When a Laird Takes a Lady: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel (14 page)

“Are you not eager for some respite yourself, MacCurran?”

He covered her hand with his, holding it in place. “You have my leave to call me Aiden,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in her ear.

She smiled. She’d heard others call him by his given name, but most of his kin simply addressed him as the MacCurran. The clan chief. In her mind, MacCurran was a splendid name for him—strong, fierce, and bold. “You are the chief. I’m comfortable to address you thus unless you would be offended.”

“Not offended,” he said. “But you are entitled to a more intimate address. I call you Isabail.”

“I am your prisoner,” she said dryly. “You may call me whatever you wish.”

“I would dispute who is the prisoner,” he responded quietly. “I have but to look into your eyes and I am captured.”

Isabail’s heartbeat, which had been settling into a normal pace, sped up again. He delivered the pretty words with such a perfect note of seriousness, she was tempted to believe them. Certainly, a hope she had not yet dared to give voice to sprouted to life.
If
he truly cared for her, and
if
they could find some way to prove his innocence . . . perhaps . . . just perhaps, a future was possible. But she was reluctant to dwell on the notion; it was such a tender bud.

“Then, as my prisoner, you are commanded to complete the task you have started. Leave us both sated and replete, and I will honor you with a prize.”

Another chuckle rumbled through his chest. “And what prize will that be? You’ve not much to offer.”

“Och, you would be surprised.” She tilted her head and put her lips to the warm skin of his throat. “Will you do as I command?”

With a swift movement, he rolled and pinned her to the mattress. Dark and purposeful, he swooped down to claim her lips. They were still plump and full from his previous kisses, and she opened to him as she had before. Only this time
she responded with more than just her body—she offered a piece of her heart. Ah, who knew what the future might bring?

* * *

Aiden woke to a cold, wet press against his arm. His eyes flew open, and his hand instinctively reached for the sword that lay beside the pallet. But he halted midgrab. It was the hound. Standing next to the bed, looking down at him with its soulful brown eyes.

As Aiden stared back, the beast tilted its head, as if curious.

“Away with you,” he whispered to the dog. Isabail’s head lay on his chest, her limbs sweetly entwined with his, and he had no desire to see her disturbed.

The dog did not leave. Instead, the great animal lay down and continued to stare at him. As if it expected something. Never having owned a hound, Aiden had no notion as to what that something might be.

“Go,” he said, pointing to the door.

The bloody beast just continued to stare.

A very focused stare. Rather unnerving. Aiden tried to ignore it and return to sleep, but a feeling of being watched continued to haunt him. Sure enough, when he opened one eye to check, he found the creature still staring.

“What is it you want?” he asked gruffly.

“Breakfast,” Isabail murmured sleepily.

“Not you,” he said, grinning into her silken hair. “
It
. What does it want?”

She lifted her head and spied the dog. “Gorm!”

To his great vexation, she pushed away from him and sat up, her face lit with happiness. “He’s on his feet. How splendid.” Grabbing up her shift, she pulled it over her head and stood.

Aiden was not convinced anything about this event was splendid. The beast had ruined a very promising morning. He pillowed his head on his arms. “Why is it staring at me?”

“John always took Gorm for a walk in the morn. No doubt he’s looking to you to continue that tradition.”

Aiden frowned. “Why me? Why not you?”

Isabail shook her head. “I’ve no idea. He must like you.”

A dubious honor, to say the least.

“Will you take him?”

Aiden looked at Isabail. She was braiding her glorious blond tresses, denying them to his fingers. “Nay. If I must get up, then I’ve other business to see to about the camp. I’ve no time to gad about with a dog.”

He rolled from his pallet and tossed the hound a pointed glare. To his mind, the morning should have started with a leisurely kiss and perhaps a bout of lovemaking. Not like this.

“I’ll take him, then,” Isabail said, tugging her blue gown over her shift.

“Do you not have any other gowns?” he asked. “You’ve worn that same one every day since—” He stopped there, searching for a neutral term to describe his capture of her and coming up dry.

A flush rose up her throat and into her cheeks. “Since you attacked my party and kidnapped me? Nay, I do not have any other gowns. All my things were taken.”

He frowned. “But we gathered some of your belongings.”

“And gave them to the other women in the camp,” she said sharply. “Nothing was returned to me.”

He watched her lace her boots, anger in every harsh tug on the leather cords. He’d never made it clear to his men that the clothing was to be given to Isabail, and he could see how they’d misinterpreted his request. The women in the camp had not seen new clothes for several months. Many of their gowns were threadbare from numerous washings.

“You’ll have plenty of lovely gowns when you return to Lochurkie,” he said to reassure her.

Unfortunately, that seemed to fuel her ire rather than dissipate it.

“Are you reminding me that all I have to do is provide you the names of my guests and I can walk out of this camp without a backward glance?” she asked, her voice the snarl of a wildcat.

“Aye,” he said. “Have I not said that from the beginning?”

Her blue eyes were like chips of ice in the pale beauty of her face. “Oh yes, you made that quite clear . . . in the beginning.”

“Then what is the source of your anger?”

She took several deep breaths before
responding, calming herself. “In the beginning, we had not lain with each other,” she said.

He blinked. “But you are not a maid. Surely you did not have an expectation that our dalliance would lead to anything.”

“An expectation?” she asked coolly. “Nay, I am not a woman given to expectations. Few, if any, of my expectations have borne fruit. A hope that there might be more meaning attached to our dalliance than a simple roll in the hay? Aye,
that
I had.”

“In the eyes of the king, I am a thief, a murderer, and a traitor,” he said. “An outlawed laird. I have nothing to offer a woman of your ilk.”

“Except the odd night of pleasure.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Save for that.”

She nodded sharply. “We are clear now.” Turning on her heel, she headed for the door. “Come, Gorm.”

The dog, it seemed, had other ideas. It remained precisely where it was, seated at Aiden’s feet, staring at him with unwavering eyes. Aware that Isabail sought to leave the room with an angry flounce, he nudged the dog with his foot. But the beast wouldn’t budge.

Isabail reached the door, and upon realizing the dog was not at her side, turned. “Gorm, come!”

The dog’s gaze did not flicker.

Isabail stomped across the room with very unladylike expression and grabbed the hound’s scruff. Then she pulled him toward the door. The beast was large enough to resist her tug, but it did not.
It finally broke off its uncanny stare and trotted alongside Isabail to the door.

When they were gone and silence descended on the room, Aiden dropped back onto the mattress and raked his fingers through his hair.

Well, that had definitely not gone according to plan.

* * *

Isabail walked the deerhound around the perimeter of the hill fort twice. The brisk chill of the morning helped to cool her thoughts. It annoyed her that she had indeed developed expectations for how her future might roll out, especially as those expectations were apparently closely aligned to the suggestion Lady Elisaid had made when she first arrived.

She had avoided MacCurran’s mother quite successfully over the past week, but she had not managed to avoid the promise in her words.

What had she been thinking? Daring to dream of a more permanent arrangement with the MacCurran was a foolish mistake. Her original plan had been to seek an audience with the king and convince him to give her Dunstoras in recompense for her brother’s death. As part of that plan, she’d intended to offer herself in marriage to a man of the king’s choosing, so that he might use the land to forge an alliance, as well. It had been such a straightforward and reasonable plan.

Until she’d given her heart to a rogue.

Damn him. Why could he not have remained a villain in her thoughts? A brutal fiend, like her
father? Her life would have been so much simpler. Instead she’d come to see him as honorable and valiant—the consummate defender of his kith and kin.

Isabail nodded to the two men guarding the entrance to the inner close and strode toward the hut used by Daniel. She swept aside the fur door panel. Gorm growled low in his throat and balked at entering. She shook her finger at him. “Fine, then. Stay outside.”

Daniel was standing before the brazier, holding his hands to the heat. He turned as she entered and then crumpled with a wince. Falling to one knee, he groaned. “Damn this blasted leg.”

Isabail scurried to his side and helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her as she guided him back to the mattress. “You are attempting too much, too fast.”

Settling himself with his back to the wall, he shook his head. “I hate being an invalid. You are without a champion in this nest of vipers. I should be at your side, not lying about in bed.”

“Do not overtax yourself on my account. I am fine.” A wee lie, but the truth would not help Daniel. “Give yourself the proper time to heal, and you’ll be up and about in a few days. Stress the wounds unduly and you may find yourself a permanent lame-leg.”

He grimaced. “Not a fate I desire.”

“Then take your rest.” She glanced around. “Where is Muirne?”

“Fetching some food to break the fast.”

Isabail made a quick check of his bandaged wounds. None were seeping. The injuries were knitting, which was good, but Daniel’s face showed signs of strain—dark circles beneath his eyes and a glitter in his eyes that she normally associated with fever. But his face was pale, not rosy-cheeked.

She put a hand on his forehead. Cool, not hot. No fever.

“Have you slept well?”

“Nay,” he said, adjusting his hip on the bed. “I cannot stop thinking about the necklace. I know it’s here. I must find it.”

“I’ve looked many places,” she told him. “The necklace is not here. Daniel, it’s possible that MacCurran does not have it.”

“He has it,” Daniel insisted.

Isabail could have argued further, but she was not of a mind to defend MacCurran at this moment. “I have a need to return to the cave, so I shall look again while I am down there. Now rest.”

He let his head fall back against the wall. “Take care. Do not let him see what you are about.”

“He’s off playing lord of the ruin. He will not take heed of my actions, I assure you.”

She stood, intending to leave, but he grabbed her skirts. “If you find it, return to me immediately. I must know that you have it.”

“I will.” He did not release her skirts, so she gently peeled his fingers away. “Sleep, Daniel. And eat something when Muirne returns. You don’t look well.”

Exiting the roundhouse, Isabail looked for Gorm. But the disloyal beast had not obeyed her command to stay. The spot before the door was empty. Exasperated by the behavior of all the males in her life this morn, she headed for the entrance to the tunnels.

* * *

“You’ve acquired an admirer I see,” Niall said as he handed Aiden a fresh roll of thatch.

“What?” Aiden cast a quick glance around the close, expecting to see Isabail watching him from a distance. She was nowhere to be seen.

“The hound, brother,” Niall said with a laugh, pointing to the base of the ladder on which Aiden stood. There, performing a repeat of the stare he’d given Aiden upon waking, was the blue-gray deerhound named Gorm.

“What does the bloody thing want?” he asked his brother. “It won’t leave me be.”

Niall shrugged. “Ignore it. Perhaps it will tire of watching you and wander off.”

They repaired the roofs on the huts for the better part of the morning, but the dog remained ever at Aiden’s heel. It did not whine or bark; it lay quietly somewhere within a hand’s reach at all times.

“Curious,” said Niall, as they paused to eat the noontide meal and down a horn of ale. “It seems to need nothing but to be near you.”

Ana crossed the close to Niall’s side and graced him with a kiss on the cheek. “You left early this morning,” she said.

Niall pointed to Aiden. “Blame him. He fetched me from my bed before the cock’s crow.”

Aiden, in turn, pointed to the dog. “Nay, lay the blame where it properly lies. The beast stirred me from a restful slumber.”

She eyed the dog. “That will teach you to save a wounded animal. It’s yours now.”

“Mine?” Aiden frowned. “Nay. The hound belongs to Isabail. It was her brother’s.”

“Tell that to the dog,” she said with a wry smile. “I must return to tending MacPherson’s wounded men. All of them, you’ll be relieved to know, will survive their injuries.”

Aiden’s frown deepened. “And what am I to do with them once they are whole and hearty? We’ve no dungeon in which to lock them.”

She shrugged. “If they are sell swords, perhaps you can turn them to your cause with a coin or two.”

A fair notion. One definitely worthy of exploration. “Let me know when they are well enough to gain their feet. I’ll speak to them.”

Ana nodded and walked away.

Aiden watched her depart, then eyed the dog. What was he to do if the beast insisted on remaining at his side?

I
sabail took young Jamie with her into the tunnels. In part it was because the very thought of returning to the narrow and dark confines terrified her. But it was also because she had need of a strong helper and the lad was solidly built.

“Which of the men is your da?” she asked the boy as they entered the dimly lit passage.

“None,” Jamie replied. “My da disappeared the night the laird was arrested by the earl of Lochurkie.”

“Oh.” If he had disappeared, was it not possible
he
was the thief Aiden sought? The man in black? Not that she would dare suggest such to Jamie.

“My da is the finest of the MacCurran’s warriors,” Jamie offered as they picked their way along. “No one can best him with a sword, not even the laird himself.”

She smiled. A very proud son. “Your mother must miss him sorely.”

“Nay. She’s passed on. She was poisoned by the thief, as was my wee brother, Hugh.”

Isabail halted and turned to face the lad. “Och, I’m so sorry, Jamie. I’ve no sense at all, stirring those memories for you.”

His gaze dropped to his feet. “My da is off searching for the madman as we speak. He’ll not return until he finds him.”

The truth, or just a wishful thought? She put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Then I’m certain he’ll return anon.”

He nodded. “What is it we are seeking in the storeroom?”

“A small chest,” she said, continuing down the tunnel until she reached the open space of the storeroom. She immediately breathed easier. “I saw it here a number of days ago.”

“What’s inside?” he asked curiously.

“A gift for the laird,” she said, holding the torch high. “It’s a small brown chest banded with brass. I think it’s behind those flour sacks.”

He scrambled over the sacks in question and climbed down the other side. “I think I see it.”

“Good. Can you lift it out?”

She heard him grunt. “‘Tis heavier than it looks. Is it filled with gold?”

Isabail laughed. “Nay, but something nearly as precious to the laird, if I’m not mistaken.”

He heaved the chest atop the flour sacks, then climbed over. When he had both feet planted firmly on the tunnel floor, he lifted the wooden box with a grunt and clasped it to his chest.

Seeing the gritted teeth and taut muscles in his arms, Isabail quickly led the way back out. When
they reached daylight, Jamie called for a halt and set the box on the ground. “What’s in here?” he asked, out of breath.

“It’s a secret.”

“Can I be there when he opens it?” the lad asked as he bent and reclaimed the box.

Isabail nodded. “Of course.”

They marched across the close to where MacCurran and his brother were eating their midday meal. Isabail tossed a short glare at Gorm, who was lying contentedly at MacCurran’s feet.
Traitor.
She waved Jamie forward with the chest, and the lad lowered the box to the ground next to the dog.

MacCurran offered her an arched brow.

His stare was intent, and Isabail blushed. “You may recall that I offered you a prize,” she said, suddenly very aware that Niall was listening with avid attention. “I keep my word. Here it is.”

MacCurran looked at the chest, then back up to her face. “I assumed it was a jest. You’ve no need to gift me anything.”

“You assume many things, I’ve noted,” she said briskly. “In truth, the item is already yours. I found it in the caves. Open it.”

MacCurran gave the last of his bread to Gorm, then bent and unlatched the chest. He opened the lid and stared at the contents for a long moment.

“What is it?” asked Jamie. “May I see?”

MacCurran nodded, and the boy leapt forward to look in the chest. He frowned, clearly disappointed. “Arrowheads?”

Niall dove for the box. “Truly?” He grinned as
he lifted a steel broadhead and studied it. “Where did you find these?”

Isabail’s eyes met MacCurran’s. “In the cave. Had you a seneschal, you’d likely have found them yourselves some time ago.”

He smiled faintly. “I seem to recall someone suggesting that very same notion a few days past.”

“There you have it, then,” she said. “My debt is paid.”

“Nay,” he said. “You still owe me the names of your guests at Lochurkie.”

A cold lump dropped into Isabail’s belly. How eager he was to see her gone now. It was as if the night of bliss they’d shared had never been. She wrapped her arms about her waist, feeling a little nauseous.

“Fetch me a quill, a pot of ink, and some parchment, and I will give you the names,” she said quietly. Then she spun about and headed back to the hut she’d once shared with Muirne.

* * *

Niall dropped the arrowhead back into the chest with a soft clatter. “She seems a wee bit angry.”

“She is not pleased with me at the moment,” Aiden admitted.

“But you’ve got what you desired. She’s going to give you the names.”

Aiden frowned. So she had said. But why now? Why give him the names today when he had pressed her repeatedly for them to no avail? If anything, he had expected her to be more stubborn than ever, after their discussion of this
morning. Anger, yes. Compliance? That seemed out of place.

And why did the knowledge that he would soon have the names he sought not fill him with joy? Those names were the very reason he had risked everything to capture her. “In truth,” he admitted, “I had not thought much beyond gaining the names. I’ve no plan for how to coax the truth from these men.”

“Ask them each to don a hooded cloak,” Niall offered. “Perhaps you’ll recognize the thief simply by the way he holds himself.”

“Perhaps.”

“The camp will certainly be a quiet place once Lady Macintosh has departed,” Niall said. “And your mother may venture out of her rooms more often, God help us. She seems to be avoiding the lady for some reason.”

Aiden was no longer listening. His thoughts had come to a crashing halt with the words
once Lady Macintosh has departed
. She had been in his camp only a sennight, and already he could not imagine the place—especially his own hut—without her.

“Who among the older men can count?” Aiden asked his brother.

“Hamish, I believe . . . and perhaps Gordon.”

“Tell Hamish he’s now the seneschal,” Aiden said, handing his brother the chest of arrowheads. “And have these made into arrows.”

Niall’s eyebrows soared. “Where are you going?”

“To speak with Lady Macintosh.”

“Are you certain that’s a wise idea? Perhaps it would be best to wait until she’s written the names of her guests.”

Aiden quelled his brother’s suggestion with a hard stare, then marched across the close to his hut.

* * *

Daniel was standing near the back of the hut when Isabail entered. He was dressed in a cream-colored lèine and laced leather boots. For the first time since MacCurran’s men dragged his bleeding body into the close, he looked tall and self-assured—every bit the handsome Frenchman who had drawn her brother’s attention.

“Where’s Muirne?” she asked, glancing about.

He turned to face her. “Beathag had need of her services.”

“I have need of her, as well. We need to pack up our belongings.”

Daniel frowned. “Why?”

“I’ve promised MacCurran the information he seeks,” Isabail said. “Once he has the names, he will set us free.”

“Don’t be a fool. We know the location of his camp. He cannot set us free without compromising the safety of his people.”

Isabail paused.
She
did not know the camp’s location—because she had been blindfolded. But the same could not be said for Daniel. Nor had MacCurran said he would free Daniel. She had simply assumed . . . “In truth, he said nothing of setting
you
free,” she admitted.

“Because he intends to slay me,” Daniel said grimly.

“Nay,” she protested. “You were insensible when they dragged you into camp. You are no more certain of its exact location than I.”

“Gorm led me near enough to cause MacCurran worry.” He grabbed her arm, his grip painfully tight. “He cannot risk setting me free. Not if he is truly committed to protecting his kin. We must leave of our own accord. Now, while he believes you acquiescent.”

“MacCurran is not the villain you believe him to be.”

Daniel’s expression softened. “I know you think well of him, but put yourself in his boots, Isabail. What if he set me free and I revealed what I know? What if MacPherson made sense of my ramblings and was able to derive the location of the camp?”

A chill slid down Isabail’s spine. The outcome of such events would be horrific. “But to kill a man simply for what he knows . . . that’s barbaric.”

“A chief must be willing to do what other men cannot.”

Isabail stared at Daniel. His words rang true. MacCurran was first and foremost a Highland chieftain, responsible for the men, women, and children of his clan. He would do anything to protect them, including sacrificing his own life. She knew that without a doubt. Was he capable of slaying a good man to accomplish his aims? Aye,
he was. Sir Robert had been a good man, and MacCurran had slain him to capture her.

“But how can we escape?” she asked. “There’s a guard outside the door.”

He took her hand and drew her toward the back of the hut. “While you’ve been out and about the camp, I’ve been busy.” He unsheathed his small eating dirk and cut the last tongue of wood holding a panel in the wall. The square of wall fell onto the grass outside, and the crisp winter breeze blew across Isabail’s toes.

Not entirely certain she was doing the right thing, she followed Daniel through the hole.

As Daniel led her quickly behind one of the other huts, keeping to the shadows, Isabail glanced over her shoulder. “Where are we going?” she whispered. “The horses are staked at the opposite end of the fort.”

“We cannot leave without the necklace.”

She dug her feet in, coming to an abrupt halt. “Are you mad? I’ve searched the camp thoroughly. The necklace is not here.”

He faced her. “It’s here.”

“If you truly desire to leave, we must go now,” she urged. “Once MacCurran discovers me absent, escape will be near impossible.”

“I will not leave without the necklace,” he said stubbornly. “It’s the reason I am here.”

The dark circles around his eyes and the tight pull of his skin over his cheeks reminded Isabail that Daniel was still ill. She tempered her frustration and once again attempted to reason with him.
“Why are you so convinced MacCurran has the necklace?”

“Niall MacCurran brought it with him from Duthes.”

Isabail blinked.
Duthes?
“But the necklace was stolen from Lochurkie. How did it get to Duthes?”

He tugged. “None of that matters. We are wasting time. We must enter the caves quickly, before we are discovered.”

“Nay.” If they did not make it to the horses soon, all of this effort would be for naught. She tried to free her hand from his grasp and failed. “Cease this madness, Daniel. The necklace is not worth our lives.”

He snorted. “It’s worth far more than you know.” Yanking her sharply, he threw her off balance. As she stumbled, he caught her around the waist and pulled her toward the entrance to the caves. “I’m not leaving without it. Protesting will only cause further delay.”

Even ill, he was considerably stronger than Isabail. He dragged her along with surprising ease. Aware that she was slowing them down at a time when speed was of the essence, she reluctantly ceded the moment to him and ended her struggles.

He smiled down at her. “A wise decision.”

As they ducked into the ancient storeroom at the far end of the camp, they came face-to-face with young Jamie MacCurran. He slid the sack of dried beans he was carrying to the floor and eyed Daniel with a heavy frown. “Lady Isabail? Is all well?”

* * *

Pushing open the door, Aiden peered inside his chamber. There was no sign of Isabail. Even the brazier had gone cold. Where could she be?

He scanned the close, coming to an abrupt halt at the roundhouse with a guard standing outside. De Lourdes. He covered the distance between the two huts in a dozen long strides. But when he swept aside the fur drape, he found that room, too, was empty.

“Where is de Lourdes?” he asked the guard.

The man’s expression turned to surprise, and he peered inside with a perplexed frown. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a very poor answer,” Aiden said softly.

The guard gulped. “I’ll find him,” he promised. He jogged around the hut and returned to Aiden’s side. “There’s a hole cut in the back wall. It seems he’s escaped, laird.”

Escaped.

An icy calm filtered through Aiden’s veins. Spinning on his heel, he hailed the guards at the entrance to the hill fort. “Seal the entry! No one is to go in or out.” To the men milling about the close, he said grimly, “Find me Daniel de Lourdes.”

Every gillie immediately ceased what he was doing and searched for the missing man, checking every hut, lifting every tarp, opening every barrel. The hill fort did not boast many hiding spots, and it quickly became clear that their wounded visitor wasn’t the only one missing. Isabail had disappeared, too. Aiden’s chest grew painfully tight,
every breath a chore. There was only one conclusion to reach—the vixen had never intended to give him the names. She had plotted an escape with de Lourdes.

“Fetch me my horse!” he roared.

One of the lads raced forward with his mount in tow. He swiftly saddled the horse and mounted. The hound, Gorm, remained at his side throughout, even when Aiden wheeled his mighty steed about and tore out of the hilltop enclosure.

* * *

Daniel immediately released Isabail and grabbed Jamie, clasping a broad hand over the boy’s mouth. “One more word and you’re dead, lad.”

“Let him go,” Isabail urged, suddenly beyond weary. This madcap attempt to escape was quickly becoming a farce. “He’s just a boy. He has no part in this, Daniel.”

“He stinks,” Daniel said with a laugh. “Do you perchance tend the horses, lad?” Easing his hand away from Jamie’s mouth, he allowed the boy to answer.

“Aye.”

“Marvelous. The Lord is surely guiding our efforts. We’ll need you when it comes time to depart.” Daniel tossed a lopsided smile at Isabail. “Let us continue.”