Ruth Langan Highlanders Bundle

by Ruth Langan

  He saw the way her cheeks flamed. “Have no fear.” He brushed his lips over hers for one last lingering taste. Then he stood and walked to a door on the opposite side of the sitting chamber. “Beyond this door is my chambers.”

  “You sleep there, just beyond my door?”

  “Aye, my lady. ’Tis why I requested these rooms for you.” He gave her a smug, roguish smile that had her temper instantly flaring. “If you should ever awake and find yourself in need of…company, you need only knock.”

  Her hand closed around the soapy cloth. Seeing what she intended, he threw back his head and laughed as she flung it. His door closed a fraction before it hit, spattering soap and water in all directions.

  Megan stared at the water that soaked the sheepskin beneath the tub, as well as most of the floor and hearth. Kieran would pay for this.

  Despite her temper, she felt the laughter bubble up in her throat as the servants entered and began to assist her from the tub. Aye. He would pay dearly.

  “Can this be the same lass we met earlier?” Sir Cecil Kettering exclaimed, looking up as Megan was ushered into the room.

  Megan was shocked to see the room filled with men. Though arrayed in fine breeches and tunics, they wore swords in scabbards, and many had knives tucked into their waistbands.

  She flushed when she realized everyone’s attention was focused on her. If she was on a battlefield, she would know how to handle herself. Here, she felt shy and awkward.

  From his position beside the fireplace Kieran studied her, unaware that his hand had tightened perceptibly on the stem of his goblet at the admiring glances of the men as she moved among them.

  He had never dreamed she could look so regal. Her gown was crimson, worked with silver and gold threads at the hem and bodice. The neckline was modestly high, with a lace ruff in the latest fashion ringing her throat. A wide sash displayed her tiny waist. Her skirt fell in soft folds to the tips of crimson slippers. But though she was modestly attired, Kieran could still recall the flawless body she kept hidden from view.

  “You look splendid,” James said, catching her hand.

  Megan gave him a shy smile and withdrew her hand from his grasp when he continued to hold it too long. “Thanks to the generosity of Lady Katherine.”

  “How could I not be generous to the woman who helped my sons return from the dead? I am forever in your debt, my dear.” Lady Katherine watched the way her eldest son studied this young woman. Though he deliberately kept his distance, the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

  “My dear,” Lady Katherine said gently, “these men are all loyal, good friends, who have hastened to Castle O’Mara to welcome my sons back to their beloved land.”

  “Aye. As soon as we heard the news, we had to see for ourselves,” a tall, raven-haired man said as he bowed low before her hand. His hair had gone silver at the temples, giving him a distinguished appearance. He had smooth, even features in a face tanned from years of working the land. There was a kindness in his eyes that touched something in Megan.

  “This is Hugh Cleary,” Lady Katherine said. “Hugh was friend to my husband, Sean, and has been friend to me since I first arrived in this land.”

  “I thought Sean O’Mara daft when he brought home a pale English beauty as a wife,” Hugh said in his deep, lyrical voice. “But Lady Katherine soon showed me, and all of us, that she was deserving of Sean’s love and trust. The lady has truly become one of us.”

  “Aye, ’tis true,” the others echoed.

  “It has been so long since I have heard the rumble of masculine laughter in this place,” Lady Katherine said softly. “How I have missed it. Now, Megan,” she said, shaking off the suddenly sad mood that possessed her, “come meet the rest of our friends.”

  Megan glanced at Lady Katherine and saw the wide range of emotions in her eyes as she moved among her late husband’s friends.

  Though the names and faces of the men soon became a blur, Megan found their smiles of welcome genuine. She returned their greetings as she was presented to over a dozen men whose names rang with the sound of Ireland. Their easy, teasing natures reminded her of Kieran and Colin.

  Kieran watched the ease with which Megan handled the introductions to his old friends and fellow warriors. It was obvious that she was comfortable in a man’s world. Further proof, he thought, that she had once commanded an army. And as strange as that would seem in this land, he imagined that she would be very good at it.

  When all the introductions had been completed, Colin strode across the room and took both Megan’s hands in his.

  In a spontaneous gesture of affection she lifted her hand to his shorn locks, then to his clean-shaven cheek. “Why, you are hardly more than a lad without all that growth of beard.”

  “A lad?” He gave her a look of mock distress. “I am a score and two, my lady. Which makes me your elder. Mind your tongue.”

  They both shared a laugh.

  He deliberately allowed his gaze to roam over her. “This gown suits you far better than the English soldier’s breeches and tunic, my lady.”

  “English soldier?” Sir Cecil was abruptly alert.

  Kieran shot Colin a warning glance, and the lad instantly regretted his outburst. But now that he had everyone’s attention, he found himself stammering.

  “Megan’s gown was torn…and we found a pair of breeches…and a tunic.”

  “Where?” James asked with a scowl.

  “Tied behind the saddle of a horse. So Megan exchanged her torn garb for that of the soldier.”

  “How do you know that the soldier was English?” Sir Cecil asked.

  Colin could not lie. All his years of training at the monastery would not permit it. His cheeks grew red. He glanced helplessly at Kieran, then at Megan, who took pity on him.

  “The man was following us.” Megan glanced at Lady Katherine and saw the sudden look of fear that crept into her eyes. She must be careful not to add to this good woman’s burden. “He identified himself as an English soldier and friend to the guard who was—overpowered at Fleet Prison.” Megan knew that Kieran had killed the guard, but she dared not speak of such a thing in this company.

  “A lone English soldier followed you?” Sir Cecil exchanged a look with his son.

  “Nay. There were many. Perhaps a dozen or more.”

  “And you managed to evade all of them?” James shot her an incredulous look.

  “Aye. There were three of us, after all, and they were mere English soldiers.”

  Hugh Cleary threw back his head and let out a roar of laughter. “By the gods, Kieran, she is the most beguiling woman I have ever met.”

  Kieran nodded. “Aye, Hugh. The lady is full of surprises.”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth, Megan had regretted them. She had no idea where such things came from. Perhaps in that other life she led, before the loss of memory, she had shared Kieran’s hatred for all things English. But now, in the company of this titled gentleman and Kieran’s obviously noble English mother, she felt ashamed of such boasts.

  “How did you happen to take a man’s clothes?” James Kettering asked sarcastically. “Did you hold him at sword point and demand his breeches?”

  Megan’s face grew scarlet. “We stole…helped ourselves to their horses. That is how we escaped. And among their possessions were the clothes I was wearing when I arrived here.”

  She wanted the questions to end, but she saw the interested looks of Sir Cecil and James.

  Sir Cecil turned to Kieran. “How do you know they are not following you still?”

  “I know not.”

  “You are not safe here,” Sir Cecil said. “They will not stop until they have cornered their prey.”

  “This is my home,” Kieran said softly. The very softness of his tone suggested danger. “I run no farther.”

  Sir Cecil seemed about to argue, then decided against it. Changing the subject he asked, “I suppose it was you, Kieran, who managed to overpower the guard at Fleet P
rison?”

  “With your connections at court, you surely know the details of our escape, Sir Cecil.”

  For a moment the older man seemed taken aback at Kieran’s abrupt tone. Then he nodded gravely. “Aye. I have heard the version told to the Queen, though I will not repeat it in front of your dear mother.” His voice took on a note of confidence when he saw that every man in the room was watching and listening. He paused while a servant filled his goblet. “I want you to understand, Kieran, that out of friendship to your mother, I did all in my power to have you set free. And I think I might have succeeded, had you not escaped before I could offer my petition to the Queen.”

  “We were there a year, Sir Cecil. More than enough time to secure our freedom.”

  “So your dear mother has told me. But until her first missive, I knew nothing of your imprisonment. Nor did the Queen, I fear. But I did all I could.”

  “If Colin and I had waited until the Queen agreed to set us free, we would now lie buried in English soil, in an unmarked prison grave.”

  Seeing the troubled look on his mother’s face, Kieran crossed to her and drew her close. “We will speak no more of this unpleasantness. Tell me the news from England, Sir Cecil. Have any of the restrictions upon our poor land been lifted?”

  A ripple of tension could be felt by everyone in the room.

  “As you yourself know, Kieran, Her Majesty desires no trouble with the chieftains of your land. But as she demands from all her subjects, Elizabeth demands a fair share of goods and taxes, as well as loyalty from the Irish.”

  The men shifted uncomfortably.

  “Elizabeth is not our Queen, Sir Cecil. Though she may proclaim herself above England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, she is only England’s monarch.”

  The older man gave a negligent shrug of his shoulders. “I will not be dragged into a political discussion now, Kieran. Such talk is considered treason in my land. But I would remind you that the Queen has been more than fair with you. In fact, she has repeatedly asked you to step forward and reclaim your grandfather’s lands and titles.”

  “Aye. Elizabeth made the offer if I would give up all claim to my land here in Ireland.”

  “This poor land is no substitute for what awaits you in England,” James said passionately.

  Kieran turned a black look on him, and the young man fell silent. Their many years together in service to the throne had taught him that Kieran’s temper could be a frightening thing.

  It was James’s father who said soothingly, “You were one of Elizabeth’s favorites at court, Kieran. She was very disappointed in you when you turned your back on her offer and returned to Ireland.”

  “Her offer.” Kieran’s words were a low rasp of fury.

  Megan saw the effort it cost Kieran to hold his temper at bay.

  “Elizabeth offered to restore your grandfather’s estates and titles. And though they may mean little to you,” Sir Cecil said vehemently, “they are much coveted in England. The title Duke of Harford has long been respected in my country.”

  Megan studied Kieran with new respect. Was he truly the Duke of Harford? The thought of the warrior she knew him to be seemed at odds with a noble English title.

  Sir Cecil turned to Lady Katherine and his tone softened. “Your father was much loved by King Henry. The vast estates settled by His Majesty upon your father are the envy of all, my lady. It is a slight upon his good name that his grandson refuses to claim them. If not for himself, then out of consideration for you. You could be living in luxury in your native land, instead of—” he glanced around with a look of disdain “—this poor substitute.”

  Instantly Lady Katherine jumped to the defense of her son. “This is my adopted country, Cecil. I would remind you that I turned my back on everything English when I chose to wed Sean O’Mara. And I have never once looked back with regret.”

  For a moment Sir Cecil Kettering looked as angry as Kieran O’Mara. Then, swallowing his anger, he continued in reasonable tones, “Kieran’s refusal to make peace with Elizabeth puts you at great risk, my lady. Would you make yourself an enemy of the Queen of England?”

  Kieran’s voice was low with feeling. “Tread softly, Sir Cecil. This is not my mother’s battle. I do not impugn my mother’s name. Nor her father’s. I feel as much pride in my English heritage as in my Irish. And I tried walking the route you suggested. But if I learned anything in my years at the English court, it is that I am my father’s son. Castle O’Mara and all of Killamara, humble though they may be by English standards, still hold my heart.”

  Sir Cecil directed his words at Kieran, but his gaze strayed to Lady Katherine, who stood proudly beside her son. “Are this ancient castle and these barren fields worth dying for?”

  Kieran felt his mother’s hand squeeze his in a painful grip.

  “Aye. If necessary.”

  The two men faced each other. Kieran’s jaw was set, his eyes as hard as flint. Sir Cecil studied him for long moments, then lowered his gaze.

  The door opened. Mistress Peake broke the silence. “Dinner is ready, my lord.”

  Kieran nodded. Setting his goblet on a serving tray, he offered his arm to his mother, and they led the others from the room.

  “Come, my dear.” Sir Cecil caught Megan’s hand and placed it on his sleeve.

  Behind them Colin took Bridget’s hand and smiled as she danced along beside him. This night she wore a dress of blue satin that fell to the tips of her dainty kid slippers. Her wild tangles of red hair had been pulled back with ribbons that matched the blue of her eyes.

  Sir Cecil’s son, James, trailed more slowly with the rest of the men as they made their way to the refectory.

  The room blazed with light from dozens of candles set in sconces along the walls. On either end of the room were huge fireplaces where logs burned. The light was reflected in the gleaming crystal and silver on a table set with finest linens. At least a dozen servants scurried around, seeing to the meal.

  Kieran took the seat at the head of the table. To his right sat his mother, with Sir Cecil beside her and his son, James, next to him. To Kieran’s left sat Megan, with Colin beside her and Bridget next to him. The rest of the men took their places with ease, leaving Megan no doubt that they had often eaten together at Castle O’Mara.

  Mistress Peake waddled around, furiously directing the servants with all the skill of a captain of the guards during battle. There were oysters, fresh scallops and salmon, followed by quail and pheasant. There were thick, crusty breads, still warm from the ovens, spread with freshly churned butter and sweet fruit conserves. With each course, the servants filled the goblets with hot mulled wine and ale.

  Everyone at table looked up at the sound of a commotion outside the refectory. Suddenly a door burst open and a giant of a man strode inside, followed by a wide-eyed servant who had obviously been trying to subdue him.

  “Where is he?” His voice boomed, causing a sudden silence.

  Kieran pushed back his chair and stood with his hands on his hips. “Would you be looking for the lord of the manor?”

  “Aye, lad. I’ve come to see for myself if he rose from the dead as the villagers have been whispering.”

  “Then see,” Kieran said, striding across the room. “’Tis the truth they speak.”

  “By the gods.” There was a long silence, in which everyone at the table watched the two with interest. “Kieran O’Mara. You’re as ugly as ever.”

  The two men clasped each other in a fierce hug.

  Seeing the stunned look on Megan’s face, Kieran’s mother called sharply, “Tavis, you’ve frightened our guest. Come meet the lady who brought our Kieran back to us. Lady Megan of Scotland,” she said as the man made his way around the table, “fought beside Kieran and Colin, and according to my sons risked her life for their safety.”

  The man towered over her, studying her through narrowed eyes.

  “This,” Lady Katherine said with warmth, “is Tavis Downey. He and Kieran have been frien
ds since boyhood.”

  Megan’s hand was engulfed in a beefy palm. The man was so tall she had to tilt her head back to see his face. His blue eyes were warm with laughter. His hair was more red than brown. Though he could never be called handsome, his was a commanding presence.

  “This slip of a lass fought beside you?”

  Kieran nodded.

  Tavis studied her for long moments, enjoying the fact that she blushed uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “’Tis sorry I am that you fought for such weaklings as these. I only tolerated Kieran all these years because he was easy to beat in a joust.”

  “Would you care to challenge me on the morrow?” Kieran asked.

  “Nay. You need to build up your strength after all that time in a wretched English prison, lad. Your muscles will be mush and your limbs as weak as saplings.”

  “This may be the only time you can beat me then,” Kieran shot back. “You’d best take advantage of any weakness while you can.”

  While the two men sparred, the others roared with laughter.

  Tavis pulled up a chair beside Kieran, and with one arm wrapped around his shoulder watched as servants hurried to fetch him a meal.

  “Mistress Peake, you have outdone yourself,” he said as he wolfed down the food, washing it down with tankards of ale.

  In an aside to Kieran he muttered, “I did not even take time to saddle my horse. When I heard the news, I set out for Castle O’Mara to see for myself that you were truly alive and well.”

  “And you did not take time to bathe, either.” Kieran slapped his arm, then watched as his old friend polished off the rest of his meal.

  When the meal was over, Mistress Peake approached Colin with a wide smile. She directed a serving girl to carve thick slices of a heavy, moist confection.

  Colin’s eyes lit with satisfaction. “Ahh, Mistress Peake. ’Tis your special cake, is it not?”

  “Aye, my lord. And you must have the first taste.”

  The others watched as Colin lifted a bite to his lips and closed his eyes as he savored it. “It is as I remembered it all these long, dreary months.”

  “You do not think it too sweet, my lord?”