Highland Obligation (Highland Pride)

by Lori Ann Bailey

  Turning his attention back to their surroundings, Grant admired the strength surrounding the castle on the hill. But as they trotted down the busy streets with the sun setting in the distance, he studied the faces of those they passed to see if anyone recognized his wife. None did.

  He led the group to find an inn near Greyfriars Kirk, the place where he would present his case to the Scottish Parliament. As the crowds dispersed, he came to an inn called the Drowsy Duckling, where they secured three rooms. He left his wife in one and Annis in another, instructing the lasses to bolt the doors behind him. He met the MacDonald men in the common area.

  “Ye will all have a watch on the lasses when I leave for the Kirk in the morning. I’m no’ sure when they’ll be listening to me and the other clansmen, so we may be here a few days.”

  “We’ll no’ let them out of our sights.” Boyd raised a glass then pulled it to his lips.

  “What are we supposed to do with them? I dinnae think yer wife is going to be pleased with being kept in her room.”

  “Take them shopping.” A collective groan emerged from the group. She’d probably hate it as much as the men, but a fashionable lady was the best cover Isobel could hope to have. “But ye’ll have to make sure no one recognizes Isobel. And if they do, ye get her and Annis to safety straight away.”

  “Where should we take them?”

  “If something happens and we get separated, we’ll meet back up at the inn at that village we passed just before getting to Edinburgh. Another thing, watch Isobel closely and make sure she doesnae find a weapon. I dinnae want her causing trouble.”

  After excusing himself, he made his way to the other side of the room to secure some writing instruments from the innkeeper then closed himself in the man’s study. He penned a letter to Torsten Campbell, hoping to be able to make his point without anyone else understanding the missive.

  Mr. Campbell,

  I am pleased to inform ye that I have recently wed Isobel MacLean. Please come to the ferry house near the Isle of Skye and send word when ye have arrived to congratulate our union. I look forward to traveling across the water to neutral land.

  I’m sure we also have a mutual interest to discuss how we can both benefit from a peaceful solution to our shared concern.

  Grant MacDonald

  The letter folded and sealed, he tucked it away and went above stairs to dine with his wife. As he rounded the corner into the hall, he found Isobel pacing the corridor.

  “What are ye doing out here?” He scanned the space and relaxed when he saw they were alone.

  “I dinnae like her being in there without a guard.”

  “Who?”

  “Annis. Who else?” Her gaze darted back to the door.

  “Did she lock the door behind her?”

  “Aye, but I still dinnae think ’tis safe in such a place.”

  “She will be fine. If ye like, I’ll have the men take turns keeping watch on all the doors.” He’d been rolling the idea over in his mind anyway.

  Isobel sighed, but didn’t budge. “Well, do ye want to go get someone or should I?”

  “I’ll be right back.” He returned shortly with Ian in tow.

  “I can take a shift, too.” Isobel wrung her hands.

  “Ye will do nae such thing.”

  “But I can keep everyone safe.”

  “I’m certain ye can, but if ye’ve been spotted and a group comes for ye, I’ll no’ have ye waiting outside alone for them to cart ye off.” He turned as footfalls sounded on the steps.

  After grabbing hold of her arm, he steered Isobel to their room and opened the door, just as a lass crested the steps with a tray filled with roasted meats and vegetables along with bread and cheese. Stomach growling, he held the door open for the tavern maid to follow Isobel into the room.

  Isobel glanced at the tray then looked at him.

  “I’ve had some sent to Annis, too.”

  She smiled at him, the first one he’d seen in a couple of days.

  Once the serving lass had left, he closed the door and bolted it, turning just in time to see his wife attempt to swipe a dirk from the tray. “Put it back.”

  “Surely ye willnae leave me defenseless while ye are at the Kirk?”

  “Nae. Ye will have my men with ye. No need to draw attention to yerself. Ye have to look like a meek lady who would never consider touching such a weapon.”

  “I dinnae like being dependent on men for my safety or anyone else’s.”

  “’Tis just for a couple days, then we’ll be headed back to Skye.”

  Placing the dirk back on the table, she sat and picked up a plate. He took the seat next to her and slid the knives from her reach.

  After eating then retiring for the night, Isobel opened to him and when he entered her, she clung to him and matched every move he made. It was amazing how she’d come to trust him and give of herself so freely.

  Lying sated next to her, a strange bliss assailed his senses and he fell asleep with hope that if he could tame his savage wife and he could help make peace in the Highlands.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isobel’s eyes opened, the bed beneath her shifting with Grant’s weight as he rose from the thick mattress. She’d never expected to enjoy the sight of an unclothed man, but she had to admit her husband’s form was pleasing. His lean muscled legs led to a tightly sculpted backside that, on many occasions, she’d dug her fingers into to draw him nearer.

  He pulled a white shirt over the broad expanse of his shoulders, the sinew and curves that only hours ago had held her and made her feel safe in the dark, the ones her fingertips had memorized.

  No. She turned away. What nonsense. He would be gone today, and she would be the one fending off any threats that came her way. She would pretend to be the picture of a perfect lady. But she would not rely on him or any of the other men in their group. Depending on men got people hurt.

  Closing her eyes, she pretended to be asleep as she fought the confusion that had come at her so unexpectedly. A moment later, the bed shifted as Grant sat next to her. She kept her eyes sealed while he pushed a stray curl from her face and his fingers trailed down to her neck, delving into the hair at the base of her skull. She already felt heated as he leaned in and placed his lips on hers then withdrew without letting go of her.

  Her heart fluttered. What the hell was that? She was not going to let him make her feel, so she opened her eyes to give him a set down. When her gaze met his, she could see he had been seeking comfort, his gaze clouded, probably from worry over his meeting today. So, instead of pushing him away, she said, “Good morn.”

  Smiling, he placed his lips on hers again, his tongue penetrating as she opened to him. The world washed away as it did each time he drew her into his embrace and made her feel things she’d not known possible. Too soon, he was withdrawing.

  “Parliament will be meeting soon. I need to go.” Releasing her, he stood.

  Suddenly, she felt she needed to be with him, to keep him safe. “Will someone be going with ye?” Och, why did she even care?

  “Nae. They are going to stay here and take ye to the market for shopping if ye wish.”

  Her lip curled.

  “Or ye can stay here in the room, but either way ye need them with ye for safety. And…ye must act like a perfect lady.”

  She liked the idea of being caged up in the room even less, so shopping it would be. Maybe while she was out, she could get a lead on where to find Torsten before he found her.

  “Ye will need to break yer fast.” She rose to sitting and stretched.

  “Aye. I’m going to get something quick to take on the walk. The innkeeper is preparing something for the rest of ye that should be ready soon.”

  She nodded. “What time will ye be back?”

  “I dinnae ken.” He sauntered toward the door in the crisp shirt and plaid he’d kept hidden in his bag and away from the dust. He looked every bit the Highland warrior and clan chief heir he was. A sense of prid
e washed over her.

  “I wish ye luck.” And she truly meant it.

  She might not believe the minds of the Covenanters could be changed, but Grant was a strong leader. She’d seen how the MacDonald men looked up to him and were willing to follow him into battle if need be. He had set his sights on trying and his cause was a noble one.

  Stopping shy of the exit, he glanced back to her. “Thank ye.” His gaze met hers and she knew it had been the right thing to say. “I will be back as soon as I can.” He turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him with a soft thud.

  After sliding from beneath the covers, she donned her shift just before a light rapping at the door announced Annis’s arrival. Before long, the maid had her trussed up in a rose-colored bodice with sleeves trimmed with matching bows. The complementing skirt was embroidered with white flowers and weighed more than a heavy claymore strapped to her back.

  Why did women wear such things?

  She studied Annis’s work in the mirror. The lass staring back had rosy cheeks and doe-like brown eyes. Her hair was pinned up, curls and ribbons falling around her face. The tresses bobbed with her movements. She was mesmerized.

  “Ye look lovely.”

  She turned toward Annis. “This isnae me.”

  “Och, yes it is. Have ye never noticed how bonny ye are?”

  “Nae.” Her hands trembled as she touched the mirror. She was about to say it was a magic spell when a knock sounded at the door.

  Ian called out, “Are ye done in there yet? The innkeeper has our food ready and ’tis getting cold.”

  Isobel followed her maid to join the men and break their fast.

  They spent the rest of the morning strolling in and out of shops, looking at items that bored her, but at the same time had her feeling inadequate. All these things women were expected to wear. Did the finery really make a man lust after a woman the way her husband did? If so, she would wear them anytime, because she quite liked bedding her husband.

  Still, this business of being a lady was tedious. But, for her husband, she would pretend to all of Scotland she was incapable of protecting herself and others.

  After a while, they ate a light afternoon meal and then strolled down the streets some more. The three MacDonald men flanked Annis and her like they were some sort of prize, but she knew the truth of it. Grant had told them who she was, and they were probably making sure she didn’t get in any trouble.

  Well, his men ran out of luck, because walking straight toward them was Alex Gordon, the leader of the Royalist Resistance. Of course, these men wouldn’t know that because he kept his identity well hidden. She’d accidentally slipped and told her husband, but she’d never tell anyone again.

  As he strolled by, she studied him from the corner of her eye. His brow furrowed then recognition dawned, and he tilted his head to indicate a tavern down the street. Now, she just had to shake her guards long enough to see what news he had for her.

  “I believe I am in need of some new stockings,” she turned to her guards and said. It was probably the truth, but she didn’t really know. She hadn’t bothered to see what was in her trunks back at Cairntay, but surely the ones she’d brought on this trip were ruined. As she ducked into a crowded shop, her companions were forced to swerve and follow her.

  Picking up a pair she gushed, “Och, these are lovely.” Approaching the merchant, she held them up. “Do ye have a place I can try them on?”

  “Aye, me lady, straight through here.”

  “Do ye want me to come with ye?” Annis asked.

  “Nae. ’Tis just stockings. I think I can manage.”

  Looking to the men and Annis, she smiled. “I’ll only be a moment. Why dinnae ye wait here?” She pointed to a sitting area in the shop.

  Once through the door to the back of the establishment, she handed the stockings back to the lady. “I’m so sorry, but I need to get away for a moment. Do ye have a back door?”

  “Aye, miss, but what do I do…”

  “Stall them. I’ll be back shortly. Can you bring a few pairs in and out and pretend I’m trying them on? I promise to purchase several pairs.” That obviously got the woman’s attention. She nodded and then pulled back a curtain to reveal a door that led outside.

  “Thank ye.” Isobel dashed out and around to the front of the building then crossed the street. She stepped into the crowded tavern.

  After walking over to Alex’s table, she plopped down to catch her breath. Before she could say a word, he started, “What the hell are ye doing in Edinburgh?”

  She blinked. She’d heard him use that tone with many men, but never her. What had she done to deserve his ire? “It doesnae matter. What I need to ken is where to find Torsten Campbell. He kens who I am, and if I dinnae take care of him, he may try to get to me through someone else.”

  “Ye are supposed to be married and safe in Skye.”

  How had he known that? Her shoulders drooped because she hadn’t been the one to give him the news. Had he been keeping tabs on her? Of course he had. Alex Gordon always knew what everyone was doing.

  “Well, ye look bonny. He seems to be taking care of ye. Except that he’s letting ye walk the streets out in the open where anyone can see you.”

  The last thing she wanted was a lecture from her supposed ally. “He thinks if everyone believes me a proper lady, suspicion will no’ land on me.”

  “Aye. Ye fit the part nicely.” He smiled at her. “Ye should be with yer husband.”

  A vise clasped around the meat of her arm, digging in like a falcon’s talons around its prey. It pulled her up, and she was drawn into a hard, warm wall of muscle. Alex jumped up and glared at the man behind her.

  “Aye, she is married.” Grant’s smooth voice pulsed through the air, carrying with it a fierce bite she’d not yet heard from him.

  Alex’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, but her husband’s did not.

  “Ye must be Grant MacDonald. I’m Alexander Gordon.” When Grant made no move to return the greeting, Alex eased back into the chair.

  “Sit.” The order was ground into her ear as the hand clenched around her loosened. She did and her husband followed into the seat beside her, his hand coming to rest possessively on her leg.

  Alex looked as if he were going to laugh, but Isobel saw nothing humorous in the situation. Her husband was acting like he was jealous, but that wasn’t possible. He hated her.

  “Why is it, wife, that I find ye sneaking into a tavern to meet another man?” Grant’s ire was directed at her, but his glare never wavered from the man across the table.

  “Nae,” she rushed in, “’tis no’ like that.” She glanced to Alex, who unbelievably looked like he approved of Grant’s question. His eyebrows rose and he quirked his head waiting for her response.

  “I thought he would ken where to find Torsten Campbell,” she blurted out, afraid of her husband for the first time, especially now that Alex was in agreement with him.

  “And does he?”

  “Why would ye two be looking for a Campbell?” Alex’s eyes darkened, and his loose, aloof posture turned threatening, showing Grant why he was feared by so many.

  “He kens who I am. In the skirmish where I was hurt and ye sent me away, ’twas Torsten Campbell who did it and he recognized me. We have to find him before he tells Argyll.”

  Alex ignored her and pinned Grant with the next words. “Ye have to get her back to Skye. She is no’ safe here. There are Campbells everywhere.”

  “I agree. She was to be guarded, but I find her here with ye.” Grant’s accusing glare clung to Alex a moment and then shot to her.

  Boyd came rushing up to the table. “How the hell did ye get in here, lass?” He sounded almost as angry as the other men.

  “Take her back to the inn and dinnae let her out of yer sight. I’ll be back shortly,” Grant said. The rage pulsing in Grant’s eyes warned her it was not the time to protest his orders. She glanced to Alex for support.

  “Go, Isobel. �
��Tis best if ye listen to yer husband,” Alex’s deep voice cut in—he didn’t want her there, either.

  She stood. “How’s Stew?” She had to know how the lad was faring without her there to keep him safe.

  “A Macnab man said they were in need of help in their stables. I sent him to live with them.” Alex didn’t take his regard from Grant as he spoke.

  She smiled and relief flooded her. Then she followed Boyd and wondered if both men still at the table would make it out of the tavern standing.

  …

  Staring at the man on the other side of the table, Grant clenched his fists. He kept them at his sides, ready to attack while he tried to erect a calm facade. He wasn’t feeling it. “Why is it I find my wife here with ye?”

  “There has never been anything between us other than my concern for her well-being.” Alex leaned in, serious, and Grant almost believed him, but the shock of finding Isobel here was still raw.

  “And do ye think ’tis wise for her to be meeting with ye? How did ye ken she was in Edinburgh?”

  “I didnae ken she was here. I passed her on the streets and told her where I would be. ’Tis just a coincidence.”

  “Then we need to be certain it doesnae happen again. She is done with that life.” How many times did he have to tell people that? Luckily, the man nodded, or he might have jumped over the table and attacked. He felt anything but rational.

  “She never should have been in it in the first place.” Alex’s words soothed him slightly and he was thankful the man seemed to have some sense.

  “She looks lovely, by the way. I almost didn’t recognize her. How did ye get her to put on a gown?” Alex laughed, but the question riled him.

  The notion that another man might know her more intimately stung. She had been a maiden when they’d married, but she obviously had some bond with this man. One that led her to steal away from his men and meet clandestinely in a tavern. It was only by luck Parliament had dismissed early, and he’d been on the street to catch a glimpse of Isobel walking in.