Rogue Highlander: The King's Command

by Sondra Grey

  “For the mistreatment of my Great Niece I might declare war on the Stewarts,” he avowed, loudly enough for the whole table to hear. But then he lowered his voice and winked at Isla. “Although I suppose I cannot blame them. Men will fall victim to a pretty woman every time, and blame the woman when they can’t control themselves. I too have been felled by many a woman in my day – much easier to think them witches than to think myself dim-witted.” And he laughed and laughed.

  Isla wasn’t quite ready to laugh over the incident, so she smiled, weakly. Explaining what had happened in Elleric wasn’t nearly as painful as explaining what had happened at Castle Dundur. Apparently, the Earl of Huntly was well acquainted with Calum the Black. “Serious man,” said the Earl approvingly, “Until he drinks, of course. Drink will do that, aye? It has godlike powers to change a man. It’ll rid you of all that holds you back. Dundur can hold his drink and you’d not know he’s been affected until he starts to laugh. He visited this very hall with the Red Bard. How long ago? Perhaps six years now! The Old Bard told such tales of that man. Used to get into terrible trouble in Inverness, apparently. Drinking and fighting and getting into scrapes with The Grant’s sons and nephews. I could barely believe it. No laughter in that man, not unless there’s drink involved.”

  “Why is that?” Isla asked. She couldn’t help herself. Much as she didn’t want to talk about Calum, the Earl’s insight was a temptation she couldn’t refuse.

  “Who knows why some young men are so dour?” murmured the Earl. “If I recall, this was after the Old Laird of Dundur had passed on. His son was newly appointed chieftain, and it’s a serious undertaking. Was he a second son, Mae?” He asked, turning to his wife.

  “I don’t recall,” murmured Lady Huntly. Isla was less impressed by the woman than she was by her husband. Lady Huntly was small and quiet, if delicately beautiful, even in her old age. Isla supposed that being so quiet was only natural when your husband was so loud.

  “Either way. A smart lad, and a real favorite of the Red Bard, who’s a canny man himself.” There was much about the Earl of Huntly that suggested he, too, was a canny man. Isla had a tough time judging him, had a troublesome time understanding his humor and it wasn’t until the Earl engaged one of the clansmen down the table that Rhona leaned in and said, “It’s his way. You’ll see. Give him ten minutes and he’ll start telling you terrible tales about your mother. The more terrible the tale, the more you know he loved her.”

  And Rhona was right. As the night wore on, the Chief of Clan Gordon began to spin tales. And for Isla’s sake, the tales were about her mother. Deirdre emerged from these stories as a tainted figure, only barely redeemable: Proud, vain, and stubborn, but with a heart of gold. There was more than one clansman who recalled a time when Deirdre had healed him of some ailment or another. The Earl told Isla stories of her grandfather too, and her grandmother, from whom Deirdre, Rhona, and Isla had received their beauty and their skills at healing and who – it seemed – the Earl of Huntly had never much cared for.

  By the end of the night, Isla was swimming in anecdotes and images of her mother’s past, and Deirdre was as present that evening as she’d ever been in life.

  Asleep in one of the Castle’s guest rooms, Isla tried envisioning her mother as a young woman, but as she drifted to sleep, her mind turned, as always, back to Calum. His eyes had been so easy and laughing that night they’d made love. That yearning, gnawing pain came back to her and she curled in around herself, closing her eyes and letting her fatigue and her misery make her heavy. Just before sleep claimed her, she thought she could feel her mother’s cool fingers, sliding through her hair. She calmed, and let the blackness overwhelm her.

  In the next two months, Rhona and Isla made at least three more pilgrimages to Huntly Castle. The Earl was immensely fond of Isla who, once familiar with the old man, spared him none of her tongue. She had a feeling that her mother must have spoken to him in much the same manner for whenever Isla was arch, or curt, the Earl would shake with laughter.

  At the manor, she fell into a routine, visiting Cairnie at least two afternoons a week to offer her services as healer, but spending the rest of her time helping Rhona, Tom, and Gair with the running of Gighty Grey.

  It was after her second sennight in Cairnie that Isla had to face a terrible and terrifying truth. Her first monthly flux hadn’t come, nor had the second. In fact, at the close of the second month, her breasts were swollen and tender, she’d stopped eating blood pudding altogether, and had been sick on three separate occasions. She wasn’t a fool. She was pregnant.

  Isla fretted and fussed for the next several days. A baby. She was going to have a child. She was going to have a laird’s child! And she was going to be the shame of her family, the shame of Cairnie village, the shame of the Earl of Huntly. What could she do? For days, she tried to think of a plan. But there was nowhere she could go. She couldn’t return to Castle Dundur. She’d never go back there, not to see him. He hadn’t wanted her, he wouldn’t want this baby. Their baby.

  Isla spent nights awake, her hand on her stomach. She hoped she was wrong. She hoped she wasn’t pregnant, but she knew that hope was ridiculous. She had to find the strength to tell Rhona. Oh god! What would Rhona say? Would she call her a harlot? Would she cast her out? Isla didn’t know her aunt well enough to guess.

  She wondered what Deirdre would have said. Deirdre would have beaten Isla black and blue for daring to sleep with a man before she was wed. But what would Deirdre have done about the baby? Would she have cast Isla out?

  Isla hoped her mother would not have abandoned her, and she hoped her aunt wouldn’t either. While Isla knew she might be able to hide her condition for another month, she wouldn’t be able to hide it for long after that. Rhona had to be told.

  Isla found her aunt in the garden, digging up carrots. The weather had been turning recently, and it was cold out. Though they’d harvested most of the roots already, there were still a few late ones to gather.

  “May I speak with you, aunt Rhona?” Isla knew she sounded as despairing as she felt, for Rhona looked up, immediately concerned, and then stood.

  Reaching to stretch out her back, Rhona rubbed at it a moment and said. “Come lass. Let’s go to the barn, where it’s a bit warmer.”

  The barn was on the side of the manor and housed the livestock. It was a good deal warmer than the field, if only because there were so many animals. There weren’t that many people on the manner today. Tom and Gair were in Cairnie and the servants were preparing supper in the kitchens. Rhona upended a milk pail and sat on it. Isla paced nervously.

  “Out with it, child, I’m fearing the worst,” Rhona cautioned. Isla cast her aunt a look and saw, indeed, that Rhona’s usually kind, friendly face was stern.

  Out with it, Isla.

  “Aunt Rhona, I’m with child,” said Isla, quickly, before she could lose her nerve. Steel. She needed to be steel.

  Her aunt didn’t even blink and for a moment, looked so much like Isla’s mother that Isla wanted to throw herself on the ground and beg forgiveness. But Rhona only said, slowly, “Whose bairn is it, lass?”

  Isla closed her eyes, and she could see his face then, as clearly as if he were in front of her. Hard, demanding eyes, mouth quirking with amusement. “Calum Grant’s,” she said, proud only of how steady she sounded. “I’m pregnant with Calum Grant’s bastard child.” Her voice almost broke on that, but she held herself straight, together.

  Rhona was still a moment before nodding. Then she asked, gravely. “Did he force you?”

  Isla wanted to say yes. She wanted to say that it hadn’t been her fault, that there’d been no choice. But that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that she’d thought he was going to marry her. The truth was that she’d been a fool.

  “He didn’t force me,” she said.

  Rhona looked like she wanted to say more. But she closed her eyes, her mouth pinched slightly, and she said, “You’d better tell me the whole story. Start th
e story over from the beginning. This time, don’t leave out the details.”

  So, Isla told her story again, and this time, she told the real version, with the kidnapping, and the Laird’s promise, and the kisses, and the bedding…

  By the end, Rhona was fuming. She was striding up and down the length of the barn, upsetting the chickens and making the horses restless.

  “How dare he!” Rhona was visibly seething. “How dare he!? To my niece!? To the great niece of the Earl of Huntly? To throw you out into the street!”

  “He didn’t throw me…”

  “He may as well have! That arrogant bastard!” Rhona stopped and whirled on Isla, coming up and grabbing her shoulders. Her aunt looked harsh for a moment. “I’ll not say you weren’t a fool Isla MacLeay, for you were foolish, indeed. But I’ve seen Calum the Black. I know his appeal, and I can understand that when a man like that turns his gaze on you, it might be hard to say no. You both should have known better, but he should have known… To kidnap a girl and then spoil her? Send her off to her destination with a child in her belly?!”

  Rhona swore and kicked the milk bucket she’d been sitting on. Isla felt helpless in the face of Rhona’s rage. “Aunt, I’m so sorry…”

  The apology seemed to stop Rhona in her tracks, for the woman whirled on Isla and took a deep breath. “No Isla. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all that has happened to you, and I’m sorry for the position you’re in now. And I’ll do my best to help you, lass.”

  “You will?” said Isla, hope bursting through the pain she felt. “You won’t cast me out.”

  “Never,” said Rhona. “Never.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  T he next day, when Isla awoke, her aunt and uncle were nowhere to be found. When Isla went out into the fields to see if she could locate them, she came across her cousin, mending one of the property fences. “Gair, do you know where your parents are?” Isla asked.

  Gair looked up from the fence. Isla feared that she would see pity in his eyes, but he looked at her only with welcome. Perhaps his mother had not told him the news, then. “They’ve gone to Castle Huntly,” he said, pleasantly. “Would you help me hold this?” he indicated the post he was trying to nail in place.

  But Isla’s stomach had dropped into her feet. “What are they going to Huntly for?” she said, her voice coming out breathy with panic. Gair glanced up at her alarmed. “Are you all right?” he asked. When she nodded, he shrugged at her earlier question. “I’ve no notion. Perhaps he’s summoned them.”

  But Isla didn’t think so. Oh Rhona, she thought, what have you gone to do? The thought of the earl learning of the pregnancy was mortifying. They hadn’t had time to talk strategy before dinner, but Isla had hoped she could sequester herself in the manor and not let anyone know until after the baby was born. Isla had a terrible feeling that Rhona and Tom had gone to tell the earl of what had befallen his grand-niece.

  Isla knew that she’d nothing to bargain with, that she was in a terrible position, so when Rhona and Tom came home looking tired, but satisfied, she could only wait and hope they’d tell her what had happened at the Huntly’s.

  “Mother, father!” Gair hailed as the two strode out towards the field. Isla hadn’t left his side all day. She couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with her thoughts. She needed company. She needed Gair’s lighthearted chatter to distract her from all the thoughts rushing through her head.

  “How fares the earl?” Gair asked as the two approached.

  “Bonny,” said Rhona, looking pleased. Isla looked to Tom, who looked more worried than pleased.

  “Bonny?” said Gair, parroting the odd response.

  “Why yes,” said Rhona. “He’s just declared war on the Grants.”

  Isla spent the next few days in unnatural silence. Emotions were swirling through her with a fierceness she had never experienced before. Rhona had clucked and told her that it happened when a woman was breeding. But Isla wasn’t so certain. War on the Grants? Her uncle had declared war on Calum the Black.

  “It’s not so serious,” Rhona had said over dinner. She’d looked incredibly pleased with herself, while all Isla wanted to do was shut herself into her room and never come out again. “He’s written a letter of intent and had it sent to that black Laird of Dundur,” she waved her hand dismissively in the direction of Dundur castle. “He’s explained the situation and said that he has no choice but to declare that a Grant Chieftain kidnapped and despoiled a Gordon. If rumors are true about The Wolf…”

  “Rumors?”

  “That he’s trying to broker peace treaties amongst the clans,” cut in Tom. Rhona nodded and continued.

  “If the rumors are true, then he’ll not want a war with the Gordons. He’ll ride up to make right, you’ll see.”

  “Make right?”

  “Marry you,” murmured her uncle.

  Isla thought she might expel what little dinner she’d eaten. “Marry me. But he doesn’t wish to marry me.”

  “To hear you tell it, lass,” said Rhona, “He wishes to marry to secure peace between the clans. Well he can marry a daughter of Clan Gordon, since he’s seen fit to father a bastard.” Isla tried not to notice that Gair’s ears were turning red. The poor young man was trying so hard not to be noticed that he had his face practically in his soup.

  “But what if he’d rather go to war than marry me?”

  Rhona had guffawed over that. She’d let out a long, loud laugh and then said, “If he’d rather go to war with the Earl of Huntly than marry a beautiful young scots maid who’s carrying his bairn – then he’s a fool who’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  “But aunt, the shame…”

  “Hush,” said Rhona, “there’s no shame yet. The matter is a private one, between you, me, the Earl, and the Laird of Dundur. Should Dundur not ride here immediately to do right by you, then his name will be bandied about the highlands as a villain. Calum the Black indeed.” She shook her head. “And your name will be muddied too, of course. But you’ll be the victim, not the slattern.”

  Rhona looked at Isla fiercely and Isla wanted to thank her, but couldn’t quite. She was proud, after all, and Calum had rejected her. Painfully. She’d rather have the baby fatherless, hang what people would say about her. If Rhona wouldn’t cast her out, she’d stay here with her aunt and uncle and cousin. She’d help tend the manor…

  She might still, she thought to herself. Even if Calum came to marry her, she might refuse him. The thought gave her a courage that sustained her through the next few days.

  Then she was summoned to Huntly to learn what the future may or may not hold for her.

  End of Book I

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  Rogue Highlander

  Surrendered Love

  BOOK II

  By: Sondra Grey

  Rogue Highlander

  Surrendered Love

  CHAPTER ONE

  T he ride to Huntly was the tensest two hours of Isla’s life. The Earl had sent his carriage, and the whole family rode together. Gair sat next to Isla and held her hand, a silent steady presence. Rhona was quiet too, but visibly seethed and, every so often, would murmur something beneath her breath about murder and mauling.

  As they neared the castle and Rhona mentioned something about castration, Isla’s uncle cleared his throat and clutched her hand in his. “Now listen all of you,” he said, sounding more irritated than Isla had ever heard him. “Everyone needs to calm themselves. Rhona you’ll leave the Laird of Dundur’s bollock’s intact. Isla, you’ll stop looking so guilty, as you are hardly the bearer of all the blame. And you,” he looked at his son, pinning him with a curious gaze. “Try to look as intimidating as you can. She’s not got brothers, though I’m sure the Gordon’s sons will be standing by her. It’d do to have you look a bit nastier.”

  Isla let out a small laugh. Gair was tall, like his mother, and good looking, but didn’t have Calum’s presence. There was something earnest and trustful about her co
usin that didn’t quite lend itself to the image of a violent man.

  As the carriage pulled up to the front of Huntly castle, Isla stared. There were a few Grant Clansmen milling about the ground, but there were other tartans visible too. “The Macleod’s,” said Rhona, perplexed. She turned to her husband. “What on earth are they doing here?”

  Isla’s uncle merely nodded, “The Earl has declared war on the Grants, sending Calum a private letter that accused him of impregnating his niece. I’m sure the Grant laird brought a Macleod ally to bear witness to the charges. There’s not enough men here to do battle, Rhona.”

  But there were enough men to witness a wedding. Isla swore to herself. There was no way she was going to marry Calum Grant – but she’d need to be wary of how she broached that topic, especially now that the Macleod’s were here.

  As they strode from the carriage and into the great hall, a clansman directed them up the stairs and to the Earl’s study. To Isla’s dismay there were at least ten Grant’s and Macleod’s waiting outside the study door. As Isla came into view they gawped at her. Isla had to force herself to square her shoulders and meet their eyes. She expected to see loathing, alongside surprise, but there was only confusion. Did Calum not know then, that it was she for whom the Gordon had declared war? Oh God! What had the Earl sent in his message? Did Calum not expect her?

  It was all she could do to nod at the Grants, taking comfort in the fact that – in her fine clothes, with her hair twisted up in the silver combs, she looked a good deal more regal than she had at Dundur. Rhona had given Isla her grandmother’s beautiful silver and sapphire necklace to match her eyes, and the combs in her hair. “No one in their right minds would say no to a vision like you,” her aunt had declared.