The Highlander’s Heart

by Forester, Amanda

  “I recall once I got stuck in a tight place and both my legs went numb,” said Campbell. “When I tried to walk again it hurt like blazes. ’Course it was my own fault for hiding there.”

  “This was your fault for not bringing me a chair,” Isabelle blurted. The comment was woefully impolite, but pain had turned all her words sharp, so she had limited options from which to choose. She gritted her teeth. “I beg your pardon. Please, go on. Why were you hiding?”

  “I hid in a small cupboard in my father’s chambers. He was having a meeting with the Douglas, and I verra much wanted to hear what was said.”

  “You fit in a cupboard?” Isabelle could not get beyond that statement without astonishment.

  Campbell laughed. “Aye, at twelve I was a scrawny thing. Dinna look too promising to tell ye the truth. My father was talking to the Douglas about my fostering with him. I supposed he hoped it would make a man o’ me.”

  “So you hid in a cupboard for that?”

  “Nay. I hid because they were also going to negotiate the betrothal between me and one of Douglas’s daughters. I was verra interested, or perhaps I should say terrified, wi’ the prospect of getting married.”

  “Seems you have done an admirable job of avoiding the married state. So you are betrothed to Douglas’s daughter?”

  “Aye and nay,” said Campbell. Isabelle waited to see if he would explain. She took another step with an involuntary whimper.

  “My sire was always close with Douglas. Fought wi’ him against the English bastards, forgive the phrase.” Campbell added. “I fostered wi’ him for several years as a lad. He taught me to fight as a knight. Taught me to fight to win too. The two being no’ always the same, ye ken. My father wanted me to form an alliance wi’ the Douglas clan, but my mother had other plans. She wanted me to form an alliance wi’ her kin, the Stewarts. Ye ken that Stewart is currently the Steward of Scotland in the absence of King David who was captured by your king?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  “Well, because my parents could not agree, the betrothal was ne’er formalized wi’ the Church. It remains a more informal agreement between my sire and the Douglas.”

  “And you are also pledged to the granddaughter of the steward.”

  Campbell looked down at her with a sharp eye. “How do ye ken that?”

  Isabelle swallowed hard. “Ye told me just now.”

  “Nay, I dinna speak of his granddaughter. How do ye ken about the steward?” Campbell stopped and released her waist, forcing her to stand on her own legs.

  Isabelle cried out and reached to him for support. “I… I…”

  Even in the dim light, Isabelle could identify the moment of realization on his face.

  “Ye were on the ledge long. Ye heard my conversation wi’ the steward in Glasgow.” It was not a question.

  “Aye, ow!” said Isabelle, wondering at the strange word coming out of her mouth. She was even starting to sound like one of them. She grabbed his arm and he put it around her once more, supporting her legs, drawing her close.

  “’Twas not a conversation meant for anyone else’s ears.” His voice was low with warning.

  “I did not intend to overhear anything. I just wanted to get away.”

  “And instead ye landed in my bed.”

  Isabelle inhaled sharply. Pressed against him, her skin turned hot.

  He continued on. “We discussed things which could prove dangerous to yer health were ye ever to reveal them, ye ken?”

  “I will be discreet as always.” Isabelle attempted to change the subject. “Tell me, how did you come to be so entangled with two ladies?”

  “My father arranged an informal betrothal with Douglas, everyone knows that. Trouble is, my mother secretly made arrangements with the steward for me to wed his granddaughter, leaving me wi’ two brides.”

  “That is awkward,” said Isabelle. It was all starting to make more sense. “Should not your father’s wishes take precedence?”

  Campbell snorted and began to stroll around the courtyard with Isabelle once more. “Ye clearly ne’er met my mother. Aye, perhaps my father’s wishes should be considered first, but both the Douglas and Stewart clans are powerful and both expect me to form an alliance with their clan.”

  “So you need to choose a side.”

  “Aye, but how to do so without starting a clan war? With King David captured, both the Douglas and Stewart fight for control of Scotland. Whoever I choose may tip the balance in their favor.”

  “Is one cause more just?”

  “I fostered wi’ Douglas. I would stand wi’ him in any battle. Yet I fear he has become greedy for power, and may be tempted to make an unholy alliance wi’ the English king in order to gain power and land. Yet Stewart also seeks power, and I ken he has verra little desire to see our King David return.”

  “What will you do?”

  Campbell looked up at the stars that covered the sky. A dense cluster of stars formed a gleaming path across the black night sky. “It would be easier if the correct choice was laid out before me so I could discern the right path, but I dinna ken which clan to choose, and I sorely wish I did.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make the right choice when the time comes,” said Isabelle with true conviction. She was confident he would always do the right thing.

  “Thank ye. I would ask for yer discretion, the choice before me is no’ widely known.”

  Isabelle nodded.

  “How are yer legs feeling?”

  At that moment Isabelle realized she was walking on her own, her arm linked with his. He had distracted her through the process and she was able to walk without pain. She also realized that he had shared something personal, something which left him vulnerable. It was a gift. Something in return for the pain he had caused her. She smiled at him.

  “Thank you, Laird Campbell. I am well again.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her closer than he needed to, and walked back into the keep.

  Isabelle was at peace. Rabbie had recovered. Campbell had forgiven her. All would be well. Her stomach rumbled a loud protest that all was not entirely well.

  “How long has it been since we last ate?” asked Campbell. He led her quietly into the great hall, the servants still sleeping on their makeshift pallets on the floor and tables.

  Isabelle honestly could not remember. “We have fasted long.”

  Campbell’s stomach rumbled in reply. “Aye, time to break our fast, and get some rest.”

  Isabelle smiled as he led her to the kitchens. She was ravenous. Sitting at a long, wooden table in the kitchen, worn smooth from use over the years, Isabelle was eager for whatever Campbell could find.

  He dropped some day-old wheat trenchers and a jug of ale on the table. Isabelle grabbed the bread and stuffed it into her mouth. Never had an old trencher tasted so good. Campbell followed and ate much. Neither spoke as they filled their empty bellies.

  Isabelle sighed with contentment. “I should like to get some sleep now, unless you feel you must bind me to a post for the safety of your clan.”

  Campbell averted his eyes and had the decency to look sheepish. “I confess my reasons for binding ye were no’ entirely to protect the clan.”

  “No?”

  Campbell sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I wanted ye near.” His eyes met hers. “I needed ye near.”

  Something warm melted through Isabelle, taking all rational thought with her. She should be furious. She chose to be flattered. “’Twas very wrong of you.” Her chastisement might have carried more weight had the smile not gave away her truer feelings.

  “I most humbly apologize.”

  “Will you agree to help plead my case to the bishop as a sign of contrition?”

  “Aye, when I have settled things here.”

  Isabelle lunged across the table and hugged Campbell around the neck. “Thank you! Thank you so much! Now I do not have to try to escape again.”

  “Escape again?” Campbell di
sentangled himself and walked around the table toward her, pulling her up by her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length. “Now dinna ye be causing any more trouble here.”

  “Me? Trouble?” Isabelle slowly wrapped her arms around Campbell again and sighed with contentment as he wrapped his large arms around her. She breathed in deep and laid her head against his chest. He smelled of wood smoke and a musky scent that was all his own. It was intoxicating. She breathed deep again and closed her eyes, fatigue claiming her.

  Campbell patted her gently on the back. “Naught but trouble. I knew it the instant I realized ye were English.”

  He picked up the sleeping form of Lady Tynsdale in his arms and took her upstairs. He paused at the door that led to the ladies’ sleeping quarters. He should put her in there somewhere. Except, he rationalized, if he did he would wake all the ladies and they certainly must need their sleep. Surely it would be best to take her upstairs to bed.

  His bed.

  Thirty-One

  Isabelle drifted somewhere between dreaming and waking. A sense of comfort she had never before experienced wrapped her with its warmth, seeping into her very bones. Every muscle relaxed, leaving her like jelly. Happy, warm jelly.

  “Isabelle,” whispered a familiar voice.

  Isabelle’s eyes flew open. Where was she? She brushed aside some soft fur blankets and propped herself up on one elbow. David Campbell murmured, snuggled closer to her, and continued to sleep.

  “David?” She was in bed with David Campbell? She sat upright. Pale sunlight filtered through linen drapes, revealing the undeniable truth. On one wall of the bedchamber was the large family crest. On the opposite wall was an impressive arsenal of weapons hanging from brackets. His large claymore was there, along with many other sharp implements, all looking more deadly than the next. Charming. She sat farther up in the bed, piled high with soft fur pelts. She was in bed with David Campbell!

  What had happened? How had she got here? She remembered nothing. Did they… ? Surely they had not… It was not possible to sleep through that, was it? Was it?

  “David?” she whispered.

  His breathing was slow and steady. His face, for once, was relaxed, no frown lines marring his appearance. He was simply beautiful in the morning light, a promise of a smile on his inviting lips.

  “David.” She gave him a little nudge. Nothing happened so she gave him a proper shake.

  David grunted, rolled over, and began to snore. Isabelle rolled her eyes. So much for romantic.

  What should she do now? Should she stay? Memories of their night in the inn rushed through her with a hot wave of desire. He snored louder. She waited for him to wake. He started to drool.

  He was certainly exhausted. Had they…? Isabelle jumped from the bed and fanned herself with her hand, trying to cool down a sudden hot flash. She found she was still fully dressed. So they probably had not… except skirts are rather easy to lift… but surely she would remember…

  “Bother!” She still didn’t have the right words for the occasion. She found her shoes on the floor and stomped to the door, half expecting to find herself locked in. She was not. She opened the door, walked through and slammed it shut behind her. She made herself jump at the sound. He must be awake now. He must. Should she run?

  Slowly, her heart pounding in her chest, she opened the heavy oak door and peeked inside the room. He still slept. She took a deep breath and closed the door, placing her hand on the cool stones on the castle wall, then placed her hand on her forehead, trying to cool down.

  He was an impossible man. He had her all hot and flustered and he was not even awake! She was pathetic.

  Isabelle slunk down to the women’s quarters. No one was in the room except Cait, who sat on the window seat, her head bent over her embroidery. She was different from the last time Isabelle had seen her, smaller, her shoulders more rounded, her eyes swollen and red.

  “Ye have returned,” said Cait, without looking up.

  “Er… I was… Rabbie and the chapel and…”

  “We thought ye had gone back to England.”

  “Oh, yes! I did try. My plans went a bit awry.”

  Cait gave her a half smile that did not reach her eyes. “Me too.”

  “Are you… well, Cait?” Isabelle took a few tentative steps toward her.

  Cait shook her head. “David is holding Andrew and he winna listen to me. Andrew dinna abduct me. He is innocent and David is going to kill him.” Fresh tears spilled down well-worn tracks on Cait’s face.

  “Oh, Cait.” Isabelle sat next to her on the window seat. “I am so sorry, but who is Andrew to you?”

  “He is… he is… my friend.”

  Isabelle took Cait’s hand. “Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help.”

  Cait told Isabelle about being kidnapped by Archie McNab and then meeting Andrew. Cait described her relationship with Andrew as a friendship, but her occasional breathy sighs and surreptitious tears were not fooling Isabelle.

  “So Andrew McNab would take you riding?”

  “Aye,” said Cait with a smile that lit her face. “He took me to the nicest places. One place had a remarkable vantage, a lovely view.” Her face fell and she looked at the floor. “That is where they found us,” she added softly.

  “Sounds like you did not wish to be found,” suggested Isabelle softly.

  Cait continued to look at the floor. “He was… verra kind. I looked forward to his visits.”

  “He touched your heart.”

  Cait looked up at Isabelle with searching eyes. “He asked me to marry him.”

  “Oh,” said Isabelle, trying to stifle a gasp.

  Cait was instantly wary. “No one believes me, I dinna ken why I bother talking at all. I can see ye disapprove too.”

  “No, well, have you thought that he might have wooed you to try to get your dowry. Sometimes people can be less than sincere if it would mean their own enrichment.”

  “But that’s the thing no one understands. I switched places with my lady’s maid and everyone, including Andrew, thought I was Alys.” Cait frowned, causing tiny worry lines to appear on her forehead. “Poor Alys, she is still a prisoner.”

  “Poor Alys, indeed.”

  “David will get her back.”

  “I am certain of it.” Isabelle nodded, that much she knew of David Campbell.

  “The point is, Andrew wanted to wed me when he believed me to be nothing more than a lady-in-waiting. He truly loves me!”

  Isabelle pondered for a moment. “And you? How do you feel about him?”

  Cait looked at her with large, liquid eyes. “I love him. Indeed, I do.”

  “And Campbell is going to try him for the crime of abducting you?”

  Cait’s bottom lip trembled. “Which he did not do. He is innocent.”

  “Forgive me, but I could not help but overhear. Did Campbell not say that Andrew had confessed to the crime?”

  “I dinna ken why he would say that. It wasna him. It was his brother, Archie.”

  “Well then,” said Isabelle thinking fast. “We should try to find him and ask him.”

  Cait’s face brightened and she smiled a big grin, even as the tears continued to fall. “Would ye? Would ye help me?”

  “I would be honored to help you,” said Isabelle and gave Cait’s hand a squeeze. Even as she did so, she had a pang of guilt that this was exactly the type of behavior Campbell had considered locking her in the dungeon to prevent. Isabelle shook her head to dispel the notion. She had told him she would not try to escape. She had never mentioned anything about not helping Cait.

  “Thank ye, Isabelle. I kenned ye were a true friend the moment I met ye. Except… why are ye wearing that ugly thing?”

  ***

  Isabelle followed Cait to the entrance of the prison, which was carved into the rock below the storeroom on the western wall of the castle. Cait had helped her dress in one of her old gowns. Despite its age, it was a relief to be back in a silk. Compared to the
wool kirtle, it was heaven. Isabelle was also careful about her headdress, making sure all her hair was swept up under the lace snood. She may not be respectable anymore, but at least she wanted to look the part.

  “Do ye think Andrew is well? What if he hates me now that he knows who I am?” Cait’s eyes opened wide and she clutched her hands to her breast. “What if he blames me for what David did to him? Why do ye suppose he took the blame for my abduction? But how will we get into the prison? Do ye think he is well?”

  Noting the circular and repetitive course of Cait’s speech, Isabelle stopped listening and focused her attention on the one relevant question Cait had asked. How were they going to get into the dungeon to see Andrew McNab?

  The door to the storeroom was open a crack, allowing the ladies an opportunity to peek into the room. Besides the stacks of barrels and other stores one would expect to find, there was a young guard sitting on a barrel, humming a jaunty tune.

  “How do we get past him?” whispered Cait.

  “Just follow my lead,” Isabelle whispered back, hoping she could devise a plan in the five seconds it would take them to cross the room to where the lad was sitting. Isabelle opened the door.

  “Halt! Who goes there?” called the guard before either of them could set a foot in the room. Isabelle rolled her eyes. Not even five seconds! So unfair.

  “My, but you are assiduous in your duty,” said Isabelle, entering the room.

  The guard blinked and gave her a blank look.

  “Ye do yer job verra well,” said Cait with a winning smile. Her pale blond hair was loose, a simple gauzy veil framing her face. Even with her eyes swollen and red, she still was a lovely creature.

  The guard snapped his focus to Cait and gave her a slow, warm smile and a low bow.

  “Has your prisoner given you any trouble?” asked Isabelle.

  “Nay, no’ him. He’s been quiet enough. Want me to rough him up a bit, Lady Cait? He deserves nothing less after what he’s done to ye.”

  Cait grabbed Isabelle’s hand so hard Isabelle had to grit her teeth to avoid screaming.