Highlander's Heart

by Amanda Forester

  Isabelle opened her mouth to protest, but the sensations he was building were so relaxing, so pleasant, she sighed instead and surrendered to the experience. Perhaps she was dreaming. It must be a dream. No mere mortal man could inspire such budding joy. Never had she been touched this way. She closed her eyes and drifted somewhere between waking and sleeping until arousal got the best of her.

  She shifted from her side to her back so she could see Campbell, but his eyes were closed. Was he even awake? By rolling onto her back, she had given access to new parts of her body and Campbell’s hand wandered slowly down to her thigh, brushing up her chemise. She should really say something now to stop him. His hand moved higher up her thigh to that long-neglected part of her body now throbbing with the desire. She would stop him. She must. She…

  A soft sigh escaped her lips as his hand caressed her. What wonders was he doing? She would not stop him for anything now. Excitement and tension built up within her and she pressed herself into his magic hand, wanting more. Heat surged through her and she panted for breath, chasing something, wanting desperately for something she had never known but now needed more than her next breath. Something inside her clenched and exploded. She cried out clutching Campbell’s shoulder, afraid she would shatter, and not truly caring if she did.

  “Isabelle.” Campbell smiled at her, opening his eyes. “I thought I was dreaming. I am not accustomed to finding a beautiful woman in my bed.”

  “Wha-what was that?” Isabelle trembled with aftershocks of pleasure.

  “I would have thought ye would know. It is the pleasure one finds between a man and a woman. Have ye ne’er experienced it?”

  Isabelle shook her head, unable to yet form words.

  “Yer English lover has no’ done right by ye.”

  “Indeed!” Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut, trying to chase away unhappy memories. That she had been denied this pleasure was yet one more reason to despise her husband.

  Campbell drew her closer and nuzzled her neck. “Do ye want more?”

  Isabelle’s eyes flew open. “There is more?”

  He chuckled soft and low. “Aye, there be much more. Och, but nay, I promised ye I would defend yer virtue this night.”

  “I release you from that promise.” Isabelle’s bold words surprised herself. But more? Oh yes, she wanted more.

  Campbell laughed but released her, saying, “I gave ye my word, and I canna break it. Tomorrow though, I can promise ye more tomorrow.” He held her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “I have a better idea than taking ye to my aunt. What if ye came home wi’ me?”

  “I wish I could but I…”

  “I know, ye need to get to Bewcastle. Does a lover wait for ye there?”

  “There is no lover. There never has been any lover in my life—except you.”

  “But I thought ye—”

  “I know what you thought, but the man who ruined my life was not of my choosing.”

  Campbell held her tighter and she snuggled into his arms. “Come away wi’ me, Isabelle. I shall protect ye. Ye shall want for nothing as long as I live.”

  “I thought you were to be married.”

  “Aye, I must, though I would rather avoid it. I never thought to take a leman—”

  “What is that? You mean ye wish me to be your mistress?” Isabelle was shocked. She had never, ever considered anyone would make such an indecent offer to her.

  “Aye. I have been wondering what to do wi’ ye, and now I know exactly what I wish. Ye could, do naught but relax all day and play all night. How does that sound?”

  Sinful it might be, but it sounded heavenly. He was offering protection, safety, and carnal delights she had only just become aware existed. Her husband would never be able to find her. Her people… Well, they would survive without her, wouldn’t they?

  “Dinna answer me now, think on it. ’Tis still dark; let us sleep a little more.” Campbell kissed her on her forehead and rolled over.

  Isabelle lay next to his warm back until his breathing was slow and steady. It was a tempting offer. She could simply walk away from being an heiress and a countess. With a word she could leave it all behind and escape to a life of relaxation and pleasure. Did she dare?

  Maybe it was time to forget being responsible, look how much trouble it brought her already. She had little hope to make it back to England alive anyway, and even if she did, she would still need to evade her husband’s guards and somehow convince King Edward to nullify her marriage and support her annulment with the Church.

  It was safer to stay. Her chances of a happy life were greater with Campbell than with any other option.

  Maybe it was time to think of herself. She snuggled closer to Campbell’s warm back. For the first time in her life she knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to stay with David Campbell.

  Eleven

  The cold light of day brought with it a loathsome reality. Her people would die without her. Isabelle must leave the one good thing she had ever found in her life. She considered waking Campbell and explaining it all, but she dared not risk it. If he asked her one more time, she would say yes. She wanted to say yes, for she knew she would very likely die if she returned. But she must go, and though she knew it was cowardly, she could only do it while he was asleep.

  Slowly, Isabelle slipped out of the bed. David Campbell continued to snore softly. Dawn had broken, and dim light filtered through the curtains. She would need to move fast. She glanced at her ruined velvet gown on the floor, then at the tempting package by the side of the bed. She ought not to take from this man. But what was he going to do with a lady’s gown?

  Isabelle tiptoed around the bed to the side table and untied the bundle. Inside was a clean, linen chemise, a faded green gown, and decent linen head covering. They were used garments, but better than her ruined gown and well suited for traveling. She quickly slipped into the gown, struggling with the ties in the back and on the sleeves.

  Campbell coughed and rolled over. Isabelle froze, her heart pounding. Please, please do not wake up. The snoring resumed and Isabelle headed for the door. Her rings! Isabelle turned back to the velvet heap on the floor and retrieved them without a sound.

  Remembering last night, she opened the door slowly, only as wide as she needed to slip through. She softly closed the door behind her, and slipped into what had been her room to retrieve her wool cloak.

  Now to find the lad’s clothes she saw hanging on the line. While she appreciated the gown, she knew she could travel easier alone if people thought her a man. Ladies who traveled alone attracted a different kind of attention than what Isabelle wished to garner.

  Isabelle walked quietly out of the inn, her heart beating faster as she passed the common room, but there was no one there to cause trouble. She slipped around the back, only to find a stout woman taking down the wash.

  “G’morn to ye, dearie,” said the washerwoman with a smile. She took Isabelle’s coveted trews from the line, folded them quickly and dropped them in a basket.

  Isabelle’s smile in return was not nearly as sincere. With a sigh she walked back to the front of the inn. She needed to figure out how to get back to England, dressed as a woman, traveling alone, and without any money. Her stomach growled. Or food.

  “Good morn to you.” Jacques the minstrel walked out of the inn, a long loaf of bread in his hand. He was dressed in a bright yellow tunic and vivid blue trews.

  Isabelle jumped at the sight of him. Would he return her to Campbell? “Good morning,” she responded hesitantly.

  “Up early, are you? Good morning for it,” Jacques said with a smile, but he looked her over carefully. Isabelle doubted there was much that escaped his notice.

  “Yes, a beautiful day.” The sun had just peeked above the horizon casting a warm glow on the stonework of the large inn. The cloudless sky was bright blue with promise. It
would be a good day to travel, if she ever got that far. Isabelle tried to think of some explanation to give the minstrel for her presence outside the inn, but instead her stomach rumbled.

  “Me, I think this bread is a little stale,” said the minstrel, his soft French accent pleasant to her ears. “What do you think?” He handed her the loaf and she obligingly ripped off a piece and took a bite.

  “It tastes good to me.” Isabelle offered the loaf back to him, but he waved it off.

  “No, you keep it, I care not for it. Have a safe journey, m’lady.” He gave her a wink and brushed past her to the door of the inn.

  “Thank you!” she called and walked quickly down the road toward the center of Glasgow. She had to come up with a plan, and fast. Campbell would be awake soon. Would he look for her? She did not know, and contrary to what she knew she needed to do, she almost wished he would. She took a bite of the loaf the minstrel had given her. His kindness gave her hope. But how was she going to get back to England?

  Isabelle strolled through the market street. Shop owners were opening the windows to the houses that served as their store and their dwelling. In many a shop she could see the family sitting around the table for the morning meal.

  Isabelle took another bite of the loaf, then stuffed it into the pocket of her cloak. She had a long journey ahead of her, and needed to conserve her food. Inside the pocket she felt a strange round object. Pulling it out, she found a heavy gold coin. She stopped short and nearly tripped on her own feet. Clutching the coin to her breast, she wondered who could have put it there. Would Campbell have given it to her? It seemed unlikely. The minstrel! He had brushed past her and must have slipped her the coin. His kindness brought tears to her eyes.

  Isabelle got her feet moving again before she made a spectacle of herself. Now she had hope. Surely this would help her get home. But no, she remembered, Alnsworth was not safe for her now. She must travel to Bewcastle, find her guard, seek an audience with the king and get him to dissolve her marriage. The enormity of the task threatened to crush her with despair. Resolute, she pushed aside those unhappy thoughts. She must consider things one step at a time. First she needed to escape Campbell’s tempting offer, for if she saw him again she doubted she would have the strength to leave.

  The conversation she had overheard on the ledge had been shocking, but now she turned it around in her mind, trying to use her husband’s fall from favor in the English court to her advantage. Initially she considered this to be good news. If the king disliked Tynsdale, he would be more likely to support her request for a divorce. However, if the king was considering Alnsworth to be part of Tynsdale’s holdings, could he be considering giving Alnsworth to Douglas too? If her warm reception in Scotland was any basis for judgment, she doubted her people would fare better with Douglas than with Tynsdale.

  The road she was on led her back the way she and Campbell had walked last night to the River Clyde. Tall masts peeked over the clustered thatched roofs. Isabelle drummed her fingers together, a new plan forming. A boat, yes, a boat would be just the thing. She had funds now to pay for safe passage… if she could find an honest captain who would sail to England.

  Along the edge of the River Clyde, several boats were lashed to a rickety wooden dock. Some boats were small, some large. Many had a single tall mast. Some had nothing more than oars. One looked suspiciously like a Viking ship. Men on the boats were waking up, performing their morning routines, and beginning to ready their craft. But how to find an honest sailor?

  It was an impossible choice, and the consequences if she got this wrong could be dire. She slowly turned around searching for some answer. In the distance shone the steeples of the cathedral, haloed in the light of the rising sun. Isabelle never spared much thought for God, other than trying to avoid being an object of His wrath. After losing her family to the plague, and being given in marriage to an abusive old man, she figured God did not care for her much. But perhaps, given her desperate need, she should try asking for assistance.

  Isabelle closed her eyes and made an attempt at piety. Please, God, help me find my way home so I can save my people. Yours sincerely, Isabelle, the Countess of Tynsdale. Though I would truly prefer not to be if you could help me—

  “Ow!” Something slammed hard into her left shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she found herself face-to-face with a sweaty man carrying a large crate on his shoulders.

  “Watch yerself, lassie!” he snarled and continued along his way.

  Isabelle rubbed her aching shoulder. That’s what she got for attempting prayer. It was up to her now. Isabelle eyed the sailors, mentally rejecting crafts whose crew looked like they were suffering the ill effects of drink. One crew was dressed in the Highlander’s kilts. She mentally crossed them off her list too. The men on the craft next to them, however, were respectably dressed and were already hard at work. Yes, this was a good candidate.

  She walked boldly up to the craft, wondering how to get this accomplished. She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Excuse me!” she called to the men on the boat. “May I speak with your captain?”

  The men came to the side of the boat and looked down at her with suspicion. One man with a dark, neatly trimmed beard stepped forward. “I am Captain Erskine. State yer business.”

  “May I speak with you?” She wanted to avoid calling out her business like a fishmonger.

  Captain Erskine jumped down to the river walk. He regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and reserve. His men on the boat made no pretense of doing anything but hanging over the side of the boat and listening.

  “I wish to return to England. Might you be traveling that direction?” Isabelle asked.

  “I might.”

  “Could I pay for safe passage back to England? I have become separated from my guard and I must return.”

  “Who would be traveling?” he asked.

  “Just myself.”

  “Ye only? None other?” The captain raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  The captain crossed his arms across his chest. “How much ye willing to pay?”

  Isabelle paused, considering her actions. If she revealed the coin she could simply be robbed. And yet, in order to get back to England she needed to take a risk. “Would this buy passage?” Isabelle held up the coin.

  Captain Erskine reached for the coin, but a loud howl behind her startled Isabelle, causing her to jerk back her hand. One of the kilted men was yelling loudly, attracting the attention of not only Isabelle but everyone else on the neighboring boats and shore.

  “What are ye howling about, Hamish?” asked one of the Highlanders as they all ran to the injured man’s side.

  “My finger! I slipped and fell and now my finger, och look at it!” The lad held up his hand, showing one of his fingers was bent up at an awkward angle. “Do something, Dain, it hurts like hell.”

  Isabelle realized that the injured man was little more than a lad, and his finger indeed looked quite painful.

  “The coin, mistress,” said Captain Erskine, holding out his hand.

  Isabelle glanced at the captain and back at the injured lad, distracted.

  “Naught I can do for ye,” said Dain to the whimpering lad. “We’ll need to get ye back to Mairi.”

  “But that winna be till tonight or the next morn,” wailed the lad.

  “Here, we can wrap it for ye,” said another man. Whatever he did to the lad’s finger caused the young man to scream in pain.

  “Mistress!” demanded Captain Erskine.

  “Please, wait a moment. I believe I can help this injured man.” Isabelle stepped up to the boat of the injured lad. The ministrations of his shipmates caused him to scream again. “No, please stop whatever you are doing and let me look at it.”

  Two of the Highlanders looked at each other and shrugged, then helped her on board the craft.

  H
amish, the injured lad, sat on the deck, holding his hand protectively, while the man he had called Dain kneeled beside him.

  “Who are ye?” Hamish asked, his eyes narrow, his mouth surly.

  “I am here to help. Let me see your hand,” replied Isabelle.

  “Ye’re English! I hate English,” snarled the lad.

  Dain cuffed him softly on the head. “Mind yer manners. He’s just a hurt lad, mistress. Please dinna bear him no mind. Can ye help us?”

  “If he will let me.”

  Dain nodded to Hamish and the hurt lad held out his finger, his bottom lip trembling. Isabelle gave him a bracing smile, and gently examined the finger. The ring finger extended at an awkward angle from the middle joint.

  “I don’t think it’s broken. This may hurt a bit.” Before Hamish could respond, Isabelle grabbed the finger and popped the dislocated joint back into place. Hamish screamed, and everyone leaned in to examine the finger. Hamish tentatively tried moving it and found that it once again worked properly.

  “Well now, Hamish,” said one man. “Looks like ye’re in the service o’ an English woman.” He laughed and gave Isabelle a bow. “I’m Finnáin and this is my twin brother Gill Crist, my older brother Dain, and our young, accident-prone Hamish.”

  The four men were all various forms of tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. “Good morn to you,” said Isabelle.

  “Good morn to ye, mistress,” said Gill. He motioned to his twin. “Ye can call us Finn and Gill. Like fish, ye ken?” Finn and Gill resembled each other so closely Isabelle gave up all hope of ever telling them apart. They both beamed at her, their eyes dancing.

  “I thank ye, mistress,” said Dain, his gray eyes more serious. “Ye have been a great service to us. Pray tell me how we can be a service to ye.”

  “I am looking for passage back to England.”

  “We dinna travel in that direction, but I will find ye someone who will.”