Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle

by Victoria Vane

  Guilt flew on the wings of his last thought and he froze, holding his saddlebag in midair. His sister was of marriageable age. Somehow, the notion of forcing Mairi to accept an unwilling match unsettled him. He doubted Arabella would be any more gracious.

  Hell, what was the matter with him?

  Annoyed, he hurled the satchel to the ground and glared at the offending item. When the devil did he brood over anything, especially females? On principle, he steered clear of the lot of them. He’d do well to remember why. Nay, marriage was not for him. No matter how tempting the bounty, or the woman.

  He spun on his heel and almost collided with Liam, whom his sister had likened to a fallen angel. The familiar roguish grin his cousin wore broadened. To avoid clouting the arrogant arse in the nose, Calum crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Mind on the lass, Cousin?” Liam lifted one blond brow. “I know mine is.”

  A low growl slid from Calum’s throat. “Wipe that absurd grin off your face and make yourself useful.”

  “Oh ho, so you’ve noticed her.” Liam’s booming laughter resounded in his ears. “I do not fault you one bit. I vow if Fraser’d asked me to wed the lass, I just might consider condemning myself to marriage.”

  Calum gritted his teeth and waved a dismissive hand. “Leave me be. I’ve more pressing matters to worry over than your senseless babble.”

  The smile on his cousin’s lips faltered. “What matters?”

  Most likely ’twas naught to fret over, but with Iain’s death—a detail he’d yet to share with Liam—and Arabella’s circumstances, Calum chose to err on the side of caution. Until he spoke with her and learned more information, ’twas in their best interests to listen to the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind.

  “I’m uncertain, but we might run into company along the way.”

  “Why? What’s amiss?”

  “Naught’s amiss. I simply wish to prepare for the prospect.” Calum shrugged. “Tell the men to be on their guards, and I want an additional man on each watch.”

  Liam nodded. “I shall pass the word. Has the lass spoken of what happened at Penswyck?”

  “Nay.” Calum watched as his men moved around camp, settling in for the eve. “I’ll question her when an opportunity presents itself.”

  “You just had an opportunity,” Liam huffed.

  “What would you have me do, Cousin? Demand the tale from her? She barely looks upon my face as it is,” he mumbled beneath his breath.

  As soon as the careless words fell from his mouth, he silently cursed himself a fool. Without a doubt, his cousin would seize upon the slip.

  “Christ’s bones, Calum. The poor lass just fled her home. She’s frightened and knows naught of us.” Liam stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Stop being daft, man. ’Tis naught to do with your blasted face. Besides, when have you ever cared what anyone’s thought before?”

  Calum matched his cousin’s glower with a scowl of his own. Few comprehended how deeply the wounds on his body ravaged his confidence. He strove to conceal the weakness. Warriors did not concern themselves with such trivialities. Alas, vanity knew no bounds and, at present, the vicious feeling consumed too much of his thoughts. He raked a hand through his cropped hair and shifted his glare from his cousin to the stretch of forest where Arabella had disappeared.

  ’Twas her. She was causing him to think too damned much.

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ll question her after she’s had a bit of rest.”

  Liam nodded and his smile settled in place once more. Satisfied their talk was over, Calum bent to retrieve his saddlebag.

  “So…”

  Of course, his cousin had more to say. When did he not?

  Straightening, he released an irritated sigh. “Aye, Liam?”

  “Have you changed your mind?”

  Calum glanced up at the trees hanging overhead. He had half a mind to ignore the ridiculous question, but Liam would pester him unmercifully until he answered. In that instant, his tolerance reached an end.

  “Nay,” he snarled. “Now leave me be before I crack your skull in two.”

  Humor gleamed in Liam’s eyes and his grin split wider. Unconcerned with the warning, he cuffed Calum’s shoulder, winked, then ambled away to join the rest of the men while whistling a bawdy tune.

  Calum silently beseeched the Lord above for a measure of patience. Little good it would do though. Between his kin, Fraser, and now the lass, he foresaw his waning reserve drained within a sennight. Reconciled to his fate, he stomped over to Gregor and shoved his bag at the man.

  He grunted. “See to my horse.”

  Without waiting for a response, he trudged into the forest in search of Arabella.

  Chapter Five

  NEAR THE BROOK’S EDGE, Arabella tugged off her boots and winced at the sharp bite of pain. She cringed when she caught sight of the cuts and scrapes covering her feet from heel to toe. Remnants of dried moss had stained her soles and infection had set in. She should’ve asked the men to stop so she might tend to her feet sooner, but she had not wished to be a bother. Truth be told, the vise squeezing her heart since Iain’s death loosened as the distance between her and Penswyck or, more importantly, Longford grew.

  Shedding her clothes, save her shift, Arabella grabbed the soap from her bag and hobbled into the stream. Clutching the bar in her hand, she waded in and fought the immediate urge to bolt from the icy water. With no small amount of effort, she gathered her will, sucked in a deep breath, and plunged beneath the surface.

  Once the initial bone-chilling jolt faded, she relaxed and stretched out her limbs. She closed her eyes and let the frigid water soothe her weary body. If only the brook could ease the incessant twinge in her heart as easily.

  The loss of Iain was a raw wound, festering inside her with each passing day. After their mother and father’s deaths, the two of them vowed to watch over one another. Guilt and sorrow hung around her shoulders, the weight almost too much to bear. While Iain upheld his pledge, she had failed in her duty to him.

  Shoving aside her grief, she opened her eyes and began to wash with the cake of soap Maggie had packed in her saddlebag. Bless the dear woman, Arabella thought with a wrench of sadness. ’Twas her greatest hope Maggie and Dougal left Penswyck long before Longford arrived. Otherwise—

  Arabella slapped the water and promptly shook the ridiculous notion from her head. Maggie and Dougal would make it. Of that, she had no doubt.

  With her feet braced beneath her, she rose from the stream and waded out. After a hasty glance around the wood, she peeled off her shift and rushed to dress in the change of garments she pulled from her bag. She perched on a boulder beside the brook and tucked her sore feet beneath her. To ward off the chill, she wrapped herself in her borrowed mantle.

  At first, she balked at wearing the blasted thing but, now, she was rather pleased to have the added warmth. Even after the day’s hard ride, the cloth still held hints of leather, pine, and Calum. As she rubbed the coarse fabric between her fingers, her thoughts strayed to him.

  Something about the Highlander drew her notice. How could he not? He exhibited such a degree of quiet strength and confidence. A warrior in his prime, his powerful frame evidenced hard work and training. Truth be told, his rough-hewn manner attracted her. Despite the wounds marring his face, she found him uncommonly handsome.

  His stony behavior did not frighten her in the least. A lifetime spent in the company of harsher men such as her Uncle Hammish and Dougal had accustomed her to poor manners and even worse dispositions. She smiled and twirled the mantle around her finger. Perhaps, she might claim the length of cloth for her own, as a token to remember the glowering Highlander once they parted ways.

  A twig snapped and she whipped her head around to track the noise. The object of her thoughts emerged from the forest at a clipped pace. With his brows pulled low, Calum paused a few yards away. His sharp gaze passed an idle sweep over her and lingered on her damp hair. Ignoring the burn in her
cheeks, Arabella tugged the mantle tighter around her body and bit her bottom lip.

  His lips twitched. “I see you found the stream with little difficulty.”

  The rich Gaelic tone settled in her ears, stirring an odd flutter in her belly.

  “Aye, thank you for stopping to make camp.” She glanced away to the water’s edge. “I know you did so for me.”

  “Arabella?”

  She met his gaze and the soft blue of his eyes held her ensnared. As one corner of his mouth lifted with a half-grin, the pulse in her throat quickened, and fear had naught to do with it.

  “’Tis the truth all of us could do with a bit of rest.” He treaded two paces closer. “As you might’ve guessed by now, your uncle and I are friends of a sort. Our clans have been allies for many years. As soon as he received your missive, I gathered my men and left at once.”

  “I do not understand.” She frowned at the piece of information. “Why did he not come for me?”

  “I, for one, am thankful he did not,” Calum quickly assured her. “The man would’ve invaded England to see you freed. For my own peace of mind and that of my clan’s, ’twas much easier for me and my men to slip across the border than to let the old goat start a war.”

  She did not doubt the truth of his words. Hammish Fraser had garnered quite a reputation for his hot temper and hasty decisions. No wonder Calum and his men rushed to Penswyck to rescue her. Of course, she had not considered the possibility when she sent her missive with David. At the time, her thoughts leaned more toward desperation rather than riling her uncle’s ire.

  “And what of the messenger?”

  “Safe and sound.” He snorted. “No doubt Fraser has the lad knee-deep in muck cleaning the stables as part of his training by now.”

  Arabella grinned, even though Calum was probably right. As soon as she lowered her feet onto the ground and twisted around to reach for her drying tunic on the rock behind her, a bellowed curse split the air. She nearly tumbled off the boulder but caught herself. She swung around to face Calum, and suddenly he was there, filling her vision. Caught unaware, she squealed in surprise.

  Kneeling in front of her, he clasped her ankles in his big hands and tugged her feet atop his hard thighs. Heat seeped through his clothing and infused warmth into her chilled soles. A sigh of appreciation almost slid from her lips, but a clamor of snapping tree limbs and rustling leaves sounded from the forest, and she jerked her head toward the commotion.

  Twelve fierce Highlanders crashed through the wood with their swords drawn, ready to attack. She blinked at the warriors, somewhat amazed by their swift response. She attempted to pull her feet free, but Calum tightened his grip. He continued to poke at her feet, apparently unmoved by his men’s appearance.

  The golden-haired warrior whom she’d ridden beside for most of the journey marched toward them. His handsome features contorted with a fierce glare.

  “What the devil’s the matter with you? You disappeared from camp without word. We thought you were under attack.”

  “Not now, Liam. Fetch the salve from my bag and one of the furs.”

  The anger in Calum’s tone puzzled Arabella. She agreed with Liam. What the devil was the matter with the man?

  Muttering to himself, Liam sheathed his weapon and stalked away, joining the other men as they returned to camp and leaving her alone with Calum once more. Left with little choice, she perched awkwardly on the edge of the boulder while he continued to brood over her feet. Shrugging inwardly, she took advantage of the moment and studied his bent head.

  The color of a starless night, his hair was as shiny and smooth as a raven’s feather. She itched to run her fingers through the short locks, but she ceased the action by clasping her hands together in her lap.

  He lifted his head and speared her with a cutting glare. “Why did you not speak of this? Do you think me such a beast I would’ve ignored your discomfort?”

  Stunned by his vehemence, Arabella reeled back and her eyes flew wide open. The words held such accusation, her indignation rose.

  She countered, “I know naught of you or your men. I did not speak of it because I did not wish to trouble you.” She lifted her chin. “And, I never thought you a beast.”

  Perhaps addled, though.

  She held his penetrating stare with one of her own. Neither willing to yield, they glowered at each other for what seemed like an eternity. After a few tense moments, his features softened a measure and he shifted his attention to her feet.

  “I do not expect you to trust me yet, but just know I would never cause you harm, Arabella.”

  The soft-spoken words, recited almost as an oath in earnest, soothed her bad humor. Each time the man uttered her name, a strange warmth settled in her belly. For reasons she could not warrant, she did trust him.

  She lifted a shoulder. “In truth, I only thought of escape. After that, I did not want to burden you anymore than I already have.”

  “You’re not a burden.” Calum shook his head and glanced at her. He blew out a gust of air that stirred the hair atop her head. “What am I to do with you, my lass?”

  Straining to hear the muttered comment, Arabella opened her mouth to ask after his meaning, but Liam reappeared from the forest. He dropped a fur between her and Calum, then pressed a leather pouch into Calum’s outstretched hand. Calum removed a small earthen jar and uncorked the lid, releasing an offensive odor.

  Arabella wrinkled her nose and watched as he scooped out a fair amount and kneaded the salve into her soles. As if someone held a torch beneath her feet, an unseen heat spread over her skin, sinking deep in her limbs. Alarmed by the scalding sting, she whimpered and curled her toes into Calum’s thighs. Her gaze darted to his and the distress etched across his features gave her pause. A sudden desire to offer him comfort startled her more than the burning in her feet.

  He muttered, “This’ll keep your wounds from festering and fever from setting in.”

  The gruff statement scarcely consoled her, but soon the warmth lessened and altered into blessed numbness.

  She forced a semblance of a smile for his sake. “The pain’s almost gone entirely.” She nodded at the jar. “What’s in that foul ointment?”

  Calum visibly relaxed and a faint grin replaced any lingering concern. “A bit of this and that. My aunt makes the salve and insists I carry it with me. Rest assured, despite the smell, it works wonders.”

  He scooped out more of the ointment and rubbed the mixture into her feet. His large, callused fingers stroked over her skin, soothing any lingering tenderness. On account of his size, his gentle ministrations struck her as odd, but she delighted in his attentions. Without a second thought, she raised her arm to touch his short, raven hair. In the same instant, he lifted his head and warily glanced between her and her hand.

  Arabella cursed herself a coward and patted him on the shoulder instead. She mumbled, “Thank you for your aid, my lord.”

  His brow furrowed. “I’ve said to call me Calum.”

  She bit her bottom lip to contain her smile over the curt, sullen command. “Aye, Calum.”

  Once done with the salve, he corked the jar and returned the mixture to its pouch. He passed her the bag to hold, then plucked the fur from the ground and draped the soft material over her shoulders, blanketing her in warmth. She opened her mouth to offer her gratitude, but instead squealed when he scooped her in his arms and strode toward camp.

  Unprepared for the action, she floundered a moment until he tightened his hold.

  “Relax. I won’t drop you.”

  His low voice rumbled in her ears and she swallowed her unease, forcing herself to go limp in his arms. The scent of his skin drifted up her nose and she repressed a shiver. The pulse in her throat thumped in wild fury and her cheeks heated. Chancing a peek at him, she suffered a stab of disappointment. He faced straight ahead with a deep-set scowl in place. Apparently, their closeness had no effect on him. She crossed her arms over her chest to resist flicking the man
in the ear.

  And yet, in spite of the vexing man, a feeling long absent from her life stirred inside her—safety. She felt safe in Calum’s arms.

  With no notion of what her future held, she questioned when she might ever feel wholly safe again. For the moment, she closed her eyes, leaned her head on his shoulder, and savored the feeling. The fleeting sentiment passed once they entered the campsite and the man abruptly dumped her onto a pile of furs near the fire.

  Arabella landed on her backside with a hard thump. She gasped in outrage and her gaze shot to Calum. Before she had a chance to berate him, the big arse stormed into the same stretch of wood he just carried her from. The urge to scream in frustration built in her throat, but she restrained herself. God’s teeth, he had to be the most contrary man she’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

  Rather than concern herself with the ill-mannered, brooding Highlander, she swallowed her anger and busied herself rearranging the furs beneath her. After a quick survey of the camp, she was surprised to find that the men had made such quick work of the task in the short time she had been at the stream. A few of the Highlanders moved about the clearing, involved in some chore or another, while others slumbered on pallets laid out around the fire. Against her better judgment, her gaze slipped to the forest where Calum had disappeared once more.

  She could not fathom what had come over the man. Had she done something to anger him?

  The furs beneath her shifted, and she glanced to her right and met a pair of deep, shining, blue eyes. The golden-haired warrior, Liam, sat a yard away with a silly grin stretched across his lips.

  “Calum’s gone to attend to his personal needs.” He winked. “Do not fret, he’ll be along shortly.”

  Arabella wrinkled her nose. Calum could fall into the icy brook and crack his blasted giant head on a stone for all she cared. Since Liam’s statement warranted no response, she simply shrugged and peered at a grizzled man cooking over the fire. In her present state of mind, she did not feel overly friendly. In fact, a soft pallet and a long night’s rest suited her well.