hardly notice the crippled one, except when you mention it. Honestly, Lady Meg, it is functional. You can pick up objects and hold them. I’ve yet to see where it has caused you to live a lesser life.”

  Meg’s jaw dropped. No one had ever spoken about the claw in such explicit terms. And then he’d just babbled on about it as if the blasted thing caused no consternation. If she had been formed normally, Arthur may have married her off by now, but no. When callers came, they smiled at her face, took one look at the claw and dashed for the nearest escape. Before she left for Melrose, Arthur had started corresponding with older suitors. Meg took a healthy swig of wine and wiped her mouth. “My, that is good.” Leave it to Duncan to charm me with delicious wine so that I cannot fixate on that which irritates me.

  He smiled as if he had just read her thoughts. “It seems you have become good friends with Gyllis?”

  “Aye.” Should I mention her interest in Sean? Duncan was still grinning, and Meg chose to save that conversation for another day. “She’s ever so pleasant.”

  He took a bite of pheasant. “You’re both spirited.”

  Meg turned her attention to her food as well. “Scottish lassies need to be spirited to keep up with the likes of lads like you.”

  “Like me?” His smile turned devilishly rakish. “Whatever do you mean?”

  She scooped the stewed apples with her spoon, forcing her racing heartbeat to steady. “Ye ken what I mean.”

  He must have, because he picked up a lamb shank and tore the meat from it with his healthy white teeth. Chewing, he rubbed his fingers together to dispel the grease. “I haven’t thanked you properly for coming to my aid in the gaol. There are no words to express how much your kindness meant to me.” He smoothed his fingertips over the table’s grainy wood. “I thought I’d never breathe the air of Kilchurn again.”

  Meg set her spoon down. “When I heard of your incarceration, I could think of nothing else.”

  “But why did you not return to Tantallon as Eoin proposed? Your presence here could be ruinous for your reputation.”

  Meg’s mouth went dry. Did he not know how much she loved him? She’d given him her virtue. Yes, he had a reputation for womanizing, but she’d always sensed they shared something deeper. Was Duncan so shallow he was ignorant of the love she bore for him? Did he harbor no such feelings for her?

  How on earth could he talk about ruining my reputation, when he himself has taken my maidenhead? Suddenly unable to sit a moment longer, Meg shoved back her chair and raced for the door. Tears rimmed her eyes as she reached for the latch.

  Duncan’s hand squeezed around her arm. “Wait.” He pulled her so close, she could smell spicy cloves on his breath. “Forgive my impertinence.” His eyelids lowered as his gaze shifted to her lips. “Perhaps the reason you could not return home is the same as why I do not want you to go.”

  Meg’s heart thrummed in her chest and a flash of heat ignited deep inside her loins. Duncan lowered his mouth to hers and gently kissed her. Unable to resist, Meg welcomed his mouth, her hands growing a mind of their own and sliding around his shoulders. How much she’d craved his touch.

  Duncan tapped his forehead to hers. “Again I must ask your forgiveness.”

  “It appears I am powerless to resist you, even when you’re planning to send me away.”

  He straightened. “Pardon?”

  She tried to step aside but his arms remained clamped around her, his chest ever so warm against her aching breasts. “I cannot remain here, especially since you have ruined me.”

  “Is that what you think?” He groaned and clasped her hands between his palms. “I am making a mess of this.”

  “Of what, exactly, m’lord?” Please embrace me again. Please.

  Then he chuckled. Meg had no doubt he’d gone mad when he dropped to his knee. “Since we first met, I have been unable to look at any other woman aside from you.”

  “But . . .”

  He held her tightly and drew her hands to his heart. “What I’m trying to say is I cannot imagine my life without you, Lady Meg. I love you and I want to marry you
.”

  Her entire body went completely numb, her mouth dry, then gooseflesh sprang up upon her skin. Had she heard him correctly? “M-me?”

  “If you will have me.”

  “I . . .” Meg glanced to the claw, which was covered by his large hand, then her gaze returned to his eyes and her stomach spun in a circle and flipped upside down. “You could love a woman like me?”

  “You mean a woman who’s not afraid to stand up against English tyrants, who is bold enough to ride in the back of a Gypsy wagon?” Still kneeling, he kissed her hands. “A woman who would risk everything to visit me in the bowels of the Edinburgh dungeon, just to apply a new salve she’s concocted—and then risk complete and utter ruination by administering a potion to her guard and following a band of knights into the Highlands?”

  She cupped his cheek with her hand. “I do not sound so awful, when you put it like that.”

  He pulled her onto his knee and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Awful? You are an angel, Meg. You’re my angel.”

  Gazing into his intense eyes, Meg saw pure determination and something else. He did love her. Truly. Flitting fairies took up residence in her breast. If Duncan didn’t have his hand around her waist, she might float to the ceiling. She ran her palm across his smooth jaw. His tongue slipped out, inviting her to kiss him. Ever so slowly, Meg moved closer, watching his eyes until her lips met his welcoming mouth. Filled with warmth and happiness, she molded into him like a river molds around a solid rock that will stand proud through the ages of time.

  “Please,” he gasped. “Will you marry me?”

  Her limbs weightless, she thanked heavens for Duncan’s strong hands. “Aye. There’s no place I would rather be than by your side.” Throwing her arms around his neck, Meg kissed him, swirling her tongue with his in blissful union.

  In one movement, Duncan stood. Cradling Meg in his arms, he carried her back to the table. Resting her in her chair, he gently kissed her forehead and knelt beside her. “We must drink to our engagement.”

  Holding her hand with his left, he raised his goblet with his right. “May we enjoy a lifetime of happiness together and, God willing, our children will grow into fine Campbells.”

  With tears rimming her eyes, Meg raised her goblet and tapped it to Duncan’s—so overcome with emotion, she couldn’t speak. After she sipped, he kissed her, the fruity bouquet of wine deliciously swirling in their mouths as they sealed their love.

  Meg set her goblet on the table and giggled. “I do not suppose I would have made a good nun.”

  “I cannot imagine your loveliness ever being covered up by a nun’s habit.” He reached into his sporran. “But there’s more.”

  Meg glanced at his hand and gasped. Duncan held up a ring of gold, set with a ruby the size of a hazelnut.

  He took her right hand and slid it onto her ring finger. “With this ring, I pledge my love and my betrothal. I pray you never remove it.”

  She held it up to the candle and the stone flickered with red. “’Tis the most beautiful stone I’ve ever seen.”

  “It reminds me of your hair of fire.” He rubbed a lock between his fingers. “Do you like it?”

  “Aye.” She grinned. “But you indulge me.”

  He nuzzled into her tresses. “I intend to spend the rest of my life ensuring you are pampered, my love.”

  Closing her eyes and surrendering to his touch, Meg prayed this moment would last forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Duncan went about his affairs with renewed zeal. His only frustration was Mother. Though she was ecstatic with the news of his betrothal, it seemed to make her all the more intent on ensuring Meg’s virtue remained safe from further tarnish. Or so she thought.

  At the very least, Lady Margaret did everything in her power to keep the couple separated, especially after the evening meal. She’d even gone to the extent of posting a guard outside Gyllis’s chamber at night. When Duncan confronted her about it, she had expostulated that if he wanted the marriage to be carried out with the Earl of Angus’s blessing, Duncan had best behave chivalrously and with the utmost respect for the lady’s reputation.

  But today, Duncan had devised a plan that even his stepmother begrudgingly agreed to allow—not that she had the capacity to order him around in any way. Mother always managed to dictate her desires through the use of other means, like his sisters. Ballocks to my Meg sleeping in Gyllis’s room with a guard posted outside the door, and ballocks to a chaperone.

  Basket in hand, he paced in the great hall, awaiting Lady Meg to appear from the stairwell. When lightly tapping feet echoed from above, he knew it was she, merely by his thundering heartbeat. She wore a blue gown, the neckline scooped low from shoulder to shoulder, low enough he could see the dark shadow of her cleavage. He almost moaned with his need to touch her silken flesh. Her hair had been combed back and braided around her crown, and, to Duncan’s delight, was devoid of a veil.

  He held his hands out to her. “You look lovely.” He allowed himself a brief dip of his eyes to drink in the lusciousness of her breasts.

  A blush spread across her cheeks. “Thank you. Your mother lent me the gown . . . like all the others.”

  He offered his elbow. “At least you’re putting them to good use.”

  She looped her dainty hand through it. “Once you’ve received word from Arthur, I shall send for my things. Then I will not be such a burden to everyone.”

  “You could never be an encumbrance.” He gestured ahead and led her to the gate. “The skiff is awaiting our departure.”

  She glanced up at him, her blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Excellent, and who will be our chaperone today?”

  He glanced over his shoulder for any eavesdropping family members then lowered his voice. “It shall be only the two of us.”

  She grinned like a lass who’d just found a gold sovereign. “How did you manage that?”

  “Mother may think she’s lord of this castle, but I assure you, she is quite mistaken.”

  Meg skipped beside him. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Pardon?” He chuckled with an exasperated expression while they walked around the corner of the castle and down to the private dock. “Cook prepared a basket with tasty morsels for us.”

  “A picnic away from the castle grounds?”

  He placed one foot in the boat to steady it, and then offered Meg his hand. “Aye, in a place where we can be sure to avoid prying ears and eyes.”

  She put her claw in his palm, something she’d never done before, and then lifted her skirts with the other hand. “’Tis a perfect day for a boating adventure.”

  Once she was settled, he climbed in, sat facing her and picked up the oars. “I believe spring is finally upon us.”

  Meg folded her hands in her lap and drew in a deep breath. “’Tis so peaceful out here. At Tantallon we’re on the edge of the Firth of Forth with forceful waves crashing against the rocks endlessly.”

  “Aye, but that’s a different sort of beauty.”

  “I suppose it is.” She cast her gaze to the far shore and pointed. “Look at the mule deer.”

  Duncan followed her finger. Sure enough, a small herd of does grazed with fawns beside them—a sure sign that spring had arrived at last.

  Meg laughed and covered her mouth with her hand while Duncan continued to pull the oars. The water shimmered in the sun behind her and made her hair look alive like a flame.

  Her smile caused his heartbeat to stutter. “How long do you think it will take before we receive a reply from Arthur?” she asked.

  His shoulder ticked up. “A fortnight, mayhap two.”

  “That long?”

  Duncan chuckled. “’Tis not really all that far off. Are you anxious, lass?”

  “Aye.” She sighed. “I dearly love Gyllis, but I feel as if I am imposing, sleeping in her chamber every night. I honestly do not understand it, especially since Kilchurn is so well appointed with bedchambers.”

 
He regarded her lovely blue eyes, focused upon him as if the thought of another month with his sister would drive her to insanity. “And here you thought you wanted to take up the veil.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked to the cloudless sky. “Alas, this is somewhat different than taking an oath of chastity and staying in a dormitory of nuns.”

  “I could appoint you to a chamber and station the guard outside.” He pulled harder on the oars to speed their pace. “Mother would most likely not balk too much.”

  “And hurt Gyllis’s feelings?” Meg shook her head. “I think not.”

  Duncan puzzled. “Very well, then—shall we leave things as they are?”

  “I suppose we must, at least until we hear from Arthur.”

  As Kilchurn Castle grew smaller in the distance, Duncan rowed the skiff to an island in the center of Loch Awe.

  “Look at this place,” Meg said. “’Tis lovely. What do you call it?”

  “Innis Chonain. When we were boys, John and I used to paddle out here and play King of the Island.”

  Meg got a faraway look in her eyes. “Do you miss him?”

  Duncan rowed until the boat stopped on a sand bank. “Aye, the milksop.” He hopped into the knee-deep water then tugged the skiff onto the beach so that Meg could stay dry. He offered his hand. “M’lady.”

  “Thank you.” She picked up the basket and allowed him to assist her. “Kilchurn looks so far away.”

  “Aye, ’tis why I brought you here.” He pulled her into his embrace. Her scent flooded his senses and he closed his eyes, nuzzling into her hair. “I wanted you all to myself.”

  She lifted her chin and he kissed her. Pulling away, she chuckled. “I imagine Lady Margaret is upon the battlements with a spyglass.”

  He took the basket and led her into the wood. “I thought of that, too. There’s a clearing ahead with a wee pond.”

  Meg gasped when the trail opened to a spectacular oasis. True to Duncan’s word, a small pond sat in the center of a clearing, the ground covered by moss. Ferns sprouted everywhere, dotted by yellow primrose, and from the trees hung drapes of green moss—the trees themselves showing a hint of budding leaves. On one side was an outcropping of rocks so picturesque, Meg imagined mermaids sunning themselves beside the dark blue water. Hand in hand, they stood. The only sound was the call of a warbler overhead. “’Tis so peaceful.”