Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2) Page 7

  It was shaped like Thor’s hammer.

  And ever since she’d first noticed the mark, she’d felt its purpose was to remind her to always follow her heart, staying true to the Nordic heritage many in her family would prefer to forget.

  Isobel remembered gladly.

  The hammer mark was one reason she’d believed her attraction to Kendrew would blossom into the grand and passionate love she’d been so sure they’d find together. She trusted her instinct as surely as she put faith in Catriona’s enchanted ambers.

  Sadly, the necklace didn’t warn against broken hearts.

  And Kendrew hadn’t even glimpsed her Thor’s hammer beauty mark.

  She doubted he’d have cared.

  She’d have to make him.

  There could be no doubt he desired her. Now she’d have to prove she offered more than a sensual challenge. That she was strong, bold, and capable of great daring. A woman worthy of walking at a warrior’s side, her head high and pride in her heart.

  She was that woman.

  The problem was having failed at the revels she didn’t know where to go from here. They’d forged a history and it wasn’t just deeply intimate, but awkward. A debacle filled with searing passion, harsh words, and charged with unpleasantness. Yet now more than ever, she knew they belonged together.

  Their brief moments of bliss had been wilder, more exhilarating than her most brazen, uninhibited imaginings about him.

  She even admired his refusal to soil a lady.

  Much as that particular trait thwarted her plans.

  Wishing he weren’t quite so noble, she tossed aside the drying cloth and pulled a fresh chemise over her head. Who would’ve thought desire and yearning could sweep her to such heights and then send her plummeting into a dark, painful abyss all in one night? She’d hoped a touch of Midsummer Eve magic would’ve worked in her favor, aiding her temptation plan and helping her to seize the love and happiness she’d waited for so long.

  Now…

  She smoothed her chemise into place and moved to the window arch, wishing she could begin her adventure again. Knowing that even if such a wonder were possible, she wouldn’t change anything she’d done.

  If need be, she’d admit to Catriona and Marjory that they were right to warn her away from Kendrew. That she wasn’t likely to fulfill their sworn pact. Her choice weakened their vow to secure glen peace. All that she knew in her heart, and the truth weighed on her.

  But she refused to feel shame.

  Instead she embraced each memory she and Kendrew had made this night. They’d caught fire, intimacy coming swift, shocking, and wondrous. Even now, need burned inside her. Images of his smile, him reaching for her, flashed across her mind, heating her blood.

  She could feel his embrace, their desire flaming.

  His big, strong hands gliding over her, gripping her waist, then splaying his fingers across her hips, pulling her roughly against him…

  “Dear, sweet mercy.” She bit back a sigh, took a deep, steadying breath. Starlight shone through the window, glossing her bedchamber’s lime-washed walls. Chill air poured inside, lifting tapestry edges and scenting the air with pine. She longed for the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat and the tang of cold, damp stone. The rush of Kendrew tightening his arms around her.

  She could almost taste his kisses.

  Restless, she stepped deeper into the window alcove, her heart tripping as she placed her hands on the ledge. The night remained magical, the whole of the glen washed in silver and blue. Wind whistled through the pines, the familiar sound soothing her. The pleasant scent of damp, pungent earth teased her senses. And the heavens still shone like mother-of-pearl, the low clouds gleaming as if lit from within. A soft red haze glimmered in the distance where Kendrew and his warriors were likely still knocking their spears on stone.

  She refused to think what else they might be doing.

  She did lean out the window, welcoming the cold night air on her skin. Chill wind raced around the curved tower, rippling her hair and reminding anyone awake at this unholy hour that even at high summer, the long cold nights of autumn would soon be upon them.

  Shivering, she rubbed her arms. Autumn was when she’d vowed she and Kendrew would wed. After tonight, she doubted he’d even speak to her again.

  She’d made a muddle of her dreams.

  Worse, she’d endangered a vital oath, damaging a link that would’ve been solid if she’d chosen a man less obstinate and wild as Kendrew.

  The men, women, and children of her clan might not know of the pact with her friends. But their ability to sleep at ease depended on the plan’s success. Centuries of unrest proved the fragility of truces. One false word or narrow-eyed look could throw fat onto the feud-fire. Old grievances would flame anew, possibly unquenchable. Her bond with an enemy husband should’ve strengthened glen peace.

  She couldn’t fail.

  But before she could decide her next move, something stirred in the trees beneath her window. A large dark shape similar to the hazy form she’d glimpsed near the Rodan Stone on the boundaries of Nought land.

  “Dear saints…” She gripped the stone ledge of the window.

  Her breath snagged and the fine hairs on her nape lifted. The figure – whatever it was – drifted from tree to tree, little more than a deeper blur against the shifting mist. Yet real enough to chill her insides and send a flurry of shivers down her spine.

  But when she blinked, the shadow was gone.

  Someone was in the room with her.

  She straightened, her senses alert. The rustle of movement was unmistakable. As was the sound of the door scraping across the floor rushes, then the soft stirrings of a woman’s skirts.

  Isobel released the breath she’d been holding. Relief swept her. No dark shadow-form had slipped from the pinewood and crept up the stairs to her bedchamber. A waft of gillyflower perfume revealed her visitor’s benevolence.

  “Catriona.” Isobel swung about to face her friend. “You startled me.” Her nerves were jumping. “It’s late. I didn’t think-”

  “Did you see him?” Catriona closed the door behind her, her eyes glinting in the room’s dimness. “Was he on the dreagan stones? Naked?”

  “He was.” Isobel could see him still. And she was surely flushing crimson. So she turned her coolest gaze upon Catriona and hoped she wouldn’t notice her discomfiture. “You should be abed at this hour.”

  “Pah! You should’ve been more careful.” Catriona thrust her rushlight into an iron ring on the wall by the door and came into the room. “I told you no good would come of such folly. You were seen.”

  “Not by James?” Isobel washed hot and cold, alarm gripping her.

  “Be glad it wasn’t him.” Catriona placed her hands on her hips. In her soft-falling night robes, the swell at her middle was more than apparent. The look she bent on Isobel was full of reproach. “One of the kitchen laddies and several guardsmen saw you flitting through the trees. There was quite a stir in the hall.”

  Isobel’s stomach gave a lurch. “When did they see me? Just now, coming back?”

  “Nae, when you left.” Catriona went to Isobel’s undisturbed bed and settled herself onto the edge of the high mattress. “I’ve been watching for you the night through. I can’t say if anyone else saw you return. Everyone should be sleeping. James certainly is, or I wouldn’t have been able to come here to warn you.”

  “Is he angry?” Isobel knew he’d be furious.

  “When he first heard, I feared for you.” Catriona was blunt. “If he’d guessed where you’d gone or” – she leaned forward – “why you went there…” She didn’t finish and there wasn’t any need.

  Everyone knew James’ opinion of the Mackintoshes.

  He especially disliked Kendrew.

  Scoundrel was the kindest name he ever called him. Most were so vile that heat crawled up the back of Isobel’s neck just recalling them.

  Catriona’s opinion wasn’t any higher. “James spoke
of the Nought revels at supper, saying that such debauchery is a blight on our glen.”

  “Oh, dear…” Isobel risked a look at the little oaken table so close to where she stood, hoping her friend’s observant eye wouldn’t light on the stained wash linen. To her mind, the cloth screamed for attention, laying so near to the night candle as it did.

  Worse, the candle glow fell across the bloodied cloth. One could almost believe it did so with diabolical purpose, hoping to damn her.

  Debauchery.

  The word made her throat go dry. She’d found the revels exhilarating. The pagan excitement hadn’t repelled her, but fired her blood. Even the dreagan vale – thought of as bleak and terrible by so many – had quickened her pulse. Never had she felt more alive, so filled with passion. With the exception of how things ended, what happened between her and Kendrew had been wondrous.

  She regretted nothing.

  But Catriona was watching her, her gaze sharp.

  Isobel tried not to squirm. She did feel her chest tightening. Her friend’s perusal made it difficult to breathe.

  And she was sure the wash linen was coming to life, winking at her and blazing red, bright as a brand.

  “No one followed me.” She forced herself not to edge in front of the table. “Surely if James was riled, he would’ve sent men after me. More like, he would’ve gone himself, leading the search.”

  “To be sure, he would’ve done…” Catriona glanced at the long-dead fire, the peat ashes still glowing faintly. “If he’d thought it was you.”

  Isobel blinked. “But you said-”

  “The gods of Midsummer were with you.” Catriona turned back to her. “Those who saw you reported that you vanished before their eyes. They believed you were Scandia. Her ghost does resemble you.”

  That was true.

  And Catriona spoke with authority for she was one of the few souls at Castle Haven who’d actually seen the famed Clan Cameron haint. The first time or two, she’d also believed she’d seen Isobel. She’d confirmed their like appearance. Once believed to herald doom, Isobel’s long-dead ancestress was now known to be benevolent.

  But Scandia hadn’t been seen in months. Not since the days of the trial by combat. She was thought to be at peace now, roaming the glen no more.

  “There was a mist gathering when I left.” Isobel pushed her hair behind her shoulder, striving to look calm, untroubled. “It was thickest along the edge of the pines, swirling and gray. If someone saw me enter the wood, it could have looked as I’d disappeared. Did James” – she had to ask – “believe I was Scandia?”

  “He did.” Catriona regarded her levelly. “After I told him I’d seen the ghost, too.”

  Isobel felt a stab of guilt. “You lied for me?”

  Catriona nodded. “Only this once, be warned. I did so because we swore on a sprig of white heather to each wed a man of a feuding clan. For the weal of all, as it were.” Her eyes narrowed, her tone turning steely. “I wed your brother, becoming a Cameron. You chose Mackintosh and I felt honor bound to support you. But I’ll not tell James another falsehood. If he presses me, I’ll speak true.”

  “You are too good to me.” Isobel meant it. “I won’t put you in such a position again.”

  “You’re giving up on Mackintosh?” Catriona’s face brightened.

  Isobel felt her own brow furrow. “I am not.”

  She turned again to the window, careful to keep her back straight. Better to gaze out at the heavy mists of the small hours than watch her answer cause her friend’s face to cloud over. Even the eerie shadow-form she’d seen earlier would be preferable.

  Behind her, she heard Catriona sigh.

  Below her window, the night mist swirled and eddied. Cold wind still whistled around the tower. Low, fast clouds sped across the dark green tops of the pines and somewhere a burn cut through the deeper heather. Isobel could hear the rush of water in the stillness. But no strange shadows drifted from tree to tree.

  There was a dark giant shape.

  Not at all wispy, it looked big, bold and menacing.

  Isobel inhaled sharply, chills racing over her.

  She caught a flashing glint of gold. Then - her eyes rounded – an equally bright sheen of silver.

  She knew who was down there.

  And there he was…

  Kendrew striding purposely out of the mist, the golden Thor’s hammer at his throat shining like a beacon. He’d come dressed for war. Gold rings banded his powerful arms and his huge Norse war ax was strapped across his back, the weapon’s arced blade gleaming.

  Isobel gulped.

  He strode forward, making straight for the base of the tower as if he had every right to be there. When he stopped, directly under her window, he looked up at her, surely aware that she’d seen him.

  And she had.

  She also saw that he carried her discarded - nae, her forgotten - cloak over one arm. His proud face was set in hard, fierce lines.

  Isobel could feel the blood draining from hers.

  She froze, staring down at him.

  Anyone who happened to glance out a window, or a guardsman who might yet be patrolling the battlements, would see him. Just as they’d recognize that he held her fine, blue woolen cloak. A gift last Yule from James and Catriona. And a treasure she’d meant to sneak back and retrieve when everyone was at the morning meal.

  As if he guessed her mortification, Kendrew thrust his arm in the air and waved the mantle like a poled banner on the battlefield.

  Isobel gripped the edge of the window, her heart in her throat.

  She was surely going to die.

  Any moment the floor would tilt and then split wide, plunging her into hell.

  Instead, she heard a soft stirring behind her. “You’d best tell me what happened.” Catriona’s voice was no longer reproachful.

  It was steeped in sympathy.

  And Isobel had a good idea why.

  “Don’t pity me.” She whipped around, not about to budge from the window. If she blocked the entry to the embrasure, Catriona wouldn’t be able to get close enough to see Kendrew waving her cloak in the air.

  “You know that I must.” Catriona’s gaze was on the bloodstained wash linen. “How can I not feel for you? Thon cloth gives me reason aplenty.”

  Isobel lifted her chin. “I am not sorry.”

  “I’d hoped there might be another cause for such bleeding.” Catriona’s gaze was meaningful. “Perhaps” – her voice turned hopeful – “a female matter?”

  “It was a female matter.” Isobel was amazed she could hear her voice above the roar of her pulse in her ears. “But it was not the womanly reason you mean. I think you know what happened.”

  Catriona did.

  Isobel saw it all over her.

  “James mustn’t know.” Isobel thought she caught the crunching of footsteps on gravel from beneath her window. Her knees began trembling when the sound came again, proving she wasn’t mistaken.

  Kendrew was surely parading back and forth before the tower, hoping to cause a confrontation.

  Her cloak would be streaming in the wind behind him, drawing eyes.

  Moisture began to bead Isobel’s brow.

  Any moment a horn would blare, calling men to arms.

  “You cannot tell James.” Isobel was getting frantic. “Not ever – promise me.”

  “Isobel...” Catriona started to reach for her and then let her hand drop. “He would demand the bastard marries you. That’s what you’ve wanted all along.” She tilted her head, frowning. “Or did Kendrew hurt you? If so, if he forced himself on you, then-”

  “He did no such thing.” Isobel could feel the blood burning her cheeks. “What happened just did. I’ll not have him made to wed me because of it. An offer must come from him. And only because he-”

  “Because he loves you.” Catriona managed to put a world of impossibility into the four words.

  Isobel ignored her own doubt. “That is my hope, aye.”

 
; Catriona arched an eyebrow, not needing words.

  “He desires me greatly.” Isobel’s defense sounded weak even to her. A man as well-lusted as Kendrew likely ate a different woman for breakfast each morning. “I only need to think what to do next and-”

  A loud scrunch on gravel, followed by skitter of pebbles, came from outside.

  Catriona narrowed her eyes and glanced around, blessedly at the closed bedroom door. “Did you hear something?”

  “Nae.” Isobel’s heart stuttered, her pulse beating wildly at her throat. It was all she could do not to spin around and yank the window shutters into place.

  She did step forward and take Catriona’s arm, guiding her across the room. “Come,” she said, pure nerves giving her a burst of strength, “and I’ll tell you what happened.” Catriona would give her no peace otherwise. “But only if you sit on my bed. You do look a bit pale and tired.”

  She’d never looked more beautiful.

  Catriona’s skin glowed and her flame-bright hair shone like garnets. Breeding became her. Unfortunately, she remained just as headstrong as ever. If another noise floated up to the window, Catriona would be at the ledge, leaning out, in a heartbeat.

  Isobel couldn’t allow that to happen.

  So she settled Catriona on the edge of her bed, plumped a few pillows around her, and took a good deep breath. Then she told her friend everything, leaving out nothing. She even spoke of her jealousy of the light-skirts from Rannoch Moor, how Kendrew’s touch and his kisses had left her aching for more. Most damning of all, she revealed that just when the sweetest bliss began to claim her, he’d shoved her from him, rejecting her.

  When she finished, Catriona was frowning.

  “Mercy, Isobel. It is worse than I thought.” Her opinion wasn’t reassuring.

  “I’ll think of something.” Isobel hovered, not about to let her push to her feet and wander anywhere near the room’s three window embrasures.