Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  “Not by James?” Isobel washed hot and cold, alarm gripping her.

  “Be glad it wasn’t him.” Catriona placed her hands on her hips. In her soft-falling night robes, the swell at her middle was more than apparent. The look she bent on Isobel was full of reproach. “One of the kitchen laddies and several guardsmen saw you flitting through the trees. There was quite a stir in the hall.”

  Isobel’s stomach gave a lurch. “When did they see me? Just now, coming back?”

  “Nae, when you left.” Catriona went to Isobel’s undisturbed bed and settled herself onto the edge of the high mattress. “I’ve been watching for you the night through. I can’t say if anyone else saw you return. Everyone should be sleeping. James certainly is, or I wouldn’t have been able to come here to warn you.”

  “Is he angry?” Isobel knew he’d be furious.

  “When he first heard, I feared for you.” Catriona was blunt. “If he’d guessed where you’d gone or”—she leaned forward—“why you went there…” She didn’t finish and there wasn’t any need.

  Everyone knew James’s opinion of the Mackintoshes.

  He especially disliked Kendrew.

  Scoundrel was the kindest name he ever called him. Most were so vile that heat crawled up the back of Isobel’s neck just recalling them.

  Catriona’s opinion wasn’t any higher. “James spoke of the Nought revels at supper, saying that such debauchery is a blight on our glen.”

  “Oh, dear…” Isobel risked a look at the little oaken table so close to where she stood, hoping her friend’s observant eye wouldn’t light on the stained wash linen. To her mind, the cloth screamed for attention, lying so near to the night candle as it did.

  Worse, the candle glow fell across the bloodied cloth. One could almost believe it did so with diabolical purpose, hoping to damn her.

  Debauchery.

  The word made her throat go dry. She’d found the revels exhilarating. The pagan excitement hadn’t repelled her, but fired her blood. Even the dreagan vale—thought of as bleak and terrible by so many—had quickened her pulse. Never had she felt more alive, so filled with passion. With the exception of how things ended, what happened between her and Kendrew had been wondrous.

  She regretted nothing.

  But Catriona was watching her, her gaze sharp.

  Isobel tried not to squirm. She did feel her chest tightening. Her friend’s perusal made it difficult to breathe.

  And she was sure the wash linen was coming to life, winking at her and blazing red, bright as a brand.

  “No one followed me.” She forced herself not to edge in front of the table. “Surely if James was riled, he would’ve sent men after me. More like, he would’ve gone himself, leading the search.”

  “To be sure, he would’ve done…” Catriona glanced at the long-dead fire, the peat ashes still glowing faintly. “If he’d thought it was you.”

  Isobel blinked. “But you said—”

  “The gods of Midsummer were with you.” Catriona turned back to her. “Those who saw you reported that you vanished before their eyes. They believed you were Scandia. Her ghost does resemble you.”

  That was true.

  And Catriona spoke with authority for she was one of the few souls at Castle Haven who’d actually seen the famed Clan Cameron haint. The first time or two, she’d also believed she’d seen Isobel. She’d confirmed their like appearance. Once believed to herald doom, Isobel’s long-dead ancestress was now known to be benevolent.

  But Scandia hadn’t been seen in months. Not since the days of the trial by combat. She was thought to be at peace now, roaming the glen no more.

  “There was a mist gathering when I left.” Isobel pushed her hair behind her shoulder, striving to look calm, untroubled. “It was thickest along the edge of the pines, swirling and gray. If someone saw me enter the wood, it could have looked as if I’d disappeared. Did James”—she had to ask—“believe I was Scandia?”

  “He did.” Catriona regarded her levelly. “After I told him I’d seen the ghost, too.”

  Isobel felt a stab of guilt. “You lied for me?”

  Catriona nodded. “Only this once, be warned. I did so because we swore on a sprig of white heather to each wed a man of a feuding clan. For the weal of all, as it were.” Her eyes narrowed, her tone turning steely. “I wed your brother, becoming a Cameron. You chose Mackintosh and I felt honor bound to support you. But I’ll not tell James another falsehood. If he presses me, I’ll speak true.”

  “You are too good to me.” Isobel meant it. “I won’t put you in such a position again.”

  “You’re giving up on Mackintosh?” Catriona’s face brightened.

  Isobel felt her own brow furrow. “I am not.”

  She turned again to the window, careful to keep her back straight. Better to gaze out at the heavy mists of the small hours than watch her answer cause her friend’s face to cloud over. Even the eerie shadow-form she’d seen earlier would be preferable.

  Behind her, she heard Catriona sigh.

  Below her window, the night mist swirled and eddied. Cold wind still whistled around the tower. Low, fast clouds sped across the dark green tops of the pines and somewhere a burn cut through the deeper heather. Isobel could hear the rush of water in the stillness. But no strange shadows drifted from tree to tree.

  There was a dark giant shape.

  Not at all wispy, it looked big, bold, and menacing.

  Isobel inhaled sharply, chills racing over her.

  She caught a flashing glint of gold. Then—her eyes rounded—an equally bright sheen of silver.

  She knew who was down there.

  And there he was…

  Kendrew striding purposely out of the mist, the golden Thor’s hammer at his throat shining like a beacon. He’d come dressed for war. Gold rings banded his powerful arms and his huge Norse war ax was strapped across his back, the weapon’s arced blade gleaming.

  Isobel gulped.

  He strode forward, making straight for the base of the tower as if he had every right to be there. When he stopped, directly under her window, he looked up at her, surely aware that she’d seen him.

  And she had.

  She also saw that he carried her discarded—nae, her forgotten—cloak over one arm. His proud face was set in hard, fierce lines.

  Isobel could feel the blood draining from hers.

  She froze, staring down at him.

  Anyone who happened to glance out a window, or a guardsman who might yet be patrolling the battlements, would see him. Just as they’d recognize that he held her fine, blue woolen cloak. A gift last Yule from James and Catriona. And a treasure she’d meant to sneak back and retrieve when everyone was at the morning meal.

  As if he guessed her mortification, Kendrew thrust his arm in the air and waved the mantle like a poled banner on the battlefield.

  Isobel gripped the edge of the window, her heart in her throat.

  She was surely going to die.

  Any moment the floor would tilt and then split wide, plunging her into hell.

  Instead, she heard a soft stirring behind her. “You’d best tell me what happened.” Catriona’s voice was no longer reproachful.

  It was steeped in sympathy.

  And Isobel had a good idea why.

  “Don’t pity me.” She whipped around, not about to budge from the window. If she blocked the entry to the embrasure, Catriona wouldn’t be able to get close enough to see Kendrew waving her cloak in the air.

  “You know that I must.” Catriona’s gaze was on the bloodstained wash linen. “How can I not feel for you? Thon cloth gives me reason aplenty.”

  Isobel lifted her chin. “I am not sorry.”

  “I’d hoped there might be another cause for such bleeding.” Catriona’s gaze was meaningful. “Perhaps”—her voice turned hopeful—“a female matter?”

  “It was a female matter.” Isobel was amazed she could hear her voice above the roar of her pulse in her ears. “But i
t was not the womanly reason you mean. I think you know what happened.”

  Catriona did.

  Isobel saw it all over her face.

  “James mustn’t know.” Isobel thought she caught the crunching of footsteps on gravel from beneath her window. Her knees began trembling when the sound came again, proving she wasn’t mistaken.

  Kendrew was surely parading back and forth before the tower, hoping to cause a confrontation.

  Her cloak would be streaming in the wind behind him, drawing eyes.

  Moisture began to bead Isobel’s brow.

  Any moment a horn would blare, calling men to arms.

  “You cannot tell James.” Isobel was getting frantic. “Not ever—promise me.”

  “Isobel…” Catriona started to reach for her and then let her hand drop. “He would demand the bastard marry you. That’s what you’ve wanted all along. Or”—she tilted her head, frowning—“did Kendrew hurt you? If he did, if he forced himself on you, then—”

  “He did no such thing.” Isobel could feel the blood burning her cheeks. “What happened just did. I’ll not have him made to wed me because of it. An offer must come from him. And only because he—”

  “Because he loves you.” Catriona managed to put a world of impossibility into the four words.

  Isobel ignored her own doubt. “That is my hope, aye.”

  Catriona arched an eyebrow, not needing words.

  “He desires me greatly.” Isobel’s defense sounded weak even to her. A man as well-lusted as Kendrew likely ate a different woman for breakfast each morning. “I only need to think what to do next and—”

  A loud scrunch on gravel, followed by skitter of pebbles, came from outside.

  Catriona narrowed her eyes and glanced around, blessedly at the closed bedroom door. “Did you hear something?”

  “Nae.” Isobel’s heart stuttered, her pulse beating wildly at her throat. It was all she could do not to spin around and yank the window shutters into place.

  She did step forward and take Catriona’s arm, guiding her across the room. “Come,” she said, pure nerves giving her a burst of strength, “and I’ll tell you what happened.” Catriona would give her no peace otherwise. “But only if you sit on my bed. You do look a bit pale and tired.”

  She’d never looked more beautiful.

  Catriona’s skin glowed and her flame-bright hair shone like garnets. Breeding became her. Unfortunately, she remained just as headstrong as ever. If another noise floated up to the window, Catriona would be at the ledge, leaning out, in a heartbeat.

  Isobel couldn’t allow that to happen.

  So she settled Catriona on the edge of her bed, plumped a few pillows around her, and took a good deep breath. Then she told her friend everything, leaving out nothing. She even spoke of her jealousy of the light-skirts from Rannoch Moor, how Kendrew’s touch and his kisses had left her aching for more. Most damning of all, she revealed that just when the sweetest bliss began to claim her, he’d shoved her from him, rejecting her.

  When she finished, Catriona was frowning.

  “Mercy, Isobel. It is worse than I thought.” Her opinion wasn’t reassuring.

  “I’ll think of something.” Isobel hovered, not about to let her push to her feet and wander anywhere near the room’s three window embrasures.

  Kendrew would be visible from any one of them.

  Damn the man!

  She needed to go down and speak to him.

  Catriona was tapping her chin, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps there is hope for the howling madman after all. He did act the gallant, all things considered. Who would’ve thought he’d abandon his pleasure?”

  Isobel blushed. Her friend’s words brought a rush of vivid images racing across her mind. The hot smolder in Kendrew’s eyes as he’d reached for her, pulling her against him, kissing her so deeply.

  Then…

  She swallowed. “It is said he holds women in high esteem. Ladies, that is.”

  “It’s also said that he has Berserker blood running in his veins.”

  “So?”

  “Such men have a streak of untamed wildness in them. As Odin’s own bodyguard, Berserkers were fearless fighters. Once the battle lust was on them, nothing could hold them back from an affray.”

  Isobel flicked at her sleeve. “We saw how ferociously Kendrew fought last autumn. No one who witnessed the trial by combat would doubt his prowess on the field.”

  “Indeed.” Catriona slipped down from the bed, smoothed her night-robe. The flickering light from the night candle illuminated her face, showing how her blue eyes sparked with purpose. “Some might say that you have stirred his blood lust, pushing him beyond restraint. I’m thinking he’ll not be able to resist the challenge.”

  “He already did.” Isobel couldn’t forget the horror on his face as he’d leaped away from her.

  “You shocked him.” Catriona drew her night-robe more securely about her shoulders. “Once he’s recovered, he’ll come looking for you.

  “You’ve become the battle.” She moved to the door, set her hand on the latch. “But unlike his usual opponents, your weapons aren’t swords, spears, and axes. You must fight him with a woman’s cunning and wit, using your charms and his need for you to best advantage.”

  Isobel bit her lip, watching as her friend cracked the door and peered out into the dimness of the landing. Apparently satisfied, Catriona lifted her hand-torch from its ring on the wall and opened the door wider, stepping over the threshold into the shadows beyond.

  “Only so will you succeed.” She looked back at Isobel, eyeing her critically. “You must want him badly enough to fight him.”

  “I do.” It was the truth.

  “I wish you didn’t. But you do, so I’ll just warn you to be careful.” Catriona held her gaze for a long moment and then closed the door.

  Isobel stood beside the bed, listening to her friend’s footsteps fade as she made her way down the corridor. She also heard the renewed crunch of a much bolder, heavier tread rising up from beneath her tower window, the sound sluicing her with agitation.

  She must be careful, Catriona had warned.

  Too bad that just now, with Kendrew marching about beneath her bedchamber, his mere presence threatening to make everything even worse than it already was, she really did want to challenge him.

  In truth, she must.

  So she crossed the room and pressed her ear to the door, waiting until the sounds of Catriona’s retreat stilled and she heard nothing but silence. Then she dressed as swiftly as she could and slipped from her room, hurrying down the winding tower stairs much more quickly than she had climbed them only a short while ago.

  With luck, she’d reach Kendrew before anyone spotted him.

  And then…

  She didn’t stop long enough to consider what she intended to do beyond snatching her mantle and sending him on his way.

  She did know she wouldn’t shy from using any and all weapons at her disposal. He’d given her no choice by coming here, disrupting her night peace and causing a commotion that could start a clan war. If she greeted him like a fury, it was his own fault and no one else’s.

  The battle between them already raged.

  And she was ready to fight.

  Chapter Five

  You are a scoundrel!”

  Lady Isobel marched out of the narrowly arched postern gate and came forward at speed, waving a hand at the rich blue cloak snapping in the wind above Kendrew’s head. Somehow she managed to look like a queen, all elegance and grace, despite her long strides and the hot color staining her face. Barely restrained fury sparked in her great dark eyes and—Kendrew could hardly bear it—her silky, blue-black hair spilled free, swinging about her hips.

  Her beauty took his breath, her spirit and vibrancy touching him much too deeply.

  He could so easily succumb to her.

  Cast aside the niggling doubt that warred with his more honorable reason for coming here.

&nbs
p; Instead he ignored the heat racing through his veins, damned her ability to rile him, and wondered if any female had ever stirred such hunger in him.

  She was a vixen through and through.

  And he was…

  He didn’t want to know. It suited him better to just watch her storm toward him, starlight shining on her long, unbound hair. Her anger only brought out the worst in him, warning that he’d find himself in serious trouble if he allowed her closer than an arm’s length.

  Already, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her.

  So he braced himself, aware that he was much too smitten. His wits addled because she was so annoyingly delectable. His good sense scattered by the all-too-fresh memory of the feel, scent, and taste of her.

  “A scoundrel, do you hear?” She reached him then, the flush on her cheeks almost heating the air. “Many say worse, calling you a howling madman. Now I see they weren’t erring.”

  “Aye, they weren’t.” Kendrew fought the upward tilt at the left corner of his mouth. It was all he could do not to grin outright.

  He was proud of the names folk called him.

  And fury became Isobel.

  Fetching color lit her lovely face and her eyes blazed with so much challenge he truly was hard pressed to keep his lips from twitching.

  The shawl she’d flung about her shoulders—apparently in haste—wasn’t knotted and fell loosely, displaying her magnificent bosom in a way that wasn’t good for a man. The lush swells of smooth, creamy skin proved more than enough provocation to squelch his smile.

  His loins tightened painfully, making it all the easier to glare at her.

  She returned the displeasure, her tempting lips setting in a firm, angry line. “My cloak, if you please.” She extended her arm, her hand palm up. “I’ll have it now and spare you brandishing it like a trophy pennant.”

  “Ah, but it is a prize, eh?” Kendrew lowered his arm but didn’t relinquish the fine blue mantle.

  Instead, he swept her a bow. “ ’Tis glad I am to see you again, too, Lady Isobel. I feared I might be tromping to and fro out here till the morrow.”

  “You fear nothing, I’m sure.” She snatched the cloak as he straightened, shaking it before she folded it over one arm.