The three covered as much ground as they could during the night, the dark being their best chance of moving north stealthily. Marcas and Conall were used to arduous journeys like this and were toughened up to the cold and the like, but Georgina was a shivering wee thing behind Marcas. He worried that the journey might become too much for her, that she may catch cold and become sick. It was unusual for them to have a lady as a travel companion after all.
He had unpinned his swathe of tartan plaid from his shoulder and handed it to her, “here lass, wrap this round ye to gae you a bit o’ warmth.”
He couldn’t help but smile as she snuggled into the cloth, bringing her body all the closer to his. Mind, the heat and the softness of her pressed up against him caused his arousal, and he couldn’t help but imagine the perfection of the womanly curves that were hidden away underneath her dress.
Get a grip Marcas.
This pep talk did little good to remind Marcas of the task at hand, but eventually, he managed to focus on his surroundings, or he’d likely get them killed if he wasn’t careful.
But wouldn’t it be worth it though? The devil’s advocate played in his mind, the arousal wanting to take over his actions. Och hald yer wheest, Marcas told the cheeky inner voice to shut up, physically shaking himself out of it, or at least trying to.
As they neared sunrise, Marcas was bone-tired and exhausted. He’d been on the road with Conall for a full day before arriving at the wedding, and they’d barely had more than two hours before making off with Georgina and sprinting across the country.
He felt his thighs burn and his eyes itched with tiredness. Oh, can’t we just stop for a rest already? Marcas wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week, but he refused to show weakness in front of Conall, or Georgina for that matter. However, that gave him an idea.
“Here Conall, this one’s near enough had it. I reckon we’d best stop off for a wee kip before we go much further,” Marcas yelled over to his brother, his voice husky with exertion, hoping that Conall wouldn’t see through his suggestion.
“Aye, we don’t want her fallin’ off the horse right enough. If she catches her death, then we’ll only have more work cut oot for us. Best we all get a bit o’ shut eye before the next slog up north,” he agreed. Conall’s voice was equally cracked, his commands less spirited than usual.
They brought their horses to a halt, gazing towards the East for signs of sunrise. It was still pitch black with the remains of the night, that time when even nature was quiet and sleeping.
“It’s not long now ‘til the sun will be up. I reckon we kip for a couple o’ hours, give the horses a rest and be back up tae set off again before midday.” Conall’s usual confident swagger was dimmed with tiredness and Marcas could see the redness circling his eyes.
“Georgina, time tae get doon,” Marcas whispered, “We’re stopping for a rest.”
“Uuuurgh,” was all he heard in response.
“Some help Conall? I reckon she’s oot of it already.” Marcas called over quietly for assistance, not wanting to disturb her. Conall obliged, striding over and lifting her down into his arms like she weighed nothing more than a bag of grain.
“Uffft,” was her response to being moved. The poor lass definitely sounded to be in sleep limbo; that in-between place where you’re bone shattered but not quite asleep yet nor coherently awake either.
“Aye she’s done in right enough,” Conall agreed.
Both brothers were too tired to jest with each other and chose to tether the horses after Conall laid Georgina down on the ground underneath a spare length of cloth that was packed in the saddlebag just in case. Marcas yawned as he went through the motions of shaking off his legs which were knackered from the lack of sleep and cramped from sitting astride the saddle for so long.
As they returned to Georgina’s sleeping form, they exchanged a silent question between them, not able to resist the lure of besting the other.
“I’d best tuck in aside the lass seeing as she fell asleep next tae me, best not spook her just yet eh?” Marcas said casually, but he’d be damned if Conall was getting anywhere near Georgina.
“Fine that, but it’ll be me turn next lad,” Conall agreed as he lay down on the ground, folding his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. He was out cold and snoring within seconds.
Marcas sank to the ground, grateful of the chance to finally lie down and recover from all the excitement and the hard night’s journey that had followed. It was too dark to make out much of Georgina’s face, but he shuffled in close to her, slipping his arm around her body to share the warm between the two of them. He barely had a chance to register the feel of his body lying so close to hers before a wave of exhaustion hit, and he fell into an immediate and deep sleep, the rhythm of his breathing matching hers.
All too quickly he felt the bright light of the morning sun beaming down on him, sweltering with the heat of it. As he came to, he felt a stirring next to him and a cat-like yawn whispered just by his ear. He realized that the radiating heat was coming from Georgina. But pretty soon the quiet sleepy warmth was knocked right out of him as Georgina rocketed to her feet yelping “Just what do you think you're doing?”
He cleared his throat, very aware of his bodily functions at this time in the morning, his arousal perpetuated by her closeness and got to his feet, pulling on a lazy smile to hide his embarrassment. “Just trying to keep ye warm, hen, didn’t reckon you’d be used wi’ sleeping in the great outdoors,” he joked.
“Well it didn’t seem like that was all you were doing with, um…” Georgina retorted, her whip-fast spirit quickly crumbling into a shy stammer of embarrassment at the intonation of his manhood.
“Ye should take it as a compliment lass,” he said as he straightened up his kilt which had become crumpled as he slept. Her cheeks were flame red, and her eyes darted about the place.
He softened his teasing of her, picking up on her shyness as a sign that perhaps she was unfamiliar with the male body. Was it possible that she had never been bedded by a man before?
“Look,” he stepped in closer, “it happens every morning, come rain or shine — woman present or no, it’s just the way us men work.” He said, lowering his tone to make her feel like he was taking her reaction seriously.
“Well good morning tae the pair o’ you, sounds like Marcas gave ye a good time an’ all last night,” Conall strode right into the middle of their conversation, with a freshly caught rabbit in his hand. Marcas could have thumped the bugger.
Georgina’s mouth flew open in disbelief, and Conall patted her shoulder good-naturedly. “Ach c'mon, let’s get filled up fer the day. I’ve got oats ready for ye lass, Marcas, yer man enough to make yers yerself,” Conall said, nodding over at the horses where they’d packed a stash of oatmeal in the saddlebags.
Marcas watched as Conall deftly skinned the rabbit and spit roasted it over the fire he’d lit. He was clearly trying to lure Georgina to his side, but her cute little nose was wrinkled in disgust at such a visual display that she hardly knew where to look.
It made Marcas smile to look at her, a secret little smile that he hid from the others, not wanting Conall to catch him showing any signs of vulnerability. He was a strong clansman who bore no weaknesses, and he had to keep that side of him showing at all times, to prove his worth so that he wasn’t just seen as Conall’s little brother, but a man in his own right.
After they were all fed and watered, the meat for later packed away, they set off again in the direction of their part of the Highlands. Marcas was in a foul mood during this stint of the journey, watching Georgina and Conall’s shared laughter and chatter as she rode with him instead of Marcas. His earlier theory that the lass was inexperienced with men frittered away to be replaced with a new one — that perhaps she lacked any interest in him at all.
These thoughts continued to torture him as their journey through the lowlands came to a close, toward the expanse of green fields and river turning into hills with str
etches of heather and bramble that went on for miles. Small crofts and farms were dotted here and there across the landscape and the wild, free nature of the moors was visible in the distance.
Even nearing the familiar landscape of home wasn’t enough to distract him from concocting the imaginary story of Georgina and Conall’s potential love affair in his mind — his brother rescues her from her fate, wooing her with his title of laird and boasting to Marcas about their night of passionate lovemaking. Next up would come to Conall beating Marcas at the games in the most degrading way, Georgina looking down her nose at him with disgust before skipping to the priest to marry his brother.
Och, get a grip man. This tortured feeling coursed through him like poison and it unsettled him to the core. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so put out by the actions of a lassie before, Georgina’s presence having truly shaken him. No matter what he tried, his mind frittered back to thoughts of her as they rode onwards.
Having spent another night outdoors, they finally reached the village of Brora the next morning. They didn’t venture in, instead they looped around to stay out of sight.
Conall and Marcas had both agreed that it was best to keep Georgina out of sight from the neighboring village just in case an unfamiliar face noticed her immediately. Then word would spread quickly at the news of the Laid McGowan and his brother riding into the region with an English lass in tow.
Instead, they charged up through the expanse of the hills, moving quickly to avoid any unexpected run-ins. Luckily, they encountered no-one on their path and soon reached the lane leading up to the castle and to home.
Marcas let out a sigh of relief as the sound of their horses’ hooves clopped across the gravel and came to a halt outside. Home, at last, that’s the stuff, but whatever will come next?
Chapter 7
Carnarvan Castle was a magnificent sight. It was an ancient stone building just like the sort you heard about in gothic novels, perched on the top of a hill and grander than anything Georgina had been expecting.
In fact, her travels through the Highlands had brought lots of surprises. By the way her acquaintances talked of it, she’d imagined some backwater chunk of land filled with lowlifes and peasants, barren and lacking in beauty.
She’d been stunned to be faced with the ample greenery and trees, lending dramatic views for miles and the tempting wildness of the heather-topped moors. It was an invitation into Mother Nature’s own home. There was something about the freshness of the air that made her feel quite giddy, like anything was possible, unlike the stuffiness of her home region back in England.
She felt a flutter of nerves as they approached the castle. What if Marcas and Conall’s family were waiting to greet them? How would they react to find this strange English girl in tow with their two sons?
She was sure that her dramatic disappearance had created something of a scandal back home and she’d felt elated at this prospect during the journey up through Scotland. Now that she was here, however, the excitement had morphed into worry. Morgan would no doubt be tracking her down and bringing the wrath of the British Army along with him. Conall and Marcas and any of their allies would be his target. Was it wrong of her to bring such danger upon them?
“Welcome to the bonny Carnarvan lass,” Conall said as he held out his hand to help her down from his horse.
“Ahhh, home sweet home,” Marcas announced just behind them, leaping off his horse with relish. She hadn’t heard him sound so pleased in all the time she’d known him so far.
Their eyes met briefly and, once again, held that sparkle that they’d shared during that first dance, but he hastily looked away as the heavy wooden doors opened. She watched a young woman who couldn’t be much older than herself come bounding down the steps and straight into Marcas’ arms.
“Yer back, finally. I was worried ye’d dae somethin’ stupid,” she said, burying herself into Marcas’ chest. The woman was like a ball of fire — both in energy and warmth, combined with the vividness of her waist-length red hair.
“Where’s me hug?” Conall demanded jokingly, holding out his arms for effect and playing the wounded soldier at the lack of attention pointed his way.
“Ach, come ‘ere ya loon.” He enveloped her in his arms too, the embrace seeming familiar and loving. Great, so she’d come all this way with these men only to find out that they already had someone waiting at home for them. Well, this girl seemed to be more Marcas’ than Conall’s, an observation that only made Georgina sigh deeply.
“And who’s this noo?” The woman’s hands were perched on her hips as she took in the sight of Georgina questioning this reunion.
“Ach, this here’s Georgina Andrews. Our prisoner,” Conall explained.
“Prisoner? Ye daft wallops, what in God’s name were ye thinkin’?” the woman demanded.
“What did you just call me?” Georgina exclaimed, Conall’s words hitting her like a punch to the stomach.
Georgina and this strange girl spoke at exactly the same time, both of them whipping their furious gazes upon Conall and this ridiculous utterance. Their prisoner? What happened to the part where Conall insisted on coming to her rescue during the dance? Or was he leaving that part out to mask the truth? I ought to deliver a swift kick onto his body.
“It’s a long story sis, one tae tell after a decent kip and a bite to eat,” Conall insisted, sauntering off to let the horse into the field as if the matter was cleared up.
“Oh, nae ye don’t,” the red-haired girl stomped after Conall, her tone strong and authoritative. It took Georgina by surprise as she’d always been taught the restraints of politeness and the rules of engaging in conversation with the opposite sex, which certainly didn’t involve challenging the authority and decisions of a laird, no matter what was the relationship between the two.
“Tell me what’s going on right now,” the girl continued.
“Ach, come oan, let me at least set foot in the door then,” Conall argued back.
“Con-all.” The emphasis on the second part of his name added a threatening layer to her anger leaving no room for challenging her wrath.
“Alright, it’s like this,” Conall began, sounding like a young lad who was trying to explain to a parent that they’d done something naughty. “We were at the bleedin’ wedding o’ the stuffy old Earl just as planned. Marcas and I were doing our best tae be polite to the Brits and all when Morgan Bolton has the cheek tae come right up in our faces and rub his nose in it, like he’d done naught despicable in his lifetime.”
“Well I couldn’ae be having that, so I saw an opportunity to take somethin’ from him just like he did tae us. Instead o’ murdering innocent folks in cold blood, I merely took his betrothed as prisoner right from under his nose,” Conall finished explaining, inviting a barrage of more questions and outbursts, like you stupid cuddie from the girl, whose position Georgina was becoming increasingly confused about.
The major detail occupying her mind at that moment, however, was the dawning realization that the McGowan brothers hadn’t rescued her from the clutches of Morgan Bolton for chivalrous reasons but in order to settle a score for whatever past wrongdoing Morgan had inflicted upon them. She was nothing but a pawn. Mortified once again, Georgina’s thoughts swirled around in her mind.
This whole thing had been a game right from the start. The pair of them must have sought her out and all the flirting and dancing was nothing but a ploy to get her to fall for their charade. They were nothing but beasts all along — the both of them.
“Georgina, what’s the matter?” She was interrupted from her musings by Marcas looking down on her with what she thought was false concern and she shrugged away from his touch disgusted. Had their connection been nothing but a malicious game on his part to coax me into trusting him?
She felt utterly crushed for mistaking his caring for her. To see him canoodling with another woman right in front of her just humbled her.
She was hurt and unable to hold it in any longer
. Her words came out strangled. “How dare you? Did you use me this way just to win one over in your little feud with Morgan Bolton?”
Marcas frowned in confusion, or at least he was making a good show of pretending like he didn’t understand. “What are ye talking about lass?”
“Conall just explained it all.” She raised her voice so the mysterious woman would overhear. “I was tricked to fall for your compliment when you were telling me how pretty my eyes were.” Georgina wanted Marcas to know she saw through the act he had been playing of the love-struck gentlemen while her back was turned.
“What?” His face was screwed up in what looked like genuine confusion, but Georgina folded her arms and stared him down until he produced a satisfactory answer. Moments later his expression softened, and he understood her misperception. He burst out into peals of laughter rather than an apology.
“Oh, lass.” He could barely catch his breath he was laughing so hard, which angered Georgina more.
The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 4