She shook the thought away as she led the villagers up onto the mound surrounding the village. Rory had no place in her mind at this moment.
“We must shout at them,” she addressed several of the villagers. “The English dinnae like Gaelic. Our foreign tongue will scare them.” Something she’d discovered while defending Dunmuir. She grinned at the memory of the confusion and fear that had come across the soldier’s faces as she had spat her words at them.
The English were just visible, their torches lighting the way. Kate’s brother had been right. They were at least a dozen of them. The fire sent a flutter of fear through her. If they failed, would the English set the village alight? Were they here to rape and pillage or merely looking for something? Mayhap they were hunting for her. If Rory had claimed the keep back, she would make a fine bargaining prize. Though her husband did not want her in his bed, he was not a cruel man. He would surely do what he could to ensure her safety.
“Come then, let us send these Sasannachs on their way.” She sucked in a breath. “Thalla is cac!”
Someone spluttered in surprise before the rest of the villagers took up the cry. They shook their farming tools and screamed. Isla’s voice threatened to give out as she shouted with all her might. The lights and the vague outlines of the men paused but the peasants did not let up and the sound of wild shouts and metal upon metal rang out across the hills.
Finally the torches began to move again. Isla stopped her shouts and waited, breath held. She dropped her shoulders as the lights retreated. The noise continued around her until the flickering flames all but disappeared.
A celebratory roar echoed into the night. Isla laughed as Kate hugged her. They had done it. Relief combined with elation surged through her, making her heart race. She, the meek wife of the laird, had fought off the English and won. If only Rory had been here to see it, she thought sadly. Surely he would finally see her in a new light if he had.
***
The sight of footprints in the ground made Rory’s heart lodge in his throat. He squinted and scanned the surrounding mountainsides but there was no sign of any danger. The lay of the land was open enough that he would see anyone coming from miles off, but it did not mean being unaccompanied while the English roamed wasn’t dangerous. Even more so for Isla. She did not need to worry about just the English. She’d make a fine reward for any man.
Groping English hands pressing into his wife’s pale skin… he shuddered. If she had even got away. For all he knew, the English had her captured and were working out how best to use her to their advantage. He shook his head in an effort to change his course of thought. Worrying would do no good. Action was what was needed and if she was out in the Highlands alone, he needed to find her. If she’d been caught, he would find out soon enough.
Rory urged his mount into a fast gallop when the thatched roofs of the nearest village grew closer. The village appeared unharmed, which bode well. Though he could not figure out where all those footprints had come from. It certainly looked like a large gathering of people had stood there but for what purpose if not for the intention of attacking the unarmed villagers? Armies needed shelter and food, and what easier way was there to get it than to take it by force. Rory had seen many a village stripped bare by a rampaging army, both English and Scottish alike.
When he entered the village, he was immediately recognised and the peasants dipped their heads to him. He scowled as some grinned and offered words of congratulation. Did they mean the keep? For surely that was nothing to be celebrated? His home had nearly been destroyed in the siege, even if they had seized it back.
He reached the village leader’s house and dismounted, hopping down and tying his mount to the joust of the well that sat in the centre of the settlement. Before he made himself known to the man, a young lass, not much older than Isla, scurried up and dipped into a hurried curtsey.
“My laird,” she said breathlessly.
“Aye, lass, what is it? Speak quickly for I crave a word with yer leader.”
“He is out in the fields at the moment, laird. We are checking the flocks. The English were on our land last night.”
“Hellfire, in truth?”
“Aye, my laird.”
Rory swung his gaze around and frowned. “But they didnae harm ye?”
“Nay, my laird. We scared them away.” A smile flickered on the fair haired lass’s lips.
“Scared them away ye say?” He shook his head. How had a bunch of raggedy peasants scared away a troop of battle-hardened English? “Then all is well?”
“Aye, my laird. But I must tell ye…yer lady wife was here.”
He gulped. So she was alive. But that meant little now. Not until she was in his arms where she belonged. “During the attack?”
“Aye, she—the lady that is—helped us scare off the English.”
Rory rubbed a hand across his face. “Ye cannae mean Lady Isla, surely? Were ye mistaken, lass?”
“Nay, truthfully, my laird. She sought refuge with me. She said the keep had been overrun and she was to travel to her father’s. Does this mean ye have won back the castle?”
“Aye, aye.” He waved a hand. “Is she here still?”
“Nay, my laird.” The girl’s face dropped. “I tried to persuade her but she wouldnae listen. She seemed very determined to travel on.”
“God’s blood,” he whispered.
“Forgive me, my laird. I should have tried harder but we didnae know ye were on yer way. She insisted she needed to ensure the English didnae catch up with her in case they tried to use her against ye.”
“And she is unaccompanied?”
The girl bit her lip. “Aye.”
Rory groaned. The lass had fought the English twice and was now gallivanting around the Highlands all alone. It was so at odds with what he knew of his wife. It didn’t stop the fear clutching his heart. Though the lass was more a warrior than he ever realised, she was still vulnerable. And still determined to make it to her father’s. If her father agreed to protect her from him, he might never see her again. Might never get the chance to try again. To show her he had changed and could be gentle.
“What is yer name?” he asked the girl.
“Kate, my laird.” She grasped her skirts and dipped again.
“My thanks, Kate. Tell the villagers that I have claimed back the castle and will send men out to patrol the lands. We’ll no’ be threatened by the English scourge again. I will have ye a fine fat pig sent to ye in return for looking after my lady wife.”
“Oh, pray, ye dinnae need—”
“I do. Good day to ye, Kate.” Without waiting for a response, he leapt onto his mount and gripped the reins. At least he knew one thing. Isla was alive. For the moment. Determination pervaded every fragment of him, making his muscles tense. It seemed Isla was resolved to prove she was more than the sweet lass he thought she was. But could he prove to her he was more than just a rough warrior?
***
Legs juddering, Isla paused to rest on a rock and take in her surroundings. The clouds had cleared that afternoon to give way to bright sunshine. It should have revived her spirits but she was weary and she feared she would not reach shelter before nightfall. Climbing the hills of the Highlands in a gown proved harder than she’d expected and she wasn’t sure she had even taken the correct route. The old paths that snaked across the hills were seldom travelled but she’d seen old horse hoof prints in the ground which was thankfully still soft enough from previous days’ rain.
She tugged out the bread Kate had wrapped in a linen for her and broke off a bit. It was coarse and full of seeds but her stomach growled at the sight. She was only one more day away from her father’s keep by her reckoning, but she was beginning to regret her bold move. Ach, if only she’d not been so caught up in the idea of proving herself.
As she swallowed down her bread and prepared herself to continue on, she caught sight of a rider. Her heart stilled as she narrowed her gaze. The sun filtering behind the moun
tains made it impossible to tell if he was English or Scottish but, either way, it could mean trouble.
An old cottage sat close the path so she hastened over to it and ducked behind the grey, crumbling walls. It had no roof but hopefully it would hide her from the rider. Sweat pricked on her palms as the horse’s heavy breaths and hoof beats grew louder. Whoever he was, he was headed her way. Had he spotted her? It was likely. She had been entirely out in the open.
Darting a glance around, her gaze landed on a large rock and she gripped it in her shaking hands. Isla stared at the slimy stone of the wall and listened intently. What would he do to her? Surely if he meant no harm he would have continued on his journey? Mayhap he was an English scout, on the lookout for her. Mayhap he had stopped at the village and made enough threats to find out where she was headed.
She flinched as the hoof beats ceased and she pressed herself into a deeper crouch as if that would somehow make her invisible to the stranger’s gaze. Ach, if only it were dark. Isla clutched the stone tighter and readied herself for action as the sound of a sword jangling on a belt told her the man had dismounted.
Her breaths came raggedly while her pulse beat quickly and a leather booted foot stepped into the old doorway, not far from her hiding spot. Without waiting for the rest of him to enter, she jumped on top of him and smacked the stone into his head. They tumbled together, the force sending him toppling back. She landed on his hard chest and panic made everything blurry as she scrabbled to get away. A slight cry bubbled out of her throat as she heard him groan. Isla clambered to her feet and collected her skirts without looking back.
“Isla!”
She froze and rotated slowly. “Rory?”
Sweet Mary. Rory had come to his feet and clutched his head. Sickness roiled in her stomach. She’d attacked Rory! She dashed to his side and tugged his hand away. He looked at her through glazed eyes but they still managed to make her heart skip.
“Dear Lord, I could have killed ye.”
He shook his head slowly and winced. “Nay, takes more than a smack to the head to kill a Highlander.”
“What are ye doing here?”
“I could ask the same of ye, lass.”
“I-I’m… Ach, will ye no’ sit down before ye fall down?”
Grudgingly, he allowed her to lead him over to the rock she’d been resting upon before he’d interrupted her respite. She sat next to him and tried to inspect his head but he brushed her away.
“Why were ye running to yer father’s, Isla? Ye could have sheltered at the village.”
A trickle of blood oozed down the side of his head and she cursed and stood. With the sleeve of her gown, she dabbed at the blood. Thank the Lord Rory had a hard head.
“Will ye stop fussing woman? Ye’ve caused me enough of a headache as it is.”
Isla felt deflated. Was he angry she’d let his keep be overrun? She sank back onto the stone and nibbled on the end of her thumb. “Forgive me, Rory. The English proved harder to hold back than we anticipated. I tried my best.”
He shook his head and snatched her chin in a hard grasp. It pinched slightly but his touch sent a shock through her like she’d been hit by lightning. The coarse maleness of it caused every part of her to come alive. He softened his touch, as if realising he was being too rough, and rubbed one finger along her jawline.
“I dinnae mean the damned keep,” he said harshly. “I mean ye running off on me. I thought ye dead.”
“I thought ye’d be glad I was gone.” Something burned in his green gaze that made her heart ache. It was similar to that look he gave her sometimes when they sat together by the fire. “Isla, pray forgive me,” he begged when she failed to respond. “I will change, I swear it. I will be more gentle. I’ll learn to love ye properly. I will expect naught of ye, only what ye can give but I want a chance to be a better man for ye.”
She pulled her face from his grasp and stared at her hands. Did he mean he would give up his lover? Nay, she could not please him like the other woman—or even women—did. “Rory, I cannae take it anymore.” The burn of tears singed her eyes and she fought to keep them at bay while an ache filled her chest. “Knowing I am failing ye as a wife is more than I can bear.” She raised her head and offered him a vague smile. “Ye should just let me go and then ye can be with yer lover.”
His brows dipped into a frown. “What lover?”
She snorted. “Ye dinnae need to lie to me, Rory. Ye dinnae come to my bed so ye must be with someone else.”
Rory shook his head vigorously and snatched her hand. “Nay. There is no lover, Isla. I swear it.”
“But…ye’ve avoided me for so long…”
“Because I hurt ye. I could not bear to harm ye with my lovemaking again. I’m too big for ye, too rough, but I will change, mo chridhe. I wish to do whatever it takes to have ye back as my wife.”
Isla felt her jaw drop open but she could not bring herself to clamp it shut. “Ye didnae hurt me.”
“But…but ye cried…”
She pressed the back of her free hand to her mouth. “I was nervous, Rory. We barely knew each other and ‘twas my first time but after…I didnae expect it to be like that and I was overwhelmed. I’d been prepared to tolerate ye and instead I wanted ye more than I ever thought I could want another person.”
“God’s blood,” he breathed. “I’ve been torturing myself with wanting ye these past seasons. I couldnae share a bed with ye for I knew I couldnae control myself.”
Isla allowed a little giggle to bubble out of her. “Ach, ye are a pig-headed highlander, Rory MacPherson. If ye’d said something…”
He shook his head and clasped his hands around her chin. Both thumbs pressed into her cheeks as he stared down at her. Her throat tightened.
“I’ve never been one for talking, lass, but I should like to be a man of action once more. It seems I’ve a lot to learn about ye yet and I’d like to start learning now.”
She wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about. Her mind was a little hazy at the close proximity of his lips and the deep desire she saw in his gaze. But he spoke of action and the ache between her thighs told her she wanted to see what sort of action he meant. She prayed it meant at least feeling his lips on hers.
“Aye,” she whispered, still not sure what she agreeing to. “I think ye should start learning.”
“Aye,” he agreed softly as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Aye,” he repeated against her lips.
Though the touch of his lips was agonisingly tentative, it made her tremble and curl her fingers over his biceps for control. He did it again. The gentlest touch and she released a small noise of frustration and anticipation.
When he dipped again, she closed her eyes and parted her mouth. He didn’t withdraw this time and he carefully pressed his tongue between her lips. She touched his tongue with her own, delighting in the taste of him and the slight rumble of appreciation in his chest. They had only kissed on their wedding eve and it had been clumsy and nerve-filled. Now they seemed to have found their rhythm.
Aware she was digging her nails into his arms, she tried to hold him closer but a lass like her was no match for the strength of a warrior like Rory. It thrilled her, this rough man handling her with such delicacy, but she also couldn’t wait for the press of his hands against her skin, squeezing and moulding her. A fresh rush of desire blazed between her legs.
Rory urged her closer, kissed her deeper and made her gasp. He withdrew at the sound and eased her back, hands still clutching her face. His green eyes were dark, tempestuous. Her heart ached.
Isla licked her lips as if to somehow bring back the luscious taste of him.
“Forgive me,” he said gruffly. “’Tis hard to be gentle with ye. I need ye very badly, mo chridhe.”
She giggled at his blunt words. Aye, her husband was no eloquent man but there could have been no sweeter words to her ears. For so long she’d been convinced he did not want her and now here he was declaring he could barely control himself
around her.
She smoothed her hands down his arms and up to where his hands met her face. Leaning into one palm, she savoured the warmth before drawing both hands away and settling them upon her waist. She squeezed them against her.
“See? I willnae break. I am stronger than I look. Strong enough for ye, my Rory. I trust ye.”
He stared at his hands and gave her an experimental squeeze as if trying to convince himself he wouldn’t harm her. “I dinnae trust myself,” he admitted, gaze still fixed on her waist.
“Do ye trust me?”
His head shot up. “Aye. With my life.”
“Then ye must trust me to say if yer being too rough for me. But I dinnae think it possible. I have been dreaming of our lovemaking for so very long.”
Rory swallowed, his throat working. “As have I.” His hands moved upward, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through her gown and his throat worked some more. “I’ve wanted naught more than to lay ye down amongst the heather and take ye as a highlander should.”
She lifted her chin when she spied the doubt in his eyes. “Then do it. Take me, Rory. In the heather. Now.” As the words spilled out, her body throbbed. Aye, the idea of making love to him in the wild Highlands thrilled her more than she believed possible.
Abruptly, he stood and dragged her with him. His hands ended up thrust under her hair and his mouth came down on hers. There was no tenderness in this kiss. It was claiming and searing. It was everything she’d dreamed of.
Her breathing stuttered as he bundled her up against him, one hand cupping her rear, the other forcefully on her back. Pinned. Hard muscle crushed her breasts, his male hardness nudged her juncture and she instinctively rocked into it.
This seemed to have a stimulating effect on him while he plundered her mouth further. His tongue tangled with hers as if he’d never kissed another lass before. The hunger behind it erased any thoughts of him ever having a lover. Surely a man who kissed with such desperation could never have been sating himself with another?
I Left My Heart in Scotland Page 16
