by Gwyn Brodie
"Good. Then you'll not be minding if I ask your father, first thing in the morning, to allow us to wed. I want you beside me—and in my bed—for the rest of my life."
Her mouth dropped open. Kade wished to marry her. Jillian wanted to jump for joy. "I wouldn't mind," she whispered, unable to contain her smile. "Any lass would be proud to be your wife."
He kissed the tip of her nose. "Och, but I don't want just any lass," he said, kissing her on the chin. "Only you." He gently kissed her lips and when she kissed him back, he groaned against her mouth. He took her by the hand and pulled her up from the settle, hungrily devouring her lips. Then his hands slipped down her back and over her hips, pressing her against him.
Jillian gasped as she realized his profound desire for her. She didn't ken much about such things, but she knew enough to recognize she was the cause, and shivered with delight.
"My body aches for you, Jilly," he whispered against her hair, "I must have you as my own."
His possessive words sent a wave of excitement through Jillian.
"But I'll not be compromising you before we're wed. So as much as I regret doing so, I must send you back to your bedchamber. The longer you stay here, especially with you in naught but a shift, the weaker my will becomes." When they reached the door, Kade stopped and drew her back into his arms. "I promise you this, the next time I start making love to you beneath a Highland moon, I'll not be stopping." He kissed her soundly on the mouth before checking the corridor and sending her back to her bedchamber.
***
The next morning, with the feel of Kade's breathtaking kisses lingering on her lips, and a night of very little sleep, Jillian quickly dressed without waiting for one of the ladies' maids to assist her. She still couldn't believe she was soon to become Kade's wife. Jillian couldn't keep from smiling to herself. She shivered as she tried to imagine what the physical aspect of being wed to him really entailed. Jillian could hardly wait to find out.
She stepped out of her bedchamber and met her mother waddling down the corridor. With the bairn due in a couple of months, her belly had become quite large. Even so, her steps usually had a spring in them, but not this morning. She ambled slowly toward Jillian, her hands on her back.
"Good morn, Mother. I trust that you slept well?"
"Aye, I did. But now my back is aching. I appreciate Lady Aggie's kindness and wonderful hospitality," she whispered, "but I'll be glad to once again sleep in my own bed. Much thanks for asking." She looked at Jillian for a moment, then smiled. "I cannot help but wonder, daughter, what has put that blush in your cheeks and that smile on your face this fine morn?" her mother said, raising an eyebrow.
Jillian hugged her. "Och, the most wonderful thing has happened. Kade wishes to marry me and is going to ask Papa's permission this very morning."
Her mother smiled, squeezing Jillian's hand. "I don't think I need to ask how you feel about that, now do I, dear?"
"I'm so very happy. Come, we must hurry," she said, barely containing her excitement as she ushered her mother toward the stairs. When they reached the lower floor, and started across the great hall, they stopped. Shouting between her father and Kade reached them from the library. They appeared to be in a heated argument. What had gone wrong? Surely her father wouldn't have turned Kade down—would he?
Jillian trembled and tears welled up in her eyes until she could hardly see. With her mother close behind, she hurried across the room, arriving just in time to see Kade exiting the library. He slammed the door hard behind him.
"Kade, what has happened?" Jillian asked, swallowing the sob that rose in her throat.
His gaze lit on her and his features softened. He moved to where she stood, stopping so close his breath warmed her face. But instead of giving her the answer she sought, he gently brushed his fingers across her cheek and gazed at her with such longing she could no longer keep her tears at bay.
"I have to go, lass," he whispered, his dark eyes full of despair and anguish. He dropped his hand to his side and exited the castle without another word.
Jillian's body seemed to belong to someone else as she numbly moved to the window where she could see Kade, and dropped her forehead against the cold glass. Her sense of loss was beyond the tears that slowly found their way down her cheeks. She watched him cross the snow-covered courtyard and disappear into the stables. Jillian slid to the floor, and buried her face in her hands. Sobs racked her body, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Jilly, come with me." Her mother took her hand. "We must speak with your father and Laird MacLachlan."
She rose from the floor and let her mother lead her to the library, where she knocked none too gently on the door.
Laird MacLachlan opened it and stepped aside to let them enter. "Lady MacRae, Lady Jillian, please, come in and sit down." He closed the door behind them.
Her father stood in front of the fireplace, his arms crossed and his face red. He looked more uncomfortable than Jillian had ever remembered seeing him.
"Husband," her mother said stiffly.
Her father raised a brow.
"What has happened here?"
Before he could answer, Laird MacLachlan stepped in. "Lass," he said to Jillian. "I'd like naught more than to have you wed my son, but under the current circumstances, 'tis impossible."
"Papa, what is Laird MacLachlan speaking of? What circumstances?"
Her father clasped his hands behind his back. "Jilly." He sighed heavily. "I couldn't allow you to wed Kade, because you're already betrothed to Innes Ramsey. The contract was signed two weeks ago. The marriage is to take place as soon as he returns from France—the end of next month."
In her present state of mind, Jillian didn't comprehend what he was saying. Then it became all too clear. "Why would you not ask my opinion of a man who'd be sharing my life as well as my bed? Just when were you going to tell me, Papa? I care naught for Innes as a man, and care even less for him as a husband. He's not the man you or Laird Ramsey thinks he is." She turned to her mother. "You knew of this, and kept it from me?"
Her mother slowly shook her head. "Nay, daughter, I did not. I'm afraid your father neglected to also tell me."
"Enough!" Her father's voice boomed against the walls and ceiling. "Innes may not be who you'd have chosen to marry, Jilly, but I made a decision that I believed to be in your best interest. I'll not be destroying the good MacRae name by reneging on a marriage contract that I agreed upon."
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Shaking her head in disbelief, Jillian backed toward the door, and ran from the room.
Beneath a Highland Moon
Gwyn Brodie
Chapter One
Scottish Highlands, June 1602
As the first light of dawn spread across the Highlands, screams, shouts and sounds of blade striking blade echoed along the corridors of Lochstorm Castle. Heart pounding, Lady Jillian MacRae ran from her bedchamber to her four-year-old brother's nursery. Ian was all she had left.
Winnie, Ian's nursemaid, and Jillian's before, slung open the nursery door. Her white hair stuck out in all directions from beneath her blue nightcap. "M'lady we're under siege," she whispered, with her brown eyes wide and her voice shaking.
Jillian grasped the old woman's hands in hers, feeling them tremble even more than her own. "Listen to me, Winnie; we must hide Ian in the old tunnels." Jillian hurried to the nursery fireplace and felt beneath the stones near the floor until she found the hidden latch that opened the panel that led there. She tugged on it, but it refused to budge. A wave of fear washed over her. "Hurry to Father's bedchamber and gain access there. Don't let them find Ian."
Winnie nodded. "I'll protect the bairn with m'own life, m'lady."
"I ken you would, at that." She hurried to where her brother sat on the edge of his bed, sleepily rubbing his eyes. "Ian, you are to go with Winnie and you must be very, very quiet."
"Jilly, are you not coming with us?" Ian asked, as she helped him into his slippers, his thin, blond b
rows furrowed with concern.
Jillian gently brushed back a mass of blond curls—so like her own—and kissed him on the forehead. "Nay, sweeting, there is something I must do," she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. She didn't wish to frighten him any more than she already had. Jillian wrapped him in a blanket. "Do what Winnie tells you, Ian, understand?"
He nodded.
"Good lad. Hurry, Winnie, before they begin to search the castle."
"Aye, m'lady," she said, and quickly headed down the corridor, tugging Ian along behind her.
He glanced back at Jillian and his eyes glistened with tears. It almost broke her heart. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying and forced a smile, hoping to ease his fear.
Jillian hurried down the corridor to her bedchamber, realizing that the fighting down below had stopped and the castle had once again become silent—too silent. She prayed most of its occupants had found a place to hide, and that was exactly what Jillian wished she could do, go and hide with Winnie and Ian and let someone else be in charge. But with her father's recent death from a riding accident whilst on a hunting trip, it'd been left up to Jillian to take care of Lochstorm, and that was what she intended to do. Why had Roderick, her father's sword bearer and longtime friend, not come to warn her? Mayhap everything had happened too quickly and he hadn't had the chance. He could've been captured by the intruders or worse yet—killed. Refusing to believe the latter, she prayed that her guards had been the ones to get the upper hand, and the interlopers now sat in the dungeon.
Trembling, she ran into her room and closed the door behind her. She was surprised to see that Abby, her young ladies' maid, still lay on her pallet fast asleep. "Abby, wake up," Jillian said, shaking her.
The girl sat up and blinked. "M'lady, is something amiss?"
"We're under siege!"
"God help us, m'lady!" Abby leapt to her feet and quickly gathered Jillian's clothing.
Jillian had known that it wouldn't take long for Gordon MacRae, her father's distant cousin, to show up once he learned of her father's death. He'd always coveted the position of Baron of Lochstorm that had belonged to her father. The title was now Ian's, and that was where her worry lay. If something should happen to him, Gordon would be next in line to inherit. She didn't ken exactly what he was up to, but she intended to find out soon enough.
After Abby had helped her dress, Jillian slid her sgian dubh into her bodice for protection. "Abby, go to the servants' quarters and stay there until I send for you."
"Aye, m'lady," she said hurrying away. Abby suddenly stopped and turned around. "M'lady, have a care."
"Aye, I will. Now go, and tell the others to stay put."
Jillian left her bedchamber and headed for the stairs. As she started to descend, she paused on the first step to listen. The murmuring of many male voices waffled up from below, but she was unable to understand what they said. Slowly she crept further down the stairs, stopping midway to listen again. The voices were clearer now, but she recognized none of them. Jillian began to shake, as fearful images of what she would find raced through her mind. A wave of apprehension swept through her and she hesitated, before taking that last step onto the floor.
As she entered the great hall, she noticed several strange men leaning along the outer wall of the castle, whilst others sat at the tables keeping the servant girls busy filling their cups with mead. A few of them tended fresh wounds she guessed came from the earlier skirmish with her own guards. Jillian quickly estimated there to be at least thirty or more.
She stifled a gag from the stench of so many unwashed bodies in one room. That—along with the scent of fresh blood—made Jillian nauseous. Even the sweet aroma of the fresh rushes strewn about the floor didn't help the assault on her senses. She'd expected to find many dead or injured men lying about. There were none of either, but in several places along the floor a great deal of blood had soaked into the rushes. She prayed that it belonged to none of her own. She felt as if a hand had suddenly closed around her throat. Never had she felt so alone.
When she walked further into the room, all eyes fell upon her and a wave of panic washed over her. She looked at each of them as she passed, searching for a familiar face. But Jillian knew none of them save one, and she'd but seen him twice in her life. Her earlier assumption had been correct. This band of intruders was being led by none other than Gordon MacRae. And Jillian didn't have to guess at the reason he'd come. She already knew it to be the title.
Ignoring the lecherous taunts and rude gestures being tossed about the room, she continued on until she stood directly in front of Gordon—sitting in her papa's favorite place beside the fire. Anger welled up in Jillian at seeing him there. His black hair, beginning to gray, hung near to his shoulders and a thick beard of the same hue covered the lower portion of his face. His eyes were the exact blue green color as her father's—the only thing the man before her and Angus MacRae had ever held in common.
Seething with mounting rage, she spat out, "What have you done with my guards, and where is Roderick, my father's sword bearer?"
Gordon MacRae's mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile. "Your guards are in the dungeon, and as for your sword bearer, he should be arriving here at any moment," he said with a smirk of satisfaction.
Her temper flared and her hands closed into fists. "The dungeon!" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You had no right to do such a thing, especially if some of them need a healer. Release them at once!" Jillian shouted, her voice sounding shakier to her ears than she would have liked.
He threw back his head and roared with laughter, which was followed up by the same response from the others.
"Calm yourself, woman," Gordon said, with a wave of his hand. "Such minor injuries as the ones they acquired will heal with time. I gave strict orders that no one be killed—unless absolutely necessary, of course."
She glared at him. "Somehow I find that hard to believe."
"Why?" he asked, raising his brows. "After all, 'tis MacRae blood that courses through my veins as well. As for releasing your guards, that depends on what your answer will be after I make you a proposition—one that I feel will best suit the both of us, as well as your much younger brother."
Jillian crossed her arms and glared at him. "What sort of proposition?" she asked, wondering what the devil he was up to. It made her especially nervous that he'd included Ian.
Instead of answering her question, he rose from his seat and looked past her. "Och, here comes your sword bearer now."
Jillian turned to find Roderick limping toward them, escorted on either side by one of Gordon's men, his belted plaid and shirt heavily soiled with blood. He'd been stripped of his weapons, but even without them he'd obviously put up a good fight, judging from the many cuts and bruises that each man carried about his face. With a height of almost six feet and a muscular build, if there'd been but one opponent, he most certainly would've come out on top, but with two massive men the size of these, he'd not had much of a chance. His cheeks were bruised above his beard and his right eye almost swollen shut. His long, red hair was matted with blood from a wound to his forehead. Blood from a cut on his right hand dripped from his fingertips. She hurried to his side. "Roderick, you're badly injured. Your wounds must be tended immediately."
"Nay, m'lady, I'm afraid at the moment we've more important worries than my meager injuries."
As his words slowly sank in, a chill slithered down her spine. She had to find out what Gordon had on his mind. Jillian already knew that whatever 'twas, it couldn't be good.
She turned to once again face Gordon. "Since you're here at Lochstorm, I gather you've learned of my father's recent death." Talking about her father, Jillian could hardly keep back the tears. But she could show no weakness in front of this man—and she didn't intend to. Regaining control of her emotions, she continued. "If Angus MacRae were alive today, you'd never have had the courage to walk in here—with or without these men to back you."
Roderick
coughed hard and she glanced over at him. He quickly shook his head and she realized he was afraid she might say too much.
Gordon crossed his arms, letting his gaze travel slowly over her, lingering far more than a moment on her chest. "I see that you've not only inherited your mother's exquisite beauty, but your father's sharp tongue as well. Since you and not your husband, are the one standing before me, I'm left to assume you're not wed. Of what age are you?"
Jillian knew that by her age most girls in the Highlands would've been wed for some time, many with several children already around their feet. After her mother had died giving birth to Ian, Jillian had become the only mother he'd ever known. There'd been no more time in her life for romantic notions or thoughts of marriage.
She looked to be much younger than her actual age and thought about lying to Gordon, but decided that it wouldn't matter to him how young she happened to be. "A score and two years," she answered him.
He raised an eyebrow. "At your age I'd expect you to have been wed long ago. Are you betrothed?"
Jillian stiffened. She didn't like the idea of his prying into her affairs—past or present. "Not that 'tis any of your concern, but aye, I was betrothed a few years past. He was killed in a skirmish before we were wed. What do such questions have to do with why you're at Lochstorm?"
His mouth took on an unpleasant twist. "It has naught to do with my arrival, but I'm beginning to see an added bonus in coming here. You're a strikingly beautiful woman, Jillian. And as I no longer have a wife and you have no husband, mayhap I'll wed you myself."
Jillian gasped, a icy shiver of panic chilled her at the disturbing thought of what being wed to a man like him would entail.
"I'd wager you'd do much more for a man than just keep his bed warm," he said, his eyes raking boldly over her. A new wave of lewd remarks and snickering echoed through the room.
She put her hands on her hips. "I've no interest in marrying you, Gordon MacRae, nor any other man at the moment," she responded sharply. "My interest lies in knowing what reason has brought you here this morn."