by Gwyn Brodie
"Aye?" The maid kept her gaze on the task at hand.
"How do I tell Drostan I wish to marry him?"
Glena yelped, then wrapped her pricked finger in her arisaid. "Well, m' lady, to begin with, ye dinnae tell him. Ye must show the lad how much he needs ye, then him asking fer ye hand in marriage will surely follow."
"I see." Isobel nodded thoughtfully. But did she? Sheets of rain, driven by the wind, beat against the window panes. She sighed. She knew so little about men—especially one like Drostan. But she was determined to have him and would find a way to make him want her as well.
LATER THAT NIGHT, LADY Mackintosh, slipped into the bed she and her husband had shared for almost three decades and poked him in the shoulder. "Jamie, are you awake?"
"I am now," he said sleepily.
"Do you ken what happened today?" She could not wait to tell him.
"Nay, Maggie, what?" He raised himself onto his elbow, looked down at her, and smiled.
"Drostan took Isobel riding this morn."
"Aye, and?"
"While Agnus and I took a stroll through the gardens, I happened to glance toward Creag Iolaire—just in time to see Drostan kiss Isobel. Is that not wonderful?" She sighed loudly.
He chuckled. "You wee vixen! I wondered the reason you invited the Frasers to Willowbrae when you did. 'Twas because you well kenned Drostan would be here because of your birthday. What the devil makes you think Isobel is a good match for our son?"
"I dinnae just think she is, Jamie, I'm positive of the fact. She's the one for Drostan I've been searching for, and she's been right under my nose all this time."
He snorted. "How can you be so certain?"
"Last year, while Earie, Cait, and I were visiting the Frasers, I came to admire the young woman Isobel had become."
"Ummh, I was under the distinct impression the lass was headstrong and independent."
"Aye, and the perfect wife for Drostan."
"That remains to be seen, Maggie. If Drostan finds out about your matchmaking, he might very well be upset."
"'Tis too late and now out of my hands. Whatever happens from here on out is up to the two of them."
He leaned down and kissed her. "Well, there's one thing I've kenned for nigh on thirty years." He grinned.
She raised a brow. "And what's that?"
"That you were the perfect wife for me."
Maggie smiled and drew Jamie down for another kiss. She had known that all along.
Chapter Five
The following evening, Drostan was headed back to the castle from the stables when he saw Dolina, the milkmaid, standing outside the byre. Had she been waiting for him?
The attractive young woman smiled at him seductively and entered the shed. A clear invitation, if he had ever seen one.
The byre was empty except for the three milk cows. Drostan took the maid's hand and drew her against him. She giggled as he pressed his lips against her throat, then her cheek, as he worked his way toward her mouth. Isobel's lovely face suddenly came to mind. Why could he not keep the lass from his thoughts?
A loud thud sounded in the loft above, followed by another.
Dolina quickly slipped from his embrace and hurried out of the shed.
Damnation! He climbed up the ladder and peered into the loft. Who the blazes was up there?
In one corner, Isobel lay on her stomach atop a blanket spread over the hay. "Came to help the milkmaid with the milking, did you?" she asked, never looking up from the book she was holding.
He snorted. "'Twas not precisely what I had in mind," he mumbled to himself. "If you didnae mind my asking, lass, what are you doing in the byer loft?"
"The stable loft was too crowded."
"I see," he lied. "What is it you're reading?"
She hesitated for a moment, then closed the book. "Greek and Roman Art."
His brows shot upward. "'Tis an unsuitable book for a young lady—or even an old one, for that matter." And Drostan should know. He had found the book in his father's library at around sixteen summers and had peered over the intricate drawings of unclothed female bodies every chance he could smuggle the book back to his bedchamber. "There are many books in the library from which to choose. Why did you pick that particular one?"
She smiled at him rather oddly. "Curiosity."
He climbed the rest of the way up the ladder. "'Tis time you went back to the castle. A byre is not a safe place for a lass to be lurking about." He helped her up from the blanket.
She took a step toward him and tilted her face up to his. "Do you ken what I was curious about?"
"Having viewed the book myself, I can well guess," he said dryly, his heart pounding against his ribs. The lass was as enticing as a warm apple tart, and the air around her permeated with her lavender scent. He swallowed hard.
"I wished to find out what goes on between a man and a woman in the marriage bed."
"You're unwed. Why would you wish to ken such things?"
She shrugged. "Once wed, I'd be better able to please my husband."
Drostan was certain Isobel would have no trouble at all pleasing a husband. Why, merely thinking about it sent a rush of heat to his loins.
She moved closer, and his breath quickened.
"Did you discover what you were looking for?" he managed to ask.
She sighed. "Nay, I fear not."
"Then I guess you'll have to wait until you're wed to find out the details."
Isobel slowly shook her head. "Not necessarily."
He frowned. "What is it you mean by that?"
"I want you to teach me."
Drostan grabbed hold of a low-hanging rafter to steady himself. Perhaps he had not heard her correctly. "You what?"
"I want you to teach me."
He stared at her. What did one say to such a request? "Do you ken what you're asking, lass?"
She rolled her eyes skyward and shook her head. "I'm not asking you to take my innocence. Only to teach me about—certain things."
Where had she gotten such a daft notion? Thankfully, she had come to him and not one of the other men at Willowbrae. Perhaps he could frighten her into giving up such a ridiculous idea. "Well, then, I think your first lesson should be on how to return a kiss, which is of the utmost importance."
She nodded. "Very well."
"Are you ready?" Was he?
"Aye." She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to his.
He had wanted to kiss her again. Hell, he had thought of little else, and now he had the opportunity to do just that—and with her permission. He brushed his mouth across her full lips. Desire shot through him like a sharp arrow, as he wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss.
Isobel moaned softly, then slipped her arms around his neck and enthusiastically kissed him back.
Need shook Drostan to the core. If he continued with this lesson, she would learn a lot more than how to kiss in that loft. He reluctantly raised his head.
She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with wonder. "I've been kissed, but never like that," she said breathlessly.
He grinned. "You liked it, then?"
"Aye, I did. Would you teach me more about kissing?"
Hell! He wanted to, but with his body humming with desire, he decided against it. "I'll teach you more about kissing later. "You had better return to the castle before your mother comes looking for you." He picked up the blanket and shook out as much of the hay as he could. "Perhaps you had best leave this here since 'tis covered with hay." He tossed it into the corner. "To protect your reputation, I'll wait in the byer until you're gone, then come along later." He picked up the book and tucked it beneath his arm.
She nodded. "I thank you for the lesson."
He raised a brow. "I assure you, 'twas my utmost pleasure." He climbed down the ladder, then helped Isobel to the ground.
She smiled at him for a moment, then hurried from the byer.
Drostan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, admitting his pla
n had backfired miserably. Kissing Isobel had not changed her mind in the least. In fact, it had only served to make him want her all the more—if that was even possible. She wanted him to teach her—something he was more than happy to do. But his feelings for Isobel intensified each time he was with her. He should refuse her any more lessons, but then she might find someone else to be her instructor—perhaps even one of his own brothers. The thought did not at all sit well with Drostan. Nay, he could not allow that to happen. It would be him alone who educated the lass. With his mind made up, he left the byer and headed for the castle.
THAT NIGHT, LONG AFTER the castle's inhabitants had found their beds, Isobel lay in her bedchamber, listening to the growling of her stomach. After that remarkable kiss in the loft, and Drostan's overwhelming masculine presence beside her at supper, she had hardly eaten a bite, and now she was starving.
Turning onto her side, Isobel closed her eyes. If only she could fall asleep, then morning would arrive, and she could fill her belly with porridge drizzled with creamy butter and sweetened with honey. She scolded herself for thinking about food, which had only served to make her all the hungrier.
She exhaled sharply, threw back the covers, and got out of bed. She knew the direction of the kitchen, though she had never actually been to it. Surely, she could find something there to abate her hunger—be it only a sliver of cheese. In her bare feet, she padded across the room, then quietly opened her bedchamber door and stepped out into the corridor. After closing the door behind her, she headed toward the stairs. Thankfully, the torches had not yet burned down and would provide her with adequate light to make her way through the castle.
She was halfway down the stairs when she realized someone was on their way up. Fear inched up her spine, and her heart pounded. Was it one of the Mackintosh clansmen? Or an intruder who had made it past the guards? She should return to her bedchamber posthaste.
"Isobel?"
Drostan. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Aye." The torchlight danced across his handsome features, and Isobel had the strongest urge to press her hand against his cheek.
He climbed the stairs until he stood on the step below her. "What are you doing outside your bedchamber this time of night?" he whispered.
"I was hungry," Isobel said, keeping her voice low. She did not wish to wake anyone—but especially her mother.
"Granted, you did eat like a wee bird at supper. Come, let's see what we can find to satisfy your hunger."
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he grabbed a torch off the wall, took her hand and led her past the great hall filled with sleeping, snoring men, and down the servants' stairs to the kitchen. "We should find something inside here." He opened the pantry door, and after lighting a candle from the torch flame, he took out bread and cheese and placed it on the table. "Now, lass, eat your fill."
She smiled. "Much thanks."
"You're welcome. I only ask that you not go wondering about Willowbrae again at night. 'Tis dangerous for a female alone, and even more so dressed—or undressed—as you are."
"I'll not. Would you care for a bite yourself?" Isobel shoved a small chunk of bread into her mouth.
"Nay, I had plenty at supper." Drostan watched Isobel, realizing she was even more stunning in candlelight. Her mane of dark curls framed her face and gathered about her shoulders like a mantle. The nightdress did little to hide her shapely curves, and it did him no good knowing she most likely wore naught beneath.
"What was your reason for being out of bed, or should I not ask?" She waited for his answer.
He chuckled. "I was up on the ramparts. 'Tis a place I enjoy visiting on a clear night, as I've done since a child."
She nodded. "Perhaps you might take me with you one night?"
'"Twould be a pleasure, my lady."
After a few minutes, she patted her flat stomach. "I'm pleased to say my hunger is no more."
"Good, then I'll see you back to your bedchamber." After placing the remainder of the food back in the pantry, Drostan turned to fetch the candle. A dark shape raced across the kitchen floor.
Isobel screeched, as she climbed Drostan's tall frame as deftly as a red squirrel would an oak. "S-S-Something ran across my foot," she stammered, clinging to him.
"'Twas only Cait's cat, Dumplin', searching for a mouse," Drostan somehow managed to utter. Never had anything felt as marvelous as Isobel pressed against his chest. The heat from her body radiated through the thin fabric of her nightdress, driving him mad.
Her gaze met his—just before she kissed him. And what a kiss it was.
Drostan kissed her back, savoring the feel and taste of her full mouth as she slid her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.
He braced himself against the cold stone wall, allowing her to do as she pleased, driving him madder and madder with every stroke of her tongue.
She suddenly took her mouth away and looked up at him, with one shapely brow raised. "As my tutor, how do you think I did?"
"You surpassed my expectations," he stated matter-of-factly. Teaching Isobel would either make him daft—or kill him.
HOURS AFTER SEEING Isobel safely back to her bedchamber, Drostan was still awake. All he could think about was the enthusiastic way she had kissed him in the kitchen. With such passion, he could well imagine her in his bed, filling his every need and desire, as he would hers. There was no doubt in his mind—he wanted the lass with every ounce of his being. But he refused to compromise Isobel—no matter how much he ached to have her.
Chapter Six
"Riders approaching," Gus shouted from the ramparts.
Drostan had been laughing and talking with his clansmen in the bailey and now walked down to the portcullis to greet their visitors. A man accompanied by fifteen or so guards was at the forefront, and it took Drostan a moment to recognize him as Laird Fraser, Isobel's father. But to his astonishment, behind him were perhaps twenty or more guards escorting the Earl of Kinkirk and his son, Marcus Anderson. Why had Fraser brought them along? If their arrival were expected, his father would have said as much, knowing how Drostan and the rest of the Mackintoshes felt about Marcus. "Raise the gate," he shouted.
Laird Fraser, a balding, stout man, wearing trousers in Lowlander fashion, rode into the bailey and dismounted as Isobel came rushing out of the castle.
"Da!" She kissed her father on the cheek.
He beamed. "Issie, you're a sight for these tired old eyes. Where's your mother?"
"In the rose garden with Lady Mackintosh." She turned to Drostan. "Do you remember Drostan?"
The laird's eyes widened as he looked Drostan up and down. "Aye, but you've grown into quite a man, lad."
Drostan grinned. "'Tis good to see you again, Laird Fraser." The two men grasped hands in greeting.
Kinkirk and Marcus dismounted and came up beside Fraser.
"I've brought someone with me, Issie. When the Earl of Kinkirk and his son, Marcus, learned we were visiting Willowbrae, they insisted on coming along for a few days. I didnae think Laird Mackintosh would mind." He looked at Drostan.
Drostan forced a smile. "Nay." If Laird Fraser noticed his annoyance, he did not show it.
"Lady Isobel," Marcus said with a slight nod, smiling. "Drostan," he said coldly, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightly clenched.
"Marcus," Drostan responded just as icily before turning back to Laird Fraser. "Have everyone come inside. The midday meal is being served."
Isobel smiled up at her father. "I'm so pleased you arrived in time for the ceilidh tonight. I've a new gown just for the occasion."
Laird Fraser chuckled. "I can hardly wait to see it, Issie."
Drostan realized that neither could he.
Marcus took a step toward Isobel, seemingly with hopes of escorting her inside.
But the lass had other ideas. She slipped her arm through her father's, and they walked into the castle, then to the great hall together.
At the high table, Drostan took his usual seat next to Isobe
l, and Laird Fraser sat down beside his wife, who smiled and gently patted his hand. Drostan glanced down the table and caught Marcus glaring at him, his face as red as a rooster's comb. What the devil was the matter with the knave? He was angry—Drostan well knew what anger looked like on Marcus. Might it bother Marcus that Isobel was seated beside him? Drostan decided to put his theory to the test. After filling his and Isobel's trencher, Drostan picked up an apple and honey-filled pastry and reached it to her. "One of your favorites, lass," he said, loud enough for Marcus to hear, ignoring the lethal glare he tossed in Drostan's direction.
Isobel beamed up at him, and his heart danced.
It surprised him to see that Laird Fraser appeared none too pleased with the exchange between himself and Isobel, either. That was when it dawned on him as to why Marcus was there. Fraser intended to betroth his daughter to the whoreson. Drostan's heart sank like a stone into the dark depths of Willowbrae Loch. She's mine, and I'll be damned if anyone else will have her! His breath froze in his chest. Where the devil had that thought come from?
Kinkirk cleared his throat. "'Tis unpleasant to speak of, but another murdered lass was found just outside of Edinburgh, in Queensferry. Eight, I believe, that makes in the last ten months."
Lady Agnus shook her head. "'Tis awful, just awful."
Isobel had stopped eating and instead stared down at her food.
Seeing how the dreadful news had affected her, Drostan reached over and gently squeezed her arm. "I was in Edinburgh the same time as you, sire, and as I neared Queensferry, I came across a crowd huddled around the body of a young woman by the name of Lady Isobel McDaniels." A shiver ran up his spine as he looked down at the lass beside him.
Isobel jerked her head up. Her eyes were wide, and her skin a shade paler than usual.
His mother sighed loudly. "As frightful as 'tis, we can at least be thankful no such atrocities have happened anywhere near to Willowbrae."