by Gwyn Brodie
He drew her down for a quick kiss. "I love you, too, lass," he whispered against her cheek, his heart nigh to bursting.
Thankfully, three of the guards on duty had been his childhood friends and had agreed to look the other way. He quietly led Bramble and Eachann through the open postern gate and outside the castle wall, where the others waited, then mounted.
Ian secured the gate behind them. "Have a care, Drostan," he whispered.
"Much thanks, my friend."
With Robbie and Morgan to their left, Ailig and Taran, their right, they kept the horses to a walk until they crossed the moonlit moor, as the pounding of hooves would have drawn attention to their departure. Only the creaking of leather broke the silence as they moved through the heather, its sweet scent drifting upward on the wind.
If all went as planned, they would arrive in Inverness around midafternoon. There they would need to find the sheriff as soon as possible, for Drostan was certain Marcus would not be far behind once he learned he had been outfoxed.
"'Tis safe to speak, lass," he said, once they reached the wood's edge and were out of earshot of Willowbrae.
"How long do you think we have before they realize we're gone?" she whispered.
"At least several hours yet. Once the sun is up, we'll pick up the pace. I want to put as much distance between Marcus Anderson and ourselves as possible before we reach Inverness."
Drostan was not afraid of what he might do to him—he could handle himself with the likes of Marcus—but of what trickery he could use to try and disprove their declaration as being legal. He was a madman, which Drostan knew firsthand, and once he learned the marriage was consummated, there was no telling what he might do.
The lone howl of a wolf broke the early morning stillness. Though Isobel made not a sound, he knew she was frightened and moved his horse closer. "The animal is a good distance away and most likely searching for its pack. 'Tis nigh morn. By now, they've eaten their fill of venison—or stray sheep. We've naught to fash about." More wolves answered a second howl.
She inhaled sharply. "It appears the beast has found them."
"Aye. The pack will be heading back to the den now." He leaned over and squeezed her arm to reassure her. "Whether it be man or beast, Isobel, I promise to protect you with my life." And to the very depths of his soul, he meant to keep that promise.
Chapter Thirteen
The following morning, Marcus yawned as he entered the great hall to break his fast. Oddly enough, not a single soul was seated at the high table. Perhaps someone had taken ill. Most likely, Lady Fraser. He snorted. That weak woman irritated him to no end. But to get hold of Isobel's considerable dowry and have her bear him an heir, he would smile at the old badger until his face hurt. The marriage contract would be signed, and the banns hung today, and in a fortnight, Isobel would be his. The thought of bedding the Fraser lass made his blood run hot. Ever since his arrival to Willowbrae, he had sat at the table watching her, savoring every inch of her pale skin, awaiting the day she would satisfy his every need—whether she wished to or not. She would soon enough learn that defying him was futile, for he would be more than willing to force her into submission, and in fact, relished the idea. He would take great pleasure in rubbing the betrothal in Drostan's face as the Mackintosh cur had made it no secret that he wanted Isobel for himself.
He spotted his father coming out of the library, followed by Lairds Fraser and MacKintosh. Marcus hurried to catch up to them. "What has happened?"
His father stopped, but the other two continued on their way. "Lady Isobel is gone, Marcus."
He frowned. "Gone? What do you mean she's gone?"
"Her bedchamber is empty, no one has been able to find her, and the entire castle has been thoroughly searched."
Marcus snorted. "Perhaps she's at the stables with that useless mare of hers, or else playing one of her silly games." Once he married her, she would not so much as leave her bedchamber without first seeking his permission.
"As we speak, the entire estate is being painstakingly combed. I'm certain they'll inspect the stables as well."
Laird Fraser was headed toward them, his face a pale as death. "Drostan's and Isobel's horses are not in the stables. It appears she's left with him. 'Tis all my fault. If I had but listened to the lass, she'd not be out in the wilderness with only one man to protect her."
"Drostan might be only one man," Laird Mackintosh's voice boomed behind them, "but he'll protect the lass with his own life, of that you can be certain."
Marcus turned to find the irritated laird and lady glaring at them. "Perhaps Lady Isobel didnae go with him at all, but he took her against her will to keep her from marrying me."
Lady Mackintosh's eyes narrowed. "My son would never have taken Lady Isobel against her will. Any fool with eyes in their head can see the lass is in love with Drostan and he with her."
Laird Mackintosh nodded in agreement.
Laird Fraser intervened. "Even if that were true, we must find them soon. Them being out in the wood all night alone has highly compromised my daughter's reputation."
Laird Mackintosh snorted. "You dinnae have to worry about that, Fraser. Drostan and Isobel made a marriage declaration last night and are most likely now on their way to have it registered."
Marcus's heart slammed against his chest, and anger boiled his blood.
Fraser's mouth dropped open. "How do you ken?"
"We were witnesses to the fact," Lady Mackintosh stated matter-of-factly, glaring at Marcus.
"Once the marriage is registered and consummated, there's naught you can do, Anderson," her husband piped in, wearing a smirk Marcus would have liked naught more than to have knocked off.
He would have been lying to himself if he had thought their reaction to him should have been different, for they had despised him since before he had locked that sniveling Drostan in the chest, which Marcus had never regretted. The nosey lad had deserved what happened to him for spying on him in the laird's bedchamber.
A guard hurried into the room and whispered something to Laird Mackintosh, then left.
"I've just received a bit of news from Ian, my head of the guards, Fraser, that hopefully 'twill make you rest a bit easier. Drostan and your daughter have four of my best men with them—my sons."
Fraser exhaled loudly. "Much thanks. I'm most pleased to hear that."
Clenching his teeth, Marcus spun on his heel and headed up the stairs to his bedchamber, slamming the door closed behind him. "Damn Mackintosh!" he uttered over and over as he paced back and forth. Drostan was not about to allow that miserable whoreson to have Isobel. If he murdered the bastard, then she—and the dowry—could again be his. But how was he to leave Willowbrae and go after them without getting caught? "Think, Marcus, think!"
He went over to the window and looked out. 'Twas much too high to jump, and there was no way to climb down. But, if he were thought to be in his room for several hours, then he could slip out unnoticed. Once 'twas realized he had gone after them, 'twould be too late. He would have taken care of Drostan, and Isobel would be in his grasp.
After arranging the covers to appear as if he were in bed, he strapped on his broadsword and dirk, then grabbed his targe. He cracked the door and peered down the corridor. Finding it empty, he left the room, being sure to close it behind him, for he did not want someone learning of his departure too soon. With the servants busy with their chores, he managed to slip past the kitchen and outside without being noticed. Keeping out of sight, he hurried away from the castle and went in search of Cam and Dougal.
He found them near the stables, their hungry gazes locked on Dolina, the attractive young milkmaid, as she made her way to the byer. Not that he blamed them, for he had thought more than once about forcing himself upon the lass and taking his pleasure.
"Saddle the horses. That damnable bastard, Drostan, has taken Isobel, and we must catch up to them before they can register their declaration of marriage."
The three were so
on mounted and on their way to Inverness—the nearest place to find a sheriff. He would stop them—even if it took running a sword through Drostan Mackintosh to do it.
AFTER REACHING INVERNESS, Morgan and Robbie took their horses to the stables, while Ailig and Taran stayed with Isobel and Drostan. She kept close to her husband's side as they made their way to The Falconer Inn. Entering the elegant establishment, she was greeted by the most delicious aromas she had chanced to smell—though Isobel had to admit, never had she been so hungry.
A balding middle-aged man with a round cherub face hurried over. "Drostan Mackintosh, 'tis good to see ye again, lad."
Drostan grinned. "You as well, Archie. I'd like to have you meet Lady Isobel, my recently acquired wife. We are seeking a room for the night and will need one for my brothers as well. Two of whom will be joining us as soon as they finish at the stables."
Archie beamed. "Congratulations, m' lady," he offered with a nod, then motioned to a slim red-haired woman of about the same age as himself. A significant number of keys dangled from her belt, and she jingled when she walked. "Iva, Drostan and his new wife wish a room for the night, and another for his brothers."
Iva smiled. "I'll see that our best room is readied for the bride and groom. In the meantime, would ye care for a bite to eat?"
Isobel looked up at Drostan. "I'm starving," she said, praying he would take the innkeeper's wife up on her offer, for none of them had eaten since supper the night before.
He chuckled. "What sort of husband would I be to leave my wife starving? Bring us whatever you have—and a tart for the lass, if you have one."
"I do, indeed. Freshly baked apple."
Robbie and Morgan joined the rest of them in the inn.
Drostan nodded at his brothers. "These four will need feeding as well. Bring them whatever they wish."
"Of course." Iva smiled.
Taran grinned. "Much thanks, Drostan," a sentiment quickly echoed by the other three."
"Have a seat, and I'll bring ye food. If ye'll leave yer things with me, I'll have them taken up to yer room," Iva said to Isobel.
"Many thanks." Isobel handed her the bundle.
Drostan led Isobel to a table and sat down across from her, while the others took a seat near the door.
She studied his handsome features, from his soft brown eyes to his perfectly shaped mouth that practically begged to be kissed, which she so enjoyed doing. In a matter of hours, she would not only be his wife in name, but the consummation of their marriage would make them truly one. A wave of excitement rushed over her as she imagined herself standing before him unclothed, his warm hands touching her bare skin. She shivered.
He leaned across the table. "Are you cold, lass?"
"Nay." In fact, 'twas the contrary, for the room suddenly seemed quite warm. What might he think of her having such wanton thoughts?
He squeezed her hand. "When our meal arrives, we must eat quickly, for we havenae much time."
She nodded, keenly aware of the dire meaning of his words.
Once they had finished eating, Drostan motioned to Archie, who hurried over to their table.
The landlord frowned. "Is everything satisfactory?"
Drostan smiled. "Even more so. I but have a question for you. Where might I find the sheriff?"
Archie appeared most relieved. "Ye'll find Sheriff Murray down the street at the bakers. He's a mite sweet on the proprietor's daughter."
"Many thanks." Drostan left enough funds on the table to more than adequately cover all of their meals.
"This will pay fer yer rooms as well." Archie raked the coins into his hand.
"Good. We'll be returning soon." Drostan smiled down at her.
Archie chuckled.
Drostan grinned.
Isobel's face heated. Were the two of them thinking of what was about to transpire in their marriage bed?
By the time they all left the inn, gloaming was not far off, and ominous dark clouds hung low over the village, threatening rain at any moment. They quickly located the bakery and inside found a young man with shoulder-length red hair and green eyes, stacking loaves of freshly baked bread onto a large platter. Even after having just eaten, the enticing aroma made her long for a taste of his wares. "Good day to ye. What might I help ye with?"
"We're in search of Sheriff Murray."
The young man grinned, beating loose flour from his shirt and plaid. "Ye've found him then. What business is it ye have with me?"
Drostan took Isobel's hand in his. "The lass and I made a declaration of marriage before witnesses and wish to have you register the document, which is signed and certified by all who were in attendance."
"Much congratulations on ye union. The registration book is located at my residence. 'Tisn't far from here. "Jen?" he called out.
A pretty young woman, who had seen perhaps twenty summers, emerged from the back room. "Aye?"
Morgan grinned at the lass and winked.
Jen's cheek's pinked as she quickly looked away.
If the sheriff noticed the exchange, he did not take offense. "I've some business to attend, but once I've finished, I'll return."
Jen smiled sweetly and nodded. She obviously cared a great deal for the attractive man, but Isobel could not help but note how her gaze strayed back to Morgan, as he exited the bakery.
They followed the sheriff to a cottage nestled near the center of town. She and Drostan went inside, while the others waited on the street. "Please, sit down, while I fetch what I need."
Papers and books cluttered much of the space, but they managed to find an empty bench near the unlit fireplace.
The sheriff soon returned with a large book and placed it on a small desk, then took a seat behind it.
Her heart pounded as he slowly flipped through it, before finally stopping at an empty page.
The sheriff dipped his quill into the inkpot. "Are ye aware there's a fine connected to registering a Decree of Declaration, as well as one for not posting marriage banns?"
"I'll pay whatever is necessary." Drostan retrieved several coins from his sporran and placed them in the man's outstretched hand.
The sheriff nodded, tossing the funds into a drawer before continuing.
Drostan handed him the sealed document, which he opened and read before he entered its contents into the book. And after answering several questions about their clans, parents, and other pertinent information, they were on their way.
Isobel's heart raced as they drew ever closer to The Falconer Inn.
UPON THEIR ARRIVAL, they followed Iva up to their bedchambers. "I hope the rooms meet yer expectations." The innkeeper's wife smiled as she handed a key to Ailig for the room beside theirs.
Nervous as she was, Isobel managed a return smile. "I'm certain 'twill."
"As am I." Drostan pressed a coin into Iva's hand.
"Much thanks." She handed him a second key. "Hav' a good night, and I'll see ye in the morn." She then left.
"Robbie, Morgan, stand watch downstairs," Drostan ordered. "Ailig and Taran will switch with you near midnight."
She waited while Drostan unlocked the door and shoved it open, then he swept her into his arms and carried her across the threshold, as her tripping on the way in would bring bad luck upon them—not that she believed in such an old wives' tale, but 'twas tradition, nonetheless.
He kicked the door closed, then set her on her feet and locked it.
The blood pounded in Isobel's ears as she looked about the elegantly decorated bedchamber, well illuminated by the light of several candles. A platter of cheese, bread, a pitcher of wine, and two goblets sat on a small table near the bed.
Drostan poured the wine and handed her a cup. "'Twill help to calm you, but a dram of whisky would do much better. Would you like me to fetch a bottle?"
"Nay, this is fine." She sat down in one of the two chairs and slowly sipped the wine, noticing, as she was certain had he, how her hands trembled. Was there something she was supposed to do or
say? Or wait for him to take the first step? As he was undoubtedly experienced in such matters, she thought it best that she did the later.
After they had each eaten a small portion of food, Drostan stood, smiled down at her, and took her hand.
She rose to her feet, not knowing if her legs would hold her.
He drew her into his arms and gently kissed her, but his kisses soon grew urgent, and a soft growl escaped him.
As if in a fever, she returned his kisses, relishing the brush of his fingers against the rise of her breasts, as he tugged at the laces of her bodice. In record time, he had divested her of both it and her skirts, leaving her in only the thin shift.
He lifted her into his arms, carried her to the bed, and gently put her down. After pulling off her boots, he slowly began to remove her stockings.
She trembled beneath his hands as they moved higher and higher toward that intimate part of her he had touched in the glen. And she eagerly awaited what she knew was to come. Then he gently stroked her sensitive flesh, and she softly moaned.
"Do you enjoy my touching you, lass?"
"Aye," she managed to say, and almost cried out when he took his hand away.
He stretched out beside her and untied the ribbon at her throat, then slipped the shift from her shoulders, laying her bare to the waist. His long silky hair slid across her skin as he kissed her mouth, her throat, the tips of her breasts, eliciting sensations such as she had never known, nor had even thought possible.
Sliding her fingers into his hair, she held him close, never wanting the incredible sensations to end.
Leaving her yearning for more, he slipped from the bed and began to undress.
She should have looked away—any other innocent would have—but she was not just any innocent. She was his wife, and she did look, marveling at the way the candlelight played across the intricately carved muscles of his shoulders, chest, and stomach. He nigh took her breath away. Then he discarded his belted plaid, and she inhaled sharply. The intricate drawings in the book she had borrowed from Willowbrae's library were naught compared to the Highland warrior that stood before her in all his maleness.