Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Victoria Vane

  Coira appeared at her side and straightened the muffin hat. “’Tis gone a wee bit awry,” her maid said.

  It was of some consolation Coira had agreed to accompany her to Dun Scaith. “Are ye sure about this?” Isabel asked again.

  “Ye’ll need help with Kyla and yer own bairns,” her maid replied. “They can manage without me here.”

  She smiled into her husband’s loving gaze as he helped her mount Storm. “Ye ken Fanny’s taken with ye,” she said. “If anyone else had suggested the sheep-fold…”

  He winked. “Aye, the lasses are all smitten with me.”

  His grin disappeared when Kyla unexpectedly walked away. She’d hung back during the goodbyes, but now she threw her arms around Ian and kissed him on the cheek, which he promptly wiped with the back of his hand.

  Rory hunkered down by her side. She cocked her head to listen to something he whispered in her ear, then kissed him.

  Smiling, she hurried back to the horses.

  Darroch mounted and pulled her into his lap. “Ye look pleased with yerself,” he said.

  “Aye,” she replied with a grin. “Chief Rory confided the secret location o’ the Faerie Flag. But he swore me to secrecy, so I canna tell a living soul.”

  *

  DARROCH RODE AWAY from Dungavin with mixed emotions. In a strange way, he felt he was also leaving home, so he could only imagine Isabel’s feelings. “I love ye,” he told her. “No matter how difficult things get at Dun Scaith, always remember that.”

  “And I love ye too,” Kyla assured her. “Do ye ken the secret o’ the Faerie Flag.”

  Isabel tapped the side of her nose. “Aye, but ’tis something we ne’er speak of.”

  Kyla nodded thoughtfully as they began their journey to Sleat.

  Since his departure from Dun Scaith in search of vengeance, Darroch’s life had changed completely. His daughter no longer refused to speak, and her intelligence and wit brought him joy, not to mention her bravery had saved his life. He was married to a strong and beautiful woman he loved who’d accepted his illegitimate bairn as her own. A clan couldn’t wish for a more suitable wife for its future chief, and a mon would be hard pressed to find a more passionate bed partner. He’d formed an alliance with an enemy clan that would hopefully bring about an end to years of violence and hatred.

  He prayed it would be enough to melt his father’s cold heart.

  A Good Omen

  AS ARRANGED, GRIG and his crew had brought the Banamhara back to Trumpan from Ywst. It sat ready and waiting when they arrived.

  Kyla and Blue climbed over the side without hesitation, but getting Storm aboard was another matter entirely, despite the hound’s woof of encouragement. The gelding reared, whinnied and bucked.

  “First time on a boat,” Isabel explained, clearly upset at her horse’s distress. “Let me lead him.”

  The animal calmed as soon as she took the reins from the sailor, and allowed her to lead him up the ramp. “I’ll probably have to stay with him the whole voyage,” she said.

  “The weather promises fair, so ye should have no problem,” Darroch replied, impressed with her gentle control. The horse trusted her. It increased his anticipation at reuniting with Barra. He helped her secure the animal in the belly of the boat.

  The brisk wind filled the sail as soon as they left harbor. Darroch braced his legs and inhaled deeply. “I love the feel of a ship beneath my feet,” he shouted.

  “Me too,” Kyla echoed from where she stood at the prow, the dog at her side.

  Isabel laughed. “She even mimics yer stance.”

  Chuckling, he made his way back to his wife who had one arm clamped firmly around the mast. He nibbled her ear. “Aye, there’s someone else I’d rather have beneath me.”

  The wind had already burnished her face, but her skin heated as she pressed her body to his arousal. “Sailing seems to get ye all excited,” she breathed.

  “’Tis ye gets me excited, Wife. I’d love to whip off yon hat…”

  She reached for the bonnet. “Nay. I’ll look like an ugly witch if the wind catches my hair.”

  He shook his head. “If ye live to be a hundred, I’ll still think ye’re beautiful.”

  She eased away and patted her belly. “What about when I’m fat and round with child?”

  It took him a moment but then the glint in her eye cleared the fog. “Ye’re expecting my bairn?”

  She nodded.

  He’d been filled with remorse and uncertainty when told he’d sired a child with Elspeth. Isabel’s glad tidings caused his loins, his heart and his head to swell. He had an urge to strut like a rooster. Instead, he kissed her, delving his tongue into her mouth. She clung to him, humming only a minute protest when he pulled off her hat and let the wind enfold them both in her tresses.

  “’Tis a good omen,” he whispered when they at last broke apart.

  “Aye,” she replied.

  *

  THE HARBOR WAS a short ride away from Dun Scaith but the fortress loomed large atop a rocky promontory. Isabel had expected an imposing castle, but her first sight of the grim walls filled her with dread. For Darroch’s sake, she kept the smile plastered on her face. He looked worried enough for both of them, and Kyla clung to Isabel’s skirts as if she was being taken to the scaffold. Even Blue whimpered.

  Her husband had sent word of their arrival ahead and was clearly disappointed that his father wasn’t there to greet them. Only a stable lad waited on the shore with extra horses. “’Tisna a good omen,” he warned as they led Storm back onto land.

  Isabel’s spirits lifted a little when a loud neighing caught Darroch’s attention and a broad smile lit up his face. “Barra,” he shouted, striding off to reunite with his beloved horse.

  Kyla took her hand. “He loves Barra,” she explained. “Like ye love Storm. I dinna have a horse.”

  “When ye’re old enough we’ll get ye a pony,” Isabel assured her.

  “Grandpapa willna allow it,” the bairn replied sadly.

  “We’ll see about that,” Isabel muttered under her breath.

  As she watched Darroch fussing over his horse, she determined not to let what she knew of Stewart MacKeegan influence the way she behaved. By all accounts, he was a man who enjoyed instilling fear in others. She hunkered down next to Kyla. “Listen. Yer grandpapa doesna ken ye can talk now. When ye see him again, I want ye to act just like Ian did when he came home to Dungavin.”

  The lass pressed a finger to the dimple in her chin. “Polite, ye mean.”

  “Aye, and dignified.”

  Kyla frowned. “I dinna ken how to be digfied.”

  Isabel chuckled inwardly. Truer words never were spoken. “Follow my lead.”

  *

  DARROCH DISMOUNTED WHEN they reached the walled bridge that joined the castle rock to the mainland. He lifted Kyla down then slapped Barra on the rump, confidant the horse would find his way across as he had countless times before.

  Storm was another matter. There was no guarantee Isabel would be able to control the horse if it sensed the roiling surf far below. He reached to help his wife dismount. “We’ll walk across this first time,” he explained. “I’ve seen horses throw riders when they’ve been forced to cross. Storm might just follow us on his own.”

  She acquiesced without argument and held Kyla’s hand. He took his daughter’s other hand and they walked slowly across the bridge, Blue loping warily behind them, sniffing the air. For the first time, Darroch felt he was coming home, with his family.

  “Dinna look over the wall,” Kyla advised.

  He chuckled, but she was right. He was used to it, but even he found the sight daunting sometimes when the weather was rough.

  “I might be sick if I do,” Isabel replied with a sly smile, reminding him once again of the good news he hoped to impart to his sire.

  Storm hesitated for a minute or two, then stepped onto the bridge. He walked slowly to the drawbridge where they waited, tossing his head and snort
ing.

  Isabel made a fuss of him before Michael took back the reins. “This is my wife’s horse,” he explained. “Treat him with the same care and attention ye lavish on Barra.”

  “Aye,” Michael replied with a broad grin. “’Tis good to see ye back, my lord, and to meet yer bride. Welcome to Dun Scaith, Lady MacKeegan.”

  “Thank ye,” she replied with a smile.

  Michael’s blush convinced Darroch that Isabel had won over the first castle servant she’d met.

  He opened the door to the keep and led the way up the steep steps to the main castle, holding tightly to his wife’s hand. At the top, they entered the Great Hall.

  He’d hoped for a crowd gathered to offer his bride a warm welcome.

  A stone-faced Stewart MacKeegan stood alone on the dais, arms folded across his chest.

  Struggling with Demons

  DARROCH DIDN’T HAVE to tell Isabel of his disappointment that there was no one to welcome them. She sensed his anger. Stewart MacKeegan’s stance left little doubt he wasn’t going to make things easy though his steely gaze lingered momentarily on Blue.

  In the long run she’d have to dig up the root cause of his animosity. In the short term, she refused to be intimidated. She was the daughter of a chief, wife of a future chief and the man’s daughter-by-marriage. What’s more, she was carrying a bairn who might be the next chief after Darroch.

  Her husband squeezed her hand and nodded to his sire. “Father, may I intro…”

  “Ye’ve come home at last, have ye?” his father snarled.

  Blue growled.

  She twirled her finger in Darroch’s palm and whispered, “Stay calm.”

  He cleared his throat. “Please do my wife the courtesy of allowing me to introduce her,” he said in an authoritative voice that eased her nervousness. He, too, recognized who held the advantage.

  The chief raised an eyebrow. “Grown a backbone have ye? About time. I bid ye welcome, Isabel MacKeegan. Are ye carrying my grandchild yet?”

  Blue bared his teeth.

  While it was good he’d recalled her name, Isabel was nevertheless taken aback by his question. However, it provided an opportunity to perhaps give him pause. “I am, my chief, and I thank ye for yer welcome. I look forward to learning about yer castle and yer clan.”

  Some of the rigidity went out of his stance. He unfolded his arms. “Aye. Weel. I ken all about the treachery that brought about the confusion over the wedding. Yer father sent me a missive. I trust his arm is healing?”

  She and Darroch exchanged a brief glance. He seemed as surprised as she that her father had written to Stewart. She decided to test the waters. “His body is mending, but the wounds Ghalla’s treachery caused will take a long while to heal.”

  He rose to the bait. “’Twixt father and son, ye mean?”

  She merely inclined her head in reply.

  Stewart clenched his jaw and she fancied she could almost hear his teeth grinding. “Ye’ve done weel, Darroch, to find such a sensible wife. But if ye think yon mute bastard…”

  “I’m nay mute, Grandpapa,” Kyla protested.

  Darroch’s father suddenly looked like he’d been struck by lightning. The color drained from his face as he gaped at Kyla who executed an almost perfect curtsey.

  Darroch sucked in a breath.

  The chief frowned. “Aye. Weel. Good,” he stammered. “But I’ll nay have…”

  “If she goes, I go,” Isabel stated flatly.

  She wasn’t certain how long the silence lasted. It seemed like an hour before he replied. “Aye. Weel. If that’s how ye feel…”

  “It is. Kyla is part of our family, and a loyal member of this clan.”

  “Aye,” Kyla confirmed.

  The corners of Stewart’s mouth twitched as he fought against a smile.

  Satisfaction surged as Darroch pressed his thumb into her palm. They’d won the first round.

  *

  PRIDE SWELLED IN Darroch’s heart—for his spunky daughter and his incredibly canny wife. For the first time in his life, he held the power in Dun Scaith. “We’ve had a long journey, Father. With yer permission I’ll take my family to my chamber for a wee nap, then we’ll return to the hall for the evening meal.”

  Their gazes locked. They stared at each other for long minutes as his father swayed and dithered—then looked away.

  Confident they’d carried the day, Darroch strode to his sire, hand outstretched. “’Tis good to be home. Will ye nay give Isabel a kiss o’ welcome as her new chief?”

  To his surprise, his father accepted his hand and shook it vigorously. “A wee nap, my eye,” he chortled with a wink, elbowing Darroch in the ribs. “Ye think I dinna ken why ye want to get yer wifey to bed?

  “She’s welcome as my daughter-by-marriage. Took ye long enough to show some sense in yer choice o’ women.”

  Darroch deemed it prudent not to mention that Isabel hadn’t been his choice originally.

  Keeping a wary eye on Blue, his father hopped off the dais with a spritely step and strode to Isabel, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on one cheek then the other. “Yer da said ye were special,” he declared loudly. “And he spoke true about yon dog. I didna believe a hound could be blue.”

  He chuckled, his face reddening when she hugged him in return.

  Apparently emboldened by this rare display of bonhomie, Kyla asked sweetly, “Do ye have a kiss for me, Grandpapa?”

  *

  ISABEL KEPT THE smile on her face while Stewart MacKeegan struggled with his demons. His eye twitched as he stared at Kyla.

  If he refused to acknowledge his granddaughter, Isabel would have to make good on her threat to leave Dun Scaith—an impossibility given her marriage vows and the prospect of a life without Darroch, something she couldn’t bear to contemplate.

  If he decided to reject the bairn’s overture of peace, she might fall on him like some demented creature and tear him limb from limb.

  Kyla perhaps sensed his indecision. She extended her hand like a noblewoman who knows her worth and said, “I alone ken the whereabouts o’ Clan MacRain’s famous Faerie Flag.”

  The MacKeegan frowned, arching a brow. “And ye’d be willin’ to share the secret?”

  It was hard to tell if the shocked expression on her face was real or feigned. “Oh no, Grandpapa. I swore to keep the secret, and a MacKeegan ne’er breaks her word.”

  Her grandfather chuckled as he took her hand and bent to brush a kiss across her knuckles.

  Blue stood, wagged his tail, went up on his hind legs and planted his front paws on the MacKeegan chief’s shoulders as he straightened.

  “Dinna be afraid,” Kyla reassured him as he staggered to retain his balance. “Boo just wants to love ye.”

  Decisions

  A FLURRY OF missives went back and forth between the chiefs of the MacKeegan and MacRain clans in the three sennights following their arrival at Dun Scaith.

  Darroch was amazed, nay gobsmacked, by the noticeable changes in his father’s demeanor—the mean-spirited auld man showed signs of turning into a polite elderly gentleman. He scowled less and allowed a trace of a smile when he thought no one was watching. He even seemed less round-shouldered.

  However, the disagreement brewing over which clan should hold a banquet to celebrate the end of the feud threatened to resurrect his cantankerous nature. Darroch feared his father might do something to upset the fragile peace.

  “The MacRains just want to appear to be the wealthier clan,” Stewart complained to anyone who would listen, seemingly not caring his words might offend Isabel.

  Darroch sensed that pointing out Isabel’s clan probably was richer than his own would only infuriate his father more. He tried a different tack. “Remember, Rory MacRain is still recovering from his amputation. ’Twould be a difficult journey for him to come here.”

  Kyla joined the fray. “Ian misses me, and Boo is homesick.”

  Isabel linked arms with her father-by-marriage. “I
would love to welcome ye to Dungavin,” she cooed, “and ’tis the responsibility of the bride’s family to cater the wedding feast.”

  This argument resonated, and Stewart apparently missed the thinly veiled reference to the fact he’d failed to provide a wedding banquet of any sort. Darroch had resented his father for the oversight, until Isabel reminded him that auld men seldom think of such things unless a woman nudges them.

  “Aye, ye’re right, I suppose we must go to Dungavin,” Stewart finally declared. “Hafta admit I’ve always been curious to see it. Get a contingent of our best men ready to march in a sennight, Son. I’ll respond to Rory’s invitation.”

  Feeling vindicated, Darroch watched his father stride away. “I canna remember him acknowledging me as his son before,” he told Isabel. “He has ne’er entrusted me with such a responsibility.”

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss his nose. “He has more confidence in the future now the succession is secure.”

  “I was an irresponsible tearaway when I was younger,” he admitted, patting her belly.

  She hugged his bicep. “I almost wish I’d met that wild young mon,” she teased. “But now ye have me to keep ye in line.”

  He inhaled deeply as the soft warmth of her breasts flowed through his body, and silently thanked the Lord for his good fortune.

  *

  ISABEL WAS RELUCTANT to reveal the extent of her relief that Stewart had agreed to travel to Dungavin, fearing her husband might worry. The first few sennights at Dun Scaith had been difficult, despite Darroch’s efforts to make her feel at home.

  Dealing with her father-by-marriage was akin to walking on broken glass; so far he’d been gracious and welcoming in an aloof way, but she was constantly afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. Darroch had warned her of his unpredictability.

  Kyla was treading the same tortuous path and Isabel did all she could to smooth the way for the grandfather to get to know and accept his grandchild. At the same time, she tried to instill discipline into the bairn who was used to always getting her own way and there’d been a few tantrums.