Highlander’s Devious Ally (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance)

by Adamina Young

  She forced herself to be calm as she walked out to the courtyard and retrieved her horse, but she could not fully relax till she was outside and over the moat. After that, she urged her mount into a gallop and she was soon far away from the castle. She was sure Jock had managed to escape by now, but even if he had sent a company in pursuit of her, she had too big a lead. But where to now?

  Ailith decided that going to her own house was too dangerous since Jock knew where she lived, so she decided to go to an inn in the village of Inverleith where she could lay her head for the night. It was not the kind of place she would have picked had she any other choice, but she was desperate and frightened. All she wanted to do now was to lie down and sleep, and hope that perhaps when she woke up she would find that it had all been a dream.

  She was only a quarter of a mile from the village when she saw the horseman cantering up the trail towards her. He must be an expert horseman, she thought, because it was almost dark, but there was a beautiful full moon flitting in and out of the clouds which helped a little.

  Lyall recognized her first. “Ailith?” he asked in disbelief, pulling his mount up beside her. He put a hand out to pull on the rains and gently bring her to a halt. “How did you get here? Why are you alone in the dark?”

  She gazed at him wordlessly for a moment, feeling a great surge of relief, then she burst into tears.

  “Ailith!” he cried as he swiftly dismounted and helped her to do the same. He gathered her into his arms and held her while she sobbed on his shoulder. He was terrified because anything could have happened to her, and angry at the same time, because whatever it was must have had something to do with Jock. He was sure of it.

  Presently she calmed down and he wiped her face with his handkerchief. “Where are you going?” he asked. “And why?”

  “To the inn in the village,” she replied, her voice trembling.

  “You cannot go there!” he protested. “It is full of the worst sort of people, Ailie. Come back to my castle, then you can explain what has happened. It seems you will be staying with us again tonight.”

  He helped her onto his own horse and got up behind her, and in half an hour they were there. The emotional toll of the evening had tired her out but when he took her in his arms to carry her upstairs she protested.

  “No Lyall, I need to tell you about this,” she said desperately. “If I do not tell someone I will go mad.”

  He nodded and they went in through the main entrance to a warm parlor. She was shivering as she sat down and he threw his cloak over her, then sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Tell me what made you go out riding in the dark, Ailie.” His voice was gentle, but puzzled. “I am sure you did not do it by choice.”

  She sighed, then covered her face with her hands. “It is Jock,” she murmured. “He knew that I came here last night and we quarrelled about it. He told me things that I did not know, things that I wish I did not know now.”

  Tears were running down her cheeks again and he gathered her into a tender embrace and waited until she was ready to speak again.

  At last, she took a deep breath and began to tell him what had happened. As the story went on he grew angrier and angrier as he realized how Ailith had been so badly used, and he knew with certainty that if Jock had been standing in front of him at that moment he would have killed his enemy without a second thought.

  “He is not fit to breathe the same air as decent people,” he growled, then something occurred to him. “Ailith, did he touch you in any way?” His voice was anxious, but had an edge of anger to it.

  She shook her head. “We kissed when we met, but only in greeting.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for your kindness, Lyall. You are a good friend.”

  He smiled back. “Then your wedding is definitely off?”

  “I do not believe in curses.” Her voice was derisive. “So yes, and when I see my parents we will have a very long talk about this!”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “You look very tired,” he said gently. “Shall I have someone come and sit with you while you sleep?”

  “No, I will be fine, but thank you,” she replied. She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

  “No need,” he answered. “Fenella will be delighted to see you. I am sorry about last night and I promise it will not happen tonight. Please lock your door if you feel you need to, Ailie.”

  She looked into his warm, expressive eyes, which looked more gray than green in the dim light. “You are a very kind man,” she remarked softly. “And I have no fear of you. My door will stay unlocked.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled and stood up. “Sit for as long as you like, Ailie. I have put you in the same room as the one I did before.” He yawned and stretched. “And now I must go to bed.”

  She smiled at him a little sadly. It had been a terrible evening and she was totally exhausted, but it had ended well. “Goodnight Lyall. Sleep well.”

  “You too,” he said, as he left.

  She resisted her urge to run after him.

  When she woke up the next morning she realized that she had slept deeply and dreamlessly, and the incident with Jock, though still painful, was not uppermost on her mind. Lyall was. Somehow being with him had taken all her pain and fear away, and she thought he was the kindest man she had ever met.

  When Fenella saw Ailith she was ecstatic, and jumped up from the breakfast table to hug her. Ailith laughed and hugged her even more tightly until Fenella screamed for mercy. They were still laughing when they sat down and began to eat.

  “How is Lucy?” Ailith asked.

  “She is the most wonderful creature!” Fenella replied. “The foot rot has cleared and she put on weight. And she is so sweet. She is the best horse who ever lived!”

  Just then, Lyall came in. He was dressed for work, wearing a pair of hose and a loose linen shirt that was clean but stained.

  “I take it you are not going to a ceilidh, M'Laird?” Ailith asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “Sadly, I left my best kilt at my other castle!” he said regretfully, smiling into her eyes.

  “I did not know you had two castles, M'Laird!” she remarked, sounding impressed.

  “We don’t!” Fenella told him. “We have one castle and a cottage that Lyall has been going to fix up for about a hundred years!”

  “Hmmm...you must show it to me, Ella,” Ailith said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we can use it for something. But now I must get home. I have appointments.”

  “You are not going alone,” Lyall said, firmly.

  “He means it,” Fenella whispered into Ailith’s ear.

  “I think I am quite safe in the daylight,” Ailith argued.

  “I will not hear of it, and that is the end of the matter,” Lyall stated. “You were under my roof and therefore under my protection. I will see you home and leave guards to protect you.”

  Ailith looked at his face, and for the first time she saw what men must see. To women he was handsome and gallant, but to men he must be thoroughly intimidating.

  “Do I have a say in the matter?” she asked.

  “No,” he said shortly, and then he smiled. “Ailie, I honor your independence, but I want to protect it, and you. I know you are used to doing everything for yourself, but please let me look after you. Just for a while.”

  Ailie wondered what would have happened if she had refused, because Lyall Stevenson did not look like a man who took no for an answer. However, the thought of riding beside him for three miles was an appealing one, so she simply said “Thank you.”

  When they got to her house, Ailith felt very proud to show it off. It was not a castle, but it was a very handsome red sandstone building with a gray tiled roof and a sturdy dry stone wall around a massive flower-filled garden.

  Lyall looked around the garden appreciatively. “Stunning,” he breathed, smiling. “May I look inside?”

  “I would be insulted if you did not,” she replied. “Let us have some al
e and then I will give you a tour.” She showed him into a cozy parlor with a glowing fire in the grate, flowered curtains in the large bay windows, and large bowls of flowers on the shining ebony furniture. The walls were painted a very pale pink, and there were several unlit brass candelabras placed around the room.

  “It is very feminine,” he observed. “Do you think a big man like me belongs here?” His voice was husky, and as she looked into his eyes she saw them turn dark with passion.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and stepped into his arms.

  Then he kissed her, and it was like no kiss she had ever felt before. His mouth was firm and demanding. She responded by twining hers around his, moaning with pleasure. His body was straining against hers so tightly that it reawakened the delightful fluttering feeling between her thighs.

  When the kiss ended they were both breathless and flushed, still pressed against each other as if they could not bear to separate. When Ailith tried to step back she found herself held in an embrace that was so firm it was impossible for her to escape, but then she realized that she did not really want to anyway.

  “Feel what you do to me, Ailie," he whispered, rubbing his hips against hers. “Every night I dream about you lying beside me, then I am making love to you, but when I wake up I am always alone. I don’t want to be alone any longer. Beautiful, beautiful Ailie, I need you more than any other woman I have ever met, and I cannot bear to think of a future without you. Marry me, please, Ailith, for I cannot be whole without you.”

  At last, realizing that she was holding her breath, she smiled at him. “Yes, yes, and yes," she murmured. “Of course I will marry you.”

  He stepped forward and gathered her into his arms, laughing. “Oh, God, Ailie," he said with passionate relief, “you have made me the happiest man in the world!”

  She made no reply other than a soft little sigh of pleasure as they stood in each others’ arms.

  Lyall and his men made a thorough search of Ailith’s house and garden, just in case any of Jock’s men had come in during the night and were waiting in ambush. When this had been done, he went outside and looked up and down the hill on which the house was built, but he could see nothing suspicious.

  “I am leaving six men here,” he told her. “I do not want you to be in any danger, Ailie. You are too precious to me.”

  He hugged her tightly to him and she leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling his muscular arms around her, protecting not just her body, but her spirit, from all harm. As long as she was with him she was safe from Jock, because physically Lyall was bigger and stronger, but also from his anger and his imaginary curses. Oh how she longed to be his wife! With a last kiss he left her and she hugged herself, smiling from ear to ear.

  “And I will go to see Laird McCauley,” he said, his tone grim and menacing, “and put the fear of God into him!”

  8

  Lyall and Jock

  As good as his word, Lyall made the three-mile journey to Inverlieth Castle as soon as he left Ailith’s house. He was furiously angry, thinking of the woman he loved being threatened by a little nonentity of a man who had only gained any status by being the owner of a castle and an estate. Lyall himself owned both, but he knew, without vanity, that he had the respect of his tenants and fellow lairds.

  Lyall despised men who threatened women, since he believed women were better than men in many ways, with their gentle and nurturing spirits and their ability to bring out the best, most protective side of his own sex. He could not describe the depth of love he felt when he thought of Ailith. The fact that her head barely came up to his shoulders brought out an almost fierce defensiveness in him; she was so small and vulnerable. Then he thought of her purchase of Lucy and her treatment of the horse broker, and laughed. Perhaps “vulnerable” was not the right word. Sometimes she was downright dangerous!

  Although the thought of seeing Jock McCauley made his stomach curdle with disgust, Lyall knew it had to be done, because he had to be told in no uncertain terms that if he harmed Ailith in any way then he was declaring war on Lyall Stevenson. And the Laird Stevenson was not a man to be toyed with.

  The closer he got to Inverlieth Castle the angrier he became, and by the time he saw the hulking mass of stone that was the family seat of Jock McCauley, he was incandescent with rage. The castle stood at the top of a low hill and was made of unforgiving gray granite, which lent it an air of frowning disapproval.

  The main bulk of it was built into the slope of the hill, looking as if it had grown out of the hill itself, and was almost totally sheer and windowless. It faced the sea and was virtually impregnable.The main gate was at the back of the castle and faced inland, looking down onto a gentler slope, and was much lower than the forbidding front wall. However, it was defended by a wide moat, narrow drawbridge, and two sturdy iron and oak gates with two portcullises, one ten yards behind the other. It had been built three hundred years before and the crenellated walls were beginning to crumble in some places, but it was still a formidable fortress. The only way to defeat an enemy in a structure like this, Lyall thought, would be by siege. But that was an expensive and time-consuming option.

  He was not thinking of mounting a siege anytime soon, but he liked to have the defensive measure of any nearby enemy; after all, forewarned was forearmed.

  Enemy, he thought suddenly. He is my enemy, and we are fighting over Ailith’s love.

  Lyall’s reception was not warm, but he had expected that. He was stopped, searched, and made to turn out his horse’s saddlebags to prove that he had no weapons inside. The groom led his mount to a temporary shelter in the stable and Lyall followed him, as was his custom, to make sure that she was well treated in his absence. While he was there, a beautiful mare caught his eye. She had a fine-boned, slightly dish-shaped face and a strong arched neck crested by a long white plaited mane, and her eyes were bright and intelligent.

  “What a lovely horse,” he said aloud, without thinking.

  “Sheba,” said a slurring voice from behind him, and Lyall turned around to see the round-shouldered, ever-grinning Findlay. “She is my favorite horsey, an’ she is wi’ child.” He said this so proudly that he sounded as if he had sired the foal himself.

  “She is a beauty,” Lyall agreed, smiling at the unfortunate creature.

  “Aye.” Findlay patted the mare’s neck and she gave a little whinny, as if in approval. “The Laird will only let me ride a donkey,” he said sadly.

  Lyall gazed at the poor man in pity, wondering if he could find something for him to do on his own estate. Even if all he did was sweep the floors, it would be better than being at the beck and call of a tyrant.

  He waited in the courtyard for two hours before Jock McCauley appeared, a delighted grin on his face. “Laird Stevenson!” he said expansively. “What a wonderful surprise!”

  Lyall bowed. “I thought after our last encounter you might have been less than happy to see me, M'Laird.” His tone was ironic and mistrusting.

  Jock flapped his hand. “Pfft!” he said dismissively. “A storm in a teacup, for which I apologize. Let us go and have some of my best whisky, and you can tell me what you came about. I am always glad to help a neighbor.”

  Lyall said nothing as he followed Jock into his study. Jock poured out a glass of whisky but Lyall refused politely. “Thank you, Laird McCauley, but I am not here to socialize with you.” His voice was calm and even.

  “Then why are you here?” Jock asked silkily. “Or need I ask? Could it have something to do with my betrothed, the delightful Mistress Galloway?” He looked at Lyall keenly.

  “She is no longer your betrothed,” Lyall replied. “She is mine.”

  Despite himself, Jock was shocked. Looking back, he could see why he had angered and upset her so much, but he had thought that there must be something he could do to win his way back into her good graces. He believed that he might win Ailith back by abasing himself and apologizing profusely, or even by buying her gifts, but he was no match for Lyall St
evenson. He was tall, strong, handsome, and wealthy, and as well as all that he commanded respect in an effortless way, while he, Jock, did not.

  Jock recovered quickly, but not fast enough to hide the expression of surprise and anger that passed momentarily over his face, and which Lyall picked up instantly.

  “Since she has spent the last two nights in your castle I should hope so!” said Jock scathingly, then realized that he had said the wrong thing.

  “I see you are well informed!” Lyall laughed, apparently unconcerned. “I thought you had a spy on me! Tall, dark fellow? Face like a skull? Name of Fergus Brown? He is not half as clever as he thinks he is, and neither are you, M'Laird McCauley. I spotted him the first day you set him on me, and I have seen him half a dozen times since.”

  Jock shrugged in apparent nonchalance. “Then you know that he saw Ailie entering and leaving your castle? If she is now your betrothed, and she stayed two nights at your home, am I to assume you are now lovers?”

  “You are to assume NOTHING!” Lyall roared, slapping the flat of his hand on the table next to him and having the satisfaction of seeing Jock jump with fright. “Not that it concerns you in the slightest, but Ailie is as untouched as she was the day I met her, and she will be so till we are married.”

  “Why did you come here?” Jock asked, his voice quivering slightly. “I can have a dozen men in this room at my command as soon as I snap my fingers.”

  Lyall shrugged. “And I could slit your throat just as quickly,” he growled, drawing out a razor-sharp dagger with an edge that glinted in the daylight. For a moment he contemplated sticking its point underneath his enemy’s chin just to watch him squirm, but he dismissed the thought as childish, but tempting. “If you harm me, or Ailith, or Fenella, you may regard it as a declaration of war between our two houses, and my garrison is much bigger and better armed than yours, Laird McCauley.”