Highlander's Sinful Desire (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Maddie MacKenna

  Taran did not force himself on her. He said, “Ye’ll be safe for the night here. Malcom and me have taken a room downstairs. We’ll leave in the mornin’.” He bent over and gave her a peck on the forehead. “Get some rest,” he said, then unbolted the door and left.

  Rowena slid the bolt back in place behind him. She placed the ring in her shoulder bag, tidied the covers, then got back in bed. As tired as she was, it was a long time before she could sleep. She kept reliving the memory of Taran’s embrace, his kisses, his voice in her ear. Her mind reeled from the events of the last two days as she drifted off to sleep.

  17

  Lord Strongbow had been up since dawn. The blasted bells of St. Martha’s woke him every few hours. How anyone slept with that going on all day and night he did not know. The nuns seemed to need little sleep. They were up at the wee hours in the morning doing all sorts of chores. They even taught little boys and girls to read if they wanted to learn. Every day, they would set off in pairs to tend to people in town or procure supplies for the abbey. Anyone who imagined life in St. Martha’s abbey as secluded, quiet, and boring was very much mistaken.

  Lord Strongbow sat in the abbey kitchen, helping himself to whatever food and wine he could find. Sister Prudence was there tending to her cooking. She ignored the disgusting Lord Strongbow. He found a loaf of fresh bread and gnawed on it. Restless and impatient, his thoughts raged. Where in bloody hell were Sir Henry and Lord Kensley? What was taking them so long? Each hour that passed allowed Lady Rowena to travel that much farther into enemy lands. If they did not resume their search soon, her trail would grow cold, and she could disappear forever.

  Mother Lorena strode into the kitchen with purpose. She saw Lord Strongbow and said, “Aha, there you are, my Lord. I must talk to you at once,” she said, standing over him.

  Through a mouthful of bread, Lord Strongbow spoke. “What is it, Mother?”

  “I have heard that Parliament has approved an English incursion into the Scottish border lands. I have also heard that the incursion has begun, in fact, that it had begun some weeks ago. Do you know anything about this?”

  Lord Strongbow stopped chewing for a moment and looked at her. Then he started chewing again. When he finally swallowed his mouthful of bread, he said, “Indeed, I do. How did you hear about this?”

  Mother Lenora took a seat at the table across from him and stared at him with her best schoolmarm glare. “Tis’ not of your concern, Lord Strongbow.”

  Lord Strongbow slammed his palm on the table with such force that the table reverberated. Sister Prudence flinched as she sliced a bunch of carrots. “I will decide what is, or is not, my concern, Mother Lenora!” He shouted, displaying the mercurial temper he was known for.

  Mother Lenora was not intimidated. She gritted her teeth and said, “My concern, my only concern right now, is for the well-being of Sister Rowena. If she is truly in Scotland, where our fighters are assembling, she is in greater danger than any of us knew.”

  Lord Strongbow said, “I am well aware of that, Mother Lenora. Pray tell, what would you have me do about it?”

  Mother Lenora was silent. Lord Strongbow had a point. What else could his men do that they were not already doing? Resources were stretched thin everywhere, even for the earls. She was about to reply when one of the nuns came rushing in from the reception hall.

  “Lord Strongbow! Mother Lenora! Tis’ Sir Henry! He has arrived with Lord Kensley and a retinue of squires!”

  They both jumped to their feet and ran out to the front entrance. They saw ten young men on horses. Some were carrying longbows. Sir Henry was at the front of the bank with Lord Kensley, resplendent in his leather and mail tunic, his crest emblazoned on the shield strapped to his horse.

  The men dismounted with the agility of cats. All except Lord Kensley. He waited for Sir Henry to come around and help him remove his foot from his stirrup, and then support his weight as he slipped off the horse. When his feet touched the ground, Lord Kensley leaned against Sir Henry to stand.

  He greeted Mother Lenora first with a polite peck on the cheek. Mother Lenora said, “Lord Kensley, what has happened to your foot?”

  He tried to make light of his injury. “I had a fall from my horse last week. The physician has splinted and wrapped it. Tis’ nothing.”

  Lord Strongbow exclaimed, “By God, Kensley, that ankle looks quite painful. You know I cannot allow you to ride with us like that! You will only slow us down and put us in danger!”

  Lord Kensley took a step forward as if to prove he was up to it. He nearly collapsed. He said, “Perhaps you’re right, Lord Strongbow. I do not wish to endanger anyone. If Mother Lenora has room for me, I may have to wait here for your return. I cannot go back to Middle Kirk. I will only sit and fret about Rowena with no one to talk to.”

  Mother Lenora seized on the opportunity to take care of the powerful Lord Kensley. Anything she could do to ingratiate herself and the abbey to the rich and powerful English nobility she was all too happy to do. “Of course, Lord Kensley. We will put you in private quarters until you are healed enough to travel. Our nuns provide topnotch care for the sick and injured. You will be quite comfortable here.”

  “Thank you, Mother Lenora.” Lord Kensley turned to Lord Strongbow and said, “Take my squires with you. They will benefit from the experience. Some are promising archers. They are all good fighters. Be on your way. Find my daughter and return her safely.”

  As Lord Kensley hobbled to the abbey entrance with Mother Lenora, all of the knights and squires assembled in the yard. There were a total of eighteen in the search party, consisting of Lord Strongbow, seven knights, and ten squires. Lord Strongbow told them all where they were going and who they were looking for. Any attempt to commandeer one of them by any other Lord should be regarded as illegal in the absence of a written order from the Crown. “Be it known by all of you, I myself have official dispensation from the King to undertake this search for Lady Rowena.”

  That was a huge exaggeration of Lord Strongbow’s authority, if not an outright lie, but who would ever know? He could not afford the risk that one of the men would be tempted to abandon this effort by the lure of higher pay from another lord.

  With Lord Strongbow leading the way, the men cantered down the lane, bound for the border lands.

  18

  Taran rode in the lead on a well-muscled courser. Rowena was on her own mount, a sturdy mare with lots of forward motion. Behind her was Malcolm, riding a fine bay courser happily taking up the rear. Taran had gotten their three fine mounts from Sean that morning and left before much of the town was moving about. Taran’s castle was situated about 30 miles to the northwest of Carneluke, a hard, full day’s ride, dawn to dusk. The route will take them through Glasgow, and then north to the edge of the mountainous Highlands. The horses would make their journey easier, as well as give them additional speed if they found themselves being hotly pursued.

  As soon as they got on the main road leading north toward Glasgow, they encountered several groups of people. Some were locals, heading south into Carneluke to take care of their day’s business. Others were heading north toward Glasgow. Taran noticed groups of men banded together, some were on foot and some on horseback, wearing cloaks with tartan broaches. No one loitered. He heard very little chit chat between the passersby. Discreetly, he peered at them as they passed. Where was everyone going in such a hurry?

  Rowena said, “Taran, do you see the men were wearing tunics marked with the beautiful blue and gold insignias? That is the same emblem that the French soldier I met yesterday had been wearing.”

  He had noticed it, too, with some concern. He did not want to alarm the already terrified Sister Rowena, so he simply said, “Aye, the road is crowded with Frenchmen this morning.”

  He turned to look at Malcolm who was frowning. “Aye, and most of them are goin’ south. I see some of our Scotsmen marching along with them.”

  Between Carneluke and Glasgow, they saw very few people l
oitering. Everyone they encountered seemed to be on the move. Particularly troubling to them was the occasional homes dotting the side of the road seemed to be abandoned, with no living farm animals in sight. Several of the fields and structures had been laid waste very recently. Animal carcasses lay rotting in some of the yards. Farms had been burned, and some still smoldered. Taran frowned. He glanced back at Malcolm, who seemed equally dismayed. They had only been through this place a week ago. Nothing had seemed amiss then.

  They arrived at Glasgow about mid-day. On the outskirts of the southern side of the city, they stopped and dismounted by the River Clyde to water and rest the horses. Signs of trouble were now visible everywhere they looked. Across the river, smoke billowed from buildings into the air, like jagged black scars marring the light blue sky. Ox-drawn wagons filled with household belongings, mothers with their children walking alongside, men with weapons strapped to their backs passed by in large numbers. They were all leaving the city. The only traffic going into the city consisted of French and Scottish fighters.

  Taran called to a man with a wool sack slung over his shoulder and a wife and child at his side. “Halloo sir! Can ye tell me what has happened here?”

  The man looked at him with sorrowful eyes. He said, “Aye, tis the English. They have ransacked the city and parts north. Rumor is their army is now moving to the southeast and engaging our lads near Edinburgh.”

  The news left Taran dumbfounded. Malcolm said, “Taran, let’s stay on the road this side of the River Clyde. We can follow it northwest and cross the river up at Drumoyne. If tis’ nae safe there, we can go farther upriver and cross at Kilpatrick.”

  Taran nodded and said, “Aye, Malcolm. Likely tis’ not safe in Glasgow, or what remains of it.”

  Taran looked at Rowena, whose eyes were round and wide as platters. “Ye’ve never seen such a sight, have ye Sister?” He asked.

  She slowly shook her head no. The sight was a miserable one. The thought of orphaned children and homeless families was heart-rending. “Those poor souls. May God comfort them in their distress.”

  Taran chuckled bitterly. “Get a good look, Sister. Tis’ what yer Englishmen leave behind wherever they go. Tis’ nothin’, nothin’ at all compared to some sights I’ve seen.” His tone was harsh.

  Rowena sighed and said in some defense of her countrymen, “I do not believe the English are the only ones capable of inflicting such damage on an enemy, Taran.”

  Taran was silent. Malcolm said, “Aye, tis’ true enough, Sister. Let’s be on our way, now.”

  When they arrived a short time later at Drumoyne, they found the bridge to be crowded with townspeople trying to escape the ravaged city. The bridge was so jammed that some were going across on make-shift rafts. They kept going north.

  At the bridge at Kilpatrick, things were quieter. They crossed with little oncoming traffic to impede their way. Once across, however, the countryside lay in ruins around them. Dead bodies, animal and human, lay here and there. Rowena crossed herself and prayed to God to accept their souls into Heaven.

  Taran could see the Highland ridgetops looming in the distance. He urged his agile courser into a canter. They needed to get into the safety of the hills where he knew the terrain would protect them from any remaining enemies lingering about for more plunder.

  He looked over his shoulder to make sure Sister Rowena was managing all right at this faster pace. To his surprise, she was sitting comfortably in the saddle, looking as though she was actually enjoying this run across the edge of the Highland moors. The young nun was clearly a confident and experienced horsewoman. That pleased him.

  He shouted out to her, “Faster!”

  She shouted back to him gleefully, “Away!”

  Malcolm’s horse burst forth without urging so as not to be left behind by the other two.

  They galloped to the base of a steep hill and slowed to go around it where they would be invisible to anyone looking across the plains for survivors of the ransacked Glasgow. The run was cathartic for all of them, despite the danger. They stopped and laughed heartily for a few moments, bragging about their skills and the abilities of their horses.

  For the next hour, they guided their horses at a walk up hillside and below them the land opened up into one of the most beautiful valleys that Rowena had ever seen. A large lake was on their left, as if trapped there by the hills and mountains all around them.

  “This is Loch Lomond,” Taran told her with pride in his voice.

  Rowena said, “It is stunning!”

  “Aye, tis’ indeed the most beautiful place in the world. Me castle sits at the base of the next ridge,” Taran said, pointing north. The familiar territory filled him with joy and Rowena could hear his anticipation of getting home in his voice.

  They were on his land now. But his joy soon turned to despondency. Just as they had observed along the road to Glasgow, the farm homes and buildings were abandoned. Destruction lay everywhere.

  Taran cried, “Let’s go!” They pushed their horses into a gallop. This time, however, it was out of a sense of urgency. Taran needed to get home. He would go mad if the English had destroyed the ancient castle that had been home to his clan for centuries.

  The castle came into view when they rounded the base of the next mountain. Built of stone blocks, it perched on the side of the mountain, not quite half way up, but high enough to have a vantage point of the loch, the valley, and the distant moors and mountains. Any enemy that tried to approach would be spotted and fought off well before they could get inside the castle. A moat surrounded most of the structure, making the building accessible only by a narrow stone bridge.

  Taran scanned the exterior for damage, but saw none. The castle had been built to withstand the rigors of time and enemy attacks. Emotion overcame him as he wiped away tears... Malcolm was emotional, too. In a trembling voice, he said, “I told ye, ye’re a lucky lad, Taran!”

  “Aye,” was all Taran could say.

  As they started across the castle bridge, a plump, middle-aged woman rushed out to greet them. She waved a handkerchief in her hand. “Taran, what a blessin’ to see ye! And Malcolm! Thank the Lord ye’re home!”

  “Auntie Lili!” Taran called, as he hopped from his horse and hugged

  the woman. Tears of joy ran down her chubby cheeks. She dabbed at them with her kerchief.

  Malcolm was right behind him and gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. She grabbed him and gave him a bear hug, which he returned heartily.

  Rowena gracefully slid off of her horse and waited for the clan members to finish greeting each other. Taran did the introductions in a courtly manner. “Auntie Lili, may I introduce Sister Rowena. She is from the abbey of St. Martha’s at Jarrow, in Northumbria.”

  “Pleased to meet ye, Sister Rowena,” said Auntie Lili.

  Rowena bowed politely, and with both hands, grasped one of Auntie Lili’s hands and squeezed it warmly. “It is a blessing to meet you, Auntie Lili.”

  Auntie Lili drew back slightly in surprise. “Och, ye’re English!”

  Taran stepped forward and put an arm around Rowena’s shoulders protectively. He said, “Aye, she is, Auntie, but Sister Rowena here is a special guest. Ye’ll understand what I’m sayin’ a bit later.”

  Auntie Lili searched Taran’s face for confirmation that Sister Rowena was a friend, not a foe. He nodded. With that as assurance from her beloved Taran, Auntie Lili’s demeanor toward Rowena warmed back up immediately. She said, “Well then, Sister Rowena. Any friend of me dear departed brother’s son is welcome here at Frenich . . . that is, what is left of it. Let’s go inside where we can talk and have supper.”

  A servant came out and took their horses. They followed Auntie Lili through the castle gatehouse and entry hall which opened up into the great hall. Rowena estimated its wood beamed ceiling was twenty feet above them. Massive windows along one wall let in enough sun to light the room in the day time.

  The hall was abuzz with activity. People
were milling about everywhere, most of them dressed like peasants and farmers. Mothers held their crying children close, trying to comfort them. A toddler chasing his older sister stumbled to the ground at Rowena’s feet. Rowena said, “Uh oh!”

  She helped the child to his feet, then sweetly cooed as he screwed up his face, about to burst into tears. She lifted him quickly in her arms, held him tightly her chest, then tickled his chin, talking softly and reassuring him. He reached out to touch Rowena’s cheek and broke into a big grin, now enchanted by the warmth in Rowena’s loving face. Taran’s heart melted as he watched Rowena work her magic on the child. She handed the happy child to his bedraggled mother.

  Taran took her hand to lead her through the crowded hall. A few merchants and tradesmen wandered through the throng. Massive oak tables were covered with food and dishware. Servants scurried back and forth, stopping only to answer questions before returning to their errands.