Lusting for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  The woods looked transformed in the daylight. The trails were familiar to her, an extension of her home, and they no longer held fear. Now, she only tried not to remember that she might not see these trees again for a very long time, if at all. Her heart ached at leaving her home, but the cool morning breeze brushed her face like a calming hand, and in a short time, she was at the cabin.

  She took a moment to say goodbye to that dark little building that had been her refuge. She was off to a new refuge now. For a time, at least, Blackpool would be her home. It was there that she would learn to be independent, as her godmother was.

  Charles was right about one thing. She had outgrown his protection. From this moment on, she vowed to be her own savior.

  Charles sat at his father’s desk—no, his desk—and re-read the same sentence in the letter he held for the fourth time. He couldn’t concentrate. All he could think of was Diana, and how cold she had been at breakfast. At first, he thought he preferred the coldness to her tears, but as time wore on, he found that neither of them was bearable.

  Perhaps I have acted too hastily. Perhaps I could talk to Lord Orton…

  No…no, I am in the right. Diana needs to be married. She is too spirited, and growing too beautiful, to be safe until she is married and settled. All brands of rogues will be after her, and she will be attracted to them because of her reckless nature. That same wild nature that makes her so easy to love will also undoubtedly be her ruin. At least George Orton is a rogue whom I know and can trust to be honorable in dealing with Diana.

  Throughout the day, he got up to go look for her, to try to talk to her and convince her of the righteousness of his decision, but he sat back down again every time. She wouldn’t hear it. Not yet. He had to be patient and wait for her to make peace with it on her own first before she would think of forgiving him. She was a prideful person, he already knew that about her.

  Patience. Patience. Diana said she wouldn’t hate me forever. She just needs time.

  When the day grew long, he did finally set down his work to go look for her and remind her of the dinner plans. When he didn’t find her in her room, he thought nothing of it. She wasn’t one to hide herself away in her bedroom, anyway. She had always had the run of the estate, and there were a hundred little alcoves and solitary corridors that she had transformed into her playground.

  He moved at a casual pace as he looked for her and when he was informed that Lord Orton had arrived, while he was peeved that he hadn’t found her, it was nothing more than an irritation. He abandoned his search of the estate to greet George in the front parlor.

  “Well?” George said by way of greeting. “What did she think?”

  Charles shrugged apologetically.

  “Ah, well. She’ll come around to the idea. To tell the truth, it is hard to imagine myself content with a woman so meek as to blithely accept an arrangement like this anyway. I’m not worried.”

  He said it with a kind of off-hand chuckle that, to Charles, seemed to indicate George was more worried than he let on.

  “I guess she’d heard some rumors about you,” Charles said, settling down into a chair and gesturing for George to do the same.

  George did sit down, smiling thoughtfully to himself as he picked at the cuticle of his thumb.

  “Oh. Well. You know how that is.”

  Charles chuckled. “Not really. What exactly happened in those years after school? You always were popular with girls but…you’ve given people the wrong impression of you.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of that. Why do you think I jumped at the offer to take your sister? Besides her obvious and manifold charms, I mean. I can hardly get close to a woman these days before their prudish mothers come swooping down to prevent me. My only hope for a wife now is one who—”

  “Who has no mother,” Charles finished.

  “One whose guardian is someone who understands me better.”

  “I’m really not certain that I do understand you, George, but I trust you. I trust that your dealings with women will cease once you have taken my sister. That you’ll be true.”

  “True as gospel, Charles. One woman, that’s all I want. One woman who will stay by my side.”

  Charles nodded. They had had this conversation before, but it helped to hear it again. Diana would see, soon, that this was good for her.

  “Where is she now?” George asked.

  “Probably dressing for dinner. She seemed somewhat more at peace this morning. I don’t anticipate her making this too awkward, but—”

  “I know. I’ll be polite.”

  They chatted a bit longer in the parlor, both of them casting sidelong glances at the doorway every so often, expecting Diana to appear at any moment. She did not. After a time, Charles got up and excused himself to look for her.

  “I apologize for this, George. She can, at times, behave somewhat childishly. I may be partly to blame for that.”

  “It’s no problem. Shall I come along to fetch her?”

  “I don’t think that’s best. I’ll bring her down.” Charles said, and headed back up to her bedroom. It was still empty, and in fact, it looked like she hadn’t been in it all day. He walked briskly through the halls, retracing his steps from where he’d looked for her before. As he went, he asked the maids if any of them had seen her that day, and no one had.

  Charles sighed, rubbing his eyes. She must be out on the grounds somewhere. Up a tree, most likely. He remembered how she used to try to hide from father when she’d been misbehaving. Had he become the dreaded disciplinarian now? He recalled her asking him what she’d done to make him hate her last night. Did she truly believe that he was punishing her with marriage?

  With another deep sigh, Charles returned to the parlor.

  “I’m terribly sorry about this.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Charles laughed nervously, shaking his head. “She’s hiding. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Hiding?”

  “She’s done this before. A long time ago. I told you she could be childish at times.”

  To Charles’ relief, George smiled. “Your sister is a fascinating creature. Stubborn and fiery. I really do like her; I hope you know that. Invite me to dinner again soon, when she’s come out of hiding.” With a jovial slap to Charles’ shoulder, George made his goodbyes and left through the front door.

  As soon as he was gone, Charles ran back through the house and out one of the back doors. She had to be on the grounds somewhere. He tried to stifle his irritation at her stubbornness, reminding himself that he’s promised to be patient. But as he began to methodically check the trees and still saw no sign of her, his annoyance grew. After some time, however, the anger dissipated with a sudden thought.

  She took Epona out today.

  Then he was running to the stables, his heart clenching. When he rounded the corner to Epona’s stall and found it empty, her saddle gone, an icy trickle of panic went down his spine. He imagined Diana lying face down in a ditch somewhere after being thrown, perhaps hours ago.

  Obviously, some accident had happened during her afternoon ride. There was no other explanation. She had been riding horses since she was a child and was a fine horsewoman, but she was also careless and had a habit of overestimating her skills when she was chasing a quick thrill of a high jump or a sudden gallop.

  He kicked himself for being angry at her. He shouldn’t have assumed that she was being obstinate. Horror gripped him as he sprinted back to the house to get help. Rounding up all the male servants he came across, he instructed them to begin searching for her. She couldn’t be too far away, but even so, the thought of her lying silently somewhere, injured or worse, chilled him to the bone.

  Once he had a makeshift search team assembled, he mounted onto his own stallion and set off down the road, his eyes scanning the ditch frantically in the darkening light. When he reached the stretch of road that turned into the woods, he began to call for her, in the hopes that she might be able to c
all back.

  “Diana!” he yelled and was met only by a deafening silence.

  Diana rode until her legs ached, with every hour that passed her nerves drawing tighter and tighter. Had anyone noticed her absence yet? As darkness began to fall, she knew that Lord Orton had to be at the house. Were both he and Charles looking for her?

  She tried to remind herself that she was angry with her brother, and if he was afraid for her, then he deserved it. She wasn’t accustomed to the feeling of wanting to hurt someone, and the comfort of revenge was meager indeed, but she clung to it.

  In the end, it wasn’t about making Charles regret what he’d done. If punishment had been her true motive for running away, she’d have turned back by now. This was about her future. Her freedom. Her life. She pressed onward.

  She rode well into the night, fearful that Charles would intuit where she was going and overtake her. The night grew dark and cold, and she wrapped her cloak about her tighter, both to fight off the actual chill and the cold, creeping sense of fear.

  She knew it was risky to travel alone as a young woman, especially at night. She promised herself to stop for the night in the next town. Unfortunately, the next town was still miles away, and it was well past midnight when she finally found herself stepping into the warmth of an unfamiliar inn.

  Charles must be frantic.

  She didn’t feel hungry, and she paid only for her room, foregoing the awkwardness of sitting in the common room alone to eat and went up to her room immediately. She didn’t even pull off her cloak before she sat down and penned a short letter to her brother.

  Charles,

  I’m sorry for frightening you, as I’m sure I have. I am safe, and you needn’t search for me. I cannot marry Lord Orton. Forgive me.

  Your sister

  Truthfully, she had never been less certain of her safety, but she didn’t want him to worry. Her room was small, cramped, and cold. She longed for her warm, familiar bed, and her eyes watered as she undressed and climbed beneath the covers of the rough bed there. The blankets smelled like smoke and the lingering staleness of strange bodies.

  How many people had slept in this bed before her? She pushed the thought from her mind, her lips twisting with disgust. It was better than sleeping outside. She would prefer the dirtiest, most disgusting bed in England over the bed of Lord Orton, no matter how plush and clean it may be.

  That thought comforted her much more than anything else, and she turned her mind to it steadfastly. No matter how treacherous this trip, no matter the personal discomfort, nothing could be worse than what would have happened to her if she’d stayed. Assured of her intentions, and even rather proud of her own daring, she surrendered promptly to exhaustion and fell asleep.

  In the morning, she was eager to rejoin Epona. The mare was her one companion now, and she didn’t relish being separated from her. Diana inhaled a breakfast of warmed beef stew and gulped down a cup of tea so strong it felt thick on her tongue. Turning her letter over to the innkeeper to send off, she left the inn as promptly as possible, saying nothing to anyone.

  The morning was crisp and bright, and the sun rising in the east warmed her right side as she headed north. She’d not made the trip to Blackpool in many years and never on horseback. She’d always been in a carriage, idly watching the scenery pass by and never giving a thought to the direction. But she knew her destination was north. If she just kept the sun on her right in the morning and on her left in the afternoon, eventually she would come across signs that would lead her to the seaside town.

  The second day, she didn’t think of her brother. She focused on the road, the gentle crunching sounds of Epona’s hooves, and the gentle waft of the breeze. Clouds began to form in the west, and she kept a wary eye on them as they darkened, wondering if she would be forced to take shelter before nightfall. She didn’t want that. She’d only brought enough money for two nights in an inn. If her journey took longer than that, she would be forced to sleep along the road, and she hardly dared to think of that.

  As the day drew on, the clouds gathered above her and, as the sun set, they broke. Buckets of rain and driving wind soaked her immediately. She cursed aloud, looking in front and behind her, knowing herself far from any town. Miles of open country surrounded her, and there was nothing she could do but press onward.

  Time stretched on interminably. Epona’s face turned down against the rain and Diana pulled her hood low over her face as she shivered, wondering if after all her efforts her plans would end anticlimactically with her catching her death of pneumonia before ever reaching Blackpool. So much for independence.

  When darkness fell and she was still far from any town and soaked so thoroughly that she had even stopped shivering, she realized that she could very well come to grave harm if she didn’t stray from the road and throw herself on the mercy of a farmer nearby. She jerked on Epona’s reins, directing the mare to cut across the field to their left, knowing the farmhouse must be nearby, perhaps just over the hill. There was just the small matter of the stone wall along the road.

  Diana hardly thought of the wall. She had jumped over many higher obstacles than that. Perhaps she was overtired, perhaps she was hungry, or perhaps her desperation to find shelter made her mind foggy. She wouldn’t know what had driven her to try that jump, but as soon as Epona’s legs left the ground, she knew that it was a mistake. The mud around the wall was slippery, and Epona’s legs kicked out awkwardly as she leaped, her front legs catching the top of the wall as she pitched over.

  In the space of a split second, Diana knew three things for certain: She would not make it over the wall; There was no one around to see her fall; And her head would certainly dash itself upon the stone.

  With only those grim realizations flashing in her mind, she was thrown off of Epona’s back and all went dark.

  Chapter 4

  “Damn this rain,” Kentigern Forbes muttered, attempting to shake the heavy drops from his hair. His normal curls were plastered uncomfortably to his forehead and streaming rain into his eyes, his hat having become saturated and useless an hour ago.

  “The things I do for her. If Heather doesnae fall over in delight upon receivin’ this gift, ye’ mark me words, I’m takin’ it back,” he said. The fact that his horse never spoke back to him did nothing to quell his steady stream of gentle complaining as they plodded down the road. He’d been traveling for a few days already, and his bones were weary for home.

  Wiping the water from his eyes, he looked on down the road and was puzzled to see a horse standing alone.

  “One of yer friends?” he asked his stallion sarcastically, glancing around him to see if it were immediately obvious which stable the horse had bolted from, perhaps spooked by a crack of lightning. There was nothing around but craggy farmland that he could see. He sighed.

  “Nay me beast, Nay me problem,” he muttered somewhat guiltily as he made for walking on by the dappled mare without stopping. When he caught sight of a crumpled mass of clothing in the ground a few feet from the mare, he cursed heartily.

  “Ach, for Christsakes, I havenae time for this. ‘Ey, mister. Are ye killed?”

  The rumpled mass made no reply. His annoyance at the inconvenience suited him well as a mask for his nerves. As Laird, Kentigern was no stranger to violent sights, but he hardly welcomed them, and the deadly silence from the man on the ground unsettled him as he dismounted and approached. Crouching down on his haunches, he lifted the hood of the heavy cloak that shrouded the man.

  Kentigern’s heart dropped into his stomach when a thick mass of fair hair spilled out from the hood. This was no man at all.

  “Shite,” he hissed, turning the girl onto her back and stifling a fresh stream of curses at the angry gash across the girl’s forehead, cutting deep across to just above her ear. “Lass, can ye hear me?” He asked, then looked around frantically into the storm.

  “What are ye thinkin’, girl? Travelin’ alone in this weather? Have ye got no brothers to take care o
f ye’?” He knew she couldn’t hear him, but he spoke, nonetheless. The sight of this helpless child shook him to the core. She couldn’t have been a day older than fifteen, so small and pale she was. How long had she been lying there, bleeding out into the cold mud, helpless and alone?

  Fearing her already dead, he lowered his face to her, turning his cheek against her colorless lips. He thought he could feel the faintest brush of warmth against his skin, some hope that she was yet breathing. With no thought for propriety, he ripped at the cord of her cloak around her neck to search for her heartbeat.

  Underneath the cloak, she wore a pale riding gown that clung to her skin with rain, revealing plush curves. This was no child, but a woman. The sight of thin cloth slicked against the skin of a woman’s breasts would normally have his heart racing in a different way.

  But just then all he could think of was that this woman appeared to be about the same age as his little sister, whose nineteenth birthday gift was wrapped carefully in his pocket. His gut clenched with fear as he laid his ear against her breast, wishing, praying that her heart would beat against it. He held his breath.

  Yes. Yes, her heart was beating. As faintly as a mouse’s heart, but it was there. Galvanized, despite being shaken, he lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled to the side disconcertingly, but he managed to hold her over his shoulders, and he mounted his horse once again.

  “We’ve got to get her to shelter, and find her a doctor,” he said, jerking the horse around to return the way he’d come. Her body draped across his thighs as he rode, he tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, covering her with his cloak and hoping that, despite the damp, his body heat might warm her. The nearest town was Sourlies, but he would have to ride hard into the night before he would arrive there.

  He had taken her a few paces before he remembered the mare. Looking over at the beast, he whistled. The mare startled slightly at the sound then trotted near enough to him that he could reach over and grab its reins. It was awkward going, with the lass in his arms and one hand on the reins of the extra horse, but he made do.