Highlanders for the Holidays: 4 Hot Scots

by Glynnis Campbell

  “The fog is lifting,” Roderick said, looking out toward the shore. “We should be on our way.”

  Without another word, he got up and put on his clothes, as if last night was just another night and she was just another woman. She felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. If he had professed undying love, she would not have believed him any more than she had believed her merchant suitors. But all he could say to her after what had passed between them in the night was The fog is lifting?

  Evidently, the night had not been utterly magical for him. After baring her soul—not to mention her body— it was painful to find she was so forgettable.

  But she refused to be the sort of pathetic woman who would sniffle over a man. After pulling on her tunic, she furiously wiped her nose on the sleeve, then looked for the rest of her clothes under the blanket.

  Where in the hell were her stockings?

  Was her brave Highlander afraid to speak out of fear she expected an offer of marriage? He needn’t have worried. The notion was ridiculous. She never wanted to be tied to a man who would tell her what to do and expect her to wash his clothes and fix his supper every night. And she knew as well as Roderick did that she did not belong here.

  She had her shop in London, and she wanted to get back to it as soon as she could. The shop had always been her refuge.

  It was all she had.

  * * *

  Roderick stomped to the nearby burn and splashed water on his face. Lily had her reasons for going to bed with him, but he did not believe that marriage was one of them.

  He had not taken her virginity, so he was not honor-bound to wed her. And yet she had seemed so innocent that he almost felt as if he had been her first. Should he make the offer and tell her why she ought to refuse him? He doubted she would consider it anyway.

  He was still debating what he ought to do when he returned to their camp and found Lily on her hands and knees, frantically searching the grass where their blanket had been.

  “What is it, lass?” he asked, crouching beside her.

  “’Tis gone!” she said, without looking up from her search. “I’ve lost it!”

  He’d never seen her distressed like this before, though she’d had plenty of reason.

  “I’ll help,” he said. “What are we looking for?”

  “The key to my shop,” she said in a choked voice.

  He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Ye can always have a new lock and key made.”

  “I know.” She sat down abruptly and turned her back to him, but not before he saw a tear slip down her cheek. “The door will be broken and everything stolen anyway.”

  “Then why is this key so important to ye?”

  “’Tis a reminder of my old life,” she said, “and a promise to myself that I’ll be able to return to it one day soon.”

  Well, that made matters clear. The prospect of a marriage that would keep her in the Highlands forever would not be well received.

  Since she had no feeling that she belonged here, it also seemed very doubtful that Lily was the seer his grandmother foretold. If she had The Sight at all, she hid it damned well. The key was lying right in front her in the grass.

  “Here it is, lass,” he said, and handed it to her.

  “Praise God!” She clutched the key in her hands like a prayer and rested her head on her knees. “I don’t belong here. I want to go home.”

  Her words left a hollow feeling in his chest. To comfort her, he sat beside her and put his arm around her.

  “Well, ye can’t go just yet,” he said. “But in a few weeks, the winter storms will pass, and it will be safe to sail the open sea again.”

  By then, he’d know if she carried his child. If she did, he could give her no choice but to marry him. He did not know which made him feel worse—the thought of never seeing Lily again or the prospect of making a second wife miserable.

  “You’re a verra special lass,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “I’ll hate to see ye go.”

  He was shocked to his boots when she turned and pulled him into a deep kiss. Soon, they were rolling on the ground lost in passion, with no thought of tomorrow.

  Chapter 8

  Lily gasped as another wave broke over the side of the boat, drenching her with cold spray. Her hair had blown free from its knot and whipped across her face, stinging her skin. Through the loose strands, she watched Roderick, fixing every image of him in her memory. She stifled a sigh and told herself not to ruin what little time she had left with him by dwelling on how miserable she would be when they parted.

  Despite the rough sea, Roderick was laughing and talking with the other men as if he was unaware that the boat was bouncing like a cork. Clearly, the man was born to sail. After adjusting the ropes holding the sail, he crossed the boat to where she sat clinging to the bench to keep from sliding back and forth.

  “’Tis a great day for sailing, aye?” he said with a wide grin.

  Racing across the water was rather thrilling, but if she were honest with herself, she missed the physical closeness of riding on horseback with him. And she could do without the dozen other men in the boat, who eyed her while speaking in Gaelic.

  “What are they saying?” she asked.

  “Well, they’re curious as to why I’ve returned with a Sassenach,” he said. “But mostly, they’re remarking on how fetching ye look in breeches.”

  She looked down at her wet and dirty clothes. Fetching? Either he was lying or these Highlanders had not seen a woman in a very long time. When they reached their destination, she would have to use one of her precious coins to buy a gown and shoes.

  Roderick rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned down while he pointed to an island ahead. “That’s the Isle of Islay, the center of the great MacDonald clan. We’ll leave the galley in the bay and walk inland to Finnlaggan.”

  She heard reverence in his voice when he spoke of Finnlaggan, but she did not expect to be impressed. As a Londoner, she had seen royal processions, royal barges, and the formidable walls of the two royal palaces on the Thames.

  “Clan MacDonald has castles throughout the isles and on the mainland,” he said. “But Finnlaggan is where Alexander, the Lord of the Isles, meets with the council, and he considers it his home.”

  After the men pulled the boat onto the shore between dozens of others, Roderick lifted her down. The ground felt as if it were rolling under her like the sea, and she was grateful for Roderick’s arm to steady her as they followed the others down a well-trod path.

  They had walked some distance when they entered a large meadow with a lone holly tree on one side of the path and a tall, rectangular stone on the other.

  “What is that stone?” she asked, pointing.

  “’Tis from long, long ago, before our people were Christian, before the oldest tales of our heroes. You’ll find stones like this alone and in circles throughout the Highlands. Some believe they still hold ancient magic.”

  Lily felt an odd vibration in the air, like the buzz of a bee’s wings. It grew stronger as they neared the tall stone.

  “I feel it,” she blurted out.

  Roderick halted and gave her a penetrating look. Unease crept up her spine.

  “You don’t think I’m a witch, do you?” she asked.

  He crossed the path to the holly tree, snapped off a sprig, and stuck it in her hair. Then he winked at her. “Holly wards off evil. A witch cannot wear it.”

  “If the London rabble knew that,” she said with a relieved laugh, “I could have worn holly and saved myself a long journey.”

  His expression turned serious again, and he took her hand. “What happened in London that made ye leave?”

  She trusted him enough now to tell him. Roderick was a good man, and he would not turn on her.

  “Witch fever was at a high pitch, and mobs were roaming the streets,” she said. “I knew they would burn innocent women like me next. My heart told me I must leave, so I did.”

  “Ye need have no fe
ar of that here,” he said, and put his arms around her. “Women with your gift—healers—are valued by us Highlanders.”

  He stood in the middle of the path holding her and murmuring soothing Gaelic into her hair for a long time. Heaven help her, but she would miss him.

  They held hands as they resumed their walk. Eventually, they crested a hill, and a large inland loch appeared nestled in the valley below. The village along the shore seemed to be a hive of activity, with people, carts, and horses. That looked promising. She should be able to ply her trade here.

  Roderick drew her attention to the two islands in the loch. The larger one was connected to the shore by a narrow causeway and to the smaller island by a bridge.

  “The small island farther from shore is Eilean na Comhairle, The Council Island,” Roderick explained. “The single stone building on it is the meeting place for the Council of the Isles, which is comprised of the chieftains from the branches of the MacDonald clan and chieftains from the clan’s vassals, including the MacLeods, Mackenzies, MacNeils, Macleans.”

  The Lord of the Isles apparently was a far grander person than she had reckoned. Roderick had not exaggerated when he said this chieftain of chieftains was like a king.

  “I have business to attend to on the large island, Eilean Mor,” he said. “It houses the Lord of the Isles’ Great Hall, his family living quarters, guest quarters, and a chapel. The smaller buildings ye see with thatched roofs are for storage, workshops, and the like.”

  Lily’s heart began to race as they walked along the shore of the loch toward the village. She tried to steel herself to part ways with Roderick. When they reached the causeway to the island, just outside the village, she halted.

  “Before we say farewell, I want to tell you how grateful I am for all you’ve done for me.” She had to pause to fight the tears stinging the back of her eyes. “You saved my life.”

  “Lily—” He started to speak but stepped when she held up her hand.

  “I am grateful for the kindness you showed me and…for what we did last night.” She dropped her gaze to her ugly boots and spat out the rest quickly. “You mentioned I might stay with your grandmother. Will I find her in the village? If not, I’m sure I can manage on my own here. Just as you said, this is a good place.”

  “I’m not leaving for Skye for a few days,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger. “Are ye that anxious to be rid of me?”

  She shook her head.

  “We can explore the village later,” he said, “but now we’re going to have a fine meal in the Great Hall while I wait to speak with my chieftain.”

  “Me? Eat in the Great Hall?” She was just a lowly shopkeeper.

  He looked her up and down. “Aye, we must find ye a gown in the village first.”

  Roderick proved as efficient at this as he was at everything else. When he saw a woman beating a rug outside her cottage, he asked her if she had a second gown she would sell for a silver coin. The woman recognized a good bargain when she heard one, and she proved to be both kind and Lily’s size. A short time later, Lily emerged from the cottage wearing a faded but clean blue gown. She had also washed her face and attempted to tidy her unruly hair.

  “Ach, ye look lovely,” Roderick said, taking her in from head to toe and back again.

  Another lie, to be sure, but she did feel less conspicuous out of the breeches.

  The sun was low in the winter sky by the time they crossed the causeway and reached the island, which was overflowing with people and activity. They had to step aside to make way for several carts and horses.

  “Is it always like this?” she asked.

  “It is whenever the Lord of the Isles is in residence,” he said. “Alexander is celebrating the Yuletide here.”

  The guards who stood outside the doors of the Great Hall greeted Roderick with deference, confirming her growing suspicion that this Highlander, whom she had first taken for a wild heathen, was highborn and far above her station. It made her uneasy.

  They entered a huge room that must be thirty by sixty feet long, with a roaring fire in a massive stone hearth. She tilted her head back to take in the high ceiling—then belatedly closed her gaping mouth. Despite what Roderick had told her about the Lord of Isles, she had expected his Great Hall to be more on a par with a well-to-do cloth merchant’s home in London. She had never seen such fine furnishings and rich tapestries.

  The meal had already begun, and the room was noisy with a hundred conversations. The long tables were loaded with platters of food of all sorts, and servants were still bringing more.

  Jewels sparkled on both men and women. Most of the men wore Highland garb like Roderick’s, but there was a sprinkling who looked to be wealthy Flemish, French, and English merchants. The women, except for those who were obviously servants, were dressed like English noblewomen in elaborate headdresses and fine velvet and linen gowns.

  Lily’s eyes were drawn to the high table and a tall, golden-haired man with a hawk nose and commanding presence who sat at the center seat. This must be Alexander, the Lord of the Isles, himself. Her imagination got the better of her. Despite the distance and the noisy roomful of people between them, she felt for a moment as if his piercing eyes were fixed on her.

  She held fast to Roderick’s arm. As they passed one of the long trestle tables, men nodded or called out to him and women followed him with their eyes. He found room for them at the end of another table, but before they could sit, one of the guards tapped Roderick on the shoulder and spoke to him in Gaelic.

  Lily assumed the guard was telling him the seats were taken and they must leave. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the delicious aromas from the heaping platters of food. She would feel more comfortable eating with the servants in the kitchen, if that were permitted, but she dearly wanted to eat.

  “We’re invited to sup at the high table,” Roderick said, leaning down so she could hear him over the voices and clatter.

  Lily’s pulse leaped. Nobles occasionally came to her shop when they had ailments they did not wish to disclose even to their servants, but she had never been inside such a fine hall before, let alone eaten at a high table.

  “Must we?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “This is my clan. You’ve nothing to fear here.”

  Lily took a deep breath and let Roderick lead her past all the other tables. He held her hand, which made her heart flutter and earned her more than a few frowns and arched brows.

  She had expected him to treat her as a mere fellow traveler. After all, they were parting ways here on the Isle of Islay. Instead, he appeared to be proclaiming to his kin that she was something more to him. He glared at the men who stared at them, as if in warning. Why was he sending them the message that she belonged to him? Was it simply to protect her?

  Once they were settled near the end of the high table, Lily glanced around at the elaborate dishes and delicacies. She did not know what half of them were. The one with the pig’s head was obviously pork, and she recognized the oysters, beef, lamb, honeyed nuts, and cheeses, but none of those were within reach.

  The platter closest to her had some sort of roasted meat decorated with a splay of feathers in dazzling colors.

  “What is that?” she whispered to Roderick.

  “You’ve never eaten peacock?” he asked with a wink, and dished a large helping onto the trencher they shared. “’Tis verra tasty.”

  As she stuffed herself with one new delicious dish after another and shared a cup with Roderick, she surreptitiously examined the wicked-looking weapons on the walls and her dinner companions at the table. These Highlanders were not primitive heathens, as she had heard back in London. And yet there was a wildness about them, to be sure. Roderick looked as intimidating as any of them, but she had grown accustomed to him.

  And seen him naked. She blushed and took another gulp of wine to hide her smile. Luckily, Roderick had been drawn into conversation—in Gaelic—with some of the other men a
t the table.

  When the man on her other side cleared his throat, she turned and gave him a polite smile. He had a touch of gray in his hair, flashing dark eyes, and he wore the most beautifully made tunic she had ever seen. It even had tiny jewels sewn onto it.

  “Parlez-vous Français?” he asked. “Or English, perhaps?”

  “I do!” she said. “I’m a Londoner.”

  She was relieved to have someone she could speak with at the table. When she found out he was a merchant who had come to Islay in his own ship, her heart beat fast. Perhaps she would not have to wait here through the long winter after all.

  “I should have sailed home to Spain already,” he said, and sipped his wine. “The winter here is beastly. I intend to set sail on the morrow.”

  “How far is Spain from London?”

  “A very long way, my dear,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “But I’m stopping in London on my way. I have business in that dreary city before I return home to Spain.”

  By the time his ship reached London, it should be safe for her to return. She looked at Roderick, who was in deep discussion with his clansmen. If she left tomorrow, she would miss a day or two with him before his own departure. But it would be nothing like when they traveled alone. Roderick was an important man here and would have little time for her.

  “What about the winter storms?” she asked.

  “I have a large, sturdy ship,” he said. “I’ve made the trip with her many a time.”

  “Could you take me with you?” she asked. “I have coin to pay my way.”

  “I don’t need your coin, but I’d be delighted to have your company.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Roderick. “Provided your Highlander has no objection…”

  “He’s not my Highlander,” she said. “And he’s leaving here soon himself.”

  “All the same, I suspect he wouldn’t take it well,” he said with another glance at Roderick. Then he waggled his eyebrows and added, “But if you wish to come, I sail at daybreak.”

  Chapter 9