The Highlander

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  Strange new sensations leaped and pulsed as Leonora was held captive in his arms. Never had she known such feelings. This savage was the enemy. She hated him. And yet, she had never been so aware of a man.

  Her hands, which had been clenched at her sides, now lifted until they were clutching his waist. She forgot to breathe. Her heart forgot to beat. She seemed, for the moment, suspended in time. She steeled herself against feeling anything at all for this man. But though she tried to resist, she found herself responding against her will to the gentleness of his touch.

  Feeling the tremors she couldn’t hide, Dillon lifted his head and stared down into her face. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

  “Woman, open your eyes.”

  Her lids fluttered open. In those violet eyes he could see a reflection of himself. He felt, for one breathless moment, as if he were drowning in her eyes. The thought left him shaken.

  He had intended to torment her further with his kisses, to set a trap for her until she begged him to stop. Now, he realized, he was the one who had fallen into a trap. A trap of his own making.

  He wanted her. Wanted her as he had never wanted any other woman. Not as punishment for her father’s crime of imprisoning his brothers. But because she was a beautiful, desirable temptress and his blood was hot to have her.

  He caught her by the upper arms and drew her a little away. Through narrowed eyes he studied her. What had this woman done to him? Somehow she had bewitched him. If he was not very careful, he would be the one imprisoned.

  Perhaps it was fortunate that he would be gone for a while. He needed to put some space between himself and the woman.

  “Now that you understand just how easy it would be for me to take you, my lady, I will warn you again. Do not try my patience.” His eyes were hard, his voice a low growl. “If you do anything to anger me, my vengeance will be swift and terrible. As laird, I will be the one to mete out your punishment.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides as though the touch of her offended him. In truth, he was afraid to touch her again, lest he take her here and now. The need for her still pulsed through him, heating his blood, causing his tone to be harsher than he intended. “Do you understand?”

  “Aye.” She was amazed at how difficult it was to speak. Filling her lungs with a deep breath, she shot him a hateful look. “I would leap to my death before I would allow you to carry out your threat.”

  To regain control, he deliberately turned his back on her and strode across the room. At the door he turned. “If you incur my wrath, my lady, we shall have a chance to see if you are as good as your word.”

  She turned away as Rupert entered and took up his position in front of the closed door. With her back to him, she pressed her hands to her fevered cheeks.

  She hated Dillon Campbell. Hated him as she had never hated any man before. And yet…Her cheeks flamed anew at the thought of how she had reacted to his kiss. The feelings he aroused in her were contrary to everything she had ever believed. This man was a Highlander, a savage. She was English nobility. If she allowed this man to sully her, she would be forever soiled. No decent man would ever have her.

  And yet…A tremor pulsed along her spine at the thought of his arms holding her, his lips plundering hers. No other man, with their fumbling hands and clumsy kisses, had ever made her feel the way she felt in his arms.

  What would she do if he made good his threat? The answer came to mind clearly, instantly. She would have to leap to her death rather than submit. To do otherwise would bring dishonor to her father’s name.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “M y lady.” Rupert waited until she had stopped her agitated pacing.

  She turned to where he stood in front of the door, as solid, as sturdy as a giant oak. “Aye, Rupert?”

  “I wish to thank you.”

  “Thank me?” With thoughts of Dillon still crowding her mind, she seemed unable to focus on the lad.

  “For keeping secret the fact that I helped you.”

  “Ah.” She gave him a gentle smile. “It was little enough to thank you for your kindness. It shall remain our secret. Now—” she crossed the room “—it is time to join Mistress MacCallum and the servants below stairs.”

  Now, more than ever, she was eager to use her newfound freedom to seek a means of escape. And her best means of escape was to learn as much as she could about the structure of this fortress.

  Rupert opened the door and held it for her, then moved along by her side.

  They found the housekeeper and her legions of serving wenches in the scullery, where duties were being meted out. Heads turned and voices stilled as the Englishwoman stepped into their midst.

  Flame, her arms crossed over her chest, watched in silence.

  Mistress MacCallum seemed truly flustered. It was obvious that she had never before given orders to a woman of noble birth.

  Realizing how important it was to gain her confidence, Leonora decided to make it easy on the housekeeper. “Perhaps you would like me to start in the great hall,” she offered.

  From the first time she had seen the hall, Leonora had known that it was the center of the fortress. There were many doors leading from there to outer passageways. It had to offer her a route for escape.

  Whatever guilt she felt at betraying Rupert, she cast aside. This was war. She had to try to make it safely back to her father.

  The housekeeper blinked and looked incredulously at Flame. The cavernous great hall was the largest room in the keep. The task of keeping it clean was a daunting one, and only the lowliest of scullery maids was ever assigned to it. Flame, sharing the older woman’s thoughts, allowed a smug smile to touch her lips. It was the sort of work she would have gladly meted out to the English dog.

  “Aye, m’lady,” the housekeeper said. “A fine place to begin. Tell me what ye will need.”

  “Little more than strong backs and brooms and buckets of water. Since the day is already half over, we will gather the old rushes into bundles for the fire, and sweep and scour. The morrow will be soon enough to lay clean rushes.” She looked up. “Do you agree, Mistress MacCallum?”

  “Oh, aye.” The woman nodded so vigorously, her jowls jiggled. Then, remembering her manners, she turned in deference to the sister of the laird. “And ye, lass. Are ye in agreement, as well?”

  Flame shrugged. “My brother has said I must remain and observe. But he did not say I had to share the work or speak to the prisoner. Continue, Mistress MacCallum.”

  To make certain that everyone understood that she was in command, the housekeeper said to Rupert in a stern voice, “Ye will remain beside the prisoner at all times. And of course, I shall look in on ye from time t’ time to be certain the work is being done properly.”

  With a knowing smile, Leonora made her way to the great hall, with the servants and Flame trailing behind her in silence. When they reached their destination, Rupert took his usual position in front of the closed door. Silently Leonora began gathering the rushes into bundles, which she tossed next to the fireplace, to be used for kindling. With each turn around the room, she noted the location of the doors, determined to see where each one of them led.

  After watched her for several minutes, the servants began to follow suit, bundling the rushes. Though they worked alongside her, they followed Flame’s lead and spoke not a word. Leonora sensed that, along with the animosity, there was a great deal of curiosity about her, but she could not find a way to break through their wall of reserve.

  After more than an hour, Leonora was relieved when Gwynnith joined them. Her open smile and friendly demeanor were welcome amid these closed, unsmiling faces.

  “Here, my lady.” Seeing Leonora on her knees gathering rushes, Gwynnith caught her by the arm and helped her to her feet. “The servants and I will gather the rushes and bring them to you. You will stand here by the fireplace and see that they are bundled.”

  “You need not pamper her, Gwynnith,” Flame said curtly. “The woman has boast
ed that she is capable of hard work.”

  “Aye. If I were not aware of that,” the girl said, “the sight of the laird’s chambers would have convinced me. But she has done enough for one day. The lady will pay dearly for the work done this day, I will wager.”

  Leonora’s muscles were already protesting the hard work, but she was determined to ignore the discomfort. “Do not fret, Gwynnith. I have a need to be busy.”

  Though Gwynnith insisted, Leonora continued to kneel and gather rushes alongside the others. As she worked, she asked, “Were you born here in the village, Gwynnith?”

  “Nay, my lady. I was born some distance from here, in the village of Cawdor.”

  “And how is it that you make your home in Kinloch House?”

  “My village is gone. As is my family. They were all killed in a terrible battle with the…” The girl paused, clearly uncomfortable. Licking her lips she continued in a rush, “With the English. When Dillon Campbell found me, he brought me here to live.”

  “And made you a servant,” Leonora said with a trace of contempt to cover her own discomfort at the thought of the pain inflicted by English soldiers.

  “Nay, my lady. He gave me a home. It is my choice to repay his kindness by serving him.” She glanced down wryly at the deformed foot that caused her pronounced limp. “Without the kindness of Dillon Campbell, what would my life be?”

  Leonora asked, “How did it happen?”

  The girl looked away. “One of the soldiers trampled me with his horse. I was not supposed to live.”

  Leonora shuddered at the image of a young girl having to endure such mistreatment at the hands of soldiers. She saw the pain in the girl’s face as Gwynnith muttered, “No man will have a wife who bears such imperfection. But if I cannot be wife and mother, at least here at Kinloch House I have purpose. These people have become my family.”

  The other servants had gathered around to listen.

  “The laird rescued me, as well,” said another servant shyly. “The English killed my mother and father and my four sisters. I was still a bairn, and I was left to die in the cold. But Dillon’s brothers found me and brought me here, where I was taken in and given shelter. I have been here ever since.”

  “And I,” volunteered another. “Both my brother and I were forced to watch the murder of our family. Dillon found us wandering in the forest and brought us home with him. My brother is learning to care for the horses in the stables, and I am learning to care for a household. Without the laird’s kindness, we would have perished. As would that one,” she added, motioning toward young Rupert, who stood guard across the room.

  “Tell me about Rupert,” Leonora asked gently. “Was he also rescued by Dillon Campbell?”

  “Aye, my lady.” Gwynnith paused, and Leonora noted that her look softened. It was clear that the little servant had feeling in her heart for the lad.

  “How long has he lived here at Kinloch House?”

  “Since he was no more than eight or nine years.”

  “Has he no family?”

  “None. They were all killed in battle.”

  Though the lass was careful not to mention English soldiers, Leonora knew by now that many of the wounds inflicted in battle had come from her countrymen.

  “Why did he not perish with his family?”

  “Dillon proclaims it nothing less than a miracle. When he found Rupert, the lad was more dead than alive.”

  “From a sword wound?” Leonora asked.

  “Nay, my lady. The soldiers had hanged him. That is why, even today, the words come so slowly. He cannot speak above a whisper.”

  Leonora felt a welling of tears in her eyes and turned away to hide them from view. It pained her to think about sweet, gentle Rupert having endured such brutality. Her mind was in turmoil. The lad had every right to hate her for what her countrymen had done to him and his family. As did Gwynnith. Yet these two good people did not hate.

  How could she do less?

  She pondered all she had heard. She had hoped to hear of the savage’s faults. Instead, these people made him sound like a benevolent father. She thought back to the words Dillon had spoken so passionately in her father’s house, about a Highland laird’s duties to his people. She frowned as another thought intruded. English soldiers. With every horror story, it seemed, came the mention of the cruelty inflicted by English soldiers. Until her capture she would not have believed such things about her beloved countrymen. But since her own experience in the forest at the hands of such animals, she now knew it to be true. All her life she had heard only about the savage Highlanders. Now she was hearing a very different story. What had Dillon said in the forest? All men are changed by war.

  “Are all Scots as noble as your laird?” she asked.

  The servants exchanged looks. It was Gwynnith who said, “Nay, my lady. There is one in our forests who stalks like a wild creature. A score of females have been killed at his hands, and still no one has found him out. No lone woman would dare to venture into the forest.”

  Leonora shivered. She was grateful for the hard, physical work. Somehow, the thoughts that troubled her were more easily dealt with while her hands were busy and her back was aching.

  That evening, Leonora ate sparingly, and wrapped the rest in a square of linen, which she tucked into a pocket of her gown, to be concealed later beneath the pallet in Dillon’s chambers.

  A plan was taking shape in her mind. A plan that would require careful thought. She must attempt another escape. She would need food, weapons and warm clothing to survive the wilds of the Highlands. Even the fear of the one who stalked the forests could not discourage her from her need to escape.

  When darkness settled over the land, she was grateful to sink between the fur throws, where she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Leonora awoke, eager for the day. This would be her first full day of freedom from these chambers. She was determined to make every moment count.

  Once the morning tray had been delivered and she had broken her fast, Rupert accompanied her below stairs, where she joined the servants and Flame in the great hall. Since the floor was bare of rushes, some of the servants began to sweep, while Leonora showed the others how to scrub the soot and grime from around the fireplaces by using a finely ground powder of stone. When she saw their reluctance to try new ways, she coaxed them by working alongside them.

  Now that the servants had begun to relax in her presence, the talk flowed more freely. The only one who did not join in was Flame. The lass continued to stand apart, watching and listening, and sulking at having lost her freedom to roam the countryside at will.

  “Tell us about your home in England,” Gwynnith coaxed.

  “Is it as fine as Kinloch House?” asked another.

  “It is much like this.” Leonora sat back on her heels, idly rubbing at the stone she’d been polishing. “We do not have the protection that nature provided you here in the Highlands, but we have a moat and drawbridge to keep out invaders.” Her tone softened, and the love and longing was evident in her voice. “When I was a child, the stables were my favorite place to be.”

  At that, Flame’s interest was piqued. She had thought this Englishwoman too frail to sit a horse.

  “But after my mother died,” Leonora continued, “I was kept too busy to ride. Now, I think, the gardens are my favorite place in my father’s keep. They are where I escape when I am troubled.”

  “How did the laird manage to steal you away?” one of the servants asked boldly.

  The others held their breaths, eager to hear the tale, though none of them had had the courage to ask. At once, Flame sat forward, as eager as the others.

  “When his brothers were threatened, he fought off a hundred of my father’s soldiers and carried me away as his hostage.”

  The servants gasped. Flame nodded. It was what she would have expected from her brother. When Leonora told of the dramatic leap from the drawbridge, and their escape into the forest, all of them were completely c
aught up in the story.

  “Oh, my lady,” Gwynnith said, her hand at her throat, “you must have been frightened.”

  “Aye. And sad.” Wistfully she said, “I miss my home and my father.”

  “The tale near takes my breath away,” breathed a serving wench.

  “Aye,” whispered another. She peered at the Englishwoman. “The laird is strong and handsome, is he not?”

  Leonora blinked. “I had not noticed.” She went back to her polishing with a vengeance, while several of the servants exchanged knowing looks, which were not lost on Flame.

  Soon Leonora began spreading the rushes and evergreen boughs in an intricate pattern. When she had finished several rows, the servants followed suit.

  As they worked, their chatter continued. “The laird is handsome,” said a dimpled lass. “But I much prefer his younger brother Sutton.”

  “Oh, aye,” came a chorus of eager voices that had even Leonora laughing aloud.

  “And what of Shaw?” Leonora asked.

  “He is as handsome as his brothers, but he does not take notice of the women,” a shy lass said quietly. “He has pledged himself to the Church.”

  “But that does not prevent you from trying to catch his eye,” Flame taunted, causing the lass to blush furiously.

  When Mistress MacCallum entered the great hall, she found the women, including Flame and the prisoner, talking and laughing among themselves with ease.

  “So.” The housekeeper stared around, pleased by what she saw. “Once again you have made a room shine. What is your secret, m’lady?”

  “It is not to my credit. This is the result of many willing hands.” Leonora glanced around to include all the servants.

  They beamed at her unexpected praise.

  “That is most generous of you, my lady,” one of the servants whispered, “for you have borne the brunt of the work.”

  “Nay, I could not have done it without your help.” She turned to the housekeeper. “You are most fortunate, Mistress MacCallum, to be blessed with such dedicated workers.”