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

by Amy Jarecki

  Above the crowd ahead, Duncan Campbell climbed the steps leading to Dunstaffnage’s inner barbican. Sean waved and Duncan offered an exaggerated bow, his black hair dropping into his eyes. They’d been friends since the age of ten and four when Sean’s father sent him to Kilchurn Castle to foster with the late Lord of Glenorchy, Duncan’s da.

  “Are you still riding with that Campbell blackguard?” Lorn asked.

  Sean raised an eyebrow. “You surprise me, Uncle. Duncan is one of my closest allies.”

  “I’d watch my back with friends such as he.”

  “It would be in our best interest if we Highlanders could manage to end our feuds.”

  Lorn scrunched his nose as if he’d just tasted a bitter brew. “’Tis easy for you to say, but I must find some way of keeping Campbell fingers off my title when I’m laid to rest. To my chagrin, my sister off and married the Earl of Argyll—if I pass without issue, the title will go to him, the bastard.”

  Sean regarded his uncle. Blood ran thick in the Highlands, but he cared not to taint it with hatred for friends. He thumped him on the shoulder. “You can always marry Dugald’s mother and legitimize your son. That should solve all your woes.”

  “But marrying so far beneath my station would cause consternation at court.” Lorn growled, drawing his thick brows together. “If only I had a legitimate heir like your father.”

  Sean headed off with a chuckle. “You must start on that, uncle—before you’re too old to get a rise out of your cock.”

  Lorn fell in step beside him. “Insolent lad. You should talk—how old are you now? Nine and twenty?”

  “Aye.” Sean had never thought about aging, but the way Lorn said it, he already had one foot in the grave.

  “You’d best be sowing your seed soon, else you’ll find yourself in a similar predicament.” Lorn jabbed his elbow into Sean’s ribs. “There’s no better time to find a ripe lassie than Beltane. You ken the legends.”

  “Ballocks to that.” Sean slapped a dismissive hand through the air. “I’m off to fill my belly and enjoy the sweet Highland air. I’ve plenty of time to worry about marriage after the games.”

  Having had about all he could take of his uncle’s babble, Sean raced ahead and followed Lord Duncan through the gatehouse. The inner courtyard was filled with nobles dressed in brightly colored blues, yellows, and more red velvet than he’d ever seen outside of court. A tall man, it wasn’t difficult for Sean to push through the crowd, straight into the castle’s tapestry-lined great hall. The smell of roasting meat and baking bread made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

  From the high table, Duncan stood and beckoned him. “We’re not too late for our nooning.”

  “Thank the good Lord for small mercies.” Sean slid into the seat beside the baron. “And where is your wife?”

  “Lady Meg opted to remain at Kilchurn with the bairn. The wee lass is still too young to travel.”

  Sean reached for a ewer and poured himself a tankard of ale. “And how are the twins?”

  “Elizabeth has a healthy set of pipes for certain—though her brother Colin can hold his own.”

  “Was the birth worth returning from the borders early?”

  Duncan bit off a chunk of bread and winked. “I’ll say. Bloody miserable reiving thieves I can live without. A turn at home did me some good as well.”

  A servant placed a trencher of chicken on the table and Sean swiped a leg. “And Lady Meg, has she recovered from the birth?”

  “Aye, she’s as feisty as ever.”

  Sean laughed. He’d never forget the night they stole Duncan away from Edinburgh gaol. They were riding like hellfire when Sean realized someone had followed them. He’d set a trap and nearly killed Lady Meg before she uttered a word. If it weren’t for her shrill scream, Sean probably would have run her through. He still shuddered at how close she’d come to meeting her end. Feisty and fearless.

  High-pitched giggles across the hall pulled Sean from his thoughts. A lovely picture indeed. Gyllis Campbell and her sisters gaily flitted into the hall as if a ray of sunshine had brightened the entire room. Sean stopped mid-chew. It had been quite some time since he’d seen Gyllis. “God’s teeth.”

  “What?” Duncan asked.

  Sean swallowed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Tall with willowy limbs, Gyllis had always reminded Sean of a meadow nymph. Chestnut locks framed porcelain skin and her moss-green eyes encircled by rims of black could captivate any man. “Your sister grows more radiant every time I see her.”

  “Which one?”

  Bloody hell, Duncan knew. Sean gripped his tankard and took a long pull on his ale. “I suppose Highland lassies are more appealing after a man’s taken a turn in the Lowlands.”

  “Aye?” Duncan frowned. “Well, nothing’s changed. Friends and sisters do not mix—Lusty Laddie, you’ve tainted my opinion by all the womanizing we did as lads. Bloody oath, you’ll never put those lecherous hands on one of my sisters. You may be the best man I know with a sword.” Duncan glanced at Sean’s crotch. “And I’m referring to the one you carry on your hip. Pray you keep that in mind over the next few days.”

  True, Sean liked the ladies as much as the next man—mayhap better—and he’d earned the moniker “Lusty Laddie,” but it appeared Duncan had forgotten his own wayward womanizing. Those carefree days hadn’t been all that long ago. Sean cleared his throat.

  Gyllis caught Sean’s eye and stopped midstride. She pursed her pouty lips as if gasping. Then she smiled and fluttered a wave. The corner of Sean’s mouth turned up like a simpleton.

  “MacDougall?” Duncan jabbed him with an elbow.

  Sean glanced at his friend. “How do you recommend I react? Pretend your sister doesn’t exist?”

  “Aye, that’s exactly what you should do.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a little healthy admiration. Besides, I’ll be heading back to the borders in a fortnight, thanks to you.” Sean bit down and tore a piece of meat from his chicken leg. “How have you fared finding a match for each of your four sisters?”

  “Wheesht.” Duncan eyed him. “That is none of your concern.”

  “Too right. And as I recall, you lifted lassies’ skirts first and asked their names after.” Sean picked up his tankard and guzzled it. Christ almighty, he didn’t come to the games to flirt with some bonny lass deemed too good for him due to his friendship with her brother. Nay, it mattered not that he was to inherit the Chieftainship of Dunollie. Nothing Sean could say would make a difference to Duncan Campbell, the Lord of Glenorchy, unless he agreed that his sisters all marry above their stations.

  He swallowed and glanced up. Then he nearly spewed his ale across the table. Bloody hell, Miss Gyllis stood opposite him, looking more radiant than she had at the far end of the hall.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Sean,” she said with a smile. “’Tis lovely to see you at the games again this year.”

  Must the temptress sound like a heavenly angel?

  Sean’s chair scraped the floor as he hastened to stand. Then the flimsy piece of furniture clattered to the floorboards. “Miss Gyllis, how delightful to see you.” He feigned his best attempt at nonchalance, ignoring the toppled chair behind.

  The lassies around her giggled.

  Sean bowed. “Ah . . . All of you.” He grinned at Gyllis like he was still wet behind the ears.

  “Take a seat and eat or be gone the lot of you,” Duncan said. “Pick up your chair MacDougall. Bless it, you act like you’ve never seen a lassie before.”

  “Pardon me, ladies.” Sean hoped to God he hadn’t turned red, and stooped to right his seat. “It has been several months since I had the pleasure of such fair company.” He raised an eyebrow at Duncan, the bastard. He might be a close friend, but he was a complete arse when it came to his sisters.

  “We’ve already dined.” Helen tugged Gyllis’s arm. “Come. I’m dying to see all the wares on display.”

  “A moment.” Gyllis smiled, looking
sultrier than any young maid ought. “Will you be at the feast tonight, Sir Sean?”

  “Aye.”

  “Will you dance with me?”

  “Gyllis.” Duncan rapped the butt end of his eating knife on the table. “It is not your place to ask a knight to dance.”

  Sean would have liked to grasp her hand across the table, but the blasted board was too wide. He settled for a deep bow. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Gyllis.”

  “I shall see you this eve then.” She dipped her head politely before being steered off the dais by her sisters.

  Her tresses hung down her back in waves and swished across her shapely hips. Even with layers of skirts, her feminine form enticed. Sean rubbed his fingers together, imagining her hair to be finer than silk. No other lass in the hall came close to Gyllis Campbell’s beauty. Unfortunate. If Sean had a mind to court anyone, it would be she. But the Lord of Glenorchy sitting beside him would ensure things never progressed that far.

  Duncan pointed to the trencher. “Are you planning to eat that?”

  “Huh?”

  “The breast.” Duncan reached across and snatched the last piece of chicken. “Are you entering all-around, or are you specializing this year?”

  Sean’s shoulder ticked up. “No use being here without going for a chance to win the purse.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “You as well?”

  “Aye, as long as I’m here keeping an eye on your uncle for my uncle, I may as well enjoy myself.”

  Sean chuckled. “Lorn and Argyll—the age-old feud. By rights we should be fierce enemies.”

  “If it was up to our betters we would be.” Duncan shoved the last bite of chicken into his mouth. “Thank God my father saw the benefit of uniting the clans. No one in Scotland can match the enforcers.”

  Sean held up his tankard. “And so may we continue to keep the peace.”

  Duncan raised his cup and tapped it to Sean’s. “Slàinte.”

  “Slàinte.”

  Sean glanced toward the doors. Every muscle in his back clenched. That damned Alan MacCoul had Gyllis’s hand clasped between his filthy mitts. Worse, she was smiling at him, giggling even. Sean could hear her voice above the hum of the crowd.

  He grasped his chair’s armrests, ready to spring, watching the bastard bend at the waist and plant a kiss on the back of her hand. Gyllis nodded politely, just as she had done to Sean a few moments ago.

  Duncan sat forward. “What’s that slithering snake doing?”

  Sean shot him a sidewise glance. “Proving he’s an unmitigated arse. Unfortunately, he’s a member of my clan. I shall deal with his impertinence.” Sean pushed back his chair, but by the time he strode to the dais stairs, Alan MacCoul had already shoved through the crowd as if he were planning to dine at the high table.

  He traipsed directly to the base of the steps. “MacDougall, I thought I’d find you near the food.”

  “’Tis a common place to gather at the noon hour.” Sean failed to understand why Alan had always been able to skate by with his impertinence. Even when they were lads Alan had been a bully—and older to boot. Sean would turn up with a black eye or worse, and the Chieftain of Dunollie would grab Sean’s chin and pinch. Hard. “A little bullying will make you strong, son. Next time Alan challenges you, stand your ground—prove to me you’re worthy to be chief.”

  Well, that had been close to impossible when they were lads, given three years difference in age. However, now that they were grown it was another story. Sean stood a good hand taller than Alan, and fighting the weasel would provide no sport whatsoever.

  Alan didn’t try to mount the steps to the dais, but Sean could have sworn he caught a covetous glint in his eye. “I’m surprised to see you here with news of your father’s illness.”

  Sean knit his brows. He’d only had a fleeting moment with Da prior to departing for the games. He’d been home long enough to gather fresh clothing. Aside from a fever, Da had a cough, but dismissed it as a passing ailment. What more did Alan know? The bastard always had his nose in the family’s affairs. Why, Sean wouldn’t be surprised if he’d served his father with a tincture that had made him sick. “Da said he’d be along in a day or two.” Sean shrugged. “But ’tis no concern of yours.”

  Alan’s eyes grew dark.

  Duncan moved in beside Sean. “State your business, MacCoul, then I suggest you head further down the hall and sit with your own kind.”

  The shorter, but stocky man sneered. “Just came up to tell Sir Sean I aim to win the tournament this year.”

  Duncan threw his head back with a deep, rumbling laugh.

  But Sean clenched his fists. If the hall weren’t full of women and children, he’d gladly challenge the errant scourge to a duel of swords. Now isn’t the time. “Well then, it will be my privilege to hand you the purse should you be victorious.” He’d meant it as a jibe, and it sounded so.

  “That would give me great satisfaction—though I believe I’d prefer the gift to come from the Lord of Lorn’s hand. After all, he’s an earl.”

  Duncan clapped Sean’s shoulder. “Come. Lady Meg gave me a list of items to purchase at the fete. I could use a hand.”

  Alan blocked the stairs, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Two knights heading out on a woman’s errand?”

  Sean clambered down and stood on the bottom step, towering over the cur. “A knight’s code of chivalry is something you would know nothing about.”

  Duncan barreled down and pushed past Alan’s shoulder. “Come MacDougall, we’ve no time to wag tongues with a sniveling whoreson.”

  Sean gave Alan one last glare—narrowed his eyes so he’d know this wasn’t over. Perhaps it was a good thing he’d have the chance to beat Alan MacCoul in the games. He’d issue the smug toad some long-awaited humble pie.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to express my sincere gratitude to my beta readers, Maria McIntyre and Christine Perkins, and also to my editors, Arran McNicol and Nicole Burns. I truly believe a story cannot come into its best without readers and editors to help along the way.

  In addition, I would like to thank the volunteers and employees who work at the many historical sites in Scotland, especially Historic Scotland and the National Trust for Scotland. On my numerous visits to the homeland, these people have provided a wealth of information, as well as an opportunity to visit a number of the sites I’ve described in this and all my Scottish books.

  Also, many thanks to Ms. Carr and the Kindle Scout team. I am honored to have this opportunity to work with them.

  About the Author

  A descendant of an ancient Lowland clan, Amy adores Scotland. Though she now resides in southwest Utah, she received her MBA from Heriot-Watt University in Edinburgh. Winning multiple writing awards, she found her niche in the genre of Scottish historical romance. Amy loves hearing from her readers and can be contacted through her website at www.amyjarecki.com.

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