Heart Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “My lady?” Broderick said softly. They were, it seemed, both aware that they were alone together for the first time.

  “My lord?” She looked up at him. She had not realized how tense she was whenever he was around. Now that her uncle had gone, she felt as if she was seeing Lord Broderick for the first time.

  “Lady Amabel,” Broderick said.

  Now he really was smiling. He even laughed, proving that had been what she heard earlier. Sweet and warm, his laugh filled the chamber, tracing fingers of fire down her skin.

  “What?” she asked in her most-disdainful voice. She bit the insides of her cheeks, fighting her urge to smile. She was not ready to explore these new feelings, not yet ready to forgive the man.

  “Nothing.” he sighed. “May I say that I deeply admire ye and what ye did just now?”

  Amabel stared at him. “You do, my lord?”

  He laughed. “I do no' ken why you are surprised. You are... different. Unusual. I admire it greatly.”

  Amabel looked at him blandly. “Either quality could be good or bad. Bad weather is different, perhaps even unusual. I reserve judgment on your comment. It could as well be insult and compliment.”

  This time, he roared with laughter. He has a nice smile. A nice smile and a nice voice. It might not be cultured like her own or her family's, but it was nevertheless starting to appeal to her.

  “Lady Amabel. I wished tae apologize. And now I am glad I did. I am glad tae see ye. And in any case, I must apologize fully for my wretched behavior yesterday.”

  Amabel sighed. She studied his face. He looked contrite. He meant it. This was not some sop to her dignity or meant to ease his way with her family. He was sincere.

  “I accept your apology, my lord.” She paused. “Your actions were... strange. But in themselves should not have caused much trouble. I can find it in my heart to forgive your part in that.”

  He let out a shuddering breath. “Thank ye, my lady.” He looked deeply relieved.

  She blinked at him. She had not thought he cared so about her opinion. “I would thank you for your contrition, my lord,” she said archly. “But I find that I still consider it deserved.”

  He tipped back his head, chuckling. His neck was long and muscular and Amabel could not help notice it. She shook herself. Pull yourself together.

  “I agree,” he said when he stopped laughing. “I am a shocking wretch.”

  “It is good you know that.” She gave him a tight smile.

  She walked away toward the windows, wondering if he would follow. The arched windows of the solar were their main adornment, stone arches that flanked the right side. They were wrought from marble, and she was not sure which of their ancestors had added them to Lochlann Castle. She knew it was not her great-uncle, who kept most things in Spartan plainness.

  She leaned on the windowsill and was surprised to hear Broderick follow her. He came over and stood just behind her. Here she could feel the warmth from his body, and she felt herself shiver a little.

  “You take a keen interest in our gardens, my lord?” She turned to face him, speaking archly.

  He smiled. “This castle holds many fair prospects, my lady. I am pleased tae see them more closely.”

  She felt her belly tighten at his words. His words were meant to tease. They did so. She shivered and looked up at him. Then she smiled.

  “Prospects are meant to be studied from afar. I see no reason to approach so near.”

  He was right in front of her. She could almost feel his breath on her face.

  “My eyesight is no' what it once was,” he said. “Which leaves me finding myself approaching all things closely.”

  Amabel breathed out. She was tall, and he was a little taller, so that her head was just a hand's breadth below his own. If he bent forward, their lips would touch. His dark eyes were looking into hers, sparkling and amused.

  He bent forward.

  Their lips met.

  Amabel closed her eyes. It was the briefest touch, the firm hardness of his mouth just grazing her lip, but it traced fiery fingers down her throat and to her belly. His lips tasted like the spice of the tarts Hannah had brought and she leaned in, wanting more.

  He made a sound, then, deep in his throat, and leaned in toward her once again. His moved over hers more firmly, nipping at them like little fish. She let her lips part, surprised, and gasped.

  The sound seemed to inflame him further, for he stood closer and his arms were round her now, holding her close. She felt his body press against hers, and her heart pounded fast.

  He groaned and turned away.

  “Forgive me, Lady Amabel.”

  “My lord?” She looked up at him with confusion. Her mouth was warm and her lips felt deliciously plundered, aching from the kiss. Her whole body ached.

  “I am sorry lass.” He was not looking at her. He sounded distressed. “You must be shocked by me.”

  Amabel stared at him. How could he think that? She was far from shocked. Mayhap it should have shocked her. Somehow it didn't. She stepped toward him. Amazed at her own boldness, she touched his shoulder. He stiffened.

  “My lord?”

  He turned around. His eyes held a mix of pain and wonder that made her heart ache.

  “Yes?”

  “You did not shock me.”

  “My lady…” He stopped. “You must forgive me. My behavior has been... odd. I cannae forgive it, but I can try and explain.”

  “Oh?” She looked up at him, surprised.

  “You see....” His fingers moved on her hand, stroking it in a way that made her body catch fire. “The trouble is, you see... you remind me so of my wife.”

  Amabel stared. “You are married?” That made no sense. He was here to seek a bride. As she thought about it, she understood. Her guess was confirmed when he looked up, eyes full of pain.

  “I was.”

  “Oh.” Amabel looked into his troubled gaze. Her heart ached for him, then. That explained the look of pain in his eyes when he looked at her, his strangeness. His air of sadness that seemed to hang around him when she first saw him. “I am sorry. You must have loved her deeply.”

  “I did.”

  “May I ask when you lost her?”

  “Five years ago. A long time.”

  “There is never a long time in love. The memory of those we love is evergreen.”

  His eyes widened. “My lady. That is wise.”

  She swallowed. “It is true.” She would never forget the one or two memories of her mother, her aunt Frances. She had lost people and knew something of how the heart ached for them.

  His hands were warm on hers and her heart was very dangerously close to becoming his. At that moment, she heard a footfall in the door. She whipped round, blushing.

  “Ah. I see you two have said goodbye, after all,” her uncle said, “which is a good thing, since Broderick will have to leave this very afternoon on a little raid.”

  Amabel's face flushed red, and Broderick smiled gently at her. “Goodbye, my lady.”

  She cleared her throat. “Goodbye.”

  She left the room and walked to her bedchamber, leaving him behind. She could not stop thinking of him, however. He loved his wife, who had died five years before. Would he ever love again? After the morning and its surprises, all she could think to answer that question was: perhaps.

  She headed out into the gardens, feeling restless. The castle was seething with action. She walked past the men-at-arms training on the practice area and grinned to see Blaine, their young head of the guard, giving one of the soldiers a solid dressing down. She waved to him.

  “Good afternoon, milady!” he shouted, wiping a lock of hair out of his eye.

  “Good afternoon!” she called, then headed past him toward her favorite place.

  Near the kitchens was a fragrant garden where the culinary plants grew. Amabel's mother Joanna had planned it in part, and it was beautifully designed, flowerbeds laid out neatly, bordered by stones. Am
abel found her favorite place to sit – on a bench surrounded by lavender, where the evening sun warmed the stones. Settling down on the bench, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Her thoughts were all of Broderick. The prospect of this marriage did not, after all, seem so horrible.

  What on earth has come over me? She shook her head, smiling bemusedly. She felt deeply peaceful and listened to the sounds of the castle around her as she let herself relax for the first time in days.

  “Alina! It's my turn!” Chrissie called to her sister from somewhere across the courtyard.

  Aline gave an answering sigh.

  “Have you not tired of quoits?”

  Chrissie giggled. “No! I never tire of games.”

  Amabel smiled as she heard the clank of a metal ring against the post in the flagstones.

  Someone applauded and Chrissie shouted, “Well done, Heath!”

  Amabel's smile deepened. The sweetness between Chrissie and Heath deepened every day, and she was sure that as soon as they were both of marriageable age, he would make an offer for her hand. And, given her own surprising feelings toward Broderick, she was almost willing to hope her uncle would allow the match.

  It seems that what he has allowed for me is not too awful, after all.

  The only cloud on the horizon was the campaign. Feeling a sudden shiver, she looked up at the sky. I should go to the chapel before dinner. It would not hurt to pray for Broderick's safe return.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ON THE CAMPAIGN

  ON THE CAMPAIGN

  The moorlands around Lochlann were sparse and barren, stretching to the horizon below a gray, rainy sky.

  Broderick, mounted on his solid chestnut Clydesdale, Brendan, rode resolutely on ahead.

  “I need tae stop thinking about her.”

  “My lord?”

  Broderick blinked. He had not realized he had spoken aloud. He had been unable to shift his thoughts from the sweet body and lovely face of Lady Amabel. My prospective partner.

  Deliberately breaking his fixation, he turned to face the man who had questioned him so abruptly.

  “Nothin', Blaine. I was just thinking,” he murmured in reply.

  “That's fair, sir. Thinkin's always good.”

  Broderick gave the cocky younger man a sideways glance. He found nothing he could truly rebuke, which was quite unfortunate. At eighteen years old, Blaine seemed far too young, and far too insolent, to be in any sort of leadership position. As it was, he was the leader in his lordship's household guard. Broderick, the newcomer, had no say in who rode with him and would just need to accept him.

  “Well, yes,” he said defensively. “Thinking’s good. I just hope it to be enough on this raid.”

  “Should be,” the young man said with an expansive shrug. “That and all these troops ought to do the trick. Glentower's not that big a fortress.”

  This time, Broderick gave him a baleful glare. the young man stiffened. Good.

  “I should think I would be a good enough judge of that, Blaine MacNeil. I have been warring since I was your age.”

  “A right long time, milord.” The young man grinned.

  Broderick stopped and turned to face him. He surveyed him impassively and though he sat more upright, Blaine showed no sign of regret. Broderick sighed. Solid with muscle, with a broad scar on his nose and hazel-brown eyes, Blaine was a handsome young fellow in a blunt, brutish way, and Broderick found he could not be cross with him despite the open slur. If his lordship was to be believed, the youth made up in inventiveness what he lacked in manners, and Broderick did not want to make an enemy of him.

  “You watch yersel',” he said gruffly, deciding to be mild. “I may be five and thirty, but I can still race ye.”

  “You say that,” Blaine said, “but we should try.” He grinned cheekily.

  Broderick gave a humorless snort. “What? And have twenty troops bearing down behind us, thinking we're headed off somewhere for a reason? We are their leaders, Blaine MacNeil. We can't just do whatever we want to.”

  Blaine blinked. “Yes, sir.” He shrank visibly, and Broderick instantly regretted his sharpness. Vaunted fighter or not, the youth was just eighteen!

  “When we return, I'll race you properly,” he promised.

  Blaine grinned. “I'll hold ye tae yer word.”

  “Do that,” Broderick said with a laugh. “We'll see what a decade of experience can do.”

  “We will.”

  Broderick glanced at him sideways, shielding his eyes against the rain.

  “Sorry, milord. Cannae help it. I was born with a mouth on me that'll get me in tae trouble. My grandsire said so. An' he's quite right.”

  Broderick laughed. “Your grandsire must have been quite a man.”

  “He was, sir. He was. Terrible bad temper he had – that's why I learned to ride so fast.”

  They both laughed and, as the laughter died down, they rode on in companionable silence together. The day was turning darker and the scrubby landscape becoming more sinister as they rode on ahead. It was hard to sustain any friendly conversation as they crossed the dark, wavering grasses and headed toward the menacing hills ahead.

  Their goal was fairly easy: find Glentower, a border-fortress of the Bradley clan, and destroy it. This was Broderick's first strike against his enemies, and he was at once tense and satisfied. With twenty men behind him, he was confident that they could succeed.

  The household guard of Lochlann were an impressive force. Wealthy and powerful, the Earl of Cawley maintained a force of thirty men for his personal use. All riding stout Cydesdales, armed and mail-shirted, twenty men rode behind them.

  At least I have a friend here, Broderick glanced sideways at Blaine. I wonder what Lord Lochlann wants to achieve with this task of his?

  Broderick was sure it was nothing good.

  On the surface, it was an easy task. He was sure the Bradleys would not have more than ten men at this outlying post. Overrunning it should be simple, especially so well-supplied with men-at-arms.

  If this is meant to be a test, why is he making it easy? What Lord Lochlann was doing made no sense. Either he should have used Broderick to affect some major change for him, not just seize a border-fort, or he should have rejected his proposition outright. If this was meant to be a wooing, it was an odd one. Overpowering a small fort was hardly the most impressive deed!

  And 'tis a shame it's not more impressive. He wanted Amabel to think well of him. The realization surprised him, and he felt a sudden shame.

  Stop thinkin’ with your bullocks, Broderick MacConnaway!

  He was here to avenge Aisling. Not to fall in love with Amabel. But the thought of that pale skin, those plump red lips, those breasts, so soft and full and pointed, made his body ache with wanting. He gritted his teeth.

  “Sir?”

  “Mm?” He turned to answer Blaine, striving for calm.

  “We're trying tae avoid bein' sighted, yes?”

  “Yes, Blaine.”

  “Well then. We'd best go in the forest. Yon bugger's watchin' oot.”

  Broderick froze. Cursing his inattention, he looked to where Blaine pointed. The boy was correct. Up on the crag was a small fortress – more a lookout post – and there was a shine of mail-coats there. Two watchmen. Have they seen us already?

  Broderick could have wept. That moment of inattention could have cost him the raid! He raised a hand and the men behind him all stopped instantly. He turned to face them.

  “In tae the woods. Now. Slowly. See there?”

  The men all followed his gesture toward the crag and they growled assent. The watch post was perhaps a hundred feet away, no more. They could easily be heard. Broderick winced, gesturing for quiet. They turned wordlessly and rode toward the trees, growing thick and close on their right. The heavy cloud gave them an advantage – gray men on a gray day, blending into shadow.

  The men dispersed toward the stand of trees. Broderick watched them go. He and Blaine remained where they were,
sentinels, watching the tower.

  “Have they seen us?” he whispered to his companion.

  “Doubt it, sir,” Blaine replied. “They's too busy watching the falcons there.” He gestured, and Broderick saw that he was right. Thanking heaven for the diversion of the two birds of prey, quartering the scrub for mice or rats, he turned away.

  “We should stick to the forest. Go through it and head west. Then we can follow the road.”

  “Not on the road, though. Sir?”

  Broderick rolled his eyes. “I'm no' daft, young man. No. We'll keep to the side. In the gullies. Assault the main post from the back. All clear?”

  “As water, sir.”

  Broderick nodded and together they rode on through the woods, leading the men. When they reached the road, they finally started talking again.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Blaine?”

  “Yer tae marry Amabel, sir?”

  “Lady Amabel, yes. Why?”

  “I've lived at the castle for seven years. I've seen the Lochlann ladies grow up. She's a bonny lass. But she's nae the bonniest of the Lochlann ladies.”

  “Oh?” Broderick smiled.

  “Ye've met Chrissie Connelly?”

  Broderick frowned. He could vaguely remember a girl, perhaps thirteen, who had been at the dinner that night. “She's golden-haired?”

  “Aye.” Blaine smiled, and the smile told Broderick more than aught else had. The boy loved her. Whether it was a brotherly care or would, in time, deepen to love as they grew up, he was not sure.

  “She's a sister of Amabel's?” He did not know the Lochlann family well.

  “She's her cousin. She's a fine lady is Chrissie. Too fine for me.”

  Broderick heard the bitterness in the young man's voice. He sighed. He could not contradict that. For all that Blaine MacNeil was a leader in the household guard and clearly very talented, he was only a man-at-arms. Not a lord or thane, or even vaguely well-connected. Lord Lochlann would never allow it.

  “Well, lad, you never know. If you become a knight, you could wed her. A suitably-fearsome reputation and lots of gold? That'd turn heads.”