The Highlander’s Heart

by Forester, Amanda

  David slowly caressed up her back, and threaded his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck. He snuggled down until his lips claimed hers. He moved with slow, purposeful movements, deepening the kiss. Isabelle held on and pressed him tighter, wanting more.

  The buzzing in her ears grew louder and her whole body hummed along with it. Vibrations coursed through her, tingling her skin, curling her toes. A thrumming tension was building deep inside her. She ran her hand up and down his back, pressing him to her, rolling him on top of her. She needed him closer. She needed him. Husband and wife, joined forever.

  He responded with slow determination, ignoring her urgency, caressing her body with long, smooth strokes. Isabelle’s head fell back and she grabbed him tighter, he was driving her mad. Cruel man. The humming became a throbbing, a tension coiling within her, demanding release. She feared she might be torn asunder by the force of what was building inside her. She cared not, she wanted more.

  Isabelle arched upward with her hips, and this time David’s response was not measured. He growled low and hungry and quickened his pace and power. David’s muscles flexed and rippled under her fingers, his skin slick with sweat. The throbbing became pounding, tense, reaching, stretching, until shock waves radiated through her and she shattered into slivers of light. Weightless and floating, she was one with the stars. She was in heaven… until her husband collapsed on top of her.

  “David… can’t breathe,” gasped Isabelle.

  “Och, sorry, lass.” David rolled off her and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to him. “I apologize to ye. I so much wanted to make this good for ye… different than, well, but I lost control. I’ve ne’er wanted anything the way I wanted ye. Next time I’ll try harder not to let my base nature get the best o’ me.”

  “David Campbell, you take that back or I’ll never let you in my bed again!”

  David blinked and stared at her. “So ye were no’ displeased?”

  “Foolish man, ye rarely get anything right… except that.”

  “Well… well then.” David closed his eyes, a happy smile on his lips.

  “You are mine. Now and forever,” said Isabelle.

  “Ye keep stealing my lines,” complained David, without opening his eyes.

  Isabelle smiled a warm, sleepy grin. “I beg your pardon, sir. Do continue.”

  “Ye are mine. Now and e’er.”

  “You are right. I like it even better when you say it.” Isabelle snuggled into her husband, laying her head on his chest. She closed her eyes, unable to hold them open.

  “Aye, I’m right. Now ye’re sounding like a proper wife.” David braced himself for her retort, but Isabelle was already asleep. “My wife,” he murmured and breathed deep.

  ***

  Isabelle jerked awake to the loudest howl she had ever heard.

  “Arrrgghhh!”

  What was that? Isabelle sat up. Before her was an unexpected sight. David Campbell stood stark naked in the middle of the tower. His eyes bulged from his head, his face was frozen in fear. He started screaming again.

  “Hush!” Isabelle stood, but realizing she was in much the same attire as he, dropped back down to grab a blanket. “Hush now, you’re fine. You’ll be waking the dead now.”

  “W-what. Why am I here?” Campbell started howling again.

  “Oh hush now!” Isabelle just got his plaid around him when his brothers rushed up the stairs and burst onto the tower. “Help me get him down.”

  “Why is he up here?” asked Dain, his mouth open wide.

  “We were desirous of our privacy; could you help him down?”

  “I canna believe ye got him up here,” said Gill.

  “Truly amazing,” said Finn.

  His brothers surrounded him, and gradually edged him down the tower stairs and into his chamber. David spent much of the journey with his hands over his eyes.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” Isabelle told his brothers as they moved to leave.

  “How did ye do it, m’lady? How did ye get him on the tower?” asked Hamish.

  “As I said, we wished for our privacy.”

  “He must feel for ye something fierce to go up to the tower.” Dain shook his head. The brothers stood staring at her.

  Isabelle felt herself blush under the scrutiny of David’s brothers, becoming painfully conscious that she wore nothing under the blanket wrapped around her.

  “I’m glad ye decided to be on our side, m’lady.” Dain bowed low.

  “M’lady.” Gill and Finn bowed as one. Hamish too, paying his respect.

  Isabelle smiled. They had accepted her. Life was good.

  Epilogue

  Alnsworth Castle

  Two months later…

  “Well,” said Isabelle. “’Tis a shame, to be sure.”

  “What’s that, my love?” asked Campbell, reclining near the hearth, his feet propped up on a stool by the dancing flames.

  “I’ve been banished from England.” Isabelle stared at the parchment as if to make the words change their meaning.

  “Good news to ye! I always knew ye was a Scot.”

  “I am in earnest, the king has taken a severe dislike to me and this marriage.”

  “Your once and former king does’na dislike ye, ’tis me he despises, which is only fair since I return his regard in full.”

  “But I find it very likely that he will mount an attack against us, to win Alnsworth back to the English crown.”

  “Aye, he may at that. But soon he will be fighting on many fronts when the Scots attack in the north and the French continue to harass him from the south. He may have better things to do wi’ his troops, but if he comes, the harvest is in. We are ready.”

  It had been one month since Campbell and a small force had taken Alnsworth. Despite the loss of Simon, Alnsworth Castle was well-defended. It would have been a long siege had Isabelle not shown them the secret entrance. It was over in less than a few hours with very little effort or bloodshed. Campbell stretched back in his chair. His duty now was to maintain the keep and see to his wife. It was important that she bring a child soon, so as to seal their marriage. He was a man devoted to his duty.

  “There is another message from the courier, this one from Cait.”

  “How much does she want?” Though Campbell had insisted that Cait and Andrew stay at Innis Chonnel where his clan could keep an eye on them, Cait was in frequent communication with Alys regarding the state of the McNab clan and had fully embraced her status in that clan, taking their cause as her own.

  “Cait is doing well. She writes that Andrew is training with your brothers and he plans to join the French in their war against the English. Many other clans are joining in their cause. Swayed by French coin, I warrant.”

  Campbell gave her a lopsided grin. “The Scots have ne’er needed much excuse to go to war wi’ the English.”

  Isabelle shrugged, a habit she had picked up from Campbell. “True enough.”

  “What does Cait want now?”

  “Are you not concerned with her welfare? What makes you think she only writes to ask for something?”

  “Isabelle, how much is it this time?”

  Isabelle scowled. “Thirty chickens and forty head sheep.”

  “Thirty chickens! Forty sheep! Is she daft? I dinna ken what’s possessed the lass.”

  Isabelle smiled, knowing Campbell would loudly deny and bemoan the request, and then quietly comply with much of what Cait asked and send the goods to help the McNabs. “You’re a good man, David Campbell.”

  David paused in midcomplaint and took a deep breath. He rose and walked to Isabelle, taking her hand. “’Tis nice o’ ye to finally notice the truth o’ it. Time for bed, my love.”

  Isabelle yawned.

  “Hardly the response I was hoping for,” Campbell said dryly.

  “I beg your pardon, I do not know why I am so tired. I am sleepy all the time.”

  “Tired or not,” Campbell said with a grin, “’tis our
duty to get ye breeding. And I am no’ a man who shirks his responsibilities.”

  “Ah, if that’s all you want, you can let me rest. Your task is completed.”

  Campbell raised an eyebrow. “I dinna ken.”

  Isabelle smiled at his befuddled face and took both his hands in hers. “You have completed your responsibilities to me. I am with child.”

  Campbell’s face broke into a look of wonder. “Truly? We are going to have a wee bairn?”

  “I’m not sure about a ‘bairn,’ but I hope to give you a baby.”

  “Isabelle!” Campbell grabbed her and twirled her around, laughing. “Och, nay, I forget myself.” He put her back down awkwardly and held her gently. “I love ye so, my Isabelle.”

  “I love you too, David.” Isabelle rested her head against his shoulder, feeling his warmth.

  “I am afraid I lied to ye,” said Campbell.

  Isabelle jerked her head up. “About what?”

  “I dinna bed ye just to get ye wi’ child.”

  Isabelle lay her head back down. “Oh, that.”

  “I’m sorry to say I enjoyed every minute.”

  “I guessed as much.”

  Campbell kept one arm around her waist as he guided Isabelle to the door leading to their bedchamber. “So how tired are ye?”

  “Verra tired,” said Isabelle in an exaggerated Scottish brogue.

  “Now ye’re talking like a Scot, and we are known for our endurance.”

  “Are you now?”

  “Aye, and our pathetic begging if our wives deny us. But ye woud’na let it come to that, would ye, lass?”

  “That does sound tragic.”

  “Verra tragic. Dinna worrit yerself, just lay back and get some sleep, I promise to wake ye for the good part.”

  Isabelle giggled. “You are charity itself.”

  Campbell leaned down and kissed her, his lips moving gently over hers. Gradually, he deepened the kiss, until she clung to him for balance, all thoughts of sleep forgotten.

  “Are ye still tired, my love?”

  “Nay, not at all.”

  David drew her closer and kicked the door closed.

  Author’s Note

  One thing I enjoy about writing historical fiction is doing the research. The Highlander’s Heart is set nine years after Scotland’s King David was taken prisoner by England after the disastrous Battle of Neville’s Cross. After years of captivity, King David was ready to make a deal to secure his release, even if it meant naming the English monarch as heir to the Scottish throne. Not surprisingly, the nobles of Scotland did not support such a plan.

  On the eve of a settlement, France entered the picture with a tempting offer. If you have now read The Highlander’s Heart, you perhaps thought I let my imagination run wild by placing French troops in Scotland—but it is all true! The French were currently at war with England (in what was later known as the Hundred Years’ War), and had no interest in seeing peace on the British Isles. So a legion of French knights sailed off to Scotland and offered 40,000 moutons of gold if Scotland would agree to go to war with England.

  The Scots accepted their offer, and in 1355 Scot and French forces invaded northern England. The result was later known as the Burnt Candlemas. I’ll give you a hint—it did not go so well for the Scots. Find out more about this war in my next book, True Highland Spirit, where we discover if feisty Morrigan McNab can ever find true love. Happy reading!

  Read on for a preview of Amanda Forester’s

  True Highland Spirit

  Coming March 2012

  From Sourcebooks Casablanca

  Scotland, 1355

  Morrigan McNab silently drew her short sword, careful to remain hidden from the road. She checked to ensure her black head-scarf was in place, concealing her nose and mouth. The target of today’s villainy clopped toward them through the thick mud. Twelve men were in the mounted party, their rich robes identifying them as wealthy, above the common concerns of daily sustenance… in other words, a perfect mark.

  Concealed by the tree and thick foliage, Morrigan scanned the party for weapons. It appeared to be a hunting party, since all had bows slung across their backs and long knifes at their sides. The dead boar they carried strung between two riders was also a clear sign of a hunt. Despite their alarming arsenal, most looked complacent, paying more attention to the flask they were passing around as they laughed and joked amongst themselves. One man, the one carrying a metal-tipped pike, scanned the woods around him as if he sensed danger.

  Morrigan glanced at her brother Archie, only his eyes visible over the mask he wore. He pointed to her then to the man with the pike. Morrigan narrowed her eyes at her brother. He always gave her the hard ones. Morrigan gave a curt nod and turned her focus back to the pikeman. He looked fit and vigilant. She preferred fat and careless. The war horse was a fine specimen too, tall and strong, trained to stand his ground in battle. It would not be easy to take him down.

  The hunting party clomped closer, and a man walking behind the riders came into view. Morrigan wondered why he was left to slog through the mud behind the hunting party. Many of the horses would carry two men with ease. The walking man was dressed in a worn traveling cloak and a brightly colored tunic with a lyre strapped to his back. He must be a minstrel. Those wealthy hunters must not consider him worthy of a ride. Damn rich bastards.

  Archie gave a bird call, the signal. Morrigan tensed in anticipation, coiled, ready to strike, and counted. The men jumped at twenty; she always leaped at nineteen.

  Morrigan sprung onto the road and charged the man with the pike, screeching like a fey creature from hell. Archie and the men surged into the fray, the men’s shouts blending with the surprised cries of the beset hunting party. The pikeman lowered his weapon toward her with a snarl, but Morrigan dropped to the ground and rolled under the nicely trained war horse, which was obliging enough not to move.

  Regaining her feet on the other side of the horse, she pounded the hilt of her sword into his elbow holding the pike, now fortunately pointed the wrong direction. The man howled in pain, his black teeth showing, and swung to hit her. She anticipated the move, ducked out of the way, grabbed the pike and flipped it out of his hand. She had her sword tip stuck under the edge of his hauberk before the pike sunk into the mud. She applied just enough pressure to give him pause.

  Her fellow bandits had likewise subdued the rest of the party. It was quiet for a moment, an odd silence after the explosion of sounds a moment before that had terrified both man and beast into mute submission.

  “Good afternoon, my fellow travelers.” Archie McNab stood before the hunting party, a scarf covering his nose and mouth. He gave a practiced bow with an added flourish. Morrigan rolled her eyes. Her brother liked to think of himself as a gentleman thief. True, he was laird of his clan, but Morrigan had little tolerance for petty niceties. They were there to rob them. What was the point of being genteel about it?

  “I see ye are burdened wi’ the evils o’ worldly possessions. But ne’er fear, my brethren, we have come to relieve ye o’ yer burdens.”

  Morrigan held out her free hand, hoping the man would readily hand over his pouch of coins like the other wide-eyed members of his party. He did not comply and instead nudged his horse, causing it to step sideways.

  “Grab the reins,” Morrigan commanded a young accomplice. The lad took up the reins of the war horse and holding the animal’s head while Morrigan kept her eyes and her sword on the black-toothed man. He snarled at the lad, who balked and stepped back.

  “Hold its head!” Morrigan snapped. The last thing she needed was this man making trouble.

  “Now if ye fine gentlemen will make a small donation to the fund for wayward highwaymen, we shall set ye on yer way in a trifle,” said Archie.

  On foot, Morrigan mentally added. The warhorse Black-tooth sat upon was a fine specimen. She reckoned she would look better than he on such a fine animal. The rest of the hunting party readily handed over their money pouches
and weapons easily, but not Black-tooth. He glared a silent challenge. Morrigan sighed. For once, just for the novelty of it all, she’d like things to be easy. It was not to be on this day. Not any day, truth be told.

  Morrigan stabbed her mark harder but other than a scowl, he made no move to comply. She could kill the man, but Archie was firm in his orders not to kill unless necessary, and Morrigan had to acknowledge the wisdom of it. Robbing folks was one thing, murder was another. The last thing they needed was a band of Highlanders come to rid the forest of murderous thieves.

  The man still refused to hand over his money bag so Morrigan grabbed the pommel of his saddle with her free hand and put her foot on his in the stirrup and hoisted herself up. It should have been a quick move. She grabbed his purse and pulled it free. Suddenly he shouted and kicked the horse. The lad dropped the reins and the horse lunged forward, throwing Morrigan off balance. One punch from Black-tooth and Morrigan fell back into the mud.

  The black toothed terror charged the horse in front of him, causing the mount to spook and rear. The result was chaos, as the remaining horses broke free, urged on by the hunting party who sensed a chance to break free.

  “Grab the horses, ye fools!” Morrigan jumped up shouting. “They be unarmed, get them ye bastards!”

  But more than one thief, having secured the desired reward, melted back into the shrubbery rather than face the angry hunters. The hunting party broke free and galloped away down the path they had come.

  “Damnation!” Morrigan yelled at her thieving brethren. “What is wrong w’ ye cowardly knaves?”