My Lady Highlande

by Nancy Lee Badger

  “Isobel, I am here to help ye. To bring you home where ye belong.”

  “Doona’ call me that. My name is Izzy. I belong here. Who are ye to tell me otherwise?”

  He shifted right, and she slid to the left to keep the large table between them. The right side of his mouth jerked upwards, as if he found this whole thing amusing.

  “Izzy, then. I was told ye had fallen in with an old woman rumored to practice witchery.”

  “Are ye saying yer against those that dabble in the craft? ‘Tis the pot calling the kettle black, after what I saw minutes ago.”

  “The only reason I learned a few tricks was to find ye, and bring ye back to 1603. ‘Tis time to settle down, ye and I.”

  Will this never end?

  His pursuit was relentless. Gavin did not want her, and she would never give him her land. She had left her family’s holdings in the care of a trusted relation. He had promised to keep the land and livestock thriving, in her absence. She would rather never see her farm and rich grasslands again than let it fall into Gavin’s hands. Nor in the hands of any Sinclair.

  When he lunged again, she scrambled toward the partially open tent flap. His long legs crossed the distance faster than hers, and he caught her just outside. Beneath his fingers, her skin burned with indignation. Several pairs of eyes glanced their way, but no one seemed to think anything was awry. That is, except for the man who cast a long, dark shadow over her.

  “I’m thinking the lady is not too happy with you, partner.”

  Buchanan stood close. So close, she had to bend her head back to see the smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Out in the open air, the fading sun captured the soot in the creases along his forehead, and the crinkled skin around his eyelids. He had managed to wash his face, but missed a few spots.

  His honest concern tugged at her heart, but she pushed such thoughts aside. Lusting after a fool had made her lose everything.

  “Be off with ye, good sir. Isobel and I were discussing her little problem.”

  “Little problem? Someone tried to burn down this tent,” he said. He pointed toward the tent behind her, “and with her in it, no less. I call that a major problem. I call it arson, and attempted murder.”

  “Murder? Nay, who would want to hurt her?” Gavin released her arm, and stepped between them. The man, who told her to call him Bull, crossed his brawny arms over his chest. She could barely read the words on his red shirt. The same shirt that she had seen on the athletes in the field. She squinted and read NEHG Athletics.

  “Explain arson,” Gavin ordered.

  Izzy sucked in a breath. She did not think Bull was the type to take kindly to orders.

  “An arsonist is a coward who uses fire to hide evidence, or to destroy someone’s livelihood. Since Dorcas is not around, and Izzy was left in charge, I take offense to a young lady being harmed. And you?”

  “I am here to take her home. Isobel,” Gavin stressed her full name, “will be safe with me.”

  “Izzy? Does he speak the truth? If so, I’ll leave, even though Dorcas sent me here to help you in any way I can.”

  “What do ye know of putting out fires?”

  “I was a volunteer firefighter in a small town west of here.”

  That was not what she expected to hear, and she had little understanding of what being a volunteer firefighter meant, but she nodded in appreciation. Her neighbor, Jenny, explained that volunteers were people who helped others, without thought of compensation or reward. Staring at his face, she wondered why he would put his life in danger to help a stranger. To help her.

  “How do ye know Dorcas?” she asked. As far as she knew, Dorcas was in the past, in Scotland, not here in New England. She had searched for her among the vendors, but no one had seen her lately. Dorcas said she would come help close up the shop for the year, and might not return in the years to follow. Izzy had assured her that she could find another profession to help pay her way, so she could stay in this time. If Dorcas had changed her routine, something was terribly wrong.

  “Never mind that, how do we know Dorcas Swann sent ye? Ye doona sound like a Highlander from…my homeland.”

  “You’ve got that right, though I must admit my last visit at Castle Ruadh was less than settling. I got homesick.”

  Castle Ruadh? “Ye have visited the Keith stronghold in Wick, on the coast of the North Sea?”

  “Yep.”

  Lowering her gaze, Izzy’s thoughts sped to another time. A time spent on the shore, south of Wick and Dunbeath, when her father’s servants gathered wood for the cook fires, while she searched for shells and magical stones.

  “Are ye well, Isobel?” Gavin touched her arm, but she pulled away.

  “I be fine. This man has saved my wares and should be rewarded.”

  Bull’s left eyebrow shot up, and his smile broadened. He lowered his hands and hooked his thumbs into the wide leather belt that circled his waist. A simple brown sporran hung from chains across the front of his plaid. The orange and yellow stripes on a muted green background clashed with his bright red shirt. Unadorned leather braces wrapped both wrists, and he had wrapped linen around his knees, as protection while performing on the athletic field.

  When Gavin did not respond, the stranger clasped his hands behind him, and rocked back on his heels. Was he waiting for Gavin to reward his actions?

  Dropping her gaze, she stared at his footwear, what many called athletic shoes. He carried no weapon, not even a small, sharp sgian dubh in his sock. Glancing back at his face, she stiffened. He smiled at her. He was too handsome for his own good. The attraction surprised her.

  He was different from Gavin in dozens of ways. Bull’s black hair was short, barely brushing the wide neck below his ears. Gavin’s hair was long, loose, and as brown as the chocolate chips the local shortbread sported. Bull’s blue eyes bore into her, but she sensed no animosity. Gavin’s green eyes, however, shifted from her to Bull.

  “A reward? Have lunch with me,” Bull said, his gaze an intimate caress. He stepped closer, and the of smoke wafted around her.

  She glanced back at her damaged tent, the simple excuse that would keep both men at bay. She did not want to renew her relationship with Gavin, and Bull deserved to romance a woman with a future.

  “I must clean up this mess, but I thank ye for yer kind offer.” She moved toward the tent to get to work, while distancing herself from both men.

  “I can help,” Gavin and Bull said at the same time.

  Gavin growled a Gaelic curse beneath his breath, but Bull laughed. The deep, rumbling guffaw made a smile tug at her mouth. The more he differed from the sullen Gavin, the more she liked him. She could use the help, but how could she keep him at arm’s length?

  “Since you are the one who saved my livelihood, I would welcome your help packing up damaged goods. I need to open the tent tomorrow, and sell anything no’ hurt by the fire.” She turned and placed a hand on Bull’s forearm, “Will the tent be safe tonight?”

  He rubbed his chin with one hand, the other hand still planted on his waist. “Hard to say. I have no idea how the fire started. It’s too small a blaze to get the fire inspector involved, but you should report it to the games committee, since they rented the tent to you.”

  “Ye be right. I will do that now.” She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans and dialed. Speaking briefly to the office personnel, she explained the minor fire, and they assured her they would send someone to check it.

  “What ‘tis that?” Gavin asked.

  Izzy jumped.

  CHAPTER 4

  Gavin had stepped behind Izzy, and gazed over her shoulder at her phone. His warm breath was disturbing, unlike the warmth of Bull’s when he kissed her. Gavin’s question made sense. Izzy had adopted several modern conveniences. She only had a few numbers stored in the phone’s memory, such as her neighbor, Jenny Morgan, their landlord, a pizza delivery shop, and other emergency numbers.

  Surprisingly lacking of friends, she t
hought.

  “Isobel! Explain this!”

  “Ye doona’ need to know because yer leaving. Go home, Gavin.”

  Slipping inside the tent, she headed toward the small curtained area near the left side. Dorcas used the private area as sleeping quarters. Izzy had rented an apartment up the highway, but Dorcas stayed in the tent. The cot stood unused, the plaid blankets undisturbed. An empty metal tankard sat on an upturned bucket.

  “Could have used that bucket, Dorcas.” Izzy rubbed her hands up her arms. She missed the old witch. The smoke from the recent fire had not fully usurped the familiar, lingering scent of the witch’s pipe. Caring for the old woman’s belongings was enough reason to clean up the mess.

  The curtain behind her parted.

  “We are no’ finished, Isobel. I must speak to ye before…”

  Izzy glanced at Gavin, waiting for him to continue. What was he holding back? Bull must also wonder about the man’s mission. He stepped closer, as if to keep Gavin away from her.

  “You will speak to her when, and if, she agrees. Right now, we have work to do. Help, or shut up, but get out of the way.”

  Gavin grumbled under his breath, again. “Such work is beneath my station.”

  What she did not need was each of them inside the small space at one time. Bull passed by her, untied the damaged back flap, shoving it open. Fresh air drifted in. The added natural light displayed the extent of the damage, and she frowned.

  The display nearest the charred wall held what Dorcas referred to as love potions, as well as a basket of wooden spurtles, used to stir potions or oatmeal. The sleek tools were hand-carved from New England sugar maples, by local artisans. The display basket was ruined, and the tools had tumbled to the muddied floor.

  “What a mess.” Bending over, she gathered what looked salvageable. A sharp cough from behind reminded her that lust and tight spaces did not mix.

  “There be boxes in the back, behind the cot. We must box all the damaged goods, then take them somewhere safe until Dorcas returns to explain how to deal with them.”

  “Can’t we just toss them in a trash can?” Bull asked.

  “No!” Izzy and Gavin both said.

  Bull raised his hands, palms out, in surrender.

  “These be powerful potions. The smoke and heat might have damaged them, but their power remains,” Izzy explained. “If anyone opened a vial, or the bottle broke, who knows what could happen. I canna’ take that chance.”

  “Well, since I have seen what Skye can do with only a wave of her hand, and a few words, I will err on the side of caution.” Bull disappeared into the back, but Gavin had not moved. His eyes were wide as saucers while he glanced around the tent.

  “Impressive collection of…wares,” he whispered. His black gloved fingers touched bags of crushed herbs. “Apple buds to yarrow root. Verra’ impressive.” He hefted a block of cut Blackthorn, raising an eyebrow.

  “No’ something I will sell to just anyone. Dorcas warned me about its black magic.”

  “Aye, I heard tell of her troubles with a powerful sorcerer who carried a staff made from the Blackthorn tree. Powerful magic.”

  The tension caused by the afternoon emergency, and the arrival of Gavin and a big Highlander who seemed to know too much, had a headache threatening to manifest between her eyes. “Let me know if ye find an undamaged packet of willow bark.”

  “As ye wish, Isobel. Here,” Gavin said, and tossed her the packet.

  She caught it in midair, and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans. “ ‘Tis a shame yer hearing was no’ as excellent, last time we talked.” Before she could spend a calming hour in her hot tub, she mentally cataloged the damaged potions.

  Gavin chuckled, then whispered, “Ye mean the last time we fought? I remember yer hand across my face, when all I wanted was yer naked body beneath me.”

  “Doona’ disgust me with yer wants and needs,” she answered, her voice rising, “because ye did yer damage, and used me ill. If tumbling me is all yer after today, I am no’ the woman fer ye.”

  “I believe I came in halfway through the conversation, but I don’t like the vibes I’m getting,” Bull said.

  Gavin glanced from Bull to Izzy. “Vibes?”

  “They are like auras,” she answered. “He senses my rage at yer presence. When are ye leaving, Gavin?”

  “I came…here…with a purpose. I only want ye to come home and reconsider our…relationship.”

  Izzy glared at him, but kept quiet. She was loath to let Bull know Gavin only wanted her for her family’s property.

  Bull curled an arm around her shoulder. When he pulled her tight into his side, her body reacted to his muscular stature and warm chest. Her back straightened, her heart skipped, and she pressed her palm against his ribcage. What she was not prepared for, was the sheer strength and heat where their bodies touched. His breaths moved his chest with a slow and steady rhythm. His presence calmed her jitters, which was unusual.

  Izzy lifted her gaze to his face.

  He was a tall man, nearly a hand’s breadth taller than Gavin. He was wide as a barn and, from what she could feel beneath her palm, lacked any extra fat. Muscles rippled, and his breath quickened, the longer he held her close. Was he attracted to her, or simply set on irritating Gavin?

  “Isobel, what be the meaning of this?” Gavin threw back the side of his cloak, as his hand found the hilt of a blade inside a leather sheath on his hip. “Have ye taken a lover?”

  “Aye, and we are happy. I will no’ be going anywhere with ye.” Izzy glanced into Bull’s face and saw his questioning gaze. That he did not speak his thoughts aloud, made her appreciate the man even more.

  However, when he cupped Izzy’s chin and lowered his mouth, terror swept over her. The shock of strong lips on hers, froze her in place. Bull held her too tight for her to do anything but sink into his embrace. He curled her closer, wrapping both huge arms around her, and deepened the kiss. His tongue pressed against her tingling mouth until her lips parted. When his tongue entered, and probed the sensitive recesses she had kept private all these years, she moaned. She pressed her hands against his chest.

  As if he sensed her hesitation, he kept her in his embrace, and tangled his tongue with hers until pleasure showered her body from her mouth to her toes. The heat of him, along with his manly smell, was wonderful. His taste was as intoxicating as a pint of recently tapped honey ale. When he groaned and pressed against the length of her, erotic thoughts warmed every inch of her, from the inside out.

  When one hand dipped along her spine, to the curve of her back and rested just above her bottom, she shivered. Bull smiled against her lips. When his hand strayed farther, and cupped the curves beneath her leggings, she came to her senses.

  She stepped out of his embrace, but stayed close to him. She had to continue the sham while Gavin was still watching them. Had their deception worked?

  “This is no’ over,” Gavin said, his harsh threat slicing through her.

  Izzy tensed. She found it incredulous that Gavin dabbled in sorcery. It had changed him. Where once he uttered words of love, the current animosity in his gaze turned her stomach.

  “I believe the lady asked you to leave.” Bull’s voice had deepened, and he pulled her back against his side. Gavin stormed from the tent, and she punched Bull in the ribs.

  “Bull,” she whispered, “ye ought to tread lightly around him, and take care. He means what he says. I fear ye shall feel his wrath again.”

  “That guy is into you. I assume you don’t like him?”

  Izzy glanced at Bull’s mouth, trying to understand the meaning of his words. His large hand cupped the back of her head. He pulled her up onto her toes, and kissed her hard and deep. Pleasure and fear tingled through her with a kiss that addled her brain.

  He responded as if she had granted him permission to continue the seduction. Before she could react and push him away, she tasted him. Ginger beer and fresh baked shortbread. He smelled of damp male and smok
e. The smoky odor brought her back to her senses, and to the problem at hand.

  “The fire damaged the tent,” she whispered against his soft, delicious mouth. “We must save my wares. Assist me?”

  When Bull dropped his arm, and turned to look at the back wall of the fire-damaged tent, she relaxed. Worry furrowed his brow, and his smile had turned upside down. His frown worried her more than his unwanted kisses.

  Unwanted? Was she telling half-truths to explain why she let him get so close? Once she was aware of the truth behind the seduction, the next time Gavin tried to plant his lips on hers she had turned her head, and slipped from his grasp. Was Bull upset that she gave him a reason to stop kissing her, or had he taken pity on her? She had nearly burned to death earlier, and he might have felt her uneasiness.

  Freed from his grasp, she missed the solid warmth of his hands, and the delicious flavor of his lips. Gavin’s kisses were hurried and brutal, as if he wanted to complete a distasteful task. Anger, and a sudden deep-wrenching sorrow for the way the day had unfolded, made her growl.

  His eyebrow drifted up. “Everything okay?”

  It took Izzy a moment to understand his odd words. “Nay! ‘Tis no’ ok that a person’s livelihood is harmed. I doona’ need extra work this day.”

  “Sorry, just thought maybe you inhaled too much smoke.”

  As she hurried to the back of the dimly lit tent, the softness in his voice settled her nerves. A smile tugged at her mouth. He cared for her health, whereas Gavin cared for her wealth. This big man was an unusual soul, with kisses that could bruise her heart if she ventured into his reach again.

  Was Gavin’s appearance fate? Or a lingering torment brought on by the death of her parents? After Bull pretended they were lovers, Gavin had marched off in a huff. Was he gone for good, or would he strike back? Would the subterfuge send Gavin home to Scotland?

  She sensed the man had turned dark beneath the sorcery that she sensed filled his heart. Would he attempt to seize her, taking everything from her, then force her into a betrothal?