Highlander's Heart

by Amanda Forester

  Isabelle frowned. It was a long way down. She had never been particularly bothered by heights, but snapping her ankle in a fall wouldn’t serve at all. Along the wall, some of the stones protruded more than others, and sometimes there were small indentations, remnants of the building process.

  A new idea flashed through her mind. Tying the sheet rope around her waist, Isabelle eased herself out of the window, searching for toeholds through her soft leather boots. Outside the window, she held onto the windowsill and paused to reconsider her sanity. What on Earth was she doing?

  She reviewed her current situation. Escape was necessary to prevent being given to a whorehouse and leaving her people at the mercy of her husband. How long would Captain Corbett and Marjorie live before Tynsdale took out his revenge on them?

  Bolstered by these encouraging thoughts, Isabelle searched for handholds and eased herself completely out of the window, clinging to the stone wall. Slowly she climbed across the side of the inn. Her voluminous gown proved a significant hindrance to her progress, and several times she was required to release the wall with one of her hands to pull up her skirts in order to get a toehold. She wished she had the foresight to remove the gown and throw it to the ground, but she had not and it was too late to undress now.

  Isabelle was almost to the next window. She reached out with her left foot, found a toehold and released her left hand to find her next hold. Suddenly, the rock beneath her left foot began to wobble. She lurched to the right to grab the wall with both hands as the stone gave way beneath her and fell with a crash to the garden below. Shaken, Isabelle grasped the wall, her muscles quivering with fatigue. She was going to fall if she didn’t get to the ledge soon.

  She clung, frozen, her hands starting to sweat. Her arms shaking, she forced herself to reach out again and continue edging along the wall. She was almost to the window. One more stretch and she would have it. She reached out for the ledge, but the sheet rope held her fast. It was too short!

  Her fingers trembling, she struggled to untie the knot. The sheet rope slithered away, leaving her alone, clutching the wall without her safety line. Her muscles shook, pushed beyond the point of endurance. She was inches from the ledge and seconds from slipping from the wall. Forcing her arms to move, she shifted along the wall and grabbed on to the ledge. With her last ounce of strength, Isabelle pulled her body onto the window ledge.

  Her breath came in gasps, her heart pounded loud in her ears. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the small stone ledge, waiting for her body to stop shaking. She did not look down. The moon shone down on her, a silent witness to her desperate plan. She rested on the ledge until her breathing slowed, and her heart stopped hammering out its pounding complaint.

  The inn was quiet, the perfect time to escape. All she needed to do now was climb into the room, get into the hall, and slip down the stairs to freedom while the others slept. What she required was a bit of luck… and for this room to be empty.

  Isabelle began to work at removing the screen. It was hooked on the inside, making the operation awkward. She tried to be as quiet as possible, not knowing what inhabitant may be sleeping inside. She heard no noise from the room and hoped for the best. She managed to lift and push the screen until it started to move. Slipping from her fingers, the screen fell from the window to the floor of the room with a loud crash. Isabelle froze. There was nowhere for her to hide.

  She held her breath and listened for movement, still concealed by the heavy brocade curtains that hung over the window. Presently, as she heard nothing from the room, she dared to open the curtain just a crack to peek into the room. The room was dark, nothing to see. Gathering her courage, she opened the curtains a little more, the moon illuminating the small room. It was empty. Isabelle released her breath in relief.

  She stepped down into the room and propped the screen back against the wall. The click of the door latch froze her to her core. The door creaked.

  Someone was coming.

  Nine

  “Ye must ken how important this is, David. I need to know ye will stand wi’ us,” said a man, speaking in a low voice. Isabelle gathered her skirts and crouched back into the window ledge, concealing herself with the curtain.

  “Ye are my mother’s kin. We have always supported the Stewarts, I see little need to prove our loyalty now.” That voice! Isabelle’s heart sank. It was Campbell.

  “There is mischief about, lad. I have heard that our king wearies of his captivity wi’ the English, enough to make a treacherous deal wi’ the Sassenach devils. I have information that our king plots wi’ the Douglas to overthrow me from the stewardship of Scotland in return for his release from captivity. Our useless king will also agree to give over the succession of the Scottish throne to one of King Edward’s own sons.”

  A chill ran through Isabelle that had little to do with the cold night air. Was Campbell talking to Stewart, the man acting as the steward and ruler of Scotland? If she was discovered, she was dead.

  “Nay, I canna believe Douglas would be a party in that.”

  “Aye but he would, lad. For he will be getting all the lands he was forced to forfeit to England returned, plus some additional lands. It is said that Tynsdale has fallen out of favor wi’ the king and his lands will be forfeited to Douglas in this unholy deal.”

  Isabelle put her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from making a sound. Could this be true?

  “Douglas has always fought for Scottish independence,” said Campbell, but his voice was less than sure.

  “Douglas will serve his own interests. That much land would make his the most powerful clan in all o’ Scotland. His power would be greater than mine or yours or even our wretched king himself. I need ye to stand wi’ me, lad, if we are to prevent this.”

  “Ye have my word I will support ye in the council. I winna allow England to claim our throne.”

  “Verra good, lad. Years ago yer mother and I negotiated a marriage between ye and my daughter. She’s passed now, but I have a granddaughter who will serve ye as yer wife. I understand yer good mother told ye o’ this after yer father passed.”

  “Aye.”

  “Come now, let us set a date for yer nuptials. It will send a much needed message to Douglas that ye will stand wi’ us against him.”

  The room was silent. Isabelle held her breath, waiting to hear what Campbell would say. Had he not told her that he would marry Douglas’s daughter?

  “I understand yer sense of urgency in this matter, yet I feel we should proceed wi’ caution. I will fight wi’ ye against the English, but I am slow to raise arms against my brother. Too often, we Scots have been divided and weakened by fighting amongst ourselves. I have no love for war against my neighbor and kin. Recall my father’s dame was a Douglas.”

  “Ye have good feeling, lad. I respect yer reticence to battle against the Douglas. This course gives me no pleasure either. But this is no time for hesitancy. We must act and quickly if we are to foil this plan.”

  “And in doing so, I am plotting against my king. Nay, give me leave to consider what must be done. I fostered wi’ Douglas; he is like a second father to me. Let me talk wi’ him and see if I can reason wi’ him from this course.”

  “And what if he draws ye to his side? I need to know yer loyalties, lad.”

  “I give ye my word I will take up my sword before I will accept an Englishman as the king o’ Scots.”

  Another silence permeated the room.

  “I will take my leave then,” said Stewart. “Remember, Scotland may once again call for her true sons to defend her.”

  “Always.”

  ***

  Campbell shut the door with a sigh. He was exhausted. The clans may soon be at war. And he was engaged to two women. Another sigh escaped his lips. His head throbbed, his shoulder blades were clenched together so tight he might never get them to relax. This was his parents�
� legacy to him. Two brides.

  He sat down hard on the bed, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders. His parents, with rival loyalties of their own, had both engaged in secret negotiations for his bride. Never able to agree during their lifetime, he remained unwed, even at the age of thirty-three. Now that they were both gone, Stewart and Douglas were both calling for him to choose a bride, each assured that the choice would be his own maiden.

  Yet to choose one of these powerful clans over the other was to risk inciting the conflict that loomed, waiting for a single spark to ignite the clans in battle. It was impossible to choose a bride and equally impossible for him to remain unwed. Yet how could he choose without sending his clan to war?

  He needed sleep. It had been days. It felt like years. He stripped off his clothes and brushed back the goose down comforter. He blew out the candle and sunk down into the soft, straw mattress. It was pure heaven.

  Squeeeeak.

  Campbell sat bolt upright. He did not know how long he had been asleep, but someone was trying to sneak into his room.

  He grabbed his knife.

  Ten

  A deafening roar struck Isabelle a split second before she was knocked on her back.

  “Who are ye, speak!”

  Isabelle shrieked as she was lifted up by her hair. She was dragged back to the window where Campbell slashed aside the curtains. Moonlight glinted off the blade in his hand, and his naked body.

  “Saints alive—Isabelle?” Campbell let her go, his arms falling to his sides. His eyes were wide, his mouth open. Even he could not hide his astonishment.

  Isabelle gaped at him. She had been rattled by the view of his knees. Now she was staring at the real David Campbell in all his naked glory. She should turn away. She should blush. Instead, she gawked, openmouthed.

  Campbell said something harsh in Gaelic and reached for his plaid, wrapping it hastily around some of his more interesting parts.

  “What are ye… how did ye…?” Campbell wasn’t quite himself.

  The vision of the glorious David Campbell was still too fresh in her mind to allow comprehensible speech, so she mutely pointed at the window.

  Campbell braced himself with a hand on the wall and edged carefully to the window. He glanced down briefly, then back at her. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, the confusion was clear in his eyes.

  “I climbed across,” Isabelle managed.

  Campbell’s jaw dropped. “Outside? On the wall?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  “Ye could have killed yerself. By the saints, what were ye thinking?” He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “If ye had fallen, ye’d be dead for sure.”

  “I had a rope.” Her voice was faint in the face of an outraged David Campbell. She leaned out the window and pointed at the sheet rope, still dangling from her window.

  Campbell grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the room. “Have a care. Ye’ll kill yerself.” He braced himself on the wall once more, and took a cautious peek at her dangling sheet rope. He pulled back, replaced the screen, whipped the heavy curtains shut, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Crossing himself, he murmured something that was either a prayer or a curse.

  “Stay here, dinna move.” He grabbed a key from the table and left the room. She could hear him enter her room next door. Briefly she considered making a run for it, but she would have to pass him in the hall to escape. Before she could conclude that her chances were slim, Campbell returned.

  “I dinna ken what ye are about, but ye made a mess o’ yer bed. Were ye trying to meet another man, Isabelle?”

  “No! Men are what I was trying to avoid.”

  “Then why do ye sneak into my room?”

  “I did not know it was your room.” Isabelle was indignant. “You locked me in my room and I needed to find a way to escape, so I climbed over to the next room to leave that way.”

  “Escape? Escape what?”

  “You said I would never get back to England. You said you were going to find me a-a situation. I do not know who you think I am, but I will not, I cannot go to a house of…” Isabelle turned away, clenching her jaw to hold back the emotion.

  “Where did ye ken I was taking ye?”

  Isabelle took a shaky breath and shrugged.

  “My aunt lives about an hour’s ride from here. I thought ye could be a companion to her.”

  Isabelle spun back to stare at Campbell. “You were going to take me to your aunt?”

  “Aye.”

  “Oh.” Isabelle shook her head, she was too tired to think.

  “Tell me the truth for once. What were ye trying to do?”

  “I need to get to Bewcastle.”

  “And how did ye expect to make it back to England?”

  “Oh, I had a plan.” Isabelle warmed to her confession. She was proud of this part of her scheme. “I was going to borrow a lad’s clothing from outside on the line and walk back. I’m sure I could do it.”

  “I’m sure ye’re daft.”

  “That’s hardly kind.”

  “Ye’re lucky I dinna run ye through when I kenned ye to be a thief. Ye’re no’ safe to look after yerself. I begin to understand why someone abandoned ye on the road.”

  Isabelle gave him what she hoped was a withering glance. All she wanted, all she needed, was to get back to England, yet the chances of making it home soon were slim.

  Campbell rubbed the worry lines on his forehead, his eyelids drooped. He looked every bit as exhausted as she felt. “What am I going to do wi’ ye?” he asked more to himself than to her. “I canna leave ye alone in yer room wi’out ye jumping out the window. I’m too tired to watch ye.” David Campbell shook his head, the deep creases in his forehead plainly evident in the moonlight.

  “Please let me back in my room. All I desire now is sleep.”

  “And ye promise no’ to try to escape?”

  Isabelle paused, considering her answer.

  “Nay, I’m responsible for ye, I winna have yer death on my head. Ye need to stay wi’ me tonight. Take off yer gown, I want to get some sleep.”

  Isabelle gasped. Take off her gown?

  “Dinna fear for yer virtue, I’m too tired to do anything to ye even if I…” Campbell sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I dinna have a rope so I’ll just have to hold ye through the night. ’Tis the only way to make sure ye dinna kill yerself.”

  Isabelle’s heart pounded against her ribs. Sleep with this man? No, it was impossible. She reached back to her braid and untied it, pulling the scarlet ribbon free.

  “Ye could tie me wi’ this.” She handed him the ribbon.

  Campbell stared at the ribbon in his hand and gave another audible sigh. “That is not what I bought it for.” He laid it on a bundle of cloth on the small table by the bed. “I bought this for ye too. A gown to replace the one that was ruined.”

  “You bought me clothes?”

  He shrugged. “Ye canna wear that gown wi’out people thinking the worst o’ ye.”

  “Thank you. But I cannot sleep with you.”

  He shook his head. “I dinna buy it to woo ye, I bought it so I could stop having to beat some manners into every man ye meet. See here, I’d be no kind o’ man if I took my rest wi’ a lady tied to a chair.” His voice was weary. “Nay, we are both greatly tired. Let us sleep together this night. No harm will come to ye, I swear it.” He slowly crossed the room toward her until he was standing before her.

  Gently, he loosened the stays of her gown. Her breath came short and rapid as his fingers skimmed the soft skin of her chest at the top of her ripped bodice. Slowly, as if not to spook her, he reached down and gradually pulled up the velvet fabric of the gown. She should tell him to stop but was stunned into silence.

  Warmth emanated from his naked chest, and she had a sudden compulsion to touch it. The desi
re was impeded by a velvet barrier as Campbell pulled her gown up over her head. Shocked, she found herself standing before him in nothing but her chemise.

  She opened her mouth to protest but glanced at her gown in his hands. It was torn and filthy. How long had she worn that bundle of rags?

  “Go lie down.”

  Isabelle looked at the bed, white and clean. It beckoned her louder than any other voice she heard.

  “I protest this scandalous treatment of my person.” Her complaint may have carried more weight had she not already been walking eagerly toward the bed.

  “Noted. Yer virtue is secure.”

  What a shame.

  She climbed into bed and sank into the fresh mattress, curling up on her side. It was heavenly. She might have even groaned in a most unladylike fashion. Behind her Campbell chuckled. Her eyes flew open as she was enveloped into Campbell’s arms. His body curled next to hers, his arm wrapped around her securely.

  She gasped at the shock of his heat. She could feel the length of him down her back. The blanket he wore was clearly tossed aside and now all that separated her from him was her chemise. She never thought her virtue would depend on nothing but a thin piece of linen.

  Unlike hers, Campbell’s breathing was steady and slow, which quickly turned to soft snoring. She fought the impulse to elbow him in the ribs. How could he fall asleep so fast? She wanted to defend her virtue as much as the next lady, but this disregard was downright insulting.

  Did it not bother him at all that they were in bed together almost naked? She was feeling hot and sweaty in all sorts of odd places—how dare he just go to sleep! She was sure she would lie awake all night.

  She closed her eyes and snuggled back into his arms.

  Despite everything, she felt safe.

  ***

  Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Isabelle awoke to the strangest sensation. She was warm and tingling all over. She stretched happily and David Campbell pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her. His thumb brushed lazily over her breast as he continued his caress. His slow massage had woken her.