A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (17 page)

The door opened. Duncan snapped his head up. John quickly slipped inside and shut it. “Unhand Lady Meg this instant.”

Stunned, Duncan took one step away. “Leave us, John.”

“’Tis all right, Sir John, I was just about to see to Sir Duncan’s wounds.” Meg’s voice had a high-pitched tremor, as if she’d swallowed a bird’s whistle.

John bent down and picked up the plaid. “’Tis not how it appears. You’re fortunate I came in when I did.”

Meg blushed three times the shade of scarlet by the privy closet.

Duncan snatched the plaid from John’s grasp and wrapped it around his waist. “Lady Meg needs to apply my ointment and then we shall break our fast.”

John frowned, looking at the jar of ointment on the bedside table. “I’ll do it. I’m sure the lady is in need of rest after tending you all night and fending off your advances just now.”

Duncan stole a look at Meg. She cast her gaze to the floor so fast, he had no chance to smile at her. John could be such a law-abiding arse at times. She sidled toward the door. “I daresay I am tired and hungry.” Her hand yanked down on the latch. “I shall request a tray brought up. You should still be abed, Sir Duncan.”

Before he could say a word, she slipped out and closed the door.

John glared. “What the blazes do you think you were doing with the
Earl of Angus’s
sister?”

Duncan stepped into his brother. “’Tis not what you think.”

“No? Bare-arsed, you had her up against the wall, lifting her skirts. I should see you flogged.”

Duncan took in a deep breath, making his chest jut out. “Aye, brother? It seems I’ve inherited the cods in this family.”

John raised his fists. “If you weren’t but one step from your sickbed, I’d lay you flat.”

Rage gripped Duncan’s gut. No one threatened him, especially not his little brother. Lowering his head, he barreled into John. Careening through the air, their flight jarred to a stop with a thud on the floorboards. Duncan threw a fist into John’s jaw. The weasel squirmed out from under him and pulled his bloody dirk. “Put your feeble arse in the bed afore I’m forced to skewer you.”

Grumbling, Duncan stood and tugged the plaid across his waist. “Do not let me ever hear you speak out against Lady Meg.”

“Now I ken you’re sick in the head.” John jammed his dirk back into its sheath. “I said nothing of the sort.”

Duncan climbed onto the bed and lay on his side. “She’s delicate. Needs protection.” Holy Christ, Meg’s virtue shone right there atop the coverlet. Duncan scooted over the top of the stain.

“Aye, from the likes of you especially, I reckon.”

“Wheesht. ’Tis not like that with her.”

John yanked Duncan’s plaid up. “Then what is it? Are you fixing to visit the Earl of Angus with your hat in your hand?”

He folded his arms tight to his chest. “Shut your gob.”

“Ballocks, your arse looks like shite.” John slapped on the salve none too gently. “You want to see payment for nearly getting yourself killed?”

Duncan gritted his teeth—not against the pain, but because he knew John was right. “Och.” He needed no lecture from his little brother. He could have scored his palm for deflowering the Earl of Angus’s daughter. God damn to hell his hot-blooded urges.

John shoved the stopper onto the pot. “Keep your cock tied under your braies.”

Duncan pressed his lips together and batted John’s hand away.

“I mean it.”

“Aye.”

“I’ll inform Da you’re well enough to see him.”

Duncan rolled to his back with a grunt. “I’ll need a moment to dress.”

“You should stay abed, give your wound another day to heal—come to your senses afore you resume your duties.”

Remaining abed was a luxury Duncan could ill afford. “Always full of advice, are you not?”

“Aye?” John walked toward the door. “Someone needs to be where you’re concerned.”

Duncan sidled off the bed. “I can handle my affairs just fine.”

“So says the ravisher of women.”

Duncan shook his fist. “Begone with you afore I strap my sword to my belt.” Even grown, younger brothers could be a pain in the arse.

Flinging his hands up, John took his leave.

Duncan moved to the bowl and removed his shirt. He poured in some water and soaped up the cleansing cloth. He was madder than hell that John had found him with Meg up against the wall, his cock jutting from beneath his shirt like an oak branch. Bloody hell, Duncan knew better. And thank the stars John came in when he did. Taking the Earl of Angus’s sister up against the wall like she was a commoner? He must have completely lost his mind due to the fever. A hundred times he’d told himself Lady Meg was off limits. The next thing he knew, he’d lost consciousness and awakened to the queen of the fairies in his bed. Bloody blundering idiot he was.

Meg found the stairwell and made her way to the great hall. Her face hot, her breaths came in short spurts. Completely mortified that John had burst into Duncan’s chamber and found them entwined in such an unnatural state of undress, she never could face Duncan’s younger brother again.

She clapped a hand to her chest. What if John revealed her indiscretion to the Lord of Glenorchy, or, God forbid, to her brother? How on earth could she have allowed it to happen? Up there in Duncan’s chamber, it had seemed as if they were the only two people in the world. Had she completely lost her sense of propriety?

With one accusing glare from John, her fantasy had shattered—along with her maidenhead. Oh how she’d humiliated herself. She clutched her hands to her stomach. Not only was she exhausted, she wanted to be sick.

Standing in the hall as if dumb, a few people ate porridge at the tables, but from the sounds coming from the courtyard, it was well past time for the morning meal. Pattering from the stairwell behind her, four girls pushed past, giggling and chatting all at once. Recognizing them as Duncan’s sisters, Meg stepped aside. They all appeared younger than she.

One stopped and smiled. “Good morrow, Lady Meg.”

She hid her claw behind her back. “Good morrow . . . ah . . .” She’d met them in such a fleeting moment, she couldn’t remember a one’s name.

The lass smiled as if she understood. “I’m Gyllis, Duncan’s eldest sister.” She pointed at the others. “That’s Helen and the twins are Alice and Marion.” Her brow creased. “How is our elder brother?”

By the heat in her cheeks, Meg knew she was blushing. They couldn’t possibly know what happened above stairs.
Could they?
She cleared her throat. “He’s awake and much stronger.”

“Thank heavens,” they chorused.

The younger girls pattered back toward Meg, with curiosity written across their faces. “Twins?” she said, looking between the two lovely lasses. “I can scarcely tell you apart.”

Alice and Marion regarded each other and giggled. They had dun-colored locks like John, while Gyllis and Helen sported chestnut tresses. “Is Duncan the only sibling with black hair?” Meg asked.

“Aye.” Gyllis grinned. “His mother died giving him birth. The rest of us are all Lady Margaret’s children.”

“I see.”

“Come, Gyllis,” Helen said.

The eldest Campbell girl turned to Meg with a friendly arch to her brow. “Have you eaten?”

Meg rubbed her stomach. “Nay, I daresay I’m famished.”

Gyllis flicked her wrist toward the girls. “You go on. I’ll have some porridge with Lady Meg.”

“Where are they off to?” Meg asked, relieved to have someone to divert her mind from her harrowing thoughts.

“The kitchen. Cook’s baking apple tarts.”

Meg’s stomach growled. “I daresay that sounds better than porridge.”

“Aye, but Mother volunteered us to peel and core the apples.” Gyllis licked her lips. “I’d rather eat the tart and let my sisters practice peeling apples.”

“I miss my sisters.” Meg chuckled. “Though I’m the youngest, and thus usually the lass given the brunt of the work.”

Gyllis led her to the massive hearth. “In my mind ’tis payback for all the years I had to care for them.”

The pot of porridge sat atop a cast-iron grill in front of the hearth. When Gyllis handed Meg a bowl, she had no choice but to grasp it with the claw while she spooned in the oats.

“Can I help you with that?” Gyllis asked.

“Nay.” The familiar sensation of prickly heat crawled up Meg’s neck. “I can manage on my own.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need.” Meg tried to smile. “I try to keep it hidden.”

Gyllis picked up a bowl and served herself. “Why would you do that?”

“Some
uneducated
people might think me a witch or worse.” Meg chuckled. “If only I had the nerve to chop it off.”

“That’s terrible. People should tend to their own ills.” Gyllis cringed and led Meg to the high table. “Does it pain you much?”

“Not at all.” The last thing Meg wanted to do was talk about the claw. “So what’s it like having a brawny knight for a brother?”

Gyllis scrunched her nose, sliding into a chair. “Duncan?”

Meg nodded, frowning back her smile.

“He’s a bit overbearing at times, but as of late, he’s been away on king’s business more than he’s been about the keep.”

“Rescuing ladies and the like?”

“Honestly, I do not ken.” Gyllis shrugged. “Aside from keeping peace in the Highlands, he’s never brought a lady back to Kilchurn. That’s for certain.”

Meg’s heart skipped a beat. She liked that he hadn’t brought other women to the keep. Lowering her gaze to the bowl, she spooned a bite of porridge.

“But what I cannot fathom is why you’re dressed like a crofter. I would think the daughter of an earl would have an endless selection of lovely gowns.”

Meg looked at her soiled dress. “Alas, there was no time to collect my trunks when I was kidnapped.”

Gyllis’s jaw dropped. “You were kidnapped? Och, how dreadful.”

“You did not know?” She spooned a few more bites of porridge.

“Ha.” The lass batted the air. “Do you think anyone around here would tell me something that
important
?”

Meg dabbed her lips. “I suppose there’s no reason to keep it quiet.”

“
Everything
is hush-hush, as if I’d run out to the town crier and create a scandal. I swear my parents still think me a child.”

“My family as well.” Meg regarded Gyllis’s endearing dimples. “Pray, how old are you?”

“Nine and seven.”

“Honestly?” Meg tapped Gyllis’s arm. “Many a maid is wed at such an age, though not I.”

“And your age, Lady Meg?”

“I’m rather embarrassed to admit . . .” She leaned closer so she could whisper. “Two and twenty.”

Gyllis formed an
O
with her mouth. “Truly, and you are not yet married?”

Meg held up the claw. “I doubt I shall ever be.”

“’Tis senseless rubbish.” Gyllis twirled one of Meg’s ringlets around her finger. “You are simply adorable to the eye.”

Meg snapped a hand to her chest. “And you are touched in the head.”

Gyllis tugged on Meg’s arm. “Come. Let us go above stairs. I’m sure we can find something more fitting for an earl’s daughter to wear.”

Duncan’s hand shook as he scooped up a bite of porridge the groom had brought to his chamber. He hated weakness in a man, especially in himself. His backside still felt like it had been gouged by a smithy’s rasp. In all honesty, his limbs were so weakened, he doubted he’d be able to raise his sword. God forbid he’d ever admit that to anyone.

As soon as the food hit his belly, his verve mercifully began to revive. Another day or two and he’d be back to normal.

He scooped the last spoon of oats. What on earth was he to do about Lady Meg? Had he been in his right mind last eve, he never would have allowed things to go that far.

But he had.

Duncan swallowed the bite and wiped his mouth with a cloth. His attraction to Meg equaled no other. Her spirited heart-shaped face, the color of fresh cream with slightly rouged cheeks, made the cobalt of her eyes all the more striking. And her hair set his blood to boiling. Deep red locks twisted and curled in a ravishing mane, one in which he could completely lose himself.

Though he’d been semiconscious, he could still recall the sensation of having her in his arms. Her ample breasts nestled seductively against him, her skin softer than satin. His fingers twitched. He needed to hold her in his arms again, at least one more time. Oh, to run his hands through her wild locks, to kiss her succulent lips. The woman drove him to the very brink of lunacy.

With a knock, the chamber door opened. “John said you had roused.” Da stepped inside.

Duncan stood too fast, and clapped his hand on the table to steady his dizzy head. “I’m much better, thank you, sir.”

“’Tis good to hear. I cannot express enough how worried your mother and I have been.”

Duncan gestured to the chair across the table. “Ye ken I would never succumb to a flesh wound on my arse.”

“I pray not.” Da sat. “Lady Meg refused to leave your side. I reckon you owe your good health to her tireless ministrations.”

“Aye.” Duncan picked up his tankard and watched the ale swirl within. Da could never know exactly how tireless Meg had been.

“She’s grown a fondness for you.”