The Highlander’s Runaway (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  Brogan flushed. These folk were not only kind, they were principled: a brooch like that could have bought their cottage. He looked away, moved by their kindness. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “You're very kind.”

  She chuckled. “Not at all. Ye should thank your lady friend here,” she added placidly. “She's the one who sat with ye while ye were raving fevered.”

  “Oh.” Brogan looked at Claudine. She looked down.

  “I couldn't leave you,” she whispered. “It was a pleasure to help,” she added, taking his hand.

  His cheeks flamed. He imagined her sponging his forehead, checking the rate of his heart, bathing his wound. He felt a flicker of memory, just then – one of his lucid moments during the fever. She had bent over him, sponging his forehead.

  I love you, she had said. I love you.

  Brogan took her hand, lost for words.

  Their older companion seemed to sense the need for privacy, for she shifted where she stood and nodded down at them, amicably. “Och, I've a lot tae do. This cottage needs cleaning and, whatever that obstinate Albert of mine thinks, it doesn't do that for itself.”

  “Thank you,” Claudine murmured as she left them. “You're very kind...”

  Bonnie's chuckle drifted back as she headed out into the garden.

  That left Brogan alone with Claudine. He held her hand, feeling overcome with the force of his emotion.

  “It's so good to see you well,” she began.

  He shook his head. He had to tell her how he felt now, while he had the courage. “Claudine,” he said, though even her name stuck against the big lump that blocked his throat. “Claudine, you brought me here. You saved me. Even during the fight, you helped me. I...I never dreamed of a person such as you. So strong and so sweet.” His voice cracked then, and he could not find words.

  When he looked up, he saw that she was crying. He reached up and touched her cheek. A tear streaked down it, slowly.

  “Oh, Brogan,” was all she said. “Brogan.”

  The silence stretched between them for a long time. The crackle of the fire was the first thing he noticed and, after a moment, the sound of his own heart. He watched Claudine. She was sitting very still, but he could see her shallow breath and the rise and fall of her own heart.

  He reached for her wrist and tipped the white skin toward his lips, pressing them against the soft warmth. She gasped, and then said nothing. He held her hand, feeling his own body respond to the closeness and the scent of her body.

  “Claudine, I...” He coughed. “We've been traveling together a while,” he said. He felt awkward, because he had no idea how to say what was in his thoughts. It would be clear by now that they were together, and he worried for her reputation.

  “I know,” she said, surprising him.

  “Yes,” he observed, not sure she was considering the same implications. “And, well...we've been not exactly secret.”

  He winced, not knowing what she would make of that. The last thing he wished to do was insult or discomfort her. After all, he had no idea yet whether or not she truly wanted him. It would be terrible to think of her tying herself to him simply for the sake of what others would or would not accept!

  “Well, yes,” Claudine said then, surprising him. “I reckon we ought to make things official.”

  Brogan stared. He had no idea how astonished he must seem, but he guessed the expression on his face must be amusing, for Claudine chuckled.

  “You needn't stare like that, Brogan McRae. Yes, I will marry you. Now, it's time we checked your bandage – it's feeling warm and I think it needs a good wash.”

  Brogan gaped at her in utter astonishment. If that was a proposal, it was the oddest one he'd ever had, or heard, before. He laughed then, overcome with surprise and the slow dawning wonder of it.

  Claudine giggled too. The sound of their laughter mingled with the crackle of the fire and made him smile still more, sounds of friendship and home.

  “Well, I never,” a voice said, astonished, as the sound of feet crossed the threshold. “There must be summat funny in my gruel. I never saw the like.”

  That made them laugh all the harder, and the next thing they heard was Bonnie's footsteps, heading out silently.

  The sun shone warmth through the window and, despite the direness of their circumstances, Brogan had never felt more happy.

  A WEDDING IN WINTER

  The sun shone brightly through the window of the tower, despite the lateness of the year. Claudine looked down at the skirt she wore. The gown was made of white velvet, pristine and soft. She had no idea how the seamstress had made it with such alacrity, though she had heard her voice, and Blaire’s, talking late into the night the last four days.

  “You look grand, milady.”

  Claudine nodded shyly. Her new maid, Blaire, grinned.

  “Ye be so pretty nobody'll be looking at aught else. Makes me wonder why we brushed the chapel.”

  Claudine laughed happily. “Oh, Blaire,” she said, laughing lightly, though she was afraid she would soon weep again, her mood was so erratic. “Where would I be without you?”

  She liked Blaire already, but she had to admit to missing Prudence. She had left her behind at the manor of her cousin. She wished she had been able to say goodbye, as she must be worried. She looked at Blaire, smiling fondly.

  Blaire said nothing, just grinned again and stood back to let her admire herself in the mirror.

  A long, simple velvet gown fell from her neck to her feet, covering them. The neck was a simple oval, high-cut. The skirt was wide, but the front had not been slashed to show an underskirt, as was modish. The veil was long and simple too, held on her head by a circle of satin riband. She turned before the mirror. The simple style was striking and somehow it brought out the sharp contrast of her brown hair and the color of her gray-blue eyes.

  It looks pretty.

  She smiled at her reflection, shyly pleased. Her heart thumped at the thought of what Brogan might think of it.

  She held a small bunch of foliage, bright green and abundant in the starkness of the turret. It was all that could be picked so late on.

  “Come on! There be guests awaiting ye,” the maid said, shooing her out. Claudine grinned, not at all offended by her cheery irreverence.

  She stepped out into the hallway.

  There, the cold of the day struck her, along with a corresponding flutter of nerves. The whole clan would be assembled down there to witness this remarkable day of her life.

  She was about to join her life to that of Brogan.

  She couldn't even comprehend the magnitude of that, not yet. She grinned and then bit her cheeks, not wanting to appear in the hallway looking in any way foolish. She drew a deep breath and composed herself, striving for what she thought would be proper.

  When she reached the foot of the stairs, Brogan was there. Dressed in the green and blue plaid of his ancestors and the clan, he had brushed his red hair to shining. His chest was almost healed, the wound neatly bandaged under a new shirt, and he looked proud and composed.

  She tried not to smile, but the instant she saw him a grin crossed her face. She was going to marry him!

  He smiled back, and their grins lit the hallway. They walked past the silent file of staff and clans-folk, and headed to the castle chapel on the first floor.

  The wedding was brief.

  Claudine felt a mix of nerves and elation throughout the ceremony, and she said her vows quickly, almost unable to hear them for the sound of her heart thumping in her chest. She was getting married. To Brogan.

  As the priest came to the end of the ceremony, words of Latin falling like rain into the silence, Claudine swallowed the rising knot of wonder in her stomach. It was true! She was married to Brogan.

  She looked up at him. He looked down at her. His eyes were sparkling, and he seemed to be expecting her to do something. She frowned, and then realized what it was. She had to move to let him lift the veil. He was going to kiss her.

 
; She stepped back a little, turning to face him, and he lifted the lace, very gently, and folded it over and leaned forward. Her lips met his and she felt excitement rising as he kissed her. Her heart sang and her body melted, and she felt a strange longing mix with the excitement.

  Then he stepped back. He grinned and she could not hold back the smile that rose and grew inside her. He turned to face the crowd in the chapel – it was a small chapel, but the entire household had insisted on packing the available space to see Laird Brogan wed – and they shouted affirmation.

  “Slainte! Slainte!”

  Claudine smiled, assuming that was some sort of greeting, and Brogan took her hand and together they walked through the crowd of approving, smiling people. They walked out into the light.

  She linked her arm with his, both of them grinning, and together they walked to the hall. A banquet had been laid out for the celebration.

  Claudine took a seat beside Brogan. She looked around the hall, dazed. It was a small room, not anywhere near the scope of the hall at Duncliffe, even, or at her home. However, it had been decorated with pine and other evergreen leaves, and it had an air of festive joy that no other place she'd been in could match.

  She grinned sideways at Brogan, who was still smiling with a quiet joy. He seemed relaxed here in his home. She liked seeing him here, the laird, generous and content in his custodianship of this small community.

  “Dances!” someone yelled – one of the few words Claudine had heard she understood, and a violin struck up a merry song.

  As the hall got to their feet and began to dance, Claudine suppressed a grin. She had never seen such rambunctious celebration – at her own home, things would have been more restrained. At least, the guests would have stayed seated for their meal! Not here, it seemed. Everything was unrestrained and joyful.

  “Hee...hu!” someone whooped, spinning round on the dance floor. The melody was lilting and Claudine found herself longing to join.

  She glanced at Brogan, who grinned. “We can try a reel, if you would..?”

  Claudine flushed. “I don't know what I'm doing,” she responded, assuming he meant the dance they performed.

  “Well, neither do they.”

  She laughed, observing he was right. Most of the guests danced as they saw fit, and there was little coherence in the overall picture.

  “When the banquet's going, they'll get more rowdy, eh.”

  She nodded. “I can imagine.”

  “Well, then,” he said, smiling. “Mayhap we'll dance later.”

  She flushed. Later, as the banquet progressed, they would be ushered upstairs, to the bedchamber that had been prepared for them. The thought had been in her mind since the ceremony began. What would come after it? She didn't know

  “Brogan, I...”

  “Hush, lass,” he said gently. His hand moved over hers. “Just 'cos ye don't know the steps, doesn't mean ye cannae learn.”

  She felt as if he was speaking on another level, not just about the dances, and she flushed. “That is true,” she acknowledged, mouth dry. “I can learn.”

  “Well, then,” he said gently. “All's well then.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “It is.”

  The banquet progressed. An endless procession of trays seemed to be issued from the kitchen, carried to the top table, where she and Brogan sat, and around the hall. Dishes Claudine had never heard of appeared, and she was urged to try all of them. She did, and found herself feeling sleepily content and full.

  Down on the dance floor, the guests were, as Brogan put it, becoming livelier. She watched them whoop and dance, and saw a woman and a man share a passionate kiss. Her body flushed with warmth.

  What would happen when...?

  She bit her lip, filled with delicious uncertainty and a little shame. She really had no idea of what would happen. Any whispers she had heard in hallways seemed so improbable that she had to dismiss them as wild fancy. Surely people didn't do such things...?

  She felt Brogan's hand move over her own where it rested on the chair beside her.

  “Lass?” he whispered. “Shall we...?”

  Claudine swallowed hard. She looked around, feeling a rising excitement in her body that was building, overcoming the sense of fear. “Yes,” she whispered. “We shall.”

  “Good.” He smiled, pleased, clearly. He pushed back his chair.

  “Excuse us,” he said to the gaunt-faced man opposite, who he had introduced as his steward. “We will retire.”

  “Very good, milord.”

  Claudine felt her heart thumping in her chest with a mix of terror and elation as she stood and, pushing back her chair, walked from the dais.

  They went out into the hallway together. Claudine felt as if the world was suddenly very vivid, all the sensations made more intense: the feel of cold stone under her feet, the air on her skin, the coolness of the wind. She was alive in ways she couldn't recall.

  “Come on, lass,” he whispered. His voice was tight. She realized he felt something of it, too. That thought made her all the more excited as she followed him up toward their bedroom.

  At the door, he looked down at her. His eyes were bright. He stroked her hair, making her shiver, and then drew her into a sudden embrace, his lips pressed tight to hers. She gasped, and felt as if her body was ignited by the contact. She wanted to push herself against him, to feel his hard body meld to hers, pressing against her breasts, her thighs, her chest.

  He drew her closer too, strong arms around her. His lips were still on hers, hot and firm. She felt as if the sensations building inside her would drive her mad if they did not find release.

  “Come on, lass,” he whispered again, ragged.

  He opened the door and together they went into the bedroom.

  Inside, he seemed shy. “It's not much,” he said, waving a hand at the bed, the garlanded fireplace, and the fresh herbs that had been strewn there and on the coals to scent the place.

  “It's perfect,” she said tightly.

  She stepped toward him and held him against her. He looked down into her eyes, infinitely tender.

  His lips moved over hers, but this time they were gentle, so gentle. She closed her eyes and gasped softly as they gently pressed her own lips apart, exploring her mouth with his tongue. Gentle and probing, it was warm and tasted of the sweet cordial they'd drunk together. She sighed and pressed her body into his, melting against him.

  His grip tightened and he leaned against her, gently shifting her so that she moved back, toward the bed. His hands moved to her back, stroking the soft skin of her neck, under her hair, in a way that made her body ignite under his touch. She could feel that tickling insistence fill her body, making her want something. She didn't know what it was, but she knew that her body knew and that it would go mad with urgency if it was not forthcoming.

  His fingers started to feel out the buttons on her gown. She drew a breath, afraid to move as he started to unbutton her gown, one button by another. She felt his fingers softly stroke her skin.

  “Easy, lass,” he whispered as she jumped, the buttons open to her waist now. His fingers stroked down the skin of her back, insistent. He tugged the gown at her shoulder with his hand, drawing it down.

  Claudine closed her eyes, feeling her body melting under his gentle exploration. His hand stroked her through the soft weave of her petticoat, going lower until she thought her heart might stop. Then he drew the dress down to her knees and pushed her back onto the bed behind her.

  A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

  Brogan sat down on the bed beside Claudine. She was dressed in her petticoat and he stared at her, his body responding uncontrollably to her presence and her beauty.

  Her hair, glowing in the firelight, fell around her face like waves of satin, long and smooth. She looked up at him, eyes shining, and he drew a deep breath, trying to restrain himself from burying his face in her soft, sweet, scented curves and letting loose his longing.

  Easy, he told himself. Go easy.<
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  She had likely never even seen a man unclothed before. He blushed, recalling that she must at least have seen something of him, those days in the hut when she’d nursed him and washed his wound. Well, perhaps that was for the better now. She was not going to be too frightened of him.

  He looked down at her again, swallowing hard. Her breast rose and fell with in-breaths, her body sweet and curved and making him ache with longing. Her waist was a sweet curve, her hips full and rounded, her breasts strained at the neck of the tight-fitting petticoat. He ached to draw it off her, and at the same time he wanted to go slowly. Infinitely. Savoring each second of this time together.

  He reached for the ribbon at the neck of the petticoat and loosened it, drawing it down her body with infinite slowness. He stared at the skin he uncovered, his body aching with wanting as he saw that white, pale skin uncovered.

  When she lay naked before him, he held his breath and stared. Her body was so lovely, with its rounds and hollows, smooth and firm and scented, faintly, of herbs. He reached down and stroked his hand along her arm, barely daring to touch her. She sighed and tensed and he let out a ragged sigh.

  “You are so beautiful, my dearest Claudine.”

  She smiled at him, her smile rich and full and joyous, and that, too, warmed the longing in him until it was glowing like a furnace. He let his fingers wander to the skin of her chest, not daring to go any further, lest desire overwhelm him. He looked into her eyes. “You are so beautiful.”

  She smiled. “You are rather handsome.”

  He blushed. Oddly, he'd never heard that before. He felt shy. “Thanks,” he whispered raggedly.

  She seemed to glow as she smiled back at him.

  He looked down at her again, feeling his longing rise and build within, and then he could hold back no longer. He stood and, not wanting to go too fast and yet knowing he could hold back no longer, he lifted the fine new shirt over his head and undid the fastening of the kilt he wore below it. He unwound it quickly, practiced in its doing, and then turned back to her where she lay on the bed.