Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  After all, she’d worn it entirely too low. But the dressmaker had assured her that those that don’t have much must show it off to the best advantage. She realized now that she hadn’t been nearly offended enough. “…daring,” Halwart finished finally. “There is none other with your daring. Do ye still delight so in a good romp?”

  “A romp?” Roderic snarled, raising his lips from his drink.

  Halwart jumped at the tone. “I meant a roam, a walk, a constitutional. Nothing more!”

  “Oh. Of course,” Roderic said, and though he hid his expression, Shona thought she saw him grin into his goblet.

  Halwart cleared his throat, drawing Shona’s attention back to his florid face.

  “Oh, aye,” Shona said. “I do enjoy walking.”

  “Might ye accompany me to the garden, then? The horse chestnuts are in bloom.”

  He was still holding her hand, and she didn’t particularly like how he kept breathing on it. He had been amusing as a boy, but he’d been rather short and skinny then and she’d always been certain she could knock him down and pin his ears back, if need be. She wasn’t so sure now. Still, one glance at her father warned her it was best to discontinue that conversation, and one more glance at the far wall confirmed her suspicions that Dugald the Distracting was still staring at her with those eerie silvery eyes of his.

  “A walk in the garden would be lovely.” She rose smoothly to her feet.

  “Daughter,” Roderic said softly, then motioned her to draw nearer. “I’ve no wish for blood to be spilled at Dun Ard this night.”

  She drew back just a wee bit as if affronted. “I hope ye dunna mean to say that ye think I might cause some sort of trouble.”

  The Rogue snorted quietly, but she thought she saw his lips lift into a trace of a smile. “Have a care, lass,” he warned, trying to look stern, “and dunna go further than the garden.”

  “Ye have my word as a gentlewoman and your daughter,” she said, and straightening to her regal height, graciously took Halwart’s arm.

  Her composure lasted no more than a few seconds, for as she passed the end table, she was certain she saw Dugald’s lips curl up in the slightest suggestion of a smile.

  She turned swiftly away, her hand delicately placed on Gilmour’s arm.

  Outside, the air felt fresh against her face. The gardens were lit with lanterns set atop long stakes stuck into the soil. The light danced softly, illuminating the fragile beauty of the place. As they toured the twisting trails, the fragrances of spring drifted to Shona, the sweet smell of quince blossoms, the distinctive blend of fennel and rich, ripe earth.

  She was home. Shona filled her lungs with the scents.

  “I have missed ye, Shona,” Lord Halwart said, placing his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “As I have said, twas not the same with ye gone.”

  She smiled at him. The truth was she really liked men. After spending most of her life in her father’s care, it would be difficult not to. But experience had taught her that few men were of Roderic’s caliber. Still, she was willing to give this one the benefit of the doubt. “But Laird Halwart —”

  “Call me Gilmour, please.”

  “But Gilmour, ye hardly ever saw me when I was here.”

  “Far too little of ye,” he said, pressing closer. For a moment she felt his gaze rest on her bosom.

  Hummm. “I hope you know I hold you in the highest regard. Indeed, when I heard you had traveled to court all alone, I was quite distraught.”

  “I was hardly alone. I had a prestigious guard, and Liam met me along the way.”

  “Ahh, Liam.”

  If Shona remembered correctly, Liam had once taken Gilmour’s sash to practice a magic act, but the trick had somehow gone awry and the sash had gone up in flames.

  “Do you think it wise to consort with the Irishman?”

  “Wise?” She stopped to glance at him.

  “I mean, Liam is…well…he’s an entertainer.”

  She laughed. “Aye, he is that,” she said, and continued on. “And amongst my most faithful friends.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend,” Gilmour hurried to say. “In fact…” He pulled her to a halt. “Tis the last thing I’d wish to do, for—”

  From the darkness, a woman giggled and a man chuckled.

  Gilmour glanced at them peevishly as they passed by. “Might we go somewhere more private?”

  he whispered.

  Shona remembered her father’s words. But suddenly she glanced up, and there, only a few feet away, stood the eerie-eyed Dugald. Gone was his Italian garb. In its place was a black silk tunic tucked into a dark plaid. Twas traditional Highland garb, of course, and yet, the way he wore it made it seem different, regal somehow, with every pleat in place and a silver brooch fastened just so. He leaned back against the stone wall, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Good eventide,” he said, his strange accent lilting, his gaze never wavering from her face.

  She nodded and turned quickly away. She was blushing, though she didn’t know why. She’d surely done nothing wrong.

  Well, true, she shouldn’t have removed her breeches. She shouldn’t have been caught half naked.

  And mayhap she shouldn’t have tossed a total stranger into the water. But that last one really wasn’t her fault. After all, he’d provoked her.

  “Shona?” Halwart said, patting her arm. “Somewhere private?”

  “Aye,” she murmured, dragging her gaze back to Halwart’s. “Privacy would be much blessed.”

  He turned her away, and she gladly went.

  “I know how you love to ride,” Gilmour whispered, leaning close. “I’ve purchased a new saddle. It’s in the stable. Twould be an honor if you would have a look at it.”

  She wanted to say no. But that blasted Dugald was right behind her. “I would love to see your saddle,” she murmured.

  The stables were lit by a pair of flaming sconces. Horses nickered as the door creaked open.

  Gilmour ushered her toward a room. It was dimly lit, illumined only by the sconces on the wall outside the stone chamber.

  “Here it is,” said Gilmour, motioning to a saddle that rested atop a crossbar of wood. “I had it specially made in Italy.”

  “Italy.” Shona raised her brows. It was made of red leather. Very bright red leather adorned with tassels near the pommel. What, she wondered, could the purpose of tassels possibly be?

  “Notice the depth of the seat.” He stroked it. “It cradles me like a lover’s arms.”

  Now, there was a strange picture—a lover precariously cradling his behind atop his steed. She knew from past experience that he was not a great rider. So the lover had better be quite strong. “It’s very… red,” she said.

  “Aye.” He stepped to the side, apparently granting her a better view of the masterpiece. “Ye may sit in it if ye like.”

  She wouldn’t, but she stepped closer and bent slightly to notice that his name had been tooled into the leather.

  “I wasn’t certain ye would come,” he whispered in her ear.

  Shona straightened at the strange tone in his voice, but as she did, he gripped her arm and pressed his hips against her backside.

  A bad turn of events.

  “Of course I came,” she said, turning gingerly in the small space between the monkey saddle and him. “Why would I not?”

  He chuckled, relinquishing his grip as she tugged gently. “Ye have forever been the wild one, Shona. I’ve never known what to expect from ye. But twould be like you to welcome a bit of frolic.”

  “Frolic?” She didn’t like the sound of that word, but she smiled sweetly as she sidled sideways.

  “Do ye remember the bull?” he asked, watching her.

  She smiled with some warmth now, for the memory brought back vague feelings of fondness for him. It had been a summer when she had seen too little of her cousins. Thus he had been a replacement, albeit a poor one, for a short span of time.

  “I do,”
she said. “He was quite unhappy to be mounted.”

  “Then try me.” Suddenly Gilmour was gripping her arms and pressed up hard against her.

  She tried to retreat, but he was stronger than he’d been when they were twelve. She blinked at him and stuttered, “W-what?”

  “Try me,” he growled. His breath was not good. “I’ve no objection to be mounted by a bonny lass like ye.”

  Shona quickly considered her options. She could scream, of course. But screaming was so melodramatic, and Gilmour had always been sensible enough. So she smiled, trying to ignore the fact that his pelvis was pressed against hers with appalling intimacy, and hoping he’d see the humor in the situation.

  “Tis a bit late for me to ride, I fear, Gilmour.”

  He chuckled. “There is no reason to act coy, sweet Shona. We’ve known each other far too long. And waited too long. But now we shall finally be united.”

  She was truly surprised to hear this. “We will?”

  “I do not mind that ye are at times…” He pressed harder. “Less than proper.”

  Shona shifted her gaze sideways. She thought she had heard someone enter the stable. What to do now? Hope they rescued her or hope they didn’t notice her?

  “It’s very generous of ye to overlook my shortcomings, Gilmour,” she said, still listening to ascertain if someone had opened the door. But no sounds distracted her, so she must have been mistaken, which meant they were still quite alone. “But I fear ye’ve misunderstood my intentions.”

  “I think not,” he rasped, and fervently pressed his lips to hers.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed before. After all, she’d bested Liam in a bet when she was all of fifteen, and he’d been obliged to give her a few pointers, but Shona was certain her skin hadn’t crawled at his touch.

  She pushed against Halwart’s chest with all her might, finally breaking the suction on her lips.

  “Gilmour,” she said.

  “God, you’re a hot lass!” he growled, stepping forward.

  “Aye. I am quite warm.” She skipped off sideways, looking for a way out. “I think I’d better step outside for…”

  But in an instant he caught her by the arm and swung her in for another sloppy caress.

  “Gilmour!” She covered his mouth quickly with her hand. “I must apologize, for I fear I’ve misled ye. Twas not my intent to come out here for a private tryst. Though of course the prospect is quite tempting.” About as tempting as sticking her hair in the kitchen fire. Still, Gilmour was really a decent sort when sober, and she saw no reason to hurt his feelings. “Please forgive me if I’ve given ye the wrong impression.”

  He twisted his face away. She dropped her hand.

  “I dunna have the wrong impression. I have a need. A sharp need in my nether parts that will not be quieted until I have you,” he said, and crushed her against his chest, but she had found his hair and gave it a good hard yank, so that his head was canted slightly toward the rear and he was forced to turn his eyeballs downward to look into her face.

  “Gilmour!” she warned, holding her temper in careful check. It wasn’t ladylike to lose her temper and she tried to act the lady whenever possible. “I must not be making myself clear. I am saying that I wish to return to the hall now.”

  “Soon,” he said, and jerked his head forward. Though a good deal of hair remained in her fingers, his lips landed dead center between her breasts.

  She gasped on impact and managed to yank out of his grasp. She stumbled, righted herself then backed carefully away, watching his every move.

  “I dunna think I need tell ye how angry my father would be if he knew about this,” she said, breathing hard and wondering what to do next. She didn’t like to cause trouble, especially after her breeches had been found on the drawbridge.

  “Twill be doing him a favor by showing ye your lot in life,” Gilmour said, pursuing her.

  Her temper slipped a notch. “My lot?”

  “Aye.” He chuckled, still following. “Ye’ve been needing someone who can handle ye for a long while. It seems the Rogue isn’t up to the job. But I’m just the man to pull in the reins.”

  She stopped. “Indeed?”

  He grinned, seeming to think the game to have come to an end. “Indeed.”

  “Listen, Gilmour,” she said in her most serious tone. “In the past I’ve considered us friends. I’ve no wish to change that now by seeing anyone hurt.”

  “I will not hurt ye, lass,” he said, and lunged for her.

  “I wasn’t talking about me,” she snarled, and twisting about, slammed her elbow into his head.

  He staggered back, holding his ear.

  When he looked at his hand there was blood on his fingers. His gaze lifted. It no longer held the warmth of friendship, but of anger and tottering intoxication.

  “Damn ye!” he swore, and reached for her.

  She jumped out of his way, but not fast enough. His fingers snagged in her bodice. It ripped down the middle. His gaze locked on the sight of her partially bared breasts then he sprang at her again.

  For the briefest of moments, Shona remained paralyzed. He grabbed her arms, and she his.

  Then, at the precise instant, she jerked her knee upward, connecting it just so with his groin.

  Gilmour slammed to a halt. His body went rigid. His eyes widened and he managed one raspy inhalation before he toppled to the floor with his hands cradling his nether parts.

  Shona scowled at her torn bodice, then at Gilmour. His face looked waxy and twitched spasmodically while his breath rattled in and out like wind in a raspy bellows.

  He didn’t sound very good, but she found she was far past caring. He croaked something unintelligible, so she leaned closer, trying to hear.

  He croaked again. She straightened.

  “Ye are not dying! And more’s the pity.” She glanced toward her torn bodice, wishing this had never happened. It always upset her parents when she wounded men. “How am I going to explain this?”

  Gilmour drew another rasping breath, carefully shifted his gaze to her face as if even his eyeballs hurt, and managed, “I’m still willing to wed you, if the dowry is sufficient.”

  Her temper let loose. “Wed me? Wed me!” she said, stepping toward him. He cringed away.

  She thought it quite proper of her that she refrained from kicking him. Twas more than he deserved.

  “And I’m still willing to let ye live,” she snapped. “If ye promise to leave tonight. Do I have your word?”

  He said nothing. She stepped closer, and he nodded convulsively. “Aye! Aye, ye’ve got my word.”

  Chapter 3

  The stable door creaked open beneath Shona’s hand. Outside it had begun to sprinkle, but the soft mist did little to cool her temper. Gilmour Halwart was a wart. How dare he ruin her gown! How dared he ruin her evening? she wondered, as she stormed toward the keep.

  In her silent diatribe, it took several moments for her to notice she was less than presentable.

  Glancing down at her torn bodice, she realized she couldn’t allow herself to be seen like this. Holding the tattered linen to her chest, she scowled through the darkness toward the keep’s sheltered sconces.

  The rain had driven most of the crowds inside, so she was fairly safe as long as she avoided the main hall. Therefore, she had no choice but to climb the tower wall to the second floor. It should be a simple enough task, for she wouldn’t have to sneak through the tower, up the stairs, across the parapet, and back down on the other side to reach her own chambers, as she normally did. Instead, once she reached the shuttered windows, she would be home free, for she had given up her usual chambers to accommodate Dun Ard’s many guests. She now occupied a small alcove that contained, little more than a narrow cot and a trunk. But that tiny room would be much appreciated this night, for with that Spartan existence came a modicum of much needed privacy.

  The mill and the herb garden were quiet and dark when she passed them. The free-standing kit
chens, however, were another story entirely. Still, she managed to slip by them without anyone noticing her. She slowed her steps as she neared the hall. Laughter and voices issued out on a wave of sound. Two men, both unidentifiable in the uncertain light, exited through the huge double doors.

  Shona hunkered down behind the well until they were past, then rose to a crouch and sprinted across the open area to the north wall of the keep.

  Behind her she heard the men greet someone, but she was out of sight now and fairly secure.

  Lifting her face, she squinted up through the raindrops. The window to her small chamber was only about thirty feet above her head, but the rain was going to make her task a bit more difficult. Still, she had little choice but to shimmy up the wall or be caught in rather unladylike disarray. So she reached between her calves and grasped the back hem of her gown. Pulling it tightly against her legs, she tucked it securely into her garter then wiped her hands on her skirt. Midway between her window and the first tower gargoyle, she found her well-accustomed chinks in the stone wall and began her ascent.

  The stone, Shona discovered, was slippery when wet. A good thing she had never wasted much time on embroidery. Instead, she had spent her days in more active pursuits. Hunting, for instance.

  Shona found another footfall, grunted in effort, and hauled herself up another half a foot.

  Archery had made her arms strong. It had also, she realized, gripping another stone with tenacious impatience, made it possible for her to climb this wall.

  The rain that had begun so sweetly picked up a notch. It soaked her gown, which soon dragged at her shoulders. Some ten feet above the ground, she flattened herself against the wall and waited for the weather to pass. But instead, the downpour increased. From up above she heard a gurgling noise, and she glanced quickly up. The gargoyle grinned lasciviously down at her, and suddenly, like a spoiled child, spat out a rapid stream of water. The torrent hit her directly in the face. Forced off balance, she gasped at the onslaught and clawed at the stone, desperately trying to keep her hold. But all the elements were against her. Her feet slipped, her sodden hem pulled at her, and her fingers, numb with the weight they supported, let loose.