Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (36 page)

Jillian could well understand. Her father had been forced to sell their land and finally the townhouse because of gambling debts, and now she was about to lose Newburn and her wonderful Andalusians. She hoped Ian could squelch whatever problems were brewing here.

Ian moved forward to ride point through the pass and Jillian was left to her own musings. The slowed pacing of the horses as they angled their way carefully over rocky paths nearly lulled her to sleep. When they finally stopped to water the horses along the shores of Loch Linnhe and have a bite to eat, she actually felt the beginnings of an appetite.

The boatman ferried them across and Jillian watched Ian’s face light up as they drew nearer his home. Even his horse picked up his ears and lengthened his stride as though knowing his own stable awaited him.

Still, Jillian’s mouth dropped open as they rounded a bend and she saw Ian’s home perched high on a craggy hill overlooking Loch Shiel. It was nothing less than a medieval castle.

She looked around in awe as a real portcullis ground upward and they rode past the stone curtain wall where several Scots stood guard and entered the courtyard. The keep towered above her, a full four stories high with merlons and embrasures lining the roof. She felt as though she had been transported back in time. She craned her neck, halfway expecting a contingent of armored knights to come charging through on huge destriers.

Instead, the huge oak doors burst open and a bevy of brightly clad women came rushing out, all throwing themselves at Ian, shrieking in Gaelic and laughing. No wonder Ian had an ego, Jillian thought, as they all tried to hug him at once. One of them had hair red as fire and another more resembled Jamie, and two others were light-haired. Ian emerged from the group, an arm wrapped around a young woman. Her raven hair and pearl grey eyes gave her delicate face an ethereal look that matched the rest of her slender, graceful body. The girl was clinging to him with an adoring look in her eye. Jillian felt a pang of jealousy flash through her. She had not even thought that Ian might have a woman waiting for him here. Her heart dropped to her toes. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to commit to any of the debutantes of the
ton
. The girl was devastatingly beautiful.

A man emerged from the house, a book in his hand. It looked out of place with his powerful build. He stood a good hand taller than Ian and his shoulders were equally as broad. His hair was not as inky black as Ian’s, but it flowed to his shoulders and the big hand that held the book looked like it could handle any kind of weapon. He looked slightly bewildered at the noise and then his face broke into a big grin when he spotted Ian. It changed his look from grim warrior to handsome man immediately.

“I should have known it would be ye,” he said to Ian as he came closer and grasped Ian’s forearm in a military greeting. “The lasses have been in a tizzy ever since Jamie left to bring ye back.” He looked around and his gaze landed on Jillian, standing next to John, the only man who hadn’t headed to the stables with his horse. “What have we here, cousin?”

All chatter ceased. Only the sound of John’s horse shuffling his feet could be heard in the sudden silence as six pairs of eyes looked her way. Jillian swallowed hard and lifted her chin. Would they accept an Englishwoman as a guest?

“Jillian.” Ian held out his arm that wasn’t clasped around the grey-eyed beauty. “Come here, let me introduce ye.”

She moved forward. So far, the looks she was receiving weren’t hostile, mainly just curious. “Lord Cantford,” she said.

Ian arched an eyebrow and the two light-haired girls giggled. “A lord,” one of them said and poked the other.

“Ye’d best not be giving yourself airs, Ian,” the flame-haired woman said with a wicked smile. “I still can take ye to task.”

Ian shook his head at her and turned to Jillian. “That’s my sister, Bridget. She’s the bossy one, thinking because she’s the oldest—”

“We doona need to talk about age, brother,” Bridget said with a mock frown upon her face. She waved her hand at the still-giggling twins. “They be Caitlin and Caylin, our cousins, sisters to Shane.” She indicated the big man and then drew the auburn-haired girl who looked like Jamie forward. “This is my sister, Shauna.”

“And this is Fiona,” Ian said as he removed his arm from the girl’s shoulder. “Our youngest sister.”

Jillian felt her knees go weak with relief. His sister.

“Aye,” Bridget said with a sigh. “The one we try to keep out of trouble.”

“I canna help it if trouble finds me,” she protested in a soft, breathy voice. “Ye know the old Crone of the Hills says I have fey blood.”

Jillian could almost believe it. The girl had an otherworld quality about her. Jillian wondered if part of her trouble was keeping suitors at bay. Certainly, any of the young lords of the
ton
would be pushing and shoving to get to her side.

“We doona need to be talking about faerie and scaring the English lass,” Bridget said firmly and then her gaze fell on Jillian’s hair and she looked almost startled.

Jillian knew she must look a fright, as dirty and disheveled as she was from riding all day, but Bridget was not looking at her manly breeches and shirt. Nervously, Jillian tried to tuck the gold strands of hair that had come loose back into the darker chestnut braid. Was that what Bridge was looking at? The odd streak in her hair? She remembered Ian calling it faerie gold. Jillian gave herself a mental shake. This whole place seemed to belong to another time. If she didn’t stop thinking like this, she’d soon be looking around for a real faerie.

“I’m sure Jillian would like a bath and a soft bed,” Ian said to Bridget.

His sister blushed slightly. “’Tis sorry I am not to think of it. Come with me, Jillian. Or do ye prefer to be called your ladyship?” When Jillian shook her head, Bridget smiled warmly at her. “This way then.”

Jillian had just a glimpse of a great hall to her left as they entered through the massive oak doors. Trestle tables filled the room and ancient weapons lined one wall. Along the others, colorful tapestries were hung, contrasting with the grey of the stone and no doubt keeping some of the chill out. At the far end, a large chair sat on a dais with a silken tapestry depicting a boar’s head with horns and the Macleod motto of
Hold Fast
above it.

It looked like a king’s throne. Jillian had the strange feeling of being tossed back in time again, and for a moment she could imagine Robert the Bruce holding court and the clanging of armor and banging of pewter mugs on wood tables as the famed French knights who had rallied for him at Bannockburn filled the hall for a meal. She shook her head. What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn’t normally given to such fanciful thoughts.

Bridget led her up the stairs to a room on the second floor. Within minutes, ghillies arrived, one carrying a hip bath that he set behind a screen. Others came with buckets of warm water. Another girl brought scented soap and a soft linen night rail that she laid on the feather bed.

“Ye must be tired,” Bridget said as she shooed the last ghillie out. “I’ll have some food sent up and then ye can rest. The family can wait ’til the morn to get to know ye.”

Jillian was grateful for that small retrieve. Ian had said nothing about why she was here—perhaps he could fill them in. From the curious looks she’d been given, she knew they were all brimming to ask, but Highland hospitality, as the old Medieval rule of not asking a man’s name until he had eaten, probably forbid it.

Just as well, she thought as she sank down into the tub that had a convenient bench built into it. The hot water over her shoulders was already relaxing weary muscles. The only thing that could feel better would be if Ian were to come into the room.

She shivered a little at that wanton thought. When had she ever wanted to have a man come upon her in a bath? Never. But somehow, being found naked by Ian was very appealing. He’d already seen her back and he hadn’t been repulsed. And the things he did to her front—suckling her breasts while his expert fingers stroked between her legs… Warmth spread through her lower body that had nothing to do with the bathwater.

She soaked, hoping he would come, but knowing that he probably would be talking to his family for quite a while. She reluctantly left the tub when the water cooled, towel-dried her hair and slipped into the soft gown that smelled faintly of heather.

The stew, soft bread and hard cheese that a ghillie had left on the table on the other side of the screen tasted better than any of the fancy French soups and entrees that were served at English dinner parties. Jillian ate ravenously, surprising herself at how suddenly her appetite had returned. She smiled to herself as she scraped the bowl clean. Her sister would be shocked at such improper manners.

She looked at the bed. Bridget had turned down the huge blue and green plaid with its red stripes and the crisp, white sheets beckoned to her. What would it feel like, having Ian lying beside her tonight? Possibly waking up to him in the morning? She had seen the hungry looks he had given her the past week as they rode north. He could hardly have done anything with her—or
to
her…she felt a delightful tingle between her legs at what he might do there—with all his men about. But tonight…after the household had quieted down, would he slip away?

She lay down on the bed to wait. Surely, he would come.

“Ye brought a
sassenach
back with ye!” Duncan MacNair glowered at his nephew as they sat across from each other in the old map room that Shane had converted into a library. “Are ye daft leading the vile English here?”

Ian took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. It was late and his uncle had arrived just as they sat down to eat. It was just as well that Bridget had sent food up for Jillian. Meeting Duncan would be more daunting than he had thought.

“I’ve already told ye that the lass was in danger.”

Duncan snorted. “And ye left Jamie there to protect her sister? Are ye so barmy about the English then?”

This was boggy ground that Ian trod on. Thanks to the rumors spread by that Tredeau mon, his uncle already thought he favored the English. He sighed. “I told ye that I left Jamie to see over the lands. I dinna have time to learn who is to be trusted.”

Duncan looked a bit more mollified. “At least ye had sense to do that.”

“Thank ye,” Ian said with barely concealed sarcasm.

“As
laird
,” Shane interrupted, “we shouldna question Ian’s decision.”

“Faugh!” Duncan replied. “The clan must be able to trust the laird.” He narrowed his eyes. “It there truth to the rumor that the English whoreson wants ye to marry an English lass?”

Ian arched a brow. “Ye would do well not to refer to the prince regent as such. Even here, there may be big ears about.”

“Not within these walls,” Duncan said emphatically. “Answer the question.”

“’Tis true the prince would want to bind me to the land with an English heir,” Ian admitted slowly, “but I wilna be bartered nor will I take a wife I doona want.”

His uncle sat back and appraised him. “’Tis well then. Ye can have your pick of bonnie Scot lasses. If the whoreson is so set on having an heir in place, let it be a clanswoman that gives him one. Perhaps the Dugall lass?”

Ian bit back a retort. Margaret Dugall’s father was a formidable neighbor, which was the reason Duncan had wanted the alliance for years. She was a biddable lass who was even more timid than Sherrington’s daughter was. As far as he could remember, she’d never had an opinion about anything, unlike Jillian. Margaret reminded him of a little, brown wren and just as fragile. He’d probably do her serious injury if he ever tried to… He stopped. He couldn’t imagine even
trying
to bed her. She couldn’t possibly be capable of stirring his passions the way Jillian did. Just thinking about her, upstairs in a soft bed made his loins tighten. Damn. This was probably not the time to inform his uncle that he planned to marry Jillian.

He’d fully intended to tell his family tonight that he and Jillian were to be hand-fasted according to the old ways. Fantasies of Jillian lying naked beneath him, the nipples of her full breasts tight and budded while he fondled the dampness between her silken thighs kept him in a near fever pitch through all of the preliminary conversations before his uncle arrived. By the time they returned to England, he would have pleasured her in so many ways that she would not be able to deny that marriage was best for both of them.

He clenched his fists beneath the table. If he couldn’t tell his uncle, he couldn’t tell anyone else either. And that meant he wouldna be able to visit Jillian tonight or any night while his uncle was here. Hand-fasted, his people would accept her presence in his bed. He would not do her the discourtesy of having his people think she was his leman.

He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll decide who to wed and when. Now, I’m going to bed. It’s been a long ride.”

“Aye.” Duncan stood. “I believe I’ll hie myself upstairs too.”

They climbed the stairs and Ian opened the door to the first chamber. “This should do well, I think.”

Ian almost paused when he came to Jillian’s door. The temptation to try the handle was like a siren calling to a sailor.

He forced himself to move on. He hadn’t heard the latch click on his uncle’s door and the last thing he needed right now was for Duncan to think he favored anything English, including Jillian.