Loving A Highlander (2 page)

Chapter

Two

Isabella awoke to a loud crash and a muttered curse.  Her eyes flew open and she jumped up, ready to do battle.  Her hand instinctively curled around the handle of the broom that was leaning against the wall.

Her visitor was crumpled on the floor by the door.  He had gotten out of bed and opened the front door, but had lost his balance and stumbled into the small table against the far wall.

              She rushed to his side, reached down and looped her arm around him and hauled him to his feet.  “What on earth are you doing?” she asked, as she helped him walk the remaining few feet to the bed.  “It is still raining.  You will catch your death out there, if you haven’t managed to do so already.”

              “Can’t a man get a little privacy?”  The stranger scrubbed his hand across a jaw darkened with whiskers.  He looked tired, but the feverish light in his eyes had dimmed.

              Isabella frowned as she caught the meaning behind his words.  “Of course,” she said stiffly, silently berating herself for ignoring the obvious.  The man had been abed for hours, it was only logical that nature would call.  She reached underneath the bed and pulled out a chipped chamber pot.  She thrust it into his hands.  “Use this.  It is too wet for you to go outside.”

              She turned her back and walked a few feet away.  The cottage was tiny and offered little privacy, but it would have to do.  She hummed quietly to herself as the man went about his business.

              “I made a tincture for your fever.”  She turned to see if he was finished.  “I will put some in a cup for you to drink.”  She moved towards the fire, but stopped when the man shook his head.

              “I’m fine,” he rasped, as he struggled to get to his feet.  After a few seconds, he gave up the fight and sank back with a groan.

              “You’re not fine.  Far from it,” she insisted, as she brought the cup to him and bid him to drink.  She felt his forehead, it was still hot to the touch.  “Drink,” she ordered, as she brought the cup to his lips, wondering why men had to be so stubborn.

              He took a sip and then choked.  “Gods, woman,” he pushed the cup away.  “What are you trying to do?  Poison me?”

              “No.”  Isabella tried not to lose her temper as she brought the cup to his lips again.  “It isn’t poison.  It is medicine.  If you drink it, you should feel better.”  There was confidence in her voice.  She knew she had the ability to heal.  Had done so many times, but her efforts would be for naught if he didn’t cooperate.

              Her visitor made a face.  “I will have no more of that foul brew.”  He wrenched the cup from her hand and flung it across the room where it crashed against the far wall.

              With a look of horror, Isabella jumped to her feet and crossed the room in a few short strides.  The remnants of the tincture ran in rivulets down the wall and the cup lay shattered at her feet. It had been Owen’s cup, the one he had used every day of their marriage. And then, after her cup had fallen to the floor and broken one morning, he had shared it with her in a moment of rare kindness.

She turned, her eyes flashing.  “You, sir, might have endless dishes available for you to break, but
that,”
she pointed to the shards of pottery on the floor, “was my only cup.”  Isabella thought she saw a look of regret flash across the man’s handsome face, but it was gone just as quickly.

              “What’s your name, lass?”  His blue eyes traveled from the top of her head, lingering on the swell of her bosom for a minute, before landing on the bare toes barely visible beneath the hem of her dress.

              Isabella sighed heavily as the anger left her.  She needed to remember the man was sick and not in his right mind.  “Isabella.  Isabella Alexander,” she said, as she met his steady gaze without flinching.  She recognized the look of hunger she saw there, a hunger that wasn’t for food.  She had seen the look on Owen’s face many times.  But the man was weak, she could fight him off if she had to.

              The corners of the man’s lips tilted upward in a slight grin.  “Isabella,” he murmured.  He rolled her name around on his tongue like a fine wine.  “Bella.  A pretty name for a pretty lass.”

              Isabella smiled, secretly pleased with the man’s compliment.  Even though she knew he probably turned on the charm around all females.  Something told her this was a ladies man.  A man used to having a woman share his bed.

              She self-consciously brushed a lock of her blond hair over her shoulder.  She knew she wasn’t pretty.  If she had been pleasing to the eye, maybe her husband wouldn’t have strayed.  Her features were a little too uneven, but it was nice to hear the compliment all the same.

              The man’s gaze warmed as he studied her.  “Tired, lass?”  He scooted over so there was room for her in the bed and patted the spot beside him.  “I’m willing to share.”

              Oh, he was a rogue.  She shook her head, ignoring his invitation and squared her shoulders.  “You haven’t given me your name.  You are a guest in my home and I haven’t a clue what to call you.”

              He chuckled then, a low husky sound that snaked around her and sent a shiver down her spine.  “Oh, I’m certain there are plenty of names that you have silently called me.  I have acted less than a gentleman.” 

His grin was devilish and twin dimples sprang up in his cheeks.  “My mother would have been horrified at my behavior.”

A smile played about Isabella’s lips and she arched a delicate brow.  “What should I call you?” Her fascination with her guest was growing by the minute, and if she wasn’t careful, she would begin daydreaming about the two of them.  Which would be a complete waste of time since everyone knew that such a man only had one use for women of her station in life.  Not that she would have minded.  She had a feeling a night spent in her visitor’s arms would be immensely satisfying for the both of them.

His grin widened.  “You can call me Gerard, lass.  Gerard Mackenzie.”

              Isabella’s eyes widened slightly and she couldn’t prevent a gasp from escaping her lips.  The Mackenzie’s were well-known in the area.  The clan was wealthy and lived in a castle a few miles away.  She had never seen it, but she had heard rumors about its rising towers, cavernous rooms and well stocked larder.

              What would it be like to never go hungry?  To never have to worry about your next meal?  It was a feeling she had never known.

              “Are you the laird of the castle?” she asked, even though she knew the question was silly.  The laird of the castle would no doubt travel with an entourage, not alone like this man.

              Gerard tipped back his head and roared with laughter, the sound filling the small space.  It was a few minutes before he responded. “No, I am not the laird,” he said, wiping away a tear.  “You are speaking about my cousin, Rowan.”

              Isabella’s mouth firmed into a thin line.  She was beginning to lose her patience with her unexpected guest.  “I wouldn’t know the name of the current laird.  I haven’t traveled far from home.”

              Gerard’s laughter quieted as he studied her.  “No, I can see that.”  He placed a hand to his aching head, but his eyes remained fixed on her face.  “But you appear well educated.  I wouldn’t have expected it of someone of your…”  His voice trailed off and he quickly looked away.

              Isabella felt a flash of irritation.  It was one thing for her to acknowledge the difference in their social standing, quite another for him to point it out.  “Someone of my what?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

              Gerard’s gaze shifted to her face.  He knew he had angered her.  A flush stained her cheeks and fire flashed in her eyes.  He wondered if she knew how beautiful she looked at this moment.  Her bosom heaved as she drew in angry breaths. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have the energy to strip her bare.  To let the soft morning light bathe her skin as he kissed a trail down her body until he tasted the very essence of her.

              He had a feeling she wouldn’t mind and wouldn’t put up much of a protest if he decided to do precisely that.  Even though his blood heated, he shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his face in frustration.  Those thoughts would be better left to another day.  A day when he had far more energy than he had at the moment.

              He sighed.  “I didn’t mean to anger you, lass.  I’m just surprised you know how to read, is all.”

Isabella felt her anger begin to cool.  Of course he would be curious where she picked up such a skill.  She brought him a dipperful of water and watched as he greedily drank.  “My mother and grandmother taught me how to read.”

              Gerard’s brows arched in surprise.  “And who taught your grandmother how to read?  It isn’t common for a peasant to be educated.”

              Isabella felt a momentary prick of annoyance but then shrugged, knowing he spoke the truth.  “I don’t know.  It was never discussed.”  She brought him a little broth and a hunk of bread and watched him greedily tear into it as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

              Gerard stopped chewing long enough to ask another question.  He quickly scanned the one room cottage and a puzzled look entered his eyes.  “Do you live here with your mother and grandmother?”  He hadn’t seen any signs of other person, but maybe they were away visiting.

              Isabella blinked the tears from her eyes as she thought about her mother and kindly grandmother.  They had meant the world to her and their deaths years ago, only months apart, had devastated her and left a void in her life.

              “No,” she said softly.  “My grandmother and mother died some time ago.  My husband…”  She hesitated and then decided to tell the truth.  What did it matter what this stranger thought about her.  “My husband left some time ago,” she said, meeting his gaze.  “He didn’t return.”  She took a deep breath.  She was a strong woman and refused to waste her tears on a man who didn’t deserve it.

              “I’m sorry, lass,” Gerard said, wishing the man was standing in front of him so he could throttle him.  A flash of pain lanced through his heart at the raw emotion in her eyes.  “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

              Isabella shook head.  “You didn’t,” she said firmly, attempting to convey a braveness she didn’t feel. 

She sighed and crossed the room to look out the window.  Pushing aside the shutters, she looked out into the clearing outside the cottage.  The rain had lessoned to a steady drizzle.  The rising sun was beginning to lighten the sky, highlighting the morning mist.  It was beautiful and a place that had always touched her heart, tugged at her soul.

“Aye, I did,” Gerard said solemnly.  He struggled to his feet and crossed the small space to stand beside her.  “And for that, I am truly sorry,” he said, leaning heavily on the window sill.  “Would you believe me if I told you I am usually not such an insensitive brute?”

Isabella sighed.  “I will have to take your word for it.”

Gerard sighed along with her as he watched the soft morning light play across her delicate features and highlight the slight flush that stained her cheeks to a rosy hue.  She was truly lovely, and he thought her husband was a fool.  How could the man hold this woman’s love in the palm of his hand and then throw it away as if it meant nothing?

He studied her. There was a sadness that clung to her.  A droop to her shoulders that told of a life filled with disappointment and trials.

Isabella turned to him and stared up into his handsome face.  His eyes were a deep blue, the kind of blue that reminded her of ripe blueberries.  Fringed with dark lashes, his eyes were beautiful and far too mesmerizing.  Capable of putting an unsuspecting woman underneath his spell.

Her gaze dropped to his hands.  Hands that were large and capable and she wondered what they would feel like on her skin as they stroked her body.  Igniting a passion that would take hours to extinguish.

She shook her head to clear it.  She had been without a man for too long and the one in front of her was weak from his injuries and possessed little more strength than a newborn babe.

She thought about the long months alone.  She had been pregnant when Owen left, but the bairn, a wee little girl, had not survived and she had buried her in the soft earth at the edge of the forest with only a small stone to mark the spot.

Gerard stared back at her, his gaze steady and she quickly turned away, afraid he had seen too much.  What did he care about what her life was like?  The day to day to hardships she had to endure since her husband had left.  Hardships that would no doubt continue long after her handsome visitor departed for a world she couldn’t even imagine. 

What was it like to never go hungry?  To have enough money to see to the needs of yourself as well as your family?  That was a kind of security she had never known.  She had grown up with the wolf at the door.  Sometimes it was a little further away.  Sometimes it pressed so close to the door that it’s mournful howls drowned out the conversation inside.  But always it was there, the fear that one poor harvest, one illness, would send her world tumbling to the ground around her until the pieces lay shattered at her feet and broken beyond repair.

Hunger was a constant reminder to people like her, that their grasp on this life was tenuous at best.  Most of them feared the dark and cold months, a time when the sun’s rays were weak and the days were short.  Even though the majority of the nobility were Christian, the poor people still clung to the old ways, celebrating the Winter Solstice and Imbolc.  A time to rejoice and welcome back the sun and its warm light.  Grateful that the sun’s rays would be returning to warm the land and give life to the forest once again.