Highlander’s Tempted Guard (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance)

by Adamina Young

  “Aye, he was,” she said quietly.

  He got up from the bed and took a step toward her. Very tentatively, he lifted his hand and put it on her shoulder. He squeezed, saying nothing and politely looking away as she tried to compose herself. She dug in her pockets and extracted a kerchief, wiping away the tears.

  He inhaled loudly and expelled the breath with force before turning back to her. “However, Miss Douglass, what ye did, just disappearin’ like a ghost…” He shook his head. “It wasnae righ’. Ye should ha’ told me. Something might ha’ happened t’ye and I wouldnae ha’ been any the wiser.”

  “I can look after mysel’!” she snapped at him and then sniffed, her eyes still red. It detracted from the effect she was trying to have upon him. He bit his lip so as not to laugh.

  “O’course ye can. But yer uncle charged me wi’ yer care. I take that very seriously.”

  Fiona sighed, looking away. Suddenly she was very tired, feeling as if her feet would not hold her up. Shuffling over to the bed, she sat down hard with a sigh of relief. “Please go. I wish tae remove my shoon.”

  Immediately he was bending over her. “I can help ye wi’ tha’.”

  “Nae! Go away. I dinnae need ye.”

  “Aye, ye do!” He grabbed her leg and began to unlace her boots as she squirmed on the bed.

  “Stop!” She tried to pull her foot out of his hands but his hold on her ankle was firm and unyielding.

  “Just a few more moments and ye’ll be free of them,” he breathed, most of his attention on unlacing her ties. Fiona did not want him to see her bare feet. Her heart began to speed up again, and she was overtaken by the notion that if he saw her feet, he would know her secret. He would know what the seer said. Fear overwhelmed her and she began to fight in earnest. Her foot kicked out, catching him on the chin.

  He made a surprised sound before falling backward and hitting his head on the wooden floor with an audible thunk.

  Fiona screamed, scrambling off the bed and diving to the floor as if to belatedly break his fall. “Oh my god, are ye alrigh’? I’m sorry! I dinnae mean tae kick ye.” Her hands scrambled over his face, trying to see where he was hurt. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his jaw in fear, and then she realized he was shaking.

  “Daividh?” she whispered breathlessly. “Are ye having paroxysms?”

  Suddenly he opened his mouth wide, shouting with laughter. “I-I’m f-fine,” he said amid fits of laughter. “Oh heavens, ye ha-have a stro-stong kick, mo chridhe.”

  She sat back on her heel, crossed her arms, and glared at him. “Ye’re laughing at me?”

  “Nae, nae…” he wheezed, his face red. “I wouldnae do tha’.”

  She reached out without thinking and smacked him on the chest, gasping right after and covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide. At least the smack stopped his laughter as he gaped at her in surprise, then he threw back his head and laughed even harder.

  As abruptly as her fear had taken her over, she was filled with anger. She lunged for him and he caught her. Before she knew it, they were rolling about on the floor, his hand in her hair while she tried to scratch his face.

  “Stop!” He was still laughing even as he said it. That only spurred her to higher levels of violence and she leaned forward, intent on biting his cheek. Suddenly he turned his head and placed his mouth on hers.

  She froze and he took advantage of that to thrust his tongue in her mouth, his hand pulling her closer by her hair. Everything whited out and before she knew it, she was giving as good as she got.

  5

  Awkward Moments

  His tongue in her mouth was a sensation of immediacy she had never before experienced. It was as if she could feel his tongue over every inch of her body even as it grappled with hers. She wanted to savor the taste of him, relish the feel of him, and swallow the scent of him in her mouth. She could not believe the hunger that consumed her. It seemed to appear from thin air.

  In fear and terror of her own emotions, she jerked back, away from him, stumbling backward and almost tripping on her bags. Not a moment too soon, because as she tried to steady herself, the door opened and Julieta stepped in followed by the small boy they had met in the kitchen doorway. “I managed tae get some brose pudding,” she announced triumphantly before coming to an abrupt halt as her eyes fell on Daividh. “Oh, I beg yer pardon. I dinnae see ye there.”

  He bowed. “It is I who should ask for forgiveness. I shall be leaving now. Dinnae be fashit, I shall spend the night outside yer door so that ye’ll be safe.” He narrowed his eyes at Fiona as he spoke, making his words not so much a promise as a threat.

  “We thank ‘e.” Fiona even went so far as to curtsy prettily. Daividh narrowed his eyes further at that display but simply nodded jerkily and shuffled out of the room, shoulders straight, eyes burning. Fiona watched him go as she tried to stop the heaving of her bosom. The little boy placed the tray of food on the bedside stand and walked out after receiving a penny from Julieta, who then closed the door. She whirled to face Fiona, eyes wide. “What happened? What did ye do?”

  “I…” Fiona shook her head helplessly. “I dinnae ken.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I weel...he was scolding me and then…” She gestured helplessly at nothing.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I dinnae ken.”

  Julieta sighed, shaking her head. “I hope ye ken what ye’re doing, my dear. Now come and eat. Ye said ye were hungry.”

  Any appetite that Fiona had had was gone. Nevertheless, she crossed to the table, picked up the bowl, and began to eat the pudding. Julieta watched her anxiously for a while before nodding in satisfaction. “Guid lassie. We shall eat and sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough to contend wi’ all this.” She waved her hands about to indicate the entire situation. Fiona tried to smile her agreement but could not quite manage it over the lump of fear in her throat. She kept her head down and ate the food quickly before crossing over to the armoire and washing her face and hands in the basin.

  “D’ye think I could have a bath? I feel quite…” She trailed off, not knowing how to articulate the feeling of itching beneath her skin that she could not quite get rid of.

  “I shall ask,” Julieta said. She crossed to the door and opened it to find Daividh laying across the doorway. She uttered a squeak of surprise and jumped back as Daividh sat up. “Did ye want tae go somewhere?” he asked, his eyes still narrowed.

  “Uh...Miss Douglass would like some water tae bathe. I wanted tae get it frae her from the kitchen.”

  Daividh got to his feet. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

  Donnchadh woke up with a shiver, and his limbs felt as cold as if a ghost had walked over his grave. He tried to shake the feeling off but it persisted.

  Daividh was not there yet.

  I hope nothing is wrong.

  There were a lot of things in his life going awry, but this feeling felt almost like a warning of coming disaster. He wandered through his castle, watching as its residents scurried about, tending to the gardens, sweeping the courtyards, cooking, washing, or sparring together. Narrowing his eyes, he stood on his balcony and tried to fathom what was amiss. A footfall, emanating from behind him, startled him, and he whirled around to see Laird Hunter gazing at him with a raised eyebrow.

  He stiffened with surprise and then tried to cover it up by huffing in annoyance. "Why must ye sneak up on me like a thief?"

  Laird Hunter laughed silently. "Mayhaps ye should learn tae stay alert mo charaid."

  Donncadh narrowed his eyes at the slight but made no attempt to rejoinder. "What d'ye want then?"

  "I was simply wondering where my bride is? Should she no be here by now?"

  The other laird’s frown deepened. "It isnae yet three days."

  "Today is the third day!"

  "Well then, ’tis not over yet. Ye can complain at supper."

  Laird Hunter moved closer, his breath fanning over McCormick's f
ace. "Dinnae act as if ye have nothing tae lose, Donnchadh," he rasped, voice low and menacing as he bit off his fellow laird’s name.

  Donnchadh’s face paled as he took a step back from Laird Hunter. "Nae need frae such threats, Padraig. Ah'm sure they will arrive in good time."

  The other laird wagged a finger in his face. “Ye dinnae want to ken what will happen if’n they don’t.”

  Donnchadh nodded, turning away. Although he put on a brave face, he was just as perturbed at the delay as his companion. He had given the warrior three days because it took a day and a half on a fast horse to ride to Braenaird Keep and back. He had reckoned that traveling with a woman might take longer, but still, he had afforded them twice the required time to return.

  So where are you?

  He shuffled back to his chambers, Padraig’s words still ringing in the back of his mind. He did not trust that the other laird would keep his secret even if he got his wish and married Fiona. He just did not seem to be the kind of man not to hold such a piece of information over Donnchadh’s head until the day he died.

  He tried to think about how he could resolve this problem with the most minimal of casualties but he kept being tripped up by the fact that if he was to do that, the only solution would be to confess to his transgressions himself. Much as he hated to face this fact about himself, Donnchadh had to admit to cowardly feelings at the thought of standing in front of Murdo Douglass’s daughters and confessing to them...

  No. I can’t do it.

  He got to his feet and headed determinedly to his study. He wrote a note and handed it to one of his footmen. “Have a rider set out at once, on the fastest horse we have. I want a reply by tomorrow. This is imperative.” He added a glare to emphasize how serious he was.

  The footman nodded. “Aye, sir. It shall be done.” He snatched the note and hurried off towards the stables where several messengers were waiting, horses groomed, fed, and watered, ready to ride at a moment’s notice.

  The footman skidded to a stop. “Anndrais! I have an urgent note frae ye.”

  A diminutive man with straw-colored hair turned, his inquisitive green eyes trained on the footman. “Where to?”

  “Braenaird Castle. Ye’re tae go after Campbell an’ find oot wha’s keeping him.” The footman held out the note to Anndrais, whose eyebrows were raised all the way up to his hairline.

  “How d’ye ken wha’ the note says?”

  The footman shrugged. “The McCormick’s been expectin’ Campbell’s return all day. Then he sends ye to Braenaird? It isnae difficult tae guess.”

  Anndrais reached for the note, tucked it in his belt, and mounted his horse. “Aye then, I’m go.” He spurred the horse and took off at a good speed. The footman watched until Anndrais had disappeared around the bend before he returned to report to Laird McCormick that the message was on its way.

  Donnchadh nodded with relief. “Excellent. Alert me as soon as ye’ve got a reply.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Donnchadh spent the rest of his day dodging Padraig. He knew that sooner or later he would have to answer to the other laird, but the truth was that he had none and so would avoid confronting that reality for as long as he could.

  Instead, he was assailed by memories of how exactly he had gotten to this point. He had met Murdo Douglass when they were both thirteen years old. Even though they were cousins by marriage, they had never had the occasion to meet before. That year, they spent time with Donnchadh’s father, participating in raiding parties, sowing their wild oats, and learning about the role they would both have to take up in the future: that of laird.

  Murdo was a fast learner and tended to show Donnchadh up. He did not mind though, because Murdo was good about sharing his spoils. It almost made him not want to come out on top at any time because then he might have to contemplate sharing with his cousin or looking like a selfish donkey’s arse.

  Murdo was a force of nature and he had decided that Donnchadh would be his particular friend. The laird choked as he recalled a strange conversation they’d had the day before Murdo was scheduled to go back home to Braenaird Keep.

  It was raining quite heavily and they were in the loft of the barn, lounging about in the hay, both feeling rather sad at the impending departure.

  “I suppose our fathers will expect us tae wed now, eh?” Donnchadh had said sadly. He did not really like the lassies all that much but marriage was what came next once one became a man.

  “I expect sae,” Murdo said thoughtfully. “Although I wager I am nae ready frae tha’. I want to go off to university first.”

  Donnchadh sat up and stared down at his friend. “University? D’ye want tae go tae England or across the Channel?”

  “Across the Channel. I heard that French lassies are nae sae innocent as Scottish ones.”

  Donnchadh laughed. “Ah, sae ye havenae finished sowing yer wild oats then?”

  Donnchadh shrugged nonchalantly. “Mebbe they willnae be sae wild. Mebbe I will come back wi’ a French bride.”

  “Ohh, so ye dinnae want a Scottish lassie for yer bride? What will yer da say tae that?”

  Murdo laughed. “He isnae the one who will choose frae me, so I suppose he’ll say nothing.”

  Donnchadh sighed. “My faither awready has a lassie frae me. We are tae wed once she turns sixteen.”

  “Mmm. Then ye have some time.”

  “Aye.”

  They lay in silence, just contemplating their diverse futures before Murdo sat up. “Come on then, the horse stalls willnae muck themselves oot.”

  Donnchadh sighed with resignation. Murdo was just too conscientious for his own good. Nevertheless, he followed the other boy down to the stables where they each took a rake and began to clean the horses’ stalls. They had four beasts currently stabled. Bucephalus, who had just foaled and so was corralled away from the rest, nursing her new calf. Man o’ War was an old horse, put out to pasture. The laird made good trade with him, as he was a thoroughbred and his seed was much sought after. He was an ornery old horse and did not like high-pitched voices. The laird always warned the lassies to stay away from him. Whisky was a feisty horse, newly broken-in, that was not allowed to leave his stall unsupervised. The boys were endlessly fascinated with him and were therefore not supposed to go anywhere near him. Naturally, of course, that was the first place they headed.

  Donnchadh reached up tentatively, holding out an apple in his open palm.

  “Ye should get awa’ frae that horse. Ye remember wha’ he did tae Jones twa days ago?”

  Donnchadh ignored him and took a step closer. The horse stall had a simple bar across it to enable the boys to muck it out without going in. All they had to do was reach as far as they could and rake out the manure after spreading a heap of hay in front of Whisky to distract him.

  Murdo busily lugged the hay bale over while Donnchadh tried to tempt the horse.

  Suddenly Whisky kicked out and Donnchadh’s vision whited out. He collapsed on the floor, both hands cupping his groin, and rolled around in pain.

  He heard running footsteps and then Murdo was there, pulling him away from the horse, who seemed to be lifting his leg back for another go at Donnchadh.

  He knew he was agitating the horses with his screaming but he could not stop.

  Murdo awkwardly lifted him and lugged Donnchadh over his shoulder like a sack. He shuffled out of the barn into the pouring rain and shuffle-ran towards the kitchens.

  At some point, Donnchadh passed out from the pain and when he came to, he was lying in a cot, as the old sawbones, Mr. Cartwright, loomed over him.

  “We may have tae cut it off ” he was saying to Donnchadh’s anxious mother.

  “But...will he be able to have bairns if ye do tha’?”

  The sawbones sighed. “He may well die if’n I dinnae do it.”

  They rode out early the next morning in tense silence. Daividh was still fuming and Fiona was sulking. Julieta tried to start a conversation but no one responded to her overtur
es. Eventually, she gave up and began to sing as they rode. Fiona glanced at her, brow furrowed with puzzlement. She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling and looked away. It was a nice sunny day, the sky cloudless and blue, a pleasant breeze ensuring they didn’t get overheated as they rode. Daividh rode ahead of them, his head held high, back stiff, strong broad shoulders straight. In spite of her best efforts, Fiona’s eyes stayed glued to his proud countenance.

  Julieta kept turning her head to consider Fiona, a wry smile on her face. Fiona would catch her at it and frown with disapproval before her eyes were inevitably drawn back to Daividh. She wanted to ask him about the man she was slated to marry. Did Daividh know him? Was he a good man? How did he look?

  Can he hold a candle to you?

  Fiona dismissed the thought with a snort. She had barely known the warrior for two days, and had spent most of that in conflict with him. It was true that Daividh was an imposing figure, with a strong presence. Of course he left a lasting impression on her. That did not mean that he was some sort of god to be worshipped. Undoubtedly, her future husband was a man of worth. Her uncle Donnchadh would make sure of it. She knew for a fact that he doted on her.

  He would have chosen someone who would protect not just her but her sisters as well. With her father’s death, they were all vulnerable...and that was the reason she’d chosen this path. Love was a fine thing, but it was ephemeral. Her sisters were living, breathing beings who now relied on her for their safety and care. She could not let them down.

  With a huge sigh, she turned to face the other way, to keep him out of her sight. They were riding past a small loch, whose surface was so clear it reflected the trees above, making it look as if the world was upside down. It was appropriately surreal. She sighed, shaking her head to get rid of the dizziness invoked by staring too hard into the lake.

  “Is something the matter?” A deep baritone broke the silence and she jumped in shock. She had not been aware that he was even paying the slightest bit of attention to her.