The Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance

by Trisha Telep

  Isobel’s chest tightened as it did every time she looked upon their sweet faces. Roderick hadn’t mentioned Ewan’s children until they’d arrived at the castle. For Isobel, it had been a welcome surprise. She’d been living at Castle Leod for well over six months now and, recently, Connor and Robbie had taken to calling her mam. The first time they did so she’d been moved to tears. She’d come to love them as if they were her own.

  Isobel ruffled Robbie’s golden curls – a shade lighter than the colour she remembered his father’s to be – about to concede.

  “Mam,” Connor said sternly. “They’re for da, remember?”

  Isobel bit back a laugh at the reproachful look in Connor’s light blue eyes. Connor, who seemed much older than his six years, thought Isobel spoiled Robbie terribly as he was wont to tell her at least twice a day. Noting the quiver in Robbie’s bottom lip, she said, “There’s two. Surely your da wouldna mind if I give you both a wee piece?” With her thumb and forefinger, she indicated the size.

  “Nay, da is a verra braw man. You canna have any, Robbie,” Connor said mulishly.

  “I promise, I’ll make another one on the morrow, Connor.” Isobel prayed the kitchens would not be as hot then. It wouldn’t do to meet her husband in the sorry state she now found herself. She doubted Lorna Mackenzie had ever looked anything short of perfect.

  Upon her arrival at Leod, Isobel had worried how the Mackenzie clan – and more importantly, Ewan’s children – would respond to her. Would they find her lacking? But not once had she’d been made to feel that way. She’d been happy and relieved to be so readily accepted, but couldn’t help wonder why not once in all this time had Lorna been mentioned. From what little she could pry from Roderick – who insisted Isobel call him grandda – she’d learned Robbie had been only one when his mother died. Isobel thought Connor, at least, would have some difficulty accepting her in the role of his mother. He hadn’t. Far from it.

  Roderick had been no more forthcoming in regards to how her betrothal had come about than he’d been about Lorna. She’d mentioned it to her nana, who at her father’s insistence had accompanied Isobel to Leod, but Olivia had simply brushed her worries aside with the admonishment that her second sight had yet to fail her.

  “Nay,” Connor said arms crossed. The sight of his three-year-old brother’s tears not bothering him in the least.

  They bothered Isobel, and she was about to try and cajole Connor into relenting when the side door opened. Roderick, with his trews and tunic rumpled and his shock of white hair standing on end, rushed past her. He came to an abrupt halt and backtracked. Taking her by the shoulders, he kissed her cheek. “Ye’re a grand lass. Ken if I breathe my last this day, I’ve come to love ye most dearly, henny. Ye, too, my bairns. If anyone asks, I’ve been on my deathbed this past week,” he shouted the last over his shoulder as he rushed from the kitchens.

  Barely had Isobel recovered from her surprise when her nana hurried through the door. Olivia’s hair hung loose about her shoulders, bits of heather clinging to her silver locks, her grey gown grass-stained. “Nana, you look like you’ve been rollin’ around in the …” Isobel’s eyes widened as a rosy flush tinted her nana’s face. That was exactly what she’d been doing and she’d been doing it with Roderick! Isobel shouldn’t be surprised, the two of them had been acting like a pair of lovesick fools of late.

  “No time, my bonny, I must see to Roderick.”

  “It appears that the way you’ve been seein’ to the man has just aboot killed …” Isobel rolled her eyes when her nana fled the room.

  “Mam, Robbie stole the cakes!” Connor cried, racing from the kitchens.

  Sweet Mary Mother of God, the heat must be drivin’ them all mad.

  Isobel set off after Connor, certain he’d pummel his brother if he got ahold of him. “Connor, Robbie,” she called out. Rounding the corner, she came to a shocked standstill. Her husband stood in the entry hall, looking every inch the battle-hardened warrior Roderick proudly proclaimed him to be. His grandson’s exploits were the notable exception to Roderick’s reticence. Ewan Mackenzie, majestically tall with broad shoulders and rippling muscles, surveyed his home. Two dark-haired men stood at his back, but Isobel barely registered their presence.

  Ewan’s sapphire gaze came to rest upon her, causing a heart-stopping tremor in her throat. A frisson of heat raced through her and Ewan jerked back, as though he felt the same. He frowned, his eyes roaming her face. She couldn’t drag her gaze from his, mesmerized by his beauty. Time had chiselled away the softness of youth. He looked hard, dangerous, with the dark stubble shadowing his strong jaw. Growing uncomfortable under the intensity of his stare, Isobel ran her tongue over her lips.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth and a slow, sensual smile curved his. “You must be new to Leod. I doona recall seein’ you before and I’d remember if I did.” His voice was low, a seductive purr. The intention of his remark was not lost on Isobel. While a part of her acknowledged his attraction pleased her, the fact that as a married man he’d give his attention to another lass tempered her pleasure – even if that lass was herself.

  “Doona be shy, angel, give me your name,” he cajoled, taking a step towards her.

  “Mam!” Connor raced to her side. Tears streaming down his wee face, he wrapped his arms around her legs. “Robbie ate the cakes. There’s none left for my da,” he sobbed.

  Ewan’s startled eyes jerked from Isobel to his son then back to her. “Who are you?” His blue eyes darkened to black.

  “Isobel—”

  He cut her off with a curse. “Where’s Roderick?” he grated out, ignoring her shocked gasp.

  “His chambers, he’s—”

  “I’m goin’ to kill the meddlin’ bastard,” he roared as he charged up the stairs. The two men who’d stood with him cursed and gave chase.

  Ewan slammed into Roderick’s darkened chambers and crossed to where his grandda lay in the massive four-poster bed with his bedcovers drawn to his chin, his eyes squeezed shut. “Is that ye, laddie?” Roderick asked, raising a feeble hand in Ewan’s direction. “Tell me I’m no’ dreamin’ and my favourite grandson has returned home to me.”

  “I thought I was your favourite,” Callum quipped with a grin.

  Ewan shot his cousin a quelling look then returned his attention to his grandda “Open your damn eyes and you’ll see you’re no’ dreamin’. But when I get through with you, you’ll wish you were.”

  Roderick opened his eyes slowly as if the effort cost him dearly. “Och, laddie, ye have come back to me before I die.”

  Callum and Randall snorted their amusement from behind Ewan.

  “You’re no’ dyin’. Callum saw you out rollin’ aboot in the heather.” Ewan reached over and plucked a sprig of the stuff from his grandda’s hair and held it up to him. “Now, tell me why Isobel Forbes is here?” And why the hell did his son call her mam? That was something else he wished to know. Christ, he’d been so furious he hadn’t even greeted Connor. Beneath the heat of his anger a remnant of his strange reaction to the lass simmered. His response to her had thrown him off balance. The lass had a sweet face, to be sure, and what looked to be an even sweeter body but, as Ewan had known his fair share of women more beautiful, it did not explain the effect she had wrought on him.

  “I doona ken where that heather came from. I’ve been abed—”

  Ewan threw back the covers to reveal his grandda lying abed with his boots and trews on beneath his nightshirt. “Explain yourself.”

  Roderick scowled at him. “What would ye have me do? I thought I was soon to die and fer all I kent, ye had. I couldna leave the bairns without someone to see to them, so I found ye a wife.”

  “I doona want a wife and, as you can see, I’m no’ dead so you’d best go down there and send the lass on her way.” Ewan pushed past his cousins, who attempted not to laugh. He had to leave before he throttled the three of them.

  “I canna do that. The bairns love Isobel and ye’re already
wed to the lass,” Roderick mumbled the last under his breath.

  Nay, he couldna have heard him right. Hand on the latch, Ewan turned. “What did you say?”

  His grandda scrambled from the bed and positioned himself behind Randall and Callum. “Ye’re wed to the lass. I wed her to ye by proxy more than six months ago.” Roderick squealed when Ewan lunged for him.

  “Doona do it,” Randall said as he and Callum fought to hold Ewan back. He shook free of their hands. His blood boiled and his gut coiled in a painful knot. “You’ll no’ get away with this. I’ll seek an annulment. I’ll no’ let you tie me to another lass of your choosing.” He’d not allow grandda to force his hand. Ewan and his sons had barely survived the hell Lorna had put them through.

  Olivia worried the heart stone in her hand, the ancient script worn smooth by generations of Forbes women. Her gift of second sight had never failed her, but nor had a lass waited as long as Isobel for her true love to claim her. Over the last year, no matter how hard her granddaughter had tried to hide it, Olivia had noticed the toll the wait had taken on Isobel’s resilient spirit and sunny nature. It was then Olivia had decided to give the Fates a nudge. She’d sent a missive to Roderick Mackenzie proposing the match between their grandchildren. She only hoped by doing so, she hadn’t destroyed Isobel’s chance for happiness.

  Ewan Mackenzie’s love for his sons had been obvious, as obvious as his shock at the bond that had developed between the bairns and Isobel. If not for Robbie and Connor, Olivia felt certain she and her granddaughter would already be on their way to Craigievar.

  During the evening meal, Ewan’s anger at his grandfather had not extended to them. He’d been coolly polite. Since Isobel, along with everyone else in the keep, had heard that Ewan intended to annul the union, Olivia had been proud of how her granddaughter had conducted herself. Beautiful and poised, no one would’ve known she was heartbroken.

  A quiet knock drew Olivia’s gaze from her granddaughters sleeping form. For a brief moment she wondered if Ewan had come to his senses and decided to join his wife in their chambers. Considering he’d been well in his cups by the time she and Isobel had left the hall – thanks to his cousin’s attempts to get him there – she doubted it. But he was a verra braw lad so one could not be sure and Olivia hadn’t missed the furtive looks he’d cast in Isobel’s direction when he thought no one was looking. Each time the bairns made Isobel laugh, his gaze would seek her out. Aye, Olivia thought, all they needed was time.

  She opened the door to see Roderick pacing the corridor, his shock of white hair dishevelled. “How’s our wee bonny, Livie?” he asked, coming to stand beside her.

  Olivia was torn between wanting to shake him for wedding Isobel to his grandson without the young man’s knowledge or consent, and wanting to kiss him for the love and concern he showed her granddaughter.

  “Her husband wants no part of her, Roderick. How do ye think she is?” At his crushed expression, she sighed. “She’ll be fine. She’s sleepin’ now. I slipped a wee somethin’ into her mead.”

  “Good, ’twill make it easier to carry out my plan. Leave it to me, Livie, I’ll make it right. The lad judges all women by Lorna’s actions. He just needs time to get to ken our Isobel. Randall, Callum, bring him along now,” he called down the torch-lit corridor.

  His grandsons, carrying an unconscious Ewan between them, staggered down the corridor. “You ken, grandda, if no’ for the fact the lass would be shamed by our cousin’s actions, we’d have no part in this,” Randall growled at his grandfather as they entered the chambers.

  Roderick waved a dismissive hand at his grandsons. “Now, Livie, do ye think ye can make it look as if they’ve had …” He flushed, tipping his chin towards the bed where the lads set their cousin beside Isobel.

  Realizing what he intended, Olivia grinned. “Aye, ’tis a good plan, Roderick.”

  Callum shook his head. “One is as bad as the other, Randall. I for one doona wish to be here when Ewan awakens. We’ll leave for home at first light.”

  Three

  Ewan inhaled the delicate floral scent, letting it fill his senses. It had been a long time since he’d smelt something so good, so clean and pure. A stark contrast to the smell of sweaty males, horseflesh and battle he’d grown accustomed to as a sword for hire. But it didn’t compare to the warm, silken skin his hands caressed – soft, lush, womanly curves.

  Sweet Christ. His eyes shot open. It wasn’t a dream. He held a woman in his arms, his face buried in a mass of heather-scented chestnut curls. He groaned. It was Isobel. What the hell had possessed him to crawl into her bed? As he wanted the union annulled, it was the last place he should be. But the question had barely entered his mind and he knew the answer already. No matter how angry he’d been at finding himself wed to Isobel, last eve he’d been unable to keep his gaze from her delicate features, the maternal warmth in her gold-flecked eyes as she looked upon his sons – the feminine laugh that had made him smile despite himself. He’d been as enchanted by her as his sons appeared to be, but Ewan knew better than most how adept a woman could be at concealing her true nature.

  He carefully eased her away from him. She mumbled a protest and snuggled back into place against his chest with a contented sigh. The door to his chambers creaked open and his grandda stepped inside with a self-satisfied smile. “Och, laddie, ’tis glad I am to see ye came to yer senses.”

  Isobel stiffened in Ewan’s arms. She eased back, her eyes widening as they met his.

  With a dismayed gasp, she sat up, the bedcovers pooling at her waist. The door slammed shut. “Doona worry, henny, I didna see a thing.”

  A mortified cry escaped her parted lips and she grabbed hold of the bedclothes to conceal her full ripe breasts from view. Scrambling from the bed, she dragged the covers with her, exposing Ewan’s raging erection and the drops of blood that stained the sheet. He cursed roundly. Between the evidence on the bed and his grandda having witnessed them there, Ewan’s hopes for an annulment fled as quickly as Isobel had fled his bed. His curse drew her attention and she looked at him over the delicate slope of her creamy white shoulder. Her innocent stare rounded as she took in his naked body. His erection had been easing as the reality of his situation hit home, but at the sight of her luscious behind – that she didn’t realize she exposed to him – it once more shot to life.

  “Oh,” she gasped, and in an effort to put more distance between them, promptly tripped on the covers to fall on her face.

  Ewan leaned over and grabbed his plaid from the floor. “Are you all right, lass?” he asked as he went to her.

  “Aye,” she muttered, trying to right herself while she held the covers to her chest with one hand, the other holding them to her behind.

  “Let me help.” He scooped her up and set her on the edge of the bed. Cupping her chin, he tilted her face. Her bottom lip was puffed up and her small, freckle-sprinkled nose was scraped at the tip. He shook his head. “One look at you and they’ll all be sayin’ I beat my wife.”

  “’Twill be your fault if they do. Last eve you looked as though you wished to murder me.”

  He winced. “Mayhap my grandda, but no’ you,” he conceded, surprised she didn’t appear to be intimidated by him. Most women, as well as a fair number of men, were. With their naked bodies covered, she seemed to regain her composure. He sighed at the disbelieving look she gave him and sat beside her. It wasn’t her fault the Mackenzies needed coin and his grandda had used the lass as a means to an end. “I apologise for my behaviour last eve, Isobel. It had been a long journey home and I …” He didn’t know what to say without offending her.

  “Didna expect to return home to find yourself wed. Aye, you made that perfectly clear. If you wish to talk aboot it, I’d prefer to do so dressed. Close your eyes, please.”

  Ewan was beginning to think it would be best if they had their conversation with her still naked. Not only because he wanted another look at her body, which had been as close to perfection as he’d
ever seen, but because it appeared he’d need whatever advantage he could find when dealing with the lass.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles flexing, and gave her a look that had caused many a man to quiver in his boots.

  She snorted her disdain. “You can save your fierce looks. You’re no’ on the battlefield now.”

  Brow arched, she waited for him to cede to her wishes. If Ewan didn’t have the uneasy feeling he was in a battle, and one he might not win, he would’ve laughed at the sight of the adorable wee lass staring him down with her bonny green and gold-flecked eyes.

  With a drawn-out sigh, he did as she asked. He heard the whoosh of the covers fall to the floor and his hands clenched on his thighs at the thought she stood within an arms reach of him – naked. The light splash of water in the basin cooled the erotic images that heated his blood as he realized she washed away the evidence of what had taken place between them. He cleared his throat. “Isobel, did I hurt you?” She was innocent of what took place between a man and a woman and last eve he’d been in no condition to be considerate of the fact.

  The muscles in his belly clenched when she didn’t answer right away. “Isobel?”

  “Nay, no’ that I remember. For truth, I doona recall anythin’ at all. My head is a touch fuzzy this morn. I had more wine than is my custom, mayhap ’tis the reason.”

  While he was relieved he hadn’t caused her pain, he wasn’t happy that he’d made love to a lass who’d been in her cups. Nor was he pleased the experience had been so unmemorable she bloody well couldn’t remember it. Which went to prove she wasn’t the only one with a fuzzy head this morn. What he should be was furious he’d destroyed the one to chance to have their marriage annulled.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. There was nothing for it now. Whether he liked it or not, they were wed. He was honest enough to admit that the thought he would not have to take up his sword to raise coin was a welcome one. Surely he and Isobel could come to an arrangement that suited them both. His sons and grandda were fond of her and ’twas no’ as though she’d expect his love. He would keep her at a distance. He couldn’t afford to lower his defences, let his emotions become involved. Enamoured as he’d been with Lorna, he’d been blind to her manipulations and many had suffered as a result. He tamped down his annoyance that it meant keeping Isobel from his bed, but, as he’d learned from experience, women tended to equate making love with being in love.